//------------------------------// // 18. Elyrium // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// Tyria clung to the rigging, narrowing her eyes as they teared up from the wind. The sail fluttered in front of her, straining against the lines that lashed it to the yard above. Tyria swayed on the ropes, feeling the ship rock. Pausing in her climb, she raised a hoof to her mouth to readjust the coils of cordage. She bit down on them, and returned her gaze to the yard. The long beam stretched horizontally from the mast, creaking as the sail pulled it and the ship forward. Tyria put her hoof back on the rigging, and resumed her climb up to the spar. She reached the yard at last, carefully untangling herself from the ropes. Just above her head, the highest sail of the mast’s three yanked suddenly in the wind, drawing another groan from the wood. Tyria spared a glance down toward the deck, instantly regretting it. The rough water wasn’t doing any favors for her stomach, and the view of a dozen zebras looking up at her from what seemed like miles below did not help. With a deep breath, she looked back up along the port side of the yard. She leaned down and wrapped all four of her legs around the beam, twisting left and right to make sure there was enough friction. When she felt confident that she wouldn’t go sliding to her death, she began shimmying forward. Ahead, the first lines securing the sail to the yard drew close enough for her to examine them. All seemed to be in order; the lines were tight and strong. Tyria edged over the coils, grimacing as the abrasive rope rubbed against her chest. She moved forward, approaching the second set of looping rope. As she reached it, she frowned. Zarud had been right, after all. The rope was badly frayed in multiple places. She wondered how long it had been since these lines had been replaced. Judging by the state of the rest of this vessel, she glumly guessed about five years or more. Tyria began undoing the knots, keeping the end of the rope wrapped around her hoof to prevent the sail from blowing free. The unraveling line wasn’t an immediate problem—the sail had multiple tethers for a reason, after all—but it still needed to be fixed. They’d lose a lot of wind over the top while sailing, and a strong enough gust might tear more lines and bring the whole house of cards crashing down. Tyria released her mouth’s hold on the rope and unspooled the replacement cordage, letting it out slowly so as not to burn her tongue with the friction. A few minutes of pulling and tying later, she leaned back to inspect her work. She smiled. Her father would have been proud, were he here. “Should hold it for another five years,” she muttered wryly. The descent was less nerve-wracking than the climb. Still, she was glad when her hooves finally touched the deck. A holler went up from the dozen sailors around her. “Good work, Tyria,” said Lem, clapping her on the shoulder. “Mm. Thanks.” Tyria tried not to roll her eyes. The only reason any of them cared was because her success meant they wouldn’t have to do it themselves. None of the zebras were very fond of heights. Come to think of it, neither was Zanaya. Was it some biological thing? The zebras had lived on wide, flat plains for most of their species’ history, after all. Tyria tapped her chin thoughtfully. “All right, you lot, back to work.” The bosun waved his hoof in dismissal. The small crowd dispersed, leaving Tyria and the bosun standing by the railing. The bosun gave her an approving nod. “See any more problems when you were up there?” “No, sir. All looked good from where I was standing.” Tyria managed not to salute. All of her old Navy training had been coming back in force over the last week, as the Nightingale prowled the Carriagibbean looking for prey. The big Antellucían merchant ship they were out here to catch wasn’t due in the area for another day or two, so Captain Zevan had been trawling the seas for easy catches. They’d stopped a few fishing boats, but there hadn’t been any major hauls so far. Tyria was grateful that the crews had surrendered without a fight; she didn’t know how she would handle having to hurt anyone as part of this charade. Still, things had been going remarkably well so far. Captain Zevan trusted her about as far as he could throw her—probably less, he was a strong zebra—but the rest of the crew seemed to have accepted her as a fellow pirate. The bosun in particular had become an unexpected ally, so pleased with her work performance that he’d given her virtually free reign of the ship whenever she wasn’t doing a specific job for him. “Well,” he said, looking out over the ocean and shielding his eyes from the sun, “I haven’t got anything else urgent for you at the moment. If you don’t mind, though, at some point today I’d like you to go ask First Mate Zab about our Elyrium stores. We’re going to need them in a day or two, I’d like to be sure that we have enough.” Tyria tilted her head. “Elyrium?” “Aye. It’s a magical suppressant.” The bosun yawned. “Don’t want the antelopes casting any spells to set our ship on fire.” “A magical suppressant?” Tyria blinked. Such a thing sounded incredibly powerful. How had she never heard of it before? “Where’s it from?” The bosun waved a hoof. “Viridian knows a zebra shaman-trained alchemist somewhere in the isles. It’s expensive stuff, but we couldn’t hit Antellucían or Equestrian ships without it.” He looked back along the deck toward the steering wheel, and his eyes narrowed in irritation. “Oh, gods, no. Who thought Zadrick could be a navigator? He’s holding the bloody sextant upside-down.” The bosun groaned. “I’d better get up there before he sends us straight into the Serpent’s Maw. Make sure you talk to Zab.” “Got it.” This time, Tyria saluted before she could stop herself. The bosun grinned. “I told you, girl, you’re not in the military anymore.” He gave her an amused nod and rushed off. Tyria tapped a hoof on the wood, looking around. She didn’t see any other pressing disasters breaking out on deck that required her attention: no runaway barrels rolling around, no broken lines swaying in the wind, no sailors falling overboard. She had that rarest of commodities on the open seas—free time. And she knew how she intended to spend it. She’d start searching in the cargo hold, and if she didn’t find him there, she’d check the sleeping quarters next, and then go level by level if she had to. The search was not as long as she’d feared. As she stepped down belowdecks, shouldering past a zebra on his way up, a short gray unicorn holding a bucket of water came trotting toward her. “Ah, Apricot, there you are.” Tyria’s voice was stern. “I need a word.” “Miss Metrel,” he mumbled around the bucket’s handle. “Kind of busy at the moment.” Another zebra came down the hall behind him, squeezing past the two of them to head up top. “It can wait,” she said, scowling. She walked past him, taking a right into the sleeping quarters. The room was filled with hammocks that hung from the ceiling, but empty of other sailors. The rest of the crew was busy keeping the ship operational. Tyria stepped aside as ‘Apricot’ entered after her. He looked back over his shoulder, then set the bucket down beside the door and closed it. “I think it’s clear—” Tyria grabbed his shoulders and swept him into a hungry kiss. Rye held it for a moment, then pulled back, grinning. “Goodness, Miss Metrel.” “I missed you,” she said, tapping him on the nose with a hoof. “You just saw me three hours ago,” he said, amused. She sighed. “It seemed longer.” She gave him another kiss, and then glanced down. “What’s with the bucket?” Rye beamed. “We sprung a leak down in the hold. Just a little one, but Zab has us bilging it out.” Tyria laughed. “I’ve never seen somepony excited by the prospect of bilging.” “I like working.” He adjusted his cap, smiling. “I feel useful. And that’s the best feeling in the world.” “Second-best,” said Tyria, kissing him again. “Mm,” he acquiesced. “Still, I could get used to being a pirate. It’s simpler than politics, that’s for sure.” His eyes lit up. “I haven’t even felt seasick in three days! Too busy to worry about my stomach, I guess.” “Not going native on me, are you?” Rye pressed his forehooves against hers, lifting them up. “Why not? We could steal a ship, raid a few merchants, buy a nice island to retire on…” “Rye and Tyria, terrors of the Carriagibbean? Might be hard to sail a ship with just the two of us,” said Tyria with a crooked smile. “Details,” he said with an airy wave, before leaning back in. They were interrupted by a banging on the door. “Oi, Apricot! I know you’re in there!” Rye’s eyes shot wide as he jerked his head back. “Meet me by the lifeboats at sunset,” he whispered, before diving for his bucket. He picked it up and rushed for the door. Hurriedly brushing her mane back, Tyria hoped her face wasn’t noticeably flushed. Rye pushed the door open, and they were greeted by the first mate’s glowering visage. “If I catch you slacking off again, I’ll have you flogged. I want that hold free of water, got it?” Rye nodded meekly. “Got it.” “Get out of here.” Rye raced past Zab, water sloshing in his bucket. The zebra turned to Tyria, his scowl deepening. “And what were you doing?” “He owes me some money,” she said, trying not to sound flustered. “I’ve been trying to get him to pay me back for a week, now.” “Don’t interrupt my crew while they’re working,” said Zab crossly. “Shake him down on his time, not mine.” He turned to leave. “Wait!” Tyria ran out and circled in front of him, walking backwards as he started for the stairs. “The bosun wanted me to check on the Elyrium stock.” Zab grunted in irritation. “Oh, of course he did. Look, you tell Zennan to stop bothering me about that every single outing. We’ve got plenty of the stuff. We never even have to use it, just the threat of it’s enough.” He grunted. “But since he won’t believe me, go check it yourself. It’s in the chest with the blue paint and white stripes. Here’s the key. Now, get out of my way.” He pulled a key out of his side pocket and handed it to her, then brushed her aside and headed up the stairs. Tyria felt the urge to wait for Rye to come back down, but she didn’t want to draw any more unwanted attention. With a sigh, she headed down the corridor toward the stairs into the cargo hold. A smile crept onto her face. She had that feathery feeling again, the same one she’d felt weeks ago when she’d had him in her apartment. Tyria loved every small moment they were able to steal together. She loved that lively glow in his eyes, she loved the eagerness in his voice, she loved the danger and excitement that he’d brought into her life. She loved him. And about time I admitted that to myself, she thought, her smile widening. She was filled with a confused tangle of emotions about this whole thing, the pirates and her father and that horrible branding scar and the kisses, but one thing was clear to her. She had fallen for the little gray pegacorn, fallen hard, and she couldn’t be happier. Well, that was mostly true—her mood might improve if they weren’t surrounded by three dozen zebras who would cheerfully kill them both if their disguises slipped for a moment. Tyria grimaced. Hopefully, Rye’s sunset meeting would end with a plan to finally get off this ship. Her own half-baked ideas about stealing one of the lifeboats and making for an island in the archipelago were beginning to seem more and more like a pipe dream. Even if they could get away clean, the odds of successfully navigating the sea in one of those things were next to nothing. Putting her worries aside for later, she stepped down into the cargo hold. A few zebras were down there with her, getting supplies for dinner or double-checking manifests. Others came trotting out from further back behind the barrels and crates, carrying more buckets of water. Tyria roamed the cargo hold, searching for the blue chest Zab had described. She slowly made her way to the ship’s armory, if it could be called such—there were just a few chests filled with rusting spears and machetes. The blue chest she sought stood wedged in their midst. It was much smaller than its companions. Tyria pulled it out, unlatched the lid, and opened it. Inside were rows and rows of tightly packed vials that rested in a frame made of metal wiring. The vials were filled with a clear liquid, something that might have been water but for the strange way it caught the light. It almost seemed like there were tiny flecks of something reflective floating inside, but the little glowing pinpricks were there even when her shadow blocked the lantern light in the hold. A small pair of tongs rested between the vial racks and the wall of the chest. Tyria took one handle in her mouth, using a hoof to clamp the tongs around one of the vials. She delicately lifted it from the metal wiring, entranced by the dancing lights within. The vials were capped with tiny corks, firmly wedged into the tops. She brought her other hoof up to the tongs, freeing her mouth to gently unstop the vial. She sniffed, giving a surprised ooh. The liquid gave off an unmistakable scent of vanilla. Re-corking the vial, she looked down at the chest. She inhaled sharply. There were dozens of vials packed into it, layers and layers of glassware. If each of those vials held enough liquid to stop a spell, the pirates were supplied well enough to take down a crew of serious magic users. Tyria tucked the vial into her tattered breast pocket and buttoned it shut. None of the zebras could use magic, but it couldn’t hurt to have it on hoof. Closing the chest and relocking it, she left to head back up top. * * * She killed the rest of the afternoon playing seasail with Lem and Zibben, who were also free from duties. She was getting better at the game. This time she managed to clean out Lem, before losing all her winnings to Zibben’s astonishingly lucky hoof of a four to eight straight, the highest possible under the rules. Tyria was certain he was cheating, but an unspoken rule of the game was figuring out how your fellow players were conning you, and then getting them back. As the sun sank toward the horizon and the sky turned red, the dinner bell rang. The crew headed down into the ship to grab their food, but Tyria lingered behind. She meandered over to the starboard lifeboat, putting her forehooves up on the railing and looking out at the setting sun. The wood creaked behind her. Rye appeared to her left, resting his hooves on the rail next to her own. Tyria smiled. “Hiya.” “Hiya back.” Rye returned the smile. They looked out over the water, watching the sunlight scatter on the waves. The purple and golden sky above was flecked with white clouds, breaking up the colors and making them all the more striking. A cool breeze blew past, catching Tyria’s mane. She inhaled, taking in the scent of salt water and wood varnish. Rye breathed out slowly. “Beautiful.” Tyria nodded absently. “Yes, it is.” She glanced over at him and realized he’d been looking at her. She grinned and gave his shoulder a soft punch. “Brown-noser.” “It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he said playfully. “Yes, well…” Tyria rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the blush of pleasure. “I don’t exactly look my best at the moment.” Rye’s smile turned crooked. “I admit, that uniform has seen better days.” Tyria gave it a regretful pat. “Poor thing. I’ve had this since I was first stationed in Zyre. I try to take good care of my clothes.” He gave her shirt a grim nod. “If we get out of this alive, its sacrifice will be remembered,” he said solemnly, before ruining the gravitas with a muffled snort. “Speaking of which…” Tyria liked talking with him, but they needed to work out a plan. “Right.” Rye looked around. Confident that they were alone, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’ve come up with a way off this bucket.” “Do tell,” she murmured back. “We’re hitting that Antellucían ship tomorrow or the day after, right?” “That’s the plan, anyway. Board it, grab the cargo, and get out.” Rye nodded. “Well, our plan is to stay on board.” Tyria blinked, surprised. “Oh. That’s… elegantly simple.” Her eyes narrowed. “But won’t the pirates notice we’re missing? I expect they’re going to take a headcount before leaving the ship.” “You think? As long as they get the loot, I wouldn’t expect them to care about the crew all making it out. Especially if there’s fighting. Fewer splits of the winnings, right?” “Maybe.” Tyria felt a bit uneasy at leaving that uncertainty, but they were running out of time. “We won’t get a second chance, though. If we try this and get caught, that’s it.” Rye gave her a simple smile. “What’s life without a little risk?” “Boring,” she said thoughtfully, raising a hoof to touch his cheek. “I never realized how boring, before.” He grinned. “Then let’s do it.” Tyria raised an eyebrow. “Right here? Risky indeed.” Now it was Rye’s turn to blush. “Um. That’s, uh, that’s not what I—” He paused as she broke out laughing. As Tyria pressed a hoof to her mouth to stem the giggling, he gave her a pouty frown. “Teasing isn’t very nice.” “Oh, but you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.” She hugged him, nuzzling her cheek against his. Rye hugged her back, but suddenly she felt him stiffen and pull away. “What’s wrong?” He rubbed his chest. “What’s in your pocket? It feels like you’ve got a chunk of ice in there.” “Oh.” She opened the pocket and removed the vial, balancing it on a hoof. “It’s this stuff called Elyrium. It’s supposed to be a—” Rye turned sheet-white. He sprang backward with a strangled gasp. “Keep that away from me!” Tyria recoiled, uncertain. Had she done something wrong? “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Rye’s breathing slowed as he held up a hoof. “No, no, don’t apologize. You must not—do you know what that is?” “Well, like I was about to say, it’s a magical suppressant, right? Temporarily stops magic users from casting spells?” Rye shook his head, still not taking his eyes off of the little vial. “Not… exactly.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. To Tyria’s relief, he came back over to stand beside her. “Okay. A quick lesson in magic. Unicorn, antelope, elk, doesn’t matter—we all tap into arcane energies through our horns or antlers. The horn acts like a conduit, pulling magical power into our bodies—our brains, specifically—where we can manipulate it through spells. Then, we close the circuit again, letting the power flow out through our horns and affect the world. It’s… hard to explain it to somepony who’s never felt it before.” He gestured in frustration. “It’s not as simple as I’ve made it sound, but it’s not as complex as it may seem, either… most of it’s instinctual; you just open yourself to the current, and let the power flow toward the path of least resistance.” He pointed to the vial. “Elyrium is a giant power sink. A huge potential well, like a magical grounding rod in liquid form. Get even a few drops of that stuff on your body when you try to do magic, and… well, it becomes the path of least resistance. The power enters through your horn, but it tries to leave through the Elyrium.” He swallowed. “Raw, unregulated magical energy surging through your body from your horn… imagine hugging a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. It can cause serious brain damage, or even outright kill you.” Tyria’s eyes widened, and she held the unassuming vial at a more respectful distance. “I see. So why haven’t I heard of something this dangerous before?” “Well, no offense, but probably because you’re an earth pony. And also because it’s exceedingly rare; not to mention illegal as hell everywhere in the world, even here.” Rye licked his lips nervously. “I’m not sure I even want to know how Breyr got his hooves on some.” Tyria’s stomach sank. “Rye… they had an entire chest full of this stuff.” She bit her lip. “Zab said they don’t actually use it much, though.” Rye was still white. “Luckily, the Zyran navy doesn’t have many magic users. It’s not going to help the pirates then.” He nodded shakily. “So we just have to avoid it for a little while longer.” Tyria slipped it back into her pocket, now feeling like she was straddling a Gryphan firebomb. “Okay. So the plan is to sneak on board the victim ship—shouldn’t be hard, we can get on it to move cargo over—and hide somewhere till the Nightingale is gone, then convince the captain to take us to Zyre.” “Leave that part to me.” Some color was finally returning to Rye’s face. “My robes combined with your uniform should prove we are who we say we are, but if she still doesn’t like it, I’m sure I can get her to come around.” “Sounds good. We’d better get to dinner before we’re missed.” Rye nodded, a sly smile on his lips. “If you’re sure we’re done here…” Tyria laughed. “On second thought, I’m not feeling that hungry.” They stayed there for a while, enjoying the sunset. And this time, there were no interruptions.