Far away from Everhold, in the palace of the Khalif of Saddle Arabia, Prince Mussadas ibn Hassan lay in his bed, dreaming with his eyes open.

In his dream he saw the place the winds had told him about: a garden in the heart of the deep desert, a place of mysteries resolved and pains soothed into oblivion.

He had only been a foal when he first heard the voices, whispering in the desert wind. He had asked his keeper about them, but she, a simple maid, had only looked at him in fright, and had made the sign of the crescent with her hoof, and had told him not to speak of such things.

So, when he was older and heard the voices again, he did not speak of them, but made the sign of the crescent with his hoof, and tried to ignore the fact that as time went on he began to make out the words in the voice.

That evening the seers had cut open a bird from the palace garden, and consulted its entrails, only to find it had been hollow even as it breathed.

The prince had looked up to the sky and seen the lights, and heard the voice of the desert calling him.

“Who are you?” He turned and looked around him. The chamber was empty except for the shadows.

His mouth filled with the taste of ashes as the voice entered his mind and took his thoughts. He turned from the balcony and walked to the door. There was a place far away, in the deep desert, he knew he had to get to.

– – –

Impossible Things
Act One: The Caravan.

– – –

After viewing the fellows of my age, I found no true friend who could stand by you at times of need.

I have known then that the impossible matters are three: the ghoul, the phoenix, and a faithful friend.

– – –

It was with shaking, unsteady steps that Star Swirl finally trotted down the ramp to the harbor, leaving the Siren behind him.

“Shut up,” Star Swirl muttered, his eyes downcast. “I am never sailing again.”

It was early morning, and the sun had not yet risen above the city, but even in the pre-dawn shadows the harbor was a hive of whirling, carefully orchestrated chaos. Everywhere Star Swirl looked, ponies of every kind swiftly loaded and offloaded cargo and supplies from the dozen great ships anchored along the mile-long harbor. Beside the ponies were donkeys and mules, and tall, slim ponies who almost looked like the Princesses: the proud horses of Saddle Arabia. Everypony seemed to be decorated with gold and jewels, such as was only worn to special occasions in Braytannia.

While he stared, an earth pony and a unicorn came down the ramp behind him, carrying a crate between them, and shoved him out of the way with a grunt.

The pony who had hailed him chuckled, and Star Swirl focused on him for the first time. He was an earth pony stallion, yellow of coat and brown of mane, wearing a light olive jacket and a white pith helmet, and his cutie mark showed a sealed scroll. “Silver Tongue of the EDC, the Everhold Diplomatic Corps,” he said. “You must be Star Swirl.”

“That ship was supposed to have made port a week ago,” Silver Tongue said. Star Swirl only groaned in response. “What on earth happened? Were you attacked by pirates?”

“Feather flu.” Star Swirl shuddered at the memory. Not four days into the voyage the pegasi twins who had signed on as wind-keepers both came down with the sickness, and could not fly. The weathered seamare who captained the Siren had ranted and raved but could not bend the sickness to her will as she would a crew member, and so they had been left at the mercy of the wild winds and waves.

“The captain asked, and not nicely. I offered to make the wind visible, so that she could find it more easily. Apparently that was the not the answer she was looking for.”

“Wonderful,” Silver Tongue said. “Well, you're here now, that's what matters. We have already arranged places in the next caravan heading for the capital city, so we'll be heading out soon. Is this your first time in Saddle Arabia?”

Silver Tongue grinned. “You have much to see then! This is a land of legends, my friend. The royal city is a sight unlike anything in Braytannia, or any of the lands of ponies.” They left the harbor and wandered up a yellow cobblestone street into the city proper.

Silver Tongue continued speaking as they walked. “Saddle Arabia is called the Crossroads of the World, the place where all the continents meet. Merchants from every nation under the sun come here, bringing with them the most precious goods from their homelands. For centuries, trade has made Saddle Arabia the richest place on earth. If something exists, you can find it here.”

“So I see,” Star Swirl said, glancing around him as they crossed the city. Oftentimes he had to stop himself from staring at things he had never seen before. Through the open door of one dim building he saw a zebra breathing deep of the fumes of some burning herb opposite a Saddle Arabian horse. On one stall in the street he saw a diamond dog swaddled in heavy cloth, dextrous paws performing tricks with cups and balls for the coins of bystanders. The dog eyed them watchfully as they passed, then turned back to her audience. Overhead, a hippogriff joined three pegasi to beat an inland wind to keep the desert from licking at the city, and through a gateway to a tavern courtyard Star Swirl saw a band of minotaur warriors lounging in the shade of an olive tree. They were clad in matching red tunics bearing the mark of some mercenary company, and they had iron helmets with ring-mail hanging like a veil.

Before long they reached the tall stone walls of the city, and passed through a broad gate. The road rose as they left the controlled zone and made for an encampment visible in the distance below the low, early-morning sun.

The caravanserai was by a small oasis only half an hour's cantor away, but by the time they reached it Star Swirl even in the small hours of the morning the desert sun was roasting him alive. Star Swirl was dragging his hooves through the sand, his breath heavy and ragged.

“We've prepared supplies for you here already,” Silver Tongue said, and passed Star Swirl a water-skin of waxed cloth. Star Swirl drank deeply from it. “You're going to have to change outfits. What is that, a deep winter robe?”

“As-salaam alaykom, mon petit cheval de terre Silver Tongue,” a deep voice spoke from nearby. “We were about to leave you behind.”

Star Swirl raised his head to see a bull camel approaching them, as tall as the horses of Saddle Arabia. He wore a turban on his head, his body wrapped in loose-fitting black robes, but his back laden high with supplies he bore as though they were weightless.

“Wa alykom as-slam,” Silver Tongue replied with a bow. “Thank you for your patience, caravan master. We are here now, and ready to travel.”

The camel stepped in a circle around Star Swirl, looking at him from every angle. Star Swirl turned this way and that, as if uncertain if this was an aggressive action. “This is the one you've been waiting for?” He asked, in an Equish wrapped in accents within accents.

Silver Tongue chuckled. “You're thinking about his clothing.” The camel reached out a hoof and nudged the rim of Star Swirl's robe, making the bells jingle. “Yes, well, don't worry, he will come to his senses soon enough. I have an outfit more suited for this climate for him to use.”

“See that you do not slow us down, cheval,” the camel said. “The caravan will leave soon, and the desert is not merciful. Make yourselves ready.” He turned and called out in Saddle Arabian to another nearby camel, who joined them. Like the first, this camel, a cow, was covered up in black.

“Salaam,” she said. “I am Rehalet Amina. My husband is Rehalet Tawyla, master of the caravan. He has asked me to show you how to properly tie your robes.” She looked at the unicorn, and made a sound in her throat that Star Swirl suspected was the sound of a camel fighting not to laugh. “We can make this work.”

The end result was a compromise for both Star Swirl and Silver Tongue. Silver Tongue was unhappy that his style, the finest Everhold's explorer's league had designed, had been rejected, while Star Swirl was unhappy that his robes had been twisted this way and that, loosened in some places and tied down where they had previously been loose. Rehalet Amina also did not like his hat, and had tied him a turban.

She had permitted him, if he was so inclined, to clip the hat to the top of the turban.

Before long, while the morning sun was still young, a horn blew from the far end of the oasis, and the caravan began to move. Star Swirl and Silver Tongue took their place in the lineup, and they left the safety of the oasis and set out across the desert.

– – –

It will get easier, he told himself. You walked through the Scoltish winter. This is the same, only the other way around. Drink lots of water and you'll be fine. He drank until his flask was empty. Well, that was quick.

Before long he began to hear the voices. They whispered in the distance, just over the nearest dune, and try as he might he could not make out the words.

“Just the wind,” the diplomat said. “Try not to speak, you'll lose moisture.”

Star Swirl fell silent, and listened to the whispers. Sometimes they came from one direction, sometimes the other. Sometimes the view was clear in all directions and the whispers came from nowhere at all, and yet were there.

It was as the sun approached its zenith, and pressed down upon Star Swirl with its full might, that he first saw the lights. They clustered by the sun, at first, but did not come from it, and slowly they grew and spread out to cover the sky.

Star Swirl had once seen the Aurora in the heavens above Edinspur when he was a foal, on a midwinter night when the company of his kin and his neighbors had become too depressing to bear. He had believed it to be a display just for him, a silent gesture of encouragement from the stars.

The desert, he now saw, had its own lights, which made the air itself writhe as though consumed by the sun's fire. Great coursing arcs of trapped lightning, giving off spinning whorls of gas that crackled for seconds or minutes, in colors Star Swirl could not name, and then were gone. Star Swirl reached out with his magical senses as they walked, and found himself scenting a tang of burning magic.

There was a secret hidden in that scent, Star Swirl thought, and it whispered to him on the wind, whispers of burning and death and forgotten things that wished to be remembered, and it burned him to listen, and scent it, and touch it too closely.

The sun continued to rise, and the air grew hotter and heavier and threatened to choke him. By the midday hours, the sand beneath him burned his frogs with every step.

Just as it seemed to Star Swirl that the sky would fall, and the coiling lights would ensnare him and burn him to death, the caravan master rang his horn. They halted, and set up tents, and sought shelter from the murderous sun.

The tent helped, Star Swirl admitted in his thoughts. He stood inside and peered cautiously out the flap at the blinding landscape outside.

Silver Tongue had laid out a rug on the sand inside the tent and made himself comfortable. “The missive from Everhold said to escort you to the capital city, and to answer any questions you have about Saddle Arabia on the way.”

“You know this place well?” Star Swirl asked, not turning from the entrance.

“I've been Princess Celestia's ambassador to the Court of the King of Golden Sands for five years now. Nopony knows this land better.”

“How can anything live like this?” Star Swirl said with a kind of despair.

“Come. Sit.” Silver Tongue patted the chair and Star Swirl grudgingly stepped away from the flap, casting wary glances in the direction of the day.

“It seems strange to want to live in so hostile a landscape, but that is the pride of the nation,” Silver Tongue said. “Once, this desert was an impassable barrier, forbidding contact by land between the continents, cutting us off from Zebrica and Neighsia. To enter it was certain death. Until the House of Golden Sands came here and bent their will against it, and learned to survive everything it could throw at them. They took one of the most forbidding terrains in the world, and turned it into the richest land there is. They owe it all to the fact that nopony else but them were able to tame the desert. And that, my friend, is how they live like this.”

Silver Tongue smiled and nodded. “This is only the outermost passage of the desert, where the temperatures are still mild and where the army keeps the routes safe. If you stay here for long, you will come to relish crossings as easy as these.”

“Dozens,” Silver Tongue said. “My job is to do what the Princess desires. Princess Celestia desires to brings Saddle Arabia closer to Everhold. I am here to ensure that her wishes are fulfilled. I've traveled to every corner of this land.” He glanced to the unicorn. “What about you? What brings you here?”

– – –

He was alone with Princess Luna Noctis in the throne hall of Everhold, observing the artifacts set upon the many-armed pedestal: six orbs of stone that glowed, even in their slumber, with vast magic power.

“Something festers in Saddle Arabia,” Princess Luna said as she slowly walked around the Elements of Harmony, eying them each in turn. “For all its splendor and its wealth, an unease sits heavy upon the dreams of the state. Its crops suffer. Brigands prey in growing numbers upon the populace. Distrust and fear are spreading. Ill omens are reported across the territory. The King of Golden Sands does not tell us his thoughts – at least not knowingly – but he has called every diviner and soothsayer to his court to tell him what the future holds, and how he may answer it. I fear that something is corrupting the magics that bind our world together. I wish you to investigate, and uncover if my fears are true.”

“Somewhere in the heart of the Royal Palace there is a magical artifact of tremendous power. Its precise nature is unknown even to us, but it is the source of the King's power, and his most closely guarded treasure. Your mission, Star Swirl, is to study this artifact, and learn whether the troubles that plague the land are connected to it. If something is corrupting its magic, it would have grave consequences and must be stopped. Your mission is of the utmost secrecy, Star Swirl. Only you and I, and the Captain of my Shadowbolts, know of my misgivings.”

“I have faith that you will succeed,” Luna said. “I have arranged for you to join a caravan bound for the Royal City. Go to the King of Golden sands, and learn what you can of the sickness.”

“One more thing, Star Swirl,” Luna said, and glanced at him with a slightest hint of doubt. “I know you are not a trained diplomat but remember that you are a servant of the Crown on a mission to a foreign power. Please be on your best behavior. If all goes well, and those you meet have good things to say about you, it will help prove your merit to my sister and the court. It would be helpful to me personally. Just something to keep in mind, yes?”

– – –

“Princess Luna sent me here on a fact-finding mission,” Star Swirl said. “I am bound by an oath of silence as to the details.”

The caravan waited for some hours while the sun was at its strongest. Star Swirl ate and listened with as much attention as he could muster while Silver Tongue plied him with trade numbers and trivia about Saddle Arabian economic and agricultural history. In the afternoon the wind turned and carried in milder air from the coast, and to Star Swirl's regret the horn rang to signal that it was time to carry on. In minutes the tents were all collapsed and packed away, the camels and horses were loaded up with their cargo, and the line had reformed.

Star Swirl still walked hesitantly and uncertainly on the blazing, shifting sands, slowly baking under his robes. But as the sun sank rapidly behind him, Star Swirl realized the temperature was plummeting. In half an hour, the hateful heat had turned to a mild breeze.

Something else drew his attention away from the heat. As the desert grew dark, a new night sky revealed itself to him, and Star Swirl's mouth fell open as he stared.

Star Swirl had always felt more at home in the night. This night he was far from home, and the starlit sky of Saddle Arabia seemed to want to remind him of that fact. The stars appeared, not as the glimmering pinpricks of light he was accustomed to, but as flashes of raging fire, intent on dominating their corner of the sky and outshining all others. They seemed to fight each other for his attention, by force or more cunning means. Some flared, growing brighter and brighter until at their strongest they seemed like little full moons in many different colors that cast their palette upon the empty void between the lights, overshadowing their neighbors for a few minutes before fading again while others took their place. Others flickered and pulsed in tune with a dozen siblings, an orchestra of light playing a melody of eons and boundless space. Comets leapt across the firmament, their light reflecting off everything they touched, sending the stars to tingle like the bells on the rim of his robe.

All of it was just for him. They were looking at him, he knew it. All of them seemed to speak to him personally, whispering tantalizing hints of secrets seen at the dawn of time, of knowledge no pony or camel or horse had ever known.

The dry, crisp air was more clear than anything he had seen since the coldest midwinter night on Llamrei's Seat, and when he looked up at the stars he felt like he had left the earth far behind, had set out to wander across the universe, that every star, every distant planet, every nebula and shooting lump of rock and ice was there for the taking if he but wanted to set out. They called to him, and he raised a hoof gingerly to touch them.

He realized the temperature had plummeted. His breath was forming frost on his muzzle.

Star Swirl shook his head to clear away the fog from his thoughts, and glanced around. He frowned. Was that me?

Silver Tongue prodded his shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts. The earth pony gestured to the center of the camp where all the travelers were gathering. “Come on, they're all coming together. We should join them.” He trotted away, and gestured for Star Swirl to follow.

Reluctantly, the unicorn cast one last look at the heavens before turning away and following his companion.

The caravan had set up their tens in a ring around a central theater, where the travelers sat together and talked around a light-fire fashioned by Rehalet Tawyla, the Bedouin caravan master: Star Swirl watched the scraps of firewood blaze brighter than their small measure would have suggested. Before long the chatter silenced and they all listened attentively to the caravan master speak at length.

Silver Tongue gestured for him to be quiet, and whispered, “He is telling a story. Very traditional. Very Saddle Arabia.”

“It is the story of Makhloub Al-Sarya, the quick-witted jackal cub,” said Rehalet Amina, the caravan master's mate. She sat down beside them. “Makhloub was a thief living in the shadows of the capital city. He knew no home other than the alleys, and no friends but the homeless and the poor. He stole to survive, until one day he tried to rob a powerful sorcerer, and was captured. The sorcerer sold Makhloub into slavery, and he was put in chains and dragged in a cage across the deep desert. When the caravan was attacked by bandits, Makhloub talked them into setting him free. He told them he wanted to join their band, but once his chains were off he escaped. He traveled across the world and had many adventures, and eventually won a kingdom of his own. How are you enduring the desert, petit licorn?”

“With some difficulty,” Star Swirl admitted. “I will be fine. Don't worry about me.”

“If there is anything you need, speak to me or my husband. We know the desert as well as our own kin, and you are safe in our company.” She rose again and communicated without speech by a glance to her mate. “Rest well, petit chevals, and heed not the voices.”

Star Swirl could not sleep. He did not know what to think about anything around him. So he took his recourse in the only familiar things he had.

Silver Tongue was preparing to sleep when he caught sight of Star Swirl's magical aura glowing on his saddlebag. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Star Swirl unbuckled his saddlebag and brought out the book. “From the Everhold Castle library. I'm just making sure to keep it safe, and I don't need to open it to read it.” The book was a thick tome bound in felt, its pages painted gold along the edges, and the cover read The Farthest Bounds of Thought.

“It's a compendium of great mysteries of magic, things that we know but still can't explain,” Star Swirl said.

Star Swirl flipped the book opened and looked inside. “The Self-Levitation Problem, for instance. A large portion of the unicorn population can lift mass equal to their body-weight with magic. So why do unicorns still die from falling off cliffs? For that matter, why don't unicorns just fly everywhere, like pegasi? Well, we can't, because when we levitate something we only move it in relation to our own anchored point. And yet, we know that self-levitation is possible, because infant unicorns who don't know that it's impossible have been seen to do it. Nopony has ever been able to figure out how.”

“Well, if you're going to be reading, I have some books for you,” Silver Tongue said. He flipped open his saddlebags to reveal a selection of tomes. Star Swirl read the titles embossed in golden ink on their spines: Economic History of the Saddle Arabian Federation, Vol. I; The Golden Heart: Saddle-Arabian Art and Architecture; Rise of the House of Golden Sands.

“My own work,” Silver Tongue said proudly. “All excellent introductions for newcomers to the country.”

Star Swirl brought up Rise of House of Golden Sands and flipped it open. On the title page he saw a family portrait of the royal family: the Khalif, his wife, and their son, all looking mirthlessly and impassively out at the observer. “Looks... fascinating,” he said, and put it away.

At the bottom of the bag Star Swirl saw a fourth volume, slimmer and less richly bound than the others. “What's that one?”

“That?” Silver Tongue flipped it over as an afterthought. “Something my old assistant worked on, before he returned to Everhold. It's nothing much. Just a collection of old pony tales.”

Star Swirl picked it up and flipped to the title page. “Whispers in the Wind: The Magic and Myths of Saddle Arabia.”

“Hardly rigorous scholarship,” Silver Tongue said. “But an amusing diversion.”

In the end, sleep came, and Star Swirl dreamed of darkness beneath the dunes, and of something silently watching him from the distance. He turned this way and that, trying to catch sight of it, but wherever he looked was empty and still. The night sky was empty of stars and moon, and the sand shifted beneath his hooves, as though he were standing on a living thing, like a flea in a pony's coat. He was awoken by the caravan master's horn, and ate his traveler's biscuit in silence before they set out again.

As before the lights and the whispers on the wind returned. They bore into Star Swirl's head, and his skull pounded like hammers were beating on him. He distracted himself by looking at the fellow caravan members.

Something was different today, Star Swirl noticed. There was a wary quality in the manner of the camels and horses of the caravan. The caravan had not previously been a train of laughter and friendly company, at least not while they walked, but now it more resembled a company of warriors than a merchant company.

Star Swirl caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. On the crest of a nearby dune something watched the caravan. There was a flash of fangs beneath a hood that blended perfectly with the sands, and then it was gone.

Rehalet Tawyla, Star Swirl noticed, had a spiked collar fastened around his neck, which ran down the center of his back and along his hump. At his side hung a saber with a handle made for mouth-grip. The other camels also had weapons he had not spotted before.

Star Swirl turned to Silver Tongue, who shook his head sadly. “These trade routes are supposed to be watched over by the Khalif's soldiers,” he whispered. “They are supposed to be safe! But don't worry. The guides know what to do.”

They continued walking in this fashion for a while, and sometimes Star Swirl thought he heard something shifting along the dunes, but when he turned to see he found nothing.

The master blew his horn, and from far ahead they heard another horn blow in response. The horns rang back in forth, an exchange Star Swirl could not understand, but soon, through the haze of the blistering heat, they saw another caravan approaching. Once they met, both horns rang out the signal to rest.

Quickly the camel guides began to raise a different tent, broad and open for the whole crowd to sit together communally. Soon it was up, and every member of the caravan took shelter and rest from the killing heat of day. In the center of the tent the leaders of both caravans came together to exchange greetings and news from their travels, while the rest either rested or mingled with their counterparts.

Star Swirl watched the leaders from a distance, a heated discussion where both bull camels said things which seemed to shock the other, of which Star Swirl could not understand a word. After an hour they seemed to be done, and both returned to their own companions.

“Are there problems, caravan master?” Silver Tongue asked the Bedouin. “I hope nothing that causes more delays for the caravan.”

“My cousin and I were sharing news,” Rehalet Tawyla said. “Things are troubled deeper inland, and he warned us of many omens.”

“My cousin tells me that in his hometown, a goat gave birth to a five-legged kid,” the Bedouin said. “They say that at night, the river runs red, and in their dreams the desert sands consume them. The oneiromancers warn that great calamity approaches. There are other signs. But that is not the worst of it. There is dire news from the capital city. Not more than a week ago the Khalif's firstborn son fell to the sarāb.”

“We do not speak of it,” the caravan master said, and as he spoke he drew a crescent sigil in the sand with his hoof. “Not in this place, lest it come when called. This is an ill omen beyond my reckoning. Heed not the desert whispers, petit chevals.”

Ill omens, Star Swirl thought to himself. This must be what Luna suspected. Could this be what happens when the magic wellspring of the nation becomes poisoned? Could this happen to Everhold?

They returned to their tents, Silver Tongue anxious and deep in thought. “So what is 'sarab'?” Star Swirl asked.

“It's... a superstition of these desert dwellers,” Silver Tongue said. “Forget that. That is not important. What's important is that the prince of Saddle Arabia has disappeared.”

“From the very heart of the royal city! This could be utterly disastrous. I need to find out what happened immediately, but we will not be there for several days. What might this mean for our diplomatic relations...”

Silver Tongue would not speak much after that, but spent his time deep in thought and locked in anxiety until once again the time came to move on.

The caravan was silent and grim for the rest of that day, so much so that even Star Swirl could not help but notice it. He would ask for water, and a camel would pass it to him without either the encouragement or snide remarks he had grown accustomed to. The sun seemed hotter and stronger than ever as they scaled dunes that seemed to grow taller and taller the deeper they penetrated into the desert. Star Swirl saw no jackals, but could not shake the feeling that he was being watched, and overhead the sky burned trails and pathways that no-one but Star Swirl seemed to notice, or was willing to acknowledge.

Star Swirl tried to hail the caravan master, but the camel cut him off. “Tomorrow we will reach a grand oasis and caravanserai. We may speak freely there, where the desert cannot listen.” The Bedouin would say no more, but moved up to check that the rest of the caravan was in order.

In the end the sun once again relented and sank, and Star Swirl was still alive. The tents were raised without joy, and there was no gathering or telling of stories that night.

That was fine by Star Swirl. He waited by the flap of his tent, Silver Tongue lost in restless sleep behind him, and watched for the lights.

Like the night before, the stars came as a vision unlike any sky Star Swirl had seen in the lands of ponies. The night sky had always been his friend, but here he saw an alien sky unlike any Princess Luna had ever shown him, at once troubling him and yet promising him secrets and discoveries if he would only listen.

He was in a land he did not know, where the very ground beneath his hooves defied him, at the mercy of traveling companions he did not know who led him along a path of fire and death. But as he looked up at different stars and the moon that seemed somehow farther away, he heard the voice of the desert calling to him.

The voice promised him answers to questions he had not known to ask. It promised revelation and fulfillment. He was reminded of ancient poems of love he had read at Cambridle, in which a poet praised the object of their affection as a force of nature. The students there had always felt those old poems were more ridiculous than anything else, but now he thought he could understand where they came from.

Star Swirl stood in the opening of his tent and studied them intently. His lips moved as he repeated the sounds to himself, tasting the magic on his tongue, a burnt flavor like coffee turned to scent and sound and memory through his horn. The heat had dulled, he felt, and his mind was clearer now than when they had been walking, and he could almost understand it. If he could just see it more clearly, he knew, the desert would offer up all its secrets to him.

He felt a hoof pressing on his shoulder, and turned to see Rehalet Tawyla looking down at him. “What?” he croaked.

“Going?” Star Swirl looked down, and saw his hooves sunk to the fetlocks in the golden sands, deep trails running behind them. They were alone on top of a dune, his tent at the edge of the caravan left hundreds of yards behind them.

Full awareness of his weakness hit him every way at once. What had been a rich and deep taste turned to ashes in his mouth, charred and consumed and lifeless. Cold sweat poured off him beneath his robe, his legs were shaky and aching, his mouth was as open and dry as his surroundings, and his head felt like it was going to explode.

The voice beckoned him onwards from beyond the dunes, and he looked after it to see, but gentle yet firm touches guided him back to his tent, where Silver Tongue paced anxiously back and forth. He cried out at the sight of the unicorn.

“You may thank the bells,” Rehalet Amina said as Silver Tongue gently poured water from his flask into Star Swirl's mouth. “If not for them, you would have been lost. The sands were quickly covering all trace of your path. You must keep a better eye on your kinsman, petit cheval de terre.”

“There were... voices, in the desert,” Star Swirl said. “What was that?”

“You faced sarāb, petit licorn, the vision of the desert,” she said. “It calls out to the unwary, luring them from safety, into the wilds. Did you not warn him?” She looked to Silver Tongue, who shook his head.

“He's not my kinsman,” Star Swirl said. “And I had barely met him before we set out.”

Rehalet Tawyla shook his head. “For the sarāb to strike at night is unknown to my memories, or the memories of my mothers,” the Bedouin said. “It is the day's heat in sight of the sun's madness that robs travelers of their reason. More than the desert's evil is at work, if the sarāb can come upon us in the cool of night. This is an omen most foul, biting at the tail of all the others we have heard of today. Something terrible approaches...” The caravan master turned a suspicious glance on Star Swirl. “You tread dangerously, cheval licorn. See that you do not rouse forces you cannot conquer.”

– – –

The sun was still lurking beneath the horizon when the horn rang the waking call, a throbbing discordant note in the dry, dead air, and the caravan rose without a word. Star Swirl looked up at the last dying degrees of darkness on the western horizon, the sand whipping against his face in a sharp breeze that gave no relief.

It soon became clear to him that the third day would be the hottest yet. From the moment the sun showed above the dunes, the heat was overpowering, and grew stronger and stronger with each passing step. No-one spoke while they marched. The only sound was the whispering of the wind, the soft shuffle of hooves in shifting sands, and the faint tinkling of bells. In the distance, the wind carried the sand into the air and blocked their vision. Minute by minute the cloud drew nearer, until it was as a wall of golden mist hovering straight ahead of them.

Ahead of him Star Swirl heard the caravan master giving out orders he could not understand, and the underlings left at a canter ahead of the caravan, heading towards the cloud of sand. Soon they were gone from his sight.

Rehalet Amina was nearby, and Star Swirl trotted up alongside her. “Those camels your husband sent ahead. Are they scouting?”

“Our destination is not far ahead now,” she replied. “You cannot see it through the wind, but before the hour is out we will be at the great oasis of Nafwura Thahabi. It is a place of safety and binding, well-warded by many signs to keep evil intentions at bay. My husband sent the young guides to let them know we are coming, and prepare food and water. There we can rest and feast in safety, and you may ask all your questions without fear of what is listening.”

Mere moments later she fell silent, her eyes wide in alarm. A horn rang from up ahead, a note of warning rather than rest, and the line halted, every horse, camel and pony looking anxiously and silently around them.

Suddenly, one of the camel guides came galloping back through the biting sandstorm, crying out in Saddle Arabian.

Beside them, Rehalet Amina gasped and whispered something to herself, sounding like a prayer. “What is it?” Star Swirl turned to Silver Tongue, whose face was now pale and his eyes wide with horror. “What's he saying?”

“The caravanserai and the oasis up ahead,” Silver Tongue began. “He says... he says it has been destroyed. He says all those within are dead, their bodies dumped in the water. He says...” He gulped. “He says his companion stayed there to search for survivors but—”

He was interrupted by another cry as the other guide came running. This time the cry was a single word, repeated over and over, which struck fear into everyone around them. Though he did not speak a word of Saddle Arabian, Star Swirl managed to make it out:

Rehalet Tawyla rang his horn three times, an urgent blast of regimental discipline. “Remain calm!” he commanded. “Guides and guards to the front of the caravan, ready your weapons! Travelers, turn in place, jettison all cargo but your food and water, and march out! Amina, stay with the travelers!”

In spite of his orders, Star Swirl already saw the cohesion of the line disintegrate, as half the travelers abandoned their place to run madly away from whatever waited ahead.

He made a decision. Moving against the tide of bodies, Star Swirl galloped towards the oasis.

“You know not what you face!” the caravan master shouted as Star Swirl ran past. “He will kill you!”

The sand whipped and bit his face as he ran, but he ignored it. Ahead of him through the biting golden cloud he saw the ravaged caravanserai.

It was a scene of utter destruction and death such as Star Swirl had never seen, and his mind fell silent as he struggled to take it in.

Dead horses and camels lay fallen on the ground, their bodies half-covered in sand stained with their dried blood. There was a wide building of red brick, its wooden interior set ablaze, smoke churning within. There were great tents buried in the sand outside, only their supporting poles still visible, canvas hanging ragged and torn from their tips.

Great palm trees had been ripped up from the sand and tossed aside. The water of the oasis, a great pool once surrounded by greenery that Star Swirl could now only barely see under the thick whipping cloud, was red and grimy, choked with sand and yes, dead horses and camels floating on the surface.

Standing in the middle of the devastation was a single figure, a stallion steed of Saddle Arabia, tall and slim like the Princess, black robes flapping in the beating wind. His fetlocks were hung with golden rings. He turned, and faced Star Swirl in silence.

Star Swirl gasped. The stallion's eyes were a solid red, and stared back at the unicorn as though he stared across the border between life and death. There was no emotion, no thought, no trace of will or agency in his face.

Star Swirl knew that face. He saw the line of his muzzle, the thin line of his dark beard, the gold rings in his ears and around his ankles. Though he was unsure if the creature in front of him could still be called a horse, Star Swirl realized he had seen him before. He was in a portrait in one of Silver Tongue's books: the prince of Saddle Arabia, the firstborn son of the King of Golden Sands.

The prince opened his mouth and Star Swirl heard a voice, though the voice could not have come naturally from that slight frame. The voice was a tremor in the bedrock, a rolling thunder and the hissing of the sands.

The voice of the desert spoke through him, and the desert obeyed his call. The winds turned against Star Swirl, raised the dunes in the air and brought them down upon him.

Star Swirl ran to the side and raised his magic in a barrier as the sand smashed against him. The spot he had just been standing exploded as the desert tried to crush him. A million grains beat against his shield like tiny golems, but they could not penetrate it.

Star Swirl reached out with his magic to grip the horse and bring it to its knees, but when he made contact he recoiled. He felt the power coursing through the creature. It was made of burning magic, blackened, charred, choking and bitter and hateful, bereft of life.

The taste of it stung Star Swirl like poison on his tongue, and he lost contact. When Star Swirl opened his eyes again he was surrounded by the storm, blinded by the sands, and the creature was hidden. He reached out again with his magic to find him, and the scent of him was everywhere around him.

It was the vengeance of the desert given form, and let loose to reclaim what the horses and the camels had sought to tame.

The dunes rose, and crashed down upon Star Swirl, and buried him beneath the burning sands. The air burned his lungs, and all was darkness.

His sense of direction failed him, and he did not know which way was up or down. The heat and the pressure and the weight was unbearable, threatening to crush him, make him burst.

He pushed a sliver of magic outward in random directions until he found the surface, a trickle of slightly-less searing air and a hint of light peeking in.

His thoughts grew heavy and dull, his horn aching with exertion as he pushed everything into holding his bubble of air open. With the last of his strength he wove a binding to hold the reed-thin passage to the surface open.

The Crown of Night

by Daedalus Aegle

Chapter 8: Impossible Things, Act One.