//------------------------------// // Children of the Dead Drifts // Story: Utaan // by Imploding Colon //------------------------------// It was chilly, so he shivered. His little body curled up and his teeth chattered. Squinting an eye open, he gazed straight out. Beyond a flowing curtain, he saw a bright blue ocean... glittering beneath a sapphire sky. A whimper escaped his lips, and he hugged himself tight. Not long after, a pair of loving forelimbs bundled a woolly blanket around his figure and then held him close in a fuzzy embrace. “Mmmm...” He squeaked, burying his muzzle into a warm chest. “What's the matter, my little Swift Song?” her voice cooed, warm, smooth as velvet. “I... I-I had a bad dream,” he stammered breathily. “That you and Daddy were g-gone...” “Why...” She nuzzled him close, kissing his left ear, then his right. “...where would we have even gone, silly pony?” “Then... th-then why do I feel so cold, Momma?” Silence. Her breath cut short. He gulped. “Momma...?” The air rang with deep metallic thuds, draining the bright blueness from the sky. “Mom—?” “Dead drift!” Swab's yellow eyes opened, brimming with tears. He glanced left, then right. At last, his body winced from yet another dull thud of metallic impacts through the lower hold of Red Barge. “Dead driffffft!” Saxon's voice rang from the distance. One by one, the orphans stirred, rolling out of their filthy bunks and mattresses. “Wake up, ya lazy seafoam bums!” Digiff suddenly marched into the domain, teeth showing beneath his snarling muzzle. He galloped from bed to bed, shaking and kicking tired foals out of their cots. “You all want nibbles? Then you'd better be prepared to grab us some goods! Up and at 'em! Don't make me tell you a second time or I'll skin your hides and shove you down into the Harvest chambers!” Swab sat up, wincing. He rubbed his aching neck, then squinted sideways at the rest of the orphans. He saw Croche stumbling out of bed, her sunken eyes extra dark with the trailing shadows of sleep. In the distance, Quint slapped Whony awake then frowned at the nearby colts. “Alright! You heard the dredger! Rise and shine, muckheaps! We've got nibbles to earn!” “I said move it!” Digiff suddenly snarled in Swab's good ear, yanking him viciously off his mattress. “Guh!” Swab winced, legs flailing as he struggled to meet the ground with his flung momentum. “I-I was up! Honest—” “No excuses! Grab whatever tools you can and go!” Digiff pointed up towards the top level. Swab shuddered. Foals left and right were yanking various toolbelts and satchels off a rack along the wall. He grabbed his, slung it over his body, and marched out into the bitter cold night. As he reached the surface, his ear rang with the noise of chugging engines. Water splashed and churned against the edges of the struts as the entire Barge glided its way south. At last—following the shouts of dredger guards from tower to tower—the entire assortment of welded ships cut off the engines. Red Barge drifted south, slowly coming to a lazy glide. As Swab felt himself surrounded by barely waking foals, he heard Saxon's voice shout overhead: “Incoming line! East southeast! Headed for the eastern struts!” “Turn your filthy heads around and march east!” Digiff barked, suddenly there, leering over the foals. “No dragging tail! Move! Move!” Swab and several other orphans lurched across the welded ships, making their way to the eastmost struts. There, the platforms had drifted far enough apart to afford a miniature channel that ran straight through the bulk of Red Barge. One by one, the guard towers switched their floodlamps on, shining spotlights on the open water with loud, buzzing electricity. Swab had to squint at first, but soon enough he saw the dead drift... cruising icily towards them like a train of tiny frozen glaciers. He clenched his jaw tight. Dear Goddess Verlaxion, It is your foal, Swab. And I have sinned again. One hoof at a time, Swab climbed down a length of cargo netting, lowering himself towards the cold lapping waters of the muddied ocean. He wasn't alone. Several other colts and fillies shimmied down. They dangled there, hanging in the penumbra of the dredger guards' sweeping spotlights. The bright beacons caught waves of mist rising up off the frigid waters. Swab trembled, hanging on. He craned his neck around and stared down the channel between struts. His good ear twitched. At last, the first of several tiny boats came. The miniature coffins floated west, carried by a mid-ocean current. The pale muzzles of pale corpses lingered in each raft, their eyes shut and their hooves neatly folded. Rich silks adorned their bodies, and wreathes of pale white flowers filled the gaps between their stiff limbs. Several petals had fallen loose, and they drifted along with the current, littering the cold waters between the bobbing coffins. “Mmmmm...” A filly sniffed the air from across the channel where she dangled from a length of netting. “You can smell the oils...” “Stay focused,” Quint grunted, descending in a rope-suspended pontoon from the edge of the strut. Once it landed in the waters, two other colts jumped in, and he rowed the vessel out into the middle of the dead drift. “Whatever you collect, toss it here. You want your nibbles? Be quick, and leave nothing unturned. The dredger is watching.” Swab glanced up. He saw the outline of Digiff marching along the edge of the eastern struts. With a shudder, he glanced back down, waited for a coffin to drift by, and jumped. He landed on a dead mare's chest, wobbled slightly, then found his balance. All around him, more and more orphans jumped, landing on the bobbing procession of the dead drift. Without wasting any time, Swab rummaged through the clothes, pouches, and belongings of the dearly departed Rohbreddenites. He stored away what he could in a second satchel, reaching in deep to check the moist recesses of the necrotic float. Several of your children were sent off to sea, so that their bodies might find their way to the Spring Havens... and perhaps their souls too. They shouldn't have been disturbed... but this did not stop us. On occasion, Top Dredger Skagra sends us into the drink to grab valuables off of the dead drift. A tiny little trinket here or there won't rake in many bits, but an entire bevy of items grabbed from an entire procession overnight? It's enough to make him a very rich pony... or at least that's what I'm told. I don't know, but being ignorant is not my worst sin. No, what I'm guilty of is doing this to your beloved children without question. If I don't find any trinkets, I don't get my nibbles for a day. Maybe two days. If I was a good pony, I wouldn't even bother. I'd just leave the dead alone. But that's not an easy thing to do when it's so cold and you're hungry and you know that there's no other way to earn nibbles anytime soon. It doesn't make it right. Because of me, your children are now lost. Without the gifts and heirlooms of their loved ones... how are they ever going to make it across the seven seas? How will they even arrive at the gates to the Spring Havens? “Mrmmmf! Pearls! I-I found a pearl necklace!” a filly's voice echoed across the lapping waters. “Bring it here!” Quint hollered. All around him, fillies and colts hopped from coffin to coffin, stripping the bodies of valuables. The cold night air was ripe with mildew and rigor mortis, and the sweeping spotlights caught the glint of teeth and pale flesh. “Don't forget to check each muzzle!” the oldest colt exclaimed. “The eyes aren't the only places where you'll find coins!” Swab grunted, sweated, fishing his tiny limbs through a stallion's velvet overcoat. He found a pocketwatch, inside which was the faded photograph of four smiling pegasi. Clenching his jaw, he yanked the thing out—chain and all—and dropped it inside his spare satchel. He heard the rattling of jewelry beneath the corpse's body, so he reached his hooves past the mane, shrugging off lice and other squirming things as he grabbed coin after coin. “Hah!” Two boats over, Whony smiled like a jester. “Boy did this mucker have rotten luck! Grnnngh!” With a sickening pop, he yanked a unicorn's prosthetic limb off, then waved it around like a puppet piece. “Hey! Who's deader than nails and hates dredge coal explosions? Me! Meeee! Snkkkkt—hahaha!” “This boat's clear!” another colt stammered from the middle of the drift. “What next?” “If it's clear, then show that it's clear!” Quint caught Digiff's gaze from the strut level, then motioned with a hoof. “Over and under!” The colt gulped. Grunting, he used all his strength to pull the body out... then rolled it over the coffin's edge. The corpse fell into the drink with an icy splash—where it eventually sank to the ocean floor like an anvil. “Don't stop for nothing! Move on to the next boat!” Quint heard a series of high-pitched grunts and struggling breaths. He looked over, frowning. “Croche! Dammit, girl, get a move on or you're bloat!” “...?” Swab instantly looked up. Across the way, Croche struggled with a mare's neck. Her tiny hooves wrestled with the tight, ice-blue flesh. “Nnngh... I can't... c-can't get the muzzle to open!” “Your bag's practically empty, girl!” Whony barked from aside. “If you don't get any trinkets, you don't get any nibbles!” “Quiet!” Quint hissed as Digiff strolled by overhead. “Croche, stop mucking about!” “I... I-I'm sorry...” Croche sniffled, her sunken eyes narrowing as spotlights streaked over the cold waters. “I... I-I just can't get this to... to...” “... … ...” Swab took a deep breath. He yanked at the body in his boat and shoved it overboard. “Nrnngh!” Sploosh! Sputtering, he paddled the coffin across the way. “All clear!” “Good job, sea foam,” Quint muttered. “Move on to the next—” “Httt!” Instead, Swab hopped over to Croche's boat. The filly gasped as the coffin nearly capsized. Swab expertly balanced it with his equally placed limbs. “Here...” He wrangled his way in, gently brushing Croche aside. He reached into his satchel, then produced a rusted pick. Patting Croche's light pink shoulder, he gestured at the dead mare's neck. “Stiffness has set in. You gotta aim at the ligaments in the upper jaw. Like... so.” He stabbed the pick in deep then twisted until there was a sickening pop. “Same on both sides.” He repeated the motions. Then, pulling out the juice-stained shiv, he stuck it in a third time—this time into the very base of the chin. “Now... pry it open... nnngh...” Slowly, like a rusted vice, the mare's mouth opened, exposing her teeth. Three or four molars had bright gold fillings. Swab exhaled, smiling through sweat and goosebumps. “H-hey... see?” He turned aside. “It was worth the—” He blinked. Croche had her face covered with two shivering hooves. She sniffled, gagging slightly as she fought to keep the bile down in the back of her throat. Swab's lips pursed. His good ear twitched, and he tilted his head up to see Digiff marching along the strut, watching everypony and everything. “Hey...” With a firm breath, he reached over and shook Croche's shoulder. “Hey. Look at me.” Slowly, trembling, Croche did so. Her moist eyes twitched. He gazed at her intently. “This is what you have to do.” He gestured for her to watch. Reaching into his bag, he fumbled, then finally yanked out several clumps of cotton. He stuffed them deep down into the dead mare's throat, blocking her swollen throat passage. Then, producing a tiny mallet from the bag, he aimed the stained pick straight up against a tooth, forming a forty-five degree angle. Holding his breath, he raised the mallet, then uncoiled his muscles. Thwack! He swung again. Thwack! And again. At last, with a crack, the tooth with the gold filling popped loose. It fell onto the cotton blockage below. Swab reached in and swept it up in an instant, plopping it down into Croche's trembling hooves. Wasting no time, he did the same with the remaining teeth, loosening the valuable gold and depositing them into Croche's posession. “The Drift's thinning!” Whony's voice echoed from a few waves away. Splash! “Good things can't last forever, huh?! Haha!” “Just shut up and bring in your salvage, Whony.” “Yes, Mommmmm.” “There you go...” Swab squeezed Croche's shoulder. “Should be good enough.” “But... b-but...” Gulping, she held the gold fillings out towards him. “Your nibbles—” “Shhhh...” Swab's yellow eyes swung past Quint's raft. “Remember to toss the body when you're done.” “... … ...” “If you can't, I'll be back this way again later.” Then, with a grunt, he hopped onto the next nearest boat. He nearly fell completely into the drink this time. Gasping, Swab flailed his limbs, catching his balance at the last second. Wincing, he looked into the coffin, thinking that perhaps it was empty. It was not. However, he soon discovered why the boat was so lightweight. A tiny, frail sliver of flesh was all that lingered in the coffin. Wrapped up in silk robes was an infant colt, its mane barely formed. The effects of rigor mortis had carried it differently over the waves, and the little thing's eyelids had partially lifted, exposing two green eyes covered in a gray glaze. The foal's limbs were folded across its chest, tightly clutching a crystalline effigy of a pair of windigos galloping away from a plume of frost—a totem of Verlaxion. Swab perched above the body, gazing with thin eyes. He shuddered through a dull breath, then eyed the gold embroidery of the silk fabric covering the foal. There was no point in wasting time. Reaching in, Swab pulled the valuable totem out, and prepared to unwrap the little corpse so as to salvage the precious silk. Please know that I do not take pride in what I do, and I certainly am not happy about teaching others to do such wicked things. But, at the same time, I don't want them to suffer, my Goddess. There are so many ponies here—sea foam orphans who are worst off than me. I often wonder about them, night after night. How will they earn their nibbles? Will they even live long enough to fill the hole in their hearts that was left when their parents died? I hate stripping your children of their valuables. I hate tossing them into the drink... losing their bodies... losing their souls. But if I don't do this, then it means others will suffer around me. We will all suffer. If your children who drift our way are already dead, then that means you've already prepared for them a place in the Spring Havens, right? Then is it so bad that I try to make sure that we survive long enough so that we might redeem ourselves of our sins and get there as well? We all wish to reunite with you, Verlaxion. I just hope... I really hope that when we do... and when I finally meet my parents in your presence... That you will be willing to even look at us... Swab trembled. He was the last in line to shuffle past Quint and his boat—raised along the outer edge of the eastern struts. One by one, under the glow of a rising sun, the tired and exhausted orphans shuffled past Quint's boat, emptying their satchels full of trinkets and valuables into an increasingly full wooden bin. “Good job, Whony,” Quint muttered, scratching across a sheet of paper that Digiff had given him. “Go turn in. Brunch will be yours in a few hours.” Whony chuckled slightly, his left eye twitching. He gazed off across the distant horizon, teetering slightly, then made his gradual march towards the lower hold a few struts away. More ponies passed by, turning in their late night's work. Among them was Croche, depositing several gold fillings and a purse full of jewelry. “Mmmff... not bad. Step it up next time, will ya?” Croche merely nodded. As Quint scratched her off, she trotted away. Her sunken eyes swept the Barge until they met Swab. Swab said nothing. He was too busy clutching something tightly beneath the crook of his fetlock. “Sea foam...” Quint grunted out the side of his muzzle when Swab arrived. The one-eared colt dumped his satchel in and moved off— “Wait.” Swab winced, turning about. “Huh?” Nostrils flaring, Quint glared down at him. “Cough it up.” “... … ...” Swab glanced at the bin, then at the frigid waters beneath them. He gulped in the hazy morning light. “Cough... wh-what up, Quint?” “Rnnngh!” Quint slammed his hoof across Swab's face. “Ooomf!” Swab fell to the floor. Instantly, he dropped the crystalline totem of Verlaxion. With a whimper, he clutched it to his chest with trembling limbs. Quint loomed over him. “You friggin' idiot!” Gnashing his teeth, Quint crouched lower, hissing below his breath: “Don't you see what I'm trying to do? I'm looking after all of us!” He pointed at the totem. “If Digiff sees you stowing that below deck, he won't just toss you out into the drink to bloat, he'll hold back nibbles for the rest of us! We'll be starving for days!” “He won't see it!” Swab gulped, shivering all over. “Honest! I know where to hide things—” “Bullshit!” Quint hissed, then reached his forelimb out. “Hoof it over—” “It was a little foal's totem!” Swab managed to frown. “It's his family's spiritual offering! To ferry his body into the Spring Havens!” “Rnnngh... dammit Swab—” Swab spat: “He didn't even reach the age of ascension! How else is he to reach Verlaxion's spirit?!” “Fine!” Quint growled in Swab's face. “So suddenly you're a priest! So concerned over the souls of the dead, huh?! Well, stow it away, then! And when everypony else has beaten you to a pulp over it... and you've starved us all of nibbles for a week... it'll all be okay! Cuz one little bastard went to snow heaven! Is that worth giving everything up for, ya mucking little sea foam?! Then go on! I wanna see you steal that away from Skagra like a true thief!” Swab blinked repeatedly, trembling. “Well?!?” Quint's teeth glinted in dawnlight. Swab blinked one last time. He sniffled... hiccuped on a sob, then slowly held the totem out to Quint. “Hrmmff... figured...” Nostrils flaring, Quint yanked the crystal effigy from him. “Friggin' coward.” He tossed the item into the bin and walked back to the boat with a vacant expression. “You belong here more than I do.” Swab hung his head, staring dull and dead at the metal deck. Quint scratched off the last name, then threw a tarp over the bin. Around this time, another colt shuffled up to him. “I just did a headcount, Quint.” “Yeah, and?” “One hundred and three of us have reported in.” “...?” Quint blinked at the foal. “But there's... one hundred and five of us.” The colt merely shrugged. Quint looked at the sheet Digiff had given him. “...Lance and Sea Swell. Where are they?” “I don't know.” “But I saw them an hour ago. They got plenty of trinkets.” “I saw them too, Quint,” the colt said. “They were both standing in empty boats, last time I noticed.” He gulped. “Staring into the waters. All quiet. Just before the spotlights dimmed.” Silently, Quint stared into the channel between the struts. Empty coffins and flecks of flower petals lingered across the filthy surface. The struts drifted gradually together, closing up like the jaws of an icy beast. “Go under,” Quint muttered. “Get some rest.” “But... but Quint—” “Just go!” Quint snarled, frowning off towards the bright horizon as he rolled up Digiff's sheet. “I gotta get this shit in to Nixkit! So beat it!” With a shudder, the colt obeyed, galloping past a dazed and distant Swab. Dear Verlaxion, please forgive me. I try and I try so hard... But I just don't know how to be strong anymore. I want to be a good pony. I try hard everyday. Please don't take it out on my parents. They're much better ponies than I've ever been. I understand if you're mad... and that you have every right to toss them before the tide... like I have stripped and tossed so many of your children into the depths... But they don't deserve to be lost just because of me. I just... I just wish I knew where they were... And that they were okay... And that somewhere, somehow, something good that I have done is warming them... feeding them... guiding them home to me... Where we can both be warm again. Please, Verlaxion, I know that I don't deserve this, but my parents... They deserve everything. Bless them. Protect them. Your sinful but humble servant, -Swab Limply, Swab shuffled along until he couldn't shuffle anymore. He lurched against a rusted railing along the western edge of Red Barge. He stared deep into the dark waters, lapping cold and filthy against the rusted hull below. At last, he buckled... he shook... and then he lurched forward, collapsing against the railing. He buried his muzzle in his hooves, stifling a whimper, failing. “Goddess... Goddess, please...” Sniffling, he wiped his eyes dry and covered his face again. “Anything... j-just anything... I-I beg you...” He shook... shuddered... then opened his foggy yellow eyes. The waters glistened for a brief moment, crystalline and refreshing. His lips were parched... his body aching. One limb after another, he began to move— “Monster...!” He gasped. Eyes twitching dull and dry, he looked up at the western horizon. One of two steamships came charging in, its hull doused with rainwater. Monket's flag hung in tatters while smog poured into the air. “Monsterrrrr! We caught the monsterrrr!” Red Barge came alive in wild commotion. Saxon spun about in his guard tower, squinting. Dredgers of all shapes and sizes rushed out of the metalwork, gazing west. Nixkit and Digiff shuffled up, eyeing Monket's armada. “The Rainbow Rogue is ours! Make way! Open your port and make way!” Nostrils flaring, Nixkit swung his hoof in the air. “You heard 'em! Spread the struts! Open the port and make a path towards the southern brig!” “Aye!” “Move it! Move it! Move it!” “Spread word to the Skag Hole! Monket's nabbed the monster!” “Mucking fantastic...” Swab exhaled, his ear twitching with abject curiosity. One shuddering hoof after another, he backed away from the railing, and watched the slave ship glide its way into port.