The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

54. Those Left Behind

Snow fell softly over the quiet city. Windows glowed in the darkness, lighting the white-dusted ground. The lone figure of a mare moved through the streets, a cloak tightly drawn around her neck and a bulky bundle slung over her back. A lantern dangled from a metal ring held in her mouth, lighting the way.

The city’s silence was not a comforting one. The air was stale with fear, the deceptive hominess laced with an undercurrent of dread that had been building for months. The stillness was broken by the barking of a dog, and the mare paused. The sound faded, and she continued on.

At last, she found her destination. The stone building’s chimney was breathing out smoke, though it had closed hours ago. The mare lifted a hoof and knocked twice on the door.

A minute passed, with no response. She hefted her bag and breathed out a puff of air, visible in the wintry night. She knocked again, vigorously, and this time heard muttering from the inside.

“Can’t read the sign… nearly midnight…” The door creaked open, and the narrowed eye of a beige unicorn looked out. His eyes popped open as he saw the mare. “Inkpot! I wasn’t expect—come in, come in!” He opened the door wider and hustled her inside.

“Thanks, Apricot,” said Inkpot, her cheeks flushed deep red with the cold. Her coat was a slightly darker shade of rose than her sister’s, but the resemblance ended there. Her face was more severe than Cranberry’s, and her mane was a soft pink instead of gold. She set down her bag by the door, stamping her hooves to shake off the snow. “Sorry to bother you so late. Merriweather Street was blocked by snow, I had to take a detour through the market district.”

Apricot politely took her cloak and hung it beside the door. “I’m still amazed the local weather teams managed to whip up this much snow.”

“They wanted a white Hearth’s Warming, I think. Doing their part to cheer everypony up.” Inkpot faltered. “We certainly needed it.” She remembered that lonely night in the library and bit her lip. But one look at Apricot and she chided herself for mentioning it—the holiday must have been even worse for him.

“Yes, probably…” Apricot nodded absently, shutting the door between them and the chilly night. “So, Inkpot, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My new book shipment finally came in.” Inkpot smiled. “I was starting to worry they’d never arrive, with the war and all. But they’re all there, even that book on foreign spices you were looking for last August.” She gestured to her bundle. “I thought I’d drop it off on my way back home.”

Apricot’s eyes were lit with poorly-concealed hunger. “You were at the post office? Did… did you hear anything about…?”

Inkpot shook her head. “I’m sorry. Nothing from the south.” The drought of news had been driving all of them mad. The last thing they’d heard was that Trellow had been lost, and that the remnants of Whitetail’s army were retreating back to Whitewall City. That had been months ago. Since then, nothing. Rumors were circulating that the griffons were intercepting messengers. At least, that was the most comforting explanation for the lack of communication.

The hope in Apricot’s face was replaced by fatigue. “I… well, I’m not surprised, of course. I’d just hoped…” He looked at the floor, then back up to her face with a forced smile. “I’m afraid dinner was a few hours ago, but since you’re here you may as well stay for dessert.”

A dining invitation from Apricot Strudel was not something to be refused. “I’d love to,” said Inkpot with a smile, following him into the kitchen. The smell of baking chocolate teased her nostrils. Leaving Apricot to check the ovens, she passed through the kitchen and into the dining room. She still knew the layout of the bakery by heart. After all, she’d lived here for much of her youth.

Taking a seat at the table, she noted with surprise that it was already set for two. Scented candles burned in their holders. With a start, she recognized the hippocampi-design border of Apricot’s most-prized porcelain plates.

“Apricot!” she said, as he entered the room with a large, covered plate. “You didn’t tell me you were having a guest. I’m sorry, I should come back later.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Apricot, setting down the large plate. “I wasn’t expecting anypony else tonight.” He lifted the cover to reveal an absolutely decadent chocolate cake, covered in a layer of frosting with little white shavings sprinkled on evenly. A circle of strawberries sat on top in little nests of white icing.

Apricot picked up the cake knife and sliced into the chocolate artwork. He set the thin wedge down sideways on a smaller plate, revealing three entire layers separated by more chocolate. Tiny red fruits were baked into the body of the cake. It was still moist.

Inkpot swallowed saliva, and restrained herself from yanking the plate out of his grasp. As he set it down before her, she bit off a corner and chewed. Somehow it managed to taste even better than it looked.

Across the table, Apricot had taken his own slice, and was cutting it into bite-sized pieces. “So, how have things been at the library?”

“Not very busy, lately,” said Inkpot unhappily. “Everypony wants to lose themselves in a good fantasy or romance for a while, but we—” she blinked, “I mostly just have reference materials.” Of course, those had always been enough for Cranberry...

“Those can be interesting enough. You said you got that book of spices?” Apricot feigned interest well, but Inkpot suspected he was changing the subject on purpose.

“Yes. Citara finally made it to Canterlot. I was worried she and the shipment wouldn’t get into the city; the increased guard patrols have started turning travelers away. But they recognized her, apparently.”

Apricot smiled as he chewed another bite of cake. “Well, how many other zebra book merchants pass this way on a yearly basis?”

“True,” said Inkpot, the corner of her mouth turning up. It fell as she remembered her and her sister’s last meeting with the zebra. Cranberry had been unable to sleep all the night before, so excited was she to get her hooves on the zebra’s rare foreign manuscripts. “I didn’t get the chance to say hello. She dropped the books off at the post office and left me a note. She said she wanted to leave the country before it got any more dangerous.”

Apricot pushed his plate idly with a hoof, looking pensive. “I can’t say I blame her.”

“I almost want to go with her. This is getting unbearable.” Inkpot frowned. “You can’t walk down the street without tripping over a guard or two. And a curfew, honestly.”

“The militia came by again today. Looking for more volunteers.” At the mention of the city’s local militia, Inkpot fidgeted. Apricot didn’t notice. “I’ve seen them practicing near the gate. Most of them can’t be more than seven or eight years old.”

“All the real soldiers left to fight against Blueblood or the griffons.” Inkpot stabbed her cake with a fork. “The only ones left are the fresh recruits and the volunteers.” She took a bite and sighed. “I wish the Firewings were here.”

“So do I,” said Apricot quietly. Inkpot cringed internally. How could she forget? The two busied themselves with the dessert, the silence filling up with all of the things they could not say.

Finally, she mustered up the courage to speak. “How’s business been for you lately?”

Apricot seized the conversation gratefully. “I sold a lot of gingerbread cookies and cakes over the holidays, but not as many as last year. Food’s getting scarce; nopony wants to spend their money on fancy pastries.”

“I’m sure it’ll pick up once the southern harvest starts showing up,” Inkpot reassured him.

“Are you sure it’s even coming? I’m starting to fear the griffons took it all. But with the blasted news blackout—” Apricot bit his lip. “The price gouging hasn’t gotten too bad, yet, but I had to pay almost double for flour this week.” He tilted his head and pointed at the white sprinkles on the cake. “That coconut cost me an ear and a leg. But it was worth it.”

Inkpot took a more respectful bite out of her remaining slice. “Why?”

“Coconut’s her favorite.” Apricot stared at the cake, his eyes looking at something far away.

Suddenly, it clicked. The table for two, the candles, the astounding cake—Inkpot remembered, far too late, that Apricot and Windstreak had gotten married sometime in January. She’d just barged into his lonely anniversary dinner.

“Apricot…” Inkpot dropped her fork. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

He rested his forehead on his hooves. “We’ve been married for nine years today. In all that time, she’s never missed tonight’s dinner.” His shoulders shook once. “And now…” his voice broke. “I’m starting to realize I’ll never see her again.”

Inkpot reached out a hoof and touched his shoulder. “Apricot. You will see her again. She’s alive. They all are; Cranberry and Rye, too, wherever they went. I know it.”

“I hope you’re right, Inkpot… but I don’t think you are.” Apricot wiped a hoof across his eyes, sitting back and taking a deep breath. “But I don’t even want to see Rye again. Better that he and Cranberry have gone somewhere else, somewhere safe. If they come back to Canterlot…”

Biting her lip, Inkpot looked down at the table. “Do you think the city will be attacked?”

“It’s inevitable. Why else would the griffons cut off our messengers? It’s not as if the provinces would listen to the Princess’s orders.”

She finished off the last of her cake. The invasion had seemed distant throughout the fall, but ever since the dawn of winter the threat had been growing in her mind. Apricot was right; an attack on Canterlot was inevitable. She swallowed, thinking of the decision she’d made earlier that morning.

“Curfew’s in twenty minutes. You’d better get going if you want to get home in time.” Apricot looked up at her with bleary eyes. “If you’d rather stay the night, I can go fix up Rye’s room.”

“No, I need to get the new books back to the library.” Inkpot glanced over at the cake, feeling weighed down with worry. “Thank you for dessert.”

Apricot gave her a hopeful look. “You’re welcome to stop by for dinner tomorrow. It’s… nice to have somepony to talk to.”

“Sorry, I can’t.” Inkpot shook her head in apology. “I’m going to be busy during the afternoons from now on.”

“Re-shelving again?” Apricot’s eyebrow rose quizzically.

“No…” Inkpot inhaled. “The militia recruiter came by the library too, this morning. And… I volunteered.”

Apricot’s smile vanished instantly. “What?”

“I can’t just sit around doing nothing. I’ve been doing that for three months, it’s driving me crazy.” Inkpot stood, feeling like she was arguing with her father.

“You can’t! If the griffons attack—when they attack, the casualties are going to be tremendous. You could get hurt, or killed, or—” He looked frantic.

“Apricot.” Inkpot stared firmly into his eyes. “If the griffons lay siege to Canterlot, I won’t be any safer inside the walls than on them. I’d rather go down fighting than cowering in the library.”

“But I can’t—I can’t…” Apricot’s voice sounded very small. “I can’t lose you. You’re the only child I have left.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. Her head bent. “Apricot… I have to do this. If Windstreak was willing to give everything to protect her home, how can I do less?”

She felt a hoof on her shoulder, and looked up to see Apricot standing before her. “You can’t.” He sighed in defeat. “Just… please, Inkpot, promise me. Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I will.” She hugged him. “You too, okay?”

Apricot nodded with a twist of a smile. “I’ll do my best.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s late. You’d better hurry.”

* * *

They parted hastily. If Inkpot was caught outside after midnight, she’d be forced to pay a hefty fine. Soon she had her cloak clasped around her neck and her bulging package of books slung over her back. She stepped outside into the snowy night and looked back at the open doorway.

Apricot nodded. “Good night, Inkpot.”

“You too. And Apricot—happy anniversary.”

A faint smile graced his lips. “Thank you.” He slid the door shut, jingling the bell, and she heard the click of the lock.

Pulling her hood up, she set off for home. She made it back to the library without incident. The library was one of the older buildings in the city. It was, in the old unicorn-style, built into the land around it. Other examples of that kind of architecture were carved into mountains, or trees, but her library was in the side of a large hill that rose up in the middle of the commoner district. She arrived at the large oaken door and swung it open.

Once inside, she hung up her clothes and took the satchel of books through the foyer into the library proper. She lit the lanterns on the walls, and set the books down on her writing desk in the corner of the library to begin determining where to shelve her new acquisitions.

“The Colonization of the Golden Isles… hmm, zebra history, that’ll be in 963.” She dipped her quill in the inkwell, and carefully scratched the number and added on the correct decimal. She knew every book in her library, and her system allowed her to find any of them with ease. She continued through the pile of books, marking the identifiers on their spines.

Her task completed, she began placing them in their new homes. Books on everything from skiing to gardening were neatly arranged and inserted into the gaps on her shelves. She reached the last, in section 948, and paused. Brushing a hoof over the cover, she smiled. “The Walls of Saddlestead: A History of the Raven.”

She slid the book back into her satchel, and started upstairs to the bedrooms. When she reached the top, she turned right instead of left, and stepped into her sister’s little room for the first time in a month. She looked around at the innumerable maps that covered the walls, bringing the world to her sister’s hooftips.

She sat on the bed and pulled out the book. She laid it down on Cranberry’s cold pillow. “It finally came in, sis. You’ve been waiting all year…” With a hoof, she touched the book’s cover. Her vision blurred. “Please, Princess. Princesses. Watch over her, wherever she is. Keep her safe. Bring her home.”

Comments

[Steel Resolve]

That was heart wrenching

[PonyholicsAnonymous]

i659.photobucket.com/albums/uu311/KawaiiCoconut/Gifs/8d9.gif

[Jake The Army Guy]

Yay, update!

And now...

[Pulsar Glow]

FEELS

[cowboybird]

manly tears were not shed...almost, but not quite. great chapter bud.

[Cedric Bale]

This chapter was absolutely necessary, and it feels good to get a glimpse of what's going on back home. Especially since it's likely to be under attack soon.

[Borg]

I'm not sure that a white Hearth's Warming would have the same cultural meaning as a white Christmas, seeing as it is a celebration of moving to a more temperate land and killing winter spirits. Then again, Christmas is a celebration that the days stopped getting shorter (originally) and you'd think that would correlate better with sunny days, so who knows.

A militia made of seven- and eight-year-olds? The way that sentence was going, I was expecting something more like five. Seven seems like a perfectly reasonable age to be in a militia, as much as any age can be (isn't Inger eight?). And five seems more like the age a lot of militia members would be. That or 18. The militia ought to be mostly the ones the army won't take.

And you know how the other comments are about feels and such? Yeah, that.

[Thread Necromancer]

Some feels. War sucks.

[PaulAsaran]

I've been wondering for a very long time what things were like in Canterlot. How appropriate that this is where I leave off for the day.

I don't blame Apricot for beginning to lose hope. I just hope Inkpot doesn't regret her decision to volunteer, because there's no question the opening of the battle will be a slaughter.

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

She sat on the bed and pulled out the book. She laid it down on Cranberry’s cold pillow. “It finally came in, sis. You’ve been waiting all year…” With a hoof, she touched the book’s cover. Her vision blurred. “Please, Princess. Princesses. Watch over her, wherever she is. Keep her safe. Bring her home.”

Don't worry Apricot...she'll come back. Just wait a little longer.