Under a Grey Sky

by Achaian

Chapter Three: Burning, Setting Off

Chapter Four

Burning, Setting Off

“My mom used to talk more but now she doesn’t talk so much.”

“Really.”

The underlying sarcasm and carelessness wasn’t lost on Dinky, who frowned with a child’s undisguised displeasure. Quirk kept his gaze ahead at the rolling hills as she stared at him, figuring out some response to his decided disinterest.

“I’m not stupid. Why don’t you talk?”

Because I’m too busy thinking about my damn sense-forsaken brother and the savior I abandoned and whether I should be thinking about that at all and if Eris has any experience in the arena that produces talkative annoyances like you.

“Because.”

Quirk looked ahead, his audible and plainly aggravated sigh losing itself in the whispering long grass of the endless field. Ahead, Eris plodded on, alone in the lead: Quirk supposed she was more comfortable in that observant, solitary, guiding role. Ditzy trailed behind them, and Quirk had not spared her any glances nor hardly any thought: she was probably in the same mode as him. Her child’s intermittent—though thankfully not incessant—questions had already ground his weak nerves to tenebrous threads.

“It feels like she hasn’t been happy for forever and…”

It was easy to tune her out. Quirk considered for a moment that in a different—a drastically different—situation he might be able to maintain some front of sympathy, but that thought slipped from his mind as quickly as sunlight through a sieve.

The day before they had set out; today they went north. With the vestiges of injuries and a child, they wouldn’t be able to fly much yet. Once Quirk, Eris, and Perilune had found Ditzy, Luna had shortly thereafter reappeared and sent Ditzy and Perilune away. After an unpleasant wait, Luna had explained to them that Tick would likely be heading to the newly-reclaimed Crystal Empire. Makes enough sense. There’s probably more of that stuff he’s found, and if he’s lucky there are ponies alive who actually understand it. I’m going to—

A blunt pain and sharp echo from his left rear leg rang out, and Quirk stifled a grunt and a curse as he stared at an unapologetic Dinky.

“Don’t ignore me! I’m not nothing!”

Quirk halted, stared, and wondered how inappropriate it would be to hit the insolent child back.

“Dinky!”

Sharper than the blow, Ditzy’s voice shot clear through to her child, and the tone froze her solid.

That wouldn’t have hurt at all if that leg wasn’t still sore. That was a tap, not a blow…

“Mom, I just—”

“You do not hit others! I don’t care what he said!”

“I—”

Ditzy closed the last bit of distance and scooped up her child, anger, pain, and remorse crossing her face in equal measures. Far ahead, even Eris had taken to observing the exchange.

“I’m so sorry, she never does anything like this.” Despite her apologetics, Ditzy seemed not to notice that Quirk’s face had softened from irritation. Without further words, Ditzy carried her now-frightened child away towards a lone tree in the ethereal sea of grass.

I probably should have said something.

Yet it did not bother Quirk for very long.

~~~~~~

The shade held them in stasis, a small world of their own, a refuge from the sunlight fading along the edges of the hills. Once hidden, Ditzy’s rage revealed itself as anguish.

“I just poked him! That’s it.” Dinky exclaimed, heady nervousness, fear, mild guilt, and a child’s inexperience mystifying Ditzy’s expression—eyebrows once taught but now released, mouth set in a slight frown, eyes soft with pain—into some accusation.

“I’m sorry I yelled.” Ditzy brushed a bit of Dinky’s mane out of her still-nervous face, lamenting the decision to bring her along. I shouldn’t pretend to know things anymore.

“I saw you poke him and then he flinched and turned to you. You have to remember, he’s very bruised in some places, so it’s best not to even poke him.” It’s probably better that you not talk to either of them at all, but I won’t be able to hold you back when there’s nothing else for you to do.

Sitting against the tree, Dinky’s eyes moved to something else other than Ditzy. As Ditzy turned to follow her daughters wayward gaze, she spotted Eris approaching, bound to breach their space like some comet crashing through a celestial sphere.

She reached the shade.

“If there’s no more reason to hold up…” Eris let it trail off. Her eyes swept the area lazily, not hastily, staying a hair’s breadth of an instant longer on Dinky than anything else.

“No,” Ditzy replied with an edgewise glare, and the breached silence of the plains crept in.

~~~~~~~

“I approve of your discipline.”

The slight rasp in Eris’s voice echoed the wind scything through grass and field and fur. Quirk lagged behind, Dinky was off ahead, and Eris had stubbornly matched Ditzy’s pace until they had created enough distance from their fellow-travelers to speak unmolested. Eris now watched Ditzy in a way she had not seen before: a distinct focus instead of a lazy sweep; it was a look of interest.

Ditzy fought the spontaneous surge of anger at Eris’s words, a nonsense impulse that had lay camped behind her eyelids, growing as Eris had walked beside her.

“I didn’t have the impression that you approved anything about me.”

“I have a great appreciation for parental discipline.”

The rasp in her voice had faded; perhaps it was only a mystery of the wind. Ditzy cocked her head slightly, uncertain and not quite happy with the situation. Yet it was different than most: Eris had offered something about herself and spoken with warm approval with tone more than words.

Ditzy felt something like a great void well up in her. With her usual lack of hesitation Eris quickened her pace, leaving Ditzy behind.

I don’t… ugh, I would rather not talk to her…

Eventually Dinky returned to her mother, and after some quiet observations to ensure Ditzy was no longer distressed at her, requested with a few short words to climb atop her and shortly thereafter nestled on top released a yawn.

Just off from ahead, the sun broke against the horizon. The shimmering crests of the rolling hills were a wonderful sight, or they ought to have been. Emptiness sat below the child, a product of hunger and errant thoughts. It broke up with steps, but Ditzy knew something unnamable was coalescing.

I wouldn’t be here, if it wasn’t for him. She wouldn’t be here, if.

“We’re going to stop soon. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Belaying that suggestion, Dinky yawned again and murmured some objections that didn’t quite turn into words.

There was a cold fighting the warmth atop her.

~~~~~~~

Burning. Burning, I would rather be burning.

Her breath sped up like an arrogant fire that had snuffed out but continued to linger under the ashes. Ditzy sat still and mute in the flickering half-shadow, the weak fire no comfort or companion to her.

How can she talk to me like that, as if… with some matriarchal attitude! Does she think there isn’t anything that I find wrong about her? That she has nothing to apologize for? She doesn’t have any humility at all, ugh; that’s pretty obvious…

It doesn’t help that we’re just walking. There’s nothing to do and the scenery gets old quick. I hope we get somewhere soon

The fire in front of Ditzy was pathetic in her mood, but she knew well enough that wood was scarce and the will to gather it at night scarcer. Across the fire sat Quirk, obscured by the darkness, his own conundrums, and his unwillingness to talk. Not that Ditzy was keen to talk to him. Eris lounged in a tree off to the side, invisible in the star-pierced branches. Dinky slept in one of the compact tents near it, and Ditzy did not stare for long into the flame’s glow before she retreated with a last damning thought.

None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for him.

~~~~~~

Above, Eris noted the fatigued retreat and contemplated her own recent feelings on Ditzy. She might be able to improve herself… she knows where to go. Getting there, that’s another thing. She had hastened to make sure Ditzy knew that she was capable of a change of attitude: Eris wasn’t naïve enough to think that Ditzy would turn all her thoughts and feelings around at a few words, but she knew an open door and a bit of encouragement could go a long way.

Unbidden, Eris’s thoughts drifted back just over half a decade. Ugh, to know I used to be such a mess, a willing thug in a hellhole... But Eris shook those thoughts away, for they were useless thoughts. Old, dead, stupid thoughts; discarded feelings.

I'm glad the guard beat that out of me. No short of thanks to Perilune.

With a roll of the head that turned into a full-body cracking of joints, Eris hauled herself into an upright balance on the branch and eyed the last remainder of the fire. Quirk still stared into it, or the distance, or the sky, or nothing. To intervene was for the best, Eris decided in a quick moment. Those two think too damn much anyways. They’ll drive themselves crazy because they don’t have anything to do.

A deft dive later, Eris hit the ground with a satisfying jolt. She had heard some mutterings from the fire about aches; she would have none of that. Quirk had laid back as if he had finally accepted the nothingness of the moment. He realized Eris’s presence with a look of restrained irritation, but she was oblivious, or more likely impervious to it…

~~~~~~

A world away, and there’s still something, and there’s still nothing.

Tick stared at the excavation. Buildings half covered in earth, layered in snow, brought to a standstill again.

And there’s still change.

For a year or two previous it had been excavated slowly: from discovery to interest, identification, and exploration. Sliding back on the scale of time it had been an outpost, a trading depot on the edge of an empire. That empire had disappeared in an instant, leaving the outpost to be buried under the calamities that any mountain town entails. And just as quickly as it had been discovered, it had been forgotten.

Hovering over the few buildings that were so rich yet rendered useless so quickly, Tick started back toward the bustle with sigh of resignation. The mountains cradled all around; it was a valley on the edge of winter. New buildings had sprung up as quickly as the empire to the north had reappeared, hundreds of passerby eager to plunder the knowledge, wealth, and opportunities of the lost race.

Eager to run to, eager to run from…

Put off by his sightseeing, Tick landed between a few other travelers preparing to push north. The weather was already chilling, but Tick hadn’t seen that turn any of them back.

Greed is a good motivator, I suppose.

Sparing not more than a glance at the passerby, Tick hastened to the end of the way. The iced ground crunched under his hooves and the sporadic light snowfall harried him as he passed some better-equipped travelers. There’s not much I can do about that. I’m not exactly wealthy at the moment.

Thoughts tossed aside, Tick quickened his pace and entered the smoky establishment. The factors of hasty construction and hastier travel rendered the room in a blackened, unclear air: everything was quick, hidden, surreptitious and hungry. A few tables scattered around uneven walls and dividers painted with smudgy soot and snow harbored a reasonable collection of unusuals.

Dodging amid the constrained furtive stares, past the bar and hearth, Tick maneuvered a path to the back stairway, eager to avoid being stopped by any of the residents sparing him a cautious eye.

Up the stairs Tick went. A door opened and closed swiftly; a distracted glance ensured nothing had changed. From under the bed Tick slid out a wind-worn bag and out of the bag a black-bound book. Lying on his side, Tick leafed through the first twenty pages in absent-minded frustration.

Why even bother looking again? Perhaps it was stupid to run… but out of sight is out of mind. Now that I’ve left that problem behind, I won’t be constrained. Or I could stop lying—

Tick avoided the aberrant thought, shifting off the bed. After a few minutes of pacing a rut into the rickety floor, he composed a spot in a corner by the bed and propped open the book. The room was cold. It fostered his concentration.

A few minutes, a few dozen, Tick lost track. The symbols, alien to him, swam before his vision. The last time he had looked he had found and understood nothing. This time he looked and his frustration burned into the cold of the room. Once he had transcribed symbols on a page onto another sheet; when he had returned to the book he couldn’t find the page. It was useless, fruitless.

Maybe that’s the point.

Tick tossed the book away carelessly, sliding it back under the bed. A final exhalation and he looked to the door. His heat had iced over. The door looked more and more attractive, if only for the promise of a hearth below.

~~~~~~~~

Cradling a questionable brew, Tick sought some shelter from the rest of the room. Not-so-minute cracks in the wall kept the frigid air circulating, but Tick had managed to find a spot to put his back to the wall and still stay close to the hearth. It was mercifully roaring.

Tick took a long draught from the mug, carefully at first, on guard for the peculiarities of new flavors. That is a good taste considering how this place is. Perhaps he took it with him. Refrigeration certainly isn’t a problem.

As Tick put his mug down, he caught the eye of an oddly-shaded traveler across the way. Tick deigned not to notice, comfortable in his nook and less than willing to converse in his present state of mind or in an unscrupulous place as this. Eventually the chill pricks of the wind stirred his eyes into motion again, and he noticed that the traveler across the quiet floor was making his way towards him.

Please leave me alone.

Unheard, Tick’s weary thoughts failed to stop the traveler, who had cautiously picked his way towards the hearth. Tick wrenched himself out of his nook and took to the bar. Tinges of memory like electric needles punctured Tick’s consciousness, calling back to the past that seemed so ancient and so close at hand.

Tick absentmindedly gave the bartender his mug, who replaced it under the bar.

“I saw you hanging around at the excavation.”

Why are you doing this to me? Am I going to have to run from this place as well as every other? I don’t want—

Tick pivoted to his left to face the voice, which turned out to be the traveler. He hadn’t taken the hint, or had ignored it.

“There’s very few that still have any interest in it. Even when it was relevant, there weren’t many inhabitants.” He eyed Tick directly. The chroma of his blue coat was diluted with silver, and Tick felt something peculiar about the way he looked, he talked.

—to think about this, think about anything, and there’s no reason—

“Not very many, but I knew them.”

—that I…

Four long seconds passed. What little color was visible on Tick's face disappeared.

“You’re from the Crystal Empire,” Tick stated. His shot nerves refused to cooperate, and Tick was keenly aware of the movements in his eyes and the screaming realization that, so suddenly, he was talking to a living relic that was talking to him about his deepest loss.

“Yes, that I am,” he responded with a distinct satisfaction. “My name is Silver Skies. I lived here. I was away on a trip to the heartland when Sombra’s spell locked us away in space-time. This place, far from the boundaries of the spell, continued on.”

Tick sat on a hair’s edge, unsure of everything and at once suspicious, cautious, horrified with a dash of amazement, and filled with the primal sense of focused awareness.

“If you’re anything like a reasonable pony, you’re wondering why I’m talking to you.” Skies paused for a moment, watching his counterpart’s rotating eyes with a plain curiosity deferred by some greater imperative. Lowering his voice, he continued. “The answer is simple but it has deep roots. You were the only one of these that I have seen in the past few days to bother to spend time in the ruins. Not looting, I mean. You thought about them, contemplated them. Appreciated them.”

Skies leaned back on the stool, his voice a mite louder yet still hidden from most others in the room by icewind and fire. “Although I have no shortage of purpose in life, I still need something to do to find an anchor again. All the worlds have changed. The skies have fallen deep in the north. You—”

What?

“—seem like an individual with respect. I want to set an example to quash these lesser feelings of greed, chaos, and nihil that run through all of those around.”

Skies paused. “What I am giving you is an open deal. I said that you seemed to have respect, which is why I offer it. I can help you get to wherever you are going in the empire and possibly help with what you are doing. I have connections and I know quite a bit myself about the empire, despite not having lived there for a few years. I offer this with the condition that you have honest intentions.”

He nodded in Tick’s general direction, then moved off the impromptu barstool and left him with a last line.

“Take some time to think about it. I will be here a day longer.”

“No.”

Skies turned around, a raised eyebrow punctuating his surprise. “No?”

Tick slipped by the hearth and out of the room.

~~~~~~~

Quirk, at first perplexed by her silence, was now irritated by her propensity to talk.

Where was this when I actually wanted to talk to you?

Eris sat a third of a way round the fire, rattling on about how this reminded her of a march earlier in her career. “…So we got there in the pouring rain and the dead of night and we hear that our transportation was out and we’d have to get back ourselves…”

All that time on the train and before we started out, and you said barely a word. Now you won’t shut up.

Finally reaching a lull in her narrative, Eris stared hard at the fire. Quirk had been more interested in the oddities of Eris’s bearing than the story: she did not seem like a natural storyteller. She’d looked off at things while she told it, her focus vacant. It wasn’t contemplative either. It didn’t seem right.

I have no idea what’s going on, which means the best option is out.

“It’s nice to hear.” Quirk coughed, part from the winding smoke and part to cover his shadily sarcastic attitude. “But I need to rest and recover.”

Eris didn’t reply, but her gaze relaxed as she nodded at him, still retaining something of her mysterious variance. A leap away into the void of leaves and she was gone.

Either your motivations are a strange desire to actually communicate or it’s one of many causes that I have no inkling of. Either way, I will be much more insistent about talking in the morning…

He and I are in danger. That much is plain.

~~~~~~

Tick was bludgeoning himself with difficult questions. For if he did not accept this aid, then what? What counsel could he seek? What friend could he trust? Throwing away kin and country, Tick had divided his options. And for what? Just so I could—Shut up! You didn’t leave for nothing; you’re raging.

Exiting through the back door, Tick faced the bitter night’s cold with an anger that only fed on itself. He faced the endless maw of mountains and stars and found himself without words to form a question. Tick’s heart thumped on, pouring the thick blood through his veins. His eyes turned, he stood, barely moving, the world continued to be. The wordless molten ache thrummed and faded.

Time passed and Tick’s breath drained slowly out of his body, crystallizing in the air.

I am a wreck and a wretch. Standing out in the cold, a fool among strangers, acting like an idiot. I don’t know where I’m going, what I’m doing. If I don’t take his help, even in the most superficial sense, then I will be much worse off. I haven’t made any dent in figuring out how the book works. He could have contacts, know those who could help me seek out information to prevent Luna’s wanton destruction.

Tick shifted around in the evening’s snow, slight crunches breaking the silence. Pride surged up in the pit of his chest again, compounded, and broke into shards more piercing than the icy snow. Echoes of his last barroom encounter and all that had followed had set him off, and now Tick painstakingly wrestled back control.

How do I go about it then, if I must? Getting back in the warmth is a good step…