A Kirin's Flame

by RDT

Chapter 4

It was the last night before the scheduled performance. Once again, Cinder Glow and I set out along the forested paths which had been the setting of so many carefree evenings. Tonight, however, was anything but. In heavy silence we walked, and in silence we sat down together beside that old shack.

This was the first time we had come here at night. The stars lit the sky like sparks of flame, and the river glowed silver under the Moon’s light. But the most beautiful thing I could see was my companion’s silhouette.

“Are you going to come back?” she eventually asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied, somewhat truthfully. “Will you come with me?”

“Maybe,” she replied, and I could tell that she was also trying to convince herself.

We sat there for another few minutes.

“I love you,” I said out of impulse, or perhaps out of desperation.

“I love you too,” she replied. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Neither do I.”

The silence of the rustling leaves pressed against my temples. I saw a shooting star. There was nothing to wish for.

“Cinder Glow, what will happen?” I said in a trembling whisper. I was afraid that she would hear me, but my lips could not keep these words from coming out.

“I don’t know.” And we both knew it was a lie.

It was the last day, a day meant for celebration and general revelry. The celebration was for a job well done, and indeed I felt we deserved it; we had finished the railway on schedule, with the kirin crewmembers being able to complete the last stretch by themselves. Rain Shine was completely satisfied with our work, and by extension Princess Twilight would be as well.

And as for the general revelry, who didn’t like a bit of partying?

The kirin were wonderful hosts—as they had been since the beginning—which meant they wished to contribute as well. Food, drinks, venues, and company were graciously provided, despite their own busy schedules.

But while everyone else was enjoying themselves, my heart wasn’t in it, and I retreated to my room.

“Hey, have you and Cinder Glow decided on anything?”

Crosstie’s voice was often welcome, but not in this case. I shook my head and continued packing.

This might be my last day in a house like this, I thought. Living inside a living tree. Well, that doesn’t matter anyways.

“Clear Track, you okay?” The voice was closer now.

What do you think? I thought. I threw my pillow into a saddlebag and waited.

“Okay, I get it. But Rain Shine is wrapping up her speech, which means the play is gonna start soon. And… I thought that I’d just remind you.”

I finally turned around and saw that Crosstie was standing way too close to me. I flinched.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, backing up. “But you’re coming, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Let’s go.”

I shouldered my way to the front of the crowd and waited.

It's interesting what one’s thoughts will focus on in such a situation. I had seen The Spirit of the Stage before, which meant there was little reason for me to pay attention to the story itself. It wasn’t why I fought for a front-row seat, after all; I was still waiting for that. But some part of me must have appreciated the artistry which went into the performance.

And eventually, there she was. Cinder Glow, playing the Spirit.

Even though I knew she was playing a male part, she still shocked me when I heard her. It was so unlike her usual voice, a rich and dramatic tenor rather than the bright, soft tone I was used to. I had seen actors who could change the presentation of their voice before, but never as convincingly or as expressively as she did. It was a side of her I had never seen—or rather, heard.

Half of my mind watched the play, while the other half ran through wild fantasies. We would form a traveling troupe of kirin and pony performers alike, starting from Manehattan and branching out from there. Or I would become an engineer and an ambassador to the kirin, living with here and forging a tie between the village and Equestria. Maybe we would leave our old lives behind and end up in a little corner of the world, living off the land and making everything with our own hooves—though why I even thought of this idea, I still don’t know. Perhaps Autumn Blaze’s exile had affected me.

But it was not as if I had been able to completely ignore the play in front of me. At least, I had noticed enough to realize that, were it not for my state of mind, it would have been one of the greatest productions I had ever experienced. Especially I felt that the scenes were written with this specific theatre in mind, given the way that the movements and set changes simply worked. There were other differences, though I could not tell if they had been improvisations or if the Bridleway producers had modified the play for a pony audience.

In either case, this version seemed more true to me.

But it was only during the scenes with the Spirit when I truly paid attention to the performance—though perhaps I cared even less for the story then. Because my eyes were on Cinder Glow, noticing her every movement, trying to remember every sound of her voice. She channeled the Spirit’s emotions—his desire, envy, and rage—and through her I drank of them in an attempt to fill my own.

Few things would have had me break out of that trance. And yet, I was startled when Cinder Glow suddenly turned to face me, right as the final act was concluding. I could manage to see both of her eyes, even the one shadowed by the mask. It reminded me of the countless times I had seen those same eyes, under an autumn canopy or a starry sky. And I was frozen in shock as she said the familiar lines:

Go, flee, forget all of this!
Take the boat and don’t look back!
Stay hidden—don’t let them find you!

Cinder Glow continued to stare at me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I noticed that everyone else was also looking at her in confusion.

If this world has, at all, any mercy,
May this be the last time you ever hear of me.

Though these words were only a part of the script, I knew that they were not meant for just the performance. Then she huddled in on herself as the other actors left the stage in their prop gondola, her eyes still focused on me as she sang softly:

A spirit,
Not fit to be among the living.
A spirit,
Cannot take off the mask he’s wearing.
So much to want, and none deserved.
The curtains close, let hell be served!
My songbird, on your soul I depend,
And without you, our music shall end.

I understood.

As the clapping died down, Crosstie turned to me and asked, “What was that about?”

“Huh?” I replied. My mind was still in a haze. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

Rain Shine gave another speech, and then we headed back, to our lodgings and then to the train and Equestria.

After I left, I did sometimes think about sending a letter, or perhaps even visiting. But whenever I lifted my quill to paper, I could never bring myself to write anything. And why would I ever take the train all the way to the Peaks again, just to give her false hope—or to pain myself with the sight of her with someone else?

Though I do hope that she never tried to contact me, because if she did, then I never received anything. Hopefully she would understand the inconsistency of the postal service. She meant too much to me for a message to be ignored.

Still, I should never have let myself fall for her.

Best to let sleeping kirins lie, lest you be drawn like a moth to their flame.

Author's Note:

Many, many thanks to the former and current members of Bean’s Writing Group who have helped me with this story.

In particular, to Bean, Techno Flare, Gay for Gadot, thesmokinguy, Scriblits Talo, Short Tale, Nighthawk, and Milk & Honey.

Retrospective blog possibly coming.