Saying goodbye really wasn’t Dim’s style, so he avoided it. In a sense, he had said his goodbyes, having left a few instructions for Briar Burr and Short Stitch. He had shared parting words with Brand—sort of—and there was no need to draw everything out. Blackbird insisted on saying goodbye though, and so Dim sulked, alone, standing on the deck of the flying scrapheap that somehow doubled as an airship.

Celestium was a miraculous substance that forgave a great many sins. Even airships that shouldn’t fly somehow did. With Celestium and enough electricity, almost anything could be given enough lift. This was a cargo ship, so the electrical demands had to be enormous. In general, Dim didn’t like knowing how things worked, because with the knowledge of how things worked, he had an intimate understanding of how things failed. Such erudition made one a pessimist. Of course, there were many times that he knew that something wouldn’t work and he did it anyway—a fool’s errand if ever there was one—because there was something satisfying about defying statistically long odds. It was like bucking life itself right in its metaphorical teeth and telling it to fronk off.

As awful as life was, it was still better than the alternative—unlife. Lichdom did not appeal to Dim, neither did vampirism or a ravenous hunger for brains. Since striking a bargain with Chantico, the undead were somehow even more offensive—to the point of being unbearable—and Dim longed to find a way to channel his hatred for necromancy into cleansing fire.

And really, when one boiled everything down, Dim’s hatred of necromancy was just an extension of the loathing he felt for his mother, which could only be expressed in the form of incendiary, fiery wrath. He longed to set his mother on fire—though not with passion, because that would make him a mother fucker—but rather with the fiery flames of cleansing that would purge her life-mocking undead existence.

Mother fucking in general was the greatest fail-state of life—becoming overwhelmed with the desire—the compulsion—to return to one’s point of origin and bury one’s self inside the snug orifice that one had spent entire months trying to escape from. It was the only failure worse than becoming undead and a definite sign that everything that could go wrong in one’s life had, in fact, gone wrong in the worst way.

Not wanting to think about these thoughts, Dim focused his attention on the crew, minotaurs, the lot of them, most of which had mechanical replacements of some sort. The ship’s engine produced the most dreadful whine and it sounded as though the turbine had an asthmatic death rattle.

The deck of the ship was rather spartan and there was a wide, spacious opening for the cargo hold down below. Barrels and crates were still being loaded, hauled up and stowed with the swing-arm crane. One of the minotaurs was wearing some kind of advanced exoframe of a design that Dim hadn’t seen before and this allowed him to lift crates, barrels, and other cargo with no real effort.

Dim had only seen one exoframe before and it was on display in Liverypool. It was heavy, clunky, complicated, and allowed a single earth pony to haul the same weight as four, but Dim doubted the claim. The huckster hawking the exoframe seemed more charlatan than salespony and the dangerous contraption threatened to rip apart the earth pony operator at any moment.

The world lacked a surplus of powerful unicorns gifted with telekinesis capable of lifting heavy loads, and those precious few who had that sort of levitation weren’t working in the cargo industry. Things were heavy and the entirety of the world was in a massive, merciless competition to adapt and overcome. First attempts weren’t always successes, but the disgusting primitives on this mudball were possessed with an indomitable will, and some, like these minotaurs that clanked and clonked around the deck, had made impressive strides forwards.

Of course, they were all walking bombs, but Dim suspected that they all knew that. Each of them that had mechanical parts or extensions had a tank of superheated steam, and the merest flick of magic would and could cause catastrophic failure. Yet, even with their own potential destruction—inescapable and strapped to their body—these disgusting primitives persisted.

Dim found himself in the unusual position of admiring them.

The sound of feathers and wings flapping alerted Dim to Blackbird’s presence and he turned just in time to watch her land. For her immense size, she was graceful—beautiful even—but Dim was biased. She had the last of their gear—what little had survived—strapped to her and she wore her guns out for all of the honest world to fear. The guns were not as impressive as the Foalsitter, but they were both of a far more modern design. Both were chambered in the Minotaur standard fourteen-point-two-five millimetre round, considered the barest minimum when dealing with megaflora and megafauna.

“Say your goodbyes?” Dim asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” Blackbird folded in her wings and stood on the edge of the deck, a creature of incredible beauty that could not be ignored.

She was now a precious thing in Chantico’s eyes, and as such, she had to be protected. It filled Dim with a fervent, overzealous sense of dedication. And while Dim very much wanted to wax poetic, to blurt out and say all manner of useless words, he remained practical. “Did you pack enough ammo for your weapons?”

“There wasn’t much stockpiled,” Blackbird replied, “and I’ll need to get more if we find ourself in a place that sells it.”

Frowning, Dim let out a low rumble of equine concern. This was the problem with guns, as a whole. With black powder, there was a significant advantage, as lead was cheap and readily available: candlesticks, toys, little soldiers with bright, garish paint, old pipes, all manner of stuff could be melted down and cast into a bullet-mold. Ammunition was also expensive and he knew that he would be wincing with every shot fired—each of which would be like throwing hard currency at the enemy. Dim prefered throwing fire at his foes, but had learned a few neat tricks during his last battle, a means to conserve energy for prolonged engagements.

And that had been a prolonged engagement.

“Let’s go stow our gear and check out our quarters…”

The ‘cabin,’ such as it was, appeared to be one of Tartarus’ industrial storage closets. There was a thick brass pipe that went from floor to ceiling in the middle of the room, and it pinged from heat and pressure. Touching it was a bad idea and Dim kept his distance. There were four hammocks hung in a space that shouldn’t have hammocks at all. Blackbird was going to have a rough go of things, and he felt bad for her—but also amused.

“Why are you smirking?” Blackbird demanded as her claws clicked on the metal floor.

“Nothing,” Dim lied, and he was irritated that his face had betrayed him.

“I think,” Blackbird began, “if I try to climb into a hammock, I’m gonna burn my cute little kitty slitty on that hot pipe.”

Too big for such a small room, Blackbird let out an indignant huff and glowered at the evidence of their misfortune. Meanwhile, Dim was smirking so hard that it made his face hurt, and he suffered from his intense enjoyment of Blackbird’s predicament. He dropped his saddlebags on the floor, in the corner, and then fished out a fresh, unmarked journal so that he might keep himself busy.

“Captain Melvin says that we’re heading for the minotaur city, Istanbull, to the south.” Still Smirking, Dim watched as Blackbird shrugged off her bags and stowed them. “It is down near the far end of the Worldwall Mountains, in a valley known as Starhome. Melvin tells me that the peaks of the tallest mountains align with the brightest, most notable stars on certain nights. There is much mystery there and strange magic.”

Sighing, Blackbird shook her head. “With each day that passes, the trail grows a little colder. I am starting to wonder if this is a fool’s errand.”

“It is a good thing we are fools…” Dim waited for a laugh, but none seemed forthcoming.

“Just before I left, Short Stitch warned me about getting too caught up in all of this.” Blackbird turned about, reached out with her talons, and placed them on Dim’s cheek. “She warned me that if I focus too much on what I want, I might neglect what I already have.”

“And what is it that you have?” Dim asked in a whisper that could only be heard by the most sensitive of ears.

“A best friend,” she replied, “and maybe something more. You came for me, Dim, and you rescued me. I’m never going to forget that. I trust you. For good or for ill, I trust you.” She stroked Dim’s cheek, a series of caresses that lasted for several seconds, and then she leaned in a little closer, almost to the point where their noses were touching. “You know what, Dim? I think Short Stitch was right… you’re growing a mustache and a beard.”

Dim, who had expected something else, stood there with his body quivering from need. He had needs, dreadful needs. Blackbird’s touch on his cheek left him ablaze, but also left him feeling confused, as he did not understand most of what he was feeling. There was no pink cast on his vision, no nothing to help him understand what was going on, which meant that he was on his own in this new, undiscovered territory.

Though he did not know it, Dim craved intimacy like a parched pony craved a drink of water, or a drunkard craved wine. Even though he feared the faint light, he pulled off his goggles so that Blackbird could see his mismatched eyes. Just breathing the same air as she satisfied some deep, secret desire, and he stood there, holding himself back because he was too fearful to make a move.

Rejection would be the worst.

“Dim…” Blackbird breathed his name and his ears flickered from the sound. “Dim, Short Stitch and I talked… we talked about… we talked about how you dominated her mind and took control of her—”

“I did what I felt was necessary at the time,” Dim cut in, feeling the need to defend himself. Blackbird’s eyes were pools of liquid fear now, and he watched her chewing on her lip. She was shaking, trembling, she was terrified, and he realised that Blackbird was afraid of him.

“I wouldn’t stand a chance, would I?” Blackbird asked. Before Dim could respond, she pinched his lips shut so that she could keep speaking. “I’d never even get a chance to tell you, ‘no,’ would I? If you really wanted to take me, there would be nothing that I could do to stop you. I wouldn’t even be able to fight back, would I?” She let go of his lips and stood there, waiting.

“Blackbird, I—”

“Be honest with me, Dim. Please?”

Unable to look her in the eye any longer, Dim stared down at the floor and he could feel Blackbird’s hot breath on his ears. “No, there would be nothing that you could do to stop me. That is the whole point of compulsion and domination spells… total control. But I—”

“Dim...” Blackbird placed her talons beneath his fuzzy chin and forced him to look up at her. She was careful, mindful of the fresh stitches on his throat, and her touch was gentle. “I said that I trusted you, and I meant it. Thank you, Dim, for being honest.”

“A domination spell wouldn’t get me what I want from you,” Dim said, feeling a need to confess his feelings. “My whole life, I was given whatever it was I wanted and I just took the rest. You have something I want, Blackbird, but it is something that cannot be taken.”

“But it can be given,” she whispered, and her words were playful. “You’ve already shown me how much I mean to you. Now it is just a matter of finding my mother and then all of us can be happy together.” There was something almost foalish about her seductive playfulness and she scratched beneath Dim’s chin with her knuckles. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take a tour of the engine room. I’ve never seen a coal dust fired turbine before and I have me a powerful hankering to do a bit of learning!”

Author's Notes:

Next chapter: science and salt.