Blackbird hadn’t come to the cabin. She hadn’t come to stow her gear. The big black hippogriff hadn’t come to keep him company, or to talk with him, or to help him pass the hours, and Dim… didn’t like it. Nor did he much care for this odd sensation of loneliness that he couldn’t seem to shake. Hours spent lost in study had lost some of their appeal and there was a coldness in the air that wasn’t physical.

The metal around him sang an odd song, creaking, and the wood had joined in to form a discordant harmony. How long had he been sitting here? Long enough to get hungry. It had been hours since Jolie had paid him a visit and then… he had been alone. A solitary equine, a herd of one. Admitting to this loneliness was almost too much to bear, and the very thought of it dealt his pride a near-crippling injury. Having been around others, having been close to others, it had left him with a curious dependency, a need, a dreadful addiction.

Though pride prevented him from seeking out Blackbird’s company, that didn’t mean that he had to be alone. Reaching out with his mind, he conjured the Spear of Chantico and pulled it to him. It was as black as ever with a wicked point and what appeared to be curious bloodstains. Holding it in his magic, Dim felt a glorious, heady rush of power, but also the crushing weight of responsibility. Like Blackbird, this was something he was serious about, one of the few things that held any meaning or value for him.

The wicked would burn…

“Chantico,” Dim said and he allowed the word to roll off of his tongue, saying it the way that Chantico herself might say it.

At first, nothing happened, so Dim waited. For several long minutes, nothing happened, but then his patience was rewarded. The scent of paprika filled the air, then woodsmoke, and the tip of the spear ignited with vivid, labial pink flames, a fire that would not burn him, but would sear others. No smoke rose from the flames but the obsidian spearhead glowed as if lava flowed within.

For Dim, it was hypnotic.

Chantico appeared as a spectre, flowing out of the flaming spear tip. Her body did not form, but her face could be seen, and her eyes were like two volcanic calderas. Each tooth in her fearsome maw was a tiny volcano in miniature, spewing lava, smoke, and ash. When Dim looked upon her, his heart felt far less troubled.

“My Precious One, why have you summoned me?”

Leaning in closer, Dim peered into Chantico’s eyes, hoping to draw wisdom from the flames. “I am in route to Fancy, off to find the wicked. How goes your search for allies? How does the unseen world fair against Grogar? Has his shadow darkened the astral realm?”

“I have found allies and I rapidly familiarise myself with the modern era.” Chantico hesitated, she even appeared uncomfortable, and in a much lower voice she said, “I have been in contact with the one you call Celestia. We have touched minds and she has shown me much. I owe her a debt of gratitude. I am aware of your discomfort with this subject.”

“What are her intentions towards me?” Dim asked, hoping to glean some information or some insight into the situation.

“That is complicated to say the very least. The one you call Luna has taken a great interest in you. She is the source of your blood, Precious One, and she is anxious to see what you will do. Her blood is strong within you, and you, you are more like her than you know. She is healing from a great wound of the heart, and watches her distant offspring, fearful of the curse she has wrought upon them, but also hopeful to have more offspring with her attractive mate. Celestia wants you to do well so that Luna might find courage and inspiration, and so that she will engage in meaningful, enthusiastic acts of breeding.”

“That does sound complicated.” Dim basked in the ressuring warmth of the manifestation of Chantico, which eased all of his aches, cramps, and pains. “So I am cursed through my blood ties with Luna?”

“Yes,” was Chantico’s flat reply. “Many of Luna’s bloodline must first face madness, heartache, and great isolation before they achieve greatness. Luna’s great sin against the universe must be atoned for, and her wickedness echoes through the ages, greatly affecting all those who share her blood. You are but one of many.”

“And I suppose that Luna feels guilty about my condition? That she puts herself at fault for it? She is ashamed of my suffering?”

“She is.” Chantico nodded, revealing even more of her erupting teeth, which were quite distracting.

“So Celestia wishes for my success so that Luna might find some comfort.”

“She does.” Again, Chantico nodded.

Dim withdrew for a moment, leaning back, and he tried to sort out his own thoughts on the matter, his feelings, and not just his thoughts, but he conducted a quick search of his own blackened heart as well. After all of his efforts, he found he had little to say. “Celestia is not the pony I thought her to be.”

Chantico sighed, a tectonic sound, a volcanic rumble, a sound of heaving earth. “She battles to keep the astral realm safe and secure, so it will not fall to Grogar. Her manifestation of Jua, the Great Sun Spirit, gives strength to the zebras, whom Grogar fears. It is amazing how Celestia leads not one, but two nations, one through physical rule and the other through spiritual. I find her inspiring.”

“You do?” Dim found himself curious.

“I would not have said it otherwise,” Chantico replied, her voice like a log popping in the fireplace. “You ponies… you have faith in what you see, and the one you call Celestia rules from her throne high atop a mountain in a grand city called Canterlot. She keeps herself on display for all of her nation to see. And the ponies of Equestria see her and are strong.”

Dim now felt a peculiar sense of awkwardness that he wasn’t comfortable with.

“The zebras on the other paw, take faith in what they cannot see. They appreciate a great mystery, and are ensorcelled by the unknown. They know Celestia as Jua, the Great Sun Spirit, and they seek her out in the astral realms, hoping to find precious wisdom. She keeps herself elusive and secretive, and all of the great nation known as Zebrabwe holds her in great reverence. Make no mistake though, even though she denies it to all whom might ask, Celestia rules Zebrabwe as thoroughly as she does Equestria.”

It was almost as if Dim now knew a great secret, some great and precious thing, something wondrous, something that shone a faint ray of light into his black soul. Had he found something he held sacred? He didn’t know, but he knew that Chantico had given him a gift, something to ponder, something meaningful to guide him. But to what end? Dim did not know.

“This is a precious secret. You will keep it safe, yes? She told me to share it with you, as payment to gain your trust.” Chantico’s face loomed closer and her hot breath blew back Dim’s mane from his face. “As my champion, it is your duty to guard precious things. Now, I am sorry to cut our visit short, but I must go and be mysterious with zebras, so that they might know my magic. As for you, my Precious One… go make friends.”

With a fiery poof, Chantico vanished, leaving a shocked, stunned Dim Dark all alone.

Dim found Blackbird not in the common room or the dining area, as he expected, but in the cargo hold. It was colder here and Dim conjured up the coat that Blackbird had sewn for him the moment he entered. Everyone was sitting around on crates of supplies and laughing, or had been until he had entered.

Awkward.

Blackbird waved him over and skirting around the outside of the cargo bay, he went to her, avoiding the crowd in the middle of the room. Many were here, almost too many, and Dim was uncomfortable with the sheer number of bodies crammed into such a tight space. Motte and Bailey were present, sitting with the Bard in between them. Bombay Sable was polishing her wicked, curved sword, and her glittering eyes followed Dim. Munro was cleaning some of what appeared to be Blackbird’s pistols.

There was a sense of fellowship here, Dim had a keen awareness of it, as well as the sensation that he was the outsider. Strange eyes watched him, griffons, diamond dogs, and a few ponies. Jolie Rouge’s crew were easy to spot in a crowd, with murderous eyes and scarred, hardened faces. Dim knew enough about boarding tactics to know that some of the creatures present had to be either fearless or quite mad, maybe both, because one had to be to board a ship when the deck guns were blazing.

“So, as I was saying, we took up shields and formed a portable wall,” a griffon said while Dim sat down beside Blackbird. “We has ourselves this phalanx and they has all these guns, they do. We’ve already sent several shots through their engine, so they were dead in the sky, but boarding was the tricky business at claw.”

Dim pulled out a smoke and lit up.

“So we fly the wall forward and the bullets are thumping into our shields and the deck guns are blazing… shotguns and flak shooters, mostly. Even with the shields, we’re catching flak and stray shots. It’s raining blood and feathers and these slavers are putting up quite a fight. But we push forwards, because what else can we do?” The griffon flexed his talon-fingers, of which one was missing.

“Ol’ Blimey, he’s almost shitting himself, because it’s a long way down for a unicorn in his position, and when we get close enough, Blimey does his magic and he casts that sneezing spell. Absolute chaos! The sneezing fits cause the defenders to jerk about, and they start blowing holes in one another! One of the deck guns gets yanked around, and it’s loaded with grapeshot. ACHOO! The damnable deck gun goes off and the grapeshot rips through the crowd. It’s… messy.”

Munro looked up and shivered.

“By the by, I reckon Ol’ Blimey, our cook, he’s killed more souls than can be counted… or has at least been the indirect cause of those deaths.” The griffon’s eyes were lively and his breath could be seen with each word. “When we boarded, the deck was swamped with blood and it was runnin’ off the sides in rivers. The sneezes were starting to wear off and we kept the wall up. Then we just swept the deck and pushed what was left of the crew right over the rail on the other side. We were miles up and they had time to think about their wicked ways as they went down.”

“And what about the fliers?” Munro asked.

“We picked them off clean,” the griffon replied. “We sent Scuttles and Scabby to trim some wings.” The griffon looked pleased with himself and he held up his talons, the right ones, the ones missing a talon-finger. “We took the captain alive, we did. Gratin got him. Reached out, grabbed him by his scrawny neck, and then Gratin just swung him around and slammed him into the deck over and over until there was no fight left. Gratin is a big feller, he is. Only griffon I’ve ever seen that can fly with two boarding shields in front of him. I dunno how he does it.”

“How much does a boarding shield weigh?” Munro paused in his task and waited for a reply.

“Bout two hundred pounds or so. Metal. Thick. Different metals all compressed into layers. Basically, it’s armor plating for airships that we’ve fashioned into shields. Big as a door, tall and wide. And Gratin can carry two of ‘em, one in his left and one in his right. He’s a big’un.”

“I bet Blackbird could do that,” Munro said with undisguised glee.

The griffon, squinting, turned his head and glanced in Blackbird’s direction to study her. “I done reckon she might could… but she’s a hippogriff. That’s an unfair advantage, son. She’s neither griffon nor pony. Hybrids t'aint a natural sort. No offense, Miss.”

“None taken,” Blackbird replied with a wave of her left talons.

“I knew a hippogriff for a time… big feller.” The griffon reached up and scratched at his neck. “Makes yon miss look rather wee. I watched him rip a crank gun from the deck mounts and then turn it upon the crew. He held it in one set of talons and cranked it with the other. ‘Twas the damndest thing I had ever seen. He damn near cut the ship in half and then he flew away with his new crank gun to pick a fight with the other ship moving in to assist the first. Mean sumbitch took on a corvette in single combat. He won, too.”

“I watched Blackbird pick up a steam engine when she thought nobody was looking—”

“Hey!” Blackbird’s voice echoed through the cargo hold.

“A group of unicorns were supposed to come along and move it but Blackbird picked it up, flew it over the mount assembly, and dropped it into its cradle. She made it look easy.” Munro’s tone was boastful and he was quite animated now while he polished the pistol in his hands.

“How big of an engine we talking about here, son?” the griffon asked.

“The kind that goes into the back of a corvette or a cutter,” the minotaur replied.

Every eye in the hold now focused on Blackbird, and she began to squirm. “I was just trying to be helpful. Advanced alloys. It was very light. Only looked heavy.”

“Uh-huh.” The griffon nodded and his beak clicked together while his eyes narrowed. “Keep that one away from any crank guns you might find…”

Author's Notes:

Quite possibly one of the biggest reveals in the Weedverse, with hints going all the way back to Venenum Iocus.