Her Song of Jubilation

Chapters

Svengallop: Bronze Muck
Silver Shill: The Secret Song
Applejack: Heart of Gold

Svengallop: Bronze Muck

“And this evening, ladies and gentlecolts, ladies and gentlecolts,” the announcer yelled through the microphone, “the All-Equestria Rodeo Round Robin kicks off with a celebrated country classic by the incomparably, incredibly, inconceivably talented… Counteeeeeeeeeesssssssssssssss Coloratuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

It was one month later, and still the mere memory of the words raced through her blood, pumped through her heart, and had her cantering faster in the wheel before she realized what was happening. A stumble kicked and lashed her back into the present. She slowed to a trot again and groaned.

Behind her, the stares of a dozen colleagues burned. She could feel the heat peeling the skin from the back of her head. Aches ran up and down her hooves, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Even they felt like they were on fire.

“Hold it! HOLD it!” The voice cracked like a whip over the mechanical hubbub. Wooden gears clickety-clacked to a halt. The humming conveyor belt eased to a stop. As though prompted by the pause, Coloratura’s legs slowed, snatched their chance, and braced her heaving torso against the stopping wheel’s insides while she sucked in and forced out each breath.

When she glanced up, Cherry Jubilee’s low lids were looking down on her. It was hard to tell if they were stern, indifferent, or just sleepy. The mare’s mouth was carefully neutral.

“Shill?” Jubilee said to a stallion over her shoulder. “Would you mind takin’ over the treadmill for a mo? I gotta reschedule one or two things with Miss ‘Tura firs’.”

One of the scrawnier stallions saluted and hopped forwards. Straightening herself up as much as she could, Coloratura hopped off the machine and bounced on the planks. Once more, the gears clicked together, the belt hummed back into life, and the mechanical ambience relaxed muscles across the plantation workroom. Cherry Jubilee led the way into the corridor, through a square prism of endless timber and doorways to more workrooms and more mechanical melodies.

I’ve done it now, she thought with a private groan. “Reschedule one or two things”. That’s code for something bad. I’m going to get kicked out, and just when I was settling in too.

Even she winced at the lie. Settling in was exactly what she hadn’t done. It had started with her first night on the job – no, it had started even before that, back when the announcer’s amplified words had summoned her out of the tunnel and into the world of harsh lights and confusing chatter.

The ponies in the front row had whispered, in the special carrying whisper of the brazenly unthinking, “Who’s this Countess what’s-her-face? She ain’t no country singer.” And that had stung even more, because she had scanned every face through the blinding haze and listened to every voice through the deafening babble, and Applejack had not been there. She’d probably never been there.

Well, she’d shown them. The Countess had opened her mouth, and it was as if her old manager had never left. The hauteur, the airy breeziness, the cold choreography: all of it had possessed her like a demon. Yet she’d been dressed like Rara. It must have been Rara who was singing. Her cutie mark had shone as it always did when the right note hit the right place at the right time.

Country music had fallen to her.

She’d belted out the old heart-warmer, “I Made New Friends (But Kept The Old)” as though she’d personally lived it. Got the magic. Got the music. They were only two letters apart. The spotlights had been outshone. The irritating talk had faded away while her voice squeezed their hearts and drew tears. They gave her a standing ovation.

And then the rodeo had started, and she was just the appetizer. No one even remembered her name. The only newspaper columnist who’d mentioned her at all had called her “The Country Tourer”.

Cherry Jubilee turned left into a stockroom. Within the crescent of crates stacked up to the ceiling two storeys above, there was just enough room for the two ponies if they didn’t mind talking into each other’s nostrils. Coloratura tried not to sneeze; her boss always wore the overpowering musk she inexplicably called Pomace Perfume.

Coloratura tried to meet her half-lidded eye, and found she simply couldn’t. It was easier to stare at her neckerchief.

“Dear ol’ Rara,” said Cherry Jubilee softly. “I know what this is about. An’ I really don’t blame you. Tain’t easy to bounce back from somethin’ like that, I get it. But you know why I asked you to step outta that machine, doncha?”

“This is about the late nights, isn’t it?” Coloratura mumbled to the neck.

To her surprise, Cherry Jubilee reached across and gently placed a hoof on her shoulder. “Yes it is. So you know what I gotta say, right?”

Ice crystallized through her chest, spiking through her spine and neck to prick the inside of her skull. There was no way in heck she was giving up the nights. They were hers. No other time, not even under a boss who passed around baked treats and asked after their kin, allowed Rara to be Rara.

“I am grateful,” she insisted. “Of course I’m grateful. I don’t mean you any kind of harm whatsoever. I could never do that to you, after all you’ve done for me.”

“I know, sugar. Don’t worry. This ain’t a bawlin’-out, you hear? There’s more to life than makin’ a buck or even to runnin’ a good business for everyone. I ain’t the pony to deny you your problems.”

But I’m working badly, Coloratura thought, and the ice cracked. That’s what it comes down to. If you let me go on, I’m going to make you lose some of your important income, or worse. I could cause an accident. I know all this! I know! Please don’t make me hear it. I don’t need to hear it, honest.

Cherry Jubilee sat down on the planks, and to Coloratura’s shame she couldn’t ignore the slight sag of the old boards. “It’s jus’ I’m not entirely the pony to solve them, neither. And what with all the other guys and gals I need to look after, that don’t leave me with many options.”

Options. There hadn’t been many of those after the rodeo disaster. Her old manager had been in the newspapers practically daily, in photographs with bright young stars amid smiling faces that had no idea what was in store for them. One morning, she’d even tried to warn Joy Denim about that bloodsucker, galloping down avenues and into the offices, past a protesting receptionist and right into the waiting hooves of a dozen bodyguards in suits and shades. Svengallop had come down himself to see what the hubbub was, and even dismissed the bodyguards when he’d seen her.

“Well, well,” he said, turning up his lispy, mocking voice. “If it isn’t my ex-Countess come crawling back with an apology.”

“I’m not your Countess, Svengallop, and I’m not apologizing for anything. I’m here to warn you: I know who you are and what you are, and if you even think of using Joy Denim the way you’ve used me, then I’ll –”

“Calm down, kiddo! Yeesh, you sound like my ex-girlfriend. Listen,” he continued, patting his expertly twisted tie and his spotless lapels while she stood there in a cast-off dress from the Charity Kindheart collection, “what I choose to do with my new client is no concern of yours. I’m going to make her the biggest thing since Sapphire Shores’ Comeback Tour, and I’m going to do it for the good of the pop world, not for some bleeding-heart charity with more bubble than brains.”

Coloratura laughed coldly. “Not if I can help it! I’m going straight to Buried Lede’s office with this. When everyone finds out what you were doing behind my back, there won’t be a decent pony in the city who’ll look twice at you.”

What had hurt the most was the way he sighed at her. The pitying look in his eye, the way he smiled as though at a child…

“Well, you see, there’s the problem,” he said slowly and clearly. “Decent ponies don’t last long in the big city. Anyone else would chew Joy Denim up and spit out her bones. I just skim a bit of cream off the top of her morning coffee, and in return I make sure she’s not wasting her time with freeloaders and incompetents.”

“Oh? Is that what you call it when you threaten to cancel a show because you’re not getting pampered? You turned me into a copy of you, into what you thought was what the city really wanted. You were so busy shaping my events and my interests that you never stopped to think what I really wanted, what I had to offer other than the Countess image.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?”

She almost wanted to hit him, which shocked her out of her anger. Never before in her entire life had her veins coursed with so much venom. Not once had she seen another pony as anything other than… well, a pony, a living being with thoughts and feelings of their own, even if they didn’t reveal them to her. She just saw him as something to hurt.

It scared her into silence.

“Listen, ‘Rara’, before you get yourself into trouble. If I didn’t look after her interests and keep an eye on the fashion scene, someone else would. And darling, if you think I’m the worst the city has to offer, then you’ve been living in a cave all your life. Why, six of Sapphire’s managers were arrested for laundering money, and three were involved in scandals too sordid for your pretty little ears to hear. I kept a clean image for both of us and I’m pretty sure I never spent a cent without you knowing about it and agreeing with it. So go ahead, ‘Rara’. Ruin Joy Denim’s life for some petty payback. What say you? My business-savvy realism versus your go-nowhere idealism? Shout it to the rooftops. I’ll be waiting for the non-existent tomatoes to fly.”

He’d been right.

The reporter, Buried Lede, had told both sides of the story. Oh, Svengallop had been bald-faced when it came time to give his interview. He’d told the reporter exactly what he’d said to her, almost word-for-word, right there in black and white. It should have made him the most hated pony in the city, she was sure of it.

Joy Denim was number one for the entire week. There was talk of a pan-Equestrian tour in the works, six exclusive merchandising contracts, and eight high-profile charity events graced by none other than Canterlot socialite Fancypants himself.

She’d thrown down the newspaper in disgust. The words were carved into her mind no matter how much she shook her head: “Green-Eyed Ex-Star Goes Svengalloping Her Mouth Off”.

It was a while before she felt the tears crackling down her cheeks, and the crates and the reassuring smile of Cherry Jubilee swam back into her world.

Already on fire, her eyes seemed to melt, everything sinking and oozing into a dank pit of despair. Warm limbs closed around her temples. She fought not to let anything rise out of her twisted chest.

“I’m fine,” she lied with a gasp, rubbing her eyes and pushing the limbs back in the process. “Just really, really tired. That’s all.”

“I told you, sugar,” said Cherry Jubilee with a chuckle, “I ain’t gonna go bawlin’ you out. You think you’re the first I’ve seen who’s hit rock bottom? Why the number of big names I’ve had through here would read like a Who’s Who of Equestria’s greatest through the ages. Heck, I used to be a rodeo star myself before I came back to the plantation. Don’t think for a second you’re on your own here, OK?”

Coloratura smiled despite the streaking mess she’d made of her face. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’ll take an early night tonight. You’ll find me fresh as a daisy tomorrow morning.”

“Good gal. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with the beddin’, is there? I know some of you city ponies like it soft as an eider’s backside. Jus’ say the word. I’ll have it changed.”

Crates rattled when she backed into them. Finally, she met Cherry Jubilee’s gaze, and for a second it seemed oddly familiar to her.

“No no no!” she spluttered. “Not at all! In fact, your beds are the best I’ve ever slept in.”

Cherry Jubilee smirked at her. “Come now, you don’t have to lay it on thick. I do my best, but they’re basically high-falutin’ log cabins, sugar. There’s hundreds of the things in this backwater. It’s about as humble as you can get without bein’ dirt poor.”

“It’s fine, really. Don’t put yourself out. I just… need an early night, that’s all. Let me go back to the sorting room. I’ll give it another go!”

Emphatically, she swung her leg in a broad gesture. Yelping, she drew back as the strike throbbed against her cannon and the crates threatened to tip over.

Moving faster than a mare her age should have managed, Cherry Jubilee took the jutting edges two at a time. Coloratura blinked, and the boss was frozen in the act of splaying limbs against the topmost crate, which teetered right on the edge… and then fell back with a thud.

Both of them sighed with relief.

Cherry Jubilee hopped down onto a lower edge, and it was all Coloratura could do not to applaud. The flip here, the pirouette there, the graceful upright landing on the planks which somehow barely groaned at all: it all struck her as a performance she’d have killed to see choreographed in her own show. Only when her boss fell back onto all fours did she suddenly look her “mature” self again.

“You’re not gonna get much done if you’re that mis-coordinated,” she said grimly, dusting off her forelegs. “Get a goshdarned nap already. You can swap with Old Colt Casher for the evenin’ shift, an’ then make it up in overtime next week. Jus’ get that sleepin’ regime whipped into shape firs’, OK?”

Coloratura’s smile disappeared down her throat through sheer embarrassment. However, she’d already tested her own physical limits – she could feel her legs cramping as she stood there – so with barely a nod she turned around and strode past the crates and through the pine frame, which her rump ever-so-slightly bounced off.

Her legs took her to the canteen, through which would be the exit to the pathway leading to the accommodation halls. Then she stopped, and she stared across the aisles of simple stools and long tables, and she grinned and heard the whoop of workers and the strum of the banjo from days ago. She could even see the high seat where Cherry Jubilee had cradled the microphone and announced karaoke night.

They’d had no karaoke at the cafeteria. Nowhere for her there.

It had been in Canterlot, and Cinnamon Chai had offered her another Danish swirl. That had confused her until it turned out Chai was a fan of her work.

She didn’t believe the tripe in the paper either. But she didn’t know how to help her.

So Coloratura turned back to her icing-encrusted spiral and turned it over and over in her hooves. Light and sweet on one side, a culinary temptation with a cherry on top. Dull and plain on the other, something you put up with to get to the good stuff.

“Svengallop was right,” she mumbled, too sugar-addled and sluggish to properly feel the shock this should have made. “It’s either his beloved Countess of Frauds, or a Rara no one cares about.”

And she did care about the Countess. It was what Svengallop had given her, but everyone loved the Countess. Even through the autotuned awfulness, the stabismus-inducing strobe lights, and the costumes with more rivets in them than a battleship, Coloratura had made it work. Honestly, sincerely made it work.

That was why Joy Denim made such a splash. It didn’t matter that Svengallop had gotten her bathing suit and told her how to flip a dive. She was still the champion swimmer.

That was why he won. He knew which horse to bet on.

Under her hooves, the swirl was squeezed to a mushy tube.

“Well well well,” said a familiar drawl behind her. “If this ain’t a turn-up for the books, I don’t know what is.”

Coloratura spun round in her seat, and sure enough, the half-lidded, smiling face of Cherry Jubilee shone down on her. The wine-rich hair, the beauty spot on her cheek, and every detail of her swaggering amble snapped into place before she chuckled and took the seat opposite.

“Fancy me bumpin’ into you here.” Cherry winked when Cinnamon Chai placed a pile of profiteroles before her. “Remember me from the rodeo? Oh, sure you do. I can tell by your ears turnin’ red.”

“I was never at the rodeo,” growled Coloratura to her crushed swirl. “Didn’t you hear? They had a performance by ‘The Country Tourer’.”

Cherry said nothing for what felt like a full minute. Feeling stupid, Coloratura dropped the swirl onto her plate and licked her hooves.

“Boy howdy, though,” said the plantation owner, “what a performance! That ‘The Country Tourer’ gal’s got a set of pipes on ‘er. How in the hay did she end up doin’ openin’ acts at a rodeo?”

“Ask Svengallop,” muttered Coloratura, folding her forelimbs. “Apparently, she was a ‘dippy diva’ who flunked her charity shows and mistreated her staff. I wouldn’t want anything to do with such a horrible pony.”

She could hear the mare opposite rubbing her chin, squeaking like a hinge in need of oil. “We talkin’ about the manager or the singer there, sugar? This country dame’s a sucker for riddles, true, but she can’t make heads or tails of that one.”

Coloratura stuffed the swirl into her mouth and ripped a chunk off, chewing sullenly. She didn’t know why she hated this mare so much, but suddenly she very much did. Nothing would have made her less prickly than if she was just left to chew her comfort food in peace. Why couldn’t this self-called ‘country dame’ mind her own business? She swallowed the load, wincing at the weight catching in her gullet.

Opposite her, Cherry Jubilee sighed and slid a card across the table. “I’ll move to another table if you like, but I just want you to know my offer still stands. There’s a train headin’ down Dodge Junction way tonight at eight. We got good accommodation, so don’t worry about that.”

“I don’t need your pity,” snapped Coloratura, and instantly she regretted it. Her insides vanished at the thought of what she’d said. “I’m sorry. I-I mean –”

She made the mistake of looking up. She fell into silence.

After what felt like another agonizing minute, Cherry Jubilee’s inscrutable face blinked. “Well, if you’re gonna be huffy about it, I’ll take my leave now. Clearly, this ain’t a good time. But this ain’t pity, squirt. Well, OK, it is a tad, but you need bits to get back on track, an’ I need quick hooves and strong backs. This is a business, not a charity. Don’t let your conscience kick you while you’re down, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

Back to staring at her ruined dessert, Coloratura heard the chair scrape back and the hooves clop over the tiles. A slight movement in her peripheral vision proved that Cinnamon Chai had carried the platter away.

Coloratura didn’t dare look up again until she heard Cherry Jubilee shout her thanks to the baker, and when the door closed with a tinkle of the bell, she swallowed the lump in her throat, got up, and slunk towards the door…

Coloratura strode between the long tables and gritted her teeth against the bile. Rising up her throat were words she didn’t dare utter. As she passed the stool, however, she glanced up for a moment.

The ghost of Rara was seated on the peak, hooves over the microphone stand, crooning to the silent tears of the crowd.

Coloratura crushed her lids shut and pushed her way out, through the batwing doors and into the dazzling sunlight.

Silver Shill: The Secret Song

She kept up the good sleeping regime for three days, and then bad habits ambushed her again.

Perhaps it had just been a really bad day anyway. Production had gone down because one of the cogs had cracked, and Jubilee refused to work with anything cracked even if it still technically worked. Unfortunately, the spare part was out of town, so for most of the day they’d been assigned to sit five to a room counting cherries. Coloratura had lost count fifty times – or so she thought, because she’d lost count of how many times she’d lost count – and she still didn’t believe her final tally.

Her mind felt like it was trying to bore through her skull. She’d taken three mugs of water, but still she had to wince at every renewed scraping of the inside of her head. Numbers swirled around her head like fish, roused from their peace by constant stirring and now refusing to stop. Way past the point when the last light had gone out down the corridor, she kept rolling back and forth on her bed trying to grit her teeth and will it out.

There was something else, though. While she’d been in the canteen, Shill had sat opposite her nursing his own mug as though it were precious nectar. In his trembling voice and through his underbite of a smile, he’d warbled about business this and loss of custom that and future business plans the other thing. Until…

“Still, I’d rather be in a slump through honest and fair effort,” he said, “than through cheating ponies. I didn’t used to think that way before I met Applejack –”

The water went the wrong way with a sting. She felt her lungs explode with shock, and heard Shill yell and hit the boards. Coughing and spluttering, Coloratura beat her chest with a hoof until the worst of the stinging had stopped.

“Whoa, you OK?” said Cherry Berry to her right. “Don’t drink so fast, girl. You’ll kill yourself.”

“Wha-at di-did you s-say, sorry?” she stammered through racking lungs.

Shill peered over the edge of the table. Behind his much-too-large spectacles, he was blinking at her and looked perfectly ready to duck down.

“Uh,” he said, “I’d rather be an honest pony than a cheater?”

“No, no, after that.” Coloratura winced as Cherry Berry placed a bracing hoof against her shoulder blade. “I’m fine, Berry. Really, don’t worry. I meant, what did you say after that? You’ve met Applejack?”

Glancing at his colleagues for support, Shill nodded. Even his nod trembled.

“When was that?” she said, softening her voice. “Sorry. It’s just a bit of a surprise, that’s all. I know Applejack, you see. I was curious. I’m sorry I made you jump.”

“I’m OK.” Shill eased himself back onto his seat. “When you’ve led the life I’ve led, you become a bit jittery, looking over your shoulder all the time for someone to catch you out. Yeah, I was always helping one crooked business pony after another. I was hawking bad goods and pretending to be cured by fake medicine. I was always dressing up whatever junk they had to sell. I never liked any of it, but it seemed to be what I was best at, so I went along with it just in case. It didn’t really seem to be hurting any pony. I never wanted to go that far.”

“Oh,” she said dully. Coloratura bowed her head low. “No one had a problem with the lies, did they? It was what got results, wasn’t it? A little white lie here, a little spit and polish there…”

“I had a problem with it,” said Shill. She looked up sharply, and for once the tremble was gone and those oversized eyes of his held a steady stare. “And so would everyone else if they found out they were being taken for fools. That was why Applejack was so good to me. She showed me that lying to ponies for money wasn’t right. It was treating them like the garbage I was selling them.”

“Wow,” said the stallion to his left. “That was just like me and my old travelling circus. I used to be a pickpocket for the ringleader.”

“I used to sell sheep that lost their wool.” The next stallion along grinned apologetically. “It was taped on. I got into a lot of trouble with my dad over that.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” said Cherry Berry thoughtfully, “but I did used to get in the way when I was trying to get into showpony business. Everyone kept saying my jokes were bad, but I just lied to myself and refused to believe them until I got my first gig. Talk about ouch. It wasn’t one of my better career choices.”

Coloratura blinked and followed each agreeing pony and talking head up and down the table. An old well, long since poisoned, felt as though it was being cleansed inside her heart. So Svengallop had been wrong. Not everyone cared more for image than integrity. She knew it!

“Quiet,” muttered the stallion to Shill’s right. “Shill ain’t finished yet. Were you, Shill?”

“Yeah,” Cherry Berry said. “Tell us what happened next.”

A hush went all along the table as Shill became once more the focus of attention. He coughed nervously. Never had he found himself surrounded by so many wide and eager eyes.

“Well,” he began, and then faltered and looked at his plate.

“Go on, Shill. We're all friends here,” said the stallion to his right. Nods went up and down the table.

“Oh dear. Well, if you insist, I guess I should tell it. Um.”

He tapped his chin for a while. Inside, Coloratura squirmed with anticipation, but she forced it down. Patience.

Finally, he spoke. “I suppose really, I should say Applejack inspired me. I asked myself, ‘Do I really want to live my life so disrespectfully? Is that who I really am, or is that just who I’d been told to be by cheats and liars?’ Well, I decided to turn over a new leaf there and then, when Applejack said she’d made a mistake by okaying the stuff those frauds were peddling.”

“Of course she’d do that.” Coloratura found herself nodding eagerly. “Applejack always hated lies, but she never spoke out when she was a filly.” Until I came along, thought the Countess smugly. “She regretted it ever after. No way she’d keep silent now, especially with a bunch of frauds in her town. I’ll just bet she stormed up to them and gave them a piece of her mind.”

Shill wrinkled his lips slightly. “Uh… not right away.”

Coloratura blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she went along with it first because it was making her granny happy. I thought she was just another pony who knew what she was doing, and that I was just being naive again. I was so relieved to be able to lie to myself, I even thanked her for it. But then she changed her mind at the last minute, and I will always be happy that she did. For a while there, I almost gave in to it!”

Coloratura kept silent. Shill cleared his throat, commanding an audience simply because, well, it was Shill and he virtually never seemed as certain and solid as he did now. No one else seemed to notice Coloratura after that.

“You know,” he said to the table at large, and he was earning nods as he continued, “it must be very sad to have to fake it to make it. At least honest junk has its own integrity. So I sure showed those two con artists what for, right in front of everyone. Applejack was struggling a bit with the crowd, but I stood up for her. Oh, you have no idea how long I’d been waiting for a day like that! I felt a hundred hands tall! Then to show it wasn’t just talk, I went and made it up to the ponies I’d been fooling. It wasn’t always nice because of the shouting I usually got, but I felt like a better pony when it was all over. And I am never going back to my old ways. Not even if that could help me become the biggest name in business.”

That had gotten a few rounds of muttered and booming agreements, and it had almost earned his relieved smile a round of stamping applause immediately after. She could still hear it, hours later, hammering away at her skull.

Finally, with the moonlight streaming in silently through the window, she gave in. Coloratura rolled off the bed and drew out, from underneath, the paper and pen and clipboard she’d stashed under the boards on her first night. No one could know about this. Everyone but Cherry Jubilee thought she was just another city mare. It would only lead to awkward questions she didn’t have the answers to.

At least, no answers she wanted to give away.

A few fumbles and a round of reshuffling later, she’d propped up the clipboard against the sill and switched on the bedside lamp. Overhead, the white moon stared down as though at a long-lost lover. She stared back.

Stars twinkled while the words chilled her mind. Whatever boring and scraping had been there faded away under the winter of contentment. Songs and beats haunted her, suggesting possible worlds beyond the one she knew, always teasing her, never letting her see the full thing whenever she tried to focus.

Inspiration snowed, winds stirred up the falling flakes into new shapes, ice cracked with the pressure of sheer certainty. She knew what to write. Below her, the words stood out as arctic rivers on a frozen shelf.

“When I was just a little foal,
I had no special gifts at all.
However much I wished and begged
Upon a star, I wasn’t pegged

As nothing more than nothing, no one special.
As nothing less than grist beneath a pestle.

Yet I met a normal filly;
Boring, yes, but it was silly
Mocking her with private laughter.
Friends we were forever after.

And she was but a wizard in disguise
Who cured me of my blind and shaking eyes.

She showed the magic in my heart
And turned my tongue towards the art
I knew I had there all along:
Enchanting others with my song.

With something more than pure love symphonies.
With sweet, divine, enchanting melodies.

Flowing words now kept me tall,
Kept me from the reaper’s fall
Crashing down to fading darkness,
Gave me heart when I was heartless.

And we were kept together by the word.
Across the distant hills, we spoke unheard.

Until the day the magic found
The city where the weak were ground,
The ‘scrapers hid the open sky,
And no one looked you in the eye.

Then came the lasers with the leading jacket,
Who said, ‘If you don’t like it, we won’t back it.’

So I sacrificed my magic;
Didn’t know I’d had the tragic
Curses cast upon my mind,
Changing my dark soul inside:

My idol for the city – soul unblessed! –
Had me possessed; the ghost was my Countess!

I broke my roots across the hills.
The spotlight blinded me; it still
Has left me blind in one good eye.
But I could see another sky,

And now my roots grew back across the distance,
And I was saved by my own reminiscence…

Wizard came to set me free,
Cast the Countess out of me,
Banished darkness, gave me song,
Showed I’d treasured all along

A chance to hear a song so pure and pleasant…
She’d simply dragged the past into the present!

So I was now a stronger mare;
I cast my spells without a care!
I sang the phoenix song of love
And rose from ash to light above.

The wizard came and saved me with her charm:
Her second chance had been my soothing balm.

Yet the city had no pity,
Met my words with something witty,
Met my fight with callous chuckles,
Watched me rage and said ‘Your trouble

‘Is that you’re just a little foal still yearning
‘Upon a star; you’ve earned all you’ll be earning.’

The Countess had forsaken me
Because I’d thought mistakenly
That I was special, worth a dime;
But I’d just lived on stolen time

As nothing more than nothing, no one special.
As nothing less than grist beneath a pestle.

I’d betrayed that normal filly,
Proven I was just a silly
Farmer’s gal who’d run away,
Lost it all, and had to pay

With dirt and sweat and aching limbs forever.
I’m dead to song, to magic words forever.”

Frowning down at the final cadence, she shot forwards and scribbled out the last verse until nothing remained but a ripped hole in the paper. The magic’s not dead yet, she thought angrily. I won’t let it die!

And there was the ghost of the Countess, watching and waiting.

Her heart began beating harder and harder. No way could she ever sing this. It would be like going onto the stage with no makeup, no clothes, and no lights. She’d never make it off alive.

What does it matter now? Calluses burned across her hocks. Strains threatened to break out along her back. Cherries and numbers and timber and chirpy voices filled her future. Who cares what happens to all that stuff?

She ignored the list of names that flooded her mind in response. None of them were needed. She knew she was wrong before she’d even asked the two questions.

I care.

Coloratura paused and thought of the next line. Shill’s voice echoed in her head: “Well, she went along with it first because it was making her granny happy. I thought she was just another pony who knew what she was doing, and that I was just being naive again. I was so relieved to be able to lie to myself, I even thanked her for it.”

Finally, the glacier of thought cracked. Icebergs broke free. Her pen came crashing down with inevitable gravity. The rivers stretched onwards, and now continued:

“Turns out wizards have a weakness
Saving me from total bleakness:
She was just a filly too
Living lies, not being true

Herself, but now I see she needed me
To make our dreams a rich reality.

So I shall be the wizard now
And bring the magic to the crowd.
If silver saves her, so can I;
I don’t need gilded wings to fly.

When I have paid my debt to honest soil,
I’ll fly on wings of honesty and toil.

Phoenix rising from the ash,
Rising ready for the dash.
My horizon! My heartsong!
Singing joyful, loud, and long!

With dirt and sweat and aching limbs forever!
I’ll cast my song, my magic words forever!

However much we stretch our heartstrung tether,
No spell will stop us facing life together.”

There was a flash behind her, but Coloratura barely noticed. In the end, something dripped onto the page and smudged the last line. She dropped the pen and stared up at the moon. She wasn’t surprised to see it was blurring.

She was surprised, however, when someone rapped against the bedroom door.

“You still up, sugar?” cooed the unmistakeable, warbling voice of Cherry Jubilee. Too late, Coloratura rammed her hoof on the switch, and the bedside lamp went off.

“Uh…” she said.

Her clipboard clattered to the floor. Hastily, she shoved it under the bed.

“N…” Honesty and common sense kicked her in the ear. “Yes, Miss Jubilee.”

“Figured you might be. There’s a visitor here to see you. I know it’s odd hours, but she got in on a late train, and since bedtime don’t mean much to you anyway…”

Coloratura frowned. She couldn’t tell if her boss was being playful or serious. “Who is it?”

“Well, it sure ain’t Princess Celestia, kid. Jus’ come an’ be neighbourly, wouldya?”

When she gave in and opened the door, however, Coloratura was greeted with a knowing grin that, on Cherry Jubilee, made her look not so much “mature” as “experienced”. She felt her own ears burning just looking at that grin.

“Uh…” she said again. Cherry Jubilee looked past her to the wide open window, and, to her horror, she realized the pen was still out on the planks in plain sight.

“Enjoyin’ a li’l late night moonlightin’?” Her boss chuckled and led them down the corridor, talking over her shoulder as she went. “Don’t blame you. I used to stare out late at nights too, jus’ admirin’ the orchard trees shiverin’ under the stars. O’ course, some of the nights I used to sneak out with a beau for a romantic dinner at the ol’ tavern, but the smarter ones took me up to the hills for a better view of nature.”

“You’ve… certainly led an interesting life,” said Coloratura helplessly.

“Ha! ‘Interesting life’, she says. I ain’t even mentioned the really interestin’ stuff we got up to on those nights. But now ain’t the time for hearin’ an old mare’s tales.” Cherry threw a wink over her shoulder. “Mind the steps as you go down. Cherry Berry pointed out a rickety one this evenin’, but I forgot which one it is.”

At the bottom of the staircase, and after Coloratura jumped over a step that creaked warningly at her, they both entered the main lobby, which unsurprisingly was timber all over. A firefly jar glowed and flickered on the desk, accompanied by tiny bumps and scrapes when the insects occasionally hit the sides.

Sitting on the waiting bench was Applejack.

Applejack: Heart of Gold

Coloratura stopped dead. She stared.

Applejack was just as she last remembered her: Stetson hat placed on her head with the comfort and command a king couldn’t achieve with a crown; ponytail draped across the back of her neck; the earthy colour of her fur, clashing with the mane and tail, giving the impression of straw rising from clay-rich soil. Same few freckles flecked on her cheeks.

Coloratura realized she hadn’t moved for almost a whole minute, yet Applejack had long since leaped out of her seat and lunged for her, crying out her name. Her friend pulled back from a hug that she’d barely noticed through the shock.

“Of all the places to find you!” said Applejack in a rush. “As soon as Ah got the letter from Cherr –”

Her eyes darted over to the desk, where Coloratura just had time to see Cherry Jubilee lower her forelimbs. The old mare glanced hurriedly at the ceiling.

“Ah mean,” said Applejack, “Ah’d been wonderin’ for weeks what the hay happened to you. Ah heard everythin’ an’ believed about half of it, because my word! Ah jus’ had to come see for myself.”

In anyone else’s mouth, Coloratura thought, I’d say that was almost gloating. Not in hers.

“AJ?” she managed to breathe at last.

“You OK, Rara?” said Applejack quietly.

Finally, the shock began to dissipate. Senses came oozing back. First, the smell of apple pie baking in the oven, of acidic cider brewing in the vats, and of the sheer overwhelming sweat and musk of a pony who’d bucked trees all week and clearly hadn’t taken a bath afterwards.

Second, she could feel the steady beating in Applejack’s chest when she reached forwards, grabbed her by one forelimb, and yanked her close.

“Letters,” she said quietly, “are nowhere near good enough. We need to meet up more often.”

They drew apart, her beaming, Applejack grinning. “Sure as sugar we do! When we’re not outing slimy managers, that is, aheheh. Ah got a family reunion comin’ in a few moons that’d make a fine excuse to meet up an’ catch up.”

“But…” Along with her five senses, a cold reality came crawling back to her. “What are you doing here? All the way out in Dodge, I mean. You can’t have known –”

“Ah wanted,” Applejack said, stepping back and placing her Stetson on her chest, “well, to say sorry. For what Ah did, Ah mean. Yeah, Ah know what you’re gonna say” – she raised the be-hatted hoof when Coloratura opened her mouth – “you’re gonna say it was the bes’ thing that ever happened, that without me you’d still be Svengallop’s puppet, that Ah know the real you an’ helped you find it too, an’ all that stuff. An’ Ah ain’t apologizin’ for all that. But look where you are now. There’s no gettin’ around what pie Ah made out of that fruit basket.”

“Applejack,” said Coloratura quickly, “you’re not making sense! That wasn’t your fault!”

“It was,” said Applejack, so plainly and quietly that Coloratura fell silent again. “Ah din’t mean it, an’ Ah never, never woulda wished anything bad on you even if my life was at stake doin’ so. But Ah’m still responsible for it. It’s as simple as that.”

“Then you’re forgiven! I’m not giving up on my dreams whatever it takes. You believed in me, and that’s enough.”

Applejack sighed and replaced her Stetson. “It ain’t. Ah’m sorry. It jus’ ain’t.”

Beside the pair, Cherry Jubilee had her usual inscrutable half-stare. She was standing by one of the firefly jars, and dim as it was, it seemed to cast a notable shine around her lower corneas like flames shining on a film of water. It was hard for Coloratura to tell.

“That’s why Ah’m here.” She watched as Applejack sat down on the boards. “Ah wanna make up for it.”

“There isn’t –” Coloratura willed herself to calm down. Whatever skull-boring headache had gone away earlier was now digging its way back in.

With a softer voice, she continued, “You don’t have to make up for anything. So Manehattan doesn’t see what you see. I don’t need fame. I don’t need to be number one in the charts. I just need to sing the way I love to sing. Applejack, you remember that day back in Friendship Camp, when you first encouraged me to sing the old Equestrian anthem?”

“How could Ah forget?” Applejack turned to Cherry Jubilee. “Ah won’t ever forget somethin’ that special. Her cutie mark was shinin’ like the sun that day. Now there’s a moment when Ah wish Ah had a camera.”

Cherry Jubilee smiled and nodded. It could have been genial acknowledgement or just a polite gesture.

“Well,” continued Coloratura, feeling the warmth sneaking into her voice and trying to hold it back calmly, “do you think I liked it because it made me the talk of the camp? That’s what I thought. That’s why I went to Manehattan instead of staying at home. It was a mistake. I like being popular, but I love being good. I love being popular because I’m good. Svengallop was good at” – she choked at those words, but forced herself to continue – “spectacle, pizzazz, popularity. And ponies like that. Well, they’re welcome to it. But that isn’t what’s behind the singer’s power. He just saw enough to know he’d make a buck off it, but you saw everything.”

This much speech wore her out from the lungs to the throat. She glanced at the firefly jar, ignoring Cherry Jubilee’s impassive face.

“Before we met at the charity concert,” she finished, “I hadn’t seen my cutie mark shine in years.”

She ignored the way Applejack’s foreleg moved up to her snout, and the slight sniffs that followed. Suddenly, she wanted to turn around and go back upstairs. Oh no, did I really just say all that? Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? She’s going to be so embarrassed, and she’s already worked herself up to a guilt trip.

“This is so much like Friendship Camp,” Applejack said, with such self-control that Coloratura looked round at her again. She gestured to the lobby around them. “You know? Ah remember you always said exactly what you were thinkin’, sometimes without thinkin’. That’s what makes you who you are. Heck, we’re even in a timber lodge again. That’s downright spooky.”

Oh, I don’t know, thought Coloratura, and her mind wandered back to her written song under the bed. Not that spooky. “So what are you doing here, exactly?”

“An’ here’s me, tryin’ to get you to sing again…” Applejack seemed to wake up, giving herself a quick shake. “Sorry? Oh. Well… Ah was thinkin’… what with me gettin’ you into trouble an’ all… Aw heck, Ah might as well jus’ come out an’ say it. Rara, Ah wanna help you out, one Apple to another.”

“But I’m not an Apple pony.” Coloratura felt her cheeks squeezing against the blush she knew was creeping in. “I’m not even a real farmer.”

“You sow songs and reap admirin’ fans.” Applejack winked. “Close enough for me. An’ you’re as good as kin to me, anyway.”

This time, the armour cracked: Cherry Jubilee gave a loud sniff and dabbed at her eyes with her neckerchief. The two pretended furiously not to notice. Coloratura’s neck muscles throbbed with the effort.

“So me an’ my friends in Ponyville were wonderin’ if you’d like to come back an’ sing for us. We could put on a show, or set up another charity fundraiser for everyone in town. Ah know the Mayor’d be thrilled to host a show by you, an’ the Cakes an’ my Granny an’ some of the other farmers already offered to provide the caterin’, an’ Ah jus’ know Pinkie and Twilight between ‘em would have it ready an’ waitin’ faster than a cow turns grass to milk. We could be your managers for a bit – Rarity’s got a heck of a head for numbers – an’ Dash, ‘Shy, an’ Spike could do some promotin’ around town with banners an’ announcements an’ stuff. We got it all covered. A chance to make it up to you. Get you back on track. All you gotta do is say yes.”

Everything seemed to slip by, except Applejack’s far too cheesy grin and the final words. All she had to do was say yes.

The excitement raced on before she’d even taken stock. Just like the stage at camp! My word, was it really that many years ago? The song shining with my cutie mark… Everyone going ‘Wow’ and talking like they’d just met the Princess herself…

All she had to do was say yes. Right here, right now, while she was still stinking of cherries and bad breath. It wouldn’t happen twice.

But it has happened twice already! She remembered galloping across the fields – no, away from the fields – ignoring the cries of her parents far behind her. Back then, the only cheers she’d heard were those of the annoying birds she’d chased away from the fields over and over and over again. Any tool involving a handle had made her feel like she’d been punched in the mouth. Then she’d fallen in the mud one time too many, and something haughty and careless and brash had shouted NO!

They’d brought her back. She’d been carried back, kicking and screaming and yelling how much she hated farming. When they backed off or cried or pleaded, she still refused to do any chores. When they tried grounding her, she just laughed and slipped out the window to hit the night clubs in the next town over. And then they’d sent her to Friendship Camp. It was a compromise.

Besides, she’d been dying to get away; when they asked her, she couldn’t say “Yes” fast enough. At least until she saw the mud pits, and then tried to leap out the cabin window under the moonlight.

I could go back to when it all started, she thought. Way back at camp.

“Uh…” Applejack’s voice briefly surfaced through the sea of thoughts, “are you feelin’ OK, Rara?”

You were right, AJ. This IS exactly like camp. We were mucking in the mud, doing all kinds of fun things, meeting all kinds of nice ponies over lunch. And you heard me trying to sing myself a lullaby one night, and you said “Good gravy, girl! Let’s put on a show. You’re too good to leave doin’ nothin’ but chores with a voice like that.”

“Only you’ve been standin’ there starin’ at nothin’ for a while,” Applejack continued. Vaguely, Coloratura could tell the mare was blushing.

One show would be enough. She’d spread word among the campers, who’d told their parents, who’d told one of the Rich family, who’d gotten her a gig as part of his promotional campaign for his new line of chain stores. From village to town. From town to city. And then, Manehattan…

“Ah could give you some time to think, if you like?” Applejack’s face widened with worry now.

…where the likes of Svengallop had told her what a big girl she was, what an image she carried. The hauteur. The disdain. The cold comfort of the cynically aloof. Oh, she’d been the Countess he could only have dreamed of before.

Coloratura blinked back into the present, and was mildly amused to see her friend actually flinch at this.

“Rara? Seriously, you OK?” Applejack half-crouched, weighed down by some private misery. “Ah din’t want to put any pressure on you, Ah swear! Ah thought you’d jump at this.”

“I’m fine, AJ,” Coloratura said, her voice steady as a rock. “It was a bit out of the blue, but…”

She looked across at Cherry Jubilee, who waved a hoof airily. “Don’t look at me, sugar. This is your show. I jus’ wanted to talk to AJ once you’re done.”

That’s not totally the truth, is it now? Aloud, she said, “But what about you? I can’t just up and leave. You heard what AJ said, didn’t you?”

“Sugar,” said Cherry Jubilee, shrugging, “over the years I’ve seen ponies come an’ go, sometimes on the same day” – she glanced at Applejack when she said this – “but still the plantation lives on. Ah don’t stop feedin’ it, you see. You think you’re needed elsewhere, then Ah ain’t gonna stop you. You jus’ gotta be sure that’s what you really want. Anyway, you’re a lousy sleeper.”

Both Applejack and Coloratura suppressed a chuckle, and just like that the thoughts in her head stirred against the pebble thrown in.

“I am just a pony,” came the words unbidden from her mouth.

“Ain’t we all?” Cherry Jubilee glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. “Savin’ the griffons an’ the cows an’ the critters an’ the minotauruses an’ things, but they’re honorary ponies in my book.”

Applejack barely heard her. Stretching up, she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head, one eye narrowing suspiciously. “Jus’ what are you sayin’, Rara?”

Coloratura swelled where she stood. For a moment the Countess’ cold stare flashed across her face; she could feel the iron gates of her jaw closing and her eyes become stiletto daggers.

“I’m saying –” she began. “Y… No.”

And now she could imagine Applejack’s friends, some poised to raise banners, some looking up at a stage, some ready to adjust the lights overhead, but all of them frozen in place, waiting for a Coloratura-shaped hole that would never be filled.

She wanted to be there. She wanted the explosion and the cheers and the first booming beats so badly she almost burst out into song there and then. But if that meant turning her back on the sweat and the soil, if that meant heading back into Manehattan to get knocked down again, learning nothing, then there was no other answer.

“No!?” Applejack burst out. “Jus’ like that?”

“AJ, we made a promise when we were at camp,” said Coloratura. There was no going back; she’d leaped out of the highest branches and now was not the time to wonder what was waiting below the leaves. “I would never hide who I really was if you wouldn’t, either.”

“Well, yeah,” said Applejack, whose gaze darted across her face as thought trying to find a twitch of a clue where this was going.

“And you know who I am, don’t you?” she continued. “What I am?”

“Yes. You’re a singer.”

“No. I’m a farmer.”

“Oh, Rara!” Applejack chuckled with realization. “No, don’t think that. You don’t have to be tied down by where you come from. My friend Rarity –”

“I mean right now, I’m a farmer. Cherry Jubilee offered me work and pay, and I intend to stick to it.”

Cherry Jubilee opened her mouth, but then backed off a couple of steps out of the light and closed it again.

“I’ll keep working for her until I’ve saved enough to spend my money my way. If I’m going to sing for all of Equestria, then I owe it to all of Equestria to know them better. I’ll travel for a bit. I’ll learn new kinds of music. I’ll never stop stretching myself, never let myself get put in a basket and be told to stay there. There’s a place for the Countess, but I’m more than that. I’m a farmer now, but I’m going to be an artist. The artist I’ve always wanted to be.”

She saw their eyes flicker towards her cutie mark. Let them look, she thought with a thrill. A star, five musical notes, and five colours of the rainbow. I know what it means.

“Ah’ll come visit ya,” said Applejack at once. “If ever you wanna stay still for a bit. Ah weren’t kiddin’ when Ah said we shouldn’t have lost touch.”

Coloratura shook her head. “I’ll come visit you. It was my fault we stopped writing.”

“No, it was my fault. You sent the last letter.”

“I should have sent another!”

“Ah shoulda replied to the firs’ one!”

Cherry Jubilee waved a hoof and guffawed in such an unladylike way that they both turned and stared at her. “Tell you gals what. Let’s agree you both messed up, an’ I’ll make sure Miss Coloratura’s letters get to the mail pony when he comes in on the Monday. How’d you like that?”

Coloratura nodded at once, smirking despite herself. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Jubilee.”

“Don’t I know it? That’s what my third beau said.”

Both Applejack and Coloratura laughed, but nervously, because they weren’t sure if she was joking or not.

And finally, after what felt like an eternity of aching and waiting, they both reached towards each other and tightened their grip on each other’s shoulders. Once more, Rara could feel AJ’s heart beating through her own pressed chest, and knew her own was drumming a faster beat back, replying through her friend’s chest in turn. Almost all the old memories came back: of pine forests stretching into the distance, of foals chattering excitedly about them, and of the echoes of guitar music and her own voice lingering in the musty air…

They drew apart with some effort. Neither had wanted to let go, and Applejack was instantly all business again: “Ah’m so glad we got to see each other like this.”

Something nagged at Coloratura’s memory. “So how did you know where I was exactly?”

Applejack had never been good at secrets. Coloratura simply had to follow the errant eye twitch to Cherry Jubilee, who was inspecting the desk’s surface with far too much pout in her innocent expression.

Apparently noticing them for the first time, the boss of Cherry Hill Ranch pawed at the wooden floorboards. “Uh, well… I heard things through the grapevine, an’ I might have put two an’ two together here an’ there…”

“Moonlighting”, she’d said. She’s smart enough to know what that means, and just the sort to let it slip too. “Have you been reading my songs, Miss Jubilee?”

Now her boss’ face was turning redder than even her famous cherries. “Uh… maybe… when I was cleanin’ up the rooms a bit… well, I know about all the secret boards an’ things… it’s not like I told anyone… and they were kinda good, you shouldn’t be ashamed of ‘em…”

Coloratura narrowed her eyes, but part of her was rolling on the floor giggling. She’d never seen her boss look so much like a school filly caught by the teacher. Why, she even crouched more shamefully than Applejack had ever managed at her most bashful.

“Uh… I suppose I could… leave the cleanin’ of that room to you nex’ time?” Cherry Jubilee ventured.

“If you’d be so kind. Even at camp, I liked my privacy.”

“Well, that’s that, then.” Applejack jumped in hastily, her hoof steering Coloratura back to their mutual conversation. “But since Ah’m here now, Ah suppose we got a lot o’ catchin’ up to do. Train don’t leave again until the mornin’, anyway.”

“Of course! Come upstairs. Just be quiet as you go.” Coloratura let Applejack steer her to the steps beyond the open door. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, AJ. You’ll never guess who else is here, for a start…”

For a few seconds after the two had left, Cherry Jubilee listened to the blundering hooves going up the stairs and shook her head. Definitely Applejack, she thought grimly. Fine worker, but about as subtle as a herd of elephants in season. The crack of wood and the brief yelp cut it off for a moment, and then the galumphing resumed.

She sighed and shifted the firefly jar back into position. “Well, that coulda gone better. You ol’ fool, Cherry. Why didn’t you jus’ let ‘em get on with it? You’re growin’ sentimental. Gotta think about the business firs’. I thought you’d have learned after that stunt AJ and her friends did.”

She screwed up her mouth at the memory. Heck, did I have to scout fast after that li’l hitch.

Yawning a little too theatrically, she rubbed both puffy eyes with the back of her hock and took two steps towards the exit. As she did so, she found herself imagining the cry of an excited announcer, the hubbub of the arena, and herself stepping towards the curtain, feeling young again…

…when she heard a clatter of hooves against wooden steps behind her.

“What in the hay –” she mumbled, turning around.

Someone almost rammed into her. Before her mind had caught up with her front, she found herself seized in a tight hug around the neck.

“Thank you,” whispered a quiet voice in her ear.

Then Coloratura spun around and galloped out of the lobby again. Cherry Jubilee stared after her. Long after the thundering hoofsteps had died away, she raised a hoof to her neckerchief as if to check it was still there. She blinked a few times.

A smile crept up her lips. When she turned back and strode through the exit doors, she began nodding to herself, and her cheeks burned with the blushing.

Well… she thought sheepishly, you can say what you like about my methods, but the job does have its perks.