Shattered

by sunstar93

Rating: teen
Tags: Big Macintosh, Adventure, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Other, Romance, Original Character
Length: 13781

Big Macintosh's son goes on a quest to solve the mystery of his past and discovers that everything is not as it seems.

Storm Surge, the son of Big Macintosh, is an excellent warrior, blazing through the Juggernaut ranks and proving his loyalty ten-times over. But when he is taken prisoner by an enemy House, his battle skills count for nothing. And when an enemy reveals to know about his past, Storm must make the decision to search for the truth, even if it means abandoning everything he stands for.
Lies. Deceit. Secrets.

Published 2013-06-23 07:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2018-04-10 16:00:20 UTC

Prologue

The earliest- and only- memory I have of my mother is looking up into her brilliant sparkling eyes and feeling the tickle of her soft mane against my neck as she bent to kiss my forehead. This is my one happy memory, and it helps to break the encroaching darkness that surrounds me. That surrounds us.

* * *

A mare, wrapped in a black cloak, approached the farmhouse. The dilapidated “Sweet Apple Acres” sign was all but torn down, the paint faded and wooden letters missing. The orchards, once bursting with ripe red apples, were withered and rotted, a graveyard of past dreams and priorities. Now, it was everypony for themselves. That was the reason for the mare’s visit.

The mare was not alone: shielded beneath her cloak was a scrawny leggy colt, no more than a couple years old. He was shivering, soaked to the bone, leaning against his mother for protection as the rain began to pick up again. Thunder shook the ground and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, streaking across the heavy black clouds, white fingers stretching in all directions.

“Mama…” the colt cried, though his plea was carried away by the fierce wind. He struggled to keep up, trotting two strides for every one of the mare’s, until they reached the safety of the farmhouse’s porch. The mare banged on the door with her hoof, afraid the thunder would drown her out.

The door creaked and flew open from the force of the wind, and the mare ushered her foal inside ahead of her.

“What are you doin’ here?” Applejack demanded, leaning close to the mare’s face.

“Where is he?” the mare answered, ignoring Applejack’s answer.

“Ah’m right here,” Big Macintosh grunted as he entered the room. He looked immediately at the colt, curled up on the floor and shuddering violently. Mac called for Granny Smith, who appeared with a thick quilt she’d ripped off her bed. With the young horse swathed in the folds of the blanket and beginning to warm up, Mac spun around and addressed the mare. “What were you thinkin’, bringin’ him here in this weather?” he growled, jaw clenched, neck muscles taught with anger.

“I can no longer care for him. Now that war has been officially declared, I think it would be safer for him to be with you,” the mare said coolly. “And I must go my own way.”

“You rotten excuse for pony flesh! Abandon your own child? When he needs ya the most?” Applejack interjected, her voice dripping with rage.

The mare simply ignored her, even though the truth of Applejack’s words burned through her. But it was for the best. She had to believe it. “It’s hard to leave your only child, throwing him into the care of a family he barely knows. But when the war escalates- and it will- I know he will be cared for. He will be given a chance at survival. With me…” she trailed off, shaking her head. She didn’t want to imagine any other future for her son.

“And where are you goin’ that you think he wouldn’t be safe with you?” Mac challenged. He turned to look back at the colt, relieved to see he had finally stopped shaking. “Ya know what? Never mind. I don’t care where you’re goin’. I never wanna see you again. Get the hell outta mah house.” With that, Mac turned his back to the mare, focusing on unwrapping the colt and nudging him up the stairs. A hot bath would drive away any remaining chills.

Applejack glared at the mare, snorting with impatience as she hesitated to watch her son ascend the stairs. Her heart ripped with each wobbly step he took, and she felt tears welling behind her eyes. Her throat burned with anger and grief: furious that she would never see her son again, that she would never see Mac again, that she had not wanted Mac to be a part of her life. She swallowed and retreated out the door. Applejack kicked it shut behind her and the mare was left, alone, in the rain. Another white vein of lightning, followed by a belting roll of thunder. The mare felt the tears streak down her face, blurring her vision as she galloped down the path and past the sign. And disappeared.

Inside, Mac settled down beside the colt, bathed and warm again. The foal tucked his lanky legs beneath him, pressing against Mac’s side. Mac watched the colt yawn, his emerald green eyes closing, his breathing becoming steady as he slipped into sleep. Mac nuzzled him, the soft fuzzy baby fur as black as the storm clouds outside, sharply contrasting the stark white mane striped with crimson.

My son, Mac thought. He listened to the colt’s breathing for a few more minutes, the steady rhythm sometimes interrupted by a grunt or half-hearted squeal as he dreamed. Mac smiled to himself, the fury having subsided and replaced with the elation of being reunited with his son. Two long years and finally, here he was. Mac only wished he and the mare had parted on better circumstances, but that didn’t matter now. Mac rested his head on the rug and closed his eyes, thinking of a name for the colt before drifting to sleep.

Storm Surge.

* * *

I was but two years old when the war began. I don’t remember much from that time, only that I was scared and wanted my mother. As I grew older, I realized and accepted that my mother would never come back for me, that she had not wanted me. And I was angry.

My aunt Applejack founded the House Earthborn, the most expansive of the four houses, occupying five major cities. My father created the Equestrian Juggernauts, a team of stallions whose only purpose was to rush headfirst into the battlefield and steamroll over anything that stood in their way. When I turned fifteen, I was officially accepted into the Juggernaut ranks. And ready to win control of Equestria.

Author's Note

This is my first fan-fiction...ever. I hope you enjoy!!

Chapter I: Welcome to the New Age

The scarlet sky announces the imminent rising of the sun, the beginning of another arduous day. I slowly stagger to my knees and push myself up to stand on all four hooves. The battlefield before me, once a beautiful expanse of lush green grass and delicate wildflowers, now glistens with blood and dew, and the stench of the dead is suddenly overwhelming. I cannot see out of my left eye and for a moment I panic, before I realize that dried blood has crusted it shut. It is painful to try to open anyway and I can’t immediately assess the severity of the injury to my face. It can wait.

“Storm!” My ears swivel backwards to catch my name, and I turn my head to see two intimidating stallions galloping towards me. One is a colossal crimson stallion, his short golden mane stained brown with blood. High General Macintosh. My father.

I nearly collapse as I try to canter over to him, but I catch my balance, feeling my legs shaking beneath me. Father leans against me, supporting me with his massive frame. The plate metal of our armor grinds together as I fall against him and allow him to bear some of my weight, helping me walk. His breastplate is pocked with dents and craters, the chainmail protecting his withers and forelegs slightly broken in places. Nothing is able to penetrate chainmail; swords and axes merely break a few individual links, never going through completely.

The other stallion accompanying us is General Striker, an imposing fiery orange charger who serves just beneath my father. Striker is missing most of the plate armor from his chainmail suit, but aside from a few scratches, seems mostly unscathed. This was not Striker’s first ambush attack and he seems to have fared out better than most.

“Are you badly hurt?” he asks, supporting me on my other side. Together we make it across the field and back to a small group of ponies huddled together. A medic busily flits between the ponies, applying antiseptic and wraps where he can, temporary care until we make it back to New Ponyville.

“I’ll be fine,” I grunt, gritting my teeth against the pain. Every step feels like my hooves and lower legs are on fire, blazing through my skin and armor. A Juggernaut warrior isn’t brought down by anything less than a sword through the heart.

We finally reach the group and I collapse to the ground, groaning as I roll onto my side so I can relieve my legs of their burden. Father stands over me, casting his shadow across my face. The medic appears beside me and begins to inspect my eye. He applies a damp cloth to the dried blood that has crusted my eye closed, wiping it away. Next, he rubs antiseptic into the gash above my eye and I wince at the sting.

“Not too deep, you should be lucky,” the medic remarks. “How did they get your helmet off?”

“Not sure, don’t remember,” I reply. Maybe it will come to me later, but right now it doesn’t matter.

He then examines my legs and hooves, calling over another pony to assist him. “There is a considerable amount of shrapnel embedded in your lower legs. It managed to rip open the plate armor, and since there is no chainmail barrier there, has gone straight into the flesh. We will remove it, but it will be painful.” The medic does not skip around the problem. I nod weakly, just wishing for him to get started so it can be over.

“You were very brave,” Father praises. “Couldn’t be prouder.” He then leaves my side to check on the rest of the ponies. They are mostly ponies-at-arms, with a few cannoneers present. The medic interrupts my thoughts, asking me to stand so we can remove my armor. It is very painful, but he is efficient and soon I am lying back down on my side, legs outstretched, my armor stacked in a pile.

My next conscious thought is Striker nudging me awake. “We’re leaving soon. Better put your armor back on,” he snorts before turning away. The searing agony from my legs is gone, replaced by a dull burn, but nothing like the scalding pain from before. I look to see all the shrapnel pieces gone from my skin, the bigger pieces leaving behind open wounds that had been sutured. I find my strength returning to me as I manage to get to my hooves. Much better.

With the exception of my lower legs, the armor covers me from jaw to tail, and I feel invincible. If only I could find my helmet, but I can always get another one made. Father approaches me, the visor of his helmet up to reveal part of his face. Two double-edged blades jut out like tusks from the jaw of the helmet, curving up slightly in the middle to maximize inflicted damage. A third blade, serrated on one side, razor-sharp on the other, sits like a horn on top of the nose, right in the middle. It is a fearsome weapon by itself, but when attached to a charging Juggernaut stallion, it is a death sentence.

“Are ya fit for travel?” Father asks. He has abandoned his silent-farmhand persona for one of a formidable warrior comfortable with giving commands. I nod, my white forelock hanging in my eyes. I toss my head and meet my father’s emerald green eyes with mine, exactly the same shade. “We’ll report straight to AJ when we return.” I assume he means him and Striker.

Father trots to the front of the troupe of warriors, calling out, “Ready? Be on the alert!” He tosses his head so his visor falls over his eyes and flicks his short docked tail to signal our move.

“That was one hell of a battle, huh?” A familiar voice sounds in my ear. I look to my left to see a mint-green pony trotting beside me. Her navy blue mane is cut brutally short and her tail is sectioned off by spiked leather cuffs. A mace swings from the end, leather straps connecting between each cuff so as to support the weight of the ball. Two of its spikes are broken off and it is stained rust brown. “…Storm?”

“What?” I shake my head. “Sorry, Ice Flower.”

Ice Flower rolls her magenta eyes playfully. “You fought really well out there,” she comments.

“Well, I don’t know about that. It doesn’t take that much skill to charge through a bunch of ponies,” I joke. But in reality, we have one of the most important jobs. By racing forward and crashing through enemy lines first, we can incapacitate dozens of ponies at a time, giving the ponies-at-arms and cannoneers a better chance.

“It’s also not a job for just any pony. It takes a pony with an amazing amount of courage to do it.”

“And you have to be the size of a barn. Don’t forget that,” I smile. Ice Flower laughs, her sweet voice music to my ears.

“But what about you? Certainly it can’t be that easy to swing a mace from your tail?” I question.

“Well, you get used to it. And they’re much lighter than they look. But they teach us how to swing them so they inflict a lot of damage. They can knock out an armored pony, but can kill if it hits in just the right spot.” She flicks it to demonstrate and I dance to the side.

“I believe you, trust me! No need to prove it to me.”

It is nearly dusk before we reach the fortified city of New Ponyville. Several guard ponies, the size of Father and bearing weapons as fearsome as Ice Flower’s mace, nod to us as we enter through the gate.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Storm,” Ice Flower says before breaking off with other infantry to head to the armory. The cannoneers, laden with their devastating hoof cannons, retreat to the black powder storage to stow away their weapons. I continue to follow Father, Striker, and the other Juggernauts towards the main building, built near the middle of the town. It is a rugged stone structure bearing the Earthborn crest above its iron and wood doors. Father signals for me to join him at the door.

“Striker, notify the guards to watch for Whitegold forces. I think we might’ve beaten ‘em back, but we can’t be caught off guard.” Again.

That means I’ll be going with Father to report to Supreme Commander Applejack.

Chapter II

The chainmail of my armor jingles with every step I take, like a tiny bell. My hooves are still sore from the earlier procedure, so I walk a little slower than Father, but he keeps his pace and doesn’t slow down for me. It is cool inside the stone building, and there is one long hallway leading down to a main room, guarded by a heavy wood door. We pass two rooms before reaching the end of the hall, their doors unlocked, and I know they are mostly empty on the inside. Father raises a hoof and knocks twice, to be courteous. Then he pushes the door open and we step inside.

Applejack stands with her back to us, examining a map of Equestria with her one good eye. She studies the area to the south of us, where there is a white pin stuck into a dot labeled “MANEHATTEN”. The only city occupied by House Whitegold, it is surrounded by an immense fortress to protect its wealthy citizens.

“Well?” Applejack’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. She turns to face us, walking behind her desk so she can see both of us. “It took ya’ll longer than Ah’d anticipated. FIllydelphia ain’t that far away.”

“We were attacked by Whitegold forces,” I explain hastily. Father shoots me a look and I realize I should not have spoken out of turn. He is, after all, a higher rank than I am. My ears flick back in embarrassment and I take a half step backwards.

“Go on,” Applejack prompts. I am surprised she didn’t scold me for speaking before Father, but I clear my throat and continue.

“Last night they ambushed us from our camp, mostly Arqueteers and militia. They surprised us, it was dark with no moon, and we lost a lot of our infantry. But we did beat them back, thanks to Father’s organizing the canoneers and ponies-at-arms.” If Father’s face were not already red, I’m sure he would be blushing from embarrassment. He is a modest pony and doesn’t like to take all the credit.

“Didn’t ya’ll have a sentry or somethin’? Ah thought we discussed that when we were attacked last month on the way to Dodge Junction.” Applejack’s steely voice radiates frustration, and my ears flick back again, pressed down close to my neck. “Well?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, my voice shaky. “I was on duty.” Applejack stomps her hoof and snorts with irritation. More than irritation: not quite in a rage, but far past annoyance.

“What were ya doin’, then? Huh?!”

“I was on guard. But I just didn’t see them coming. I don’t know, I just didn’t. Not until they were close enough to start attacking.” My stomach knots and I can see that, now, she is angry. She comes around from behind the desk and pushes her face up into mine.

“So it’s your fault, ain’t it? We lost perfectly good ponies all ‘cause you didn’t see ‘em comin’?!” This is not just about losing ponies. This is about losing to House Whitegold, led by Mistress Rarity, one of Applejack’s enemies. It is more of a personal blow than anything, because it makes Applejack seem weak and unable to defend her ponies against a simple attack. Usually she would not be so angry, but maybe it is because I am her blood, a pillar of House Earthborn.

Father steps between us, his massive body becoming a barrier against Applejack’s fury. “Now, AJ,” he says, his voice deep and slow, calming. “It was a mistake. Now, it wasn’t as bad as ya think. And Ah was the one who asked him to stand guard. Not all his fault, ya know.” Suddenly I feel like a foal again, hiding behind my father as he protected me from bullies and nightmares. “Storm, go on,” he instructs, and I back out of the room, closing the door as I exit.

The home I share with my father is a small three-room building, crudely constructed and not built with comfort in mind. My aunt Applebloom resides in the third room, but, as master blacksmith, is hardly ever here. There are a couple of lights on, old-fashioned oil lanterns that don’t require electricity. Electricity is regulated by the ponies in Canterlot and Manehatten, and we in New Ponyville are denied the luxury of power.

I remove my armor and place it in the chest in the corner of my room. My black coat shines with sweat in the low lighting, dripping down my neck and legs. Scars cover my barrel and back. Some are from training, thin white lines that barely broke skin; others are naked gray slashes where the hair never grew back. One such scar snakes down my neck, parallel to my mane, and curls around the slope of my shoulder. I can faintly remember how I acquired it: locked in battle with a House Moon and Star warrior.

I remember him trying to use his magic to slice open my armor and expose my skin, where more damage could be inflicted. He succeeded, slitting open the plate metal and managing to reach my skin underneath, burning through my hide. I remember the agony: I felt like I was on fire, the stench of singed hair and charred skin enough to make me nauseous, smoke rising from the path his magic had made down my neck. I feel my neck muscles tense as I recall the memory, and I shake my head to suppress it.

Father finally arrives home a while later. He trudges through the door and to his room, heaving off his armor. He looks worn and defeated, utterly exhausted.

“What did she say?” I ask warily. “Anything about me?”

“Eeyup,” he answers, shaking himself off. I can see that he, too, is layered with scars. Farm experience and battle wounds have treated him harshly. My stomach drops. “Said somethin’ ‘bout wantin’ to talk to ya tomorrow.”

My legs shake as I approach the door. I feel even more vulnerable without my armor, but it wouldn’t have protected me from her scathing words.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Applejack complained as I entered her office

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” she says. She is analyzing something on her desk but pushes it aside. “I realize I may have been a bit harsh yesterday.” She’s apologizing? “Mac told me he put you in charge and that it was real dark out. Ah was just…afraid. Of losin’ more of my family.”

This is a softer side of Applejack I’ve never seen before. I’m not really sure what to say, if I should say anything.

“Ya know, I remember when you were just a li’l colt. Runnin’ around the farm, not worried ‘bout a thing. Your legs getting’ all tangled up and cryin’ for your daddy.” I see a small smile creep up as she remembers. “Big Mac loved you with all his heart…still does. I’ve never seen him be prouder. He used to worry ‘bout you all the time, gettin’ into trouble or gettin’ hurt. We had to convince him that that’s what colts do.”

Honestly, it’s bizarre to see Applejack so…happy. And then a thought crosses my mind, one that hasn’t surfaced for years. Before I can stop myself, I impulsively ask the one question I’ve never had the answer to:

“Who was my mother?”

Author's Note

Sorry for the wait!
The next chapter will be better, and won't take so long!

Chapter III

Applejack’s eye widens at my question and her breath catches in her throat. “Yer mother?”

I nod. “I don’t remember her. I don’t know anything about her, not even her name,” I sigh. When I was a young colt, it was a question that haunted me, keeping me awake at night as I tried to understand why I didn’t have a mother. Did she even exist? And if she did, why did she leave me? Didn’t she love me? I would sometimes imagine what she would look like: sometimes she would be a beautiful Unicorn, with a dazzling white coat and a mane as black as the night sky, like mine; or perhaps a simple Earth pony, strong like Father, but still as stunning as the golden sun; maybe even a graceful Pegasus, gliding through the sky on feathery wings, watching over me.

Applejack shakes her head. “Ah’m afraid that it ain’t my place to tell ya that. Now go on; I gotta lot of things to take care of.” With that, she directs her attention back to the papers on her desk. I sigh and turn to exit her office, allowing the door to close behind me.

I find Father standing next to Striker; they are watching a training session take place outside the armory. Two ponies scuffle in the dust, one evading a mace, the other swinging the weapon at her opponent’s head. I immediately recognize the mace-wielding pony as Ice Flower, though the name of the other one escapes me. Ice Flower’s mace barely misses the other pony’s head, one of the spikes grazing the muzzle of his helmet. The pony- I remember, his name is Copper- dives towards the ground, swiping Ice Flower’s hooves from under her. She falls with a metal thump and the mace suspended from the end of her tail swings up, landing back on her armored barrel. It dents the plate metal, scraping and scratching the shiny steel. Copper stands in front of Ice Flower, offering his hoof to help her up. She takes it and pulls him back down into the dirt. He hits it hard, knocking the wind from his lungs, and she uses the opportunity to scramble to her hooves, standing over his triumphantly. She stands with two hooves on his back, keeping him down, swinging the mace in victory.

“Wonderful move there, Ice Flower.” General Swift Breeze breaks from the crowd and approaches the two ponies. Ice Flower backs away and Copper gets to his hooves, trying to catch his breath. He turns to face Ice Flower and nods curtly, removing his helmet. He is a russet-colored stallion with a prominent scar crossing over his left eye. Swift Breeze calls the name of two more ponies, and two mares make their way to where the general is standing. Ice Flower sees me and begins to make her way over to me, but Copper intercepts her.

“Great move,” he compliments, “taking advantage of my chivalry.”

“In battle there’s no time to help your opponent up,” she answers briskly, trying to step around him.

“Yes, but you’re not my enemy. And obviously I would never do that on the battlefield,” he defends.

I break away from where I’m standing next to Father and approach Ice Flower, walking up behind Copper. Copper spins around and narrows his eyes as he looks up at me.

“Storm! Did you see me kick his flank out there?” Ice Flower grins.

“You did more than kick it. You buried it in the dirt,” I reply, much to Copper’s annoyance.

“It’s rude to interrupt, you know,” he says crossly.

“Interrupt what? Your pathetic attempts to flirt with me?” Ice Flower laughs. “Sorry, Copper, but I’ve told you before, I’m not interested.”

As we turn to leave, I hear Copper say, “That’s right. I forgot, you’re too busy shacking up with this freak. Just because his father is a high general doesn’t mean anything, you know. I don’t know what you see in him, anyway.” Ice Flower whips around and charges towards him, spinning around at the last second to hit him in the chest with her mace. It makes contact with his breastplate, and Copper falls to his knees, gasping for air. There are pin-size holes where the spikes briefly penetrated the metal. Her face is red with frustration and embarrassment as she stands over him. She kicks dirt in his face, but instead of turning back to me, takes off towards the armory and disappears inside.

It’s no secret that I like Ice Flower: she’s a pretty mare, great at fighting, with the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard, especially when she laughs. And I’ve known that she’s had a crush on me for a while. But I guess Copper’s words really hurt; we’ve never “shacked up” together, and I know that my father’s rank has no bearing on our relationship. And I can’t shake the tightness in my chest.

Father is sitting alone in the main room of our house, staring out the window at the dark sky. Apple Bloom comes in, covered in black soot, the scent of singed hair clinging to her mane. Her pink bow is crooked and dirty and her weary eyes are nearly closed as she drags herself into the bathroom to wash up.

“Father?” I ask. I have gone over in my mind a hundred times in the last hour how to approach the question, but my mouth is suddenly dry and I have to force the words. “I spoke with Applejack today.” He looks over at me, raising an eyebrow, and I continue. “And the subject came up…about who my mother was.”

“And?” he prompts.

“Who was she? Why did she leave me? It’s never bothered me before, but I feel like I have to know.” I shift my weight, still standing, nervous.

It is a few minutes before Father begins to speak. “Yer mother loved you. No doubt about it. That’s why she left you with me an’ AJ, ‘cause she know you’d be better with us. It ended up not workin’ between us, and after you were born, she left. I didn’t see you for two years, ‘til the war started and she came back.” He pauses, lost in thought for a few minutes. “But I know she loved ya.”

“But who was she? What was her name?” I pleaded.

Father shook his head. “Don’t matter.” He gets to his hooves, turning to go to his room.

Not a satisfying answer.

A few hours later, there is a soft knock at the door. I am the only one to hear it, since I am still up, replaying Father’s answer in my head, over and over again. I go to the door and pull it open, and Ice Flower pushes past me. Her magenta eyes sparkle in the dim light, and I can see she has been crying.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in a low voice.

“I came to apologize, for running off earlier,” she says, voice hushed. “I shouldn’t have let what Copper said get to me. Especially since it’s not true.”

“And you came over here in the middle of the night just to say that?”

“Well, no,” she replies shyly. She looks away and I see her face blush pink. “I also wanted to say that…I like you. I always have.”

“Well I knew that,” I tease. “I think everyone does.”

“I know, but I needed to say it.” An awkward silence follows. Then, she surprises me. She reaches up and kisses my cheek.

I am stunned, barely noticing that she has already galloped out of the house.

Chapter IV

The sun has just broken through the mist when I step forward to face my opponent. Striker has ordered early morning training, and my opponent still looks drowsy. He is a formidable challenger, a dark gold stallion with a blazing orange and red mane; he is missing most of his left ear and it curls over, the scar jagged and coarse as though it had been chewed off. Wildfire shakes his head, his eyes clearing as he begins to wake up, and flicks his short tail. I stomp the ground with one hoof and toss my head in response. Striker steps back and gives us the signal to begin.

Wildfire doesn’t charge right away, instead breaking into a gallop and circling around me. I know this move: he will try to confuse me and make me dizzy before charging at me from the side. I am ready, lowering my head and backing up, trying to keep him in front of me. He breaks from his circle and gallops towards me, his head so low that his muzzle is almost skimming the ground. I wait until he is almost on top of me before I dive to the left, barely getting out of his way. I take advantage of the two lower blades on my helmet, stretching my neck forward and using all of my strength to force them under Wildfire’s stomach and bring my head up. It works, and with his balance thrown off, Wildfire stumbles and crashes onto his side. I spin around and raise my hind legs, my hooves making contact with his armor with a deafening clang. I hear him gasp for breath as the wind is knocked out of him and there is at least one dent right behind his elbow. With the belly of his armor exposed, the metal is thinner, since it relies on the pony to stay upright.

Wildfire struggles to his hooves, panting, and growls, but I can’t make out his words. He bucks in frustration and gallops in my direction. I whirl around and meet him head-on, our helmets scraping together, the blades grating against each other. We are in a deadlock and he forces his head up, finally breaking us apart and charging forward again, hitting me in the chest before I can react. I fly backwards, stirring up dust, and scramble to stand up. Wildfire is suddenly in front of me, but I lower my head and our helmets are again locked together. I strain my muscles, willing myself to push him back. The sweat beads down my forehead and into my eyes, the salty sting blurring my vision. I muster my strength and take a step forward, the muscles in my neck screaming to surrender. I try to take another step, but it is just too much. My legs finally give out and I fall to my knees, defeated. Wildfire steps back and stands before me, ready in case I try to attack him again. But I surrender.

Striker trots towards us, grinning, and I can see that he is proud. I slowly get to my hooves and Wildfire removes his helmet. “You’re getting better, especially with your offense,” he compliments. I take off my helmet, my forelock plastered to my skin with sweat. “But next time, if you’re locked head-on, try shaking him off to the side. Then, if he breaks, you can get him with an uppercut under his jaw with your blade.” I nod, thankful for the advice.

Wildfire looks as if he has barely broken a sweat, but I can see that the skin under the chainmail is nearly black. Father approaches us and still looks drained, but he walks with confidence and stands tall.

“Storm is getting better. He actually gave Wildfire a tough time,” Striker reports. Father smiles as Striker continues, “I think these early-morning sessions are definitely helping them improve.”

“Can’t never have too much practice,” Father remarks. I can see the pride radiating in his eyes and my chest swells. Father is everything to me: my role model, my teacher. Striker begins to walk away, calling for two more armored stallions to meet in the center where Wildfire and I fought. I follow Father and Wildfire to the side lines, the morning sun casting long shadows in front of us. Right now, I wish I could go back to sleep and recover from the intense practice session.

Suddenly, there is a deep bellow as the war horn sounds. It is an intricately designed one-of-a-kind horn, carved and shaped to obtain the perfect pitch. It was actually Apple Bloom’s idea, as a kind of warning system to signal an imminent attack on New Ponyville.

There is a brief moment of panic, and I even find my own heart racing in my chest. Swift Breeze appears outside the armory, trying to settle the frightened ponies. She calls for the infantry to don their armor and meet her by the gate. I see Ice Flower gallop past me, followed by Copper, and I feel my jaw clench, teeth grinding together.

Father gallops back to the house to retrieve his armor and Striker is rounding up the rest of the Juggernauts, looking perfectly at ease in the pandemonium. Applejack appears outside of the main building and begins to call on some of the infantry captains, ordering them to ensure that the few citizens are safely in their homes and out of the way. The hoof canoneers race back and forth from the black powder storage, Father cutting through their path as he rejoins us. I put on my helmet again, waiting for Father or Striker to say something. Wildfire shuffles next to me, impatient. One of the guards on the opposite side of the wall raises the iron gate, and I briefly catch the word “Everfree” as he briefs Father on what is happening outside. The guard then gallops to Applejack and Swift Breeze, explaining it to them as well.

Father glances back over us before flicking his docked tail and signaling for us to move out.

Author's Note

This is kind of a short chapter...sorry!

Also, the war horn is similar to the one used by the Pegasi in the Season 2 episode "Hurricane Fluttershy".

Chapter V

I am not really sure what to expect as I pass through the gate. House Everfree is composed of an extensive assortment of creatures; it is difficult to know exactly what we will face. All I know is that, regardless of how worn-out I feel, I have to fight with every ounce of strength I can muster.

Father breaks into a gallop, Striker looking back and then charging after him. Wildfire snorts and lowers his head, heading straight towards the incoming mass of ponies. At least, some of them are ponies. Wildling ponies make up the bulk of the Everfree force, their shrieks chilling my blood. There are zebra warriors behind them, their armor composed of canvas and wood, their helmets made from the jawbones and skulls of different forest beasts.

I shake my head, pounding my hooves into the ground as I take off at a canter, accelerating into a gallop as I near the front line. I crash into a wildling just as it prepares to jump at me, running one of the blades through its neck. The wildling emits a piercing scream as a gurgle of blood gushes through the wound, bubbling around the embedded blade and dripping onto my helmet. I raise my head and shake the pony off, its limp body easily sliding back off the blade and flying off to the left before landing in the grass. I swerve to the right, spearing another wildling in the barrel with the serrated blade. The wild pony’s shrill cry is marked with agony as I force it to the ground, driving the blade deeper through its stomach. I shake my head, the serrated edge sawing its way through the inside of the pony, rupturing organs and ripping muscle. The smell of its foul blood is overwhelming, burning my eyes with its stench.

I hear another pony behind me, but before I can turn to look, it pounces on my back, battling at the plate metal and trying to tear at the chainmail. I throw my head up with enough force to send the first wildling sailing back, landing a foot behind me. Small fragments of muscle and what I assume to be the lining of the stomach remain caught between the individual serrated teeth. I buck furiously, trying to throw the wildling from my back. It works and the pony crashes in front of me, sprawled on its back. I rear up above it and smash my hooves into its face, shattering the skull and sending shards of bone flying. I step back, my hooves sticky with blood and brain.

That’s when I hear a distinctively canine howl rise above the sounds of battle. I spin around, watching with wide eyes as a timberwolf lopes onto the battlefield, its red eyes glowing even in the bright morning light. The infantry ponies and cannoneers have already swarmed in, the cannons firing in a cloud of black smoke. I make a desperate attempt to locate Father, to make sure he is alright, but it is too chaotic for me to concentrate. Dozens of bodies litter the ground- Everfree and Earthborn alike- but the attack doesn’t begin to fade. I see two zebra warriors galloping towards me, carrying double-sided swords. I sprint in their direction, quickly closing the space between us. But I remember this morning’s practice with Wildfire and lurch to the left, impaling one of the zebras by angling my head so that the serrated blade goes straight up through his belly. It works, and a rush of blood escapes as I retract the blade and leave the zebra writhing in the grass.

The second zebra has circled around me while I maimed his companion, trying to stab his sword through the chainmail on my neck. The zebra’s sword breaks a few of the links, enough to form a small hole, but nothing more. I knock the zebra aside, dispatching him easily with a double-edged blade to the throat. The timberwolf is still pacing the outskirts of the fight, as if it is waiting. But for what?

I feel something prick the skin on my neck and turn my head to see. In the middle of the chainmail, where the links ruptured to form a hole, is a poison dart. It sticks straight out, the barb implanted deep into the muscle, the multi-colored feathers tattered and limp. I knock it out with a flick of one of the blades, but the barb breaks off as the barrel of the dart falls to the ground. This means there are zebra skirmishers present, lurking near the battlefield. The poison immediately begins to take effect, and I feel light-headed and dizzy. My hooves feel like lead weights, rooting me to the spot. Then my legs give out and I crash to the ground; lying in the blood-spattered grass, beside the bodies of the dead zebras, I hear another howl. The timberwolf bounds across the grass, running over warriors, and my heart stops with the realization that I am the target.

The timberwolf precariously steps around me, picking me up gently in its massive jaws. The stink of its hot breath fills the small space of my helmet and I begin to sweat. A numb feeling creeps up my legs, spreading through my body and up my neck, until my face is frozen. I can only blink and my breath is ragged, my lungs struggling to expand in my paralyzed chest. Then my vision begins to fade until, finally, my world is black.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when I finally open my eyes again. The watery light fills the small room I’m in, filtering through a small window high up the wall. The walls and roof of the room are made from thick sticks, tightly tied together to secure them. I realize the feeling has returned to my body and limbs, and that my armor has been removed. I sit up, my legs tucked beneath me; one of my hind legs is encircled by an iron shackle just above my hoof. I am tethered to an iron ring that is bolted to the wall, the chain snaking along the ground, rattling with each twitch of my hoof.

The door to the room- or, should I say, hut- swings open and a Unicorn enters. The mare steps inside, her face partially hidden by her long mane.

“Storm Surge,” the mare begins.

“Who are you? Where am I?” I demand, my anger rising.

“Who I am is not important, at least not at the moment. As for where you are, you are now a prisoner of House Everfree.”

Chapter VI

Prisoner. The word rings in my ears and at first I refuse to believe her. This must simply be a dream, or rather, a nightmare. But the iron shackle weighs heavily around my hoof and I know that this is reality. A foreign emotion creeps through my chest, burning in the back of my throat and sending adrenaline racing to my heart: I am afraid, truly frightened.

I’ve heard storied, rumors, of some of the Everfree tribes. They perform blood rituals, sacrifices, some even practice cannibalism. Would I be reduced to nothing more than a mutilated corpse, drained of my blood? Or worse, feasted on by the ponies of the forest? I have not felt true fear since I was a colt, afraid of the monsters lurking in the shadows; now I realize the monsters surround me, waiting, biding their time.

“I can sense you are afraid,” the Unicorn states. “Rest assured that you are safe…for now.” She turns to leave when I stop her.

“Wait! Can you at least tell me why I’m here?” I plead.

“In due time, Storm Surge,” she answers casually, using her magic to gently close the door behind her.

I want to stand up and go after her, to demand answers, but I cannot will myself to get to my hooves. Traces of the poison continue to flow through my system and I still feel weak; I am not entirely sure my legs could support me if I did try to stand. I feel so vulnerable, tethered and held like an animal, in a strange place with ponies I know nothing about. I lay my head on the ground, sighing heavily and closing my eyes.

I dream of when I was a colt, when the war had barely begun and I had no responsibility. Though Sweet Apple Acres had already gone out of business and the trees rotted away, Father taught me the art of apple bucking. We would practice in the decaying orchard and I admired how Father was strong enough to cause the tree trunks to crumble when he bucked. There would be huge hoof prints indented into the black wood, and I remember how I made it my goal to someday be able to crack the trunks. Of course, by the time I was strong enough, I had already been drafted into the Juggernauts, the apple bucking lessons forgotten.

When I wake up again, it is dusk. Twilight has always been an odd time for me: it is no longer the daytime, but the moon has yet to fully show its face, and the world is caught in a fragile state of unknown. And now, as I blink my eyes open and adjust to the dim light, I understand that feeling of uncertainty, and I’m not sure exactly what will happen to me.
I test my strength and slowly stand up, my legs buzzing with numbness. But I do not fall or stumble as I pace the small hut, hopefully a sign that the poison’s effects have subsided. What I need to do is figure out a way to get out of this hut so I can finally get some answers.

I examine the iron ring that is bolted to the wall. There would be no use trying to pull on the chain, and I don’t want to push myself just yet. And then I recall my dream of Father teaching me about apple bucking, how to balance my weight on my front hooves and concentrate on controlling the strength of my kick. For a moment I think it’s too extreme, that it will cause a commotion and warn the ponies outside. But I refuse to stay in here, caged and captive.

I turn so the ring is directly behind me, the chain coiled in the dirt like a snake. I lean forward and raise my hind legs, glancing backwards to check my target before unleashing a powerful kick. My hooves collide with the sticks and I hear them splinter, the chain knocking against the ring and producing an obnoxious metallic clang. I lean forward again, head tucked between my front legs and kick as hard as I can. I feel my hooves break through the wall, sticking out the other side. I pull them back in and prepare to kick again when the door bursts open, the same Unicorn from earlier standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” she scolds.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to get out of this tiny room. If you haven’t noticed, I barely fit in here as it is!” I growl. “I can’t stand to be tied up!”

“And if I let you go? You’ll just go back to New Ponyville,” she huffs, planting her hooves firmly into the ground.

“Like I could! I have no idea where the hell I am, or what the hell is waiting out in the forest. I just can’t be tied up anymore,” I confess, the tone of my voice a combination of frustration and distress.

The mare thinks for a minute before replying, “Fine. But be warned, if I even think that you are attempting to escape, I’ll summon the wraiths. They’ll finish you off before you can gallop two lengths.” The very mention of those horrible creatures sends a dreadful shiver down my back. Although I had no intention of running away- I mean it when I say I couldn’t find my way back, no way in hell- I definitely will not try now. I don’t want to know if she would be true to her threat.

“You have my word.”

“For all that’s worth,” she snorts. Her horn glows with a violet aura as she uses her magic to break the shackle off my leg, coiling the chain again and setting the iron cuff on top.

I walked up to her, but she shrank back through the doorway, hiding her face behind her long indigo mane. “All I want are some answers,” I say. “You already knew my name. It was obvious I was targeted from the beginning of the battle. Don’t I at least deserve that?”

She sighed softly, turning around and calling, “Follow me.”

Finally.

Chapter VII

The sky is pitch black, dotted with stars and illuminated by a half moon. There is a good size fire burning a few lengths away from where we are, with zebras and ponies gathered around it. And they’re…laughing?

“Did you expect barbarians?” the Unicorn asks, startling me out of my thoughts. I don’t answer and she continues, “Not all the rumors are true, you know. Not all of us are tribes that are birthed from the dark heart of the forest.”

“Then where did all these ponies come from?” I inquire.

“Some are zebras from the Marengetti, lured here with promises of glory in battle. But they were treated worse than some of the pony slaves and became refugees, forming camps with the ponies that had escaped from their slaveholders. The wildlings are not a part of this camp. They simply appear when they sense we are going to a battle and they join our ranks,” she explains as we approach another hut, this one significantly bigger than the one I was held in. She uses her magic to ignite the oil lamps- not so different from the ones in my own home- and I can see there are stacks of papers, maps and books piled on a makeshift desk. There is a small bed across the room, made of canvas crudely sewn together and stuffed with leaves. It is not much, but it is more than what some ponies have.

The mare settles in, neatly tucking her legs beneath her, an oil lamp shining by her face. I sit across from her, the hard ground noticeably uncomfortable.

“My name is Sky Feather,” she says. She tosses her head as her forelock falls into her face and the light illuminates her eyes. I can only stare; the beautiful violet irises are shrouded by a smoky blue-gray film, her pupils barely visible under the mist as they continue to dilate and adjust to the low lighting. And even though she is looking at me, I know that she cannot truly see me.

“Yes, I know, you don’t have to point it out to me,” she sighs. “I am perfectly aware of why you are staring and no, don’t try to apologize. I’ve heard it all before.”

“I’m—” But I hold back before the words can escape.

“Now, what is it you want to know? And don’t pretend it doesn’t matter anymore just because you’ve seen my face. I know you will, because you don’t want to inconvenience me, but I suppose you do have a right to know why you’re here,” she says quickly.

“That’s just it. Why am I here? Why me?”

“You are High General Macintosh’s son, nephew of the Supreme Commander herself. And I need you,” she answers.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, though. Why do you need me?” I am beginning to get flustered and impatient.

“I need you as a bargaining tool, Storm. Simply a device. But before you start rampaging, know that I do not intend to truly give you up. You can return to your House…after you’ve helped me.”

“What are you bargaining for?” I’m not quite sure how to feel, besides empty. And alone.

“Come with me,” she says, rising to her hooves and trotting outside. I follow her and she leads me closer to where the fire is burning. There are Earth ponies, Unicorns, and even a couple of Pegasi sitting with the zebras. “You see the pink Earth pony sitting next to that zebra?” she asks, pointing with her hoof. “Look at her cutie mark.”

At least, it’s where her cutie mark should have been. Instead, there is a patch of black sewn onto her hide to cover here her cutie mark has been removed. A pair of silver shackles is printed on the patch, glinting fiercely in the firelight. I don’t even want to imagine what happened to her, but Sky Feather explains anyway. “She was a slave for House Moon and Star. They treat Earth ponies and Pegasi like filth, as if they are garbage. They are not valued or respected, and most are forced to fight for the House. They have their cutie marks literally ripped off and are given a new one, branding them as a slave. It is a terrible process, painful and slow.” I look around and notice that out of the six Earth ponies, five bear identical black patches. There are three Pegasi present and only one has the same patch.

“How do you know how it’s done?”

She turns her head away from me as she says, “Because…I was once one of the ponies who had to do it.” Her voice cracks as she speaks and her body begins to tremble. “And then I just couldn’t stand it anymore! It wasn’t right- it’s not right! - and I didn’t want to be a part of it. And when I refused to perform the procedure, I was taken to the Archmagister.” I don’t speak, letting her continue. “She said that if I didn’t want to do the procedure, then I would become a test subject, to prove I was still worth keeping around. My mother tried to stop her, but the Archmagister sent her away and continued anyway. Horrible spells, ghastly results- I was subjected to so many I’ve lost count. And then she tried a new spell. One that would hopefully replicate the Sight that the Supreme Commander has.”

Applejack has the incredible ability to see through lies and dishonesty, extracting the truth one way or another. Though it cost her one of her eyes, the Sight has even saved her from an assassination attempt. No wonder the Archmagister wanted to have it for herself.

“And that’s how you lost your sight?” I guess.

“Yes. The spell went horribly wrong and it was so excruciating, I was willing to gouge my eyes out if it meant freedom from the pain. My mother helped to heal my eyes some, and they aren’t completely scarred. And while there’s no spell to return my sight to me, I can still see shapes and shadows. It’s not quite the same, though.”

“So why do you need me?”

Sky Feather turned her face to look up at me. “I’ve rescued so many ponies. But I haven’t saved the one most important to me. My brother. And I theorize that the Archmagister might consider trading you for him, since you would be more valuable than a Unicorn who can no longer perform magic.”

“And why do you think she would take me instead?”

“Because, Storm. Archmagister Twilight is your mother.”

Author's Note

I hope you are not disappointed!!
I couldn't wait so I just had to put it up right away :)

Chapter VIII

Macintosh slams his hoof on the ground, the force disrupting a thin stack of papers on Applejack’s desk.

“We need to go get him!” Macintosh snorts, his emerald eyes burning with grief.

“An’ where exactly are you thinkin’ he is?” Applejack snaps. “Mah guess is the Everfree Forest, and there ain’t no way in hell I’m sendin’ mah ponies in there.”

“Ya have to!” Mac argues, his voice becoming strained. “He’s mah son, AJ.”

Applejack matches Macintosh’s eyes with her one, studying the pain reflected in their dull depths. She’s never seen Mac this upset or worried before.

“Ah know, Big Mac,” Applejack sighs, lowering her voice. For a moment, she once again becomes Macintosh’s little sister, shedding her role as Supreme Commander, momentarily forgetting the raging war. “He’s mah family, too, ya know. And don’t ya think Ah’m makin’ myself worried sick about him? But there jus’ ain’t no use goin’ after him if we don’t even know where he is. Ah can’t lose you, too. And Apple Bloom, she’s been locked up in her shop since yesterday. How do ya think she’d feel if ya got yourself lost or killed?” Applejack closes her eye and takes a slow breath, trying her best to calm her frayed nerves. “Ah know this ain’t the answer ya wanna hear, Big Mac, but it’s the only one Ah can give: he’s gotta find his own way back. I jus’ can’t risk it, or you. Besides, Ah need ya here.”

Macintosh holds his breath, unable to accept the words coming from his sister’s mouth. That’s it? They were just going to leave him to find his own way back to them? He finally exhales, a little more forcefully than intended, and his ears fold back against his neck.

“He’s all Ah got, AJ. Ah wanna be mad, but Ah can’t. All Ah can be is worried and sick and sad.” Mac didn’t really want to share his feelings with Applejack, but what good would it do to hold them inside? “Ah just want him safe. That’s it.”

“Me too, Mac,” Applejack replies softly. She flicks her ears forward and stands up straighter. “Can ya send Striker in when ya get a chance? Ah need a word with him.” Mac nods his head, his tail drooping as he shuffles from the room. Applejack listens as the echo of his hoof steps die away, and again as Striker approaches her office.

“Commander?” Striker says formally.

Applejack stares at the blazing orange stallion, admiring his spiky ginger mane and shining cobalt eyes. “Ah just wanted to ask ya to keep an eye on mah brother. Ah’m afraid he may do somethin’ rash. He’s definitely not feelin’ like himself. If ya suspect anything, notify me at once.”

* * *

I can’t sleep, and I know that it is nowhere near dawn. My already limited vision is worse at night, without any light, when the murky shadows merge with the darkness and everything becomes one endless black mass.

I sit at my desk, littered with books I can’t read and maps I can’t study. I hate having to ask for help; even asking another pony to read a letter to me is humiliating. And even worse when I need to ask one of the zebras to translate a message for me.

I can hear Storm’s steady breathing echoing from the opposite side of the room. After telling him about his mother- I had no idea he didn’t know, though I should have suspected it- he collapsed. Fainted. A huge stallion reduced to a crumpled heap at my hooves. My magic wasn’t enough to levitate him, so some of the other ponies helped to carry him to my hut where I could keep an eye on him. Or so the saying goes, I guess.

I use my magic to illuminate the room, a soft beam of light glowing from the tip of my horn. The light is enough to cut through the thick blackness, and I can just make out the fuzzy outline of Storm on the bed. He doesn’t really fit, his back hooves hanging off the edge. But it’s better than leaving him on the ground. And I don’t really sleep much these days anyway.

Earlier I overheard two of the refugee ponies giggling about him, commenting on how handsome he is. And, though I don’t wish it often, I want my sight back, even if just for a moment, to see him. I know that I have just met him- and, not to forget, taken him prisoner- but already he has begun to tug on a small piece of my heart. He is hard-headed and demanding, and for most of the time I have known him he has been unconscious. So what is it that I find attractive about such a stubborn stallion?

* * *

My heart leaps and freezes as I open my eyes, panic setting in before I recognize where I am. Sky Feather is standing a few feet away from the end of the bed, the tip of her horn glowing and lighting the room, her blank eyes gazing in my direction. I push myself up, my knees locking and my back legs wobbling as I try to stand, not unlike a newborn colt. Lately it seems like I have trouble staying on my hooves.

“So, anymore secrets you would like to reveal to me?” I ask bitterly, startling Sky Feather out of her thoughts.

“I thought you knew,” she replied calmly, her voice weary.

“Yes, I fainted out of delight that somepony else knew my mother,” I hiss. But really, I am disgusted. How can I be related to such a deplorable pony? I can’t help but to stare at Sky Feather’s eyes, marveling in revulsion at the thought of somepony taking away her sight, and in such a cruel way.

Her body tenses and her voice turns to ice. “Well excuse me for trying to enlighten you,” she snaps. “I just thought you should know why-”

“Why you ordered a Timberwolf to attack me and bring me here? Why you’re just using me? I don’t even know you! As far as I was concerned, you never even existed until today!” I can see that my words have cut her. Maybe I’m being too harsh…

“I’m not the one who kept you in the dark!” She edges closer to me and there is no mistaking the venom in her tone. “And I’m also not the one torturing ponies, ripping off their cutie marks and branding them with hot irons! Sewing and stitching them back together and forcing them to work to death! Using them in experiments! Forcing somepony to watch as their own brother is drained of his magic, lifeless as a doll, burned and scarred beyond his own recognition! Do you think I asked for that?!” The last two statements come out as a scratchy scream, her voice straining to fight back the tears I know she wants to cry. Her violet eyes begin to water and her cheeks are flushed bright red. She sharply turns her face away and hides behind her dark indigo mane.

I cannot even bring myself to apologize. It won’t help and she’ll just hear them as empty words.

Author's Note

Sorry for the short hiatus! A bit of writer's block and real life interference...but I hope you enjoy this chapter!! I will be posting the next chapter tomorrow!

And for the next couple of chapters there will be a couple of POV switches between Storm and Sky...but it won't be for long, just trying out something new!

:)

Chapter IX

Rage scalds my throat, burning red-hot and drying my mouth, contracting my lungs so it’s hard to breathe. I know I can’t see him, but I still turn my face away. I don’t want him to see me cry. I already feel helpless, knowing and reliving the guilt of not being able to protect my own brother. I don’t bother to wipe the tears away as they streak down my face, sticking my eyelashes together as they drip off my cheeks and trail down my neck. I can only manage a few ragged breaths, coughing as I force myself to exhale.

But then I feel a soft nuzzle on my neck, Storm’s warm breath tickling under my jaw. I don’t even try to pull away and instead lean towards him, surprised when I find myself resting my head against his chest. I didn’t realize he was so close; I feel embarrassed, crying into him like a foal to her mother. He stands stock still and his heartbeat echoes in his muscular chest, slow and strong. I let my anger get the best of me: angry at myself, at the Archmagister, at him. But it is the anger towards myself that made me break down. I have not allowed myself to feel upset about what happened to my brother. I have not cried about it, choosing to let the emotions simmer inside. But now I don’t care; it’s out now, and I can’t control myself. I feel ridiculous, but Storm doesn’t move or speak.

* * *

My heart breaks for her. I don’t take back what I said; I couldn’t even if I wanted. Sky Feather leans her head against my chest and I have to force my heart to stay steady. I feel a shiver race down my spine because she’s so close. She can be arrogant, make no mistake, and I can tell that her pride is her weakness. But there is a small part of me that clicks and connects as I arch my neck and lightly press my muzzle into her mane, encircling her and hoping to calm her. She smells like rain and leaves, similar to a meadow after an unexpected thunderstorm, mixed with the intoxicatingly spicy scent of an exotic flower. It hits me that I am unintentionally nestling my muzzle in her mane a bit more forcefully than before, but not enough that she notices.

And then my mind turns to Ice Flower. Surely she must be worried? What would she say if she saw me, us? But we are just friends…I think.

I can feel Sky Feather begin to calm down and hear that she isn’t coughing as she struggles to gasp for air. But she doesn’t move, at least not at first, and I realize for the first time how…fragile she is, if that’s the right word. I didn’t think of how the mention of her brother could trigger such a reaction when she seems so strong. She almost seems…helpless. Abandoned. I don’t take pity on her- she already made that clear- but I want to help her. I just don’t know where to start.

I’m not sure how much time has passed before she finally steps back, rubbing her face on her foreleg to wipe away the tear stains. Her already cloudy eyes look even murkier, the violet almost gray behind the mist. The black fur on my chest conceals the tear stains I know she left, and for a fleeting moment I wish she hadn’t moved away.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I haven’t cried over my brother, ever. I don’t know-”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt. She shouldn’t have to apologize and I don’t let her finish her sentence. We stand in awkward silence, only the occasional howl of a forest wraith breaking the tense stillness.

“Well,” she finally says, her voice regaining its normal haughty tone, “I think it would be best if you got some sleep. I plan for us to leave tomorrow morning before dawn and neither of us can afford to be sluggish if we’re to travel through enemy House territory.” She clears her throat and swishes her tail, a signal that I should take her hint and leave. I walk past her, pausing briefly to steal a glance back at her before continuing outside.

I cannot think straight, my mind fogged and filled with questions I don’t have the answers to. How does she know so much about me? How did she even know I existed, that the Archmagister even had a family? Estranged, yes, but I must grudgingly face the truth. And why did it feel so right when she buried her face in my chest and leaned against me, needing me for support? It shouldn’t feel right; I barely know her!

I enter my hut, the iron chain still coiled in the corner, looking like a snake ready to strike. I pace the floor for a few steps before settling down in the dirt and resting my head on my folded foreleg, curled and tucked beneath me.

In the back of my mind, I struggle to avoid thinking about Father, how he must be worried about me. Would he come searching for me? Would Applejack even allow it? And was this why he never told me about my mother? Because he knows about her and her methods of torture? Would I have reacted the same way if he had been the one to tell me? True, I reflect, fainting and waking up in anger probably wasn’t the most appropriate response. But, then again, how exactly should I have reacted?

The nearby screech of a wraith breaks my concentration and I squeeze my eyes shut, the awful noise ringing in my ears. It reminds me of claws on a metal shield, scratching and raking their way across the polished surface, dragging and drawing out the agonizing sound. I pin my ears back against my neck, hoping to block it out.

Finally, just as a bird begins to sing its mournful pre-dawn song, sleep crashes over me. But it is not the least bit restful.

Chapter X

“Tell me, Sky Feather, have you had enough?” The Archmagister paced in front of the pastel-blue Unicorn lying shackled on the stone floor.

“Please, stop,” Sky Feather pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Loyalty. What I expect from you,” Archmagister Twilight spat. Her horn glowed purple as she used magic to lift Sky Feather off the floor and slam her backwards into the wall. A smear of blood was left behind as Sky Feather’s head cracked on the stone, and she fell to the floor again. The Archmagister repeated the process twice more before leaving her to sit on the floor, head bowed. Blood stained her mane, dripping down the sides of her face into a growing puddle on the ground.

“Just kill me,” Sky Feather choked out, curling into herself. “Prove that you have some kindness left inside of you and just kill me.”

“My sweet Sky Feather,” Archmagister Twilight taunted, “killing you would just prove that any pony who goes against my House gets the privilege of an easy death. And that is simply not how things are done around here. You understand, of course.”

“You’re a monster.”

“And you’re worthless,” Twilight trotted over to Sky Feather, stopping in front of her and, using her magic, lifted the batter Unicorn’s face so she could look her in the eyes. “I still haven’t decided on the right punishment yet.”

“These past weeks haven’t been punishment?” Sky Feather replied coldly. “Then what the hell have you been doing? Practicing?”

“Precisely.” Twilight cut off her magic and let Sky Feather's head fall to smash into the floor. “You’re finally beginning to learn. Now…a punishment that will befit a traitorous mare like you. Let’s see…” Twilight began pacing around the room, thinking aloud. “Let Spike play with you? No, the poor dear might kill you too easily, he wouldn’t understand… Perhaps bargain a trade with the Cult? I’m sure they could do something with you. But again, they would probably kill you. I want you to live…if only I could see a way to do that…” Twilight paused and spun around.

“Did you finally think of something, O Great One?” Sky Feather growled from her place on the floor.

“Yes. And, despite your insolence, I’m going to spoil the surprise. I simply can’t keep it to myself!” Twilight took a breath to calm herself from the excitement brewing inside of her. “One of the things I want most is the ability to see through the deception of other ponies, so I will know who is truly loyal. Only one pony has that gift: the Supreme Commander of House Earthborn. But I might be able to create a spell to recreate that gift for myself. Of course, practicing the spell on myself is much too risky.”

“Please, no.”

“I have the perfect test subject! Though I would prefer to not have to give up one of my eyes like she did. But, if it happens, then so be it!” Twilight clapped to herself happily and Sky Feather wanted to vomit, bile rising in her throat. “We start tomorrow at dawn!”

“It only took a few days of ‘experimenting’ for her to destroy my eyes,” Sky Feather finishes. She tosses her head to move her forelock out of her face and swishes her tail to shoo away a bothersome fly.

“How did you escape?” I ask. I am sweating profusely under my Juggernaut armor. I thought it would be a good idea to wear it when we began our journey two days ago, but now it was an annoyance. The plate metal is heavy and the chain mail is stifling in the heat. Even though we are shaded by the thick canopy of trees, it is the humidity that is making it unbearable.

“My mother. She bribed the guard who was supposed to be watching me. I don’t know how, but he got me to the outskirts of Canterlot. He said my mother would be waiting for me…but she never showed up. I think the Archmagister found out and…” Sky Feather takes a breath. “I hope she didn’t suffer. I hope she made it a quick death.”

A few moments of silence pass before she speaks again. “Well, this is such a lively topic of conversation. I’m so glad I’m the one getting the opportunity to depress us while we make the first leg of our trip.” She suddenly breaks into a gallop and rushes down the path. It takes me a moment before I can muster the strength to follow. I never realized before what a burden my armor is outside of combat, but then again, I’m also more focused on staying alive than anything else.

The plate armor makes a repetitive chink, chink, chink sound in rhythm with my galloping, and I easily make up the distance between us as I catch up to Sky Feather. She’s very adept at avoiding rocks and tree roots that would trip even a fully-sighted pony, myself included. I stumble a couple of times, but it doesn’t slow me down by much.

“Remind me against why you decided to wear that?” Sky Feather slows to a trot and then back down to a walk, slightly breathless.

“Because…it’ll…help…protect…me,” I gasp. Damn this humidity. Damn this armor. Damn this whole thing.

“In case of what? A timberwolf attack? Didn’t help you much last time,” she teases.

“Well last time I was also incapacitated by poison,” I reply curtly. “I need to rest, at least for a few minutes.”

“There’s a stream not too far ahead of us,” Sky Feather points out. I prick my ears and, sure enough, I can hear it. “You’re not very attentive, are you?”

“When did this whole thing become a criticism-fest?” I ask in irritation. I trot ahead to the stream and dip in my muzzle to drink. The water is cold and fresh. I remove my armor and lay on my side in the stream. It is narrow, and I struggle to roll over to coat my back and clean the sweat away. I think for a moment, selfishly, that I am glad Sky Feather can’t see how ridiculous I look. But I correct myself immediately; it’s not her fault. And I bet she has a beautiful laugh…

Chapter XI

A hideous wailing echo woke me from the first decent sleep I’d had in a while. I scramble to my hooves and prick my ears, trying to locate the sound, holding my breath. Sky Feather is silent as she picks up her head, listens, then stands beside me.

“What is that?” I ask, keeping my voice low as another wail reverberates through the trees. I listen again and realize I can feel a shuffling vibration in my hooves. “Is it something underground?” The vibration is getting stronger and is now accompanied by a faint shhhhuck shhhhuck sound, like when a pony is stuck in mud and trying to get free. Another wail sends chills down my withers and spine.

“Swamp shamblers,” Sky Feather replies quietly. “I’ve heard them before. They sound quite sad, actually.” She presses closer to my side and more chills run through me, but this time it’s not from the creature wandering in the woods.

“What are they, exactly?” Before she can answer my question, in the earliest rays of dawn breaking through the tree canopy, I see the poor monstrosity. It is bigger than Father, at least twice his size. It is completely made of swamp plants: moss, vines, duckweed, aquatic grasses, and cattails. Its legs look like the woven trunks of bog trees - mangroves, I believe they are called – and where its hooves should have been are just a tangle of roots flattened on the bottom. A couple of bare branches grow from the creature’s back, the bark black and slimy. There is at least a distinct head and neck, not much of one, but it is obvious where the face should have been. It has eyes, but not like a normal pony; these eyes are much larger, rounder, and completely milky-white. I’m not even sure if the eyes are necessary, but it seems to have some sense of direction. Instead of just crashing through the trees, it is making a conscious effort to weave through them. Every step is laborious, and the shhhhuck sound comes from every pained stride the creature takes.

“Ponies that have been lost to Froggy Bottom Bog. I don’t know how, but they were resurrected from the bog, and Lady Fluttershy uses them to spread the Everfree’s influence. They just wander around aimlessly, until they are called into battle.” Sky Feather’s voice is somewhat drowned out as the swamp shambler laments again, sounding even more pathetic this time.

“I think it’s in pain. Why did they do this?” Applejack would never do anything close to bringing back dead ponies to fill in her ranks. As desperate as she was in the beginning to grow her army, it is disrespectful to disrupt the peace of the dead. But, Lady Fluttershy has always been a mystery to the rest of the Houses. I just hope that the shambler isn’t in as much pain as it seems.

The sight of the swamp shambler has me a bit rattled. Every strange sound startles me. I hate this. I was a Juggernaut, and suddenly I’m afraid of bird calls? No, don’t think that way. You don’t know what’s actually out there. I just want to be home. I want to see Father again, and Striker, and Wildfire. I want to train again, to run into battle for my House, to return home covered in blood and sweat and scars. But I look at Sky Feather and I can’t toss aside the gnawing sense of duty to help her. Besides, they would probably just find me again.

“What do you remember of your mother?” Sky Feather’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. We are nearing a refugee camp near the edge of the Everfree forest; at least, that is what I am told. Once we leave the forest, we will be near what remains of the original Ponyville, then cross into House Stormwing territory to find another refugee camp.

“Very little,” I answer stiffly. I had been trying to keep thoughts of my mother out of my mind. “She left me with my father when I was just a few years old, right when the war broke out. I missed her for a little while, but that’s it.”

“You never tried to find out who she was?” she presses.

“I asked a few times, but no one would ever answer me. It bothered me sometimes, but I never felt she left a void in my life. I mostly just wondered why she didn’t want to take care of me anymore.”

“Maybe it was for your own safety,” Sky Feather suggests. “You know how they treat non-Unicorns in her territory.”

“I don’t particularly care if that was the reason or not. I’m proud of who I am, and who my Father is, and what House I belong to,” I snap back a little too harshly.

“And no reason not to be. Just curious, that’s all,” she replied coolly.

“I remember learning how to buck apples with my Father,” I say, changing the subject slightly. “I was really skinny as a colt, and it was beyond pathetic watching me try to hit the trees hard enough to even shake the branches.” I think back to those days, when the trees were already black and withered, and no apples had been harvested for some time. “There’s still an ongoing dispute on who was the best apple bucker: Applejack or my father.”

“What is she like? The Supreme Commander?” Sky Feather inquires. I can faintly smell campfire smoke; we are almost to the refugee camp.

“Serious. Focused. A little cold sometimes, but that’s just part of the job, I guess. She wasn’t like that in the very beginning, though. I think…” I pause, trying to find what to say. “I think she misses how things used to be, when they were all friends. Before the sisters disappeared.”

In the camp, there are the usual menagerie of zebras and Earth ponies, but this time there are two Unicorns there. I’m not sure how common it is to have Unicorn refugees here, but with the wide berth the others are giving them, I am inclined to think it is fairly rare.

“I’ll go ask her,” one of them whispers, and I see them staring at Sky Feather. I stick close to her, unsure of what they want. Both of them make their way to us, and Sky Feather turns her head to me.

“They might be Whitegold spies,” she hisses. “Don’t trust them or tell them anything. Let me speak to them.”