Words of power

by Sugar Moon

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Romance, Comedy, Big Macintosh, Random, Adventure, Shining Armor, Human, Doctor Whooves, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe
Length: 6473

Medieval style fantasy story starring Big Mac, Time Turner and co. Based very loosely on WOT.

Peace has reigned for untold centuries, no enemy bothers the land yet unknown forces begin to stir. Big Mac a farmer from a small village and his best friend Time Turner are thrust into the middle of an adventure with shattering consequences for the world they live in. One things for certain, things will never be the same again.

Humanised fantasy story in the vein of WOT etc.

Published 2013-10-24 04:00:03 UTC
Last updated 2015-06-03 18:54:43 UTC

Prologue

Prologue

She could see out into the forest. This range was the closest to her farm that Archer could do any hunting in. The rest of the land was turned into fields by the practical folk that lived hereabouts. Archer loved this forest, the freedom and the sense of the wild, untameable growth that sprung all around her, called to her like a siren song. She was never happier than right in this moment, just her, the trees and her prey.

Carefully she side stepped across the forest floor, the dry crunchy leaves crackled softly underfoot. Her father hadn't quite taught her everything about woodcraft yet, she was only thirteen, much too young to be out here alone. As silently as she could she stalked deeper into the forest, the trees here grew thick and closely packed together, often-times over one another in a strange unfettered cacophony of life. There she thought as she peered around the trunk of a large oak, its bark slick with moss and dew, there was what she was after.

In the middle of the clearing was a dummy.

Its construct was basic, the shape vaguely resembled a large deer though not quite so impressive. Quietly she reached down into her quiver and brought up two thick arrows, the shafts a dark blue and the fletching even more so. She had made them herself, her own signature colour. Her father had said that part was important, to know which was yours and to make it with your own hands. She didn't know why and her father never explained, hoping as he always did that she would discover why for herself. Shaking her head to dispel the thoughts she once again peeked around the oak to set her sights on her prey. Releasing a breath she did not know she was holding, Archer sprang from her hiding place and quickly let off a flight of arrows, aiming for the dummy's neck.

THWIP THWIP

The arrows sang and thudded deep into its neck.

Squealing with delight Archer ran over to “the spoils” and retrieved her arrows. They had done their job, the heads had sunk a good four or five inches; if it had been a real deer they would have brought the beast down quickly and quietly, without causing much pain, damaging the meat or pelt her father had said. She sighed a little at that, she wasn't ready to kill a real deer yet. They were so majestic and strong. Part of the nature she so truly loved. Why did she need to kill them?

'You've done well little one' a strong, sonorous voice said.

Her father. How had he sneaked up on her like that.

'Your stalking needs a little work but you're already my equal with the bow,' Archer flushed a little at that. 'I think we'll go home, eh? It's almost time for the feast down by the village.'

Her father, Star Hunter, always doled out his lessons in small doses, never going too fast so to not miss anything. Each thing learnt was taught patiently and Archer, being young, was absolutely sick of it.

'But I'm ready to learn now,' she moaned.

'Patience, Archer' he began 'this is the first thing you have to learn about hunting. If you rush into it you'll scare off everything you are looking for. Just charging in after something will never get you what you want. You're young, child, do not wish it to be over before you can enjoy it.' Lifting her up to put her on his shoulder and walking back through the clearing, he continued, eyes sparkling with humour, 'Besides Archie, who else is going to help me filch some of Mrs Cake's pies?'

'Pies?' Archer asked feigning disinterest and failing. ' There's going to be pies there?'

'Oh yes,' he said holding back a grin, ' Pies, cakes, buttered bread and roast pig, hot potatoes with lashings of butter and gravy. Maybe even some pheasant and goose if your old man managed to grab a few this morning.'

'And did you, papa? Manage to catch a few geese, I mean?' she gave up the charade, her belly was far too hungry to be toyed with when it came to the prospect of hot food. The roast geese was always the highlight of the feast day, and was served alongside a cornucopia of other meats like hog, beef and venison....

The thought of the venison stiffened her a little.

'Something wrong, Archie?' her father asked, his stride through the forest wavered slightly as he had felt her tense up. ' I thought you loved feast day.'

'I do it's just that...' Archer worried a little at how to begin without sounding foolish.'Those animals, papa; the ducks, the geese, the hogs and venison. You killed them, didn't you?'

'Yes,' he said, simply.

'But how, I just...' she trailed off unable to convey her thoughts.

'You want to know why I could do such a thing, how I could kill them?' he looked up at his daughter who nodded. Sighing he continued, 'That's a rather tough question Archie,one I didn't think you'd ask for a while. I suppose because it's in my nature. I love animals but I love you more, so to survive we have to hunt them. I respect them though, that's part of what I've been trying to show you. Each animal I hunt let's us live another day, puts clothes on us and our friends backs. None of what we hunt is wasted, each part goes for something important. The sacrifice they make is an important one and I won't dishonour their memory with wastefulness or with carelessness. Each hunt I end the lives cleanly, with as little pain as possible. It's not a perfect solution but this isn't a perfect world, Archie.'

They walked a bit longer in silence, Archer thinking over his words in her head. What he did was killing pure and simple, yet he was the kindest person she had ever met. He would kill an animal but she could tell that she loved them. Maybe he was right she thought. Right for him at least.

The silence lasted a little longer as the only sound was his soft footfalls stepping over the wet grass before she decided to speak.

'I don't think I want to hunt any more, papa,' it was barely a whisper but Star Hunter's finely tuned ears heard it, clear as crystal.

'And what do you want to do?' he asked.

'Can't we just live off the plants? Never killing and helping the forest and it's wild creatures. Couldn't we? Can't I?' she replied, her voice serious,almost pleading.

'If anyone could do it Archie, it'd be you,' he laughed, full throated and hearty; the little girl from her perch on his shoulder beamed. ' If you want, you can try and we'll go over the types of plants that you can eat. For now though you'll just have to make do with the feast back at the village.'

Laughing, she wrapped her arms around her father and swung from his shoulder, spinning them circles.

'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' she all but squealed as she spun, her smile stretched across her little face in a perfect grin of happiness.

'Alright, little one, now it's past time we got bac-' he cut off as a sharp break sounded out in the woods, a branch cracking in half under the weight of something. His response was instantaneous, running to the nearest tree he lifted Archer to the highest branch and sat her there.

'Papa,' she protested before he shushed her.

'Stay here, Archie,' he cautioned. 'I'll go check out what made that noise but you stay here. Do you understand me?' She nodded. 'Good. Stay there until I return. You remember what to do if I don't come back within an hour?' she nodded again.'Keep your eyes sharp and your bow shaper little one.'

With those final words he stalked silently back into the forest.

There was an unnatural quiet to the forest, Archer thought. The constant murmur of life, the sheer vibrancy of the animals here, was hushed somehow. The ebb and flow of the low voices of the creatures was replaced with a deafening silence.

Still, she sat there, alone with only her quickened breath for sound.

Finally a noise off to her right, a thud of heavy steps; quickly she sighted her bow and arrow and span in the direction of the noise only to be confronted with her father.

Strange that he would make so much noise approaching her.

'Papa?' she said hesitantly.

'Yes child,' he answered voice scratchy as if it was barely used. 'Come on down.'

'No,' she said shaking her head.

'But you don't want to miss the feast, do you?' her father said maliciously, his eyes momentarily flickered green before settling back to his usual blue.'Oh, yes child. I can safely say, the feast wouldn't be the same without you.'

Author's Note

This as you can probably tell, is my first stab at the fantasy genre. Just in case you're wondering, yes, these are real characters in the show. Albeit background characters. That's really I have to say for now other than please comment as I love to hear opinions, good or bad. Thank you!

Chapter One

What's in a name?

As Big Macintosh slowly worked his field, he thought about it. Big Mac wasn't his name, not his true one and it was a stupid name at that. All the names in common usage were. He understood why, of course. Refer to each other by names similar to their personality or craft. It meant that you always knew who could do what or at least what they were like. It still seemed stupid to him though. None except him and his parents new what his real name was. Names were a strange thing. Everyone kept theirs secret, hiding behind the false names given out at birth. What was the danger in letting everyone know what his true name was? Sighing Big Mac put down his shovel to mop his brow. Course he knew the danger, the reason that everyone in the land kept it secret. True names held power. Anybody with skill at naming could have power over him just from hearing his true name spoken. Course, these days the danger was reduced, the land was peaceful and had been for thousands of years. The time of chaos in the land was reduced to words on parchment in some nobles keep. A young farmer like him knew the tales as well as any, of roving bands of hideous creatures that set fire to the very ground and seemed to turn nature against itself for nefarious purposes; a warlord who could enslave an entire kingdom through simple trinkets; people who imitated others, only to betray their friends and relatives. Yes, Big Mac knew all the tales but that's all they were, to him, tales told by travelling bards and minstrels, actors and mummers alike. Stories to entertain and frighten.

Returning to work he had it set in his mind, hiding your true name was merely tradition nowadays. Tradition and fear. But, he supposed, there is some beauty to it. To hiding your name. The utter trust that it shows by telling someone it, the love it carries in revealing it to someone. Even senseless traditions could be beautiful.

'What are you thinking about, you idiot?' a good natured voice asked. 'Look at you, standing there with a dopey grin on your face. You keep doing that while you're shovelling dirt and people are going to think you're quite simple, you know.'

Big Mac turned to look at his friend. He was a young lad, around the same age as himself with dark chestnut brown hair and odd darting eyes. His whole face was angular and pointed, with a rakish look to it. He never kept his eyes on one thing in particular for too long and his mouth always seemed to be crooked into a continual grin, as if he was aware of some joke that wasn't likely to share. His clothes were almost as weird as him, patched in odd places and with a large brown coat with the stitches far too big for any kind of sensible sewing. Big Mac thought that his friend must have done it himself.

'But seriously Big Mac, what on earth are you smiling about?' Time Turner asked.

'Just work I suppose,' Big Mac lied smoothly. He didn't want his friend to know about his musing on the silliness of names. Thoughts like that got a man a reputation he couldn't shake.

'Work!' Time spat out, as if the words tasted horrible to him, 'that's all you ever think about. I came just in time then.'

'Time for what?'

'Time to save you from another boring day digging for carrots or whatever.' Time Turner said his voice becoming mocking, 'how lucky you are to have a friend like me, willing to walk for miles to save you from this drudgery.'

'Yeah, lucky,' Big Mac deadpanned.

'That's the spirit. Now come on, we have no time to lose. Let's get going to the village square before everyone else gets there.' Time turner grabbed his large friend by the arm and began to pull.

'Village square? I ain't going down there, not today anyhow.' Big mac set his feet.

'Don't be silly. Today's a feast day, there will be food and ale and all sorts of mischief to get up to. Why wouldn't you want to go? Besides, I haven't told you the best part yet.'

'The best part?' Big Mac asked, his body slowly being pulled away from the farm.

'Oh no, not till we're in the village. Some things are just to good to spoil'. The smirk could be heard through his voice.

'I'm still not going.' Big Mac said firmly.

'Aren't you even a little curious?'

'Eenope,' he shook his head.

'Sure you're not.'

The village of Pony field could barely be called a village. It was really a glorified hamlet. A grand total of three buildings were all that marked it. The biggest building in the village was the local inn, run by the mayor of Pony field. The inn was, as the mayor would tell you, the finest building for miles around with all the amenities of any big city. The inn was a quaint thing with a thatched roof and white-washed front. If anyone was looking the only real way to distinguish it from an ordinary farmhouse was the small sign hung proudly over the door. “The Prancing Pony”.

The other buildings weren't quite so nice, one being an old run down farm house it seemed. The roof was missing patches of thatch and the wood used in its construction was rotted with age. Still, some signs of life resided inside. The last building was a squat stone square, the entire shape suggested it was a no nonsense practical building. A ringing of a hammer striking metal could be heard from it constantly, and if that wasn't enough to declare to what was inside, an iron-wrought bracket saying “Blacksmith” hung outside.

Today though the fact that it was barely a village wasn't remarked by any, as colourful bunting hung from building to building. In between them all was hung garlands of flowers and below each garland was a carefully placed table, filled to bursting with food, casks of ale and other feastday treats. In the cities such tables might seem a trifle sparse but here, among the simple folk around them, they were glorious banquet tables.

The lady Sparkle looked upon the scene with a gentle smile. From her place at the side of the inn she could quite easily see everything while remaining free from prying eyes and ears. Her arrival had caused enough uproar already.

The surrounding farmers had come for miles, it would seem, to celebrate together. They probably didn't even know what it was in aid of, just that it was a feast. There was some one hundred people around ranging from small children to grizzled old men as they quietly complained to each other in between cups of ale. Music from some of the farmers on pipes and cherished lyres wafted through the air as some of the younger people danced joyously. There was a feeling of rehearsed effort to the dance, like it had been going on for hundreds of years unbroken. At each peak in the music the ladies in the dance would grab their chosen man and pull them into the melee of the dance. It resulted in a lot of giggling from the ladies and a lot of blushing and embarrassed looks from the men.

She quickly surmised that this feast day could possibly be the only time that the locals were all together, possibly until the next feast day in six months time. The dance probably had a deeper meaning to it then, probably some sort of courtship ritual. With this thought in her head she heard a voice speak politely to her.

'Would you like to dance, my lady?' a quite definitely feminine voice asked. Twilight blushed furiously at the implications of the question.

'Um, I'm not really much of a dancer. But thank you for your kind offer,' Twilight replied, a little flustered.

The girl who asked simply nodded slightly and walked away towards one of the banquet tables. Twilight frowned a little, hoping she had not upset the girl. It must of taken a lot of courage for her to ask for a dance, especially to a noble. Try as she might Twilight thought there was something rather dashing about the rainbow haired girl. She was definitely brave.

'Why didn't you dance?' the voice of her page asked her.

'Because Spike, we are here in disguise. I can't allow myself to show my hand too soon. I must be inconspicuous. We are just two nobles, here for the night before moving on to the city at first light. We can't let him know we're here before we find him.'

'I still say we should just announce who we are and let the village lead us to him. It's not like he can out run an entire village' Spike said fidgeting with his clothes, ' least then I wouldn't have to wear this stupid costume any more'.

'You know why,' Twilight's voice came out a little harsh. 'If he can evade an entire city guard and the Princess' army for ten years I don't think one village can stop him. We need to corner him and let me deal with it. Besides, I don't think the village would be entirely comfortable if you dropped your disguise. People this far from civilization can be a little backward. I already heard someone say they didn't believe in the Chan'lins. They'll be in for a rough surprise in a few years if we aren't successful'.

'You always bring that up,' Spike folded his arms crossly. '”People just wouldn't understand Spike, They think your race are monsters”, how do you know if you always try to hide who I am?' he asked furiously.

'Spike' Twilight lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

'Forget it,' he shrugged the hand away. 'Let's just find this guy and leave. How do we catch him?'

Sighing Twilight looked out towards the crowd. 'Well, if I know him, he'll be living under an assumed name or disguised and probably doing the most overlooked yet vital job hereabouts. We're just going to have to ask these people about the village and hope that one of says something that will lead us to him. We know he's here, all that's left is to actually find him.'

'That's your plan? Ask around? You, of all people, want to talk to others in a friendly, affable and social setting?' Spike said flabbergasted.

'Well, yes.'

'Right,' Spike pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.'I'm going to get a drink then.'

As he walked off towards the tables, Twilight called after him 'Don't just leave me here with these people.'

The crowd of revellers turned around to her, while she tried to stammer out an apology.

Still walking Spike muttered under his breath 'Smooth Twilight, smooth'.

Chapter Two

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

In a squat building, in the centre of Pony’s field the sound of metal striking metal was a constant background noise. A steady rhythm of heavy hits that struck solidly always sounded throughout the village, from sunup to sundown it rang and that was how everyone liked it. That sound was now as much a staple of the village as the strong horses they sold come spring, the stubborn nature of the local folk, or the cider and ale brewed hereabouts.

Nobody would say that the local farmers were famous but the ones who did know about them knew about their stubbornness; some would say they could give their horses lessons in the craft. It was a testament to their own that when people complained about this, it was usually with an underlying tone of grudging respect.

The person inside the grey building knew all too well of this. They still called him “That Foreign boy” yet he’d been here for almost seven years now. It’s not that they were unkind to him or inconsiderate, on the contrary from the moment he had been here they had been nothing but open and welcoming to him. The local farmers all helped him build the house at the centre of the village, even the mayor had allowed him to buy the plot of land for a fair price back when he first started here. He was their blacksmith and they accepted him far more than he thought he deserved. The name that first started as just a quick name, a term of address that the gossipers latched onto, became something more. Now it was his name as sure as it was Splitting Anvils. Obviously whenever he met with a farmer or the mayor, they called “Master Anvils” or “Blacksmith” if they were being informal but he knew they still called him the Foreigner behind his back. He didn’t mind, there was no malice in it.

Names, he decided, were a funny thing.

The clanging of metal continued unabated as he thought on this, the startling ringing of the hammer beating against the white-hot steel was music to ears now. It helped him think and calmed him down whenever he needed it, and need it he did when dealing some the more troublesome members of the area. The pony folk they jokingly called themselves, though Splitting knew the land was historically called Ponella he didn’t want to correct them or face the awkward questions. Nowadays no country claimed the land even if it technically fell inside the borders of Hippotaria,the country ruled by the Immortal Sisters, no tax collectors went through the villages in their name. They kept to themselves and liked it that way; if any noble or other type of royal dignitary came here they would be polite and courteous but they would bend their knee for nobody. Yes, the pony folk are a stubborn breed, set apart from their neighbours.

He thrust the metal he held in his hand into a trough of water, the steam hissed as it rose off from the quenching and with it some anxiety he had picked up with his thoughts. He liked the secluded nature here, and thoughts of rulers and countries made his hand itch and his knees ache.

Tempering the metal was an important step, he knew. The quick dip made it stronger, less prone to shattering when worked hard and hard it would be worked. Every tool he made was to the best of his ability, he didn’t shirk on his work as he knew how important it could be. A poor scythe harvested few crops and out here that could be life or death to some. This was important, what he was born to do.

Quietly he took the steel back to the forge for one last time.

Turning it over in the flames a thought came to him, to just melt the steel down for something else, make a new hoe for farmer Top, she always needed new tools and this would be a good gift for the red-headed woman. She was practical and appreciated this sort of thing. That made him blush, he always did when he thought of her. She would be out there, now, at the feast, getting ready for the dance. Maybe she’d even pick him. No, he couldn’t allow that. He had work to do and it wouldn’t be be fair to bring her into his life. He needed to stay alone he thought to himself.

Sighing he thrust the steel back into the trough for the final time. He looked at it in his hands and was slightly proud. It was a pretty thing, practical maybe but perfect for him. It would do the job better than any other. He just hoped he would never have to use it. After all, what would a blacksmith want with a blade.

‘Will you tell me now?’ Big Mac asked for the fifth time. He hated his own curiosity, he really did. He wanted to avoid the village today, all that pomp and grandeur always got on his nerves. He was a plain sort of person and any kind of fuss seemed like a waste of effort to him. Even the usual excuse of it being tradition did not do anything to quench his dislike. He wanted to stay at the farm today, he had woke early so to get a head start on the work for the day. When his sister had asked him if he wanted to go he politely made his excuses and lost himself in his farm work. There was always something to do on the farm and if him staying behind meant that his sister could go out and enjoy herself, then all the more reason for him stay home.

‘Nope, this is far too much fun,’ Turner said his eyes lighting up. ‘Besides, if I just tell you it won’t be a surprise and we wouldn’t want to ruin that, would we?’

‘Yes I would. Just out with it so I can get back to the farm.’ Big Mac’s voice sounded a little harsher than he intended but if Turner noticed he didn’t mention it.

‘No. This, my friend, has to be seen to be believed.’
They came into the centre of the village just before dawn. The radiant light of the sun cosseted the village in its dying amber hues. He wished he was back on his farm now. The way his fields looked towards the end of a hard day always gave him pause. He didn’t think there was anything as beautiful as his land at twilight. The way the fading light always seemed to stretch on, across the grass; the way the wind blew lightly,gently shaking the leaves on the trees as if it was cradling them. Nothing would ever compare to how he felt when he saw that, no woman could be as beautiful nor jewels or gold. Give him all the riches of the world and he wouldn’t trade it for one moment of his land at twilight.

Sighing he continued on. As much as he’d like to be back, he knew he was here now and there was no point in complaining. There was always tomorrow.

‘Oh don’t look so glum,’ Turner said sensing his friends mood. ‘It’s a good surprise, I promise. We’ll be talking about it for years to come. I don’t think anything this exciting has happened here since some nefarious individual, not naming names you understand, let that badger into last year’s feast day dance.’

Big Mac grinned at the memory. Everyone in the surrounding area knew it was Turner who had played that prank, proving it was a different matter though. His little japes always got him into trouble but with a few fancy words and suitably chastened looks he got away with it. Try as people did, it was impossible to stay mad him.

‘It might even be as exciting as when that foreign boy moved here.’ Turner continued his smile crooked at the memory of his own misadventures.

“That Foreign Boy” as everyone called him was the local blacksmith and one Big Mac’s closest friends. They had struck it off famously when they first met. The same solid practicality was deeply ingrained in both of them and they enjoyed each others company. Big Mac never could take to calling him foreign after that though. He fitted in here as sure as anyone else and Big Mac would have words with those who said otherwise.

‘That’s a big promise you’re making there, you sure you aren’t just exaggerating?’ Big Mac lifted an eyebrow.’It wasn’t that long ago you said you could best everybody in a quarterstaff duel and what did you get for your trouble? A sore head.’

‘How was I to know you would enter?’ Turner snapped irritatably. ‘I am the best, besides you. I had easily trumped everybody, you know. You didn’t have to join in just to show me up. I know I’m a bit proud at times but there was no need for it Big Mac. Anyway’ Turner added in a small whisper, ‘a man shouldn’t have to hurt his friends.’

Looking at his friend, Big Mac saw the hurt in eyes. He hadn’t known that his entering that duel had harmed Turner so much. He thought he was just deflating his large ego a little, but no. It seemed it meant so much more to the wiry man.
‘It was just a friendly duel, Time’ Big Mac started before his friend waved his conversation away with an easy hand.

‘It doesn’t matter. Anyway we’re here now’

The feast was in full throng, the wild dances had already begun and unless Big Mac’s eyes were failing him, he could see the remainder of the village that wasn’t dancing merrily drinking to the beat. He chuckled a little at that, there would be sore heads in the morning.

Dancing was never one of his strong points, drinking as he discovered when he tried it years ago, was. Barely old enough to shave, Turner had “procured” some ale of some travelling merchant he said. More than likely it was pilfered from the inn’s stores as a merchant coming to the village would be news for weeks. Most things were in short supply in a small community at the edge of the world, so when any merchant came it was cause for celebration and gossip. Odd Big Mac supposed. We seem to use anything as an excuse to party. Remembering back to that small cask of ale that he and Turner split, the image his drunk friend barely being able to walk after a draught of the heady drink was clear in his mind. While he, on the other hand, was as sober as a judge. Course finishing of the final dregs of the alcohol was when his father had caught them. He threatened to tan Big Mac’s hide but the worst he got was a stern lecture and a look he’d never been able to shake from his father’s face. He’d had rather been beaten with Splitting’s forge hammer than have had that look again.

Taking a quick glance over to the drinkers again, as Turner pounded on the Blacksmith’s door, Big Mac knew he didn’t want to be one of them. Somehow the drink wasn’t as appealing as to him as it was years ago.

‘Open there forey,’ Turner called as he knocked on the door roughly with the flat of his hand. ‘It’s me, Turner for Harmony’s sake. So open up.’

Turner leaned, nonchalantly, against the door frame as the rattle of keys in the lock and the sounds of bolts being unfastened came from the other side. He rolled his eyes, Splitting always was a paranoid fellow even in a place this small. He literally couldn’t conceive anyone stupid enough to break into the forge. The Blacksmith must be the only person that locked their door at any time, for tens of miles away. Besides, it wasn’t as if it could keep Turner out if he wanted in,he smirked, satisfied.

The door inched open carefully revealing a single bright blue eye peering out, scanning the outside world.

Oh dear, Turner thought to himself, he seems to be extra paranoid today. Well nothing for it but to put on my best smile and not take no for an answer.

Leaning forward, and subtly placing his hand inside the doorjamb, Turner fixed his most cheerful grin to the cautious orb.

‘Ah, there you are Splitting. Come on, don’t you know what day it is? I thought everyone who lived around here knew what day it was.’

Turner spared a look over his shoulder at Big Mac and winked, hoping to quell some of his friends anger at his jest. He knew how sensitive Big Mac was to his jokes about Splitting. Honestly, sometimes he thought he had no sense of humour. Besides, this was the best way to get him to leave that Chaos-Blasted forge, he rationalised.

‘Yes, I know what day it is. Which is exactly why I’m staying right here.’

‘Oh come now, don’t you want to go outside? Enjoy the festivities of the day? I hear Carrot top is out there you know?’

‘I,I,..’ Splitting stammers as he tries to control his blush, the door opening just slightly which is just the opportunity that Turner has been waiting for. Surprising everyone Time darted forward as quickly,and lithe as a panther towards the opening and slips inside. Before either man can stop him Time is already halfway into the house, standing dumbfound in front of the forge.

‘What in Harmony’s name is that?’ Time near shouted his hand shaking as it pointed towards something beside the forge.

Big Mac lumbered ahead to catch up. As he did he saw Splitting wrap something large up in a bundle of rags. Curious.

‘It is what it is, Turner. And I would have you not mention it to anyone.’ Splitting said placing the bundle into a large chest beside the forge.

‘But it’s a sword!’

Splitting internally groaned.

‘A sword?’ Big Mac interjected. ‘What are you doing with a sword?’

Big Mac didn’t like the idea of one of his friends making such a weapon. They were simple farmers and villagers. They never needed them before and hopefully never would. Making such a thing only seemed to be courting trouble to Big Mac.

‘It was a test’ Shining explained. ‘Of my abilities. You know, see if I could make something different that’s all. I’m a little tired of only making horseshoes and hoes. I just fancied a challenge, that’s all.’

‘But a sword. Celestial teeth, why sword? It’s dangerous, Splitting!’ Turner exclaimed. ‘You could have made anything, a shovel, a hammer or even a set of cutlery. That’s a challenge. I just don’t see why you’d make something so dangerous’

‘It’s only a show piece. Nothing more, I promise. Besides, it’s only a sword, Turner. No harm will come to anyone with it. I promise.’ Big Mac looked towards Turner expecting him to stop now. Splitting had satisfied his fears and that was enough for him but his friend’s trademark grin had slipped and if possible he looked even paler.

‘But-’ Turner began before Big Mac cut in. ‘But nothing, Turner. Leave him alone. He explained himself, not that he had to, and that should be good enough for anyone.’

Turner’s eyes darted around for a second before he schooled himself to focus on something other than the chest with the sword in.

‘Now that that’s out of the way, will you two tell me why you barged into the forge?’ Splitting’s tone was frosty.

‘We already said, we wanted you to come down to the feastday with us. There’s going to be dancing and singing and...’ Big Mac trailed off under Splitting’s gaze.

Big Mac looked towards Turner, his eyes pleading him to help

‘..And of course there is my surprise.’ Turner finished smoothly.

‘Surprise?’ Big Mac and Splitting said together. Splitting looked at Big Mac curiously before turning back to Turner.

‘Yes. My surprise. How else would I have gotten Big Mac to go otherwise?’

‘You’d have found a way’ said Splitting ‘you always have been able to get him into mischief before, why should now be any different?’

‘You wound me, Splitting.’ Turner grabbed his chest in mock pain.

‘Oh, come off it, Turner. Tell us.’ Big Mac begged.

Turner rolled his eyes and smiled a little. His earlier discomfort a distant memory.

‘FIne but I really do think it has to be seen to be believed.’

‘Just tell us!’ Big Mac near shouted.

‘Right now, at the feast is a very special guest. There’s a lady at the feast.’

Splitting’s face twitched a little but Big Mac smacked his face in disappointment.

‘Is that it?’ he said.

‘What do you mean is that it?’ Said Turner, offended.

‘I mean yo made me leave my farm all because there’s a lady in the village. If I had known it was just that I would have never have come. Oh, Turner this is a fine thing you made me do.’

‘She’s not just a Lady, Big Mac.I swear it. While I was walking around on one of my regular jaunts about town I just happened to overhear-’ Splitting cut in exasperated.’You mean while you went out snooping you started eavesdropping. What did you hear?’ His voice was more forceful than Turner had ever heard it before. ‘Well, I, she’s not just a Lady, Splitting. She’s the Lady. Lady Sparkle of Hippotaria. The one in line for the throne.’

‘What?’ Splitting shouted grabbing Turner by the shoulders, shaking him with his intensity.’ Twily...I mean Sparkle is here? Where?’

‘Right here’ a voice called from the open door.

Author's Note

I do not write fast. Though to be truthful the majority of this chapter was written at the same time as the first one. I just, I dunno, lost my drive? I am trying to write more though, write everyday is a mantra that I want to stick to. So hopefully I update a lot more. At least until this and a few other stories are done. I hope you enjoy this.