Cygnus

by DoctorBraino

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Alternate Universe, Romance, Adventure
Length: 10176

A young unicorn's misadventures in a clockwork universe teach him a hard lesson.

Life in Barrel Arbor was not enough for me. I didn't like the thought of everything I did being predetermined, a byproduct of the Watchmare's grand plan for me. I wanted to break from the mold, to do something different. I wanted to be somepony, without Her help. Unfortunately, life outside the Watchmare's careful protection often entails… discrepancies. And now, it may be safe to say my whole life is a discrepancy. At least that's how She put it…

—

This is a story inspired by the album Clockwork Angels by legendary Canadian rock band Rush, as well as other songs by them. The story contained within is based solely on the album lyrics and liner notes, and above all, the music. You needn't be familiar with them or their music to understand the story.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-04-28 16:17:07 UTC

Passage I: The Way the Wind Blows

CYGNUS

Passage I

-The Way the Wind Blows-

Prelude

The stars have always captivated me. I never understood why, but I've always derived a certain comfort, if not a cold one, in thinking that there were other worlds out there, worlds that shared the space between each other in almost unanimous ignorance, blissfully unaware of my fetishism towards them. I couldn't help but wonder what life must be like on another world.

Did they look up at the same stars and see the same constellations, rearranged by the effects of time and distance?

Did they dream about interacting with the other worlds around them?

Or did they even notice the stars through the fog of their own busy lives? So many possibilities!

But at the end of each sleepless night, as I came to rest on the hillside near the family farm just beyond the lights of the nearest village, Barrel Arbor, I felt the same sense of wonder and amazement dissolve into begrudged compliance with the rising of the sun. A gentle breeze would tickle my nose as I lay in the tall grass, watching the stars melt into the new day. The words I had been taught since before I could recall echoed through my head as my thoughts lingered on the worlds beyond my own. Any curiosity I had concerning the lives of other ponies on other planets that were impossibly far away was always met with the same words.

We live in the best of all possible worlds. Whatever happens to us must be what we deserve, for it could not happen if we did not deserve it. Trust in our loving Watchmare. All is for the best.

Yet I wondered, in the wee hours of the morning, if these words were true. I felt I had reason to question them. My biological parents left me in the care of a few distant relatives here, miles from the place of my birth, Crown City. I couldn't recall memories of either of them, and I grew up believing that Uncle and Aunt Wheatgrass were my true parents. But as a young colt, I learned of my heritage when 'father' (as I knew him) pulled me aside one day and explained to me that there had been an accident during one of his seafaring voyages, and that my father, my true father, was among the dead accounted for. My real mother had seen him off at the port in Crown City, but she was nowhere to be found when news of the accident reached Barrel Arbor.

Afterword, I developed insomnia. At first it came in small, irregular bouts, and it was merely a hindrance that would leave me feeling a bit tired in the mornings, which tiredness eventually wore off after breakfast. But, as the months went by, I began to lose several hours of sleep to the odd hell of restlessness, and I would find myself trotting across the moonlight on the bedroom floor*, as if each hoof step was slowly trampling my insomnia into exhaustion, eventually catching a few unfettered hours of shuteye before the alarm clock went off at precisely the same time each morning.

Finally, as I began taking on 'responsibilities' on the farm as a colt at the age of eight, I found myself unable to sleep at all. I began spending my time gazing out my window at the night sky. Initially I saw stars as nothing more than a scattering of meaningless, luminescent specks against the night, but soon I began to notice patterns, little regularities that would appear each night. As I took to reading in an effort to pass the night, I learned from The Watchmare's Guide to Celestial Mechanics (Synchronize Your Stars!) that these patterns were constellations. According to the Watchmare, each star, like ponies, had a name and a place in a constellation. Some stars even had worlds of their own, orbiting them with clockwork precision. Each one had an individual story, as well as its own proper place in the night sky, as part of the Watchmare's grand plan. It did not seem surprising, since the same plan of order and perfection was what I had been brought up to believe.

And what did I believe? The same thing every other pony in Paradiso did.

We live in the best of all possible worlds. Whatever happens to us must be what we deserve, for it could not happen if we did not deserve it. Trust in our loving Watchmare. All is for the best.

So it was, and so I believed. Every pony and everything had its place, whether it was in Paradiso, or in the Heavens, and it was not right to question my life. And yet, I could not help it. I found myself curious, under the night sky, as to why my parents had abandoned me. What were they like? I wondered why I could never catch more than a few uneasy minutes of sleep, what the Otherworlds were like, and how, above all, these things fit into the Watchmare's plan. After the first few chastisements I received from my aunt, I learned well and good not to question further, at least not aloud.

'It is the Watchmare's to cast the lots, and yours to accept your fate,' she would retort when she caught me wondering. But I never understood why I accepted the lot I'd been cast.

I had no formal education, although Aunt Wheatgrass taught me on occasion, when she wasn't caring for her six fillies. Her six biological fillies. They kept her busy, and often that meant I would find myself alone, left to my own devices, when I wasn't working with the potatoes in the garden. I spent many such sleepless nights learning fundamental magic from uncle's untouched library, if one could indeed refer to a sagging bookshelf as a 'library'. I was often surprised when I taught myself a new spell. I hadn't learned anything beyond basic telekinesis, something that was inherent in almost all unicorns. But soon I began to grasp others, such as illumination, although more often than not, the lack of guidance from a skilled teacher often resulted in very weak spells at best.

One such sleepless night I was attempting to grasp a basic transformation spell. I had spent many hours under my bedroom window, focusing on a pebble I wished to turn into a bean. There were other methods beyond magic, as The Watchmare's Guide to Elemental Telepathy* explained, such as alchemy, but they were normally reserved for more valuable, intricate purposes. I focused and meditated for much of the night, exerting as much energy I could into the simple pebble, and, when finally met with success, felt exhausted to the point I simply collapsed and fell asleep. When I awoke the next day, I was disappointed to see the bean simply ceased to be a bean and continued life as a pebble.

As the nights wore on I came to rely on transforming the pebble back and forth to tire me out enough to get the most sleep I'd had in a long time. Eventually, however, I began to expend less and less energy to do so, and soon I was back to spending the nights staring at the sky. I was inwardly grateful that my uncle only required me to tend to the potatoes, and nothing more. He seemed to prefer doing all the work on the farm by himself, despite the fact he could not rely on tricks like levitation to ease things along. It was all he could do to keep me from testing my magical abilities on the livestock he kept. Many such spells I experimented on the chickens with were learned from tomes he collected before he lost his horn and eventually settled down on the farm. I asked him one day what had happened, and he muttered the same mantra to me.

'I deserved it.'

Upon asking what he had done to deserve it, he chased me off to dig at the dirt for a few hours and perhaps gather a few potatoes for the night's dinner. It was all I seemed good for, between my constant exhaustion and knack for magical mishaps. Yes, life on the farm was quiet and peaceful, if almost completely void of any excitement, but such was my place in the Watchmare's grand plan. And, being the good little pony I was, I would remain content to live out my life trusting in Her judgment.

Until one night, when I came across a volume titled The Watchmare's Glorious Clockwork Angels. The book detailed eight magnificent stone deities with powers beyond that of any other pony, save the Watchmare herself. Two for each of the elements; earth, wind, fire, and water. Two appeared to be earth ponies, two were pegasi, and two were unicorns like me. The final two represented an amalgam of three types of ponies, possessing the strong, slender legs of the earth ponies, the elegant, graceful wings of the pegasi, and the magically conductive horns of the unicorns.

As I read, I learned that all but the two tallest ones were once mere mortal ponies who shared magical bonds that surpassed the confines of the known universe. They forged together to become, alongside the two tallest winged unicorns (or 'alicorns,' as the Watchmare called them), the Keepers of the Wellspring of Harmony. They defeated many powerful enemies, and even converted a monstrous demon, and shaped the world preceding Paradiso as they saw fit. Ultimately, their love for each other,  and for peace and balance in all things, transcended existence, and they transformed into immortal stone angels that watched over Chronos Square, at the heart of Crown City, from their perch atop the Tower of Broken Worlds, the Cathedral of the Timekeeper's mighty clock tower.

I was excited to read of their power, their splendor. They were capable of feats and magical spells I could not even begin to comprehend with my feeble, uneducated brain. They unified the world under the seal of the Watchmare. From what I read, it was as if all the magic and energy in the universe converged on a single point within the cathedral, channeled into the eight glorious beings.

They could grant wishes, heal the sick, pronounce blessings of luck and treasure to the faithful ponies who obeyed the Watchmare. They could give the gifts of knowledge and wealth to those without either. They were even rumored to alter destinies, in a world where one's fate was inscribed on their flank.

A destiny the Watchmare herself had planned, in a way that did not disrupt a world of perfect Harmony.

Something inside of me awoke the night I read that book, something that had slept far more than I had. I felt the cold, dreary void of uselessness crowded out by the tingling fire of purpose.

It was as if I knew, at that moment, that the Watchmare was wrong. I was not going to live my life by merely passing the days, waiting for someone to come and turn my world around*. I was convinced that I was destined for greatness, but I wouldn't just sit on my flank and wait for it to come knocking.

I was going to see the Clockwork Angels and change my life. I would wish for my parents, my real parents, to love me and welcome me home. Perhaps my mother was still there, in the place of my birth. I would wish for the ability to sleep longer than I ever dreamed. I would wish to visit other worlds, other stars, and see the birth of it all. Perhaps the Watchmare would make me an ambassador, and send me on trips across the universe.

But was it possible? After reading the Angels' incredible feats, I hadn't a doubt in my mind. I was faithful at the least, or I thought I was anyways. I was very determined as well. I would learn later that faith and determination were not, by design, equal. But for now, I felt I was both. There was a world, no, worlds beyond the village of Barrel Arbor, and I was going to see them all. And it would all begin with a visit to Chronos Square. It was so simple! I would trot into the village in the early morning, gather a few precious supplies, and then make the day's journey to port city of Windy Vale. From there I would hitch a ride on one of the steamliners I'd watched from my hill, bound to follow the Pinion River by air on its winding path to the north. From there the caravan would touch down on the rail network through the Kolkata Caverns, cutting through the heart of the Crestfallen Mountains, finally passing through the Gates of Delirium and arriving, at long last, in Crown City.

I was already feeling excited, the gears in my head whirling with the anticipation of adventure, and I hadn't even begun to pack my things. I had so few provisions, and no experience with such matters before. I would have to pack light, of course. Within my room, I pried up several floorboards and withdrew a small wooden cigar box, emblazoned with the Watchmare's insignia, a honeybee. The box had once been owned by my real father, though I never paid any thought to how he would obtain anything bearing the Watchmare's seal. My uncle told me to keep it safe, so I hid it here, in the boards beneath my bed. Opening it for the first time, I was astonished to find that it was chock full of brilliant golden coins that looked like they had just been minted. All the years I kept this box hidden for a special purpose, and now I knew what I would need it for! Surely this money would be enough to cover any expenses I would encounter on my pilgrimage.

A small gold chain rested atop the coins. Lifting it, I found it seemed quite heavy. As I pulled it up, I realized that it belonged to a pocket watch, this one also bearing with the Watchmare's symbol. My father must have been a very important stallion to own such an important-looking device. Opening the watch, I was greeted by an ornate clock face bearing an elaborate array of hands denoting hours, minutes, and seconds, as well as the month, day, year, seasons, and phases of the sun and moon and rotation of the earth. I was astonished to see such a complex clock. It seemed like it would only need one more face and it could also function as a star guide. The time read 12:30 AM.

A picture of a beautiful, if not mature looking mare graced the inside of the watch cover. I was curious for a moment as to who the mare was, but after a brief glance, I realized immediately who the watch really belonged to. The mare wore a crown adorned with the same sigil: a honeybee encircled by a modest looking gear. I'd seen similar portraits in the back of many of the books I'd read.

She was the Watchmare.

I found it, in that moment, impossible to believe that my progenitor had once owned this box, but, considering I never met the stallion himself, and uncle rarely spoke of him, I assumed I knew no better who he was. My head spun for a moment, wondering if they had somehow known each other, but I quickly recovered, feeling that any question I had would be answered in Chronos Square.

I dressed myself in a shirt and pants and tucked the pocket watch into my homespun overcoat, placed the cigar box in a small saddlebag along with a few books, a journal, and a fresh apple and canteen for the road into Barrel Arbor. I stepped in front of the vanity mirror to have one last look at myself before heading off into the world. My pale purple fur seemed even paler in the moonlight. The short, tousled hair that sat atop my head was usually off-white with a hint of blue, and here in the night light, it seemed to possess an almost ethereal glow.

I smirked, the twinkle in my dark red eyes smirking back at me. Looking back on the moment, I realize that the look of confidence I wore was not undue, but it would prove to wear thin as the years passed. For the time, it didn't matter.

I was ready.

Ready for the Angels.

Ready for the Watchmare.

Ready for the world.

---

"Broon! You would leave now!" Aunt Wheatgrass shouted. "After all we've done for you? We took you in, brought you up to believe in the Watchmare alone, and now you've decided you're leaving?" I hated seeing her like this. We didn't fight much, but when we did, it was always the same thing. About life outside my so-called destiny.

"You can't do this, Broon" uncle interjected. I'd thought before about leaving, but that was before I'd learned about the Angels. Their surprise, their shocked expressions when I announced my departure seemed to cut deeper than their earlier rebukes. I was being honest, serious about leaving. I was done wondering about life beyond the farm. Now I was going to see it for myself. The saddlebags didn't weigh much, but suddenly they bore my provisions and emotional weight alike. The thought struck me that I was really leaving. Leaving the ponies I had once thought of as my family, then as guardians. Uncle continued, driving a hoof to the floor. "Paradiso is a bigger place than you could possibly imagine. There are places full of danger lurking beyond the Watchmare's reach, beyond her control."

"Then perhaps I should speak to her. I am going to see the Angels to have my destiny changed; I may as well pay her a visit? I might even be useful to Her."

"With your whole three spells? Her Regulators would never let you past the gates of her estate," he said sharply.

"How would you know? You've never been to Crown City either, and there's no way you've ever even seen the Watchmare, let alone conversed with Her. The Angels will make me stronger! And when I'm stronger, and smarter, I can find a way to reach Her."

He grimaced and looked away. Something in my words stung. I could see redness brewing in his eyes. He turned to me, his voice calm, but a little uneven. He seemed... concerned.

"The Watchmare has given you your path in life. Your place is here, with us on the farm." uncle went on.

"Oh, is it?" I asked. "Poking at potatoes all day and trotting around the house at night? You all know I'm no good around here. Is that really what the Watchmare wants for me?" Aunt Wheatgrass turned to me, frustration, rather than concern glaring through her normally soft countenance.

"Don't you think our loving creator would want the best life for you, the one you would feel the most happiness? What about the farm?" she asked.

"But I’m not happy here! I hate my life right now! This is my chance to be happy! And what about the farm?" I shot back. "As far as I'm concerned, this place will go on just fine without me. Even without his horn Uncle Wheatgrass is more productive than I am." He shot a glare at me. "I want to go and see the Angels, and now that I think about it, maybe I'll ask them where to find my real mother so I can tell her what a piece of filth she is for leaving me here with you two!"

WHACK!

Aunt reared up and stomped my head to the hard, unpolished wooden floor with her hooves, my jaw rattling at the impact.

"Don't you dare talk about your mother like that! She left you behind because it was the will of the Watchmare! If you curse your mother, you are blaspheming Her!" She backed me against the front door. "You want to leave the farm? Fine! See how you like it when the Angels punish you for your selfishness!"

With that, she threw open the door and shoved me out into the warm night air. The sound of the doorframe splintering as it slammed shut drove a spike of pain into my heart. At the same time, I could feel a sense of freedom washing over me. For a moment I stood and looked up at the stars, breathing a sigh of relief knowing there was nothing to stop me from pressing forward. I turned for the gate and left the family property behind, the low midnight breeze rocking the grass of the hillside into a soft slumber.

---

Having only been to the tiny village of Barrel Arbor twice before, my still-developing, sleep-deprived brain failed to remind me that it is a long trip for less physically-disciplined unicorns. I will admit, in retrospect, that I was quite sedentary on the farm, as my duties did not require muscle or endurance of any kind. And since my pastimes included eating the spoils of harvest time, reading, spell casting, and, when I could, sleeping, it was not often that I took the time to exercise. Both of the previous trips to Barrel Arbor were undertaken when I was very young, and I was thus allowed to accompany my uncle on his travels in the somewhat-bumpy comfort of a small wagon.

Now, as I traversed the countryside barehooved and feeling rather famished, I was beginning to miss the apple I had consumed only minutes before. While only a quarter-mile down the road I felt mildly hungry, I now felt, after discarding the apple core, that I was hungry even more so. Each hoof step shook, just a bit, and my head was beginning to feel rather faint with each passing moment. I began to sweat mildly, and each heartbeat seemed to echo within my head. A burning, empty void began to squirm within my bowels.

Goodness, what a lazy little pony I used to be!

The burning in my stomach soon turned to a very dull ache, and I wished again and again that I had eaten something before severing all ties with the only family I'd ever known.

Hunger wasn't the only thing that ached inside. I would never see them again. But surely, since I'd made it this far, my hunger was for the best, wasn't it? Of course it was. As I trudged ahead, I pictured myself in one of Chronos Square's fine eateries, gorging myself, if rather daintily (when in Rome...) on the Watchmare's favorite cuisines. I could only imagine what meeting Her would be like. Sitting across the table from the most powerful being in existence, sipping on fine wine and enjoying the fresh night air on a balcony overlooking the Angels. It sounded heavenly, and my stomach let out a rumbling song of agreement.

As the hours passed, I could see the faint glow of street lights glowing beyond a low hillside. Soon, I would find myself in Barrel Arbor proper, and it was there that I would gather the supplies needed for the trek across Paradiso. Of course, it would be nice to have some pony to accompany me on my travels, perhaps one with a little more experience, but I prayed for any pony who could handle cooking.

Wandering into the empty, dimly lit main street of the village, I felt my prayers were answered, at least in part. A dapper looking stallion, dressed in an expensive, if not worn-looking suit and beaver hat stumbled out of a nearby alleyway and swaggered in my direction. He looked up, the dark circles under his eyes widening as he made eye contact. He hiccupped, his eyes crossing, and stopped several paces from me. He swayed in place for what must have been an eternity. I stared at him, unsure of what to do or say. He seemed to forget what he was about to do.

"Hey there, uh.... shit," he gulped. He squinted and drew in a breath.

"Are you-?"

"No, no, no! Shh,” he interjected. I shut up. The clatter of hoof steps echoed through the alleyway behind him.

"Broon! Yeah, that's your name!" he happily snapped. "What are you d-doing out... here?" He gave me a lopsided smile and blinked unevenly.

I was stunned. I'd just barely left the farm and already somepony else, somepony I'd never met, knew my name. My heart fluttered for a second, until I came to the realization that somepony I'd never met knew who I was.

"How do you know my name?" I asked warily.

"Oh, I was just on my way to the telegraph office to deliver a message to the- oh, wait," he replied. He was barely coherent. I wouldn't have been surprised if he just turned and went back the way he came. "R-eally, now!" he reeled. "I like that. T-e-legraphs are cool."

I didn't have words for him. It was obvious, from the moment he stepped out of the shadows that he was drunk, and mingling with him would only slow my progress. I was already feeling stupider standing near him. I had to keep moving. As I turned and continued on my way, he followed me. He was having great difficulty standing straight, and walking, at the least, proved difficult for him. I stopped and watched as he clumsily made his way closer. I picked up my own pace, as did he, tripping over his own hooves on more than one occasion. I was beginning to feel more uneasy. It was like he didn't understand I wanted nothing to do with him. I stopped, turned around, and bid him farewell.

Continuing on my path to glory, I was surprised to see that he was still following me. The sound of hoofsteps grew louder. Shouts rang out over the dense silence between the two of us.

"Over here!" a gravelly stallion called out. "That drunk went this way!" The drunk in question leaped in the air and ran in front of me, disrupting my forward motion yet again. I stared at the inebriated pony before me. He was being chased by Regulators. Of course! He was drunk off his ass and trying to hide from the Watchmare's elite commandos responsible for keeping the peace. He was going to get what he deserved for disrupting the-

Wait. He was being chased by Regulators for being drunk on a weekday morning. I was beyond the boundaries of the farm I was doomed to live on forever. If the Regulators caught me anywhere near him, I would be just as finished as he was.

The drunkard spared the voices a hurried glance before lunging towards me suddenly.

“Come, Broon! Make haste!" he shouted, grabbing me by the collar. He dragged me into the main streets and ran on ahead, as if he had sobered up instantly. I stared wide eyed for a moment, then looked back as a squad of Regulators emerged from the alley behind me. They gave me a look.

"He went that way!" I said, pointing in the direction of the indecent stallion. He was nowhere to be seen. I returned my gaze to the enforcers, and then took a step back. The lead Regulator, wearing a crimson beret, gave me a knowing glare. I felt a lump form in my throat.

"And what are you doing out this early, little pony?" he snorted. "Shouldn't you be back on the farm, where you belong?" They knew I'd come from the farm, but I realized that, being the Watchmare's law enforcement, they probably knew everything there was to know about every pony in Paradiso, so of course they knew who I was.

"Who, me?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"No, not you, the purple unicorn with blue hair standing next to you. Yes, you, dumbass! What are you doing here?"

"Oh, uh, I'm supposed to be here!" I lied. "I'm sending a message to the Watchmare from the telegraph office. Yeah!"

"You're so full of shit!" one of the Regulators scoffed. "You're so full of shit it's spilling out of your mouth!" They moved towards me menacingly. "You should know better than to try and trick the Regulators. Every pony has their place, and you're not in yours!"

The leader drew a nightstick from his belt with his teeth. My heart pounded to the march of their metal-studded horseshoes, blood running cold in my veins. They were going to beat me, then drag me off to the farm to toil with potatoes for eternity. Or worse, they would ship me off to a prison. I had to do something. I wanted dearly to turn and run, to leave Barrel Arbor, to leave everything about my old life behind, but I was frozen in place. The glow of sunrise in the distance began to work its way down the village streets as my mind raced. I took a hesitant step back.

"Broon, you idiot!"

The drunken pony closed the gap between myself and the Regulators and backed close to me. "I told you to go! Now move your ass to the station, now!" he shouted at me. "I'll keep these jerks busy." I turned and ran, not wanting to take my chances against the militants. Ducking into the main street, I made my way to the south end of Barrel Arbor, where the steamliner station would link me to Windy Vale over a sun's travel. If I was lucky, I might have arrived before sundown.

Unfortunately, luck is an abstract concept (at best) in a world of clockwork precision. Two Regulators, batons brandished, emerged from the side streets as I tore across the cobblestone. The golden glow of morning poured across the houses and storefronts, accompanied by the singsong greetings of the birds. If I didn’t fear for my life, I may have paused to enjoy their playful symphonies, but the shouts of the stallions were not far from me.

And thus begins my story.

The Watchmare

CYGNUS

-The Watchmare-

A warm biscuit with a dash of honey and a touch of butter began the morning. Deep red eyes thoughtfully scanned the morning ticker, news from lands far and away lazily made its way across the dining room table. The Watchmare, hair tied in a tight bun, carefully studied and searched for news from one particular village to the south of the eastern harbors. As she hummed to herself, enjoying the fragrance of fresh coffee beans (though she didn't drink coffee herself), she rapped her hoof on the rich mahogany that was, for the moment, the instrument demanding her rhythmic attention. The sound, though soft, weighed on her mind in a way none but she understood. Each beat was perfectly in time with the tick-tock of her watch, a pacemaker for her own eternal heartbeat.

Though a stiff, precise mare, not one with an especially lighthearted countenance, she often quipped to herself in the bureau mirror that she was older than time itself. As far as the ponies of Paradiso were concerned, she was time. She knew better, of course. Time was the only constant presence in her world. Friends had come and gone as fragile mortals; nations rose and fell as fragile institutions run by fragile mortals, but time, and the Watchmare, never changed.

Neither did the consistency of the morning news, apparently. Not a single burglary, no fires, and a total lack of Anarchist sightings, despite the fact she knew he was out there, biding his time. The Watchmare's jaw clenched for a moment at the thought of the troublemaker still running rather than burning, but she relaxed when her hoof-taps reminded her of the one great constant. And unlike the Anarchist, the Watchmaker had time on her side. If so desired, a wave of her hoof would end him, freeing her of the bother he was. How would she do it? Perhaps a train crash? A dislodged rail is all it would take. Perhaps it would pop up in the wreck and skewer him through the eyes? Or maybe liver poisoning? No, that was not fantastic enough. A nemesis like the Anarchist truly deserved a spectacular death. Of course! A pony specializing in explosives and mayhem deserved to go out in a blaze of glory. Not by his own hoof, anyways. He was much too careful, the ruffian he was. All it would take was a little too much of one ingredient, perhaps a faulty trigger, maybe some poor shelter from the blast?

But he would not make those mistakes. He had long given up being an amateur. Like herself, the Anarchist was about precision. Precision in chaos. He was a disciple of that old serpent, but at least the Old One had sense enough to change. The Anarchist would sooner die than change.

And ultimately, she had come to enjoy his antics. Immortality carried the nasty side effect of boredom, and she couldn't fathom how the mares of the Elder Race had dealt with it, but the Anarchist had become the Watchmare's entertainment for the last half-century. She wasn't sure, but it crossed her mind more than once that her nemesis knew this well. She could end him whether or not he left himself open. But why would he persist, knowing his efforts were an exercise in futility? It was a question she would have to ask him, should the two meet face to face. Then she would kill him, as a thank-you for fifty years of mild excitement to color a few millennia spent in boredom.

To the Watchmare, it was as if time stood still.

That is, until a new strip of ticker tape clicked by, red bands running along the edges of the paper. She leaned forward and read the message it bore.

Moving. – Reuel.

She smirked and reclined in her chair. Of course, she already knew what it meant, but she was glad Reuel was following his instructions and reporting to her.

After all, Paradiso was a big place.

Caravan - Part I

CYGNUS

-Caravan-

-Part I-

I looked up to the cloud  of seagulls, churning and swelling, peppering the port of Windy Vale with a white noise just above the coming and going of the waves. I had never seen so many of them before; they frequented the farm in the spring and summer, but never in such huge numbers! They were very much like grains of sand, casting themselves into the sky to be tossed to and fro by the wind as they searched for food among the crowds. They rode upon the scent of saltwater, blowing in with the steamliners from the South Sea. I could see the massive ships as they gracefully slid through the sky, touching down on rails that guided them to the water and into the water of the port, obscured by the rows of buildings and ponies.

I leapt as I followed my new travelling companion, the well-dressed stallion who called himself Charger. As the hours passed following our escape from the Regulators in Barrel Arbor, I came to see him as equal parts drunk, sober, and talk. He strode on the fine line between inebriated and hung over, carrying himself smoothly, with little desire for anything other than making a lasting impression on other ponies, for better or for worse. More often than not, it was for worse.

I watched as he confidently waved his identification papers at the guard pony at the gate to the port, who, by the Angels' grace, was not a Regulator, but a member of the local militia. The guard took one look at the papers, when he suddenly snapped to attention and gave the drunk a crisp salute. Charger slapped the guard with a hoof and pulled him close, whispering something in the victim's ear. The guard gave him hurried nods, with a little hint of fear simmering just beneath his fur. My travelling partner threw the guard back into his booth and stormed through the gate, without so much as losing his beaver hat to a stray breeze. I followed, and looked at the guard as I passed. He gave me a demure glance, the same hint of fear lingering. I trotted a little faster, and caught up to the older stallion.

"What was that noise about?" I asked. Charger looked at me, scoffing sternly.

"Never you mind," he grumbled. "Militia ponies." I was beginning to sense he was suffering a mild hangover, as he seemed more fretted that when we met. I had yet to learn what had caused him to go from drunk to tactile when the Regulators confronted us, and for a moment, I wondered if it had all been a show.

Suddenly, however, he was back to his slick self as he approached a ticket booth. He was very good at switching between modes of behavior, and he was definitely putting on a show for a delectable green mare seated in the small office. He puffed his chest out, held his head high. Every step was a careful, precise dance that seemed to transform him from a recovering drunk to a business pony. She looked up at us, her eyes heavy with a long day's work. Charger put on a smile, one that showed just a hint of shiny white teeth. I ran my tongue over my own rough teeth, then grinned from ear to ear as we came to rest at the booth.

"'Scuse me, ma'am," the larger, cream colored stallion said smoothly. He looked down at me and stuffed a hoof in my mouth, closing it with disgust. "Me and this scamp here would like two tickets to Crown City!" I could see the mare smile at him.

"OK sir! Will those be first class," she looked down at me, her smile growing weaker, "or coach?"

"First class, please!" I chimed in, thumping my hooves on the counter. The thought of going to Crown City was enthralling, but flying there first class? Get outta town. She grimaced, brushing away some dirt that had skittered under the window. Charger laid a hoof on my shoulder and shoved me back against the wall, glaring at me.

"Now look here, bud," he sighed. "Now I'm not made of gold, y'see?" I nodded. "So unless you wanna pay out of your own pocket for those tickets," he jabbed a hoof at my saddlebags, "we'll be flyin' coach." He returned his attention to the mare at the booth, lifting his coin purse. I was more than capable of paying my own way, at least with the box I carried with me, but I was not opposed to a free ride either. Especially since he was so instant on paying. He tossed a couple of grimy gold coins under the booth grating. The mare scooped them up, grimaced, and deposited them in a small tray out of sight. She retrieved a pair of tickets and passed them to us.

"There you are, sir!" she feigned. "Enjoy your travels!"

"Thanks!" the stallion said. "You too!" I nudged him. Hard. "Ow!" he hissed. "What's your--" I nodded over at the mare, who looked as unimpressed as all get out. He looked over at her and flashed a weak smile.

"Next!" she scorned.

We wove our way through the crowds, which grew more dense as we struggled to reach the center of the port. I strained for a better view, looking high and low for the cause of the congestion. Our pace slowed as the crowds thickened, giving my travelling partner a chance to sneak a few drops from his flask. He stumbled back, then gave me a look of discouragement.

"Don't get any ideas, now."

"Like what?" I asked, guiding him in the general direction of the ships.

"I don't want you drinkin' my stuff," he glared at me. "You start drinkin', you better start drinkin' y'own." Clearly he had misplaced his trust in other ponies, leaving too little for myself. I could be trusted, or at least I felt I could be, and unlike him, I had no interest in drinking.

"I wasn't even-"

"Ah know what you're thinking!" he cut me off, slurring his speech. "You think ol' Charger's gonna go an' get us in another mess!" He wobbled as he walked alongside me, waving his arms. "Well yer wrong!" I stared at him, entirely unsure if he was drunk or just toying with me.

He gave me a quick wink.

"Relax, kid!" he spoke clearly. "I'm quite sober, I'll have you know."

"So why you keep actin' drunk?" I laughed.

"A pony's gotta keep changin' himself if he wanna slip by the Regulators," he hummed. "They can pick out a face in a crowd, an' that's fine, so long as the face they seein' ain't yours." He tossed me the ticket I was owed.

"So, will they chase us?"

"Absolutely," he smiled. "We ain't playin' by their rules. Anypony who wants to go against Her plan are branded anarchists, ruffians, rebels and renegades, and the Regulators," he pointed to a pair relaxing near a small bathhouse, "will do anythin' to put us back in our place." I thought about it for a moment. We were both breaking free of our niches (though I was unsure where Charger's place was in the Grand Plan), had already assaulted several Regulators in Barrel Arbor, and one militia pony within the port. "In all," he continued, "we looking at either being sent back home under watch by a couple of thems, or life imprisonment. Maybe worse."

The fact that we would be hunted made my stomach swim, yet, at the same time, we would be driven along by our enemies, closer to our goals, whatever Charger's were. Perhaps, were we to be captured, we would be presented to the Watchmare for judgement, and I could convince her then. Either way, our activities would not go unnoticed. I would need to prepare myself.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked as we meandered through the alleyways. Charger looked down at me.

"What, you mean our travel plans, or-"

"I mean, what do we do if they chase us?" I cut him off.

"Easy," he tucked the ticket into his pocket. "Run. Worked back in town, it'll work elsewhere. Regulators can't be everywhere at once. They have schedules, little routes they'll use, but they ain't exactly creative thinkers. They mostly count on everypony doing and believing what they're told, that way ponies like you and I stick out and are easier to catch - if we ain't careful. You gotta look like you're where you're s'posed to be, don't just say it. And if y'can spot a gap or a way out, you run your  little tail all the way to the next city if y'can help it."

"How about a fight?" I jumped. He came to a dead stop, his eyes shooting daggers at me.

"Don't." He said. "Sure they can't chase you forever, but if you let yourself down, even for a blink, they will tear you to shreds. An' even if you can hold out against a few of 'em, they'll call in a kill squad, and then you're in deep."

"Kill squad, huh?" I swallowed. "What do they do?" It was a stupid question, I know, but I couldn't help but ask.

"You really wanna find out?" I looked away. Of course I didn't! He took my silence for an answer. "Alright then. Follow me," he motioned towards the docks. "So the deal is, I'm getting you into Crown City, at the least. Ship's right up there."

He nodded, and I followed his gesture, past the infrastructure of the port, to see the hulk of an enormous zeppelin, like the ones I saw in The Watchmare's Aeronautics. It's long, canvas-colored cigar shape dwarfed the masses surrounding vessels, casting a giant shadow across Windy Vale. I could see many sails huddled beneath it, bunched up and stowed away on their masts, where the breeze could not carry them. I squinted, barely able to make out the shapes of dozens of ponies scuttling about the rigging, preparing the ship for its inevitable heaven-bound journey. Somewhere, beyond the rooftops, was the steamliner the zeppelin belonged to.

There was a time when I dreamt of the steamliners. During nights spent on the hillside, I could see their black silhouettes as they trekked across the night amid a sea of stars. The glow of their engines, the sparks of blue and green coldfire; the distant hum of their propellers would blend with the whisper of wind in the grass to paint the night a wonderful kind of symphony, one which I sometimes found myself falling asleep to.

It was those nights I was most grateful for. As I slept, I visited the steamliners in my precious dreams, riding along with the crew, singing songs of distant lands, of the Watchmare, of cities of gold and silver. I would fetch them drinks, tell them of my home life, and sit beside the captain, looking over maps as we chased the night.

Of course, I am a much older pony now, and I no longer have the same dreams I once did. But what a sight it was! The first time the glossy black hull of a great wooden steam barque loomed ahead, my eyes went wide at it's sheer size; it was nearly twice the length of any other steamships I'd ever caught a glimpse of. It was menacing, yet graceful. Even sitting in the water, arrested by mooring cables thick as my neck, and perfectly still, the ship seemed ready take off, ripping through anything that stood between it and the City. I could feel my little heart skip a beat at the thought that I was really going on an adventure!

"Well, there she is," Charger announced as we drew nearer. "The National Midnight Star is what they call her." At the time, I hadn't understood why he had referred to the ship as her. Even now the idea escapes me, but something about calling a ship her caught hold of me like quicksand. I stopped in my tracks.

"Her?"

"Well, you heard me." He started on his way to the ship. "Go ahead and stay here if you're having second thoughts."

"Hold on!" I shouted after him. The ponies surrounding us gave me confused glares as I chased after him. Almost immediately, I stumbled headlong into a well-dressed pegasi couple, a green stallion and a delightful yellow mare, who must have been having a wonderful time when we met. They carried with them sacks, whose contents, trinkets and what looked like souvenirs, spilled across the cobblestone of the thoroughfare, and I felt myself grow hot with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry!" I said with a gasp, looking frantically over my shoulders, only to find that there were no Regulators to be seen. "So sorry," I sighed, returning to the ponies I'd so rudely collided with. "I was in a hurry." I stooped down to return one of the sacks to its owner, pausing when I saw the Barrel Arbor Antiques logo on the sack, looking worn out. I cautiously picked up the sack with my mouth and handed it off to the stallion who it belonged to.

"It's all right," he said, slinging the bag onto his back. "I'm certainly in no hurry." I gathered trinkets that had spilled and put them in their rightful sack. "Why would you be?" he asked as he watched.

"Why, why would I be what...?" I asked, trying to dodge the question.

"Why would you be in a hurry?" he pointedly reiterated. I looked up at him for a moment, then shivered. A thick bandanna had been wrapped around his head. On its own, that wouldn't have been too unsettling; What got me was the way he smiled at me the moment I saw it. It wasn't a happy, 'good afternoon' smile. It was dark, like the maw of a vast, soul-devouring cavern, or a great dragon, ready to end me if I so much as sneezed. It spread across his face, twisted and sinister. I felt my breath hitch. His coat went from a pleasant, cheery green color, to a sickening shade of gray. Blood dripped from his teeth and bandage.

"Funny, isn't it?" he said. I couldn't breathe, and I dared not move. He knew. "Funny that I could kill you right now." I felt a shadow pass over me. His smile grew wider, and he nodded upward. I didn't look away. "Don't you want to see where your fate lies?"

I said nothing.

"Go ahead, have a look!" He lifted the bandanna with a hoof, revealing two empty sockets for eyes. The fur and flesh of his face peeled away, exposing the ghostly white bone that lurked beneath, oozing with blood. I shivered at the sight, my heart stopping, before I was overtaken by a vision of my cutie mark, a red star in a circle, gracing a flowing banner. I smiled, just a little, thinking that fame and power lay ahead.

"I've seen enough!" I hiccuped, shaking as my heart started again.

"Oh, no!" his words slithered into my head, "you've only seen the beginning!"

How does he know what my cutie mark is? I wondered, too scared to ask. Most ponies kept theirs covered, and mine was hidden by my clothes and saddlebags. How had he seen it?

"I now many things, Broon," the... demon responded, as if he had heard my thoughts. "And I know you don't like to play by the rules, do you? You'd rather set your own path forward, is that right?" I felt myself shiver. "Your fate is right there" he put a hoof on my flank. "The Red Star! It symbolizes unity in all things- with the Watchmare, with the stars, the universe! With a cutie mark like that," he pulled away, "you should be a very obedient little pony! But you'd rather chase a hopeless dream all across Paradiso, wouldn't you?" he smiled again. "You're tempting fate, boy!" he cried. "You had better watch your back, and hope you don't slip up!"

I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn't. He stole the breath from my lips with a kiss, stepped back, and placed the bandage back over his eye sockets. I felt hopeless, and a bit dirty, when the vision of the burning flag dissipated, replaced by the port of Windy Vale. The demon gave me one last, unsettling grin, and became the green pegasus pony I ran into.

"Hello?" he waved a hoof in my face. I inhaled sharply, shaking my head. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, yes I'm fine," I said, gathering the last of his belongings.

"Well, then why do you hurry?" he asked yet again.

I slowed, trying not to call attention to myself.

In a world of perfect order and timing, Aunt would say, nopony is ever in a hurry, and nopony is ever late.

For the sake of blending in, neither was I.

All as the Watchmare would have it.

"Just excited to travel," I said. "I should have been more careful."

"Quite alright," he nodded. "Just where are you bound, with such a quick step?"

All as the Watchmare would have it.

"Crown City," I nearly whispered. "I'm going to see the Angels." I looked around again, and spotted Charger looking over from the gangway, shaking his head.

“Ah! So you’ll be joining us on the caravan!” the stallion smiled. “We’re going to see the Angels as well.”

“We’re trying for a baby,” the mare interjected, “but it has proved difficult. We were hoping the Angels could-”

“Lace!” the stallion blushed. “Please, strangers don’t need to know these things!”

“Sorry!” she giggled. “I've been so excited, though! Tell me young one, have you ever been to Chronos Square?” I dug at the cobblestone with a hoof.

"No," I smirked. "But I'm excited to be going there!"

"Good," he said. "It's nice to see ponies still driven by faith." He set one pack down, then opened it where it rested. "Tell me," he said, rummaging his head through the bag. "Were you brought up to believe as well?" There was no question about that. I smiled wide.

"Until my final breath!" A breeze caught us by surprise, and a chill tickled up my spine. I thought briefly of the hellish demon-pony I'd seemingly spoken to only moments ago. One day that sentence would be true, wouldn't it?

"Excellent!" he said before emerging from the bag. He placed a trinket at my hooves and slung the sack over his shoulder. "This is for you!" I picked the small object up with my magic and looked it over. It was a gadget of gears and disks, spinning and whirling about each other.

"What is it?" I asked. "A watch of some sort?"

"I call it a liquid-crystal compass - it keeps you on the path to your dreams! Follow them with your heart, and you will never find yourself far from your home."

I looked it over, the clock face suspended in the middle shifted and morphed into a picture of Crown City. It was curious, magnificent even! And it was one of many wondrous things I would collect over the years.

"Thank you," I said.

"Carry on!" he replied, nickering for his mare to join him.

"Never far from home," I muttered to myself. I looked over it again. The image of the City morphed into yet another, of Chronos Square. It was amazing, but I felt, in my heart, that such a small device could not compare to the City - the real City.

"Hey!" a now familiar voice called to me. I looked up at Charger, still standing on the gangway, tapping a hoof impatiently. "You keep lookin' at that thing and you're gonna miss our ride!" I tucked the liquid-crystal compass away and trotted over to The National Midnight Star. I gave my ticket to the boarding inspector, who waved me on without so much as a second glance. I made my way up the ramp and joined Charger on the deck.

"Well Broon, there you are!" the baron said to me. "Did you make some friends back there?"

"I suppose," I smiled, turning into the afternoon breeze. We sauntered across the deck and leaned against the railing, looking out over the bay. The sun was well on its way to setting.

"So, kiddo?" the elder asked. "You glad to be on your way?"

"You're leaving me?"

"Aha, kid, you misunderstand - I made a promise that I'd take you to see the Clockwork Angels. What I meant was, are you glad you're going to get out there, see the big world for what it really is?"

"Oh," I sighed. "I'm just glad we made it this far. It's really is nice to be away from all those potatoes."

"Why, farming not exciting enough for you?"

"No," I laughed.

A bell rang, high in the masts above us.

Slowly, a low hum possessed the planks of the ship as the engine aroused its faculties. Deckhands scurried about, untying ropes, tethering others. The mooring cables and anchor were retracted as the sails, so, so, many of them, unfurled and caught the wind. The ship began to move. Slowly, at first, meandering through the water with nary a care. Ponies lined the deck railing and waved to loved ones with their kerchiefs.

"I'm ready to get out there," I said. Charger looked down at me, then turned from the railing.

"You close to your folks?" he asked as we made our way to the lower deck.

"Not really." I trailed off. "Thanks for doing this for me, Charger."

"Think nothing of it, boy."

The barque lurched out of the water, the docks drifting away behind the vessel. I looked out to the sea to find the water leaving us. We were joined by dozens of other, smaller vessels, in a caravan that spanned the late afternoon sky.

As the evening fell, the darkness of the coach cabin was interrupted at times by the soft glare of candlelight. Charger lead the way through rucksacks and cots scattered about the floor. Several ponies lay in the corner, coughing and huddling together; the stink of stuffy cabin air made me wonder about what I'd gotten myself into. I saw an elderly mare curled up next to her grandchildren, telling them about the glory and the gleam of the city. The colts fidgeted with excitement and anticipation, and for a moment, I did with them.

Charger clicked his tongue, beckoning me to his side. I leapt to keep pace with the seasoned traveler, coming to rest at a small open space of the floor, near a porthole on the starboard side.

“Alright,” the cream stallion said. “This is where we’ll bed for the night.”

I gave him a crazed look of surprise. “Right here?" Aren't there beds or something?”

“This is coach, boy. You want a bed, you’ll have to haul one here yourself.” He smirked. “And that’s just not practical.”

I winced, sitting down. Not a day into this journey, and already I was missing my bed. Sooner or later I would have to grow a backbone; otherwise I would find myself buried in potatoes again. Charger, conversely, seemed perfectly at home wherever he went.

We talked, for a time, about his travels. He was happy to talk about his exploits, having spent the better half of thirty years on the run from either the Regulators or angry innkeepers. He didn't think himself the romantic type, but after one too many false proposals and far too many angry mares chasing him down, he’d become a wanted pony, for better or worse.

And like I said before, more often than not, it was for worse.

“You got folks back home Charger?” I asked, though the answer was not at all a mystery. The stallion removed his hat and set it on the ground, laying his head atop it. It was filled with what appeared to be a change of clothes, which doubled as a pillow.

“Home?” he laughed. “Where’s that?”

“So… no then?”

“Nope.” He turned onto his side, facing away from me.

“Oh.” I looked down and exhaled quietly.

“Well,” the stallion spoke up, “I guess that’s not all true.” He sat up and looked over at the me. “Somepony once said to me that ‘home is where the heart is.’ I used to wonder what it meant, but after a while it became quite simple.” He poked a hoof to my chest. “You know what it means?” I paused for a moment, searching my knowledge of the Watchmare’s teachings for anything resembling the phrase.

“That um… oh, I got nothing,” I sighed. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Well,” Charger continued, “some tell me they think it means that all the love’s back home; that everything you need is at home. That there’s no place like it. Now me, I spend my time on the road, see? I got nowhere to go but forward, and this mare I met one time, she told me something different.”

“What’s that?”

“That home,” he said, smiling, “is where you want to be the most. I laughed and told her that was a bunch of sentimental bull, she probably said it ‘cause she thought I was going to marry her or something, but she had a point. You can travel the whole world and never settle down, but as long as you’re where you want to be, isn't that home enough, see what I mean?”

“Kind of,” I nodded slowly. “But home is a place you live, right?”

“Yeah,” Charger replied. “But if I live on the road, that’s my home, ain't it?”

“Sure.”

“So,” the stallion continued, “I guess I was lyin’ when I said I didn't have family back home. I got you, don’t I?”

“For family?” I laughed. “I barely know you.”

“We’ll just have to change that,” Charger sighed, lying down again. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Charger.” I put my head down on the cold wood floor, and squirmed.

It was difficult to get comfortable, no matter how hard I tried.

A thick beaver hat landed on my face.

“There,” he said. “That’s a start.”

I silently thanked him for his generosity, and tucked it under my head.

I spent the night awake, gazing at the shifting images of the city, glowing from within the liquid-crystal compass. Soon, my tired eyes closed, accompanied by the image of an eyeless demon pony perched atop a mast, overlooking the sea.