“Stupid, useless piece of trash!”
A blue hoof kicks at the broken wheel as it leans against the side of the cart. The wheel teeters from the force of the kick and clatters to the ground, dispersing the magical aura that had been holding the shattered remnants of its hub together. The ruined thing wobbles in the grass, then falls still.
“That’ll teach you to defy the Great and Powerful Trixie! Lie there and rot, for all Trixie cares! She doesn’t need you anyw—”
Trixie catches herself, snapping her mouth shut. She whips around and glances back and forth along the dirt road, searching for any that might have overheard her abuse of the inanimate object. The road is empty, same as the past two hours. For once, her solitude brings a sigh of relief, rather than snorting or swearing or any other in a long line of indignities that has issued from her all morning. The last thing her life needs is further humiliation.
With a final glare at the former wheel, she plops down on her haunches, her back to the cart and all her worldly possessions therein. She isn’t sure what bothers her more: The inconvenience and delay of being stranded, or the bits she’d spent on renting the cursed thing, earned with the sweat on her brow and hoarded like a miser for this trip. She can only hope she still has enough.
She casts a baleful glance to the south. There, Canterlot sits on its mountainside perch, shining white and gold even under the overcast sky, taunting her with its nearness. She had hoped to arrive at Yonderhill in time to make the one o’clock train to the royal city. If luck had worked in her favor, she would be sitting on that train right now as it scaled the Canterhorn, perhaps sipping a nice cup of coffee and watching the fields of Equestria fall away below her alpine ascent.
Trixie can’t even remember the last time luck has worked in her favor.
Her gaze shifts slightly to the right, past Canterlot, into the southern lands of the Everfree region. She imagines the little village waiting there, unsuspecting. Her teeth clench at the thought. She can almost hear it, even now—the sound of heckling, of mocking laughter, of an entire career crumbling around her. A purple shades flits across her mind.
She has to force herself to look away, to calm her breathing.
There will be a time for justice later. For now, she has only to find a way forward, or all her plans will be for naught.
“Stay positive, Trixie,” she says to herself. “It’s not like this day could get any wo—”
A sudden boom of thunder shakes the sky, startling the unicorn. Eyebrow twitching, she looks upward, toward the gray clouds the pegasi have been assembling all morning.
“Oh, come on!” she shouts to the heavens. “Is this really necessary? Can’t something just go Trixie’s way for once? Is that so much to ask?!”
One of the clouds overhead sheds a single drop of moisture. The inaugural raindrop plummets through the air, streaking, whipped by the mustering winds, straight towards the ground, down and down, and falls precisely between Trixie’s eyes.
A second peel of thunder drowns out the ensuing stream of profanity.
Within moments, it’s a downpour. Trixie sprints to the cart to retrieve her hat and cape in the hopes of warding off the rain and preserving some of her coat’s dryness. That accomplished, she sets about covering the contents of the cart with a tarp, climbing up onto the side of the vehicle and trying to fasten down the tarp with her magic. It isn’t easy going, and she has to wrestle with the tarp as the wind catches beneath it like a sail. Finally, she secures it down and sets about tugging the rope into a knot.
“Do you need any help, miss?”
With a startled yelp, Trixie’s back hoof slips and she falls from her perch on the side of the cart, landing on her back in the wet grass with an undignified Oof! Instantly, a draft of wind catches the tarp and finally whisks it away like a discarded newspaper. With a growl, Trixie tilts her head back and looks at the upside-down image of a covered wagon on the road. With all the commotion with the rain and the tarp, she hadn’t even heard the wagon’s approach.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” the driver of the wagon asks. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Trixie is… f-fine,” she manages as she picks herself up from the ground and shakes vigorously. Already her cape is soaked through.
Adjusting her hat, she gets her first good look at the wagon. It’s a modest affair, worn from obvious years of use. Its covering bears the faded image of a smiling filly and colt. The wagon’s driver is an equine figure, robed in black, his face hidden beneath the hood. And pulling the vehicle: a large, bison-like creature with a deadpan expression.
“Do you require any assistance?” the driver asks again over the sound of rainfall.
Trixie huffs and points a sullen hoof at her busted, and now unprotected, cart. “Not unless you happen to be a wainwright.”
“I’m afraid not.” A throaty chuckle. “But I could give you a ride. Where are you headed, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Yonderhill, if possible.” She again indicates her belongings in the cart, this time with her head. “However…”
“I see. I believe I have enough room in the back of my wagon for your things. Would you like any help loading it in?”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
With a flaring of her magic, Trixie levitates her belongings from the cart, making sure not to miss the bag of bits she’d been keeping safe in the front corner, and guides everything to the back of the stranger’s wagon. As promised, there is plenty of room for her things there, alongside boxes marked with stars and exotic glyphs. Trixie arches an eyebrow, but holds her tongue. She’s able to get everything in only two trips, and, after one last inspection of the cart to make sure nothing is left behind, she closes the back flaps of the wagon and approaches the driver’s seat in the front.
The stranger gives an impressed whistle as Trixie climbs into the seat to his left. “That was an impressive display. You have fine control of your telekinesis, miss.”
“Of course,” Trixie says with a sniff as she settles into her seat. “It’s most useful in Trixie’s line of w—” Trixie stops suddenly as she gets her first good look at the driver. A pair of blue eyes shine from under his hood, surrounded by distinctive stripes of white and black. “You’re a zebra?” she asks bluntly.
“If I’m not, it’s news to me,” he says with a smile, his voice full of humor and warmth. “I hope that’s alright.”
“Oh, most certainly!” she replies quickly with an embarrassed smile. “Trixie was just surprised, is all. Your kind are a rarity in these parts.”
His smile becomes tinged with something like sadness. “Hmm. We certainly are.” He says something else to the cow-thing in front of them—an unfamiliar, foreign-sounding word, it seems to her—and the wagon begins to move with a creaking lurch. Trixie glances back as her abandoned cart fades away behind the curtains of rain. She makes a mental note to report this debacle to the rental company’s Yonderhill branch—with a full refund, naturally.
She faces forward again with a sigh. “Well, thank you for your kindness. Trixie had very nearly given up hope of a good samaritan stopping by, especially with today’s storms. A happy stroke of luck it was, mister…”
“Komorebi,” he says with a nod. He motions to the creature pulling the cart. “And this fine wildebeest is my good friend and associate, Holling.”
The wildebeest in question looks back at Trixie and gives the tiniest of nods.
“Charmed…” Trixie says awkwardly.
“And you, I gather, are named Trixie,” the zebra says with a wink.
“Oh, not just any old ‘Trixie’. The Great and Pow—” She sneezes violently. With a sniffle, she finishes in a more subdued tone: “Powerful Trixie.” She pulls her drenched cape more tightly around herself, shivering slightly.
Komorebi notices. “If you’d like something dry to wear, I ought to have a spare cloak or two in the back.”
Trixie begins to decline, until she notices the faint chattering of her teeth. “Y-yes, thank you…” she says.
Trixie turns around and begins to rummage around in the back of the wagon. Soon enough, she finds a black cloak like the zebra’s. Shedding her wet cape and hat and setting them aside, she wraps herself in the cloak and huddles in its warm folds. Only then does she notice the open box that had been covered by the cloak. Her eyes widen at what she sees inside. She reaches out with a hoof and grabs one of the revealed items: a small, wooden penguin.
“You make toys?” she asks, examining the expertly carved plaything.
“I do. Zebrican-style toys, as a matter of fact. Something to set my toys apart from the competition, you see.” He flashes her a grin beneath his hood, then faces forward again. “Holling and I travel from town to town, selling them to the little ones.”
Trixie can’t help but smile at that. “Trixie bets the foals enjoy that.” Memories—visions of children watching her magic shows in wonder, fireworks reflected in their eyes—fill her mind. She hugs the penguin toy to her chest and sighs.
“And what do you do for a living?” Komorebi asks.
“Trixie’s a magician.”
“A scholar?”
Trixie withdraws into her cloak a little. “A showpony.”
“Mmm, even better,” the zebra replies.
Trixie looks at him with a raised eyebrow.
He meets her gaze. “I’ve always believed that the best thing we can do in life is to create as much happiness as we can for those who cross our path. The pursuit of knowledge is a fine thing, but only insofar as it can facilitate such happiness and improve the quality of our moments. That is my opinion, at least. Sounds to me like you’re in an ideal position to brighten somepony’s day.”
“Trixie used to think so, too,” she says quietly. “These days… it’s anypony’s guess. Truth be told, Trixie’s in a… a slump, she supposes. She’s even had to take a number of odd jobs recently, just to make ends meet. But she’s hoping to make a comeback. There’s just… something she needs to do first.”
“In Yonderhill?”
“Not quite.” Trixie raises her eyes, finding Canterlot in the distance.
Komorebi follows her gaze. “I see.” A brief silence. “In the zebra lands, the word for Canterlot translates to ‘City of Dreams’. Seems that’s quite literally the case with you, miss.”
“Trixie’s not sure ‘dream’ is the word she would use. There’s merely something she needs to find.”
“And what is that?”
Trixie meets the zebra’s gaze.
“I apologize,” he says, facing forward. “I don’t mean to pry. My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes. Or maybe I should say ‘nosiness’…”
“No, it’s alright.” She takes a deep breath and looks into the heavy sky. “It’s a sort of… magical artifact. Trixie heard a rumor that a shop in Canterlot had come in possession of it.”
“Ah, yes.” Komorebi nods sagely. “I’m no stranger to such items myself. My people have a long history of infusing objects with magic.”
“Really?”
“Out of necessity, I assure you. We lack horns, after all,” he says, pointing to Trixie’s forehead. “We’ve had to find other ways of bending the energies of the world in our favor. My people have created artifacts of rather significant power.”
Trixie returns her gaze to Canterlot, barely visible through the rain, like a lighthouse in the storm. “Powerful zebra artifacts, huh? That certainly sounds intriguing…”
“Oh, yes indeed. The zebra lands are full of ‘intriguing’ things. Cities build on the surface of lakes. Deserts with tornados made of fire. There’s even a zebra tribe that speaks entirely in rhyme, if you can believe it.”
Trixie snorts. “That sounds like more trouble than it’s worth.”
“More trouble than speaking in the third person?” he responds with a smirk.
Trixie averts her eyes with a tiny blush. For a moment, only the sound of rain and of a wildebeest’s hoof-falls can be heard.
“Why did you come to Equestria if the zebra lands are so enchanting?” Trixie eventually asks, her voice soft, damp as the grass by the roadside.
“Well, to be fair, Equestria has its fair share of enchantments, too.”
“Mmm. Touché.”
“But I suppose the real answer is simply that my old life wasn’t working anymore, and I needed a change. So, I packed my things, and Holling here agreed to come with me.”
Trixie looks down at the so-far silent wildebeest, who simply continues to stare ahead, seemingly unbothered by the falling rain.
She lets out a sigh. “Trixie understands that. Her life hasn’t exactly been working either.”
“Is that why you need the artifact?” Komorebi asks. “Do you need a change, too?”
“Not quite. Trixie needs the artifact to… to let go of the past, she supposes.” The zebra remains silent, and Trixie takes that as an invitation to continue. “You see, there’s this village—Ponyville, it’s called. Trixie went there some time ago, just to put on a few shows, the same as she’s done since she was a young mare. Trixie would rather not go into specifics, but by the time she left town, she was homeless and humiliated, her career a flaming ruin.”
“Oh my…” Komorebi says sympathetically.
Trixie ignores his pity and continues. “It very nearly broke her. She spent months working on a forsaken rock farm just to save up some bits. But now,” she continues, her voice rising like the first tremors before an earthquake, “with the amulet, she has an opportunity to find justice!”
She senses she’s being watched. Looking to the side, she finds Komorebi looking at her, his eyes wide, cautious. Only then does she realize her hooves are clenching the seat beneath her, so tightly she can hear the wood creaking in her grip. She releases the seat and takes a few deep breaths to calm herself.
When she continues, she does so quietly, and with averted eyes. “Trixie assures you, she has no desire to hurt anypony. She just wants… closure. She wants to prove that she’s not a joke. She wants to wipe that sickly sweet little grin off the face of that perfect little purple pupil of a pony princess! She wants to…” She trails off, her shoulders sagging as she pulls her hood up over her head. “She wants to be something other than a failure again,” she says quietly. “Maybe then... she can move on with her life.”
Another silence wafts over them, so thick with memory and contemplation that even sound of the rain seems dull and distant, as if falling on a vast blanket.
When Komorebi finally speaks, the humor is gone from his voice—though much of the warmth remains. “You say you want to let go of the past,” he says. “Are you prepared to let go of your anger, too?”
Trixie squints at him, equal parts confused and irritated.
But he merely meets her gaze with a tiny smile. “Anger is a powerful, addictive force. It can consume us; drive us to madness and obsession. It can conquer our hearts.” His eyes drift, as if pulled by some hidden gravity, to the contents of his cart behind them. “Trust me on this. I know whereof I speak. If you really want to ‘move on’, then the best way might be to let go of your anger, put the past behind you, and turn your eyes to the horizon.”
Trixie chews over his words briefly, unable to deny the specter of wisdom in them. But a series of images flits through her memory—a purple unicorn and thundering footsteps and her own hooves carrying her away from the village that had taken everything from her. Her teeth clench and grind inside her mouth.
“No,” she says quietly. “Trixie cannot do that. She thinks she’s more than earned the right to be angry.”
“Angry ponies always think so,” Komorebi replies with a shrug. “But how much will your anger devour before it’s satisfied? How much has it devoured already?”
Trixie turns and glares at him. “Don’t think that you know Trixie.”
“I wouldn’t be so presumptuous,” he says with a raised, placating hoof.
“Then don’t presume to know what’s best for her!” she growls.
“I’m merely offering my advice. Nothing more.”
Trixie sniffs, facing forward. “Trixie appreciates the thought. But she… needs to do this. For herself, if nothing else.”
“To prove that you’re not a failure,” he states, rather than asks.
“Well… yes.” Her hooves fidget with the fabric of the cloak. “Her whole life, Trixie’s had to look out for herself. Rely on herself. She’s had to be strong. She’s never had the benefit of family or friends to lean on. And against all odds, she managed to make a life for herself, wowing and impressing ponies with her feats of magic.” The fidgeting turns to wringing. “And then, in one fell swoop, that life was torn to shreds.
“Trixie spent many sleepless nights pondering that day,” she continues after a brief pause. “Was it because Trixie was weak that she lost everything?” She turns and regards Komorebi with fire in her eyes. “That’s why Trixie needs to do this. To prove to herself that she can still stand on her own hooves and fight. Survive. Returning to Ponyville isn’t so much about getting even, as much as it’s about proving that Trixie still has that strength that sustained her for all those years. Because if she doesn’t… she has nothing…”
A silence, balancing between comfort and discomfort, consumes the rickety little wagon for some minutes. Trixie spends that time examining the sky—still packed with storm clouds; no sign of letting up—and gazing at the gray, veiled mass of Canterlot in the distance. She briefly allows herself to drift away from their conversation, her mind consumed by the soothing sound of rain and the smell of ozone and the warm presence of her exotic travel companions. It’s almost… comforting.
“I believe you have strength,” Komorebi says suddenly, giving Trixie a tiny start. “Though I suspect you don’t quite understand it.”
“Excuse me?” she asks, vaguely offended.
“Power isn’t an external force—something to exert on others to bend them to our will. Such impulses are often nothing more than a substitute for strength. Or rather, a mask for our weakness. An illusion, one might say.” He cuts a knowing glance in her direction. “True power is within us. It lies in our will and our character and our drive to express ourselves authentically. Such power, if present at all, has no need to prove itself through such superficial means, for it is its own proof. And it certainly doesn’t need a magical artifact to act as its crutch.”
Trixie gapes at the zebra.
“I apologize for being so blunt,” he continues. “That is simply my opinion. We can talk about something else if you’d like.”
“Huh? Oh, n-no… Trixie… a-appreciates your honesty.” Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the wheels from turning in her mind, chewing over his words.
“Well, if you insist…” He takes a long breath, as if gathering his thoughts. “It almost seems like… like you want an audience.”
Trixie lets out a quiet, mirthless chuckle. “Force of habit, perhaps…”
“Yes, well, it makes me wonder: Are you sure you’re just looking to prove your strength to yourself? Because it almost sounds as though you need others to see that proof, as if that is what it’ll take for you to believe it.”
Trixie’s mouth opens and closes, searching for words. “B-but… no, I—”
“Miss Trixie?”
She closes her mouth again and looks at him. She can almost feel the vulnerability in her eyes, and silently curses herself for it.
“You said you’ve never had family or friends to lean on,” Komorebi says. “I take it you are well acquainted with loneliness?”
With a twisting of her insides, she slowly nods.
Somehow, the zebra’s smile grows even warmer. Kind, even. “Is it possible that you’ve gotten so used to being alone that the idea of companionship frightens you? That perhaps you feel safer when other ponies are down in the audience, with you alone on the stage?”
Trixie stares at him silently.
“And perhaps your desire to wow ponies and prove yourself to them—all the bravado and showponyship—are simply a way for you to make sense of your solitude? After all, isn’t it easier to be alone at the top than it is at the bottom?”
Trixie finally manages to pull her eyes away from the zebra, pulling her hood more tightly over her head, as if hoping to hide. “Wh-why would Trixie do that?” she asks, her voice tiny.
“Because it’s the easy way out.”
Trixie turns back to respond, only to freeze. The voice that had spoken then wasn’t that of the zebra. It was deeper. More gravelly. She slowly turns her head, looking down at the wildebeest pulling the cart. “What did you say?”
Holling looks over his shoulder at her, his eyes impassive. “You’re used to being alone. Opening up to other ponies, being one of them, bearing your soul to them and being vulnerable, is too far outside your comfort zone. It’s easier to keep your distance, emotionally. And everything about you screams distance.” He faces forward again, not missing a step. “Even the way you talk.”
“Now, Holling,” Komorebi admonishes, his voice stern. “There’s no need to be rude. We’re trying to be helpful, not hurtful.”
“No, he’s right…” Trixie whispers, just loudly enough to be heard over the rain.
She stares with wide, hollow eyes into the rainscape, the wildebeest’s woods echoing through her mind. The more she thinks about it, the more sense it all makes. All her life, she…
No…
‘I’.
All my life, I have kept ponies at arm’s length. They frighten me, if I’m honest with myself. It’s easier to be alone in the spotlight than to take a chance with them. I’ve always thought that if I could impress ponies, and be admired by them, I could prove to myself that I don’t need their friendship. That I’m happy with my life the way it is.
Then Ponyville happened, and I have never felt so alone. The humiliation of Ponyville wasn’t that there were ponies greater and more powerful than I, but that my whole life had been an illusion, and I was the gullible audience.
Is the ‘justice’ I seek in Ponyville merely an attempt to reconstruct that illusion? To rebuild the wall between myself and other ponies that had been torn down by Twilight Sparkle and her magical gifts?
Am I really that pathetic?
I jerk when a hoof touches my shoulder. Turning back to Komorebi, I see him giving me a small, comforting smile.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have pressed you like this. It was none of my business.”
“No,” I say, trying and failing to give him a smile of my own. “Both of you are right. And I appreciate you trying to help.” I look up at Canterlot; somehow it looks a lot different now. “Oh, what am I supposed to do now?”
“Only you can decide that,” Komorebi replies. “Though, if I might make one more suggestion: Try reaching out to other ponies. Try showing them that there’s a real pony beneath the hat and cape. I sense a good heart inside you, Miss Trixie. Don’t be afraid to show it. Maybe then you can go back to making ponies happy with your shows.”
With a contemplative sigh, I face forward, only then noticing the rooftops of Yonderhill rising over the nearby trees.
Finally, we’re there. And I can’t stop shivering.
* * * *
With a glow of my horn, I levitate the last of my things into the train station, watching as a porter stacks it up for loading. I turn back to Komorebi, still seated up on his wagon. Pulling the black cloak around myself, I trot out to him.
“Thank you so much for the ride,” I say. “And with time to spare, too. I should have time to get a refund from the rental company before the three o’clock train gets here.”
He gives me a sincere smile. “It was my pleasure, miss.”
I gently scuff my hoof against the muddy street, eyes turned downward. “And thank you for the advice, too. I have a lot to think about.”
“Again, it was my pleasure.” After a moment of rain-infused silence, he asks. “So, what are you going to do about Ponyville?”
I take a deep breath, then release it. “I’m not sure. I still intend to go ahead as planned—get the Amulet, then go to Ponyville. But what I’ll do when I get there… I haven’t decided yet.” I attempt a smile. “Maybe I’ll see where the spirit takes me. I’ll admit, I’m still bitter about what happened, and I’m not sure I’m prepared to forgive them, but… but we’ll see.”
He gives me a small, sad nod. “I understand. I wish you luck, whatever happens. And I wish you happiness, as well. Just remember: We’re all alone in the end. The least we can do is be alone together.”
With an amused snort, I say, “Maybe you’re right. Goodbye, Mister Komorebi.”
Turning to Holling, I give the wildebeest a nod and a grateful smile. He returns the nod, and if I squint, I can almost believe he returns the smile as well.
I turn and begin making my way into the train station. After a few steps, I stop suddenly, looking down at my body and the cloak still adorning it.
Removing the cloak with my magic, I turn and say, “I’m sorry, I almost took your cl—”
The words die on my tongue as I turn around and find the street empty. Under furrowed eyebrows, my eyes pan across the nearby streets, finding no sign of the wagon or its owners. In the few seconds I’d had my back turned, they had vanished altogether. I look down at the cloak, reaching out to run a hoof across the black fabric, as if to prove to myself it’s real.
Biting my lip, I wrap myself in the cloak again and, after one final, fruitless glance at the street, I turn back to the train station.
* * * *
Thunder cracks across the sky over Canterlot as the rain continues to pour. It’s night now, and I’m huddled in an alleyway, mostly protected from the elements by the eve of one of the buildings lining the alley. I’m grateful for the dry spot, seeing as my cloak is soaked and pasted against my coat. I sit on my haunches, huddled low with my eyes facing the cobblestones below me. Trembling from the cold and the wet and something unpleasant churning inside of me, I remove my hooves from under my cloak and look at what I’m holding: A little red stone, set in a dark pendant shaped like a pony with a horn and wings.
I’ve done it. After months of planning, I have the Alicorn Amulet. Even sitting in my hooves, I can feel its power, and I know that with it, I can put Twilight Sparkle in her place.
So why am I reluctant to put it on?
So many things pass through me, and I can barely keep track of them all. My own anger and resentment. The recent shattering of long-held delusions. Komorebi’s suggestions that I simply put Ponyville behind me and let go of my anger. All of these and more wage war within my tired, confused mind. Ever since leaving the shop with the Amulet in tow, I’d been crouched here, puzzling it over, sorting out my feelings.
Could I do it? Could I let it all go and put the past behind me? Could I find it in myself to reach out and make some friends? Perhaps even extend an olive branch to Twilight Sparkle herself?
My heart thunders in my chest, blood boiling as it courses through my veins.
No. As much as a part of me wants to, I can’t just forgive and forget. The anger, poison though it is, is unquestionably there. I’d felt it surge and fill my mind with twisted pleasure as soon as I’d lain eyes on the Amulet. To deny its existence would be to lie to myself. Again. I need to confront my anger. I need to get closure. I need to see Ponyville again. Maybe then I’ll be able to turn my back on that town and move on with my life.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway. What I feel, however, is shame, and the sinking sensation of weakness—that I can’t be bigger than this, and do what I know in my heart is right.
“I’m sorry…” I whisper, though I don’t know to whom I’m saying it.
As I raise the Amulet up towards me, I feel a stray drop of rain running down my cheek. At least, I think it’s rain.
The Amulet clicks shut around my neck. Instantly, my body seizes, that little poisonous feeling exploding and billowing inside me, filling me. Consuming me.
I don’t even have time to comprehend my mistake before everything gets fuzzy.
Author's Note
