The Mare With The Fur Of Snow
I see the forward viewport crack, and my heart cracks in time with it. I hear one of the pilots hiss something as the warning lights paint the cockpit in red and the alarms ring loud in my ears.
I already know, though.
The ship was dying.
I curse my luck. Yes, my luck because the Force is not this cruel. I just put everything behind me.
All of it. Stuffed this meaningless war into a box and launched it out the nearest airlock.
The Jedi.
The Sith.
The CIS.
The Galactic Republic.
Dooku.
They could all burn for all I cared. I was gone. Done. Completely. Dooku and Grievous thought I was dead. Obi-Wan thought I was dead. Everyone in that damned Jedi Order thought I was dead and all it took was a combination of bad luck, good timing, and the meditation my first master taught me, gave me a chance to ‘play dead’. I don't know why I was shocked that Dooku had me gunned down. He had taught me more about the Sith than I had ever known before he took me on as his apprentice. I knew that it was in the nature of the Sith to get rid of those who were useless if they proved unnecessary to the plan. To cut weakness away like an infected limb and prevent it from poisoning the rest of the body.
And I wasn't a necessary part in the plan. I went from an asset to... I can't even finish that thought with a straight face.
I was never an asset.
I was a liability from day one, even more so with what I knew about the attack on Coruscant. I had ‘borrowed’ the medical ship I was on and had the pilots plot a course away from everything. That was the direction I had given them. Away. Where the war couldn’t reach me. Nothing more. Had I realized that the navigator had the mind-numbing idiocy to drop us out of hyperspace in the middle of an asteroid field I would have told them to drop me off in the outer rim.
Damn it all. I want to cry, to scream, to shout and rant and rave at the unfairness of it all. Even though I know it won’t do me any good yet I stay silent among the panicked and frantic shouts of the crew.
I hopped all over this damn galaxy at Dooku's order like the trained pet I was, uselessly bouncing around from one planet to another, making little to no effect on the war in the greater scheme of things. Like a pebble being skipped across a pond and into a duracrete wall, I chipped away at whatever impeded my master's goals, ready to give my life for a cause that wasn't mine to begin with. I followed my orders blindly, devoted and stupid as I was, in a quest to get revenge for my first master, Ky Narec, who I knew didn’t want that.
The crack grows and I brace, using the Force to the grip the seats I stood behind. I know it won’t matter. The decompression will snatch me out of the ship no in spite of my efforts. I entertain the thought of running and sealing myself in the med-bay or something, but that would just leave me stranded. To starve. Or to be dragged back into this war if help arrives.
I will NOT go back. I reach for my side, ready to end myself with my lightsabers, before I remember that they are gone. Taken or left behind—I can’t remember—on that battleground where I was betrayed. I scowl at the unfairness of it all.
I can't even end it on my own terms.
The crack spreads out into a web of lines. I close my eyes and wait.
I finally hear the viewport shatter, and feel the sudden and violent pull of decompression. The explosion has turned me deaf, and I only just made out the feeling of my grip loosening before I fly forward and out into the space beyond.
The pain is incredible. Indescribable. If Dooku electrocuted me nonstop for the entirety of the war, it would only amount to a fraction of the pain I feel in this moment.
I can’t even scream. Air is needed for that, and I certainly don't have any.
The darkness and silence that takes me from the pain is welcomed with open arms and I pray that whatever higher power is watching me that they do something that I never did for anyone else.
I pray for mercy.
The steady sound of crickets tickled Steady Path’s ears as he watched his apprentice, Stonewall, a fellow earth pony colt, poke at the small campfire they had built with a stick. The light it provided was minimal at best, meant only to illuminate the immediate area and nothing more. Beyond the yellow glow’s reach, the darkness of the night surrounded them like a black curtain. Every so often, Stonewall’s platemail gauntlets clinked from the repeated motions, the only extra sound that didn’t come from the fire or forest.
All the while, Steady stayed on guard from where he was seated, his ears never still for a second as he kept track of every noise he heard.
The forest was calm. There was the creaking of the trees, the burbling of a nearby creek, and a gentle breeze that chilled the sweat matted fur under his armor.
It was peaceful, yet not silent, which was good. The last thing that anypony, least of all the green earth pony Ranger wanted to hear at this time of night was silence. The deep wilds weren’t safe during the day, and even less so now that the sun had gone down. The implications of a silent forest meant that a few wild beasts were headed in their direction, as prey animals usually silenced themselves around predators. And if they were happened upon by a pack of timberwolves or something of the like then fighting them off would be a simple task. They had a campfire for just such an encounter. Fire deterred predators no matter what the size or number.
That was if they were lucky, however.
At worst, silence could mean bandits, pegasi or unicorns, and they were not equipped for facing either. Not with the advantages they had.
In fact, he didn’t like being this far beyond the Black Rock at this time of night but he had no choice. Stonewall’s training had carried on a little longer than usual and the sun had set earlier than expected.
That was why they were out here in the first place.
He was training Stonewall for the Rangers The dark navy colt was chosen by him to be his student. The Quartzite Ranger Corp was a group of warriors handpicked by the earth pony Chancellor to be not only the royal guard but the front line during times of war. They were the best of the best and trained to be such. Thus it was the reason why most took fully ranked members took students. Steady Path himself had come from a long line of Rangers that could be traced as far back as the organization’s founding.
While Stonewall was a part of the Corp, he wasn’t a full Ranger nor did he have all the privileges and responsibilities that came with it. The differences in their rank was shown in what they wore. Stonewall’s unassuming plate mail was practical and simple, meant for combat. The only thing that even hinted at the Corp was a small patch with the Corp’s coat of arms—A single sword pointed down, the tip lodged into a rock lying right under it. A scroll with the words ‘STRONGER THAN THE STONE’wrapped along the blade—sewn into the shoulder of his tunic.
In comparison, Steady Path’s armor design was recognizable to anypony familiar with the Chancellor’s Ranger Corp, which was everypony with a working set of eyes. The armor was full plate, colored solid grey with the coat of arms stamped into the back, with the symbol of the Rangers sewn into the cape—A set of three swords, one pointed up towards a cloud, one pointed left towards a boulder, and the last one pointed to the right at a set of chains that coiled around one another, that crossed each other midway along the blade. Under the hilts were the words ’EVER VIGILANT’—that he had hooked to his shoulder plates.
“Ranger Path?” Stonewall’s voice, uneasy and unsure, pulling Steady’s attention away from their surroundings. “Why did you decide we needed to make camp? I’m sure we could’ve made it back by torchlight.”
Steady shook his head, speaking his word slowly with a voice that carried the tone of a teacher speaking to a student. It was questions like these that proved to him that the colt was far from ready to don the armor. He didn’t even sound confident in his own words. “Tell me, Stonewall, do you remember what happens to the gates when the sun goes down?”
The ranger-in-training’s rubbed his chin in thought for a few seconds before his eyes widened in realization. “The gates are closed.” He groaned, putting an empty hand to his forehead. “Ancestors forgive me, I’m so stupid. How could I’ve forgotten that?”
“Simple, you had what you thought was a good idea without considering all the facts. Remember you must take in the situation as a whole before taking action. Otherwise it could get you killed.” Steady Path watched as Stonewall seemed to deflate at his words, his ears drooping as he looked back to the fire.
The Ranger continued though, “However your question has given me a perfect moment to teach you something new. So listen well.”
His student perked right back up and gave Steady a look that told the stallion that he had the colt’s undivided attention.
“If we were to march our way back by torchlight, we would be a moving beacon for every pegasus and unicorn within a mile. This spot,” Steady pointed up at the thick canopy above their heads, “is perfect for a campsite. Our fire isn’t easy to see from above, and these woods are dense enough that we can’t be seen from any major roads.”
The blue colt nodded his head in understanding. “But how can you tell that we can’t be seen from the sky?”
“Moonlight.”
“Moonlight?”
“It’s simple. On clear days like this one, the moon shines bright and if its light can’t be seen from here, then this little fire won’t, either. That is why…”
Steady Path leapt to his hooves, hand snapping to the curved, slender, single-edged blade on his hip. He could hear Stonewall’s armor clatter as the colt jumped in surprise but it was what he didn’t hear that had the Ranger on guard.
The forest had gone quiet.
Not good.
He drew his sword, metal ringing through the silence and he scanned the darkness with his eyes. “Arm yourself.” He hissed over his shoulder at Stonewall.
The sound of a sword being drawn, albeit shorter, followed a few seconds after his command.
The Ranger’s ears were almost a blur as they shifted, trying to seek out a sound in the silence. For the longest moment, he could only hear the sound of blood rushing through his ears. If it was bandits they might be easily discouraged by his armor alone, but that depended on how desperate they were. He had heard rumors of pegasi putting out bounties out on Rangers and odds were that they were true considering their barbaric culture. If it was unicorns—
There was a sudden brilliant flash of light from behind him, it’s arrival announced with a loud CRACK of thunder.
KRAC—THOOM!
The deafening noise was followed by a violent shockwave that knocked the two earth ponies to the ground.
“By the Sun and Ash!” was all Steady Path had time to say before he was blown off his hooves and sent face first into the dirt.
Then the light winked out with just as little ceremony.
It took a moment for the two to recover as the dust and dead leaves settled, Stonewall leaning against the tree he was knocked into and Steady on his hands and knees, spitting out a mouthful of grit that had been forced into his mouth, dirt now peppered in his black mane.
Neither of them spoke as Steady Path worked his way upright.
“Dad!” Finally, Stonewall broke the silence. “What was that?” The colt half-yelled, half-whinnied in panic, picking up his short sword as he scrambled to his hooves.
Normally the Ranger would have been annoyed at Stonewall’s slip, as whenever they were training they were not family but teacher and student. However considering what just happened, he didn’t really care. Quickly, he put a finger to his lips for silence and Stonewall quickly shut his mouth though the look of fear in his eyes stayed.
He picked up one of the scattered branches and lit it over the fire before motioning to the colt to follow.
Step by careful step and with sword at the ready, the Ranger followed the direction the blast had come from and worked his way through the trees, his improvised torch lighting their way. As he walked, he swallowed the knot of fear building in his throat as the air suddenly chilled. It was the middle of the warm season and suddenly he could see his breath.
A pegasi weapon, maybe?
Suddenly, the forest stopped. Not thinning out but coming to an abrupt stop.
Completely.
In the now unobstructed white glow of the moon was a circular plane several yards long carved right out of the land. As if somepony took a shovel and scooped out the patch of land. In its place was a barren crater, dipping into the land.
As he stepped closer to get a better look, he noticed the tree closest to the edge had been split lengthwise right down the middle, frost covered the half that was left and sparkled in time with the motions of the torch. In fact, now that he looked the whole area was glittering in the moonlight and he shivered. From fear or the chill, he did not know.
What in the name of the Sun could’ve done this?
“Father! Look!” Steady noticed Stonewall at the edge of the destruction, pointing at its center.
Of the possibilities that ran through his mind when he followed his son’s finger, what he saw in the center of the crater wasn’t one of them.
A large body, lying motionless on the frozen ground. A pony had been caught in the blast.
Before he could say anything, Stonewall, began his descent towards the figure. “Damn it,” he mumbled as he sheathed his sword and followed after him. That boy was going to get himself killed if he kept that up. This could have been a trap for all they knew.
When they reached the pony, he realized that it was an earth pony mare, and a large one at that. Certainly taller than him at a glance. Her coat was white, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the blast or her natural color, and her clothing was…odd. Scandalous, almost. It clung to her, very form-fitting that left nothing to the imagination.
Was she a whore of some sort?
“Who is she?” Stonewall asked as Steady kneeled next to her. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know.” He replied, reaching out to touch her arm. He had planned to see if she was still alive by her pulse, but he quickly snatched his hand back after touching her for less than a second. Even though he had his gauntlets on, the chill on her had gone through them like it was nothing. There was no way she was alive if she was that cold to the touch.
Pity. She looked young. Right at that betrothal age, too.
He stood up and shook his head. “We should…”
A loud gasp, thick and raspy, cut Steady Path off. He looked down at where the noise originated from and he was struck dumb by shock. The mare was breathing.
She was alive. Unconscious but alive. She was going to need help.
They didn’t have time to waste. The Ranger quickly scooped her up in his arms, almost pitching forward and falling. He had not prepared himself for the mare’s weight.
He took a second to recover his center of balance and turned to Stonewall. “We need to get back to camp and pack what we can, wrap this mare in canvas and make for home. If we get going now we’ll get to Black Rock just as the gates open.”
The colt gave Steady a confused frown. “I thought we weren’t supposed to travel at night.”
“That was before. The situation’s changed.”
The night was clear, there were no clouds, and on such a clear night like this, he didn’t need to guess that everypony and their blind half-senile grandmother had seen that light. Their camp was far too close to where it landed. If anypony came investigating, especially unicorns, they would find themselves in a heap of fresh manure.
He adjusted his grip on the mare once more, his voice turning to one of authority. “Let’s move.”
In the light of a lone candle, a single purple earth pony sat with his head bent down, eyes focused on the tome before him. He was alone, his chair seated at the desk by the largest window in his study, his transparent reflection still as the body it reflected. The study was a cozy little room, or at least the coziest one could expect from the religious head of the Church of Gossan.
Half-finished and hastily scribbled notes peppered the room, papers and scrolls randomly stacked and spread around almost every free space save for a few spots meant as trails for a pony to walk between in order to reach the piles that contained certain topics of the stallion’s interest.
Bookcases lined all four walls, each shelf filled to capacity with books, many of which had heavily worn spines, ranged through an extensive variety subjects. It was the largest and oldest private collection of literature this side of the Earth Pony kingdom, maybe even the unicorn’s archives. A collection that had been steadily been built up since the days of Black Rock’s founding, some even predated then.
The book that lay on the desk in front of him fell into such category, translating the ancient unicornic cipher to Earth common was time consuming and, if he was honest, frustrating job despite how well versed he was. Even though they told the history of the earth ponies, written by earth ponies, books that predated Black Rock were still in the unicorn script, a carryover from the less prosperous days of their kind. There were patterns to this text that he eventually found that had a domino effect on the words as one solution came after another, opening the text before him like and finally hours of work had begun to bear fruit.
What sweet fruit it was.
Death no longer allows the coexistence of tyrannical rule and fearful compliance.
Those who can take up arms against their oppressors and the rebellion continues without it’s figurehead, his desire of peace and harmony forgotten with time.
The Empire’s blade is swift to respond.
And it is merciless against the disorganized faction.
Massacres occur every day, thousands of lives lost in battle in mere minutes and survivors are systematically hunted down. Mass executions putting the traitors to the crown out on display as trophies and any innocents caught in the center are left to pick up the pieces.
As the years pass, The Empire’s superiority is felt and the pressure has become far too great as fear is struck back into the populace.
The resistance, losing both morale of it’s soldiers and support of it’s people, begins to fade and soon is ready to die out.
It is saved.
The Architect of White’s appearance couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.
Her wisdom, foresight, and tactical knowledge bolster a worn and broken down people as victory after victory is won.
And it soon becomes clear that this is no longer a revolt.
It is war.
And as the ti…
“Your Grace?”
Wax Stamp raised his eyes from the old well-worn tome in his hands, a glare leveled at the door where the voice originated from. “Enter.”
The door slowly creaked open and a rather short brown and cream pinto of a mare stepped inside, her eyes low and hands curling and twisting around the long draping sleeves of her acolyte robes. He couldn’t place the face yet at the moment her identity didn’t matter. The pattern had been broken as well as his concentration.
“I thought my instructions to the entire clergy were clear.” He said, “I was not to be disturbed and that any visitors were to be told that I was in my study and unavailable.” He allowed his baritone voice to remain even and level; only adding a stressed bite of annoyance to ‘unavailable’.
The effect on the mare was almost instant. She jumped as if shocked and quickly-almost frantically-shook her head, the tight bun in her mane bouncing with the motion. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord but this visitor could not be turned away.”
The stallion’s gaze remained cool behind the lenses of his thin-framed spectacles. “And who is this pony that believes they can barge their way into my study at this time of night?”
Her response was hesitant. Almost as if she feared what his reaction would be if she told him. Finally, after a moment of steeling herself, the answer was finally given. “Watcher Bentgrass.”
Silence dominated to air in the room, only the steady ticking from the clock next to the fireplace could be heard and the Wax Stamp stiffened a little.
Now he understood why the mare was nervous, it wasn’t because of the disturbance it was because a Watcher had returned to the Cathedral. He had learned of them when he was a foal, his acolyte robes freshly sewn.
The Watchers were the eyes of Gossan, The Enduring One, appointed by Gossan himself when he had still walked upon the earth. Back then Black Rock hadn’t even been a spec of a glimmer of an idea in the minds of the populous. Their one task was to watch the world itself, to seek out signs of his holiness and any blessings he saw fit to give. If a Watcher was here then that meant…something wonderful had happened.
Something life changing, that only happened once every one hundred generations. Wax Stamp knew that this was a historical moment, one that would be talked about for centuries to come.
Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to feel even slightly happy at this moment.
Because a Watcher hadn’t stepped into the church for more than 100 years.
“Please, show them in.”
The mare bow and quickly stepped out the door. Following in her wake was a mare of odd description. Her coat was black, at least the parts of her coat that could be seen under the patchwork of armor she wore. Her grey mane was cut short as was her tail, which swished with every step. As the light hit her face, Wax was able to see the eye patch covered her left eye.
Without a word, she approached as the door was shut behind her, coming to a halt right in front of him. She stooped to one knee and bowed. “High One of Black Rock, this humble servant has returned.” When she raised her head she pulled off the eye patch revealing what was underneath. While her right eye was blue, normal by anypony’s standards, her left was everything but. Her entire eye was solid white with ten small red lines where the pupil what have been.
The stallion released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. This mare was a Watcher, no doubt.
With the ceremony done, Wax finally spoke. “And what have you witnessed?”
Her answer was short and quick. “The arrival of the one who embodies his will.”
Wax Stamp went completely still, the words laying across his mind like a thick blanket. That…Changed everything.
Testimony given, the mare stood giving a shorter less informal bow before turning and leaving the room.
The head of the church watched as the door closed behind her, before turning to his desk and set up as many blank sheets of paper as he could. There were so many letters to send. So many ponies to tell. He would scream it from the rooftops if he was sure that the message would be heard from every corner of the world. He grabbed a fresh quill and set to writing.
Wax Stamp would get no sleep that night.
Author's Note
This is something I'm writing for fun. I might finish this depending on how it does.
