When The Snow Melts

by Bluespectre

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Human
Length: 125724

In the forest of bamboo, the first snows of winter have begun to fall. A white blanket begins to cover the quiet hills the reed worker calls home. His quiet and peaceful life is changed forever by the discovery of a stranger in the snow.

The bamboo forest, a quiet haven for Rush the reed worker. His quiet life of self imposed isolation comes to an end one night when he goes to investigate unusual noises near his home. There, half covered in the first snow fall of the winter, he finds the still form of one who will change his life forever.

Edited by JBL

Published 2015-06-16 19:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-08-14 21:13:55 UTC

Chapter Two - Snow Fall

CHAPTER TWO

SNOW FALL

Weeks passed, the snow continuing to fall steadily in the forest, making the little house near enough near invisible in its white embrace. Rush sat by the fire as he warmed his hands, a contented smile on his face. He’d sold most of the bundled reeds on the last market day, stashing the coin under the old floorboard in the corner of his living room. He’d even managed to repair some of the gaps in the walls, and he had to admit that the difference was noticeable. The heat remained longer, and his home warmed up faster. He’d have to keep on top of maintenance more often in the future. When the thaw came, he’d get up on that roof and see about re-lining the lot. He shrugged to himself. He used to criticise others who ignored such an essential part of maintaining their homes, yet here he was, a prime culprit himself.

Rush rubbed at his shoulder, the old familiar ache playing up again. Wincing, he manipulated the joint to try and ease it up a little. It helped, but not much. The cold would seep into it and make the long winter months that much more of a chore. His mother's old medicine chest was low on supplies as well. He didn’t use it much except if one of the villagers sought him out for help, but there should be something in there for the pain he could use…

A crashing noise outside in the forest made him pause, his hand outstretched toward the chest. What was that? It was big, a bear perhaps?

There was another crash, nearer, and noises: screaming and the sound of a creature in distress. Standing up suddenly, his aches forgotten, Rush picked up his reed knife and buckled it to his side. You could never be too careful when living out here on your own. Bears could be around… maybe even wolves.

A stark cry of pain and the clatter of metal made his heart leap into his throat, for he recognised that sound all too well. Someone was in trouble, in pain, and he was damned if he’d stand there and do nothing. He looked around and spotted the seemingly archaic spear on the wall. He hadn’t used the thing since his younger days, except when he’d had to fend off an inquisitive mountain bear a few years ago, but that was all. Dear gods, had the war found him even here?

To hell with it! Rush grabbed the spear, pulled on his winter sandals, and hurried out the door into the night.

The sky was crystal clear, the stars twinkling like diamonds on their inky black background. The moon was full tonight, reflecting off the deep snow and making it surprisingly bright for the hour. The forest itself was in silence—had he been dreaming it? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d jumped at unknown sounds. The bamboo could make some strange noises, the local wildlife also adding its own eerie chorus. No, there had been the distinct sound of metal on metal. Someone had been in a fight, and it had been near. How near, and from what direction, was the real question.

A crack and thud from further down the slope to the west caught his attention, and he was off, running towards the sound, his spear bouncing on his shoulder as he went. The snow was shallower around here, yet it still hampered his movements to a degree. Such thoughts didn’t enter his mind. This was his home, his world, and he stretched his senses to their limit to try and detect any movement or sound that would lead him to the source of the sounds.

Rush quickly came upon the small clearing, his spear held ready as he’d been taught, but save for a multitude of footprints, there was nothing there. He lowered the weapon, looking around for any clues as to what had happened here. There was no shortage of evidence that he was in the right place, for there were tracks everywhere amongst the shattered lengths of bamboo. Mostly they were those of horses, but there was something else, something he hadn’t seen before. It was probably elk. He’d heard they had been migrating from further along the valley this year, but had never seen one himself. Rush certainly hadn’t seen any tracks that he could have identified as being from one either, and he knew most of the forest dwellers. Whatever they were from, it sent a shiver up his spine for some reason.

There was something… wrong about them.

Suddenly, rushing out here in the dead of night didn’t seem like such a good idea. There’d been something going on here, but it was gone, thank the gods. What the hell had he been thinking? Nothing good ever came of trying to help others. He never even received a thank you most of the time. More often, it only brought trouble to his door. Still, it was all over now.

Curiosity pulled at Rush, the way the light was darker in places, like something had been spilled. He looked closer. A thick, sticky fluid was spattered across the snow and on some of the swaying bamboo. Running his fingers through it, he held it up to have a better look. The smell hit him immediately, telling Rush all he needed to know.

Blood.

It was everywhere. He had walked into what looked to have been a battle site, albeit a small one, but where were the bodies? With all that blood, the noise and screaming, someone must have been hurt. Perhaps their friends had carried them off, or their attackers. In either case, there was nothing more he could do now, and would be putting himself in danger wandering around in the snow and looking for tracks. Shrugging to himself, Rush shouldered his spear and made to head off back to his home.

The cold nipped at his hand and face, making him pause to rub them to try and get some warmth back into his skin. There was really no hurry to get home. Whatever had happened here had been and gone—that was just the way of things. Mentally, he berated himself. “No good deed goes unpunished,” he muttered to himself.

Well, except for the box of course, but there were exceptions to every rule.

He held his breath, for something had moved. It was barely perceptible in the strange light, but it was there. On the edge of the clearing—again! Yes, there was definitely something there, and by the looks of it, it wasn’t human. Rush approached cautiously since a wounded animal could be a deadly foe. There was no sense in taking risks, especially when he had no idea what he was going to face here.

Whatever it was moved again, emitting a faint whinnying sound and a snort that caused a small puff of loose snow help locate the downed beast. Rush placed his spear down, taking out his lantern and tinder box. In short order, he had the wick lit and was able to better see the shape before him. The snow had covered everything. Although it couldn’t have been lying here long, there was still enough coverage to make the thing near enough invisible.

Rush dropped to his knees, hanging his lantern from a broken bamboo stump and began brushing at the snow. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise.”

Wiping some of the fresh snow away, his hand touched something cold and hard; metal by the feel of it. Further investigation revealed a long blue covering, a blanket of some kind covering what looked like bronze or gold-plated armour, the wearer enclosed within. Rush held his breath involuntarily. Stretched out before him lay the bloodied and battered prostrate form of a large, white-coated horse… No, not a horse—she was different somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but then again, he was no expert on equine breeds. Still, he knew enough to realise that this was a female despite the expanse of armour and the blue blanket that covered her.

No saddle though, he realised. The rider had most likely taken it with him, leaving his stricken mount to succumb to the elements. Saddles were worth good money, after all.

Lying in the snow and half-buried as it was, if it hadn’t been for the armour and cover, she’d have been all but undetectable with her colouring. Her mane and tail, a pastel magenta in colour, hung limp and sodden with water. She’d been injured, and recently by the looks of the fresh blood on the wounds. Lying beside her was probably the cause of them too—a long lance with a golden blade was wedged beneath one of her hooves. Rush moved up to the equine’s head and brushed snow from her face, uncovering more cuts and gashes along her neck and muzzle.

He couldn’t believe anyone could injure so noble a creature. She was magnificent, pure white as the snow she lay in, with a look of strength and spirit about her. Right now, though, she was simply a creature that was hurt and needed his help. Quickly, Rush took off his coat and rolled it up, gently lifting the mare’s head and lowering it back down on the makeshift pillow. She didn’t offer any resistance, only lying there and panting, her eyes shut tight against the pain that wracked her body. Rush leaned down, stroking her mane.

“It’s alright, girl, don’t worry now. I’m going back to my home to fetch a sled for you. Just hold on until I get back.”

He ran as fast as he could through the snow back to his workshop, pulling off the years of detritus and other junk that he’d dumped on top of the sled since he’d used it during the last winter. Thank the gods it was still serviceable, if only just. Dragging it behind him, Rush cursed himself for not taking better care of his belongings. It was for exactly this sort of situation that he needed these things useable and in working order. He muttered to himself on the way back down the hill. When had he become so slovenly, so lazy? He’d never been like this before, not since… He spat—there wasn’t any time for reminiscing about things he couldn’t change. Rush pushed himself hard and re-entered the clearing, sweating and panting for breath despite the cold air.

The mare was right where he’d left her.

“Right then,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s get that off you first, or I’ll never be able to move you.”

He knew the mare wouldn’t be able to understand him, but he’d always found that talking to animals helped put them at ease. Perhaps the simple act of speaking softly and showing attention to them demonstrated that you had no intention of harming them. Horses were noted for being flighty and scatty things, and he had no reason to think even a trained war horse would be that much different.

Carefully, he felt around her until he could locate and undo the armours buckles, but there were none to find. It was as if she’d been virtually poured into the blasted stuff. Scratching his head, he moved the sled toward her, concluding that if he were to wedge the sled beside her, he might be able to pull her onto it using the blue blanket and slide her onto the thing. It could work, but the combined weight of the mare and her armour would be phenomenal. He’d just have to try his damnedest or else she was likely to pass away before his very eyes. Rush looked down at her. There was no way in hell he was going to see such a beautiful creature die in his forest, not whilst he drew breath.

The blue cloth was surprisingly strong, covering the white mare’s back, sides, and rump. Taking a good handful of the material in each fist, Rush began to pull. The strain began to show on his face, but he wouldn’t give up, he couldn’t… goddess give him strength…

With a sudden jerk, the mare’s body moved, sliding across the snow where she lay and onto the sled. Her head was dragging behind her, and Rush quickly manoeuvred the prone form until she was completely on. Not standing on ceremony, Rush took the ropes he normally used for strapping down lumber and tied the mare down as gently as he could. He stood back, ensuring that she was secure. It wasn’t a great job, but it would do until he could get her home. She wouldn’t be falling off at any rate.

Just as he was about to leave, Rush glanced behind him. The golden spear was still there in the churned up snow and mud. It seemed wrong just to leave it there. The brutal yet elegant-looking weapon would pose a danger should anyone stumble onto it. Best to bring it back just in case—he could always sell the thing on the next market day. There was always someone looking for weapons: the adventurous types, the lord’s warriors… or bandits. There were always bandits these days. They were all over the hills like an infectious disease.

Shrugging, he tied the spear next to his own, laying them across the rear stay of the sled and, with a deep breath, began the uphill climb back home.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Three - The Medicine Chest

CHAPTER THREE

THE MEDICINE CHEST

The wind had picked up and began its unearthly moaning through the bamboo, whipping up the crystalline snow into eye-stinging gusts. He was used to this—living out here, you had no choice but to brave the weather—but even so, there were limits. Trudging through the snow with a wounded war horse tied to a dilapidated sled was one of them. Thankfully, she wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as he’d thought, even layered as she was with the golden armour. It was probably brass, and a lot of it too. Nobody had that sort of money to equip their mounts, save the local lords, and maybe not even them. He’d seen the warriors setting out on their frequent raids, and they’d never looked anything like this creature. There was something about her that pulled at his mind and his heart, though what it was remained a mystery.

Rush coughed and spat the dislodged phlegm out onto the snow. He had no time for mysteries, and now it felt like he was coming down with something. He swore aloud and placed his full strength into pulling his equine cargo back up the last stretch. What was he going to do with the thing? Maybe, he thought, he could sell her at the horse fayre in the city, perhaps making a pretty amount of coin on the armour too. The thought felt exciting and yet…wrong. Why exactly, he wasn’t sure, but he was probably just tired. It had been a long day, and by the looks of things, it was going to be even longer still.

The door to the house was just wide enough to allow the sled to pass through, with a little encouragement. The runners grated on the floor as Rush pulled and eventually pushed the thing up near the side wall of the living area. He glanced down at the mare, wiping the sweat from his brow, knowing he couldn’t leave her on that thing all night. Rush sighed. There was nothing for it; his last few bundles would have to do.

Returning from the workshop, he laid out the last few bundles of reeds onto the floor beside the sled. It would be a lot more comfortable for her than the hard wooden slats or the floorboards. The problem he had was getting her from the sled onto the makeshift bedding without the shock aggravating her injuries. Rush hung his gear and outdoor clothing before returning to the stricken equine.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he said to her quietly, stroking her mane. “I’m going to have to move you so you’ll be more comfortable.” He patted her still damp mane. “Forgive me, this may hurt, but I promise it’ll only be for a few seconds.”

Taking the blue blanket once again, he pulled. The mare twitched, letting out a gasp and muffled cry of pain as she slid from the sled and onto the reed bed.

“Shhh,” he murmured to her. “It’s over now; you’re a good girl. I’m going to get some medicine that will help make you better, and then we can get you something to eat and drink, alright?”

The mare let out a little whinny in response, making him smile to himself. Part of him had thought she wouldn’t make the journey, but by the tone of her muscles and the brightness of her coat, she had been in peak condition before she’d been injured. Hopefully, that strength would see her through this. Although no veterinarian, Rush knew enough about medicine from his mother to know that the first night was the most critical.

His mother’s medicine chest was placed next to his patient, the sled returned to its home in the workshop. Setting the lantern next to her, he stoked the fire, adding more heat and light to the room while serving extra duty in boiling water for cleaning the multitude of wounds.

“Steady now, girl,” he said gently. “I want another look at that armour of yours. If I can get it off you, I can better treat you. It can’t be comfortable either.”

Rush ran his hands over her, feeling for any catches, clips, or straps that may indicate some fastening method he could operate to free the mare from the metal prison. She twitched at his touch, letting out a low moan.

“I’m sorry, my brave girl. I have to do this to help you.” His heart ached to see another living creature in this state. How could anyone have done this to her, let alone leave her like that? He was beginning to curse the day he’d agreed with Nasta to meet with his daughter. Nothing good ever came from dealing with other humans. They were sick, diseased beasts that cared nothing for others except themselves. Rush gave himself a shake. Damn it, why was he thinking like that?

In the firelight, he was better able to examine the snow-white mare as she lay on the reeds, her chest rising and falling beneath the armour. Whoever had made this was damned good at their craft. It fit beautifully and they’d even incorporated a stylized horn for the head piece. ‘Impractical,’ he thought to himself, ‘but probably nasty in battle.’ It was a bit thin for combat, though, and a little too long for a real weapon. Most likely it was a showpiece for one of the lords to impress his underlings. He was likely compensating for something with that. Rush allowed himself a quiet chuckle as he continued to feel around the mare for a way into the stubborn metal that encased her.

“Wha…?”

His hand had brushed against something that moved of its own accord under the blue blanket. It felt like…feathers? Probably another blanket or saddle underlay, or whatever they bloody well called them. He wasn’t an expert on horse tack. Still, he was sure it had…

“Good gods!” he exclaimed, jumping back. There was something there for sure. Fighting back his shock, Rush picked up the corner of the cloth and threw it back. His eyes went wide. Surely this wasn’t right?! Some damned fool had glued wings to the side of the mare! Now that just wasn’t right. Showing off was one thing, but this was just cruelty. Rush shook his head. They’d have to come off. Some warm water should soak the glue well enough for it to become tacky, and he could get them away from her. She’d probably have a bald patch for a while where they’d been glued on, but her fur would grow back eventually.

Returning to his original task, Rush ran his hands up and down the mare’s armour. He cursed quietly under his breath; the plates were virtually seamless, frustrating every attempt at removing the cursed metal. He sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead,

“If only you could speak, girl. There must be some way to get this off you…”

There was the faintest ‘click’, and the chest piece opened before his eyes. Rush hung his head in relief.

“Thank the gods,” he muttered, bending to remove the intricate piece and placed it carefully to one side. The inside was padded and showed signs of wear and sweat staining. This had been worn before, and regularly by the looks of it. Small scrapes and dents showed that this was far more than merely for show. It was almost weightless too. This was like no metal he’d ever seen; it certainly wasn’t brass and wasn’t gold either. He’d have a better look later.

The next few sections of the armour came away as easily as the first. The design was incredibly elaborate, even down to the detailed guards covering the front of the ornamental wings. The hinged flank plates overlapped one another, allowing both freedom of movement and protection. Rush was well aware that this area was especially sensitive for horses. They would buck off predators with a vicious kick if touched in this area, so he moved around her to pull it off from the top, avoiding her metal shod hooves. Rush breathed a sigh of relief when the mare didn’t as much as flinch at the armour’s removal. For the second time that night, he sat and stared open-mouthed at what he’d unveiled.

There, on her flank, was a large painted emblem of a sun, compete with golden rays around its circumference. Before he could stop himself, Rush placed his hand on the mare’s flank, running it carefully over the strange marking. She shuddered beneath him at his touch, making him pause. Had he hurt her? No, there were no signs of injury that he could see, but he’d best check to be certain.

The marking itself was smooth. Not painted then, probably dyed. The lords all used family symbols which were fixed on their clothes, banners, flags, and even buildings. They were the overt symbols of their power and prestige, rather like putting a large stamp on something that screamed ‘This is Mine!’ All in all, this sun symbol wasn’t all that surprising. It would grow out eventually. In fact, it might be a better idea if he let it before taking her to market. Knowing his luck, if she still wore that, somebody would most likely recognise the clan marking, and he’d be spending his final hours in a cell before an unceremonious beheading for horse theft.

Rush ran his hand down the white mare’s hind leg, following the lie of her fur. It was like velvet, so soft it made his skin tingle. She was still a little damp, but the fire was drying her off nicely now. At some point, though, he’d have to turn her, and that was something he was dreading.

Guessing she was probably as used now to the feel of his touching her as she was ever going to be, Rush took hold of one of her hoof covers and slid it off as carefully as he could. She didn’t react, not to that one nor the other three which he stacked next to all the other pieces of armour.

The covers were as intricately made as the rest of the set, beautifully inlaid and actually surprisingly practical too. They were designed to protect her but also offer grip. He’d never seen anything like them. Normally horses had horseshoes, didn’t they? Rush shrugged—the rich had their ways and the poor had theirs. He’d never had much money, but out here in the hills he’d never had that much need for it except for the essentials. He looked over her injuries and shook his head in dismay. If this is what being rich did to you, they could keep it.

The head piece was the next and last piece to come off. He’d have to be careful with this one. That sharp-looking spike could blind him if she thrashed about, although he had to admit that so far she’d been the perfect patient. Animals could be surprisingly astute, he’d found, often knowing on some instinctual level that you were trying to help them. Hopefully somewhere in that horsey mind of hers, she realised that too.

With a barely perceptible click, the head piece came loose and began to slide upwards over the long white horn. Rush gasped in shock. For the umpteenth time tonight, he stared at the mare in amazement. He took off the head armour the rest of the way, then placed it quickly with the rest before returning to gaze in wonderment at the mare’s head. The ‘spike’ wasn’t a spike at all. Neither was it some ostentatious addition by a vain warlord, nor an armourer’s idea of a useful addition to the rider’s weaponry.

It was real, was a part of her, growing from the mare’s head in a tapering spiral the same colour as her coat. Rush scratched his head in wonderment. What on earth was she? Certainly not a horse. Was she one of the….

He shook his head to dismiss the foolish notion. The locals believed in forest spirits and mountain gods, yet he’d lived here for the best part of his life and had never seen any evidence of such beings. No, there had to be some other explanation, but in reality, what was the point of such speculation? She was a living, breathing creature the same as him, and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?

Curiosity prickled at him, and he looked back at those folded wings. Gently, he slid a hand under the one he could reach and felt around. Living skin and the bone beneath shivered at his touch, the feathers rippling as if they were ready to take flight. He hung his head and closed his eyes in realisation. They weren’t glued on at all. What a fool he’d been.

He clicked his tongue and turned to take the hot water off the fire, and poured some into the bowl. Regardless of what she was, he had a job to do. His patient had been quiet and calm this whole time, but now he was probably going to hurt her whilst her tended to those wounds. He’d just have to be careful and do what he could to keep her calm.

When Rush had been a child, his mother had sung a song to calm him when he was upset. He couldn’t remember all the words, but the tune itself was one he’d never forgotten. He began humming it, occasionally quietly singing the words that he could recall. Rush would be the first to admit, it was as much for him as for the mare lying quietly on the reed bed. Her breathing had slowed perceptibly but was still too rapid for his liking. Nodding to himself, he decided to start with her head and work down from there.

Rinsing the cloth in the warm water, he began cleaning her. Wiping the muck and blood from her coat as best he could, Rush concentrated on cleaning the wounds of grit and dirt. The mare flinched as he peeled the cuts apart to wash them out. It was messy work. It might have been uncomfortable for him, but it was painful for her, and his heart ached at what he had to do. His mother had taught him a good deal of her craft, and it had served him well over the years. The best thing she’d left him was the battered old medicine chest, and it was thankfully still fairly well-provisioned for battle injuries such as these. Mostly he’d only ever had to deal with the odd cut and splinter. Now, the long thin needle and thread he’d always hated using would have to see service once again.

The mare hadn’t opened her eyes since he’d found her, and it worried him. Even wiping around them, her head, horn, and muzzle, she’d barely made more than a small gasp, groan, or whimper. She was clearly weakened and probably exhausted from her trials. Unfortunately, they weren’t over yet.

Rush mixed poultices and cleansing herbs, preparing the jars and bottles, laying them out so they were close to hand. Each of the wounds he washed out with water first, then rinsed them with a special infusion which would help avoid any suppuration of the wounds as they healed. Next, he took out his razor, sharpened it on the strop, and carefully shaved around the larger wounds. He could only hope and pray there were no internal injuries. Thank the gods her legs weren’t broken—he’d heard how horses had been ‘put down’ after suffering a break. He’d never agreed with that. Surely there had to be some way to heal them, even if they would never be able to run again?

“Humans,” he grumbled to himself, threading the needle and moving the lantern closer so he could better see the ugly work that needed to be done.

“This may hurt, my beautiful mare,” he said in a voice a lot calmer than he felt right then. “It’ll be over soon, and we’ll have you all better”

He hoped so. The mare twitched beneath his touch and whimpered aloud as the needle pushed into her skin. In a way, it was like he was doing this to himself, the pain not in his skin, but deep inside, in his heart. Rush hadn’t felt like this in a long time, a very long time. Each pass of the needle was necessary to help her, each movement of his hands, washing and applying the healing poultices and ointments was as much an ordeal for him as it was for her.

Why did he feel this way? He’d worked on wounded soldiers before and never felt anything other than a calm sense of ‘getting the job done’. Rush was experiencing emotions and sensations here he couldn’t ever recall having had before, not even when he’d lost his mother to the summer flux that passed through the land every few years. He’d been upset certainly, saddened by her loss, but nothing like this.

Rush reached up and wiped his eyes. They were stinging and tearing up. It must have been the vapours from the infusions; that must be it. Being in the confines of his house, there was little ventilation to remove the smell of the strong smelling herbs, but he didn’t want to open the windows to the chill air outside. His main concern, though, was having enough of the herbs to treat her. So far, he’d only dealt with one side of the mare. The other still needed to be addressed, and he was nearly at the point where he would have to do that. Still, that was a bridge that needed to be crossed, and crossed it would be.

He ran his fingers down the mare’s leg and lifted it gently, inspecting her underside. Slowly but firmly, he ran his hand along her chest and belly, feeling for any abnormalities and thankfully finding none. The mare had groaned as he’d run his hands over her, but not finding any injuries, he’d shrugged and continued.

The reed-worker-turned-veterinarian sat back on the heels and wiped his forehead. He’d done what he could, but now the task of turning her over was next. How the hell was he going to do this? He didn’t want to risk bursting her stitches, but he couldn’t just leave her like that. The best course of action he could think of was to roll her, and he had just the plan.

It was crude but would have to do. He’d placed his own bedding on the other side of the mare and tied ropes to her legs. Rush had tried to be as gentle as he could, even wrapping cloth around where the ropes touched her legs, but he knew this was going to be uncomfortable for her one way or another. He stroked her mane and spoke softly to her.

“I’m going to roll you now, my beautiful lady. It may hurt a little, but I have to treat both sides of you.”

There was no reply, only a sighing noise from her which gave him pause. He didn’t want to do this to her, but what choice did he have? With a deep breath, he began steadily tugging on the ropes, the body of the white mare beginning to roll onto her back until her legs were straight up in the air. A little more effort and she began to roll onto her other side. The mare cried out briefly but then settled once more, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Rush quickly untied the ropes and went to her side. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it hurts. The worst is over now; we just need to treat this side and then we’re done.”

He began working on the mare immediately, knowing from experience that the quicker he finished, the better her chances of survival would be. Rush shook his head sadly. This side was just as bad as the other. Together with numerous smaller cuts and bruises, there were several deeper gashes that had bitten through into the muscle beneath. Internal injuries were something he’d never had to deal with, and he could only hope that his ministrations were going to be sufficient to help her pull through.

Throughout the long hours of the night, the reed worker tended to his charge, the lamp sending strange flickering shadows onto the wall of the wooden house as he cleaned, stitched, and bandaged the mare. Any thoughts of what she was, or how she had come to be where he’d found her, were forgotten. Rush’s mother had taught him well. A healer must focus on their craft, work quickly and thoroughly, then move on to the next patient.

This time, there were no more patients, no more cries and moans of the wounded and dying. Sometimes, even now, he would wake in the middle of the night, hearing the pleas from those he hadn’t been able to reach or had simply been too badly injured to help. It must have had more impact on him than he’d thought at the time. He’d talked about it with his mother, but she had admonished him for being too ‘emotional’, too ‘attached’ to those he was treating.

“You cannot become emotionally involved,” she had said. “Remain professional and keep a calm demeanour at all times. People trust a healer who appears unflappable whilst others are panicking around them. It eases their fears and soothes the heart.”

Rush’s mother, always the consummate professional. He had envied her ability to completely detach herself from her work when she returned home. She was a mother, a wife, the lady and mistress of her home. Her husband, Rush’s father, always came across as more of a lodger in their family than the traditional ‘head’ which was pretty much the norm for life in the village. As the only son, he had helped his mother and learned the family trade, her trade. His father didn’t really do much at all, just…drifted like a lost soul.

Rush had tried to engage with his father, taking time to talk to him about his plans, how his training with his mother was going, and he’d nod and offer pleasantries. He wasn’t listening. Rush could have been talking about the moon being pink with blue spots, and his father would still just sit there and nod, before inevitably saying, “That’s nice.”

It was always ‘nice’.

Eventually, Rush found that he’d simply stopped talking to him, and his father hadn’t even seemed to notice. The two were like strangers in the same house. They’d say good morning or the like if they met, but other than that, nothing.

It was one day in the spring that Rush had been woken by a loud hammering on the front door. He’d been in bed at the time, but was wide awake now, calling to his mother in alarm. A cacophony of voices had filled the house, and the baker from across the street had appeared in the doorway.

“Stay in here, boy, you hear me?”

The bedroom door slammed shut, and that was when he had heard the heartrending scream of horror from his mother. Rush had hammered on the door to be let out, to reach his mother and console her, but the cursed thing had been shut fast. He had been inconsolable, crying and howling his rage at the mocking barrier between his mother and himself. Falling to the floor, Rush’s tears had echoed those of his mother’s. Why would they keep them apart? What was happening?

That night, the house had been in silence and darkness, save for the dim light in his mother’s bedroom. Quietly, Rush had headed into the front room where most of the voices had been earlier. There, on a table under a sheet, had been the still form of his father.

He’d just sat there, staring at the man who was his father, had been his father. Rush didn’t know what to do. What could he do? His father was dead, blood staining the broken armour that he still wore, just another casualty in yet another pointless war.

His mother had changed after that terrible day. She had become cold, distant. He had tried everything he could think of to help her, just to make her smile again. She never did. Rush did not understand it. His father had been such a selfish and thoughtless man, and yet his loss had impacted on her to such a degree that she’d been left a broken shell of the mother he loved. The indifference he’d felt towards his father soured, eventually turning to a bitter resentment. He had treated Rush like a stranger, his mother like an unpaid servant, and yet even in death, his insidious influence continued.

He hated the man.

The flame of the lamp began to flicker as its fuel supply became exhausted. Rush was just about finished anyway; he could fill the lamp up in a minute. The mare’s breathing was still too fast for his liking, though. Her muzzle was hot and her eyes had never opened in all the time she’d been in his care. He’d be the first to admit that she looked a fright, covered in bandages, poultices, and dressings. The medical chest had never been intended for this much use, and it hadn’t been fully stocked in the first place. Resorting to ripping up clothes, towels, and anything else that he could find that was clean and usable, Rush had pressed them into service to help the wondrous creature now taking up his bedding roll.

“Guess it’s the floor for me then,” he muttered, trying to gather what he could to make up a makeshift mattress. It wasn’t working, and he gave it up as a bad job. He had a stack of unworked reeds in the work shed, but to go in there now meant letting the cold in and disturbing the sleeping mare. That wouldn’t do. He’d just have to stoke the fire and catch short naps when he could. With luck on their side, she’d survive the night.

Throughout the long hours, he tended her, keeping the fire hot, washing the rags with which he gently wiped her face. She was feverish, groaning and murmuring occasionally. He must have been exhausted himself—he was starting to think she was saying actual words! Rush shook himself and made a cup of tea to try and stay awake. He’d already done a full day’s work, and his body was demanding rest. He dismissed the thought with a grunt. Anyone who thought that taking care of the sick was an easy job needed their head examined.

The wind had died down at least, the sun just starting to crest the hills, and he smiled as the dawn’s chorus began. He loved this time of day, even though he often slept past it. Occasionally he’d wake early enough to listen to the birds singing in the forest. He felt a connection to it, one he’d never felt with other humans. He wondered if he’d been a forest creature in a previous incarnation. The world of men just didn’t feel as if it really had a place for him. Sure, Nasta had tried to help him, tried to bring him out of the forest and back into normal village life, but… No, it wasn’t for him.

She was shivering.

Despite the heat of the fire, the pure-white mare was shaking. Rush slid around and placed his forehead on hers. She was burning up. Quickly, he hurried over to the old trunk in the corner of the room, buried under years of junk and the detritus of a single man’s life. Handfuls of old tools, ropes, and the gods knew what else were unceremoniously thrown to one side until he was able to pull open the lid. It was covered in filth, but the items inside were as good as the day he’d put them in there. With a pang of nostalgia, he grabbed the cloak and blanket, shaking them out before walking back over to the mare.

Carefully, Rush lowered the blanket over her, rolling up his old cloak and placed it carefully under her head as a pillow. He reached over and stroked her mane. It was sticky with sweat; her tail probably was too. Rush didn’t want to risk washing them now. He’d wait until she’d had a good amount of rest and then he’d tackle that job. In a strange way, he was actually looking forward to it. Having someone to care for, to devote yourself to… well, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps he should go and see Nasta about his daughter after all. It couldn’t hurt, right?

The sun was fully up in the sky now, and Rush’s charge was sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling gently. Her fever had broken as well, he was very relieved to see. Yawning expansively, Rush checked the contents of the medical chest, noting morosely how severely it was depleted. Market day wasn’t for another week yet, so he’d have to go out and hunt for the herbs and ingredients he needed the old fashioned way, the way his mother had shown him all those years ago. He was sure he’d seen the sickle in the corner with all the other things he’d moved to get at the chest, and sure enough, there it was. A little rusty, but some work with a whetstone and it quickly took an edge. He walked over to the mare and ran his hand over her head. Good, not sweaty any more—that was a good sign. Rush leaned forward, placing his forehead on hers, and sighed in relief. She was a lot cooler than she had been last night,

“Looks like the fever's broken, girl. You’re one lucky…” Lucky what? Horse? What was she? Rush shrugged, taking in her magnificent horn and the bulge of her wings under the blanket.

“I don’t know who you are, or what you are,” he said quietly, watching her breathing steadily, “but I can’t keep calling you ‘girl’.”

Rush scratched the stubble on his chin—he’d really need to have a shave today. He looked at the mare lying on the reed bed, her coat as pure as the snow that covered her the night he’d found her. If she’d been any other colour, he might have spotted her sooner, but as it was…

“Snow,” he whispered. “Yes, I like that.”

The reed worker stood and collected his gear, heading for the door. Before he left, he paused, looking back over his shoulder and gave her a little smile. “I’ll be back soon, Snow. You rest and get your strength back. We’ll have you back to your old self in no time, you’ll see.”

He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, looking up into the pure blue sky. Despite the cold of the early winter’s morning, he felt a warm tingling inside his chest, a feeling he wasn’t familiar with that made him smile. With a sudden burst of energy, Rush started to run, giggling to himself like a child, running and running for all he was worth. Snow kicked up around his feet as he ploughed through the virgin drifts, laughing wildly at the absurdity of the world around him. He must be losing his mind, that was it. Exhausted, overexerted, but he didn’t care anymore. He was…happy? Yes! By the gods, that was it. That inexplicable feeling down in the cold depths of his heart, one he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

Rush smiled. He was actually happy.

Collecting the herbs wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. Many were seasonal, and some of the more common ones had shrivelled considerably with the cold. Fresh was always better than dried, but if he mixed what he’d managed to find with the dried, it would do a passable job until he could see the trader.

The cold breeze stung his cheeks as he traipsed back up the hill to his home. He’d managed to collect a sizeable amount in the end, including some of the red bark from the aptly named ‘fever tree’. It probably wasn’t its real name, but it was what it was. His mother had tested him on his knowledge time and time again until he could recite from memory the recipes, potions and concoctions of the healer’s trade. He’d thought that one day he would follow in her footsteps, but it wasn’t to be. Fate had not been kind to Rush, but still, that same fate had brought him the white mare, and for that at least he could be grateful.

He stopped a moment to catch his breath. Damn it all, he wasn’t young any more, and running about like a lunatic had set his old injury off, making him grit his teeth against the pain. Leaning against a tree, he pushed against it, feeling the pain ease slightly. Rush knew from long experience that it was going to take at least a week to settle down again, but he was damned if that was going to hamper him. He couldn’t slow down, not now, not with Snow needing him.

A movement further back in the forest caught his eye and he froze. A bear? Maybe, but they were usually in hibernation this time of year. Whatever it was though, it was big, and watching him. He couldn’t see its eyes or make out its shape, but he could feel them boring into him, watching his every move intently. A shiver ran down his spine, making his heart leap in his chest. He hadn’t experienced this in quite a long time. Trying to avoid looking directly at the thing, he began walking calmly back up the hill, keeping a wary if surreptitious eye on it, just in case it—

Whatever it was made a sudden move, stepping between the bamboo and making them sway as it brushed past them. Fear, that most primal of emotions, struck Rush like a sledgehammer and he broke into a run. The shape began moving quicker now, accelerating towards him as he himself picked up speed.

His pursuer came on, any attempt at stealth abandoned in its headlong charge through the forest. Bamboo bent and snapped, the sound adding speed to Rush’s heels as he ran for all he was worth.

The ground hampered him and the pack slowed him, but if he dropped it, he’d have nothing to treat Snow with. He kept her focused in his mind as he ran. ‘Think of the goal, not the race,’ his mother had told Rush when he was training. Gods damn it, that was easier to say than to do! His lungs were burning, his legs screaming in protest, but cold fear was pushing him on now. His pursuer was getting closer; he didn’t dare look back, but could hear it gaining on him. It was unnaturally fast, and he knew with horrifying certainty that there was no way he could outrun it.

There was a crash behind him as the cabin hove into view. With a final surge of speed which he never knew he had, he flew through the door, slamming it shut behind him and bolting it. Rush grabbed his reed knife and the old spear, turning toward the door and backing away, expecting the thing to burst through at any moment.

Silence.

His heart hammering in his chest, he gulped down air and readied himself for a fight. Outside, nothing moved, nothing stirred, only the sound of the wind through the bamboo and there, just faintly, the sound of breathing.

It wasn’t human.

Through the thin cracks in the walls, he could see something moving, something huge. The thing paced back and forth, thwarted by its quarry taking shelter. It snorted, pawing at the ground. Even though Rush couldn’t see the thing in any detail, he could sense the anger and frustration emanating from it like an open furnace. He changed his grip on the spear, holding it as he’d been trained. He gritted his teeth and moved to the shuttered window, trying to see through the crack, but all he caught was the briefest glimpse of a black shape just out of eyeshot.

Rush took a deep breath. “Come on then!” he yelled. “What are you waiting for? You want a fight? I’ll send you to hell where the demons will feast on your stinking soul!”

There was a sudden loud hiss and clicking sound from outside, followed by the distinct neighing of a horse. So, the riders had come back, had they? They were out of luck if they were looking for Snow’s rider, but if they thought they were getting her, they were sadly mistaken.

He waited. They were only seconds, but still dragged by like hours. Rush could feel his heart beating hard, his breath hot in his lungs, the tightness of the grip he held on the spear, yet nothing came. The thing was still outside, he knew it. He could sense it watching, waiting. In a sudden flurry of churned up snow and mud, the black shape turned and charged off back in the forest's depths. Rush took a deep breath and collapsed onto his knees. Dear gods, he was too old for this nonsense. Why couldn’t people leave him alone?

Whatever the mysterious rider wanted, he was gone. A quick look out of the windows confirmed it, the ground around the cabin churned up by a horse’s hooves. Blasted soldiers—even out here, their incessant fighting and murderous ways had come to his door. The hills and mountains were thick with bandits, a lot of them former vassals of fallen warlords left without employment… or food. He could negotiate with them. They could see he had nothing and leave him be. Occasionally they would stay with him for shelter, take what little food he had, and leave. Scum they may be, but at least they left him with all his limbs and his life.

Whoever that had been was different, and it scared him. He wasn’t easily frightened as a rule—living out here wasn’t for the faint of heart, to be sure—but this… this was something that made his blood run cold.

Speaking of cold, the fire had burned down low, the temperature in the room dropping to such a degree that he could see his breath. Thank the gods he’d remembered to bring in plenty of firewood—going outside now suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea.

Rush’s tortured muscles came back to remind him of his recent exertions, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the aches that began to assail him in earnest. Rubbing his shoulder and legs, he sat himself down by the white mare, carefully removing the blanket.

He leaned forward and sniffed. Good, no bad smells—it looked like the wounds hadn’t become infected. If they had…Rush shook his head. No, it didn’t bear thinking about. Nothing good ever came of negative thoughts, although he certainly had more than his fair share of those. His patient, though, wasn’t out of the woods yet, but whether she’d survive now was as much down to her as it was to him.

She was a magnificent creature. Despite the bandages and poultices, Rush could picture in his mind how she must have looked before those animals had attacked her. He could understand bandits, soldiers possibly, attacking her rider and that she could very well be hurt in the ensuing melee, but her injuries looked like someone had deliberately targeted her. But why? Was she the focus of rage from a thwarted enemy, a symbol of their foe that they wanted to kill out of spite? There were so many questions about her that it made his head spin.

Snow couldn’t speak, but animals had a kind of language all their own. You just had to listen.

He smiled, wiping her forehead with a clean damp cloth and stroked her ear. “Well, my young lady, it’s time to get that hair of yours washed. That’ll make you feel better.”

Now this was something Rush had some experience in. Working in the lord's employ as a youngster, he’d earned a few coins by taking on odd jobs. One of them had been to help the farrier and stable master with the mounts. They were tall, lean creatures, some of them having quite a mean temper as well, as he’d quickly discovered. On one occasion, much to the amusement of the other stable lads at the time, he’d been painfully bucked into a steaming pile of dung by the lord’s own stallion.

He’d eventually found ways to thwart the more skittish of the horses there, and surprised himself to discover he actually began to enjoy the hard work. Snow, on the other hand, was a different matter. He didn’t know her. She could suddenly come to, panicking at her surroundings and attack him. She was clearly a war horse, one who was quite likely trained to be as much of a weapon as the spear her rider had carried. However, that was a thought for later.

Soon enough, the water had been heated just enough in the small cauldron, and Rush took off the lid to check the herb bag. It smelled wonderful: fresh, lively, and clean. He poured it into the bowl and collected his old kit bag. Good, it still had the brushes and combs from his days at the lord’s house. Rush wouldn’t describe himself as a hoarder, but he certainly threw nothing away if it was still usable. Why he’d kept these was a bit of mystery, though, but whatever the reason, he was glad he had.

The herb-infused steam soon began to fill the room. Lavender—it had always been his favourite. If nothing else, Snow would feel a little more comfortable for having her sweat-stained mane and tail clean. With no time like the present, Rush took up her long mane and dunked it in the water.

There was still dried blood in there, mud, twigs, and the gods knew what else. He worked at the tangles with the comb, holding clumps of it whilst he did his best to get the knots out. Cutting knots was the last resort, but he’d never had to do that yet, and the thought of it with Snow made him shudder. No, she’d been ‘cut’ enough through her dreadful trial in the forest, and it was up to him now to do what he could to restore the majesty of this enigmatic creature.

Rush had all but forgotten about the rider in the forest from earlier, lost in the strangely therapeutic combing and brushing of Snow’s mane. It was starting to glisten now, and the brush ran through it without any snags or pulls. He smiled, lifting her mane and draping it over a drying rack he used for the reeds. Her long mane needed air to dry, and he worried about the dampness against her coat. He’d done his best to dry it off with a towel, but it still needed to dry thoroughly. The fire was giving off plenty of heat, so it shouldn’t take long before he could give it a final brush out.

Snow’s tail was much the same: dried mud, small twigs, and other detritus had stuck to the long hair and were a devil to get out. He was surprised by just how long it was as well, far longer than the horses he used to tend. The stable lads were always mindful to keep the tails and manes of their charges deliberately short. Snow’s, by comparison, was incredibly long. Rush shrugged as he began picking out the worst of the debris.

This was going to take a long time…

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Four - Hunted

CHAPTER FOUR

HUNTED

Rain hammered down from a sky as dark and grey as the things that pursued her. The ground, already thick with the blood of her fallen soldiers, quickly turned into a quagmire that sucked at her hooves and slowed her attempts at escape from that terrible place.

Celestia’s heart pounded in her chest as she ran. The forest was near. If she could only reach it, she could hide, catch her breath. She had to know what had happened to her people, had to get back to help them in any way she could. They must be terrified, alone, and hurt. There was so much fear, so much pain. Celestia squeezed her eyes shut against the still-fresh images of ponies fighting, shouting, screaming, the sheer din of battle.

They had fallen. One by one, her brave soldiers who had pledged themselves and their lives to serve Equestria, and their princess, had paid a most terrible price.

As the leader of the Celestians, she knew in her heart that she’d been rash, foolish even. She’d underestimated the fighting skills and tactics of the forces of Nightmare Moon, and, it appeared, overestimated her own. She would never forget how the clouds had gathered in the sky above them, blocking the sunlight, plunging her forces into a darkness that even she had not expected. If only she’d had more time to prepare…

But it was too late now. The creatures of nightmares fell upon her army with the strength of a tidal wave, sweeping the inexperienced soldiers before them as if they were as substantial as mist. Many of her soldiers were not much more than colts: farm labourers, blacksmiths, woodworkers, regular everyday ponies. They’d been thrown into a uniform, given weapons, and then sent to their deaths. She’d sent them to their deaths.

Celestia had fought, cutting down dragons, minotaurs, griffins, ponies. Gods help her, even some of her own people had sided with those monsters! Those in-equine beasts had come at them in a surge of black armour and shining steel, howling and screaming like demons from the pits of Tartarus, slaying all before them, an unstoppable horde of muscle and death.

Nothing could have stood before them. Nothing had.

Tears stung her eyes as she ran for all she was worth into the safety of the forest. Damn that Nightmare Moon! How could she do this? Why? Celestia shook her head. There would be no forgiveness for this act of unwarranted aggression and cruelty. She ran on, her lungs burning as she breathed the words of her oath.

“No forgiveness.”

The princess smashed through the forest’s edge and into the dark interior, dodging between trees until she was sure that she had placed enough distance between herself and those… things. Her lungs burned like they never had before. She kept herself fit, despite her fondness for the sweeter treats the royal baker used to surreptitiously sneak in for in the evenings. Now, though, her exertions were beginning to show. Her muscles ached, and one of her wings had been badly wrenched during her clash with that massive emerald-green dragon. She’d fought it off, but at a cost. No longer able to fly, she was grounded and nearly overrun by the hulking axe-wielding minotaur warriors that had thrown themselves at her.

Her soldiers had become living shields of flesh and bone, desperate to protect their beloved princess; protecting her with their lives. She would never forget the sight, the sound, how they’d dropped to the ground. Gods… their cries would haunt her for the rest of her days.

The princess adjusted her armour and hefted her halberd. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her heart rate and took a swig of water from her canteen. She had to get back to the city. Her ponies needed help; they needed their princess… they needed her.

“Your Majesty!”

A white-coated stallion, his armour dented and rent from battle, suddenly appeared, making her jump back in surprise. He was exhausted, gasping out his words in ragged pants.

“Your Majesty… the army is routed. I… I fear the day is lost. We have to get you to safety. Equestria cannot lose you!”

He was young, far too young to be on the battlefield. Celestia’s heart ached just to look at him. Her brave soldier was bleeding from several cuts but, mercifully, he was alive. At least some had survived this dreadful ordeal. If only she could get back and regroup. Next time, next time she would be prepared, she—

The soldier’s eyes went blank, the spark of life leaving them in an instant. In almost slow motion, he toppled over onto his side, twitched, and went still. The princess’s eyes focused unbidden on the dark shaft protruding from his neck, before turning to look at the dark, grey-coated, equine-like creatures standing behind her and reloading their crossbows.

“Surrender, Celestia. You are a prisoner of the one true princess, the Goddess of the Moon.”

The leader of the armoured warriors stood on his hind legs, his forehooves leaning on an insanely large battle axe. His cruel eyes glowed red, like small fires in the darkness of the forest’s gloom. She glowered at the creature and spat her contempt at it.

“Thestrals…”

It watched her silently for a moment, itself clearly winded from both the battle and the chase. “I will not ask you again.”

These creatures were strange to Equestria, beings from another land which she knew nothing about. Brought here by that monster, Nightmare Moon, her very own sister, they were a source of evil that thrived on war and suffering. Celestia stared deeply into its eyes, lifting her halberd.

“You dare defile my home with your presence, thestral? You come here, kill my people, destroy their lands, their families, and you expect me to surrender? To YOU?” Her horn glowed with the golden aura of her magic. “I will send you into the pit with the rest of the demons where you belong!”

With a scream of rage, the princess charged.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Five - Blossom

CHAPTER FIVE

BLOSSOM

Rush woke with a start. He’d finished Snow’s grooming and replaced the poultices and bandages, but somewhere along the line, he must have fallen asleep. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and forehead, staring at the resulting dampness on his sleeve. It was drenched in sweat.

He must have had a nightmare, and a bad one at that. Rush couldn’t recall much of it, just that he was running from something, something that he had to escape at all costs. Damn it, it was probably that blasted horseman who had chased him in the forest. What he couldn’t understand was how he’d managed to somehow wrap himself up in the blue blanket that he’d washed and hung up to dry near the fire. His own was still covering Snow, but this one had definitely been drying over one of the rafters when he’d last seen it. Hadn’t it? He shook his head. By the gods, he was losing his mind!

Rush felt the blanket. It was mostly dry at least. He’d managed remove the majority of stains, but it would never again be the beautifully embroidered cloth it had once been. He examined the images sewn into it: the delicate gold and silver threads that depicted horses that pranced beneath a…

A large golden sun…

He hurried over to the corner of the room and levered the loose floorboard. In his haste, he almost dropped the precious object that tumbled from its oil cloth covering: the small box. It couldn’t be…

“My gods,” he breathed, staring at the engraving. It was the same in every detail: the horses, the sun, the hills… they were all there. Rush plopped down on his rump, shocked and confused. What did this mean? Was it coincidence? He looked across at Snow, sleeping quietly in a dream world all of her own. Rush found himself staring at her, that pure white coat, the sunburst emblem on her flank. He lifted the blanket, comparing the markings on it, the box and his mysterious equine patient. There was no doubt about it.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

Snow shifted slightly, murmuring in her sleep. Rush scratched his head and took another look at the box and the odd writing. If only she could tell him what it read! Her owner probably could, but what if it was his box? The warriors of this land would cut you down soon as look at you, and nobody would question it. The rule of law here was the sword. It always had been and probably always would be.

There was a hammering at the door.

Rush’s heart skipped a beat, and he dropped the box, catching it just as it was about to hit the floor. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, he quickly wrapped it back in its oil cloth. The door shook in its frame under a second hammering.

“Rush? You in there? Are you alright? It's Nasta. Rush, for the gods' sake, open the door!”

Pushing the floorboard back down, Rush threw the blanket up into the rafters and opened the door a few inches. “Nasta?”

His mother's apprentice looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. “Great gods, Rush! What’s been going on up here? Where’ve you been? Don’t you know what’s been happening?”

Rush looked past Nasta at the large group of villagers standing around with makeshift weapons and lanterns. It must be later than he’d thought. “Nasta, what the hell are you talking about? I’ve been working as normal, that’s all. If this is about your daughter—”

“It's got nothing to do with her!” Nasta spluttered. “There’ve been attacks in the village! People have been hurt. They think it's forest demons!”

“What a load of crap!” Rush spat. “Superstitious nonsense. It's probably wolves or bears again. I’ve told you about this before. You never listen, any of you!”

One of the villagers strode up. It was Cray, the local blacksmith. “Wolves? They wouldn’t come near the village, and the bears are hibernating,” he rumbled in his gruff voice. “I think you’d better come with us and see for yourself.”

Go with them? And leave Snow?! “NO!” he exclaimed, the word leaving his mouth louder than he had intended.

“What?”

“I…I can’t, I’ve got work to do,” Rush blurted out. “You go and chase your wolf and leave me be. I don’t want to get involved.”

Cray’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Why you—!”

Nasta pushed him out of the way. “Look here, Rush, for the gods’ sake, this isn’t another blasted wolf attack. It’s one of the girls this time…”

Something in his eyes, something…

“Who?”

Nasta’s mouth opened and shut before he looked away slightly. “Rush, I’m sorry…”

“You’re sorry? What do you mean you’re sorry?” A thought suddenly struck him. “Oh no. Oh gods no. It's Blossom…”

Nasta nodded. Rush felt the blood drain from his face before sinking to his knees, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“No…”

Cray stepped forward. “Look, Rush, I know you’re hurting now, but we need your help to find this thing. Nobody knows the hills like you do, you living here and all.”

Rush felt tears streaming down his face and tried his best to hide them. He didn’t want these rats to see him cry, but Blossom, his beloved niece. She was the last one of his family left. His mother, his father, even his brother… all gone.

“I’ll… get my things.”

Nasta went to push his way into the house, but Rush slammed it shut in his face. Inside, he grabbed his winter gear, spear, and reed knife. Something insidious was happening in the forest, his forest, his home. Oh gods, Blossom… She was so young. Determination grabbed him. He had to see for himself; he had to know.

As he was about to leave, he walked over to Snow and pulled the blanket in around her, and as always, placed a bowl of fresh water and greens for her in case she came around. He hadn’t seen her stir once since he’d brought her here, and it worried him, but right now there were other priorities.

“I’ll be gone for a little while, my lady,” he said quietly, stroking her mane. “I’ll lock the door, but keep quiet, yes? I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Rush exited, pushing past Nasta and locking the door solidly before slipping the heavy key into his shirt. “I want to see her, Nasta.”

Nasta shook his head. “I don’t think—”

“I said I want to see her! Damn it, man, she’s the last family I have… had.”

Cray placed his hand on Nasta’s shoulder. “I’ll take him. You go with the others, my friend.”

Nasta shook his head. “No, Cray. Thanks friend, but I’d better do it. Willow would never forgive me.”

The blacksmith nodded, turning his meaty body about and trudged off back down the hill to the rest of the villagers, who had set up a makeshift camp.

Rush had never seen Nasta like this, so… serious. He walked ahead of him. “Come on then, let’s get this over with.”

The deadpan voice wasn’t like the normally jovial and over-animated Nasta either. Rush shook his head. All he wanted now was to see Blossom, to see… to know.

On the worn path through the forest to the village, Nasta never spoke once. Rush wasn’t bothered—he didn’t know what to say in any case. He’d cared for his niece but hadn’t seen much of her since his mother had died. The two had just sort of drifted apart. He still thought about her, though. Now he wished he’d spent more time with her, asked her about her life, her plans, her dreams.

It was too late now, far, far too late. There would be no more dreams.

“Come in.”

Nasta walked up the polished stone steps onto the wooden porch, slipping off his sandals before entering the house proper. Rush had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed the walk through the village until Nasta had spoken. All the way here, he’d kept wondering if this were all a dream, a mistake, that someone had just got it wrong. At any moment, Blossom would come running out to hug her old uncle, and he’d muss her hair as she excitedly told him all about how she was going to learn medicine like her nan, how she’d been fishing and on and on and on…

“Rush?”

He looked up. Nasta’s eyes were red and puffy. Gods knew what he looked like. He hadn’t had that shave he’d been promising himself, and now he was here to see his niece while looking like a filthy tramp.

The room was sparsely decorated. There were a few flower arrangements here and there. A lantern sat in the corner and a large painted banner hung from the end wall with the family's motto painted on it: Duty first, family second, self last. He’d never agreed with it, for it came across as pretentious nonsense to him. Putting duty first? What had duty gotten them? A slain father and a golden handshake from the local lord who couldn't even remember his bloody name, the self-righteous rat.

Rush’s eyes were drawn to the red and white quilt on the floor, a smaller white sheet covering the face of the bed's occupant. His blood froze in his veins as he stared at it. There was no mistaking the raven black hair spilling out from beneath it.

Nasta looked away as Rush lifted the cloth from Blossom’s face. She looked so peaceful, like she was simply resting and would jump up at any moment to surprise him. He knelt beside her, reaching out tentatively to touch her forehead.

She was as cold as winter’s morning.

Rush’s eyes were drawn to the glint of metal. Gently, he brushed Blossom’s hair to one side to see. It was the red dolphin hair clip he’d bought her for her ninth birthday, still fixed in that fall of shining ebony she was so proud of. His gift had always been one of her most treasured possessions, and it made his heart a little warmer whenever he saw her wearing it. It reminded Rush that even in his self-imposed isolation, even with all his distrust and dislike of the village, one still remained who remembered him. And loved him.

Tears stung his eyes as he looked away, gulping air to try and keep the sobs at bay that threatened to overwhelm him. His niece, his poor beloved niece. How could anyone, anything hurt something so precious, this delicate life that—

“Rush? Come on, let’s go. There’s nothing we can do here for her now.”

Rush’s fingers dug into his knees as he grit his teeth. “Who or what did this, Nasta? How did it happen?”

Nasta shook his head sadly. “We don’t know. She’d been out with her friends near the pond, playing. When she didn't come home, we went looking for her, and found her… like this.”

Rush went to lift up the quilt but stopped, his hand half outstretched.

“Don’t.” He looked up to Nasta, who had his eyes closed. “You don’t want to see, trust me”

“Then tell me,” Rush said levelly. “What did this?”

Nasta took a deep breath. “She’d been…” He held his hands up to his face. “Something’s been…”

“Wolves?”

“No. Some think it may have been, but there were tracks there. I’m no expert, Rush, but they weren’t wolf tracks, or bear. They looked like hoof prints to me, but not like any horse I’ve ever seen. I just don't know.”

A flush of cold ran through Rush. He knew without any doubt in his mind that it was one of those things from the clearing that had attacked Snow. It had to be. What it was, though, he had no idea. Did it have something to do with the rider who had chased him the other day? So many questions, so many…

“I want to find the thing that did this, Nasta. I want it dead.” He stood and gripped his reed knife, his hand shaking in fury and grief. “I want to kill the damned thing myself, do you hear me? It’s MINE!”

Nasta nodded silently, then turned to walk out the room. “Let’s go, Rush. The others will be waiting for us.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Six - Hunter and Hunted

CHAPTER SIX

HUNTER AND HUNTED

The villagers were sat around a makeshift fire, laughing and joking with one another as Rush and Nasta returned to join them. It was hardly the vengeful mob Rush had expected. The rice wine flowed and food being passed around while he was stood there, the terrible memory of his dead niece fresh in his mind. He could feel the anger inside him bubbling away just below the surface. Gods, he hated these people! Self-centred, hypocritical—

“Ah! You’re back!” A man wearing a short blue tunic stood up from the group, wiping juice away from his mouth and waving a jug of wine at him. “Come, join us! Rush, wasn’t it? Nasta told us all about you. Quite the accomplished healer, I believe.” He took a swig of the wine. “What the hell are you doing living like a hermit out here in the woods? With your skills, you’d make a fortune in the city.”

Rush opened his mouth to speak before Nasta placed a restraining hand upon his shoulder. “Rush, please, I know you. Don’t start anything… for Blossom’s sake, please.”

Blossom? Damn him for bringing her into this. Damn them all! Rush couldn’t believe what he was seeing. What the hell was the point of them coming out here in the dead of night if they were just going to sit around eating and drinking? Not one of them had proper clothing for this weather, and few of them were barely old enough to shave, let alone be out at this hour. He cringed—some had even brought their girlfriends as well, by the look of it. It was all one big exciting adventure for them, wasn’t it?

“Do I know you?” Rush asked levelly.

The man belched, a smirk spreading across his young face. “Oh! Sorry about that, yes.” He bowed slightly. “The name’s Nile. I work for the governor’s office as the new regional deputy.”

Rush nodded back in reply, noting the man’s sneer at his lack of decorum. This ‘Nile’ looked as soft as he’d expect for a local official. His pale skin and soft hands spoke volumes. That, and his flippant attitude.

“Do you have a plan, then?”

“A plan?” The deputy scratched his head. “Of course we have a plan!”

“And what is that exactly?”

“We track it down and kill it, obviously!” The deputy turned to the crowd of villagers, holding up the jug to which he received a round of raucous cheers.

He held the jug to Rush, who shook his head. “I mean, how do you intend to track this thing in the middle of the night?”

The young man looked at Rush as if he’d just asked why the moon was round. “Well, that’s where you come in, isn’t it, my reclusive friend? These hills are your home, and I’m certain you know them like the back of your hand.”

Rush wanted to wipe that stupid smirk right off his face, the arrogant young pup. This whole situation was foolish—in fact, it was nigh on suicidal. As much as the grief and anger he felt made him want to rush off into the night and kill the thing that had murdered his niece, it was more likely they’d end up with hypothermia. Worse still, in the darkness of the forest, it was easy to become lost, possibly falling down one of the many slopes or gullies, and gods help you getting help then.

He spat on the ground. Just look at them! Drunken young men and women, some not much older than Blossom had been, running about in the middle of the night like it was some sort of silly bloody game they were playing. He turned away.

“Hey, where are you going?” the deputy shouted, his tone of voice changing suddenly. “You can’t just walk off; we need you!”

Rush stopped, his heart racing and blood near boiling point with barely controlled rage. “You need me? Why? What the hell are you going to do with a bunch of kids at this time of night? It’s pitch black out here, and half of them are so drunk that they can barely stand already. The hills are no place for fools.”

Nasta facepalmed. “Oh gods, Rush…”

“Fools?” The smirk on the deputy’s face was gone in an instant, replaced with a look of haughty contempt. “That’s what you think of us? We’ve come here to find the killer of your niece, and you insult us?”

Rush turned to look him in the face, advancing a pace before Cray intervened, standing between the two and shaking his head. Rush glared at the deputy.

“Only a fool would traipse around the forest in the dark. Can’t you see you’re inviting disaster? Look at them! They’re nothing but children! Besides, I’m a bloody reed worker, not a tracker. What you need is a hunter, someone who has the skills to track this beast.”

“What? You… You can’t track it?”

“What made you think I could?” he shot back.

“You know the hills! You live here, don’t you?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t need to track down reeds, they grow in the river. They don’t wander about in the bloody forest!”

Nile’s mouth opened and closed several times before he glanced back at the villagers by the fire. They’d stopped their revelry to listen and were watching him intently. He apparently didn’t like being the centre of attention all of a sudden.

He adjusted his shirt and shoved the jug of wine into Cray’s hands. “Ha, I knew it! Some backwoods expert you are. You’re just a foolish old recluse who lives in a shack on a hillside. No wonder everyone thinks you’re crazy! The madman of the forest, crazy old Rush.”

The deputy picked up the swords from beside the fire and shoved them back into his belt. “We don’t need you. We’ll find the thing on our own. Be assured, Rush, when we return with its head, someone will come and let you know that we’ve avenged your niece. It’s a shame you’d rather sit in your lonely house and rot away than help us find her killer.”

Rush’s hand grabbed the hilt of his reed knife, and he narrowed his eyes. “You—”

The hulking form of Cray filled his vision, shaking his head. “Don’t, Rush.”

Nasta watched the deputy go before speaking quietly, “I said not to lose your temper, didn’t I? Now look where it’s got you. For the gods’ sake, Rush, you really don’t want to rile up the authorities.”

Rush took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. “I can’t believe this! Drunken children stumbling about on a hillside in winter, at night, looking for something that can kill a human? Did I mention none of them can track? This is madness! Surely both of you can see that?”

Cray smiled sadly. “We’re not all fools, Rush, but someone’s got to go and keep an eye on the youngsters. Are you sure you won’t come?”

The reed worker hung his head. Was he really the ‘madman of the forest’? ‘Crazy old Rush’? He sighed. Yes, to them he probably was. People didn’t live that long in the hills, and he was already approaching middle age. To them, he probably looked ancient—the unkempt appearance certainly didn’t help endear him to them.

Letting his hands fall to his sides, he walked past the blacksmith and stood before the deputy, who glowered at him. Rush knew he was going to regret this. “You want a guide? Then I’ll do it, but you listen to me, do you understand?”

The smirk returned. “Ha! I knew we could rely on you, Rush. You’re our man!”

Rush sighed then addressed the villagers. “Just remember, all of you, that the hills are dangerous enough without trying to track something down. All of you have to stay together. No wandering off, any of you, even if you have to go pee. It’s cold, so keeping moving will help keep you warm, but we’ll take breaks if we can. I know I’ve already said I’m no hunter, but I promise I’ll do my best to help us find this thing and get us all home safely.”

Nasta clapped him on the shoulder. “No one could ask for more, my old friend.”

Again with the ‘old’! Damn it, this was keeping him away from Snow, and he needed to check up on her. He spat on the ground as the villagers picked themselves along with their makeshift weapons. The quicker they got this nonsense over with, the better.

“Don’t look so worried, old man!” The deputy laughed, walking up to Rush. “There’s strength in numbers.”

“Mmmm.” Rush wasn’t convinced. It was more likely that they would just make a more tempting meal choice for whatever it was out there.

Nasta tapped him on the shoulder. “What’s bothering you so much? Is it Blossom? Rush, I want to find this thing as much as you do, you know.”

Rush shook his head. “I want the bloody thing dead, Nasta, but that’s not what’s bothering me right now. If there was one thing I learned from my service in the lord’s household, it was ‘know your enemy’, and that’s the main issue here for me. We haven’t got a clue, not only about where it is, but more importantly, what it is.”

“There’s enough of us to handle a late hibernating bear or a rogue wolf, Rush. Have some faith.” Nasta glanced at the rest of the villagers. “If we can keep them together, we’ll be fine.”

Rush checked to see if his knife was free in its scabbard. “That’s not my point, Nasta. You saw those tracks. They weren’t from any bear or wolf I’ve ever seen. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t know what the hell they were from.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I’d ‘suggest’ coming back in the morning with professional trackers, hunters, and soldiers from the lord’s household. But then, who’s going to listen to the ‘madman of the forest’, eh?”

Nasta shrugged. “Come on, let’s get this foolishness over with. They’ll soon get cold and start wanting to go home, especially our fiery young deputy over there.”

Rush looked across to the campfire where the deputy had scooped up a young woman and was tickling her in earnest. Her giggles made the rest of them fall about laughing.

“Gods’ help us,” Rush muttered.

The three of them talked quietly about their plan for finding the creature when the deputy re-appeared once again, tucking in his collar and readjusting his sword. “Right then! Lead on, brave Rush of the Hills, let us find the monster and avenge your honour!”

Several cheered, some laughed. Rush just clenched his fists. That bloody fool…

Backtracking to the village pond, it was clear the tracks had come from the forest, but the area had been so churned up by the villagers that it was almost impossible to tell whether they were dealing with one of the things or more. But what was it? It wasn’t a horse, certainly no elk, not a bear and not a wolf. Whatever it was wasn’t native to the hills then.

His gut instinct told him that this was something more than just a dangerous forest beast that had attacked a villager out of hunger. It had happened before and likely would happen again, but this time was different. There was a suggestion of intelligence here, an intelligence that made it a very dangerous opponent indeed. What he couldn’t understand was if it was a ‘sort’ of horse, then why would its rider allow it to kill a child? Maybe, like Snow, the beast had lost its rider and it was now roaming lost in the forest? Still, horses were herbivores, weren’t they? He shook his head. Gods, he didn’t have a clue about this creature, but if it was anything like the black ‘thing’ that had chased him back to his home, it certainly wasn’t afraid of people. That thought sent a shiver down his spine colder than any of winter’s chill.

Further into the forest, the snow showed the tracks clearly. Cray leaned forward, his eyes wide. “What on earth made these? My father was a deer stalker and taught me a little, but I’ve never seen anything like these.”

Rush traced the shape of one of the imprints, “What do you make of it, Cray?”

“It’s certainly from a four legged animal. By its stride, probably around six feet long I’d guess.”

“It’s heavy too,” Rush added. “See how the prints push past the snow and indent the ground?”

Cray nodded, pointing at it with a stick. “See how the grounds not been kicked up around the print? It wasn’t in a hurry, that’s for sure. The damned thing was probably full after its dinner.” He looked up suddenly. “Oh, gods. I’m sorry, Rush, I…”

“It’s alright, Cray. Look, let’s just keep moving. This lot will end up with hypothermia if we’re out here too long.”

Nasta walked up to peer at the print. “I know what you mean. We’ve already lost two of them. A couple of lovebirds wandered off back to the village a while ago”

“What?! Why didn’t you stop them?”

“I didn’t know they’d gone! The deputy was supposed to—”

Rush punched the ground. “Damn it all! This is what I dreaded. This is why you don’t bring bloody children along!”

Cray shrugged. “It’s not that far back to the village, Rush, and there’s two of them.”

Rush shook his head in dismay. Things were starting to unravel already, the villagers’ initial enthusiasm draining away in the cold night air of the forest. It was dangerous enough out here without them wandering off into the darkness. What on earth were they thinking? There had to be some way to bring this idiocy to an end, but how?

“Cray?”

The blacksmith stood up, brushing himself down. “Yes?”

“You’ve got some tracking experience. Stay up front with me. Nasta, go to the back, and for the gods’ sake, make sure no more of these fools wander off, alright?”

Nasta nodded. “Sure, Rush, I’ll keep them in line.”

The deputy sauntered up. “What is it? Have you found something?”

“No,” Rush replied. “The tracks disappear off into the valley. Look, Nile, most of the people here aren’t much more than children, and they’re tired. Why don’t you take them home and—”

“Nonsense! I was already in the lord’s retinue at their age. They’re perfectly capable of coping with staying up late and handling a little cold weather.”

Rush looked at them. They were ill-prepared for the rapidly dropping temperature, let alone a possible fight with an unknown and unseen foe. He shook his head in dismay.

“Right then, let’s go, but tell them to stay together, Nile. They’ll listen to you.”

The deputy rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine! Just get a move on, will you, Mister Rush? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all go home.”

The damned fool was arrogant in the extreme. Rush had seen his type before, always in a hurry to make a name for themselves in battle. They were usually the ones that were the first to run as well, when the reality of the battlefield dawned on them. The sounds, the smells, the screams—Rush knew them all too well. They could unnerve the best of them, and he never wanted to see another one as long as he lived. Adjusting his belt, he clapped Cray on the shoulder.

“Come on, you heard the man. Let’s go.”

Cray gave him a look that betrayed his nerves. Despite his size and strength, the blacksmith was worried, and rightly so. A horrible feeling of impending disaster crept through Rush’s mind. His earlier assertion that he wanted to take the life of the monster that had murdered his niece was rapidly being replaced with a realisation that they might be walking right into the jaws of the very thing they hunted. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

The two of them followed the tracks into the forest’s depths, the wind moaning through the bamboo and rustling the long, thin leaves. There hadn’t been any fresh snowfall to cover the tracks, and they were still quite visible. There only seemed to be one set, though, despite Nasta’s claims there were two sets at the pond. Had he missed something? Cray had more experience tracking than he had, and by his own admission that was limited. Rush rubbed his arms, trying to get some warmth into them. He was really starting to feel the cold now, and the heaviness of fatigue pulled at his tired muscles. He was no spring chicken, but even so, he was more used to the rugged life in the hills than the villagers clustered behind him. He looked over his shoulder at them. The earlier jovial nature had long since gone, replaced by sullen expressions and universal grumbling. Soon, even that bloody-minded young deputy would want to go home to his warm bed, probably wrapped up with one the maids at the manor.

Cray held up a hand, stopping him. “You hear that?”

Rush listened; the tell-tale roar was one he was very familiar with. “Water. We’re near the river.”

The blacksmith nodded. “The tracks head down to the bank. If it’s gone across, we’ll have a hell of time finding it, and I don’t fancy trying to cross in this.”

Rush nodded. With any luck, it had done so, and he’d be able to pack this lot off home sooner rather than later. “Right, let’s have a look then.”

Sure enough, the tracks lead straight down to the mud of the riverbank and disappeared into the churning water. Cray shook his head as the deputy trotted up.

“Sorry, Deputy Nile, the tracks end at the water’s edge. We’ve lost it.”

The young warrior was incensed. “What?! You can’t be serious! We’ve been traipsing through these accursed hills for bloody hours and you’ve ‘lost it’?”

Rush sighed, kneeling beside the tracks. “Look, it’s gone into the river. We can’t track it; it’s impossible. I’m sorry, deputy, there’s no more we can do tonight.”

“Then cross the blasted river, man!”

“No.”

“You…! How dare you—”

Rush stood suddenly and advanced on the deputy, who backed up in alarm, his hand grabbing the hilt of his sword. The reed worker’s own hand shot out, his large fingers closing tightly around those of the younger man. Rush stared into his wide eyes.

“You listen to me, you young fool. You don’t know who or what you’re dealing with. Whatever it is knows it’s being followed. It knows how to cover its tracks by taking to the water. You try to cross this river tonight, and you’d better have coin with you to pay the ferryman. Do you understand me?”

“I…”

Rush squeezed the deputy’s hand. “I said, ‘Do you understand me?’”

“Y…Yes! Yes, I understand!”

The reed worker nodded slowly and smiled. “Good. Now, I’m going to let your hand go, Nile, but a word of warning. If you even think of drawing that sword of yours, I’ll split you like a length of bamboo, and nobody wants to see that. There’s been quite enough ‘excitement’ for one night already, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I…”

Rush released the deputy’s hand, and the young man stepped back, his eye twitching in barely constrained fury before he harrumphed and strode off back to the villagers. They looked on, clearly worried by the confrontation. Cray watched him go before he walked up beside Rush.

“Great gods, Rush, you’re playing with fire. Don’t you know who he is?”

“Oh, I know who he is alright,” Rush said, leaning on his spear. “A bloody idiot pup who thinks his bark is louder than the other dogs.”

“He could have killed you!”

“He could have tried,” Rush said sourly. “Our deputy may have youth on his side, but I’ve got something he hasn’t got.”

“What’s that? Experience?”

“No.” Rush leaned down to re-tighten his leg wraps. “I’m a sneaky bugger.”

The villagers had started a fire and were warming themselves up before embarking on the long trek back home. Nasta, a grim smile on his face, handed Cray and Rush a stick with grilled fish on it.

“Well, this turned out to be a disaster, didn’t it? What are we going to do now?”

Rush shrugged, taking a mouthful of the hot fish. “Go home, that's what.”

“But that thing’s still out there, Rush. It killed Blossom!”

“Do you think I’ve forgotten that? For the gods’ sake, Nasta, she was the only member of my natural family I had left!” Rush sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just that I’m cold, tired, and we’ve now got to ferry a bunch of worn out kids back home before they get frostbite.”

Nasta grit his teeth. “But that thing could be miles away by now!”

“I know, Nasta, but you know as well as I do that this was never going to work. It was a bloody stupid idea in the first place. Anyway, can’t you use your influence to get some proper trackers and soldiers here in the morning? At the least someone who’s got something between their ears unlike the buffoon you brought with you tonight.”

Nasta suddenly chuckled. “You’re right. Of course I knew, but I had to try something, Rush. You understand that, don’t you?”

Rush nodded. “Of course. Go back to the others, Nasta. I’ll be along in a minute and we’ll get going.”

There was no singing now, no frivolity. The wine had been passed around, emptied and bellies filled. It still wasn’t enough to lift the mood of the villagers, who now just wanted to leave this place and get back home as quickly as possible. The bitter cold had sapped both their fervour and their strength this night.

Rush took a swig of water from his canteen, passing it to Cray who took it gratefully. “You see it?”

“Across the river. How many do you think there are?”

Taking back the canteen, Rush shouldered his spear. “Only one. I think it’s been following us this whole time.”

“My gods…”

“Don’t say anything to the others, Cray, they’ll panic. We go back at a steady pace, keep together, and we’ll get out of here in one piece.”

Nasta walked back over, shouldering his pack. “What is it?”

Rush shook his head. “Nothing. Come on, let’s get back. Nasta, go up front with Cray. I’ll take the rear. Don’t let anyone wander off, whatever you do.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Seven - Crimson Grass

CHAPTER SEVEN

CRIMSON GRASS

The battle raged around him. The clash of steel, the hiss of arrows, the scream of magic… It never changed; only the faces, and even those faded from memory over time.

Adrenalin surged through him in an ice-cold torrent. By the goddess, they could win this! Victory was so close now, so close that he could almost reach out and grab it with his hooves. All they needed was one final push, and the enemy would collapse like a deck of cards in a hurricane. Then it would be just a simple case of driving them from the field. At long last, after all those months of meticulous planning for the offensive, their goal was in sight.

One of his black-armoured warriors galloped up and saluted smartly, his red eyes blazing like small red suns. “Storm Major, the Celestians are buckling on the left of the line. Your orders, sir?”

This was as he’d predicted. With so many new and young recruits, the Celestians had concentrated them in the centre and placed their more experienced troops on the flanks. No doubt their plan had been to bolster the green troopers’ morale by having the veterans protecting their flanks. Thorn smiled, his white teeth glistening in the moonlight. He’d played along with them, allowed them to make the first move, and then come at them in the usual fine old style…

Head on.

The Celestian centre had engaged with them, their new troops wavering momentarily but still holding. He was impressed. Their zeal and love of their princess was making up for their lack of combat experience. He admired their courage; they were a worthy foe for his warriors. He shook his mane.

“Hold the line, Captain. Keep the pressure on them, but don’t push forward until you receive the order. Do you understand?”

“Aye, Storm Major.”

The major returned the salute, turning to his aide. “Dunn, are your warriors in position?”

“Aye, they’re ready.”

The gruff minotaur smiled, hefting his wicked, double-headed battle axe. The old warrior’s muscles rippled beneath his armour, his scars showing as dark lines in his fur. Thorn nodded in reply. He knew his troops, both their strengths and weaknesses. Minotaurs made excellent shock troops, even if they were a little lacking in grey matter, but their brutality and strength could be the deciding factor in a battle.

He’d fought beside Dunn before, far more times than he could remember. In some ways, it was a miracle they’d both survived as long as they had. A thestral’s element, his people believed, was war; a burning crucible of fire and violence that most of his people revelled in. Their strength, however, was both a blessing and a curse, their numbers now so depleted from years of internecine warfare that it was only the coming of the goddess that had saved them from the brink of extinction.

Nightmare Moon had brought them together, gifting them with a single purpose, a common goal. Now, instead of each other, the focus of the thestrals’ desire for battle was focussed to a single point. That point was before them now, and high above the field, the keystone to the whole plan. She just didn’t know it yet.

The two armies looked to be evenly matched, the lines wavering back and forth, magic sizzling through the air and slamming into the massed ranks of both sides. Arrows flew between the armies like angry hornets as pegasi and thestrals looped and dove, alternating between fighting each other and strafing the enemy below.

The master of arms, a heavy-set griffin, sat picking his teeth with a claw beside him. “Won’t be long now eh, Thorn?”

No, it wouldn’t be long. The Celestians’ lack of planning was all too clear, and that, combined with the recklessness of their inexperienced troops, would be their downfall. The wildcard, however, was their leader…

Celestia, the magnificent white alicorn princess, flew high above them and engaged in a furious battle with their own dread goddess of the night, Nightmare Moon. Beams of intense magical heat lanced out from the Celestian’s leader, matched by the blasts of black lightning from her sister. The lethal duel in the sky was causing its own havoc on the ground as the occasional rogue blast of magic would slam into the ranks of both armies, causing terrible casualties.

Thorn had expected this would happen. It was all taken into account, all carefully woven into the plan that was finally about to come to a deadly conclusion. There was a thump behind him as a familiar voice rumbled out.

“Storm Major…”

“Colonel.”

The thestral colonel sat on his haunches and took out a long-stemmed pipe, lighting it casually with a sigh. “Thoughts?”

Thorn kept his eyes on the battle below. “I think they’re about ready now, sir. They’ve kept to the same battle tactics as before, hemming in the new recruits in the centre.”

The colonel blew out a thin plume of pungent smoke. “Very inflexible these Celestians, Thorn, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

The colonel waved to one of the signallers, who galloped up smartly. He smiled at the grey-coated earth pony and clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Marble Hue, Colonel.”

“Come from these parts?”

“No sir. My family’s from the north, little village called Quarry Cross.”

“I see. Well, Mister Hue, the question is, do you have a good set of lungs on you?”

“Best in the army, Colonel.”

The older thestral turned to Thorn, smiling. “‘Best in the army’ he says!”

Thorn nodded. “Think we should test them out now, sir?”

“Yes, Storm Major, I do. Do the honours, would you?”

The signaller lifted his trumpet and blew…

Across the battlefield, the trumpets picked up the sound, echoing it back and forth across the scarred plain. The centre of the dark mass of warriors suddenly began to waver, buckle, and then slowly, one by one, break away as they heard the command to retreat. It was no orderly retreat down on the battle line, however. It was a rout.

A great cry went up from the Celestian forces. They could sense victory. All their blood, sweat, and effort hadn’t been in vain after all—their enemy was breaking, running! If they pushed through and chased them down now, they could cut them down as they fled, finally bringing this cursed war to an end. Thorn hung his head. By the goddess, it was too easy… far too easy.

The colonel took a draw on his pipe. “It’s almost a shame, isn’t it? Were we that naive once?”

Thorn shrugged. “Who knows, Colonel. Maybe, once.”

His mind flashed back to when he was a young warrior: fresh, strong, eager for battle and to prove himself to his tribe. No mare would take him until he had shown that he could fight by their side as an equal, to be a stallion his mate could be proud of. It had nearly gotten him killed as well. Nearly. Now, the impetuousness of the Celestian troops would be their end.

Thorn closed his eyes. He could almost hear their veteran soldiers’ desperate calls for them to stop, but he knew that now… now there was no stopping them. The merciless machine of war would grind them. Those that died quickly would be the lucky ones.

He took a deep breath. “NOW!”

Trumpets blared all around him, the ground thundering beneath his hooves as Dunn’s minotaur forces charged down the slope and into the oncoming flood of triumphant Celestians.

The minotaurs held formation, meeting the Celestians head on. It looked to Thorn like a flood of white water smashing into a dam in the river. The dam held.

Horns blared once more, and the previously ‘routed’ troops quickly began to regroup, divide, and swing around the sides of the minotaurs, flanking the Celestian centre and boxing them in.

Thorn watched grimly as the slaughter began.

High above the field, the flash of magic, lightning, and fire reminded him of the fireworks that he’d witnessed at one of the many festivals held in his homeland in the Beyond. It was entrancing, yet terrifying in its ferocity. Somewhere up in the dark sky, between the clouds, the final act would be played out, and this battle, this war, would be consigned to the annals of history. Thorn shook his mane. Was this to be another footnote in the books of historians to be forgotten and filed away? No, this time, this time things would be different. A new wind was blowing, and with it would come a new order, the order of his people’s goddess…Nightmare Moon.

A hippogriff landed beside him, the creature's armour battered and his equine flank bearing the scars of battle. It bowed. “Storm Major, the enemy is fleeing the field. Your orders, sir?”

Thorn didn’t need the report. He could see the panic spreading below him; he could taste it in the air. The major nodded to the colonel, who raised a hoof to the griffin veteran behind him.

“Harry the flanks but keep from pushing too far. Our artillery won’t discriminate between friend and foe, Sergeant.”

The hippogriff saluted and took to the air, calling to his assault wing. Strange creatures, Thorn thought to himself, an odd hybrid of pony and griffin, or was it eagle? He shuddered at the thought. Equestria truly was a strange place.

The colonel trotted up. “Won’t be long now, old friend.”

Thorn slowly shook his head in reply as the glowing green balls of destructive magic arced overhead towards the fleeing Celestian troops.

“No, it won’t be long now…”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Eight - A Lantern in the Forest

CHAPTER EIGHT

A LANTERN IN THE FOREST

The walk back through the forest was taking far too long. Everyone was tired now, the alcohol-fuelled excitement transforming into a bitterly cold trudge through the seemingly endless snow and ice. The villagers huddled together like frightened animals, whether for warmth or for safety, Rush wasn’t sure. He just wanted to get these fools back and then get home himself. At first he’d thought about staying with Nasta for the night. After all, he wouldn’t have complained, especially after this episode. Then he thought of Snow, alone and still lying injured in his house. He had to get back to her; he had to be there for her.

Rush’s lungs were raw from breathing the cold night air. They’d been slogging along for what felt like hours now, and his leg muscles burned horribly despite the freezing temperatures. Surely they were near the village now? To make matters worse, he had the distinct feeling they were being watched, and that at any moment…

He shook his head. Thoughts like that could addle your mind and take the edge off you when you needed to stay sharp and alert. Especially now, in this damned forest, he needed his senses at their keenest more than ever.

A shout from up ahead brought the villagers up short. Worried murmurs broke out, followed by a woman’s terrified scream. Rush’s heart skipped a beat. Somewhere in his heart, he knew what had happened. Gods, he hoped he was wrong.

“RUSH!”

Nasta nearly crashed into him, his face drained of colour. “Oh gods, Rush…I…”

Rush clenched his fist. “It’s the two who ran off, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

Nasta nodded silently. “I think you need to see for yourself.”

Pushing through the villagers, Rush moved up to where the deputy and Cray were staring up one of the trees. The two youngsters were there alright. What had been done to them was…

He turned to Cray. “Get them moving, all of them.”

Cray nodded, returning to the terrified villagers. The deputy looked round at Rush, his face ashen. “We have to cut them down. We can’t just leave them—”

“You want to end up like them? For the gods’ sake, Nile, don’t you get it now? You’ve not been hunting it…it’s been hunting you, you and your bloody drunken party of children.”

The deputy’s eyes went wide as he grabbed Rush’s shoulders. “What the hell are we going to do?! We’re going to die out here! We’re going to—”

There was a resounding crack as Cray’s fist connected Nile’s jaw. “I’ll carry him, Rush. You lead us out; Nasta can take the rear for a while.”

Following their own tracks back to the village was child’s play, and Rush knew they weren’t far now. Behind him, he could hear several of the villagers crying and being consoled by some of the others. It had been a night none of them would forget in a hurry, and one he hoped would be over soon. Tomorrow, they’d have to send out a detail to bring back the bodies of the two young ones. If he had his way, that impetuous fool Nile would be leading the recovery, but judging by the look on his face now, it was highly unlikely. Coming back to his senses, Nile was now trudging along as solemnly as the rest of them, occasionally rubbing his chin which would no doubt be sporting a large bruise come the morning. Rush shook his head in dismay. It was probably too much to hope for that Cray's fist had actually knocked some sense into the man.

He closed his eyes and tried to will away the image of what he’d seen. In all his years, he’d never seen anything like it. The brutality, the cruelty…why? There was only one word he could think of to describe it: evil—pure, unadulterated evil. If there was one thing that Rush knew for certain now, it was no animal that had done this. They hunted for food, they didn’t…

He shook his head. Damn it! How far did they have to go now? Surely they must be near the village. As if in answer to his thoughts, a light appeared ahead of them between the trees; it was like a gift from the gods. Nile suddenly ran up beside him.

“Oh thank the gods! Someone’s come looking for us at last!”

Something niggled at Rush’s mind. The light was swaying, but it wasn’t moving forward or back. If someone was there…

The deputy ran ahead. “We’re here! Over here!”

Realisation suddenly dawned on Rush. “NO! Come back, you fool!”

He watched in horror as Nile suddenly staggered, then stopped. The young deputy looked up at the lantern tied to a branch, moving in the breeze, its light so inviting. Slowly, he turned to face the others.

“Rush?”

The black shaft of the bolt protruding from his chest glinted in the moonlight as he fell to his knees and dropped face first into the snow. Rush’s heart leapt into his throat as unbridled pandemonium broke out behind him.

“Damn it! Cray, Nasta, keep them—”

It was too late. Panic had taken hold of their hearts, and the villagers surged past him into the forest, trampling the fallen deputy beneath their headlong charge. Nasta and Cray’s shouts were to no avail…they were gone. Cray hurried to the deputy’s body and looked back at Rush.

“He’s gone.”

Nasta grabbed Rush’s shoulder. “We’ll be too, if we don’t get the hell out of here!”

“But the villagers!” Cray shouted, taking the deputy’s sword. “They’re just kids!”

Rush hefted his spear. “There’s nothing we can do now. We have to move. Come on, or we’ll end up like him!”

They ran. Rush’s feet pounded through the churned snow. The younger villagers had disappeared into the darkness while Cray and Nasta pulled ahead. Fear was your worst enemy in the hills, and they’d become prey to it as he’d dreaded all along. Now, it was every man for himself, and he was damned if he’d end up like the others.

Ahead of him, a blood-chilling scream rent the forest air, but still he kept moving. Another, further off. Dear gods, what the hell was that thing? The ground suddenly disappeared beneath him, and he pitched head-first down a slope, crashing through bushes and bamboo, bouncing off rocks and stones before coming to a sliding halt in a half-frozen stream.

The shock of the ice-cold water quickly brought him around, as did the pain from his leg. He quickly surveyed the damage—broken by the looks of it. Rush shook his head and fell back in the snow, looking up at the sky as a wave of nausea struck him. What was he going to do now? What could he do? He was completely alone. He tried to shout for help, for Cray or Nasta. They couldn’t be that far ahead, but he was so winded that all he could manage was a strangled coughing noise.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear shouting and more screams, growing more and more distant. He began to laugh. The absurdity of life, everything that had happened to him, it was all so pointless. If only his mother could see him now! Here he was, the ‘madman of the forest’ lying in a ditch with a broken leg beside a frozen stream in the dead of night. You had to laugh. It was all part of life’s great joke; the gods must be having a field day with this one.

He lay there, consciousness beginning to fade away. So this was how it would all end, was it? They’d probably not even bother looking for him. Well, maybe Nasta and Cray would, but…Snow. He could see her in his mind’s eye, lying in his house, alone and afraid. If not for himself, he had to get back to her. She needed him. In some way, he needed her.

Rush took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. If he could bind his leg, splint it, he could…

He froze. Something had moved on the other side of the stream, a dark shape, blacker than the night that surrounded it. Partially obscured by bushes, a low rumbling, clicking sound emanated from the thing. It was looking for something, or someone. Rush kept quiet, trying to breath as little as possible. Animals had a keen sense of smell, and he prayed to whatever gods would listen that he was downwind of the beast.

He watched in fascinated horror as steam snorted out from the creature’s nostrils, white clouds curling away in the chill air, but it was the pair the of bright red eyes that drew his gaze. They were like two glowing fires, flickering like the open pits of hell. The thing stopped, sniffing the air and then turned, its gaze locking onto the broken reed worked lying by the stream.

Rush sighed. “So, you’ve shown yourself at last, have you?”

The thing clicked and hissed at him, but didn’t move.

“Come on then, you bastard, I’m here! Come on, come get me!” Rush fumbled for his reed knife, his fingers numb with the cold and probably blood loss. Whatever this thing planned for him, he’d have a piece of it. Oddly, and despite the cold fear gripping his heart…he smiled. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”

The creature took a step toward him then stopped, turning away before making a harsh, shrieking sound. A sudden flare of golden light blinded Rush, and he held his hands up to his eyes to try and shield them from its intensity. It was all too much. His body was failing him, his sight narrowing, and he knew from treating others that he was going into shock. He sighed to himself. At least he’d be able to see Blossom again soon, and that wasn’t so bad, really.

The last thing Rush saw, as the darkness began to pull him inexorably down into the depths of unconsciousness, was a pair of large purple eyes gazing down at him. They were so gentle, so full of kindness, the way the starlight caught them…

She was so…beautiful…

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Nine - River of Memories

CHAPTER NINE

RIVER OF MEMORIES

Rush drifted silently in a sea of absolute calm. It was so quiet here, peaceful; all of his worries and cares simply didn’t exist anymore. He waved his hand through the air and watched how it created ripples in the colourful, starry air around him. He wasn’t one for musing on much more than his life in the hills and the repetitive task of collecting reeds, but here, it was like the whole of creation was spread out around him and he was just…there, floating amongst the twinkling stars and galaxies.

In his mind he knew he should be frightened by this strange experience, but all he felt now was the all pervading sense that all was right, everything would work out. He smiled; if this was death, then he welcomed it with open arms. It wasn’t so bad really, at least he wasn’t cold now and all those aching joints had gone at last.

Looking around himself, he began to see images, frameless pictures floating unsupported in the air about him. Some were familiar, others not so. What were they? Rush reached out for one and found that simply by ‘willing’ himself to move, he could propel himself forward with ease. He stared at the picture before him; the figures upon it were moving. How was this happening? It was like he was staring through someone else’s eyes, through a window into another world. Rush looked closer. Images the likes of which he’d never seen showed a forest, dark and foreboding, covered in snow and…there! Yes! There was something running, shouting, and then suddenly he found himself looking at the form of a brown coated horse…no, not a horse, the word came to him…’pony’.

She somehow looked familiar; he couldn’t quite put his hoof on it either. Why was she running? She looked so scared too, as if something was chasing her. He could see the determined look in her large violet eyes; her mane and tail, almost as white as the snow through which she ran, flowing out behind her. The mare’s panniers were secured to her sides, their weight hindering her slightly, but she was fast; nothing could catch her, not even a pegasus. Voices, shouts rang out through the forest,

“There she is!”

“Dammit she’s quick!”

Shifting her weight from side to side, she could jink between the trees without slowing. It was a technique her father had taught her. He hadn’t thought his daughter would follow in his hoofsteps, but he’d been wrong. Dad would be proud of her…if she could escape, and by the goddesses she would!

An arrow whistled past her ear, disappearing into the snow bank. Goddess damn them, they were really pissed this time! Dodging down a shallow gully the mare tried to shake her pursuers, using the thick canopy and darkness to help conceal her escape route. All she needed to do was reach the cavern entrance and she’d disappear like morning dew in the sunlight.

Her hooves pounding through the snow, she grinned to herself; it wasn’t far now, the cavern was just around the next bend.

She never saw the net until she was tangled hopelessly in it, her headlong charge cut short in a mass of legs and rope. From out of the shadows at the back of the cavern, a stallion appeared, his white coat and blue eyes virtually glowing before her. She sighed, closing her eyes and smiled,

“Hello Sparky, we really ought to stop meeting like this you know. If ropes were your thing, you really should have said.”

The soldier looked down at her sadly, “Lets stop the pretence shall we Willow?”

The mare looked up at him and shrugged, “Aw, but we were having so much fun!”

“You were maybe.” He turned away for a moment, his voice lowering, “You never thought for a moment about what you were doing to me, did you? How you would destroy my career…destroy me?”

“Sparky…I”

“Don’t call me that! My names Silver Spark, I am an officer of her majesty’s Royal Guard.”

“Oh bully for you!”

He leaned down and grabbed her head with his fore hooves, staring into her eyes, “It was all just a game to you, wasn’t it? Toying with my feelings, using me, lying to me. You did all of that, just so you could…” his voice trailed off,

“Was all just a lie Willow? All of it?”

The brown mares smile disappeared as she closed her eyes, “No. Not all of it. I’m sorry Silver, but it’s what I do.”

“’It’s what you do’”, he repeated levelly.

Silver Spark gestured to several other white coated ponies behind him, all armoured alike and carrying wickedly long spears. He looked away sadly, “This is whatI do…”

He addressed the soldiers, “Bring her to the wagon, carefully. Don’t hurt her.”

“Yes, Sir”

Silver walked away, unwilling to watch any further, “Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“I loved you, you know. I still do.”

She sighed, “I know. I’m sorry…”

“So am I”

The scene faded away into the starry background. What the hell did he just see? Rush shook his head, ponies? Talking ponies? He would have laughed only…only it felt ‘right’, like this was the natural order of things, as real as cutting reeds, making roofing materials or mending your house. That was real, that was reality, but this?

He had to know more.

Propelling himself to the next picture, the scene was dark once again. Yellow lamplight flashing past in a blur, the thunder of hooves echoing down the corridors, through a door and the heavy thump as it was slammed shut and barred. Shouting and banging from the pursuers made her back away, staring it, her heart hammering in her chest. She lifted her prize and smiled, watching how the light through the tall windows caught its intricately carved surface. It was a beautiful piece in itself but it was what was inside it that intrigued her the most. Willow hadn’t been able to open the thing, but she could try that again later. Her client had paid well for this, but there was no harm in having a little peek was there?

The crossbow bolt clipped her mane, embedding itself in the door. She froze.

“Care to tell me how you got out this time?”

Captain Silver Spark sat on the short flight of stone steps, casually reloading his crossbow.

Willow’s heart skipped a beat despite her attempt at calm, “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell, Sparky.”

He stood and levelled the crossbow at her, the glow from his horn bathing the room in its blue glow, “I knew you’d come here. All the other exits are blocked, but this…you don’t know even where it will send you, do you, Willow?”

The brown mare shook her head, “No. But where there’s a will there’s a way my old dad used to say.”

“I have to stop you, you know.”

“I know.”

Willow placed the box on her back and started walking toward the stone archway.

“Don’t! Willow, please!”

Silver aimed the crossbow at her, as she continued her advance, “I’m going Sparky. Shoot if you have to, but I can’t stay here.”

“For the goddess’s sake, Willow, please, just give yourself up. I’ll speak to them on your behalf, they’ll be lenient.”

Willow kept walking, “Lenient?” she smiled sadly, “You know that’s not true Sparky. You and I both know what they do to thieves here; especially ones who steal from the princess.”

The Captain stood between the mare and the steps, placing his crossbow against her brow. Willow leaned against it,

“Can you do it, my Captain? It would be so easy you know, just a little twitch of your magic and all your problems will simply…‘disappear’.”

For a moment she actually thought he’d shoot. She’d played him, used him to gain access to the most secret areas in the castle and he’d followed her like a trained puppy. It had been all too easy, so easy to bend him to her will. She’d done it before, many, many times before. This time though, there was something different. It was his eyes, those big blue eyes. There was warmth in them, a kindness that was so much more than what those other stallions had wanted from her. She wouldn’t have minded, he was a handsome fellow after all, but he’d never so much as touched her. Silver had only ever been the perfect gentlecolt; polite, kind…loving.

That was until that night she’d drugged him and they’d…

She shook her head. Business was business, no matter how she obtained her goal, right? Willow closed her eyes. When she was younger, she’d dreamed of meeting somepony like the Captain some day, and she finally meets him like this. What a bloody foolish world; goddesses she hated it.

“Willow…”

She looked up at him, tears trickling down her cheeks. She could so easily fall into those big blue eyes of her Captain, into his embrace. In another world, another time…

The crossbow clattered to the floor as she flung herself at him, grabbing him in her forelegs and kissed him. He was resistant at first and then embraced her, the two holding each other for a moment Willow would remember, always.

“I’m sorry Sparky”, she whispered.

With a dull thump, his eyes rolled up into his head and his body went limp. Gently, Willow lowered him to the floor, her tears falling like rain onto his face,

“I love you too”

She stroked his mane and placed a kiss on his forehead,

“Remember me, my love”

There was a splintering crash behind her as the soldiers finally broke in,

“There she is! Grab her!”

Willow reared up before the silvery light of the portal. Laughing, she let out a loud neigh,

“See you later, chumps!”

With a burst of light, the brown mare leapt through the portal and into the unknown.

Rush trotted over to the next picture, he wanted to see what happened to the mare, to Willow. All his focus was on her now. Who was she?

The image was a dramatic change from the last two. It was a forest again, a woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes, stumbling through the snow. She was cold, shivering and clearly frightened. The world around her was so strange, so alien to her. The woman lifted up her hands and stared at them as if she’d never seen such things before. There was crash and shouting, horses hooves thundering through the trees all around her. She sheltered behind one as a group of soldiers charged though the trees, flowing around her like a river around a rock. Swords flashed in the moonlight, the shouting, screams and neighing so loud they made her put her hands over her ears and close her eyes.

As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The woman looked up at the armoured warrior standing over her. He took off his helmet and reached down to help her up. Silently, she looked into his eyes and nodded, allowing him to help her onto his horse and slowly, the two of them rode off into the night.

The scene changed.

The woman lay propped up with her back against a pile of pillows, several other women standing around her rushed about with towels and bowls of steaming water. She was in pain, sweating and crying out through gritted teeth. Her white shift had been pulled up around her waist and was sticking uncomfortably to her. The woman shouted and swore, encouraged by the others to give one last effort, one last big push. With a loud scream, her efforts were rewarded with the gurgling cries of a newborn. It was a boy. One of the women deftly cleaned him up and passed him to the exhausted mother. Like her, he had a mop of dark brown hair and big brown eyes that took in the world around him in wonderment. She looked down into his little scrunched up face and smiled, tears filling her eyes,

“I think I’ll call you…‘Rush’”.

The images winked out of existence, leaving Rush floating in the starry void, his mind a swirling mass of confusion and disbelief. Willow…his mothers name was Willow, she had named him. The pony was also called Willow, but the two couldn’t have been the same, surely? Of course not! How foolish.

“Rush?”

A feminine voice drifted to him through the starry void, making him turn around to find its source. There was no-one there, had he imagined it?

“Rush? I’m going to going to bring you back now. Please, don’t be afraid. Everything is going to be alright.”

He twisted and turned, but still couldn’t see anyone, “Who are you?” he called, “Where am I?”

The voice came back, gentle and calming, almost motherly, “You don’t need to worry about that, dearest Rush. You’re safe, now. I’ve done what I can to heal your body, but I can’t keep you here too long or you could lose yourself. Follow my voice and come to me.”

“I don’t understand!” he cried out, his heart beginning to race.

“Shhh, its alright my dear Rush. Listen to my voice, let your mind and heart follow it back, back to your own self. You are safe now, let go of your fear. I will protect you.”

Rush didn’t know what the voice was talking about, but he knew in the deepest part of his heart he could trust her. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to reach out to the voice as it began to sing. The voice sang of warm days in the summer, the sun in the sky and the lush grass of the meadows. The water was fresh and pure, the breeze gentle and kind. Birds sang in the trees and the goddess called to him, bringing him home. Home…

He awoke with a start, coughing and gasping for breath. It was dark, save for the light of from the low fire and a single lantern. Rush felt a surge of panic, he was on the floor in his hut, how had he got here? Oh gods!

“SNOW!” he yelled and tried to sit up. Looking about himself wildly, Rush’s heart was in his throat, where was she? He had to help her!

A slender white leg reached out and gently pushed him back down, “Shhh, hush now. Rest, close your eyes and sleep.”

The voice was so soft, like the lightest down. Rush could feel his heart rate slowing, his vision blurring,

“Snow…”

He felt someone stroking his hair as he drifted off into sleep,

“I’m here little one. Rest now, I’ll still be here in the morning. Let all your pain and fear fly away as you drift into the land of dreams…”

Chapter Ten - Defiance

CHAPTER TEN

DEFIANCE

Thorn galloped as hard as he could. Three of his warriors kept pace alongside him, while high above, another two skimmed just below the cloud layer, scanning the ground ahead.

“There! She’s over there!”

They’d watched her fall, seen the great war dragon smash into the princess like a scaled sledgehammer, throwing her down toward the unforgiving ground. In the swirl of smoke and flare of magic, he’d lost track of her, but now they had sight of their quarry once more.

The leader of the Celestians was within his grasp. If he could reach her, bring her before the goddess, then all this carnage and horror would finally be at an end.

Celestia, the great pretender to the throne of Equestria. Their goddess had told them of her betrayal, how the white alicorn had sought to destroy all those who lived in peace beneath the silver light of the moon. She would annihilate them all: every stallion, every mare, right down to the last foal. It would end tonight, and this war, this dreadful cycle of death and killing, would finally be brought to a close.

Thorn heard the distinct clash of steel before he saw her. The white form of the princess was a blur as she raced into the forest, two warriors already fallen in her wake.

“Keep together! Stay alert, but don’t harm her. The goddess wants her alive!” Thorn’s shout was echoed by his warriors as they raced into the darkness of the forest’s interior.

In seconds, they’d caught up with the princess, one of her soldiers already attempting to lead her away back to whatever was left of their army. In a single fluid movement, one of Thorn’s warriors halted, raised his crossbow, and shot. Without making even the slightest sound, the white-coated stallion fell dead at his princess’ hooves, the bolt taking his life in an instant.

Holding out his hoof, Storm Major Thorn halted his troops advance. The heavily-armoured warriors snorted and pawed the ground, but remained where they stood. A veteran of many campaigns, Thorn knew this was a highly volatile situation and one he had to gain control of, or else things could get out of hoof very quickly.

He tried to reason with her, but his words meant nothing to the white mare—she just wouldn’t listen. Despite being his enemy, Thorn respected her. She was proud, brave, a magnificent creature who radiated strength like the sun on her flank, but there was also a stubborn streak that frustrated his attempts to defuse the situation.

Celestia let out a scream of defiance and charged them with her halberd raised. Even with her magic depleted and an injured wing, she was a deadly opponent.

In mere moments, only Celestia, Thorn, and one of his warriors remained standing. All of them were injured; nothing too serious, but Thorn wasn’t as young as he once was, and his muscles were already starting to ache from the desperate fighting. He had to put an end this quickly, or else…

Catching his breath, Thorn spoke, “Princess, surrender to us. Lay down your weapon, and I promise upon my honour that you will not be harmed.”

Celestia was breathing hard, but still managed to give him a look of pure loathing. “You think I can take the word of one of your kind, thestral? You are murderers, killers, all of you! ALL OF YOU! Your words hide the poison the flows within your soul!”

Thorn shook his head. “Don’t be so damned foolish! There’s been too much killing today already. See sense, Princess, please.”

She curled her lip, sneering. “I hear your words, but your lies betray you, creature of the night. Your princess would never spare my life, or that of my people. Her heart is as black as the armour on your back.”

The Storm Major lowered his weapon. “Princess Celestia, please, I want this to be over as much as you. Your army is lost, your cause is lost. Maybe now, together with the goddess, you can—”

“NO!” The warrior beside Thorn suddenly raised his crossbow. “You can’t believe them—they’re Celestians! And she’s the leader of them all! They have to die so we can live. You heard what the goddess said!”

Thorn opened his mouth to speak, but it was too late. He saw the thestral pull the release lever, heard the thwack of the cord as it snapped forward, propelling the quarrel straight at the princess’ heart.

In the blink of an eye, Celestia flicked her halberd up, deflecting the deadly projectile away into the trees. Less than a heartbeat later, the Major spun, bucking the impetuous young warrior to the ground.

“You damned fool!” he hissed, turning back to princess.

He had to try and calm the situation down, to make her see the reality of her plight. The last thing he wanted now was a fight to the death with such a majestic mare. Celestia might be the enemy of his people, the leader of their armies, but she was still the sister of his goddess, and he had his orders to take her back alive and unharmed. Orders he would follow to the letter.

“Celestia…”

Thorn’s words never reached her. The princess was no longer looking at him. Instead, she was staring intently past his shoulder. He sighed. Behind him, he could already hear the shouts and distinct rumble of approaching hooves. Another group of his troops were catching up. Soon the forest would be swarming with Nightmare Moon’s soldiers, and Celestia would have nowhere to run. So why was she grinning at him?

A golden corona of light suddenly enveloped the princess, accompanied by a high-pitched whine that assailed Thorn’s ears making him flinch. Whatever it was grew in alarming intensity until, with a loud pop, a large silvery opening appeared beside her, suspended in mid-air. He’d seen their like before. Portals, rents in the world similar to those used by Nightmare Moon to bring him and his warriors into Equestria. They always made him shudder—he didn’t entertain magic. His world was one of muscle, bone, and sinew; that was what you could trust. Magic was a strange force he had never known, and as a warrior, he liked to know his enemy.

It all happened in less than a heartbeat. The white alicorn reared, then leapt headlong through the bright silver hole in the world, disappearing into whatever lay beyond its liquid surface.

Before Thorn could stop him, the younger warrior had picked himself up and threw himself through the portal after the princess. Thorn shook his mane.

“Damned fool!” he spat and charged after them through the portal, and into the unknown.

Around him, bright colours flowed, making his stomach lurch horribly. If only for a brief moment, the world appeared to go out of focus and then slam back in around him. Only a few yards away, the princess was already engaged in a pitched battle with the younger thestral. The warrior was good, both fast and strong, his axe used as both a thrusting and cutting weapon against Celestia’s halberd.

The alicorn tried to keep her distance, but in this strange forest, her ability to move was hampered by peculiarly thin trees the likes of which Thorn had never seen. Other than the strange plant life, though, it wasn’t that dissimilar to Equestria. The moon was high above them, casting its pale light upon the combatants as their breath steamed in the bitterly cold air. Thorn snorted. It was obviously winter here. He’d have to watch his hoofing if he was to try and stop this madness before they killed each other.

Celestia grunted as she took the blow from the thestral’s axe and flicked it around, cracking him hard on the side of the head. The clang as it struck his armour resounded around the forest, and Thorn took his chance. He raised his own weapon and shoved the dazed younger thestral to one side, catching the princess’ thrust that would have surely impaled the foolish youth who had impetuously attacked her.

“Your Majesty, please, stop this!”

She snarled, backing up a step before lashing out with a buck that he barely avoided. Damn her, this wasn’t going to end well. If only he could wear her down to the point that he could—

Without warning, the young warrior roughly shoved the major out of the way, causing him to stagger past the princess, who nimbly dodged out of the way to avoid colliding with him. She didn’t see the incoming strike before it was too late. Unable to parry in time, Celestia cried out as the axe caught her armour, taking the princess off her hooves and slamming her through the trees.

Thorn shouted angrily at the soldier. “Stand down! In the name of the goddess, I order you to lower your axe, warrior.”

He didn’t listen. Whether through the excitement of battle or deliberately ignoring his superior officer, the thestral pressed his attack. Celestia was back up on her hooves in moments, the two of them wheeling, dodging, and trading blow for blow. Both of them were tiring, blood loss and fatigue showing all too clearly. The princess’s magic occasionally flickered as if she were trying to use it, but of the lethal beams of magical energy he’d seen her use in the battle against her sister and the dragons, there was no sign.

The three stood staring at each other, each trying to take stock of the other. Celestia was tired but kept her weapon at the ready, her eyes alive and keen. Thorn was impressed. The princess was the commensurate warrior: proud, strong, and willing to stand even against greater numbers.

This had to end…now.

Thorn stood between the two of them, putting himself, he knew, in mortal danger. Standing side on, either of them could effortlessly cut him down and there would be little he could do to stop them.

“What…What are you doing, you old fool?” the young warrior hissed at him, leaning heavily on his axe. “Have you lost your mind? The enemy is here!”

Thorn shook his head. “Be silent, boy! Your stupidity and arrogance is what has brought us to this. Now, you will obey my orders as a warrior of the goddess, or I will strike you down myself?!”

He glared at the young one, his eyes flaring brightly and teeth bared. The warrior backed off, hanging his head slightly. He wasn’t completely cowed, but it would have to do for now. The major turned to the princess, who looked back at him through bloodshot purple eyes. She was worn out, emotionally and physically. Fresh blood stood out in stark contrast against the pure white of her coat, running down her legs, flank, neck… Goddesses, it was all over her.

“I have asked before, Princess, but I ask once more. Surrender yourself to me and I will assure your safety.”

She laughed, spitting a glob of blood at his feet. “And I expect you think I will believe you, thestral?”

“No. No, I don’t.” The major sighed. “I want you to because, as much as you may hate me, as much as our people have killed one another, I bear you no ill will. You are the sister of our goddess, and she has commanded you be brought to her unharmed.”

“GODDESS?!” Celestia shouted, staggering back into one of the trees. “She is no goddess! She’s nothing but a delusional young child, one who’s given herself in to the embrace of darkness because of vanity and pride!”

Thorn shook his mane. “I know all too well about the pain of rivalry within a family, Princess. My own brother struck down my father in battle, and I in turn had to take his life, many moons ago.” He gave his mane a shake. If this didn’t work, he would never see his homeland again, let alone Equestria.

The major lowered his axe. “Princess, as a show of my sincerity, I…”

Thorn stopped. Behind him, he heard an animalistic growling, his nostrils catching the acrid scent of something he was all too familiar with.

“Oh, you little fool…”

He grabbed his axe and swung up, deflecting the blow from the warrior who had now lost all ability to distinguish between friend and foe. His eyes were glazed, smoking foam dripping from his mouth. The bloody idiot had done it, hadn’t he?

The young thestral let out a low laugh. “Blasphemy…” He took a deep breath and hissed. “Both of you, you filthy heretics, you dare to blaspheme our beloved goddess? I will take your lives in the name of Nightmare Moon!”

The major had seen this before, during his first battle with a neighbouring tribe. At the time, the use of stimulants had been readily accepted as a way to enhance a warrior’s strength, endurance, and reaction time. None had predicted the way their prolonged use would lead to addiction and eventual permanent psychosis. They’d been banned, of course, all the tribes agreeing on this single important issue. Every thestral knew of the danger, but some still sought it out, making their own in secret or buying it from those willing to risk execution if caught.

He should have realised the lad was a user back in Equestria. All the signs had been there; the impaired reason, the disregard for authority. Had Thorn’s mind become addled with age? He had to do what he could now, not just to stop the fool from killing the princess, but to protect his own life.

With a scream of rage, the young warrior threw himself at the princess. Thorn tried to block him but was smashed aside as if he were no more substantial than a breath of wind. He crashed into the ground, pulling himself back up in time to see the princess fighting for her life. Thorn bellowed and charged, his axe cleaving a gash through the young thestral’s armour, making him jump back and unleash a blast of fire right into the major’s face.

Thorn lifted his axe to shield himself from the flames, never seeing the upper swing of the incoming blow that sent him to his haunches. Pain lanced through him, making him grit his teeth. He’d tried to avoid killing the youth, but he had no choice now. The boy was gone, lost in a battle fury that wouldn’t end until he’d killed every living thing in sight. That was always the problem with those damned powders. How many had killed their own comrades because of their use?

The major refocused and hefted his axe. This was it then, was it? Thestrals killing their own once again?

He caught his breath and looked for Celestia. The princess was down, lying in the snow a few yards away, with her halberd lying beneath her. Was she dead? No, he could see her breathing despite the snow now coming down around them like rain, thick white rain, muffling everything beneath its gentle embrace.

The major forgotten, the young warrior advanced on the true object of his hatred. Lifting his axe high above his head, he bared his teeth and smiled sadistically. With a wordless cry, the axe descended.

Steel clashed against steel. Thorn threw his weight into the attack, throwing the other thestral’s blow clear of the downed alicorn. The younger warrior reared, shaken momentarily by the unexpected assault by his officer and turned to face him. Snarling in blind hatred, he lunged, swinging his weapon which Thorn barely dodged before he was able to press his own attack home.

The two wheeled around each other, trading blows. The younger thestral was fast, his youthful strength given an unnatural edge by the drugs flowing through his system. The major, himself toned through years of harsh life in the Beyond and countless battles, had experience on his side, and slowly, gradually, began to gain the upper hoof.

That experience now fought hoof to hoof with blind rage, steel flashing back and forth in the moonlight, until fate intervened. A rock, hidden beneath the snow, caused Thorn to stumble as he parried the last swing from his opponent. With a scream of triumph, the young warrior brought his axe down, smashing through the major’s helmet and slicing down the side of his face. Blinded by blood and pain, the major glimpsed his one chance of salvation lying half-buried in the snow, and crawled for it.

The younger warrior now made the worst mistake he could have made: he paused to gloat. “Ready to die, old one? I’ll finish you and take the bitch’s head back to our people a hero. I’ll have proved myself in battle, while your traitorous corpse can rot here in this hole.”

Thorn crawled painfully, slowly, across the ground. “And how do you think you’re going to get back there, boy? Know magic, do you?”

The other sneered, looking down his muzzle at the fallen form of his officer. “I’ll find a way, or our goddess will find me. Unlike you, I have faith in our divine princess.”

The major spat out blood on the snow. “Oh, I have faith in the goddess, boy, more than you know.”

Laughing the young warrior hefted his axe. “Pah! Look at you! Great Storm Major Thorn, hero of the Beyond.” He narrowed his eyes. “Crawling on the ground like the gutter rat you are.”

Thorn looked up at him, shaking his head in dismay. “That’s always been the problem with you children…” The other warrior cocked his head, his eyes suddenly going wide as he finally focused on the heavy crossbow held in the major’s hooves. “…You talk too much.” Thorn pulled the release lever.

With a loud thwack, the bolt flew straight and true, slamming into the chest of the other warrior. The stallion screamed in pain and tried to pull it out with his teeth. Thorn picked himself up and grabbed his axe, advancing on him. Grabbing the shaft in his teeth, the young one ripped out the bolt and backed away, blood trickling down his black coat. In an act of desperation, he blasted another gout of flame at Thorn before turning tail, fleeing into the darkness of the forest.

Silence fell.

Dropping his axe, Thorn sank to his haunches and hissed in pain. That damnable child! He’d nearly done him in. By the goddess’ grace, he was getting old. A few years ago he’d have taken that fool’s head in an instant, but now…now he could feel his years creeping up on him. In the Beyond, those who couldn’t fight didn’t last long. It was one of the hopes he had for the new order of things, to bring his people out of that endless cycle of blood and suffering, to show them the light of a new world.

And here, at his hooves, lay the key to it all. He looked down at her, the snow now beginning to cover the white mare completely. What was he to do? In his haste, he hadn’t thought about how he was going to get back home. Could he—

Something was coming.

Off in the distance, he could hear the sound of an animal approaching, something on two legs, not four. Whatever it was made an attempt at remaining quiet, but to his ears, it was a clear as a bell. Thorn cursed his luck. He was in no condition to fight now—his wounds were slowing him down and he was losing blood. Damn it! His prize was so close, but if he were to die now…

He made his decision. Hefting his axe, slowly, painfully, the major dragged himself off into the forest where he could observe the newcomer unseen. He reloaded the crossbow, sitting on his haunches and watched the clearing intently. If it looked like it would attack the princess, he would shoot. If not, well, if there was one thing he had in abundance, it was patience. He would have his prize, and the goddess would bestow upon him the greatest treasure of all…

Her smile.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Eleven - Voices on the Breeze

CHAPTER ELEVEN

VOICES ON THE BREEZE

The princess slowly opened her eyes, carefully allowing the barest trickle of light to filter in. Quietly, she took stock of where she was. If somepony was here, she didn’t want to startle them and provoke a possible reaction she wasn’t ready for.

Celestia relaxed, stretching out her senses into the room. There was very little sound here, only the occasional snap from the fire beside her that had burned low. By the looks of it, it had been unattended for some time.

She was in a shack or hut of some kind apparently. The shutters were closed, but a small amount of daylight still managed to filter in through the cracks. It wasn’t much, but fortunately an oil lamp sitting on a low table nearby offered more, allowing her to better see her surroundings. She was alone.

From outside came the occasional muffled sound of snow dropping from the roof, but there were no signs of life nearby that she could detect. Where was she? Celestia closed her eyes and felt for anything wrong with her body, any abnormalities, any pain. There was none, or at least very little. She breathed a sigh of relief. Somepony had brought her here, one who was clearly skilled in the arts of healing and helped her. The princess smiled. Kindness was not just limited to ponies after all, it seemed, but who was her mysterious host?

Carefully flexing muscles that hadn’t been used for… she didn’t know how long, Celestia closed her eyes and tried to stand. Everything ached: her legs, her neck, each muscle and joint sending its own voice to the symphony of discomfort that assailed her. With a final heave, she managed to stand, albeit a little wobbly. Not bad, all things considered. The princess checked herself over more thoroughly. Healed and still healing wounds covered her from muzzle to rump. Some looked quite serious too, or had been. However, the stitching and herbal work was superb. She eyed the neat needlework and gave a light chuckle. She couldn’t have done better herself!

Still, there was the very immediate question of where she was, and most importantly, how to get home. Celestia could feel her magic was still very weak. It wasn’t nearly strong enough to open another portal to home. Normally, she wouldn’t have overexerted herself the way she had, but the surprise attack by that dragon queen had nearly been the end of her. Add to that her flight to forest, opening a dimensional portal and…

She shook her mane. No, it didn’t do to muse too much. She was lucky to be alive, and alive she was. It was a good starting point. But, gods, she was so thirsty! She sniffed the air, her sensitive nose detecting the smell of…food. At least, it was something that could feasibly be considered food. Good grief, did ponies actually eat this? Celestia’s stomach growled and rumbled ominously. It suddenly seemed a lot more appetising than it had at first, and she fell upon it with abandon.

There was no decorum here. The princess ate like a creature possessed, dropping to her haunches and lifting the bowl in her hooves, licking every last piece. It was delicious!

Whatever it had been was certainly unfamiliar, but the flavour and delicate touch with the herbs went far beyond her expectations. The water too, it was so pure, cool, full of life… She drank it down greedily.

Still thirsty, Celestia noticed the water barrel in the corner of the room and trotted over to it. Pulling open the lid, she plunged her muzzle inside, taking in great mouthfuls of the life-giving nectar, feeling it restoring and replenishing her. She shivered; it was cold! However, at this rate, and with some good rest, her magic would recover in no time.

The princess let out a little burp, covering her mouth with a hoof shyly. “Pardon!”

She smiled to herself. There was nopony here to see her lack of decorum, so what did it matter? Come to think of it, how long had she been here? There’d been a fight, two of those things…

Celestia gritted her teeth. They’d come to capture her, or kill her, but they’d fought one another instead. Ridiculous beasts, more animal than sentient being, and as foul a thing as Nightmare Moon could have conjured. Celestia picked up a cloth, dipped it in a bowl of water, and wiped herself down the best she could. She’d quickly noticed her normally vibrant mane and tail were a dull pink here in this world. Lifting the hair up in her hooves, she clicked her tongue. Lifeless. She shrugged it off. With her magic so depleted and the magical field of this world still an unknown, Celestia was unable to tap into its natural resources to help replenish her. Time would do that for her, of course, but it still felt decidedly uncomfortable.

A faint smell of something floral caught her nose. What was that, lavender? No, not lavender, but something nice. Whatever it was smelt wonderful! Her host, whoever it was, had really cared for her, even going to far as to wash her mane and tail. She’d have to find out more. This pony, or whatever it was, knew herbs and knew them well. They would be a fine asset to the Celestian forces back home. She tapped a hoof against her chin, her mind pondering the possibilities.

Celestia stopped suddenly, her eyes falling on the armour piled up by the wall, her halberd leaning against it, with her blanket draped over the rafters above. The dark stains, still visible despite the best efforts of her kindly host to clean it, clearly showed the ferocity of the fighting. She’d nearly died, and so many of her own people had died. Was this what it had all come to? War, killing, so many dead, so many whose homes and lives had been destroyed, and for what? What in Equestria was it all for?

That thestral, the older one had said something. What was it now? Oh, yes.

“Don’t be so damned foolish. There’s already been too much killing today. See sense, Princess.”

Celestia repeated the words to herself and sighed. Was it really so simple? To give herself up to her sister to save further suffering and pain for her people, or would it allow the darkness within Luna to consume her completely, turning the world into a true place of hate and nightmares? She didn’t know. Everything seemed so confused right now. The princess yawned. She needed to rest.

Making herself comfortable, Celestia snuggled into the reed bedding. The smell of the natural material was surprisingly comforting; a fresh, natural scent that made her feel at ease. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. She was so tired…

Dreams didn’t come this time, only the distant sounds of cries and shouts of fear. Gods, they were so real; faint, yet almost… Couldn’t they leave her alone? She knew how they had suffered, she knew! They didn’t need to…

Celestia opened her eyes. Those sounds… They weren’t in her dreams; they were real!

From far away, although it was hard to tell for certain in this cabin, she could distinctly hear the screams and shouting of creatures in distress. Carried to her on the wind, she could make out one voice in particular, a voice she remembered from her fever dreams, one full of compassion and selfless devotion. Whoever he was, he needed her help, and Celestia would be damned if she’d stand here and do nothing.

The princess gazed at her armour for a moment, before discounting it with a huff and grabbing her spear. Lightweight it may be, but she didn’t want anything to hamper her movements, and she was all too aware of her still weakened state. Celestia’s magic had recovered enough to allow her to use her telekinesis, but even that was a bare shadow of its usual strength. It wasn’t enough for prolonged fighting, but it was better than nothing. She stomped a hoof, testing its strength. She could fight using her hooves like an earth pony. Muscle and brawn would be her magic this day. With a loud neigh, she flung the door open and headed off into the night, following the cries that still echoed across the snow-laden hills.

The wind was beginning to pick up, collecting the loose top layer of dry snow and blowing it around, stinging her eyes. Celestia shook her head. This was no night to be out. If somepony was injured and lying out here alone, they wouldn’t survive until morning. A shriek from somewhere off in the distance made her start. What was that? It sounded familiar, and yet…

It came again, louder this time, only now it was accompanied by another answering cry from further away. Small padded tracks in the snow gave her pause, and she snorted in irritation. Foxes. Their eerie, screeching calls always made her hackles go up, and out here their barking shrieks carried for miles. She was probably mistaken then. All that panic, and for a fox! Her rescuer was most likely already back at the shack, wondering where his ungrateful charge had galloped off to in the dead of night.

“Some show of gratitude that would be,” she muttered to herself, turning back the way she came.

The moon was bright tonight, but it was no Equestrian orb that bathed the forest in its wan glow. In her desperation to escape the enemy soldiers, she’d rushed the rift spell and ended up…where? If this wasn’t Equestria, then where was she?

Her ears pricked up. There was that sound again! No fox this time—no, this was something else altogether. Whatever it was, it was also accompanied by a snapping, crashing noise like a heavy object falling through foliage, and finally ending in a watery splash. Celestia lifted her head and tried to locate its source. From what she could tell, it was definitely nearby. With a quick shake of her mane, she was off again, galloping as fast as her tired legs would allow.

White snow, mixed with the rich soil of the forest floor, kicked up behind her hooves as she ran. It was close now, but there other sounds as well: cries for help and the rumbling of many creatures fleeing in terror. She pulled up, her heart racing. Why was she doing this?! Running towards danger? That was surely what she was doing right now, and it ran contrary to everything instinctual within her. She was still recovering from the last fight, and her injuries ached and pulled uncomfortably. In fact, she was convinced she’d opened some of them again. A quick check revealed a few had, but nothing too serious, thank goodness.

Celestia took a deep breath, settling her mind, and looked about her. This was where the sound seemed to come from, but it was deathly quiet here, and there was no sign of…

A black shape ahead of her moved against the backdrop of the forest, a distinctly ‘pony’ shape. The princess sniffed, wrinkling her nose. She could smell the beast’s foul stink from here, carried to her on the chill breeze. Immediately, she knew what it was without even seeing the thing clearly. Murderers, killers… it was one of those accursed beasts from the Wither world. Celestia felt a surge of anger run through her as she stared hatred at the evil thing.

“Thestral,” she hissed.

It hadn’t seen her. For some reason it was staring straight ahead at something, or rather down at something. It was hard to see in this light, but there was the distinct sound of running water and a dark gash in the landscape that was probably a ditch or gully of some description. The beast had cornered its prey. The princess narrowed her eyes. She knew enough about the nature of these otherworldly warriors to know that whatever was down there would be killed without mercy, without compunction.

Unless she did something to prevent it.

The thestral took a step forward, its glowing eyes casting a fiery red tint to the white snow, advancing on its quarry. Concentrating her magic reserves, the princess lifted her halberd and charged. One quick thrust and the thing would fall—all she needed to do was get in close. There was only one of them this time, the other probably hunting more hapless victims while this one murdered yet another innocent.

Celestia had never hated before. That was an emotion that her parents had always warned her to be on her guard about. If only Luna had taken that lesson to heart, if only she’d listened. All of this, all of the horror that had been unleashed on their world would never have happened. Now, now it was happening in this one. She would be damned if she’d allow these monsters to cause any more pain here. They would be stopped, and if that meant risking her life to do so then… so be it.

Her thrust missed its mark. The golden glow of her magic had given her away, the thestral ducking just in time to avoid being impaled on her wickedly sharp halberd. Shockingly, rather than retaliate, the beast turned tail and ran off into the forest, disappearing like a ghost into the darkness. Celestia stood there, holding her weapon in her hooves and breathed in the night air. Why would it do that? Dirty cowards, all of them.

A soft moan from the gully drew her attention. There, lying in a heap and half-buried under branches, rocks, and snow, was the broken body of a living creature; the target of the thestral’s interest, whatever it was. She snorted and looked closer. It was a bipedal being, clothed, and obviously hurt. Friend or foe, she wasn’t sure, though at the back of her mind there was a familiarity that niggled just out of reach. Did she know this creature? Stepping carefully down the low embankment, Celestia crossed the shallow stream and leaned forward, sniffing the odd creature. It definitely smelt familiar, a memory of…kindness, caring, gentle words, and…tears? She lifted up a hoof to her face and stared at it. Was she crying?

The creature was trying desperately to speak, but its strength was failing before her very eyes.

She leaned closer and spoke. “Can you hear me? Who are you?”

The thing’s face was cut and grazed, covered in mud from the fall. The embankment on this side was a lot steeper than the one she’d come down herself, and this creature must had come down hard.

It opened its mouth, and she listened intently. “S…Snow.”

Snow? She looked about herself. There was plenty of it here, but why ‘Snow’? It didn’t matter of course. What really did right then was helping this poor thing and getting it back to the shack where she could provide it with some shelter and warmth.

Half-closed brown eyes looked up into hers. “Snow…”

She smiled. “Hold on now, I’m here. Everything’s going to be alright.”

It smiled at her and closed its eyes, passing out.

Celestia managed to pull the creature onto her back and began the long walk back to the shack. Following her hoofsteps from earlier was foal’s play, but she was conscious of keeping a steady pace in case she caused further injury to the already hurt ‘thing’. What was it? It looked like a kind of intelligent monkey or ape. She’d seen similar in Equestria, but none with the intelligence that this being clearly had. It was clothed, it could speak, and it was capable of making and using tools by the look of the long knife hanging from its belt. She’d removed that. No sense in risking harm to herself, or… was it male? It smelled male, and that familiar scent too. It smelled of the shack, the herbs. She nodded to herself. That was it! He must be the one who had cared for her when she was hurt!

A wave of warmth rushed through her. Tonight hadn’t turned out nearly as badly as she thought it might. If nothing else, now she could repay the kindness of one who had given her shelter and care when she could so easily have perished in the cold of this alien world. Another thought struck her. In some ways, it was her fault he’d been hurt. If she hadn’t panicked and jumped through the rift into his world, if the thestrals hadn’t followed her through, then…then he wouldn’t have been hurt. She sighed. There was no sense in dwelling on the past. What mattered was now, and now this one needed her.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twelve - Thirst

CHAPTER TWELVE

THIRST

Rush drifted in and out of consciousness, a strange dream-like state that was oddly comforting. He felt so tired, like he hadn’t slept in days. He’d done that before, when he was a lot younger, trying to get as many bundles ready for market as he could whilst working through the night. It hadn’t been the best idea he’d had. Most of the bundles had actually sold, but he had also ended up with a large amount left over that he had then needed to cart home again. Once they’d dried out, the reeds were still usable, but fresh always proved best. People loved the smell of the cut reeds. The scent made your home feel a little more, well, homely, he supposed.

He was probably getting cynical as he grew older, though. The smell was so familiar now that he’d forgotten how much folk liked it. It was all too easy to overlook the good things in your life and focus only on the bad. Right now, though, he did have a focus, one that made him feel warm inside. Rush smiled to himself and sighed, thinking back to those large purple eyes. How he could have gazed at them for hours; they made his heart sing like a meadow lark in spring. If he was truly honest with himself, he hadn’t felt like this since… ever, really.

Rush hated weakness, at least in himself at any rate. He’d always pushed himself and worked hard, dedicating himself to his work, regardless of whether it was practicing healing or reed-working. It was all the same to him. It was the strange dream he’d had of the girl, the one with the sleek white leg and gentle voice, the kindly… hoof? Nah! He chuckled to himself. Ah, he really had become the ‘madman of the hills’ after all, living in a delusionary world he’d conjured up in his addled mind. Still, if he could see her again, he wouldn’t mind so much being a little… unhinged.

What tickled at the back of his mind was how familiar she’d seemed, that pure white leg, or arm, or whatever. It didn’t matter particularly, but then, if he awoke and she wasn’t there, what then? The thought of her not being there… By the gods, he couldn’t bear the thought of that. Maybe, just maybe, what he had seen had actually been one of the forest spirits or even one of the gods that had come to help him in his hour of need.

He smiled. It was a foolish notion. He didn’t believe in that whole ‘spirit and god’ superstition anyway. That was the sort of nonsense those twits in the village were obsessed with, lighting their incense and saying prayers to someone or something that didn’t exist in the first place. Did they? Now he wasn’t so sure.

The needs of his body suddenly assailed him, a raging thirst grabbing him as he drifted back into a near-conscious state. He was so thirsty…

Rush was dimly aware of cooling water splashing on his face and then a gentle voice, from what felt like a mile away, caressing his ears. Try as he might, he couldn’t make out the words, but now something was lifting his head. There was a sense of warmth, like soft lips, pressing against his, water trickling into his parched mouth and throat. Rush drank it down greedily. A few moments later, the sensation was back, more water entering him, mingling together with a spicy aroma that made his heart leap. What was this?

Light, faint but alluring, filtered in through his dry eyes. He had to see, he had to know, where was she? He had to help her, she—

He coughed, his voice still painfully dry. “Snow…”

“I’m here, little one. Are you still thirsty?”

It hurt so much to speak, despite the water. “Yes…Yes, please…”

The arms carefully enveloped him once more, and he was gently lifted to what felt like a cup held to his parched lips.

“Drink, slowly now… That’s right, like that.”

He took in the water carefully as she instructed. His body cried out to gulp it down, but she had commanded and he would obey her. For some reason, he couldn’t think of doing anything else when he heard that beautiful voice.

Rush felt a cloth wiping his face, recognising the herb-infused water that he’d used to help wash Snow when he’d first tended her. All thoughts of his own problems began to seem like dust in the wind when he thought of that beautiful creature. She had filled his heart, but…

“Sleep now. Rest. I will be here beside you through the night, my brave one.”

The warm arms lowered him carefully back down onto a pillow of the softest down, a warm blanket tucked in around him. Vaguely, Rush was aware of something, or someone, laying down beside him. He knew it was her. He could smell her scent, hear her breathing, in and out… in and out. She was stroking his hair and humming a tune he knew, but had never heard before. He sighed, drifting off peacefully into the world or dreams.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Fourteen - Brother against Brother

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER

Thorn winced as he pulled on the last piece of his armour. The wounds would heal well enough in time, but he’d carry their scars for the rest of his days, just like the rest of them. Each one was a reminder of a fight, a battle, where life and death had been constantly in the balance. He’d been lucky so far—most thestrals didn’t live as long as he—but it was only a matter of time before he came across one a little fitter, a little faster, that shade more experienced, and then it would all be over. His brothers would sing his soul to the afterlife, and then Storm Major Thorn would be nothing more than a name in the annals of the tribe’s history.

He reached up to the raw cut down the side of his face. It was clean, thank the goddess, and healing well despite how it had looked at first. That fool child had nearly blinded him, and he was damned lucky he hadn’t lost his sight. Only another half inch or so and that would have been it.

The major sighed. What the hell had possessed the lad to take haj? That cursed mixture was known for having dangerously unpredictable effects on warriors, and on occasion, the battle fever could even become permanent. He shook his head. Of course the young warrior he’d brought with him had to be the one who went berserk and now, as his officer, Thorn was honour-bound to take responsibility for him. He would have the one who would have to stop him before he killed again.

Thorn spat on the ground, cursing his luck. He was getting too old for this stupidity!

At least he’d found the princess, though, or rather that monkey creature had. It had simply been a case of following them back to that shack in the woods. Worryingly, the creature had been in there with her for a while now, and his mind was beginning to conjure up all sorts of terrible images. What if he’d killed her? What if he’d…?

He shook his head. No, that wouldn’t have…could it?

Thorn rubbed his aching limbs. He’d rested in the forest, tending to his wounds and foraging for what sparse food sources there were out in this strange land, even managing to catch several fish. He sat down to eat them when he heard movement further back in the trees. Peering through the undergrowth, he saw him, the monkey thing, a sickle held in its claw. It was collecting herbs by looks of it.

Curiosity took him, and before he knew it, Thorn found that he’d stepped out of cover, and the thing looked up at him. He’d cursed himself for that. Stealth wasn’t really the thestral way, but it was still a part of their most basic of skills. And here he was, standing in plain view like a bloody clueless foal!

The thing had started walking away from him, back up to its shack, but it was obvious from its scent and the way it walked that it knew he was there. Thorn was no fool, but he wanted to know what had happened to Celestia, he had to know! He’d capture the thing and have it tell him what it had done to her. If it had hurt her…

Damn! He’d spooked it. The monkey was running now, making for the hut. Thorn picked up speed, but his wounds were slowing him down considerably. Hellfire, if he wasn’t in such poor condition, he’d have been on the thing in a heartbeat. As it was, the two-legged thing was outpacing him! His wings were still injured and useless in the confines of the forest, so leg power was the order of the day.

Thorn applied a burst of speed, closing the gap, when a lancing shock of pain suddenly ripped down his foreleg. Hissing, he glanced down to see the wound had re-opened. He stumbled just as the monkey shot into the hut and slammed the door shut. Cursing himself, Thorn quickly retied the makeshift bandage and began pacing around the hut. What in the name of the goddess was he going to do now?

Any chance at surprising the thing had long gone, and he was back to square one, only worse so. Now it knew he was there. Shaking his mane in dismay, he realised he’d left his axe by his camp, along with the fish. Thorn shook his head. The monkey wasn’t going anywhere, and besides, it looked like he’d been collecting herbs for something… healing? Great moons! It wasn’t to flavour something, was it? Damn it, if he’d done anything to her…

The thing shouted something at him. What was that, a language? It sounded like one, but it sounded like a barrage of groans and squeaks. Ridiculous creature. Still, there was no mistaking that tone of defiance in its voice. He smiled—this might be more interesting than he’d thought.

Thorn hooked his helmet onto his marching pack. There was no way he’d be risking opening his facial wound by putting that back on. A shame really, he was very fond of that old thing, having been a gift from his father. Thorn had been reluctant to wear one at first, his mind wandering back to his youth…

“I don’t trust warriors who wear helmets,” he had told his father. “It suggests you’re afraid of getting hurt.”

His father had laughed at him. “Any idea how many warriors there are rotting under the black sand with their heads split open, boy? The tribe would not thank you for dying for the sake of vanity.”

He’d worn the helmet after that.

Thorn carefully trotted down to the river. Fishing was quite a simple matter once you had the feel for it, and he’d netted quite a haul so far. There was good fishing in the Beyond, especially on the black river, and survival skills were not just something the warriors were taught ‘just in case’. They were a daily necessity for life in that unforgiving land.

He kept the fire low, choosing only the driest sticks to keep the smoke down to a minimum. He could have eaten the fish raw of course, but he wanted to get some warmth into his body. The winter in this land was brutal, and he had no winter gear with him other than his cloak.

The major’s mind wandered back to his foalhood, to his mother singing the songs of his ancestors to him. His favourite had been ‘The Dragon of Humpback Mountain’, a story of heroes, sacrifice, and exciting adventure that had kept him awake for hours instead of sending him to sleep. How he’d wished he’d been there, facing down such a massive beast! He’d leaped around the room, waving his wooden sword, trying to stand on his hind legs and use his forehooves to grip the weapon as his father had shown him. It was so hard to balance just right and felt unnatural to him, but little Thorn had been determined to learn, to condition his body to the rigours of life as a warrior of the tribe. He wanted his mother and father to be proud of him, wanted to be the best the tribe had ever seen. Now, years on, countless battles and scars later…

Thorn shrugged, taking a mouthful of the fish. He was here, and that was that. The colonel always said ‘to be able to adapt was to survive and conquer any challenge’. He was a wily old goat, but quite wise, or at least more than the average thestral whose brain box had been repeatedly bashed over the years. Thorn grinned to himself. This was good fish!

Dozing quietly, his belly comfortably full, the major sat up suddenly, his senses prickling. Had he heard something? Listening carefully, the sound came again: a scream, not too far away, and a laugh… a familiar laugh. He lifted his axe, shaking off the sleepiness and headed off towards its source. So much for a quiet nap. It was time to go to work.

The forest scenery became more familiar as he walked; the odd, long, thin trees changing to more recognisable ones. It was a strange place, so different from the monotone colours of home, and more like the lands the goddess had brought them to. Even the smells here reminded him of Equestria. There was something else carried to him on the light breeze this night, an all too familiar smell… blood.

Thorn picked up his pace. The trees were beginning to thin out now, eventually opening up onto a wide, open, flat plain that was clearly lit by the moonlight. There was a village here, a sprawling disordered collection of numerous wooden structures, with no two the same. This must be where the local inhabitants lived. He’d have to be careful and remain unseen. After all, if he was as alien to them as they appeared to him, they might not be too friendly. The one he’d encountered in the forest had shown quite clearly that although the locals appeared afraid of him, there was likely to be a whole lot more of them down here. Thorn knew all too well that numbers often bolstered an individual’s courage to face down the unknown, and even the strongest could be brought down by overwhelming numbers.

The snow helped to muffle his hoofsteps, and he kept to the shadows as much as possible. Only the breath curling up around his muzzle could give him away now. Behind one of the smaller structures, he saw it: the shape bending down, the moonlight outlining the familiar dark coat. It was the young warrior. Thorn looked on in horror as the thestral, one of his own, gorged himself on the lifeless form of one of the inhabitants of the village.

He felt sick inside. No matter how hungry he was, to do this…

The crossbow came up and he took aim, controlling his breathing. With a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the night air, the bolt hurtled toward its target. Thorn closed his eyes at the moment of impact. The boy might have descended to the level of a beast, but he was still one of his warriors. The major murmured under his breath:

“Forgive me, brother.”

The thestral screamed, rearing back and turning to face him, his red eyes burning with pain and hate. Thorn hefted his axe and waited for the charge that never came. With a shriek of rage, the young warrior turned, then took off at a gallop back to the forest, angling away from the major’s position. Breathing a sigh of relief, the older one trotted down to the side of the pond and the creature that lay there. He knew there was nothing he could do even before he got to it, but still, he had to see, had to know.

The girl was staring silently up at the sky, the stars reflected in her now lifeless eyes. Hair as black as his own mane fell across her face, a small red hairclip still attached to it catching his gaze. He knew next to nothing of these beings—they were so alien to him—yet still, in his heart, he knew this was wrong, so, so wrong. She was only a child, an innocent life taken away when she had barely begun to know any of its wonders. Now, she was gone. The warrior reached out with a hoof and gently closed her eyes.

“Sleep now, my child, sleep. May the angels of your home fly you to your rest.”

Whether the gods of this world would listen to the prayer of a being from another, he didn’t know. Still, he had to do something. This shouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t come here…

It was his fault. He’d chased Celestia here, he’d brought death with him to this quiet land, and now a young life had been brutally taken. Thorn gritted his teeth. He had to stop that killer before he struck again.

Turning to leave he froze. Voices, urgent and insistent drifted out to him, oddly clear in the chill night air. Thorn shook his head, rubbing his ears. The unusual sounds, the words they spoke, they were the same as the creature in the shack had used...strange, alien, yet somehow the more he listened, the more he seemed to be able to understand them. The language they were speaking sounded like Equestrian, the language the goddess had taught his people before the invasion. Was this magic? Perhaps a gift to him from the goddess? Whatever it was, he would have to think about it later as the voice, louder this time, called out into the night.

“Who’s there? Is that you kids again?” the male voice shouted. It was quickly followed by another, a female.

“What’s going on out there, dear?”

“It’s those blasted kids playing by the pond again. I don’t know how many times I’ve told them it’s dangerous!”

Thorn was already running by the time the screams and shouts of alarm started.

Damn him! Damn, damn, damn! The major fled into the trees, allowing the dark interior to shield him from the villagers before he felt safe enough to stop and catch his breath. He had to find that soldier fast. If they found him first, who knew what would happen? They could kill him, certainly, but what if they found out about Celestia? What if they killed her? They wouldn’t know the difference between a thestral and an alicorn, nor care. In their desire for revenge, they would in all likelihood act first and think later. He’d seen it before; fear and ignorance were terrible weapons.

The major trudged through the snow; the tracks of the soldier had disappeared into the river. He was good, too damned good. He knew how to hide his tracks and doubtless knew he was being followed. A few scattered spots of blood further back up the bank ended in a bloodied crossbow bolt, discarded in the snow. Thorn examined it before wiping it off and replacing it in his quiver. He’d wounded him then, but how badly was impossible to say. The mental state of the young thestral would in all likelihood drive him to more and more violence until he was finally put down. He shook his head sadly. That was how it usually ended in these cases, which was why that foul substance had been banned in the first place. Didn’t anyone listen to their tribal elders any longer?

It was a lot sooner than he’d expected when he first saw the glint of lanterns through the trees on the other side of the river. There was a lot of them, but not as many as he’d thought there’d be. The two-legged things seemed surprisingly young too, except for three of them. One seemed to be in charge, the one that looked ‘comfortable’ out here in the hills. Thorn stared intently at him… Yes, yes that was the one—he was the creature from the shack that had found Celestia. Why was he involved in this? Had he…? The major gave his mane a quick shake. He’d follow them for now, and if fate was kind, he’d have a chance to discover more.

Hours passed, the party disappearing and then reappearing though the trees, doubtless following a set of tracks on their side of the river that he hadn’t discovered. Their leader had stopped and bent to see the tracks, pointing to the river. There’d been an argument, a disagreement, and then they’d begun backtracking, obviously unwilling to cross the river at night. So much the better—if they had, they might well have found another set of tracks that led to him. He’d wait until they move off a ways and then cross himself, shadowing them. If that fool was still out there, Thorn would have try and get to him before he got to them.

The night dragged on. Thorn kept low and downwind, keeping a steady distance from the villagers; close enough to observe but not too far as to risk losing them. It would be nigh on impossible to lose them anyway. With the amount of tracks they left as they blundered along, a blind foal could follow them. Thorn shrugged to himself. They were no warriors, that was for certain. That older one, though, there was something in the way he moved, his state of alertness; he was the one to watch and not just because he had recovered the princess. No, he had a military presence to him. Call it a ‘feeling’, but one warrior simply knew another that way. Either that or Thorn was starting to imagine things with staying out here in the forest too long. He sighed. As much as he liked his own space, there was something to be said for being in the company of others.

Good goddess, it was cold. The wind bit at his hide, nibbling his ears and muzzle, making him wish he’d brought his winter coat. Not that he’d exactly expected to find himself up to his withers in blasted snow, of course. Keeping low and out of sight didn’t exactly help to keep you warm either.

The party had come to a halt up ahead. There was some sort of commotion, and a few of them had gathered around a tree staring at something. What were they looking at? The mood had changed noticeably. Now there was a quickening to their pace despite the tiredness on their faces. He waited until they’d moved off and then slowly approached the scene of… horror. Thorn’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh goddess… you bloody fool.”

They’d never forgive them now. The child was bad enough, but this…why? What was the need for this? In his homeland, acts of terror were occasionally used as a tool of warfare. He’d never agreed with it, but it still happened. Anything, no matter how dreadful, could and would be utilised to demoralise and unsettle an enemy. Victory was victory, no matter the blood that soaked your hooves. No matter how innocent…

Thorn said a silent prayer to the two youngsters. The boy must have lost his mind completely, acting independently in some sort of guerrilla warfare against a people who had never done him any harm. He dreaded to think what that fool was capable of, but inside he knew. Nothing would stop him now, not now, not until he had been brought down and slain. As his superior officer, Thorn was responsible. He had a duty to help the villagers, and he would do so without reservation. With the blessing of the goddess, he hoped it wouldn’t cost him his life in the process.

He set off once again, trying to keep his distance, but skirt around them and get ahead. If he were the maddened warrior, where would he attack from next? The major began to swing wide of the party, his senses stretched to the limit, watching, waiting for—

The thud of a crossbow, quiet but distinct, was all too loud in the quiet of the forest. Then the screaming began. In moments, all cohesion broke down, and they were running, fleeing for their lives.

“Goddess damn it!” he cursed, and broke into a run. The boy had been ahead of them all this time and now was upon them. Fear had gripped their hearts, and now he would be like a wolf amongst panicked sheep. They didn’t stand a chance. He had to move, and quickly!

As he dodged between the trees, there was a crash and a cry of pain just ahead. Checking his axe was free and at the ready, he slowed. It didn’t do to rush in blindly. Dead was dead no matter what world you were in. Now he could hear water, and breathing, but where was it coming from? Goddesses, this cold! It was hard to concentrate. His joints, muscles, and even his ears were aching so much that it was becoming harder and harder to think straight.

A muffled groan of pain brought him to a halt. It was near, but it wasn’t a thestral. He sniffed the air. No… it was one of those villagers, one whose scent he quickly recognised. Peering into the darkness of the gully below, he saw him, the one from the shack. He was hurt, badly too by the looks of him. Now was his chance. He would try and communicate with the thing and find out what had happened to the… princess?

A sudden bright glow of golden light nearly blinded him, making him duck reflexively, the lethal blade of Celestia’s halberd hissing mere inches over the top of his head. She was alive! And trying to kill him.

He knew that look; he’d seen it a thousand time and more. She wouldn’t stop until she’d struck down her enemy, and this wasn’t the time or place for a pitched battle. He backed away. The princess was here and yet…

More screams assailed him from further away now. That damned boy was fighting his own war against innocents. Damn it! Celestia could wait; he had to stop him. Storm Major Thorn, veteran of countless battles and campaigns, did the only thing he could have right then.

He ran.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Fifteen - A Lost Foal

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A LOST FOAL

The sound of the water pouring into a bowl was surprisingly therapeutic, calming his instinctive reaction to try and sit up. Natural light flooded into the room through the open windows, so bright it nearly blinded him as he tried to open his eyes. Rush winced.

“Oh! Wait a moment… here.”

The kind voice was still here, the slender arms, so soft and warm, lifting him up into a more comfortable position. Was he still alive? Rush felt like he was drifting along on a warm and soothing current. To wake up would almost be sacrilege. He was frightened to open his eyes. What if she… What if it was a dream? A dream brought on by fever?

His fears were answered by a warm cloth carefully dabbing at his eyes, wiping the sleep away. A few moments later, the window shutters were closed slightly, allowing him to open his eyes and take in the scene around him. Everything was so blurry, out of focus, and wavered in and out. Nausea grabbed him, and he retched.

“Here, it’s water. Sip it, though, don’t gulp.”

A bowl was held to his parched lips, and he sipped it weakly. The water was cool, infused with something he recognised. It was one of the herbs he used for settling upset stomachs. The amount used was just right as well—perfect, in fact. Rush finished the bowl and sighed, tilting his head back and feeling the relief as the wave of nausea vanished as if it had never existed.

He closed his eyes and spoke quietly, his voice still a little rough, “Thank you.”

The lilting voice came back. “You’re welcome.”

Rush remained as he was, his heart racing. “Are you a figment of my imagination?”

“I don’t think so!” came the reply, a hint of amusement in the words.

“But… are you real? When I open my eyes, will you still be here?”

He heard a quiet shuffling, and something took his hand. Whatever it was felt strange… hard, yet so gentle somehow. His hand was lifted and placed against what felt like…fur, warm and soft…alive.

“Do I feel real?”

Rush knew. In his heart, he’d known all along…

A tear rolled down his face. “Snow…”

Warm forelegs enclosed him, making him feel safe, protected… loved.

“Shhh, don’t cry now, little one, everything’s alright. I’m here… shhh.”

Rush shook. Unbidden, his tears began to fall. He’d never cried like this before, not since...not since…

She held him as he wept. Years of pain, so many years of emptiness, pouring out like rain from a lone cloud in a clear blue sky. He was so empty inside, so afraid…

Snow rocked him like a new-born foal. “You’re safe now, Rush. I’m here, I’m right here. You’ve been alone for too long, but I’ve found you now.” She kissed him on the forehead. “I’ve found you…”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Sixteen - Warrior of the Goddess

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WARRIOR OF THE GODDESS

Everything was white. No up, no down, just an intensely bitter cold burning his face. His lungs felt like they were on fire, screaming for air… He couldn’t breathe! In a panic, Cray tried to push himself up, finding neither his hands, arms, legs, or feet would move no matter how much he struggled. His heart pounding, Cray opened his mouth to cry out, only to find it too had been immobilised.

Suddenly, mercifully, he found himself pulled up bodily out of the snow drift and flipped over, only to be shoved roughly up against something hard. Biting snow stuck to his face, soaking Cray’s eyes and blurring his vision, but with a vigorous shake of his head, he managed to shake most of it free. The foul rag that had been stuffed into his mouth was unceremoniously pulled free, and he leaned back, gasping in the fresh air. What was going on? Why couldn’t he move? Oh gods…bandits…

All the villagers knew the dangers of the hills. The stories of malevolent gods, mischievous spirits, strange lights at night, and human disappearances were passed down from generation to generation. How many of them were true and how many were no more than legends used to frighten the gullible or keep children from wandering, Cray had never really been able to say. If pushed, he’d have chosen the latter, but his family had always had a healthy respect for the gods and spirits of their lands.

The hills were normally a quiet and peaceful place to live and work. In more recent years, though, incessant warring between the numerous clans had often resulted in a deposed leader who’d found himself on the wrong end of a sword, spear, or some other more inventive method they liked to use on one another. Unfortunately for the villagers, the removal of the one who paid your wages left a lot of hungry mouths. Those hungry mouths, more often than not, came complete with combat training, weapons, and a superiority attitude that meant trouble for any farm or village in their path.

The village had food, food meant survival, and these jobless warriors needed to survive like any other creature. The problem was that they didn’t just ask, they didn’t even offer to work for it; they simply took what they wanted. It wasn’t just food either. If it hadn’t been for the gambling hall’s boss and his men, they’d have been left with no protection at all. He might be a villain, but at heart, he cared about the village as much as anybody.

By and large, the bandits had left them alone since Chert and his boys came to town. Had they changed their tactics? He’d best play along, do as he was told, and hopefully he could get away before they decided to—

What was that?

It was still dark, probably the small hours of the morning. The small campfire snapped and popped invitingly, sending its light out to glint off the figure tending it. Cray stared at it in horror. This couldn’t be real, could it? Dear gods, he must have hit his head a lot harder than he thought, but… He struggled; the bindings on his limbs were all too real, biting into his skin painfully. He stopped and relaxed his limbs. It was probably best to avoid drawing attention to himself.

The thing by the fire shone in the moonlight, the pale glow mingling with the yellow of the flames, outlining what looked like some kind of nightmarish horse; one that was wearing armour as black at the night sky. The ‘horse’ was feeding wood into the fire, taking pieces in its teeth and then tossing them in while it sat back on its haunches. Incredibly, the horse picked up—actually picked up—a length of bamboo and held it in its hooves, blowing into the fire the same way people did! He was sure there was a legend about this sort of thing, one that spoke of sentient animals. What was it now? Something about a boy and a tortoise, something like that.

He caught his breath when the beast fixed its gaze upon him. An eye as red as blood, flickering like the flames of the fire, stared at him with an intensity that transfixed his soul. This was no horse; this was no friendly spirit from a child’s fairy tale. No… this was the one, the beast that had killed Blossom, the one that had—

It hissed at him, a long series of clicks and shrieks that were like nails in his ears. Was it trying to speak? Cray shook his head, keeping quiet. The elders in the village had warned them about what to do if caught by bandits, and it generally revolved around keeping quiet, doing what you were told, and staying alive. Eventually, he was told, they would get bored and let you go. Or kill you. Hopefully, if he kept quiet and didn’t make any threatening moves, he’d survive this.

The thing watched him for a moment, then shrugged and looked away. Using a combination of its hooves and teeth to unclip the cinches on its armour, the heavy plates began to drop one piece at a time onto the ground with a dull thud. Cray watched in amazement as the last piece was removed, revealing the bony creature underneath. It was like a nightmare come to life before his very eyes. The thing’s coat was almost as black as its armour, its mane and tail defined by the slightest hint of deepest blue. Despite its nigh-on skeletal appearance, the creature emitted an impressive aura of power, strength, and fitness from its muzzle to its tail. It was the teeth that had Cray worried the most: a wicked array of long, thin, almost translucent spikes poked up out of the sides its mouth. They would have been used to… to eat…

Oh gods, it was getting up!

The horse thing stretched, rising to its hooves and hissed, apparently in pain. Although horrified at the alien spectacle before him, Cray noticed the wetness on the creature's body, the aggressive looking gashes and tears in its hide. It was hurt, and he knew all too well how dangerous a wounded beast could be.

Slowly, the thing approached, leaning its muzzle down until it was inches from his face and displaying those wicked teeth. It sniffed him, a great huffing intake of air that made Cray wince and try to back away. A pair of bright red eyes bored into him, flickering with their own inner fire.

“You understand me?”

Cray’s eyes went wide. How was this…this…whatever it was, speaking? Its mouth was moving, but the words appeared to be bypassing his ears and materialising in his brain with the force of a lump hammer. It was deafening.

The creature leaned forward. “I said, ‘Do you understand me?’”

The blacksmith winced at the verbal assault and nodded his head. “Yes! Yes, I understand you.”

“Good.” The thing smiled. An array of translucent teeth as long as his hand caught the moonlight, and he took a breath.

“Good…”

Cray’s heart felt like it would burst out of his chest as the horse-like being leaned back and then, rising to its hooves, walked slowly back to sit by the campfire once more. By the gods, how long was it until morning? Surely it wouldn’t be long now? He closed his eyes, praying that someone would come looking for him. This thing’s eyes; they were unnatural, cruel, like one of the legends of beasts from the depths of the numerous hells his people believed in. Maybe it was a forest deity? He’d heard of how they could turn on humans if angered; had they not shown enough respect and it had come to punish them?

His musings died in the bitter cold of the forest night. The heat from the fire was so tantalisingly close and yet just far enough away to have little to no discernible effect. Cray strained to edge a little closer, trying to feel just the tiniest bit of its warmth. A snort of derision made his freeze. Daring to look across at the thing, it fixed him with a look of disdain, a sneer that said all he needed to know about how the creature viewed him. Humans meant nothing to this beast, nothing at all.

Cray closed his eyes and prayed silently to the hill gods. His family had always made offerings, observed the will of the gods, yet he was here like this! But… he was alive, wasn’t he? Perhaps this was the will of the gods as well, for him to be spared out of all the others.

The creature rose to its feet, or rather ‘hooves’, and stretched, a half-eaten rabbit dangling from its mouth. He watched as it dropped to its haunches before him, taking the rabbit in its hooves and tearing off a chunk. The smell of the meat caught his nose, and he watched it disappearing down the things throat.

“Hungry?”

Cray shook his head. It was best not to appear too eager—the thing might get angry. It sat there watching him, those eyes taking in his every move, every facial expression.

“Are you wondering why I spared you?”

Cray nodded slowly but kept silent. The thing huffed a jet of steam from its large nostrils.

“I may answer…yes…I may.”

It took another bite of the rabbit, chewing slowly, smiling, watching him, always watching,

“You may ask me a question…if you wish. I may even answer.”

Cray nearly choked, his eyes kept focussing on the rabbit, those huge teeth that made such short work of the meat. If this was a forest god or spirit and he angered it, it would tear him apart. Despite that, it seemed to want him to speak. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm, level and above all, respectful.

“May…May I ask who you are? What you are? I…I’ve never met anything like you.”

The horse-like creature began crunching the bones of the rabbit. That deafening voice in his head slammed back again. “That’s two questions, my greedy one. Shall I indulge your greed?” It laughed quietly. “Very well.”

The creature stood and shook out its wings, huge bat-like appendages that rippled and sparkled like diamonds. Cray had never seen such a sight! Noticing his awe, the beast grinned, then suddenly reared on it hind legs, blasting a jet of flame up into the sky.

“I am a thestral warrior of the goddess of the moon!” Its voice thundered into his head, making his body vibrate with its energy. “The one true goddess, the one who will bring my people out from the empty lands to join her in a glorious future beneath her radiant glow.”

It sat, waiting for his response. Cray didn’t know what to say, but… it was a warrior of the moon goddess? His people worshipped many gods, and the moon goddess was but one of many. Still, he hadn’t ever heard of them having their own warriors before, and yet… it made sense. He was certainly not of this earth, so far as he knew. It was all so confusing!

He felt he should be bowing before the warrior, but physically couldn’t. Cray was still trussed up like a chicken ready for the pot and was helpless. What was he going to do? He didn’t want to anger the creature further.

“You asked who I am,” the creature said proudly. “The name given to me by my tribe is Rend.”

The thestral swallowed down the last of the rabbit and lifted a small phial that hung from a thong around his neck. He sniffed it thoughtfully, nodding to himself and inhaled deeply.

“Now… you will answer my questions. All of them.”

Cray closed his eyes and nodded. He’d best appease this ‘thestral’ or else he might follow the rabbit as a meal for this great warrior of the goddess.

“Yes, Lord Rend.”

The thestral sat back, blinking, apparently surprised. To Cray’s alarm, the warrior then began to laugh, quietly at first and then louder, until its voice boomed out around them, shaking the very snow from the trees. He cringed inwardly; something told him he would be unlikely to ever see his family alive again, at least, not in this life.

***

Rend shook his mane and made himself as comfortable as he could. This probably wouldn’t take that long after all. The monkey creature was unexpectedly compliant, like putty in his hooves. Perhaps he wouldn’t even need to torture the thing into helping him. He was obviously in awe of him, of his size and strength. Maybe… Maybe the thing even saw him as a god! He tapped a hoof against his chin. Yes, that must be it. In this world he was… the god of vengeance, the hammer of the Celestians. This monkey would help him; he would use him as a tool to help strike down that evil witch and take her head as a trophy.

He stared into the thing’s eyes. Yes, that would work, and then… then he would slay that traitorous cur, Thorn, the rat who had sided with the witch herself. He had no doubt been enamoured with her, probably letting her use him like a puppet for her own twisted amusement. Well, now he had his own puppet, one of the people of this land, and he would become his eyes and ears here whether he liked it or not. A few tugs of the strings and he would have all he wanted, perhaps even to be this world’s new living god… Rend, the god. He laughed—this truly was a gift from the goddess, a gift for the good work she knew he would do. Saying a silent prayer to her, he closed his eyes and sighed. He would make her proud of him.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Seventeen - The Hearts Door

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE HEART’S DOOR

Snow laughed, her gentle voice carrying a maturity that made him hark back to his days as a child, and his mother, Willow.

“Tell me about her.”

Rush paused, staring at his hand halfway to the bowl of rice.

“I…”

The white mare spoke quickly. “Rush, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me… I shouldn’t have asked such a direct question. It’s clearly a subject that causes you pain.”

He shook his head slowly, eyes closed, willing the images of his mother away. They’d grown apart as he’d grown. She’d become cold, distant, even more so after his father died and she re-married. The man who became her husband, Nasta’s father, was one who treated her well enough, and was even pleasant with Rush. It was just…

“No. Snow, it’s I who should apologise to you. You’ve been so kind to me; the least I can do is to tell you about… her.”

The mare held up a hoof. “Dearest Rush, there really is no need if you don’t wish to.”

Snow gave him a smile, that special smile that made him shiver inside. He knew it was wrong—he hadn’t known her for very long after all—but somehow, somehow he saw the way she gazed at him, the way her lips curved up and her eyes sparkled, as something she did only for him; his special smile.

Rush sighed contentedly. Those large purple eyes could easily melt the most frozen of hearts, and his was no exception. She lay peacefully beside him, a bowl of water, cloths, and the medicine chest sitting close to hoof nearby; more for him than for Snow. Her wounds were nearly all healed now, and he marvelled at how quickly she’d recovered. It made him smile.

Snow gave him a light nudge with her muzzle. “Something’s making you happy!”

He nodded. The effortless way she had of lightening his mood was like a reflection of the sunburst on her flank. Rush still felt weak, but Snow’s ministrations had brought him back from the brink of death. It was strange how he’d not been surprised to see a walking, talking… What did she say she was? Alicorn? Yes, that was it. She said she was an ‘alicorn’ from another land, far away. A land called…Equestria.

Just hearing the name or even thinking about it, for some reason he couldn’t explain, brought tears to his eyes. He was falling apart. Years of isolation, years of being completely alone and keeping his heart locked up, then along came a being from another land, another world even, and she broke down his walls as if they’d never existed in the first place.

Rush sighed and took a sip of the water Snow passed him. “How are you feeling? Your wounds, are they healing properly?”

Snow lifted her head, shaking the pink mane from her eyes and inspecting some of the still-healing cuts. “You have a light touch with your sewing, Rush. I think you could even teach me a thing or two.”

He hung his head. Having to push a needle through the coat of such a beautiful mare; it was a travesty, an act that…

“Come now,” she admonished, lifting his chin with a hoof. “You did what you had to do, and you saved my life. If you hadn’t come along when you did, I’m not sure that I… Well, I’m not invulnerable. You’ve seen that more than anypony.”

Rush leaned back on the bed of reeds that Snow had made for him, using her beautifully embroidered blue covering as a blanket. He’d protested its use, but she’d tapped him on the nose and told him to ‘stop being silly’. He couldn’t argue, not with her. Never.

He looked up at her. “Snow?”

“Yes, Rush?”

“Could you please pass me the box, the small wooden one from the shelf?”

“Of course.”

He hated asking her to do things for him, and not just because he was a fiercely independent man. No, Snow was just so perfect, so pure that he felt that by asking her to lower herself to perform such menial tasks, it would tarnish that pristine creature somehow and she would vanish before his very eyes, becoming nothing more than a memory.

No, the thought of losing her, of being in that solitary empty house once more without her, was unthinkable and filled him with dread. In some ways, it was a hell he’d made for himself, and he didn’t want to go back to how things were. Not now. By the gods, was he really that selfish?

Snow tapped the small box with a hoof. “Is this the one?”

Rush nodded.

Snow’s horn glowed, the golden aura spooling out, surrounding the box and lifting it effortlessly from the shelf. Her magic was incredible, a word that barely did justice to its wonders, but it was simply that—amazing. He’d never seen anything like it; not even in his wildest dreams had he seen such a spectacle. To be able to float objects around at will—just think of the amount of reeds he could carry with that! He chuckled to himself, making Snow lift an inquisitive eyebrow as she sat back down next to him and placed the box by his hand.

Rush took off the lid. “Do you like tea?”

Snow clopped her hooves together happily. “Oh goodness, yes!” He held the box up for her smell, the mare taking in the aroma. “Exquisite, truly exquisite.”

Smiling, Rush pulled himself over to the teapot and began to prepare two cups. Snow hurried across and wrapped her forelegs around him. “No! Rush, don’t exert yourself. You shouldn’t be moving about yet.”

He paused, a hint of irritation passed through him until he looked up into her eyes. Sighing, Rush, nodded and let her guide him back to the bed.

“I don’t have many guests up here,” he said quietly, “and even fewer who appreciate the fine leaves of this tea. Snow, I don’t want to ask, but…please, will you be my hands?”

The mare smiled and nodded happily. “Of course, I’d be delighted. Now, what do I do first?”

Step by step, Snow began the process of making the tea. Boiling the water, warming the cups and pot; it was all so familiar to her, but back at the castle, she had ponies to help her do this now. Here, in this world, in this house, she could be herself. Nopony was shouting for her, nopony was demanding she make decisions or pass judgements. Here, there was just her and the human male…Rush.

Finally, the tea was poured out. No sugar, no honey, nothing, just the water and the leaves sending their alluring aroma out into the room. Snow breathed it in luxuriously before taking a sip.

“Oh Rush,” she sighed, feeling the warmth run through her. “It’s…wonderful.”

Rush’s heart was in his mouth; he was warm himself and not just from the tea. Snow’s velvety voice made him feel like he wanted to curl up like a cat by the fire. She was right, though—the tea was excellent. Snow had followed his instructions to the letter, but there was something else there, something in her movements that told him she’d done this before and didn’t really need his instructions at all. She fascinated him.

With a deep breath, Rush stared up at the ceiling and took in the smell of the tea. “Willow.”

Snow, suddenly distracted, cocked her head. “Hmmm?”

“That was her name. My mother, Willow.”

The white mare sipped her drink and settled down beside him. “Willow…yes. Tell me about her.”

Rush closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back, leafing through the pages of memory in his mind, the pages of a book he’d kept sealed for a long, long time. He had loved her of course, hadn’t he? When she’d died, he’d not really…

“Rush?”

Shaking himself, Rush looked up at Snow who was gazing at him intently.

“I’m sorry.”

He took another sip of the tea. “Willow was the local village healer. She lived with my stepfather, who was a warrior in the employ of the local lord.”

“Stepfather?” Snow looked genuinely confused.

“I never knew my real father; mother never told me who he was. One time I asked her about him, came right out with it at breakfast, but she just shook her head and told me never to ask about him again.” Rush stared at the floor. “I never did.”

“Oh, Rush…” Snow took his hand and gave it a gentle rub with her hoof.

“No, it’s my own fault really,” he said, sighing. “I should have made more of an effort. When she passed away, it was too late of course. Far, far too late…”

A small blue bird flew in through the window, landing on snow’s horn, and began singing.

“She wants to hear you story too, it seems!” Snow giggled coyly. Rush smiled, holding the teacup in both hands to steady it.

“There’s not an awful lot more to tell. Mother taught me my trade and wanted me to follow in her footsteps.”

“So why didn’t you,” Snow asked quietly.

“The war happened.”

“Oh.”

Her head drooped slightly, the little bird suddenly taking flight and disappearing out the window, back into the forest. The air felt a little colder now, despite the fire burning merrily beside him. Rush cleared his throat.

“There’s always a war. Sooner or later, someone wants what somebody else has got, or someone’s offended somebody over something nobody gives a damn about. Then the lord suddenly remembers he employs people to kill others for him at his beck and call.” He shook his head. “They found out I had some skill with healing, and I was sent to the lines with some rudimentary weapons training. The next thing I knew, I was fighting for my life against people I’d never met nor had any reason to fight in the first place. I thought I’d just be healing the wounded and sick… What a fool I was! I was just fodder for the grinding wheels of war just like everybody else… dispensable, meaningless.”

Snow shuffled forward and poured Rush another cup of tea. He stared into the flames of the fire as she gave her beautiful mane a quick shake. “Nopony is dispensable or meaningless, Rush. That’s something I want you to remember.” She looked him in the eyes. “You are not dispensable, nor are you meaningless.”

He nodded gratefully and continued, “After the war, I returned home and found mother had ‘arranged’ a marriage for me.”

“Arranged?” Snow seemed surprised.

“They don’t do that in your home?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“No. We are all free to choose our partners. I know some races still do that, but it seems so…archaic, somehow.”

Rush shrugged. “Tradition. Good for some things, to help everyone remember their heritage, but sometimes it’s a bloody millstone.”

Snow gasped in surprise at his words, her hoof flying to cover her mouth. Rush held his hand up in apology. “Snow, I’m sorry! Please, I don’t have many people to talk to up here and—”

“Please Rush” she cut in, “don’t give it another thought. I…I suppose you could say I’ve led a somewhat sheltered life. Please, continue. I want to know more about the fascinating man who helped me.”

‘Fascinating man’ eh? Rush chuckled. “Very well, my lady.” He scratched his head and took a gulp of the tea. It was just as good when it had cooled as when it was still hot. “My wife and I weren’t married very long. We had a child, Cherry, and…” His words caught in his throat as he tried to get them out.

“And…she…” he coughed, “The two, one day were…” Rush reached up to his face. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt the dampness on his cheeks and brushed them with his hands. Tears?

Snow reached out and took the teacup from him as Rush stared at the wetness on his hands in disbelief. He hadn’t shed any tears over them since he’d buried them, all those years ago. So many years ago…

He barely felt the warm forelegs hugging him as he gasped against the sobs that wracked him. Damn it all! All his emotions, all these buried thoughts and feelings he wanted to keep buried; they were all bubbling up like water in a well. Was it Snow that made him act like this? The proximity of someone who had entered his…what? His heart? He stared down at the white coat, the golden sun on her flank. Rush could feel a peculiar sense of calm spreading through him together with the warmth from her body.

“It was bandits.”

Snow murmured, “Bandits?”

“Lordless soldiers. No money, no home, just armed, lost, and dangerous. They take what they want with no compunction. One day, I was at the lord’s castle, tending to his wife who was having a complicated pregnancy, when we heard about the bandit raid.”

Rush rubbed his head. “When I got home, they were…gone.”

“Gone?” Snow asked quietly.

“Taken. Sometimes it happens. They’re taken away into slavery to be sold off to the highest bidder. Other times they keep them and…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t want to talk about this, and yet, being so close to Snow, he wanted to tell her everything, to open the floodgates of memory and let it all spill out before her.

Snow’s magic glowed, and she lifted the cloth, wiping his forehead down. He hadn’t even realised he’d been sweating. “You don’t need to explain,” she said quietly. “Even in my world, there are beasts who do such unimaginable things. Evil always hides best in plain sight.”

Rush stroked her hoof, lifting it to his face and felt the warmth against his cheek. “I tried to find them. I searched; for weeks, months, maybe even years, I looked for them. I enquired in villages and even at bandit camps posing as one of their own.”

Snow stroked his hair. “Did you ever find them?”

“I did.”

“Were they…?”

“No. They’d joined them.”

“What?” Snow’s voice rose in surprise. “They joined the bandits?”

“It happens.”

“Rush! Surely not, couldn’t you…”

“I couldn’t! I tried, Snow, I tried, and I tried, and I couldn’t do anything! They wouldn’t listen; they didn’t even seem to know who I was any more. My wife and I hadn’t been close, but Cherry… She… She tried to kill me.”

“Oh gods, Rush, your own daughter?”

He nodded. “I barely escaped with my life.”

“Did you ever see them again?”

“I did.” Rush clenched his hands to attempt to stop them from trembling.

“So what…?”

“Help me up.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Please, just…help me up, Snow. Please.”

Pain hit him like a sledgehammer and he staggered back, held up by Snow’s magic. Concern was written all over her face. She saw him looking at her and nodded her understanding. He wanted to do this himself; it was important to him. She moved closer, letting him lean against her for support. Carefully, slowly, Rush began to move forward. Gods, his leg felt like it was on fire! He swayed and caught hold of Snow’s neck. For a moment, he fought the pain, hanging onto the white mare, panting into her neck. Her wonderful scent filled his nose and lungs, filling his soul with her kindness. Snow reached out a foreleg for him to take, but he shook his head. No, this was something he needed to do, and do it he must.

The two of them reached the front door, and Snow opened it to the fresh midday air. Rush could feel its vibrancy entering him, the light no longer blinding. It infused his spirit, giving him the drive to go on. He nodded to Snow and headed around the side of the house, up a narrow track that led to an open area that had been felled of bamboo. Snow pulled up short, her eyes falling upon the two neat stone cairns in the patch of ground in front of her. The area was clearly regularly tended and cared for, the boundary carefully defined with a small fence and some winter plants. It was peaceful here, the small blue birds singing in the branches of a large tree that overhung the ground almost reverently.

His legs barely supporting him, Rush gingerly took a few flowers from a planter and brushed the snow from the cairns. Carefully, he placed the white blooms upon them and quietly spoke a prayer. Snow moved up alongside him, her ears drooping and her head low.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Rush. I’m sorry for your loss, I truly am.”

Rush nodded. “I am as well; it should never have happened, never.” He turned to face her. “You may not think me such a kindly man when I tell you what happened to them, but I want you to know. If you hate me afterwards, then so be it. I won’t have you believing I’m some sort of saint that lives the life of a hermit in the hills.”

Snow watched him intently, waiting for him to continue. Rush was clearly fighting some inner battle, desperately trying to open his heart to her. With a cough, Rush caught a length of bamboo and leaned on it, his grip so tight his knuckles went white.

“I killed them.”

He looked up at her, waiting for her judgement, her hatred of him. Naturally she would—who wouldn’t after hearing that? Still, he wouldn’t have any lies. No, he cared about her too much to stain their friendship with deceit.

Snow sat on her haunches and eyed him carefully. “Truth?” she asked.

Rush nodded.

“My name is not Snow.”

“I know.”

“My name is Celestia, Rush. I am the ruler of my people back home in Equestria, a very different world from your own. There are no humans there.”

He looked back at the final resting place of his family. “And yet you are here, with me.”

Celestia nodded. “I am.”

She stared at the cairns, her heart going out to the kindly reed worker. She knew there was something about him that intrigued her, but had no idea he harboured such pain as this.

Rush sighed. “They came to the village, a large group of bandits hell-bent on killing, stealing, and gods know what else. I could smell the burning houses, the screams of those trapped inside. With Nasta and some of the others, we managed to rescue some, but others…others weren’t so lucky. I tried, I tried so hard…

The princess smiled sadly. “I know. I know enough about you to know you would have done everything in your power to help the others.”

Rush harrumphed. “Are you so sure? Do you know me so well, Sn—Celestia?”

She could tell his heart was breaking without even looking at him. The pain in his voice, his body language; she wanted so much to hold him and tell him it would be all right. But it wouldn’t, would it? Nothing could bring back the dead, not all the magic in the world could do that. Instead, she just shook her head sadly and waited for him to continue.

“They killed the village elder, and were taking several of the girls off when we caught up with them.” He looked at one of the flowers, staring at the delicate white petals. “Myself, Cray, Nasta, and several of the retired soldiers.”

He knelt down on the ground, groaning with the effort. It was hurting him, his wounds not just on his body but in his heart. Rush stared off into the distance, to a time and place only he could see. His hands were clenched into fists.

“My wife, Lina, my daughter, Cherry, they stood there, facing me. I thought they couldn’t recognise me at first, that they were mistaken, that I was mistaken. It was so surreal, I couldn’t quite grasp what was happening.”

Rush squeezed his eyes shut. “They… They attacked me, both of them. Cherry nearly killed me with her first strike, the spear slicing down my side whilst Lina almost gutted me with her sword.” Celestia looked down into Rush’s eyes as he spoke, the strain of recollection cracking his voice. “I…I was quicker, stronger. They fell, Cherry first and then…and then Lina.” He chuckled ironically. “Do you know what? They never made a sound, not a single sound! They just… They just fell. They were lying there, on the ground in front of me, on that filthy dirty ground…”

Tears poured down Rush’s face, his fists wringing the edge of his shirt. “She looked up at me, smiling. Cherry… She looked up…and do you know what she said? Do you want to know what she said?”

Celestia closed her eyes. “Oh, Rush…”

“She said… She said…’I love you daddy’. Do you know that? Do you know how that felt? I killed my own daughter! Gods above, I should have been the one who died that day. There’s never a day that goes by when I don’t wish I’d simply let them strike me down. I don’t belong here, Snow, I don’t…”

Celestia lay down beside him and took his head in her hooves and brought him to her, stroking his hair as he cried out his grief and pain. She had an idea something like this lay within Rush. She had glimpsed his dreams, felt the hidden ice within his heart, a coldness that hadn’t quite taken him completely. Although he was alien to her in appearance, he was still who he was. He was still Rush, the son of Willow.

She nuzzled him gently, her voice low, soft and reassuring. “You did what you had to, dearest Rush. You had no choice. If you’d let them kill you, the villagers would have killed them, or they would have done terrible things to those innocent girls they were taking. At least they passed on at the hands of a loved one. You do have a kind heart, Rush, a heart that loved his wife and daughter very much.”

He was shaking, and not just with the sobs that were wracking his body. The princess needed to take him inside and quickly before he caught a chill. Carefully, she helped lift him, and he silently let her lead him back into the house to lie down by the fire.

Celestia refilled the kettle and gave the fire a little encouragement. She was worried about Rush. The physical injuries were one thing, but this was something that affected him on a deeper level, an older wound, one of the heart. He had a faraway look about him that she’d seen before, after a battle, when a soldier had seen things no pony should ever have to see. If left untreated, it could be damaging to him. She would have to do something, and a fresh pot of tea was the first port of call.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Eighteen - Selective Deafness

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SELECTIVE DEAFNESS

Lord Ire sat down heavily in the meeting hall, with two of his senior advisors seating themselves to either side of him. They were both worldly men of middle age, quiet and unassuming, politely waiting for him to finish yawning before addressing him.

“My lord?”

The younger man scratched his head and stretched languorously, his unkempt tunic hanging half-open and clearly suffering from one too many late nights. Ire groaned.

“For the gods’ sake, Dinu, what the hell is it now? Don’t you know what time it is?”

“Yes, my lord. Please, forgive my rudeness.”

Ire waved it off. “Well then, out with it.”

The advisor took out his scroll and cleared his throat. “A message from the governor’s office of the southern province, my lord. He states that a child has been killed by a wild animal, and the villagers who went out to look for it have similarly been attacked. There were few survivors.”

“So?”

Dinu looked up from the scroll, puzzled. “My lord?”

“So what?” Ire reached down to scratch his leg. “A bunch of peasants rush off to find a wild animal and it goes horribly wrong. Maybe that will teach them to not go off on hunting expeditions unless they’re properly prepared.”

One of the castle servants appeared with a tray of tea and sweets. Bowing, she set it before him and tittered as he gave her a cheeky wink.

“Is that it then, Dinu? Can I go now?”

The advisor could feel his blood pressure rise as it usually did when he had to deal with the young lord. He would calm down as he grew older no doubt. The last lord had, but sometimes…

“Forgive me, my lord, but this is one of our larger farming communities. They have lost a large number of their children in this ‘attack’, and it could have serious ramifications for us in the long term. There is also the possibility of the villagers being too frightened to till the land if the animal is still out there.”

Ire yawned. “Look, Dinu, these farmers are as fickle as the wind. They live in a state of constant fear: frightened the weather will be bad, frightened of bandits, frightened of,” he waved his arms for emphasis, “‘scary animals’. These idiots have lives about as substantial as mayflies, Dinu. What do you want me to do, keep an armed detachment there on the off chance a lost bear turns up? Do you know how much that would cost?”

The other advisor spoke up. “Excuse me, my lord, but isn’t the local governor responsible for that area? He receives a stipend from your coffers and therefore should be the one to provide assistance.”

Ire waved a finger at him. “Yes…Yes! Thank you, Ethru, you’re right. Absolutely you’re right!” He turned to his other advisor. “There you have it, Dinu, it’s the governor’s responsibility. Let him deal with it.”

Dinu read through the scroll for a moment before replying, “I’m afraid there’s more to it than that, my lord.”

“Well? Spit it out, man!”

“The governor’s deputy was a young warrior named Nile. You may recall him from the winter festival last month?”

Ire took a mouthful of his tea. “Vaguely, I suppose. What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Ire thumped his fist on his knee in frustration. “Well, get another one! Bloody hell, Dinu, you don’t need to put everything past me, you know. Make a decision yourself!” He began to get up. “This has been a complete waste of my time, gentlemen. I’m going back to bed where all civilised people should be at this hour.”

Ethru cleared his throat. “My lord, Nile is Lord Salu’s son.”

The mood suddenly changed, Ire dropping back down to the floor with a thump. “He’s…oh gods, why didn’t someone say sooner?!”

“He was apparently leading the expedition to track the beast down and kill it when the thing turned on them,” the older advisor stated levelly. “There’s not much more to go on.”

Ire stared straight ahead, his bloodshot eyes now filled with an intensity that looked to Ethru like the young lord was trying to bore holes in the wall with just his gaze. “Dinu, Ethru, you find this thing, you kill it, and you bring me its head, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Lord.”

Lord Ire suddenly grabbed Dinu tunic. “Make it happen, Dinu, or else it’s my head that will be placed before Lord Salu.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you know what happens to a lord’s retinue when that happens…”

Dinu bowed. “Yes, Lord.”

**********************

Nasta could feel a headache coming on. Dehydration, fear, and the stress of the previous night had all taken their toll on him. At least he was at home now, with his beloved daughters and loving wife, Petal. He’d never let them out again. No, they’d stay in the house…with him, safe and sound. The servants could go out and run the errands; the customers could come to him. It would all work out as it should. He nodded to himself. That was it, all so simple after all.

The door opened behind him, and his heart nearly burst from his chest. He wheeled around. “FOR THE GODS’ SAKE!”

Crockery smashed on the floor as the servant’s hands flew to her face, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. Nasta stood up, holding out his hand.

“Oh, look, I’m sorry…I…”

“Darling?” Petal appeared from behind the frightened serving girl, smiling to her kindly. “It’s alright, Bell, just get a new pot. I’ll sort this out.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Nasta shook his head, walking over to the corner of the room with a sigh. He sat down on one of the small cushions, gazing at the alcove which contained his family shrine. It was always so neat and trim, a reflection of how he tried to run his life. Mother, Father, Blossom—they were all gone now. He couldn’t… wasn’t going to lose any more. A bundle of incense appeared in the holder, the pungent grey smoke beginning to curl up around the shrine. Nasta watched the small glowing ends of the sticks as they smouldered. Petal knelt beside him, placing the taper back in its box.

“You loved them, didn’t you?”

Nasta nodded. “I did. I still do.”

Petal clapped her hands together in prayer. A few moments passed before she bowed to the shrine, and looked up at her husband sadly. “There are those here who love you as well, Nasta. Don’t forget that, please.”

Her husband closed his eyes and shook his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see what I saw…what that thing was capable of. Petal, I’m afraid, not for myself but for you, all of you. We’re all in terrible danger.”

Petal’s heart skipped a beat. “Dear, the boss’ men are out looking for it and the governor will send more troops. There’s only one of those…things, isn’t there?”

“As far as I know.”

“So stop worrying, Nasta. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” She took her husband’s head in her hands and kissed him. “Come on, let’s get you that bath and something to eat. You look famished.”

Nasta was in a near daze when he eventually found himself deposited in the bath house. Petal began to take his shirt off, a smile on her face. Those freckles were so cute—he’d always adored them. As his shirt fell away, Nasta took Petal’s hand. She looked up at him, confused at the interruption, but he just smiled and shook his head.

“Thanks, Petal. I’ll be fine doing the rest myself.”

Petal paused, gazing into his eyes like she was looking for something. “Nasta?”

He laughed. “Seriously! I’m alright; I just need a little time to myself. I’ll be in soon.”

His wife didn’t look convinced, her brown eyes confused but resigned. “Don’t be too long, dear. We’ve got some lovely grilled fish for you.”

Nasta smiled, kissing Petal’s hand before she reluctantly left.

Closing his eyes, Nasta leaned against the bath and splashed some of the water onto his face. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of the two young villagers out of his head, the way they’d been…

He rammed his head under the water, pulling it back out a moment later and giving it a shake. He was alive, they were dead, and that was what mattered right now, that and his family. Tomorrow, he’d see about moving them all to another village…no, another town. One of the large ones, maybe even a city? Smiling to himself, he lowered his aching body into the bath. Gods, that was good! So, so good.

Heat and steam enveloped him, soothing his joints and easing away the tension that had reached breaking point. Nasta swore under his breath. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been to agree to go into the forest at night…at night! It was a fool’s errand right from the beginning. Rush had been right all along, and now, Rush was…

“Oh gods, Rush, forgive me…” he gripped the side of the bath, “…forgive me.”

He had never been that close with his stepbrother. That entire side of the family were like strangers in many ways, except for Blossom. The girl had been a universal constant within the family, and he had often thought of her as the glue that kept them all together. Rush, on the other hand, he used to view as his mother’s ‘other apprentice’, especially after her ‘natural’ son disappeared into the forest to live like some wild man. That said, as different as the two of them were from one another, he had felt that they had grown a lot closer recently, that they had begun to bond as brothers.

Now, though, it was too late for any of that. Blossom had been Rush’s last living blood relative, and now they were both gone. He had never even had a chance to say goodbye.

Nasta scrubbed his head. Gods damn it, it was going to take ages to feel clean again. He could still smell that odd metallic tang of iron in his nose; the stink of blood. The way it had sprayed across the snow…he was glad in some ways that it had been dark out, and he hadn’t been able to see how red it was against the snowy white background. He’d seen enough of it, though, too much, and it had stuck to his boots as he had run through the carnage.

Nasta sighed. He’d have the servants burn them and fetch a new pair from the cobbler in the morning. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the steam curl around the rafters. In his mind, he could see the dead eyes of the youngsters looking at him as their spirits left their earthly bodies behind, drifting away, up into the heavens. How could the gods allow this to happen? They were just kids for the gods’ sake! He stretched his legs out over the side and allowed himself to float, trying to forget everything he had seen. In the morning, he’d see the village elder and look to relocating his family to another town. Then they could start again and leave this horror behind them.

The world began to drift away in the warm water. He’d have to get out soon or he’d fall asleep in here. Right now, though, it felt like he could happily drift away into that eternal night, peaceful, calming—

“Nasta?”

Now he was hearing things. He’d better get out now before he really did cross over the river.

“Nasta, you there?”

Good gods! He wasn’t hearing things after all. He could see movement outside through the narrow crack in one of the planks next to a support beam.

“Who’s there?”

The voice came back, not much more than a whisper. “Nasta, it’s me, Cray”

Nasta’s heart skipped a beat. “Cray? Oh gods, Cray! You’re alive!” He felt a great flood of relief run through him. “Oh thank the gods. I thought I was the only one.”

A though hit him. “What the hell are you doing out there? Come in, man!”

“I can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

“I…I can’t. Look, just answer my questions, alright? I’m sorry, Nasta, but it’s important.”

Nasta scratched his head. This was all very strange, but…Cray was alive! He quickly pulled himself out the water. “Hang on, I’ll grab a towel.”

A few moments later, he was sat by the crack in the wall. He couldn’t see Cray clearly, but it was him alright. There was no mistaking that heavy voice, as rumbling as the village forge when it was in full swing. What Nasta couldn’t understand was why was he outside?

“Nasta, you still there?”

“I am. What’s going on, Cray? This isn’t like you.”

Cray sighed, and Nasta could hear his feet shuffling. “I know! Gods damn it, Nasta, please, just answer my questions. For the love of the gods, man, just do this for me alright?”

“Of course, Cray, of course.”

“Where’s Rush?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s…I think he’s dead, like the others. I heard him cry out and then nothing. I didn’t look back, Cray. I…I left him there.”

“Is there anything strange going on in town? Any…visitors?”

“What? I…No, I…” Nasta shook his head. “Cray, someone set fire to our bloody storehouse. I’d call that strange, wouldn’t you? As for ‘visitors’, the answer is no.”

There was a pause. Cray pressed closer to the crack. He sounded…frightened? “Nasta, listen, are my family alright?”

“Yes, they’re with the others at the boss’s house. His boys are scouring the village for whomever or whatever did this. Good gods, Cray, it’s like we’re under siege here. I’m getting Petal and the girls out tomorrow.”

“Oh gods, Nasta, don’t!”

“What?”

“I can’t say! Just…don’t leave the village, understand? If you do…”

“Cray?”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Cray, you still there? Cray!”

Silence.

Nasta sat back, leaning his head against the wall. What the hell was all that about? Cray was alive, but he would not come in the house, skulking around outside like a stray cat? It was all so bizarre, but…that warning about leaving the village…

“Darling? Are you alright in there? You’ve been in rather a long time.”

Nasta opened the door. Petal was stood there, quietly holding a fresh set of clothes for him that he took, smiling at her. Holding them up to his nose, he breathed in the scent of the washing soap and sunshine. Gods, he couldn’t wait for morning. To see the sunrise, to feel the sun’s rays upon his face even in winter, was like a gift from heaven.

“Nasta?”

He smiled at Petal and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “I’m fine, my love, thank you.” Nasta put on his robes and tied them up quickly, enjoying the feel of the clean linen against his skin.

“Come on, someone tells me they have some grilled fish?”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Nineteen - A Gift

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A GIFT

Rush awoke, feeling surprisingly alert. The pain in his leg had all but gone now, reduced to nothing more than a faint background throb. Bright morning light shone around him, bathing him in its warm golden glow. He blinked. That wasn’t sunlight…

“Celestia?”

The glow around the princess’ horn flickered and then winked out. She looked tired. Rush noticed the dark circles under her eyes and hung his head in shame. She’d been pushing herself too hard for him. She needed to be rebuilding her magic, not wasting it on things that would heal themselves with time.

The princess smiled at him, brushing a stray hair from her muzzle. “Good morning, Rush. Did you sleep well?”

The birds were singing in the trees outside, the sun just starting to peek over the horizon. It was going to be another perfect winter’s day. The white mare’s coat shone in the light that flooded through the open windows, making her appear like one of the goddesses from legend. Rush smiled—she would have done this no matter how he protested.

“I did, Princess, thank you.”

“Rush?”

“Hmm?”

“Please…don’t call me that, not here. I’m tired of titles. Sometimes I feel as if ponies see more of what I am than who I am. It is…” She shook her mane, looking away in embarrassment. “Rush, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with my concerns. Forgive me.”

Rush sat up, brushing off his clothing and testing his weight on his leg. It was still sore, although felt more bruised than anything. Whatever magic Celestia had weaved upon him had worked miracles, and there was precious little he could do to repay her selflessness. He walked gingerly over to his old kit box, collecting the bag he had used as a stable hand, and returned to Celestia’s side. She lay there in silence, watching him approach and looking away, closing her eyes.

“Celestia?”

“Yes, Rush?” She sounded on the verge of tears.

“May I groom you?”

The princess lifted a hoof to her mouth, her voice weak. “Yes…”

Rush lifted the pink mane and began running the brushes through it, careful to avoid pulling on any knots, passing the brush from nearest her neck right to the ends. It was luxurious, so long that he was amazed she didn’t trip on it. The princess lay still, occasionally making odd whimpering noises. Rush was worried for her but continued to brush. The long sweeping strokes, the feel of her hair; it made him feel ridiculously happy for some reason. He could only hope it helped the princess to relax.

“Celestia, I want to know more about you, about your home, Equestria.” He carefully worked at a rather stubborn knot, smiling as it came free. “Most of all, I want to know about the beautiful mare who came into my life one winter’s night. Will you tell me?”

The princess lifted her head and stared right into his eyes. Those large purple orbs felt like they were boring right into his soul, laying it bare before her. A slight dampness on her cheeks showed Rush she’d been crying, and he quickly put down the brushes to gently wipe her tears away.

“I’m sorry, Celestia. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She cocked her head on one side, watching him, and then smiled gently. “You didn’t, it’s just me. You make me feel like a filly again, Rush. I don’t know how you do it.”

Rush let out a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to upset her. The mere thought of making such a beautiful girl cry was…

“Rush? Would you… Would you call me… Tia?”

“Tia?”

“Those closest to me call me that, or rather, ‘called’ me that. There’s not many left now, not since…” Celestia’s eyes took on that faraway look he’d noticed whenever she talked of her home.

Rush took up the brushes and began to groom her once more. Distracted from her train of thought, she began to hum as he worked, giggling. “You’re good at that. It feels amazing.”

“I used to be a stable lad for the lord, a long, long time ago.”

“You haven’t lost your touch, I can tell you that much!”

The brush slid effortlessly through the hair, the smell of it tickling Rush’s nose. “Tia? If you want to talk, I’ll listen. Sometimes, keeping things inside isn’t the best way. Someone special I met showed me that.”

Celestia sighed. “Someone special…”

She lay still for a while, feeling the soothing flow of the brush through her mane. Stroke, stroke, stroke… it was wonderful. Right then, she could have happily drifted off to sleep but for the chance to talk to somepony, somepony who didn’t really know her as ‘the princess’, and wouldn’t judge her. To be able to just pour out her heart… could it really be so easy? But with Rush…yes, it really was, wasn’t it? This man had seen things, felt things that few in Equestria could ever begin to imagine, and yet here he was, in his wooden house on a hill in the forest, simply brushing her hair.

“Where would you like me to start?”

“Wherever you want, Tia. I’ll listen.”

And there it was, the open door to her heart that had been locked for so long. The door this ‘human’ had unlocked with little more than kind words and the simple act of grooming her. Others would have tried wooing her, spending lavish amounts of money on attaining her favour. Rush had none of that: no money, no titles, no prestigious family name. He was who he was—Rush, the reed worker.

Celestia smiled, tears welling up in her eyes once more as relief flowed through her, all the pent-up tension drifting away like morning dew beneath her warm sun. In this land, there was no need to raise the sun, no royal duties, no regal responsibility. Here, she was just… Tia. She smiled to herself and began.

“Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria…”

“Tia!”

The princess laughed. “I’m sorry, Rush, I couldn’t help myself!” She nuzzled him gently. “My home is far, far away, on another world…”

Birds sang as the sun rose higher and higher, then gradually began its inevitable descent back below the horizon as night grew ever closer. Celestia talked, Rush listened. Occasionally, he would ask a question to clarify something, and the princess would answer. Rush felt as if he had known her all his life, for she was so calm and ‘comfortable’ to be with. The fact that she was another species simply did not seem to register with him at all. What did it matter? With all that had happened recently, Celestia was a constant, a rock in the sea of madness that had assaulted his once peaceful, if rather dull, world.

She spoke of things he could never have believed: of castles, battles, a beloved sister who had somehow become this ‘Nightmare Moon’, about magic, and even dragons! It was so fantastical that if she hadn’t sat in front of him, he would have believed them to be stories of fantasy for entertaining the villagers. Storytellers were nothing new in the village. In fact, when he was a foal, he—

There it was again. He paused, the teapot halfway to his cup. This was not the first time he had thought of this…foals, hooves...

“Rush? RUSH!”

“OH!” He put the teapot down quickly and hissed in pain. “Ow! Damn it all to bloody hell!”

Celestia ignored his language, taking his hand in her hooves and magicking over the water pail. Quickly, she immersed his hands in the cool water. “Keep them in there for a while, now. Goodness, Rush, are you alright? You were staring off into space!”

The princess gathered the upset crockery and tidied up the mess of spilled tea. It wasn’t too bad, thankfully, but what had gotten into him? Rush had suddenly drifted off when she was talking to him. Was he bored? She had certainly been talking for a long time, more so than she had in years.

“This is my fault,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “I’ve done nothing but talk about myself and my problems all this time, I—”

Rush took his hands out of the bucket and tapped her wetly on the nose. “And you can stop that now, Lady Tia. You’d tell me off for talking negatively like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I suppose I would, but…”

“I asked you to tell me about yourself, and you have, and more. Tia, when you tell me about your home, about Equestria, it conjures up images in my mind. It’s all so strange to me, and yet… I don’t know. I can’t explain it very well.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Explain what?”

Rush stared up into the rafters. What was he thinking? Dreams? That recurring one he’d had of being on a hillside, looking out over lush green fields, the wind tugging playfully at his mane. It was so beautiful, it was where he belonged. It was home.

“Rush?”

He slapped his hands on his knees. “Wait here.”

The princess stretched her legs. Being cooped up in here wasn’t doing her condition a lot of good, but her magic was coming back steadily now. Before long, she would be able to open a portal back home, and she would be able to… to…

She shook her mane. She was overthinking things again. Everything would happen in its own good time. Right now, though, right here, she was happy. There was all the time in the world for duty, for decisions, for…

“Tia?”

Celestia looked up. “Hmm?”

“Um, I…”

She watched him carefully. With his brown eyes and dark brown hair, Rush was quite an ordinary-looking sort of fellow, really, but it was who he was that intrigued her. Despite his occasionally cold and emotionless exterior, he had a good heart. Rush was quite the enigma. He fumbled for words, the first time she had ever seen him like this, and it made her giggle coyly. She felt awful, but simply could not help the mirth escaping, and she lifted a hoof to her mouth to stifle it. Poor Rush went bright red!

“Tia… I… Oh gods, look, I’m not very good at this…”

Celestia reached out and placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Rush, we haven’t known each other long, but you should know me well enough by now to know that I won’t judge you. You didn’t judge me, did you?”

The reed worker visibly relaxed, his shoulders drooping as he let out a loud sigh. “You’re right, I’m being foalish. Honestly, listen to me rambling on!”

Did he? Yes… Yes, he did, didn’t he? Celestia peered at Rush. Was she mistaken? Something in his colouring, the glimpses she had caught of his dreams in the netherworld. His mother, Willow… it was all just coincidence, wasn’t it?

Rush cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present. His face had suddenly reverted to that deadpan serious expression she remembered from when she had first met him.

“Tia, I haven’t got much in this world. I suppose that what you see is what you get. You…” Rush scrubbed the back of his head nervously. “You’ve given me so much, since the first day I met you. I… That is… Damn it all!” He slammed his fist on the floor, making Celestia jump. “Here! It’s for you.”

Rush bowed his head, holding out his hands to her. Nestled between them was a small bag with a drawstring. Celestia reached out and took it carefully in her forehooves.

“A gift? Rush, you didn’t need to give me anything.”

He nodded. “Maybe, but Tia, I haven’t got anyone: no family, no children. When I go, this place will just rot in the ground like my bones, perishing into dust until there’s nothing left here, not even memory. This… It’s too perfect, too beautiful a thing for it not to go to the one I…” Rush coughed suddenly and looked away. “Please… just take it… please?”

Celestia watched Rush’s clumsy behaviour with a puzzled expression. He was acting very strangely. He reminded her of a colt in springtime; perhaps he—oh! Ah, it was all so obvious: the blushing, the stifled words.

She nodded her head and closed her eyes, whispering, “Of course, Rush. Thank you.”

Carefully, she enveloped the gift in her magic, feeling the strings gently opening the bag and tipping the contents into her hooves. A small wooden box, covered in intricate carvings, neatly dropped out. Celestia gasped, nearly crying out in surprise.

“Rush! What… where… how…?” She didn’t know what to say. It was the box, the box that had been stolen from the castle all those years ago! And now, on a different world, in a wooden shack, in a forest on a hillside, it appeared as if by…

She smiled, throwing her head back and laughed out loud. Oh, Fate! Everypony was a puppet to that master of puppets, pulling even Celestia’s strings to its whims. Who could have known, how could she have known? And yet somehow, it all seemed strangely inevitable. Celestia clutched the box to her chest and closed her eyes,

“You’ve saved my life, and now you’ve saved my home. Rush, I can’t give you anything even approaching the value of this most precious of gifts. It’s… It’s overwhelming.”

Rush shook his head. “I don’t want anything in return, my lady, only your smile.”

Celestia put the box down beside her and reached for Rush, enclosing him in her forelegs as he put his arms around her. Warmth spread through her, making her heartbeat quicken, her breathing becoming ragged. She hadn’t felt this way in such a long time. Such things were for colts and fillies, not for her. Her world was an endless monotony of work, duty… emptiness. Rush’s scent filled her senses. Even now, the smell of freshly cut reeds, and the herbs she’d used to bathe him while he was injured, tickled her nose playfully. A flood of long-buried emotions began to emerge, making her gasp in a breath involuntarily.

She could feel his heartbeat, feel his breath warm against her coat. He was such a strange creature and yet, he made her heart stir so…

The princess of the sun leaned down and planted a kiss softly on his forehead.

“Oh Rush, you really are a lost foal.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty - The Desk Warrior

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE DESK WARRIOR

“What’s the name of this cesspool again? I want to know so I can remember it when I explain to my wife how I came down with the bloody flux.”

The clerk jogging alongside the governor’s horse desperately tried to grab papers from his document case. “It’s… err…”

“Oh forget it!” The provincial governor took out his box of snuff, taking a large pinch and inhaling. “What the bloody hell are we doing here, Ghai? Remind me now, will you?”

“Oh! The, err, that is, the lord has requested we attend and speak to the village elder about the recent wild animal attacks on the villagers. You will recall, sir, that lord Salu’s son, Nile, was deputy here.”

The governor sighed loudly. “So why isn’t he sorting out this mess then? Why in the name of all the gods in heaven am I out here, in the depths of winter, trudging through this damned snow?”

Ghai fumbled with his case, several of the scrolls coming loose and dropping softly into the snow. The governor rolled his eyes as his aide rushed about, trying to pick them up before they were ruined. Behind them, several of the warriors began to snigger. Ghai the bumbler, Ghai the governors pet—he’d heard it all before. The job paid reasonably well but was one hell of a far cry from what his parents had wanted for him.

Picking up the last scroll, he brushed off the snow and hurried to catch up with his employer. Governor Yito wasn’t a bad man really; he just had a remarkable capacity for forgetting everything within minutes of being told, sometimes only seconds. Ghai was used to it now. Nobody seemed to listen to anything he had to say, and most of the governor’s administration staff viewed him as more of a piece of useful furniture than a man. He didn’t mind, though—sometimes being ‘invisible’ had its advantages. Still, he wished he’d had a horse or this trip. His feet were killing him.

He cleared his throat. “Well, it would appear that deputy Nile was killed, sir.”

“Oh for…” Yito held his head in his hands. “No bloody wonder then, is it? I knew that stupid little arse would get into trouble sooner or later. Everyone thought it would be gambling. I thought it would be girls, but dead? Damn it all, this could be trouble with Salu’s clan for sure.”

Well, what was another war? The clans were constantly fighting, and Ghai had been raised to be a warrior like the rest of them. He’d been fortunate indeed that the governor had discovered his talent for administration shortly after employing him; otherwise, he’d probably have been killed long ago. When it came to sword-fighting, he’d nearly managed to decapitate himself in training, and so the decision to have him ‘reallocated’ as a ‘desk warrior’ had been a great relief to everyone.

Warriors from the governor’s office stretched out behind them, together with a cart for baggage and a few gunners. Ghai was quite fascinated by the devices. They were like portable thunder and lightning. The black powder blasted a small metal ball out of the open end at high speed towards your target, so very different to the traditional bows that required years of training to shoot properly. One of the gunners had showed him the powder once, and what happened when you stuck a lit taper into it. He sighed, shaking his head. It had taken weeks for his eyebrows to grow back after that, much to the hilarity of the rest of the staff.

Unconsciously, he reached a hand up and felt his forehead. They were still there.

“Ghai, what do we know about this village?”

The clerk went to open his case but thought better of it. Memory would suffice. “The village elder was killed in a raid some years ago and was replaced with the current one—goes by the name of Huro. Population is estimated to be around two hundred including children and elderly. It’s most notable for rice production, lumber, and excellent quality matting.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure we’ll all sleep better in our beds knowing that we’ve saved a village that produces nice mats,” the governor said sarcastically.

Ghai shrugged inwardly. This was another of his employer’s traits: sarcasm.

The forest track felt like it was going on forever. All around them was nothing but an endless mass of green, white, and brown. It was bitterly cold as well, his breath billowing out around him in white clouds. Despite this, the jogging to keep up with the governor was beginning to make him uncomfortably warm. This forest, this environment… he wasn’t at home here. Home was a nice cosy office, surrounded by books, ledgers, and writing equipment, not this. Why on earth had the governor brought him along? It was warm back at the manor, and he had the distinct impression he’d only been brought along so he could share the governor’s discomfort—and the fact he kept forgetting things all the time. Hadn’t he already told him about Deputy Nile? He was certain he had, but as usual, all he got from Yito was, “Uh-huh”.

Now they had that missive from Lord Ire. Its words had been short and to the point. ‘Attend immediately’ and ‘I await news of your success’. They hadn’t exactly left much room for manoeuvre. Yito had received the missive with a blank expression, probably not even remembering who ‘Deputy Nile’ was until he had been reminded numerous times.

Just to add to the misery, the clouds were beginning to darken, the mugginess in the air contrasting with the cold of the snow they were plodding through.

“Looks like we may be in for a storm, sir.”

“For the gods’ sake,” Yito groaned, “can this mess get any bloody worse?”

There was a white flash, so bright it left an afterimage in Ghai’s vision. A split second later, a loud rumble rolled around the hills. “Time for the waterproofs then,” the governor complained. “Fetch them from the baggage, will you, Ghai? There’s a good fellow.”

Ghai bowed to the retreating figure of the governor and jogged back to the baggage wagon. The warriors had started to pull out their capes and ignored him as he passed by. Good old ‘Invisible Ghai’. He quickly reached the lumbering wagon, its surly driver barely acknowledging his presence as he leaped onto the back to start searching for the governor’s rain cape and hat.

There was another flash, followed by a rumbling boom that shook the wagon and trees, sending clumps of snow down all around them. The oxen bellowed as its driver pulled on the beast’s reins to keep it under control, swearing loudly. Someone from up ahead was shouting something; probably Yito wondering where his rain gear was. Jumping down, Ghai ran through the snow back up to the front of the column where a group of warriors had gathered around the governor, staring at a huge amount of rock, snow, and earth that was blocking their path.

“Damn it all!” the governor spat. “It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it!”

There was no safe way around that they could see either. This part of the track had a fairly steep drop on one side and an even steeper upward slope above them. The warriors could get around it on foot, if they were careful, but there was no way the governor’s horse and the wagon would make it. Knowing Yito’s aversion to walking, leaving them behind was unthinkable. The governor began shouting at his men to find shovels, planks, in fact, anything that would clear this mess away. He didn’t want to be out here at night and, as Ghai nodded to himself, he had to agree. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

Work began quickly. The warriors, unused to physical manual labour like this, nonetheless took to the task enthusiastically. The governor snatched the wet weather gear from his clerk’s hands and spat on the ground. There had better be somewhere decent to sleep when he got to the village. That blasted dung heap would probably be little better than a few huts and a well. And fleas of course, peasants always had fleas. Yito watched the men working. They really should have brought some labourers with them, just in case. As always, hindsight was a wonderful thing.

He looked up into the sky. It was darkening, but there was no more lightning thank goodness, and he hadn’t heard any more thunder either. That was peculiar in itself. Thunderstorms normally went away gradually, didn’t they? This one seemed to come out of nowhere and to disappear just as quickly. It was the hills of course. This horrible place was noted for odd weather patterns and even stranger locals. By the gods, he hoped this nonsense would be over soon and he could get home to his wife, a hot bath, and something other than bloody travellers’ biscuits and dried meat.

He sighed. What was taking so long? Why was everything going so slowly? The sky was still dark and getting darker by the second. It was bitterly cold as well, so, so cold…

Ghai watched in horror as Yito fell from his horse into the arms of two of his warriors. It was chaos. Shouting and yells broke out as the men rushed to take cover behind trees and rocks. He just stood there in shock. Yito was dead? The governor? He’d been speaking to him only a moment ago and yet… and…

He stared at the black bolt shaft sticking out of the governor’s throat and retched. He wasn’t a warrior! What… What the hell was he going to do now?!

Beside him, one of the warriors grunted as a bolt shaft took him in the chest and he slipped, tumbling down the steep slope into the trees below. Another cry, another and another rang out across the snowy ground, mingling together with the loud reports of the gunners’ muskets. White smoke began to hang in the air. The stink of bad eggs from the black powder was not altogether unpleasant, but now it was almost impossible to see a few feet in front of his face.

There was a scream behind him, the sound of metal clashing and then another shriek of pain. Ghai’s heart was hammering; he had to get out of here! Grabbing his document case, the governor’s clerk ran back towards the rear of the column. What met him was a scene of utter carnage. The supply driver lay dead across the seat of his wagon. Even the bulls, the dumb, innocent beasts whose only job had been to pull the thing, had been slaughtered. The mindless ferocity of the attack made Ghai’s mind reel. He didn’t want to die here! He had to get away, and if there was one thing he could do, it was run.

With a grunt, Ghai hit the ground, hard. The wind was knocked from him; he choked and gasped for air, turning to see what had slammed into him. It was one of the gunners, his lifeless eyes already glazed and rolled up into his head. Pushing the body away, Ghai could feel panic beginning to take over, adrenalin surging through his body. Grabbing a tree branch, the clerk hauled himself to his feet and took a few breaths. It was now or never…

Tensing his muscles, Ghai suddenly froze. From out of the white smoke came a low thundering, the sound of what he knew could only be a horse galloping. In a heart-stopping moment, he saw it. The huge black shape appeared from the thick, swirling smoke, spiked armour covering its hide. It was riderless.

This was the chance he had been waiting for! If he could catch the horse, he could get away from this nightmare and get help. Quickly, he made for the beast, trying to keep low but grab hold of its reins before the frightened thing ran off. No doubt it was absolutely terrified, probably just as much as he was.

In a snort of steam, the horse suddenly turned its head and stared right at him. Bright red eyes, like the fiery pits of hell, bored into Ghai. Its teeth, like scythes of bone, caught off the reflected red glow in the smoke. It hissed at him, a shrieking clicking noise that froze his blood in his veins. The beast appraised him, then quickly turned, rising up onto its hind legs in one fluid motion that was as natural to it as walking was to him.

From out of the smoke, one of the governor’s warriors charged, his sword held up and behind, ready to deal a strike that could cut an opponent in half. The horse creature snarled, effortlessly unhooking the axe from its back, and somehow, grasping it in its hooves, swung it around in a deadly arc. The warrior never saw it coming. Perhaps it was just as well.

Blood sprayed out in a fountain, covering Ghai’s face, chest, and arms in a warm shower. Lifting his hands to his face, he gasped in shock and fell to his knees. What was happening? What was that thing? He wanted to run, to get away, but his body refused to cooperate, and he simply knelt there as the battle continued around him in the clouds of white.

He was dead. That had to be the answer. Ghai’s parents had always warned him about ensuring he was a good man, to be studious and honourable in everything he did. If he weren’t, he could find himself some day in one of the many hells his people believed in. Had he done something wrong? His life had been dull, certainly, a long boring slog of paperwork and scrolls, rather than the much vaunted life of the warrior that they had wanted for him. That was it, then, wasn’t it? He’d failed them, failed his parents and his lineage by becoming a clerk rather than a warrior. He was a failure and now he would pay for eternity in this dreadful place.

For how long he knelt there in the snow, Ghai had no idea, nor cared. His life was over; he had crossed over to the land of the dead, and now he was trapped here. There was no going back. How could things get any worse? It was silent now, though the white smoke still lingering in the forest air was probably a blessing in some ways. At least he wouldn’t have to see what that… that… thing had done to his comrades.

He looked up at the sound of approaching feet. A middle-aged burly man emerged from the smoke to stand over him, a sword held in his hand. Blood glistened on the blade as he watched him for a moment and then lifted it, placing the cold steel to his throat. The man looked like any regular peasant: muscular, weather-beaten, but it was his eyes that shook him. They were cold, heartless, as icy as the forest air.

Something else was coming.

The newcomer looked away at the sound of approaching hoof steps and bowed low. From the billowing smoke re-appeared the nightmarish horse creature, moving up to Ghai slowly, and snorted a blast of smoke into his face. It clicked and hissed at him, the noise unlike any horse Ghai had ever encountered before. His mind was reeling in shock. What he had seen, what was happening now, it all seemed like a dream he was having, and that he would wake up at any minute back in his snug bed at the governor’s mansion.

The creature hooked the axe back onto its spiked black armour and stared at him. The thing’s skeletal appearance was belied by the rippling muscles that were now stained with the blood of the fallen that littered the dirt track around him. It tossed its mane and appeared to be speaking to the peasant, who nodded respectfully and then addressed him.

“Who are you?”

Ghai’s mouth opened and closed several times, his throat parched with the fear that coursed through him. “I…I…My name is Ghai,” he choked. “I’m a…a clerk in the governor’s office.”

The creature snorted and lifted a hoof towards the document case he still carried. The burly man stepped forward and roughly snatched it from him, passing it to the creature. The thing shook its head and the man nodded again, taking out the documents. Ghai stayed where he was, his mind blank. They were talking! The two of them, this… this thing was having a conversation with the man! Whoever he was began to read out the documents to the armoured creature and then bowed to it once more before turning to him.

“You will come with us. If you resist, you will die. If you run, you will die.” He flicked the blood from his sword and sheathed it, taking a length of rope from the remains of the wagon and returning to bind Ghai’s hands behind his back.

Ghai began to say something, but the man backhanded him across the head. “If you speak,” he growled, “…you will die.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty One - Tracks in the Snow

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

TRACKS IN THE SNOW

Thorn trudged through the snow, following the faint trail of the boy. The young thestral had made camp here and had done a fairly good job of covering it up as well, but not quite good enough. The major sniffed the air. There was a hint of something warm, something metallic, and a sense of…death. The forest knew, the trees, the bushes—they all remembered. All a good tracker needed to do was to ask the right questions, to read the signs no matter how seemingly insignificant. Thorn closed his eyes and calmed his thoughts, listening to the world around him.

Shaking the snow from his mane, he snorted and looked up at the sky. It was snowing again. How he missed the hot springs, the way the water would soak into his fur, the heat easing the accumulated aches and pains in his joints. He wasn’t old, but by the moon, he felt it more with each passing day. Countless fights, skirmishes, battles—it was hard to distinguish one from another now, the passage of time eroding his memory until they all seemed like they’d happened to someone else, a long, long time ago.

All in all, it had been ultimately pointless. The tribe’s lands were no bigger or smaller than they ever had been. Only their numbers shrank and dwindled all the time. One plague, one large war back home, and they would probably become extinct within a few decades. With Nightmare Moon’s blessing, all this would change. The thestral race would recover, thrive once more.

It pained him to think that he had to take the life of one of his own, that even now, after everything that had happened, thestrals were still killing one another. Thorn sighed to himself. That evil drug had been behind this. When he returned, he would speak to the colonel and have something done about that accursed blight on their race once and for all.

Thorn brushed away a patch of snow from his flank with a quick swish of his tail, refocusing on the sounds and smells of the forest. The scent was closer now, leading him through the next few trees and into what was looking to be a small clearing. He instinctively checked to ensure his axe was still ready to hoof on his back, and slunk low to the ground, listening… waiting.

Nothing.

No sound, no birds, no movement, not even a breeze stirred here. The major’s hackles were up, but he knew he’d have to look, have to see. What choice did he have?

Slowly, cautiously, he moved to the edge of the clearing and peered in through the bushes, his already keen senses stretched to their limit. Earlier in the year, in the heat of summer, this place would have been swarming with flies. As it was, the corpse was a partially frozen mound, covered in the pure white shroud of the latest snowfall. He moved up to it and stopped in his tracks.

There, just below the frozen body, concealed by mud and snow, was a length of cord. Cautiously following it back, the hidden makeshift rope led to a concealed log covered in lethally sharp bamboo spikes, deadly to anyone whose curiosity got the better of them. Or him.
Thorn took up a stick in his forehooves and hooked part of it under the cording and pulled. There was a loud crash as gravity took hold, and the wickedly spiked log swung down at chest height, sweeping through the clearing. Anyone in its path would have been killed or maimed without doubt. Even Thorn’s armour wouldn’t have protected him completely. He gave wry grin.

“Clever boy…”

Either the lad was supremely cautious, or he knew Thorn was tracking him. It would be safest to assume the latter. Thorn’s training had always included the worst possible scenario as being the most likely, encouraging him to always have a backup plan and never to be too headstrong. There was a time and a place for decisive, prompt action, and similarly a time for caution. Right now, caution was the order of the day. If this fool actually managed to kill Celestia, who knew what the ramifications would be. The goddess might turn on them in her fury at having his sister killed against her orders. Alive, there was at least some chance of having the rest of the Celestians surrender, if only the princess of the sun could be persuaded to listen to reason.

Thorn shook his head at the notion. He’d seen Celestia in battle, watched her fight; the fire in her eyes, that determination… it was exhilarating. That mare could fight, and fight well. The major smiled to himself. She would have made a fine mate. It was foolishness of course, a colt’s passing fancy, but despite his weariness in muscle and bone, he was still a stallion and… well, he could indulge himself in a little fantasy, couldn’t he?

The major walked away from the clearing. Foxes and wolves would eventually clear away the carcass, and soon the life that had been extinguished here would be as if it had never existed. The forest would swallow the evidence of the young warrior’s deeds, the child returning to the earth from where he had once come. Thorn gritted his teeth, blinking away the snow and peering down at the tracks. He hadn’t been mistaken after all. There were two of them; the thestral and one other, a human. A captive? Maybe, but it was better to be on his guard just in case.

That night, he looked about for a place to sleep. Tracking the young one meant lighting a fire was out of the question, and he’d had to resort to using bits of rags and other clothing items he’d found on the bodies of the dead to fashion a makeshift cloak for himself. It wasn’t pretty, but it would be better than freezing to death out here in this seemingly endless forest. Constructing a makeshift shelter, Thorn lay down on the bed of branches he’d built up to keep out of the snow. Curling his legs underneath himself, he wrapped the patchwork cloak around his body and settled in for the night.

Dozing fitfully, Thorn drifted in and out of sleep. He dreamt of home, the land of the Beyond with its beautiful crystalline trees, their kaleidoscope colours changing as he flew high overhead. He remembered the black river and its huge translucent fish that he used to catch as a foal, and the miles of white grass that twinkled like diamonds.

The memories tugged at his heart, a heart hardened by years of war, yet still he remained whom he had always been deep inside. Somewhere within the battle-hardened and weathered exterior, the young Thorn frolicked and played by the side of the black river, his father trying to show him how to fish. He didn’t care about that—it was far more fun to run and jump, flapping his wings as hard as he could. That was before he fell headlong into the fast-running water.

His father had saved him, of course, flying in to grab the foolish youth in his hooves and dump him sodden and coughing onto the white grass of the bankside. He had tanned Thorn’s backside raw for that stunt, and so he made sure he always listened to his father after that. He’d also developed quite a healthy respect for water in the process. Speaking of rain, the weather was changing. A blast of coolness tore through his shelter and brought with it a bitterness that foretold of worse to come. Sure enough, the relentless snow began to impact harder and faster around him. Hail was something Thorn wasn’t familiar with. The Beyond didn’t particularly have much in the way of weather systems, and he had been especially fascinated with the ones he had encountered in Equestria when he had arrived there with the others. It was all so…bright.

The hail struck the shelter in waves, breaking upon it like a rock at sea. The stinging granules made him huddle further into the shelter and pull the cloak over his head. Thorn sighed, shaking his head in dismay. Perhaps the Beyond had more in its favour than he had given it credit for. Despite the relative blandness of the surroundings, it was his home and Equestria was still alien territory… very alien. Goddess damn this weather. Thestrals weren’t meant to be out in this!

The miserable night continued.

What passed for daylight gradually began to filter through the seamless pall of grey that hung over the land. The major awoke, rubbing his eyes and taking a swig of water from his canteen. Dried fish made for an expedient breakfast before he shook himself free of the remains of the shelter and broke camp. He searched around the site for a while, but already knew the answer. Any tracks left by the boy and the human were gone, buried by the snow and ice. There were, however, still some signs of their passing: the odd broken twig, the occasional hair or pushed-down grass that poked through the snow. There wasn’t much, but there was enough. If nothing else, at least it gave him some hope that he would find them.

The sun was already climbing when Thorn glimpsed movement through the trees. It was a ways off, up the other side of a steep valley, above what looked to be a track or road. Was he mistaken? No… No, that was definitely him. He was keeping low and well-hidden, but it was him alright. The sunlight, as weak as it was, still illuminated the land enough to be able to make out his quarry. And there too, there was something else with him… the human.

Thorn kept himself low, moving slowly but steadily from tree to tree, keeping as much of the terrain between him and the other thestral as he could whilst still closing the distance. His gaze was so firmly locked on the warrior that he nearly missed the movement on the road. Below the boy was a column of humans, warriors by the looks of them, calmly walking along, clearly oblivious of the thestral above them. The major watched silently. As foolish as the boy was, no thestral would attack a force of that size and—

The bright flash and subsequent rumble was followed by a heavy landslide well ahead of the human warriors. Damn it! Was the boy insane?! Thorn kept moving as the second explosion went off, sending down another landslide to block off any escape route. The humans, oblivious of the trap they now found themselves in, stopped to try and clear the blockage in the road before them. Many of these warriors had removed their weapons and replaced them with shovels, picks, or simply used their hands to help move the debris.

It was all too easy…
The dense white smoke from the two blasts now began to slowly descend upon the road below as the killing began, additional cover being inadvertently added by their own warriors who were using some sort of magical weapon against their unseen foe.

The shouting, cries, and screams echoed around the hills as Thorn picked up speed, heading towards the battle. It was already far too apparent that the humans were hopelessly out of their depth. One by the one, their warriors fell, their shouts diminishing as their numbers dwindled.

The major had to stop and catch his breath, his heart pounding from his exertions and his lungs burning for air. Damn this stupid forest. As much as it hid him, it was simply too dense for him to fly, and it would do little more than make him a target as well. In the confusion of battle, the humans wouldn’t be able to distinguish one thestral from another and would no doubt turn on him also.

As much as it rankled, Thorn knew the only chance he had was to get as close as he could and observe. His time would come, soon enough.

It didn’t take long.

In what felt like no more than a few minutes, the shouting ceased. Straining his eyes, Thorn could make out some movement through the smoke. It was barely discernible, but it was the boy. A human, no… two humans, were there with him. One was tied up, another talking with the young warrior, reading from a piece of blood-stained parchment.
Thorn crept closer, keeping downwind as much as he could. Cold but inexorably at his hide, but with his focus on the other thestral, he barely noticed. Closer… Closer… The major was near enough now to hear them talking, their voices carrying clearly on the faint breeze.

“…the village and hunt the animal down that tragically took the life of Deputy Nile. You are ordered to bring the beast’s head back, undamaged, as proof of the completion of your task…”

The young warrior snorted, laughing out loud at the words. “Bring back the ‘beast’s’ head’?” He reared on his hind legs and swung his axe, burying it in the tree mere inches above the head of his captive. “Perhaps I should send back your head instead, human? Then your people will see for themselves just how weak they really are, and the folly of opposing the great goddess of the moon!”

The human flinched and visibly shook, probably more with fright than the cold. Whoever he was, he didn’t have the toned look of a warrior, and an opened document case lying nearby suggested he was more of a clerk than a soldier. The poor fellow was as white as a sheet. The other human interested him. He was conversing with warrior boy quite freely, and even his words made sense to Thorn. It was an odd dialect, but very Equestrian-like in form. His people had been taught the language, albeit somewhat rudimentary for the most part, prior to their arrival in the Equestrian lands. The intention was simple: it was for interrogation.

Thorn watched as the other human cruelly slammed the captive’s head against the tree and backhanded him, much to the amusement of the younger warrior. He grimaced. This wasn’t warfare; there was no honour in the mistreatment of prisoners. He knew it went on, of course—all armies did it to some degree—but it was still dishonourable. A warrior who had fallen should be treated as a brother, not like this…

“Lord Rend, do you wish me to kill him?” the large human asked, rubbing his hand.

“No, not yet.” The thestral watched his captive closely. “I may wish to amuse myself with him for a little while. I can feed later.” He looked at the wreckage of the cart. “I would know more of what is in these barrels and these… What did you call them?”

“Guns, Lord Rend.”

“Guns…” The thestral opened one of the barrels on the cart and sniffed at the contents, smiling to himself. Lifting some out with his hoof, he walked over to a rock and poured the fine black powder onto it. Stepping back a few feet, he took a deep breath and carefully sent out a thin sliver of flame.

In an instant, the powder ignited, giving off a white flash and a rolling cloud of smoke. Thorn could feel the heat it gave off even at this distance. So, the humans had a form of magic after all, did they? Or rather, alchemy. It was not unknown in the Beyond; thestrals had often experimented with different elements to try to create new and interesting ways of killing. He’d recognised the blast earlier as the improvised explosive they had been taught how to make as colts. How this boy had managed to find what was needed to produce it in this goddess-forsaken land he had no idea. The lad was more accomplished than he’d given him credit, but it still begged the question: why was he doing this? And what did the human call him earlier? ‘Lord Rend’?
The boy, ‘Rend’, lifted one of the guns and tried to operate it, the controls awkward to his equine hooves. “Show me.”

The large human grovelled in the snow, muttering something Thorn couldn’t hear. With a snarl, Rend barged him out of the way and approached the bound hostage, towering over him.

“You… human, show me.”

“I…I…”

“Untie him,” Rend spat at his colleague. “If he tries anything, cut him down.”

The large human quickly bowed again and hurried over to the other, severing his bonds with a quick flick of his short sword. The other male staggered, then rose to his feet.

“What… What do you want me to do?”

Rend growled, his temper already on a knife edge. “Show me how to use this!”

“No.”

“WHAT?!”

Thorn cringed. Rend was clearly not a thestral to be crossed, but by the goddess he had to admire the human’s courage.

Rend reared and howled his anger into the sky, the hills echoing with his screeching cry. His colleague, the larger human, appeared to be trying to dig his way into the earth, he was bowing so low. Thorn scratched his chin thoughtfully. So, it would seem the other human was subservient to him then. Was it out of fear…or something else?

Suddenly, the young warrior spun and kicked their hapless prisoner with a brutal blow that knocked him flat on his back. A sickening hollow crack suggested something had broken, making the major wince in sympathy. This wasn’t going to end well.

Rend shouted and raged at the man, his eyes flaring brightly. “Take off his shirt, human.”

“Yes, Lord.”

In short order, the prisoner had his shirt removed and his arms and legs staked out. Sitting on his haunches beside the human, Rend looked down at him dispassionately.

“I don’t think you understand the situation you are in, human. I ask you to do something, you do it. It’s not that difficult for your primitive brain to comprehend now, is it? Our friend Cray here, he understands. Don’t you, Cray?”

“Yes, Lord Rend.”

“You see? We want to be your friend as well. What’s your name?”

“G…” The man coughed. “Ghai.”

“Ghai? A good name, wouldn’t you say, Cray?”

“Yes, Lord Rend.”

“Yes… a good name…” The warrior lifted up a small bag with his hooves, manipulating it with his teeth until he had the thing open. “You see, Ghai, I don’t want to do this, but I have a task to perform, given to me by the goddess, and I have no choice. Don’t you see?” He smiled, the long translucent teeth making the young human swallow. “Come now, won’t you show me how to use these things and be my friend?”

“Go to hell.”

Rend’s eye twitched, his anger clearly beginning to boil over. “I see…”

He reached forward and tipped the black powder out onto the man’s chest. It was probably not enough to kill him, but sufficient to cause significant injury. Rend’s voice was dangerously low. “That was the wrong answer… Ghai.” He brought his muzzle close to the captive’s face. “I like to ‘experiment’, Ghai, to understand things. You know, try new things out.” He lifted a small bottle hanging from a thong around his neck and took a quick sniff, his eyes brightening significantly. “…Magnificent.”

Rend motioned to the other human he had named as ‘Cray’, who dutifully brought over a box of tapers he’d found in the wreckage. The thestral nodded his approval, sending a fine jet of flame out, until the end of the taper was burning merrily.

“You have until this burns down, Ghai. I suggest you think about your next answer very carefully. I assure you, you will assist me…” he laughed, “one way or another.” The thestral inhaled another huff of the powder around his neck. “Yes…one way or another…”

Ghai watched in silence as the taper gradually ran down, the small yellow flame flickering before his eyes. The creature, this ‘Lord Rend’ would kill him, of that he had no doubt whatsoever. Maybe not right away, but he eventually would, and he would be damned if he’d show the vile creature how to use guns. Truthfully, he wasn’t that sure himself, and in any case, this thing was more than capable of killing without them already. With them as well, gods knew what it could do. He closed his eyes and prayed. He was frightened, but wouldn’t let these two know that. A clerk he may be, but the blood of his forefathers ran through his veins, and he would have to stand before them again someday; maybe sooner than he thought at this rate.

The taper hissed in the cold mountain air until it began to gutter and finally ran out.

“Your answer, Ghai?”

The governor’s clerk opened his mouth to speak. He was so cold now, the ground was already freezing, and with no shirt on and out here, he’d probably die of exposure before these swine had finished with him. Rend leaned forward, his ear close to the man’s lips.

“Yes?”

Ghai spoke in a low voice, his smile adding weight to his reply, “…No.”

Thorn smiled, nodding to himself. Ghai was indeed a brave soul, but one now in mortal danger. Rend backed away and spat on the ground, smoke curling up from his nostrils. Wordlessly, Cray stepped forward, the box of tapers held before him like an offering to the gods.

“I’m sorry to do this, Ghai.” Rend grinned. “But you leave me little choice.”

A fresh taper burst into flame and was brought forward, Ghai’s eyes going wide, his heart beating like it would burst. He gritted his teeth and waited.

The force of the explosion threw the thestral and his companion across the forest floor like toys. A deafening boom, billowing smoke, and an intense wave of heat accompanied the blast like the hand of some invisible giant, slapping them effortlessly away from Ghai.

In his shock, he stared about him, his ears whistling from the earth-shaking noise. A large black muzzle suddenly appeared above him, its red eyes burning like the fires that had now sprung up around him. The beast’s teeth drew close; he could smell its breath, see the vivid scar over its eye.

“Do you want to live?”

Ghai nodded.

“Then come with me and do as I say, understand?”

He nodded again. In a trice, the two of them were up and running along the road, deafening shrieks of anger and rage ringing out behind them. Thorn shouted back over his shoulder.

“Get on my back, and hang on, human.”

Ghai didn’t need to be told twice. He leapt onto the creature’s back as its two huge bat-like wings snapped out and, with a lurch, began to lumber them into the air.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Two - Trapped

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

TRAPPED

“What do mean the road’s blocked?” Chert slapped his hand on his knee. “Speak!”

The villager wrung his hands nervously. “The… There’s been a landslide, and a big one too. It’s gonna take days to move that lot.”

The boss rolled his eyes. “Landslides at this time of the year? The ground is frozen solid. How the hell do you get a landslide in winter?”

“It could happen, boss,” Stran added, showing the villager out.

Chert clicked his tongue. “Perhaps, but I don’t like coincidences, Stran. Never have, never will. I sure as hell don’t like this one.”

Stran scratched his head. “Boss?”

“I mean, the young girl, the villagers, and now this. It stinks, Stran, like we’re being corralled, like cattle to the slaughter.”
The younger man sniffed. “I still think it’s wild animals, Boss. The tracks we found by the girl and in the forest were all horse-like, but we searched for hours and came up with nothing.”

Chert nodded. It was true—they’d swept through the village and surrounding hills in force and hadn’t found anything other than the frozen remains of the two young ones. What had been done to then was sickening, but it was no animal that did that. No, animals did not tie knots.

The other bodies they had found scattered throughout the forest told more of the gruesome story. Some had been cut down with bladed weapons, others shot with arrows. Whoever had done this had taken the time to remove them, but the large distinctive wounds they left were still clear.

Despite the carnage, however, Nasta wasn’t the only survivor. Two girls and one boy had made it back as well, but none of them had been able to describe their attackers. The only thing Chert had been able to determine was that whoever they were, they were mounted. Stran, however, was convinced the mounts weren’t horses, and that worried him.

“They’re not nags, Boss,” he had said. “The hoof prints are not right, too pointy. My old dad used to be a farrier in his day, taught me all I know. Trust me, when you’ve been kicked in the arse as much as I have, you remember the shape of the bloody thing’s feet!”

Chert trusted Stran’s opinion. He may not be the brightest of his men, but he was honest, loyal, and reliable; a rare commodity in his line of work. If he said it wasn’t a regular horse, then it wasn’t a regular horse. Even so, that didn’t mean they weren’t an unusual breed or some other creature that they just hadn’t seen before. He’d heard of other cultures, other peoples that used beasts other than ‘regular’ horses as mounts.

The boss rubbed his head. Hellfire, this wasn’t making any sense at all! Why would the village be targeted anyway? And by the gods, that was how it felt as well. This didn’t feel like some random attack—it felt co-ordinated, unlike the usual bandit raids where they’d ride in, steal what they wanted, and leave just as quickly as they’d appeared.

Jinu knocked on the door. “Boss? Nasta’s here to see you.”

The door was opened just in time to allow a flustered Nasta to squeeze through and stand, panting, before Chert. The boss eyed him up quickly. The man was clearly upset about something. Nasta was normally a fastidiously clean and neat individual. Now, the bedraggled and red-faced man standing there looked more like a complete stranger than the man he knew. Just looking at him made him feel uncomfortable.

Chert nodded to him. “Nasta. Sit down, please.”

The tall man slammed himself onto the floor, fidgeting nervously all the while. “Chert, what’s this I hear about a landslide? I want to get my family out of this place as soon as I can! What am I going to do now?!”

Chert placed a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, for the gods’ sakes, man. You’re setting my nerves on edge just looking at you!”

Stran interrupted. “Tea, Boss?”

The boss nodded. “And see if you can find Pai, will you? He was supposed to be here hours ago.”

“Yes, Boss.” Stran bowed and left.

Chert smiled at his old friend. “So, Nasta, how’s the family?”

“How do think they are, Chert?” Nasta blurted out. “They’re bloody terrified! Everyone is! That ‘thing’ is still out there, I know it is… I can feel its eyes everywhere I go…”

The boss shook his head. “Nasta, this isn’t good. I haven’t seen you like this before. You look a mess.”

Nasta shook his head. “Never mind how I look. What are we going to do? You’ve got children, Chert; you want them to end up like the others? Like Blossom?”

Chert angrily slammed his hand on the floor. “And running about like a headless chicken is going to accomplish what, Nasta? Look at yourself! You’re a bloody wreck! The state you’re in right now, you couldn’t find your arse with both hands, let alone trek through the hills with your family. You need to calm down and think rationally if we’re going to sort this mess out.”

Nasta closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He wanted to get out of here, to escape this nightmare, but… but Cray’s warning… He hadn’t forgotten it, but just the thought of staying here…

The door opened and Jinu bowed, entering with a tray of tea and steamed buns. “Just cooked, Boss. Thought you may like a couple.”

Chert clapped his hands together and laughed. “Excellent! Jinu, your timing’s perfect!”

Stran stuck his head round the door. “Boss? I found Pai. He’s outside.”

“Ask him to wait, Stran. On second thought, no, send him in.” Chert turned to Nasta. “I want you to see this as well. I think you need to.”

The steamed bun was delicious, just the right consistency and warming on such a cold day. Washed down with the tea, it was one of life’s little luxuries that the gang boss could enjoy. It was also a good way of distracting his somewhat ‘temperamental’ guest from constantly worrying.

“Boss?” A small, rather rotund man in a floor-length green robe appeared in the doorway.

“Ah! Pai, please, come in.” Chert indicated to a space beside Nasta. “This is Nasta, a family friend. Nasta, this is Pai, a new addition to my… team.”

The man bobbed his head to Nasta and bowed to the boss before kneeling on the small cushion Stran passed him.

“You have it?” Chert asked levelly.

Pai nodded. “Yes, Boss.”

The small man placed a wrapped package between them and began to carefully unfold it. Nasta held his breath, his heart racing. His eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of their sockets.

Chert noticed it as well, shaking his head in dismay. “It can’t hurt you, Nasta.”

His friend stared anxiously down at the deadly projectile sitting in the middle of the cloth. “I saw enough of them in the forest, Chert. I don’t need to see another one. Never as long as I live.”

“What’s your opinion, Pai?” the boss asked the newcomer.

Pai raised an eyebrow. “It’s not made of a wood I’m familiar with. It’s as hard as steel and the tip is razor-sharp. The flights are made of some sort of hair that looks like horse hair, condensed and glued. All in all, it’s well constructed and functional.”

“Crossbow?” Chert asked.

“Without a doubt. It’s too short for a regular bow, but longer than most crossbows I’ve seen. Those things are foreign to our shores in any case, but if the length and weight are indication of the weapon that shot this, armour wouldn’t do much to defeat it.”

“So,” the boss announced, “probably mercenaries, or pirates then?”

Pai scratched his chin. “I would say so.”

Nasta shook his head. “I don’t understand, Chert. What are you getting at?”

Chert tapped his fan on the floor. “That this is exactly what it looks like, Nasta. There’s a group of bandits operating in the area, and our headstrong young deputy blundered right into them.”

“But Blossom—!”
“—was in all likelihood killed by a wild animal as we all thought.”

“What about the hoof prints?! The tracks, they weren’t—”

“For the gods’ sake, Nasta!” Chert cut in. “Animals don’t use blasted crossbows, do they? When was the last time you saw a sword-wielding squirrel? You’ll be terrified the chickens will try to take over the village next!”

From the doorway, Stran stifled a laugh.

Nasta hung his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t see any riders though. There weren’t any that I could see.”

“And what were you doing at the time, eh?” Chert asked pointedly.

“I…”

“I’ll tell you what you were doing. Running for your bloody life, that’s what! And that’s what any sane person would have done.” The boss patted a hand on Nasta’s knee. “Nasta, it was dark. Besides, the forest is a terrifying place at the best of times, let alone when you’re running through snow and people are trying to kill you.

Nasta closed his eyes, wishing away the images of that night from his mind. He wasn’t convinced. That… That thing; he’d glimpsed it through the darkness of the forest. Those eyes, like the red pits of hell, watching him, hunting him…

Chert lifted the crossbow bolt, examining it closely. The thing was unlike anything he’d ever seen, but it was definitely man-made. Men, he could deal with. Finishing off his tea, he rammed the bolt into the table top, making everyone jump.

“Stran?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Get the boys, and a work detail.”

Nasta’s head shot up. “Chert?”

“If you still intend to leave the village, Nasta, we’ll need to re-open the road first. So, time a grab a shovel and get to work. You up to it?”

The thought of going back up into the hills, alone with his family on that isolated road… Nasta shuddered. Suddenly, his earlier excitement at the prospect of leaving had lost some of its appeal, but…if Chert was with them, they could open the road, and he could get his family out of here. Out, to the bigger towns, the cities where there were people, money, and best of all, no monsters lurking in the hills.

“Bring me a shovel and I’ll show you.”

Chert grinned. “Good man!”

********************

The litters bounced along the uneven road leading up into the hills. Chert enjoyed the freshness of the winter air, but these days his age was beginning to tell, and he had to wrap himself up as warmly as he could. It didn’t do to show any form of weakness in front of his men—bosses seldom lived to see old age in his line of work—but out here, he’d hoped to live out his days in peace and pass the business down to a successor. His daughter was still too young, but some day she’d be ready. He smiled to himself, looking out at the panorama of snow-laden trees; there was life in the old dog yet. Chert took a draw on his pipe and watched the smoke curl lazily away. Just what was going on in these hills?

Snow crunched underfoot, the breeze carrying the occasional cry of a bird or the creak of a tree branch overloaded with snow. The odd snap would make his companion twitch and stare out into the forest as if he could see something watching them. It was unsettling, not only for Chert, but his men were picking up on it now as well.

He leaned out and called to Nasta, “Wonderful view from up here, isn’t it? I never tire of it.”

Nasta’s head whipped round. He was as white as a sheet. Y…Yes, it’s… it’s very nice…”

“What are Petal and the girls doing today? Any plans?”

“No… No, I don’t think so.”

“Have you still got that little dog, what was his name? Marlin?”

Nasta shook his head. “No. He died, a few weeks ago. The girls were devastated.”

“The market’s on soon, isn’t it? Why not get them another one?”

“I’m not so sure…”

“Go on! They’ll love you all the more for a puppy. You’ll be the best dad in the village!”

Nasta shook his head and, despite himself, grinned. “Maybe.”

Chert laughed, slapping his thigh. “There you go! I knew you couldn’t be a miserable bugger all the time.” He leaned out of the litter and turned to his men. “You see? Got a smile out of him after all! You owe me for that, Stran!”

The tattooed man raised an eyebrow, shouldering his long sword. “You got it, Boss.”

Climbing up into the hills, the air quickly became a lot colder than it had been down in the village. It was cleaner, pure, and had a distinct freshness to it, rather than the dusty mustiness of the well-worn streets. The sun seemed brighter up here, the sky bright blue and clear. The grey clouds from earlier were now only lingering in patches here and there. A shout from up ahead caught his attention, and the column came to a halt. One of the villagers hurried up to Chert’s litter.

“Boss, we’re here. The road’s completely solid alright.”

Chert climbed out of the litter, closely followed by Nasta and Stran. Several of the villagers had already begun to unload shovels, wheelbarrows, and other tools from the carts. Stran quickly set about organising them and left the boss and his friend to talk in peace.

The gang boss scratched his head thoughtfully. “I still don’t understand it. The ground’s so hard here. I guess we should just count ourselves lucky no poor bugger was under that when it came down.”

Nasta stared up at the dark scar on the hillside, the mass of grey rocks and brown mud intermingling with the white of the snow and remnants of smashed trees. If they could get this shifted, he’d have to see about hiring Chert’s boys to escort his family out and on to the next town. If they managed to kill that damned ‘thing’ in the meantime, so much the better. In actual fact, it looked like it may have moved on of its own accord. Chert’s gang had scoured the hills around the village and found nothing, so maybe, just maybe, the beast had gone to look for food elsewhere.

Unbidden, the image of Rush entered his mind, and he closed his eyes. He’d left him, left him to that… that ‘thing’. He’d heard Rush cry out in the darkness behind him, but he hadn’t dared stop or go back to see if he was alright. He’d been so scared! If he’d stopped, if he’d even slowed for a second, the beast would have had him!

Rush would be dead now, of course, but… maybe it was for the best. He was a lonely man and entering middle age. Living out there in the hills, the harsh life would have eventually claimed him. He’d done what he could, but Rush had been so stubborn. His eldest daughter who lived in the next village would have been ideal for…

A yell suddenly made everyone stop in their tracks. Nasta spun round to see Chert rush over to talk to one of the labourers, who was panting and pointing at the landslide. Curiosity taking the better of him, Nasta moved closer to hear what was being said.

“…on the other side. Gods! They’re all…”

Stran scrambled over to the top of the pile of earth and rocks where the workers had placed planks to help their footing. Nasta could see him looking down at the other side and shaking his head.

“I think you want to see this, Boss.”

With the help of the villagers, Chert clambered up to where Stran was standing. The earth was loose in places, making the boards shift worryingly under his weight. Chert’s tattooed subordinate caught hold of his sleeve to help steady him as he finally reached the top, brushing dirt from his hands. Taking a breath, he looked out at the road on the other side of the landslide.

“Right then, let’s…” The next words died in his mouth. He simply didn’t know what to say. How on earth could you describe such a scene?

Stran shook his head slowly. “Boss, what do want to do?”

Chert ran his hand over his face. Great gods, what the hell were they going to do now? The food supplies had nearly all been completely destroyed in the fire, and now this!

His voice was a near whisper. “Stran, get your best men, ones who can keep their mouths shut, and get rid of these bodies as quick as you can. Delay the labourers until the area’s clear.” Stran nodded silently.

Navigating his way back down the rickety planking, the boss’ path was blocked by an anxious Nasta. “Well? How is it? Will we be able to get through?”

Chert did his best to keep his true emotions from showing on his face. “Of course we will, Nasta!” He slapped his friend on the back and led him back down to the rest of the expedition. “It’s going to take a while, but we’ll clear it, don’t you worry. For now, let’s get back to the village and get a hot meal down. I don’t know about you, but I’m bloody freezing out here.”

He glanced back at Stran, who was already issuing orders to a group of his men while the rest of the party started a fire and began to play dice with the labourers as they waited. That was the good thing about villagers: as a whole, they didn’t question things, just did as they were told. With a rap on the side of the litter, they were off back to the village.

The images of the dead warriors, strewn along the road replayed through mind. Whoever these bandits were, there was a lot of them.

A hell of a lot.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Three - Fleet of Foot

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

FLEET OF FOOT

Rush peered out of the window, the low rumble suggesting a storm was on its way. The sky didn’t look particularly stormy though, but he knew all too well how deceptive, and dangerous, the weather could be here in the hills. A rain storm could suddenly spring up out of nowhere and strike you when only an hour before it had been blue skies and sunshine. It was just another aspect of living out here that made life that touch more ‘interesting’.

A pure white muzzle brushed up against the side of his face, making him jump in surprise. Celestia smiled coyly to herself at his reaction. He was so nervous around her sometimes! She peered out the window beside Rush.

“Thunder?”

Rush shrugged. “Looks that way.”

The princess shook her head in dismay. “And I was so looking forward to going for a walk. Still, perhaps we can go out afterwards, if the rain has eased.”

“Tia, I don’t know…” Rush said quietly.

Celestia cocked her head on one side. “Rush, please, we’ve been over this already. I cannot stay cooped up in here all the time. It’s not good for either of us.”

He hung his head. “I know, but I’m worried in case someone sees you or that those… what did you say they were called again?”

“Thestrals.”

“…Thestrals may attack you. Your magic is still not fully recovered; you said so yourself.”

Celestia walked over to her armour and nudged it with a hoof. He was right, of course. Her magic wasn’t back up to full strength yet, and was taking a painfully long time to do so. The natural magic field of this world was all but non-existent, and although she could certainly regenerate it herself, she still needed sunlight and fresh air regardless. Staying indoors all the time would only hinder her recovery, and she had already overtaxed herself recently by helping Rush recover from his fall down the ravine.

She lifted her halberd, checking the weight and feel of it with her magic before grasping it in her forehooves. With a grunt, she reared onto her hind legs and swung the weapon, smiling in satisfaction as it whistled through the air.

“I’m not made of china, Rush.” She fixed him with a wry grin. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, as you can see.”

Rush nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know; I’m sorry. I’m being stupid and selfish, Tia, forgive me.”

Celestia leaned her halberd against the wall and trotted over to the hapless reed worker. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, nudging him with her muzzle. “Your concern for me really is touching, Rush, but I need the light. I need to feel the wind on my coat. Don’t you feel it as well? The life of nature all around you, the energy of the land—it’s a part of what you are and who I am.”

Celestia trotted over to the door and opened it, breathing in the fresh winter air. “Come on, Rush, let’s go for a gallop!”

Rush’s heart thumped hard in his chest, the hairs suddenly standing up on his arms as a tingling ran through him. A need, a desire, to throw his worries and concerns to the winds and just run, run and be free…

He looked into Celestia’s eyes, those large, purple, feminine eyes that sent a flood of emotion through him every time. He knew his answer, and by the twinkle in her eyes, she did too.

“Yes!”

Buckling on his reed knife, with no more ceremony or conversation, Rush and Celestia left the house and turned down the forest track. The sun was brighter now, the grey clouds burning away in its warm rays. The air still had a sharp bite to it, the chill of winter forever present, but with the princess beside him, the cold was the last thing on Rush’s mind. After walking a few yards, the white mare turned and shook out her wings, closing her eyes and taking a deep cleansing breath.

“Can you feel it, Rush? All around us, the heartbeat of your world.” She walked over to a tree, leaning a hoof against it and turning to him. “It’s in the ground you walk upon, the leaves in the trees, the air you breathe. Feel it with your body, your mind, and your soul, Rush. Just close your eyes and stretch out your senses, feel it with your heart.”

Rush closed his eyes. He tried to listen, to feel what Celestia was talking about, but he couldn’t seem to experience anything beyond what he normally did. The hardness of the ground, the cold of the snow and air, the way the breeze tickled his nose and ran through his mane…

A gentle, unexpectedly warm sensation began to flow through him, a tingling feeling of ‘expectation’, the sense of wanting to run, to run until he reached the very edge of the world. He could run, he could… and he would!

With a sudden burst of energy, Rush took off down the forest track, his feet thundering beneath him, the wind roaring in his ears. He laughed. He laughed, and shouted, and howled with joy; he was home! Home at last! He picked up speed, the branches and leaves whipping by him in a blur as he passed by. He was unstoppable, as swift as the wind and as strong as a thousand stallions!

Rush’s lungs burned; his muscles thrummed with life. His heart beat in time with the world, his world, his home…

But it wasn’t, was it? It wasn’t his home at all. Willow, his mother had… had what? Images and wordless voices charged through his mind as he ran. Where was he? He wanted to go home; he had to go home! He wanted his mother, his father, to get back to the fields of grass as sweet as—

“RUSH!” Celestia ran up alongside him as he turned to look at her. “By the sun, Rush, stop!” she shouted. “You’re going to hurt yourself like this!”

Rush gradually slowed, coming to a stumbling, steaming halt and stared straight ahead. With a sudden heave, he emptied his stomach onto the forest floor before falling back into Celestia’s outstretched forelegs. He was gasping for air and felt so hot, he felt like his skin was on fire.

“T-Tia, I’m…sorry, I…”

She stroked his hair. “It’s alright, Rush, take your time and get your breath back now.”

He nodded slowly, feeling the softness of her fur against his skin. As Celestia held him, the images began to fade, but… what did they mean?

“Tia?”

“Don’t speak, Rush, just try and find a place of peace inside. Calm your soul and let your body recover.”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “No, Tia, I… I think I’m losing my mind.”

She took his face in her hooves and looked down into his eyes, those fathomless purple eyes stripping his soul bare. “Listen to me,” Celestia said seriously. “You’re not, Rush, you’re as sane as I am. There’s just a lot more at play here than I originally suspected.”

Panting, Rush took a quick sip from the water flask he’d brought along. “It’s the box, isn’t it? Your reaction to it, these images I’m seeing—they’re all connected, aren’t they?”

Were they? Celestia watched Rush for a moment in silence before looking up into the sky. It was so blue, so pure and clear. She missed home: the fields, the rivers, the wonderful ponies that she was fighting so hard to protect. Now, this human, this ‘man’, had given her the key to saving her home, and yet had asked for nothing in return. Celestia closed her eyes and began to speak, her voice low and calming.

“They are. At least, I believe they are. Tell me, when you hold the box, what do you see?”

Rush cast his mind back to the last time he’d held it. The images, the sounds, the smells—they were all so clear, so…real. “Fields. Lush green fields, sweet grass, sparkling clear waters in a river that meanders through the land and past the forest’s edge. There were ponies, playing and running beneath the warming sun of their princess.”

Celestia leaned down and kissed him tenderly him on the head. “Tell me,” she asked, “how did it feel?”

Rush rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. “Like… I was meant to be there. I was so happy, just being able to run and be myself. Like now, I felt that I wanted to run, to feel the wind in my hair.” He looked up at her. “Tia… I don’t understand. What is this? Why is this happening?”

The princess held him in her forelegs, closed her eyes, and sighed gently. “Imagine a jigsaw, Rush, a picture broken into many, many pieces. All the pieces are there, we only need to put them together.” She gave him a light nuzzle. “The question is, do you really want to see the full picture, to have the answers to your questions? You have a life here, Rush, a life you’re familiar with, one you understand. If what I think is behind this is true, then…” The princess trailed off.

Rush turned to face her, looking into her beautiful eyes. They looked sad somehow. “Tia, I want to know the truth. Please.”

Celestia nodded slowly and stretched out a wing, brushing snow off him. “Give me a little time, Rush. I need to think on this. Now, how is your leg?”

He laughed. “It’s killing me! I can’t believe I ran so far and so fast!”

“I could barely keep up with you!” The princess chuckled. “Come on, I want to enjoy this sunshine while we can.” She knelt down. “Climb on.”

Rush reached out a hand, then snatched it back suddenly. “No, Tia, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Wouldn’t be right,” she murmured. “Why not? Because I’m a princess?”

He balked. “Well…”

She stomped a hoof in irritation. “That’s it, isn’t it? Titles, nobility…even here...”

“NO!” Rush all but yelled. Celestia started and backed away before she fixed him with an inquisitive gaze. “Tia, you don’t understand! To climb on you, I can’t explain it… It feels wrong, not because you’re a princess, but because I… that is…”

She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment. Of course, of course she knew why. Stubborn as he was, Rush had his pride and that strange honour code which he worked to. Celestia had already known that titles meant nothing to Rush, and she mentally berated herself for suggesting it. Still, she couldn’t let him carry on with that sore leg.

“Rush, I want to continue our walk. Time with you is… special. You won’t hurt me, I promise. So, please, I want you to… Please?”

He looked uncertain, a look of confusion and frustration on his face. To ride her, for his shabby form to sit astride that beautiful creature… it was conflicting with everything he felt. But… to be that close to Tia, to be able to hold her, it was so much more than he could ever have dreamed of. Indecision gripped his heart.

Celestia rolled her eyes. “Right then, enough of this!”

With a flash of golden light from her horn, Rush suddenly found himself picked up off the ground and floated through the air like a bundle of washing. A moment later, he was carefully lowered onto the princess’ back.

“Now, hold me…yes! That’s right!” She laughed as he positioned himself to hold onto her as he had practiced all those years ago as a stable lad. “Good! Now we can enjoy the rest of our walk.”

And with that, the princess tossed her mane, and the two of them trotted off up the road, deeper into the hills.

It was a while until Rush spoke. The warmth from the princess’ back felt wonderful, the rustle of her wings as soothing as the gentle breeze that moved through the trees around them. He wasn’t sure what to think now; in fact, he wasn’t even sure who he was anymore, or more frighteningly… what he was. He had always been Rush the reed worker, the hermit who lived in the hills, the one who…

He shook his head in frustration. It was pointless to overthink things. It was what was here and now that mattered, not what was, nor what had been. He lifted the princess’ mane and felt it run through his fingers.

“You’ll be going home soon, won’t you?” he said quietly.

He felt the hesitation in her steady rhythmic walk, the quavering in her voice. “Yes. When my magic is restored, I’ll have to leave. My people need me, Rush, and I need them as well. As much I…” She paused, giving her mane a shake. “I miss my home.”

He knew, of course, right from the moment he met her, that someday, when she was well enough, she’d leave. Keeping such a beautiful being in a wooden shack in the hills was no life for her. She’d be nothing more than a prisoner, a pet for his amusement. The princess needed to be free, to run, to fly, to live her life in those lush green fields and drink from the sparkling pure waters of the river.

“Take me with you.”
Celestia stopped in her tracks, turning her head to look back at him. “Rush?”

“Please, Tia, I want to. Is it… Can it be done?”
Her eyes were wide, sparkling in the sunlight. “I… I think so. The thestrals followed me through, but Rush, there are no other humans in Equestria. You’d be like I am here, a stranger in an alien world.”

Rush looked at his hands, remembering the feeling of the wind against his face, how his tail had streamed out behind him as he ran. “I wouldn’t be, though, would I? I’m already a stranger here, in this world.”

Celestia hung her head, her breath curling up around her muzzle. “Rush, I—”

Something large flew overhead, something very equine. Celestia stared at it, her muscles rippling beneath Rush’s body.

“Thestral,” she hissed angrily. “As always, their timing couldn’t be worse…”

Rush gasped. “There’s someone on its back! Look!”

The princess nodded. “You’re right, and it looks like they’re heading for your house.” A shock ran through her. “The box!” That must be what the thing was after, and now it had a hostage as well! Were there no depths to which these vile creatures would not stoop?

She whinnied and turned about suddenly. “Hold on, Rush, I’ll try and outrun them. Keep a tight hold!”

In a surge of power, the princess broke into a gallop, heading back along the track the way they had come. Rush clung onto her neck for all he was worth. The thundering of her hooves on the ground and air whipping past was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. There were questions he wanted to ask, answers he needed, but there was time enough for that later. First, they had to deal with whatever was flying their way, and if it was intending the princess harm, then he knew what he had to do.

By all the gods, he would protect her.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Four - Four for Dinner

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

FOUR FOR DINNER

Thorn skimmed over the treetops, keeping as low as he dared. His large leathery wings were ideal for gliding, and the downward angle of the hills helped him increase his speed with minimal effort. If any pursuit was coming, he certainly hadn’t detected it so far. He’d call back to the human to keep watch behind them and search for anyone following, but the odd creature had been so terrified that all it could do was cling to his mane like a limpet. Thorn groaned inwardly. If there was one thing he would take away from all of this, it was that he really did not want anything riding on his back again!

Still, he had to get this human to safety. He did not owe these creatures anything of course, but the bravery he had seen the thing exhibit didn’t deserve what that young warrior had planned for him. If he could get the human back to his own kind, they would take care of him, and then he could focus on dealing with the boy… and the princess.

The sun had quickly cleared the clouds away, but it was still bitterly cold. Up here, at least, he could feel some warmth from the sun. Below in the forest, the snow and ice sucked the heat from you, and the trees blocked its rays. Speaking of the sun, he had an idea. The princess was staying with that human, wasn’t she? He’d stumbled across the creature that night in the forest. The thing had been injured, and Thorn had approached it with the intention of extracting some information, only to have the princess appear of nowhere and charge him with her horn glowing like the sun itself. He’d been in no shape to confront her that night and the look in her eyes was one that he would never forget.

Thestral mares were fiercely protective of their family, and he had seen them fight to the death to protect their foals. Thankfully, these days that didn’t tend to happen very often due to the unspoken agreement between the tribes to preserve the young ones no matter who they belonged to. Celestia had had that very same look; she would have gone down fighting for that human.

Strange indeed.

Carried on the breeze, he caught a faint whiff of wood smoke. Someone had a fire going and that meant heat, something this human sorely needed. Thorn could feel the creature shaking on his back. Stupid things—why didn’t they have any fur to keep them warm? Ridiculous…

Up ahead, he could just make out an irregularity amongst the bamboo, and he angled towards it. There, not too far from him, was a clearing, and within it the structure he remembered all too well from that first day. Well, there was nothing for it now. It would be safer both for him, and his passenger, to land here. So long as he was quick, he could leave the human with his fellows and return to his own camp deeper in the forest before anyone knew he had been here.

It was certainly a lot better than risking landing near the village that was crawling with these things. He swept around in a wide arc, scanning the ground for possible ambushes, but surprisingly there was no sign of any movement at all, only two sets of tracks leading from the house. Thorn looked closer. Pony tracks by looks of them, and a human’s, no doubt Celestia and her human ‘assistant’.

As he descended, the image of the boy appeared in his mind. He’d had a human with him as well. Were they…useful somehow? Thorn shook his head. They weren’t pets, obviously sapient beings. Still, having an ally would certainly be useful, wouldn’t it? One who knew the land, the customs and— He snorted; it was pointless speculating, really. After all, once he had eliminated the young one, he would secure the princess and get out of here. First thing was first—he had to get rid of this ‘cargo’ and be away.

With a muffled thud, the major landed at the approach to the house. It was only a short walk up to the front door, a quick check revealing the windows were shuttered, and there were no visible signs of life within. He sighed with relief. It looked like it was simply a case of dumping the human and disappearing into the forest.

“Human? Wake up.”

Silence.

Thorn gave his back a shake. The thing was still stuck there, its claws grasping his mane firmly in their grip. “I said wake up!”

Still no reply. Thorn began to worry in case the frail thing had died and rigor mortis had affixed the creature’s corpse to his back. Not a pleasant thought; getting it off may prove…messy. A groan from behind him made him turn.

“Wh…What?”

Thorn gave his back a more vigorous shake. “Wake up, soldier! Get off my back and stand on your own two feet!”

Ghai coughed, his head spinning. The world seemed to lurch to one side, and he doubled over, retching. Reflexively, he released his grip on Thorn’s mane, his fingers so stiff and cold that they ached horribly. Lifting one leg up to dismount from the unfamiliar beast, he lost his balance and half-slid, half-fell from the thing’s back into the snow.

The Major looked down at him. “Are you injured, human?”

Ghai just lay there, the events of the last few hours seemingly from a different world to the one he lived in. Did all that really happen? Was the governor really dead, all his men… gone? Good gods, that thing, that horse thing! It was going to… to…

Trying to stand, he looked up into the black-coated creature’s face, right into a pair of burning red eyes. Teeth, like translucent daggers, curved up the side of the beast’s mouth and glinted menacingly in the sunlight. He swallowed. He’d never seen a forest demon before, although he’d heard of them. This one… This one had…

It was all too much. The world spun away from Ghai as his body failed on him, and he pitched head-first into the snow. Thorn rolled his eyes and shrugged, lifting the human in his forehooves and slinging him across his back like a sack of grain.

“Stupid creatures…”

The front door was locked, but a well-aimed buck took care of that in short order. Inside the house was surprising cosy, if a little dark due to the closed shutters. The fire had dwindled but wouldn’t take too long to build again. He’d have to work quickly, though—the human appeared to be going into shock. He’d seen it before, when warriors unused to the exhilaration and terror of battle could, quite literally, find their bodies shutting down.

Thorn reached out a hoof; the human was freezing cold. Checking around the room, he found a couple of blankets which, after pulling the more sodden outer clothing off the ape-like thing, he managed to wrap around it as he began to breathe life back into the fire. With a little coaxing, heat began to fill the room in short order.

Despite its appearances, the house had actually been quite well-built and insulated against the worst of the elements. Perhaps these creatures weren’t so useless after all. Thorn hung up the human’s clothing over the back of a chair to dry while he searched around the house for any food and drink, both for the human and himself. His stomach rumbled at the thought and he sniffed the air, trying to pick up on any tell-tale scents.

Hanging up on the wall near the door was a brace of dried fish, a barrel with some uncooked rice in it, and a selection of winter vegetables. Grabbing a few of these items, he stuffed some in his pannier, left some by the human, and headed for the door. A cough behind him made him pause. The frail thing needed help, didn’t it? He groaned inwardly. If he just left him here alone, there was a possibility he may not survive. Could he really just walk away? But…

“Damn it all!” Thorn spat, trotting over to the fire. Taking up a kettle and placing it on the frame over the flames to heat, he took some of the vegetables, chopping them into pieces to go into the pot. He was no cook, but he knew the benefits of a hot meal, and taste was something that would have to play second fiddle to necessity right now.

“Adding theft to your list of crimes, monster?”

A pure white mare stood in the doorway, blocking his escape, the human beside her crouched in a clearly aggressive stance. Thorn stood still, the pot of vegetables in his hooves. He looked at her quietly for moment before placing it beside him and taking the water off the heat.

“Do you have any stock for the soup? I can’t seem to find any.”

Celestia’s eyes bulged. “HOW DARE YOU!?”

She took a step forward, but the human beside her reached across and said something that made her stop in her tracks. In an instant, her demeanour changed, and the princess visibly lowered her guard. The man walked in and calmly opened a cupboard, producing an earthenware pot.

“Let me. I’ve been here a while in these hills, and if there’s one thing I can make, it’s soup.” The human stared at the other one beside the fire. “Who is he?”

Thorn shrugged. “I don’t know. There was a group of them in the hills on a road leading to the village. My…‘subordinate’ attacked them. He was the only survivor.”

The human looked surprised, then resigned. “You’re the one who found me that night by the ravine, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Rush. What’s yours?”

“Thorn. Storm Major, first thestral assault battalion.” A huff from Celestia made the major look up. She glowered across at him, her eyes never leaving his, not even for a second. He knew that if he made the slightest wrong move, that golden glow from her horn could well be the last thing he ever saw. What this human’s relationship with her was, he could only speculate. Right now, though, he was trapped and furious with himself for the moment of weakness that had placed him here. In his mind, he weighed up his options for escape; it didn’t look good. Still, if he kicked over the water into the fire, the distraction could—

“What are your intentions, Storm Major?”

Thorn stared at the human. Was he speaking for the princess, or for himself? Best to play along then…for now.

“I intend, human, to leave here and complete my mission.”

He watched the man add herbs and a scoop of stock to the pot before placing it on the fire. “You intend to take Celestia back to your world, to Equestria, a prisoner for this… ‘Nightmare Moon’. Am I correct?”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. This human was surprisingly well-informed. The princess must have confided in him.

“You are.”

Rush looked up at Thorn from under his brows as he stirred the soup. “I will stop you, Thorn.”

The major appraised him carefully. The human’s brown eyes had a depth that he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was a depth that spoke volumes of what this ‘man’ had seen, what he had done, and more importantly, what he was capable of. He suspected the long knife that hung at his belt wasn’t just for show.

Thorn tucked in the blanket surrounding the unconscious human. “So, what do you intend to do now then, Rush?”

“Now?” Rush shrugged, placing the lid on the pot. “Now, I intend to make some soup.” He looked up at Thorn. “Won’t you join us?”

***********************

A cry of animal pain and rage echoed out across the hills, the haunting sound startling the nesting birds to flight and making Cray cower in fear of his master. A blast of flame erupted skyward from the stricken thestral as it pulled at its armour.

“Damn him! Damn that verminous traitor to the pits of hell!” Rend cried out again, the pain coursing through him like red hot fire. He gritted his teeth and pulled the last piece of armour free. Gasping, he turned to his human assistant. “Take hold of that and pull when I say.”

Cray knew better than to argue. Lord Rend was someone, or something, you didn’t discuss or debate with; not if you wanted to live. The ragged length of wood had smashed through his underside and deep into the muscles before his haunches. Rend’s legs were shiny with blood, and he must have been in terrible pain. Cray closed his eyes, praying silently to whichever god would listen in case this went horribly wrong. If Lord Rend lashed out, he would likely be joining his ancestors spirits a lot sooner than he’d planned.

The thestral shook, gritting his teeth and hissing, “NOW!”

With a deafening howl, Cray pulled the huge splinter free. The warrior’s blood rapidly began to pool on the snow while he lay there, panting.

“Quickly!” he gasped, a cough racking his chest. “Wash it out as I said.”

Dutifully, Cray took the cloth from the boiling pot of water and began dampening and wiping the wound and surrounding area. The thestral hissed its anger and rage to the world as the blacksmith worked. The worst, however, was yet to come.

The wound would need cauterising. The blood flow wasn’t stopping, and if he didn’t do something, Lord Rend would likely bleed out. Part of Cray began to wonder silently just what would happen if he simply ran off into the trees now. Rend was too weak to follow, too injured to find him and kill him, but…he was still a warrior of the goddess, the goddess of the moon. If he did not show Lord Rend the proper respect, both he and his family would receive her wrath. Maybe not immediately, but some day, and the vengeance of the gods could be terrible. The thought of that was…unthinkable. No, so long as he followed the goddess’ warrior, all would be well. After all, he had spared Cray’s life over all the others. He was special, a true believer and one who acknowledged the gods and the spirits. As foolish as some believed that to be, the evidence was all too clear.

Rend took a deep breath, sweat breaking out on his face. “Do it…”

Taking the metal spike from the fire, Cray approached the bleeding wound and closed his eyes. By the gods, he’d never done anything like this before. Just the very thought made his stomach churn, but Lord Rend had already instructed him carefully, and he knew what to do. Still…theory was one thing…

“HURRY, DAMN YOU!” Rend yelled, desperate for the ordeal to be over.

Cray nodded and, taking a deep breath, applied the hot glowing metal to the wound.

His ears popped with the sound the thestral made; the snow in the trees shaken loose with its agonised roar, falling to the ground around them. The worst was the smell, the smoke from the burnt flesh catching in his throat and making him gag. Quickly, he dropped the steel spike and opened the packet of powder that Rend had shown him earlier. Carefully, he began to sprinkle it over the wound and then took the rolled up pad and bandage out of their protective tubing. Working silently, Cray pressed the pad in place and wound the long bandage around his lord’s body, keeping firm pressure until he was finally able to tie it into place.

Rend took the water bottle in his hooves and downed a large draught before catching his breath. “Help me up.”

Cray leaned down to be roughly grabbed by the young warrior, who used him to haul himself to his hooves with a grunt. Taking the bottle from around his neck, Rend removed the stopper and inhaled deeply. The effects were immediate: a calming, heady feeling of wellness, of strength and invulnerability surged through him, dulling the pain. Without delay, he collected his armour and passed it to Cray, pointing with his hoof.

“Use that and bring it with us.”

“Yes, Lord Rend.”

Cray bowed then ran off to collect the hand cart that had been upended during the battle. It was just large enough to take the thestral’s heavy armour, and he swiftly began to gather it up and stow it the best he could. Without the carapace of wickedly-spiked metal covering his body, the goddess’ warrior looked almost skeletal, his bones clearly defined. The thestral’s midnight-coloured hide was more like leather than fur, stretched taught over that emaciated-looking frame. Those wings, long and bat-like, rustled as he shook them, preening the snow from between the folds. Cray looked on in awe. Despite its terrifying appearance, the thestral radiated a raw sense of youthful drive and energy, a strength that inspired and tantalised the blacksmith’s imagination. If only he could befriend such a being, what wonders he could see!

***********************

Rend ran a foreleg over his muzzle, wiping the sweat away. Gritting his teeth, he tried walking a short way. It was painful, but not too bad. The healing powder and infused bandages would accelerate healing, but it would still take a few days before he could move freely again. There was time enough to gather supplies and plan his next move. He hissed, narrowing his eyes. That rat, Thorn, had interfered for the last time. Why had he helped that human? What did a thestral warrior owe these ignorant monkey creatures? It had to have something to do with that witch, Celestia, he knew it! If it wasn’t for her and her vile magic, the major wouldn’t have lost his mind in this world.

Kicking a piece of wood away angrily, Rend stared up at the sky. If Thorn and his witch wanted war, he would bring them war such as they had never seen. In his mind, he could already picture the major lying dead beneath his axe, the witch cowering as he approached. He could be generous, he would show her mercy… the mercy of the moon goddess. With a laugh, Rend walked over to one of the corpses and sniffed it.

“Get a fire going, human,” he rumbled to Cray. “I’m hungry.” Maybe when this was over, if he felt inclined, he might dine on a sweeter meat. Scratching his chin, he wondered about the taste of alicorn and smiled quietly to himself.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Five - Visions From an Unknown Past

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

VISIONS FROM AN UNKNOWN PAST

Celestia removed the cloth from the man’s forehead and rinsed it in the bowl of clean water. “He’s exhausted, but appears unharmed. I cannot find any injuries.”

Thorn nodded, turning his attention back to Rush, who was stirring the soup quietly. The human may not have been watching him with his eyes, but he could sense his attention upon him in other ways. This was, after all, his home, his territory, and Thorn would need to have his wits about him if he was to get out of here in one piece.

Rush spoke quietly, “Who is he?”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “A human. One who was going to be tortured into giving information. Whether he had any or not did not matter.”

“It was you that evening in the forest when I fell into the ravine.”

“It was I.”

“Let me ask you a question, Major. Did you kill a human female by a pond near the village?”

Rush looked up from the soup pot, his eyes boring into the thestral. Thorn sighed inwardly. He knew that look.

“No, it was not.”

“But thestrals eat meat, do they not?”

“Amongst other things, yes. However, there are plenty of fish and other game here, human. Whatever else you may think of us, we are not murderers.”

Celestia snorted, making them both look around. She glowered at the major, her eyes sparkling in the light from the fire. “Not murderers?” She stomped a hoof. “Your lies are without end, thestral. You butcher my people, you hunt me down like the assassin you are, and now, now you have the affront to sit before me and claim you are innocent?”

Thorn looked at her levelly. “I didn’t say I was innocent, Princess. I have blood on my hooves as much as anypony involved in the war. Conflict makes killers of us all, to some degree.”

Rush tapped the spoon on the pot, covering it with the lid. “It was the other thestral, wasn’t it?”

Thorn hung his head. “Yes. I fear my subordinate has lost himself to anger and hatred. Whether it was as a result of being lost in an alien world or the drugs he has taken, the result is the same. He will keep on killing until he is stopped.”

“Drugs?” Rush asked, curious to know more.

“Haj,” Thorn explained, “a potent mix of elements from my homeland. It was used as a battle stimulant, but its effects were so unpredictable, our elders banned it. Some, however, such as our rogue warrior, appear to have ignored the warnings.”

Celestia shook her wings out before pacing back and forth before the fire. “As if your people’s brutality was not bad enough, you have to imbibe ‘powders’ to increase your bloodlust? Is there any depth, any depravity, your kind will not sink to, thestral?”

Rush looked across at the princess, his face unreadable. Briefly, she returned his gaze and sniffed, looking away. It wasn’t like her to allow anger to take control, yet being so close to one of these ‘things’, the sickening creatures that her sister had brought to infest and invade her homeland, was beyond anything she had ever had to endure. She could smell the iron tang of blood, the unmitigated cruelty that emanated from it, and it set her teeth on edge. Rush, on the other hoof, had never seen these things in battle, the way they hacked and cut through her ponies like… like…

What was Rush looking at? With a startled squeak, Celestia’s magic winked out, and the halberd clattered noisily to the floor. What was she going to do? Strike the thing down in front of Rush when it was unarmed? It was no more than it deserved, but still, she had more honour than that, and certainly more than the vile beast that was sitting across from her. With a huff, she leaned the weapon against the wall and sat by the fire opposite the thestral.

Rush wiped his hands on a cloth and addressed Thorn, “Do you have children, Major? A family back home?”

Thorn shrugged. “One son, no more than a foal. My wife was killed in battle.”

“My family were lost to war,” Rush said quietly. “My wife and daughter now lie beneath the soil of the forest.”

The major watched him for a moment, unsure where this was heading. “Losing a loved one is never easy.”

Rush nodded. “No, it’s never easy. At least you still have your son, Thorn.”

“I do,” Thorn replied, “until the goddess calls him to her side. As she will for me some day.”

Celestia leered derisively. “Goddess? My sister is no goddess, thestral, and you know it.”

Thorn shrugged. “My people have lived in darkness for as long as any of us can remember, Princess. One came who offered us a chance at a new life, a new beginning for our people. For the first time in my life, I began to experience hope. Would you not worship somepony who gave you that most precious of gifts?”

The princess sneered. “A new life? You would move from the darkness of the Wither world to help bring about a greater darkness in my home.”

“The goddess promised us a new home, Celestia, a home of peace where we could save ourselves from extinction.”

“By steeping yourselves in the blood of innocents!”

Rush stood abruptly. “Tia, Thorn, please. We are disturbing our friend.”

The other human began to stir, groaning and stretching his arms. Rush knelt beside him, helping the thin man to sit up and offering him a cup of water.

“It’s alright, friend. You’re safe now. Here, drink.”

The man looked into Rush’s eyes for a moment, then took the offered water, greedily gulping it down until the cup was completely drained.

“Wh… Where am I? Who are you?” he stammered.

A noise behind him made the man look around suddenly. He spotted the major who was watching him with his fathomless, burning, red eyes. Rush placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not in danger, friend. I promise.” He bowed. “I’m Rush. A pleasure to meet you.”

The newcomer’s eyes went wide, then visibly relaxed, nodding towards Thorn. “He saved me. That… other one was going to…” He shook his head. “Am I dead?”

Rush smiled. “Not unless I am as well!”

“My name’s Ghai. I’m a clerk in the governor’s office, or at least I was before that thing killed him.”

Thorn stretched a hind leg out and gave his fetlock a scratch. “That ‘thing’ is a thestral warrior, like me… human.”

Ghai pulled himself from the bed and bowed low before Thorn. “Forgive me, that extremely rude of me. I am grateful beyond words for your kindness in saving my life. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Thorn.”

“Thank you, Lord Thorn.” He bowed low once more.

Thorn snorted. “Just Thorn will do, Ghai. I’m no lord, nor do I have any wish to be one.” He glanced at Celestia. “I’m no more than a mere soldier.” She glowered back.

Ghai’s gaze turned to the princess and he nearly fell over in shock, opening his mouth to speak but words failing to emerge. Celestia gave him a nod.

“My name is Celestia, Ghai. It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope you are feeling better?”

“I…” Ghai stammered. “Yes! Yes, thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” He turned to Rush. “I’m sorry, this is all a little… overwhelming. I don’t know whether I’m dreaming or… oh, I don’t know!”

Silence descended on the party surrounding the fire, the occasional pop and crackle seemingly deafening in the small house. Rush tapped the pot lid with his spoon, making them all jump.

“Who’s for soup?”

************************

Celestia sat on her haunches, the reed matting insulating her comfortably from the frozen ground beneath. She lifted the tea cup and sipped it thoughtfully, watching the thestral, Thorn, and the human, Ghai, walk off together into the forest. It was strange, she thought, how the two had apparently ‘taken’ to one another. Ghai had quickly accepted the completely alien and, in her opinion granted, terrifying appearance of this ‘Storm Major Thorn’ without any hesitation. In fact, he’d seemed more surprised by her! She sniffed. The pretentiousness of the creature, ‘Storm Major’! And if that weren’t bad enough, the human had even taken to calling it Lord Thorn! Well, nearly had, she supposed.

Rush was her concern now, the way he had happily accepted that monstrous thing into his home and… and even fed it! How could he? Didn’t he know what they had done? For all its politeness, civility, and courteous behaviour, the thestral didn’t fool her. She knew insincerity when she saw it, and that winged monster oozed it from every pore.

“Tia? Your tea is going cold.”

Celestia gave him a sidelong glance. Rush was sitting on his favourite rickety old chair, finishing off his tea and running a whetstone over the long reed knife. She watched the stone sliding over the blade, listening to the grating noise it made as the edge was honed.

“Tia?”

The princess shook herself, placing the cup down before stretching her wings out and settling them back more comfortably by her sides. “I’m going back in.”

Rush stuck out a hand and gently placed it on her shoulder as she passed, stopping her. “You’re upset, I can tell.”

“Do you think so, Rush? I wonder why that could be.” Letting out a loud snort, the princess lifted her head and flounced into the house, slamming the door behind her. Rush rolled his eyes. He had guessed something like this could happen. Fortunately, Thorn had broken the door lock, otherwise he was certain the princess would have locked him out.

A short while later, Rush finished his work and tried to push the door open. Strange, it was jammed. Rush pushed again with a similar result. “Tia? The door’s stuck! I can’t get in!”

Despite being muffled by the closed door, the anger in Celestia’s voice rang out loud and clear. “That’s because I’m sitting against it, Rush.”

“Wh… Why? Tia! Please, there’s no need to be like this.”

“Be like what, Rush, be like what? You tell me! Am I the one being selfish and thoughtless here?”

He’d never seen her like this before. It seemed so… undignified somehow.

“Tia, I’m sorry I hurt you,” Rush said calmly, “but I wanted to try and diffuse the situation without it descending into violence. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“If you mean the one who intends to murder me is still walking around, then yes, it did work,” Celestia snapped back.

“He wants to capture you, not kill you.”

“And that’s better then, is it? What do think Nightmare Moon will do to me, Rush? Send me off on a nice holiday somewhere warm for a few weeks?” Celestia’s voice was filled with indignant rage. “She will do worse than kill me, I can tell you that! And yet you…you treat her murderous minion like… like a long lost friend!”

“It wasn’t like that, Tia, and you know it. You’re being unfair.”

“UNFAIR?!” Celestia shrieked. “You fed that lying fiend in your own home. It lay there watching me with those cruel eyes the whole time! You don’t know what they’re capable of, Rush, you’ve got no idea of the cruelty they can inflict.”

“I was in the forest that night, remember?” Rush replied levelly. “I saw what that other thestral did to those children. I saw what it did to my niece. I do know, Celestia, believe me, I do.”

There was silence before Rush began to hear the sound of sobbing from behind the door. “Tia… please, let me in.”

“No.”

“But…”

“Damn it all, Rush, stop being so… so reasonable about everything! I’m angry and hurt and… and I… I don’t know! I just…”

“Tia, I’m going into the workshop to rest. When you want to talk sensibly, I’ll be waiting in there.”

“HA!”

Rush picked himself up and walked across to the workshop, kicking the snow away from the door before pulling it open. Damn it all, it was bloody freezing in here! He took a look around, finding the wobbly old stool he’d made the previous winter and angrily slammed himself down on it. With a loud crack, one of the legs gave way, and Rush was pitched onto the floor, banging his head painfully off the wall.

“GODS DAMN IT ALL!” he yelled, snatching up the broken pieces and throwing them across the room into the corner. His anger was getting the better of him, something he wasn’t used to either, but she was so frustrating!

Despite his best intentions, somehow he’d hurt Tia. Still, how else was he supposed to deal with the situation? Attack Thorn? The thestral could very well have killed them both, and Ghai too. Couldn’t she have seen that? Despite Tia’s recovery, she wasn’t ready to face such a determined opponent, and besides, he just didn’t feel that Thorn was as much of a threat as the princess believed. Maybe he had been played for a fool by the creature. Perhaps Tia had been right all along.

Hell fire, it was so bloody frustrating! He’d never understood women, let alone one as highborn as the princess. What on earth was he thinking? He was just a peasant, a worthless, penniless plebe, playing the hero in a filthy rundown shack. All those dreams, all those images, it was all a lie, all of it…

He grabbed a bundle of reeds and flung them onto the workbench. It felt like ages since he’d practiced his craft and now all he wanted to do was work, to forget everything, to just be Rush the reed worker once more. Taking his trusty knife, he began the monotonous task of trimming the reeds to length. The knife was sharp but the reeds had definitely dried out a lot in storage, despite the cold. He could still use them for roofing though. The knife steadily cut through the natural material, the regular, rhythmic sound oddly soothing, yet something was niggling at him too. Was it Celestia, or…

Rush paused, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of his own breathing, the quiet of the world around him. Everything recently had been so strange, so exciting and yet frightening, all at the same time. Although he hadn’t known her for very long, the beautiful white mare had brought light, grace, and happiness back into his life, if only for a short while. He knew she would leave soon, returning to her world, back to the land of green grass and sparkling waters. Would she take him with her? Did he even want to go?

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the broken piece of mirror he’d hung up from one of the beams. Looking closer, he stared at the image reflected back at him: the brown eyes, the dark brown hair. There were more lines on his face than he remembered, his skin a little looser, his features showing the tiredness he was suffering from as he aged. Life out here was hard, and certainly no life for a magnificent creature like Celestia, no matter how much he wanted her to stay.

Rush sighed. He wanted answers, answers to the riddle of the box, the images in his head, his mother. Even if it was all nonsense, he wanted to know. In his mind’s eye, he imagined a brown mare with a snow-white mane and tail, her violet eyes watching him sadly. This wasn’t what she’d wanted for him, for her son, her beloved Rush. He turned quickly, hoping against hope to see her there.

“Mother?”

The darkness in the corner of the room stared back at him. He couldn’t ask her anything now. It was too late; it was all far, far too late. Rush looked in the mirror once more.

“Who are you?” he murmured, holding his hand up to his face. “Who am I?”

With a sigh, he moved back to the cutting table and began working away once more. As he cut, he kept hearing her voice, the voice of his mother, Willow. The laughter in her eyes, the way she looked at him when he was younger, the stories she told him of her home, of the… the green fields…

He paused. What the hell did that—?

“OW! Gods DAMN IT!” The knife had slipped, cutting his finger. In a fury, he flung the bladed instrument across the room to fall where the rest of the broken things had been thrown. He dropped to the floor and leaned back against the table, his eyes closed in anger and confusion. His whole world was falling apart and there was nothing he could do about it… nothing.

He didn’t hear the door open, nor the soft hoof steps drawing up next to him. Celestia sat down on the discarded reeds and reached out a hoof, drawing his hand to her for inspection.

“You’re hurt.” Rush said nothing, only nodded silently.

A warm, moist sensation around his finger suddenly made his eyes go wide. Was she? He looked around to see Celestia with his finger in her mouth. She watched him for a moment before releasing it and examining it closely.

“There, it’s stopped bleeding at least. We’ll need to get you inside and get that washed properly.”

Rush found himself drawn to his feet and, in a daze, following the white mare back into the main building. She sat him by the fire and brought over the medicine chest.

“Now, let’s have a look at that, shall we?”

Celestia went to work on his injured finger while a strange warm sensation flooded Rush from head to toe. He watched her carefully, gazing at her lovely purple eyes, her glossy mane and tail. Her sunburst marking, or ‘cutie mark’ as she called it, really drew the eye. She truly was a wonderful person. He smiled to himself. It wasn’t that long ago he hadn’t seen her as a person at all, but more of a fascinating creature, an animal of the forest.

Celestia looked up at him. “It’s rude to stare at a mare’s hindquarters, Rush. I’m sure humans would think the same if you were to ogle a girl’s bottom?”

He could feel his cheeks heating, and he knew he was turning bright red. Celestia smiled and winked at him cheekily before her expression became serious once more.

“Rush, I want to apologise for earlier. I was… wrong, I admit that. I understand why you did what you did and, well, I acted like a petulant foal.” She tied off the bandage on his finger and moved to fire, putting a few more sticks on it to help heat the water in the kettle. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Rush shook his head. “There’s nothing to forgive, Tia. I’m not the most diplomatic person in the world, and I’m sure I could have handled it better.”

“Could you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I doubt that. I’d go so far as to say you could show my court diplomats a thing or two!” She looked away for a moment, a haunted expression crossing her face. “I’ve been thinking, Rush. If you still wish to put the pieces together, I have an idea which may help.” She held up a hoof. “But please, remember what I said and think carefully. Your life here is all you have ever really known. Sometimes… Sometimes the past is best left there.”

Rush nodded. “You already know my answer, Tia.”

She did. With a resigned nod and shake of her mane, she began to take out a selection of ingredients from the medicine chest and magicked over the stone mortar and pestle.

“Herbs, infused with the tea, will help you to relax and enter a state in which I can send you to the nether world once more.” Rush watched the pestle grinding away, the golden glow of the princess’s magic effortlessly turning the herbs into a fine powder. “From there,” she continued, “if we are joined, I should be able to see through your eyes, in a manner of speaking.”

Rush cocked his head. “Joined? I don’t understand. I thought you said your sister was the mistress of the dream world?”

Celestia stopped what she was doing and gave him an inscrutable look. “I’m glad you were paying attention, and yes, you’re right. I don’t have the natural ability to interact with dreams the way Luna can. However, I can still… peek.”

“Peek?”

The princess blushed. “Well, it’s the best way I can describe it, Rush. In any case, we’re not sending you to the dream world. This is the nether world, a sort of world between the worlds where I sent you when you were injured. Do you remember?”

He nodded, staring at his fingers. Celestia was a mare of many talents indeed. “When I was there, I saw things… images, events that I didn’t really understand. Will this help, Tia?”

“I think so, Rush. I have an idea already, but I want to confirm my suspicions first.” She took the water off the boil, added herbs to a cup, and poured the water in. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Rush said, settling back against the supporting beam.

“No, not there, here.” Celestia reached out her forelegs and drew a confused looking Rush into an embrace. “We must be close to do this. Bodily contact will help with the connection.” She looked down at him, drawing her brows down. “Are you alright? You feel very warm.” Celestia placed her muzzle against his forehead. “You’re really warm!”

Rush pushed away gently, his cheeks burning. “I’m fine!” he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. “Please, Tia, I’m alright, just… I’m ready, honestly.”

She chuckled and passed him the tea mixture. “Down in one now, then lie back and relax, my dear Rush.”

He did as she requested, as she commanded, his princess. Rush smiled to himself. If he could bottle this moment, if he could savour it forever, he would. Being here with her was something he would remember for the rest of his life. She was so warm, so gentle…

“Shhh, rest now, my dear Rush. Sleep and let the tide take you to the world of stars and peace. Be at one with your heart, be one with your soul. Feel my heart beating in time with yours, breathe the air that I breathe, remember my voice… remember…”

Stars… there were so many of them. The colours swirled away like rivers into the endless void. There was no up, no down, just… here. It was peaceful, so, so peaceful. Rush could drift here and watch eternity come and go.

“Rush?”

He turned effortlessly at the voice. “Tia?”

The princess stood before him, her coat shining like the morning sun, her mane and tail flowing with all the colours of the rainbow. Stars twinkled within that living colour, making him gasp in surprise.

“Tia! Your… Your mane and tail, they’re…”

She smiled, giving them a shake. “This is how my hair normally looks. In your world, the lack of magical resonance makes them a little… lifeless?”

Rush shook his head. “You look wonderful either way, your Majesty.”

Celestia bopped him on the head with a hoof. “Don’t be silly, Rush.”

The princess looked away, but Rush caught the slight blush on her cheeks and the coy smile that curled her mouth up at the corners. He felt a sudden flood of heat through himself, even in this world. Perhaps they were more connected than he thought.

“What now?”

“That’s up to you, really. Think back to what you saw last time: the pictures, the memories of Willow, your mother.”

Rush stared off into the stars that surrounded them, into the vastness of the universe. It was all so unfathomably vast and yet here he was, just a single tiny life, a spark in that infinite emptiness. Despite everything, he was the centre of it all. Here he could do anything, be anything. He concentrated, remembering the images he’d seen: the pictures, the castle, the mare… bringing it back, here, now…

Celestia smiled. “Open your eyes, Rush.”

He did so, gasping in surprise. They were in the castle, the castle in his dream. A brown and white mare with deep violet eyes was walking carefully down a corridor, past Rush and the princess.

“Can she see us?”

Celestia shook her head. “No, Rush. These are events that have already happened. When, I can’t say, but this is my home, the castle in Equestria. I shared it with my sister until…” She trailed off. She’d told him what had happened, and it had made his heart cry out for her.

“Do you recognise her at all?” he asked quietly.

“No, sadly I do not. There were a lot of ponies working at the castle, but she’s not one I recall seeing before. Her colouring is quite distinctive too, so I would have remembered if I had.”

“Willow.”

“Willow? This is the mare you mentioned from the last time you were here?”

“She is.” Rush watched intently as the mare rounded a corner, dodging behind a pillar as an armoured guard walked past. Instinctively, Rush ducked out of the way despite Celestia’s raised eyebrows at his reaction. He shrugged it off.

“Quick! We’re going to lose her!”

The mare was surprisingly fleet of hoof, slipping from shadow to shadow, as silent as the wind and just as visible. Rush marvelled at the skill of the pony, the way she checked every corner, every angle. Each move she made was measured and precise, calculated to take her to her destination silently and efficiently.

Rush and Celestia followed in silence as the mare slipped past the two guards, one of whom was barely awake, and disappeared behind a large hanging tapestry into a secluded alcove. A moment later, the wall swung silently inward, allowing access to the room beyond. Celestia gasped in shock as Rush beckoned her to follow him after the mare. Like ghostly stalkers, the two found themselves looking over the shoulder of the brown mare who was staring at a large marble pedestal surrounded by burning braziers.

Taking a deep breath, the mare took out a package from her pannier and unwrapped it. It was a box, a small wooden box, carved with scenes and writing, a neat facsimile of the one on the pedestal before her. Quick as a flash, the one on the pedestal was replaced with the fake, the original vanishing into her pannier. The mare let out the breath she’d been holding in and sighed, looking about around her before slipping back out the way she came.

Rush turned and looked at the princess. Her face was an image of abject fury. “Tia? What is that box? Maybe I should have asked before, but—”

“Later, Rush, please,” Celestia muttered. “I want to see more first.” She leaned her forehooves on his shoulders. “Think, Rush, think to when you saw her last, this pony. Think about that point; concentrate and take us there.”

The castle scene wavered like water around them, changing to another stone-lined room. This one was adorned with a long rug on the floor, a large set of doors, and a strange silvery background glow. Up a small flight of steps at one end of the room was a large stone archway, intricately carved with odd symbols and figures that made Rush’s head spin if he looked at them directly. He remembered this place from last time, but unlike then, this time there was no Willow. Yet… there, behind a pillar, holding a locket with a picture within it, was a white stallion with piercing blue eyes and golden armour. Despite his appearance, he didn’t look any different to the rest of the soldiers he’d seen around the castle, and yet there was something about this one that drew his imagination for some reason.

The stallion stared at the locket, Rush leaning in for a closer look. Inside was the tiny image of a brown mare with a white mane, smiling happily. The soldier sighed, holding the locket to his lips and kissing it tenderly. The image given life, suddenly and silently, appeared through the large doors moments later, barring them behind her.

Rush knew what was coming next and stood back as Celestia watched the scene unfold intently. He didn’t want to see any more—it had been heartbreaking enough the first time around. He waited, the silvery flash of light signalling the passage of Willow from this world to who knew where.

Celestia stood silently, watching him. “Rush? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, really. What now?”

“Can you remember what you saw next?”

Rush nodded, the scene transitioning once more to the scene in the forest and the woman with the brown hair and brown eyes. The two watchers observed the woman, the fighting around her, the soldier collecting her and taking her off into the forest back to civilisation.

The scene changed again. The woman was giving birth to her child, the child she named…

“Rush,” Celestia breathed, nodding. “I see. Yes, it all fits now. All the pieces are in place, but there is one more that I wish to see.”

A heady feeling of warmth and almost drunkenness ran through Rush as the princess lowered her horn to his temple. “Forgive me, Rush. I need to see one last thing and then we are finished here.”

The scene wavered once more, coalescing into a bustling area full of people, humans this time. It was a town, far bigger than the one he’d been brought up in. It was deafening too, with carts, horses, oxen, and humans, all seemingly wanting to make more noise than the others around them. Celestia stood close by, looking around intently.

“There! Come on, Rush!”

The two of them could just see the woman disappearing down a darkened alleyway, looking around furtively. From out of the shadows, a cloaked figure appeared, tall and thin, with an otherworldly look about him. He didn’t belong here, and in an odd way, neither did she.

“You have it?”

“I do. Tide, is there…”

“No, there’s no way back, Willow. I should know—I’ve been trying ever since I got here. I’m sorry.”

“But…I…” She wiped her face with her hand, leaning against the wall with her other. “I can’t go home?”

Tide shook his head. Willow placed her hand over her belly, the pronounced bulge clearly visible. A tear slid down her cheek. “My little one will never know their true home, the beauty of Equestria. Tide, what have I done? Celestia’s mercy, what have I done…”

The tall man placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve saved your child from war, Willow. He, or she, will grow up in a world with their mother’s unconditional love. What more could a foal ask?”

Willow nodded, wiping the tears away, then reached into her purse, taking out a brown, cloth-wrapped package. “Here, take this cursed thing. Sell it, burn it, throw it away, I don’t care. I wish I’d never clapped eyes on the damnable thing.”

Tide took the package, tipping the box out into his hand, and read the inscription aloud. Rush jumped as Celestia began to recite it in time with the tall man. “From one to another, another to one. A mark of one's destiny singled out alone, fulfilled.”

“Tia?” Rush asked.

The princess shook her head, placing a hoof on his mouth to quieten him. The tall man turned the box, reading the inscription on the other side. “From day to night, from darkness to light. From the other to here, the lost now found.” The man shrugged. “I can’t take this, Willow.”

“You must! Please Tide, I can’t take it… I can’t!”

The cloaked figure nodded slowly, the box disappearing into the interior of his garments. “It doesn’t matter what you or I want, Willow. The fates have our lives mapped out for us already.”

“Do you really believe that? That we have no control over our own lives?”

The man began to turn away. “You are free to believe what you wish to believe—it matters not to the great wheels that turn the world. The box will find its way home some day. Life will always find a way, Willow. It always finds a way…”

“Tide?” Willow took a step forward, but the figure had gone, disappearing into the alley like mist.

Celestia placed a hoof on Rush’s shoulder. “Let go home, Rush. I’ve seen enough.”

He couldn’t agree more. This had been quite a lot more than he’d expected, and now he was more confused than ever. The world wavered and Rush found himself floating in amongst the colourful stars again. It was comfortable here; he felt safe, and yet now he hankered to return, to sit by the fire with a nice cup of tea and somepony who could explain what was going on. Rush stared at his hooves. They were certainly different to hands, his legs too. He felt strong, really strong! He shook his mane and snorted. Now this was more like it! The urge to run, to charge, began to grip his heart.

“RUSH!” Celestia grabbed him by the muzzle and stared into his eyes. “Look at me! Only at me!”

“Tia?”

“Rush, you must remember who you are. Come back with me. Come on now, this isn’t for you.”

“But… Tia, this is me, isn’t it? The real me!”

The princess shook her head. “Rush, please, I was afraid this may happen. The heart remembers more than the mind. You can lose yourself here and fade away until you are nothing but a voice on the winds of eternity. Rush, take my hoof, please.”

“No! Tia, I’m… I’m me! Don’t you see? I’m me!”

The princess appeared before him and spread her wings suddenly. Rush started, backing up in surprise and landed on his haunches. Was she angry with him? He’d never want to upset the princess, nopony did, but especially…

Celestia walked toward him, her coat shining brightly, her rainbow mane flowing out behind her. She was so beautiful, so, so beautiful. A large pair of purple eyes stared into his, and he could feel his heart quavering. Her muzzle grew ever closer, until she was mere inches away. Rush could feel her breath on his face; he shuddered, she was so close! She was…

Her lips were so soft, so gentle. Rush felt them brush against his, her breath mingling with his own. The princess’ words were breathless, as substantial as the morning dew.

“Remember…”

With a jolt, Rush came to, the stars, the colours, all vanishing like a soap bubble popping in the heat of the sun. Instantly, the familiar drab world of the wooden house was back, like a cocoon waiting for him to escape its confining embrace. A desperate need to get out, to escape, gripped him, and he sat up suddenly.

Celestia held onto him, the slender white legs holding him close. “It’s alright, Rush, I’m here with you. You’re safe now.”

He began to shake, not with cold, but with something else. Emotion, strong as a mountain and as fickle as a spring breeze, rattled through his body as the princess held him close. Rush breathed in her scent, feeling the softness of her coat against his skin. He reached up and felt his lips. In his mind, he could still feel hers against his; so alien, yet so familiar. His heart leapt and he began to feel the fear, the uncertainty, slowly beginning to drain away. So long as he was here with her, there was nothing to fear.

Rush began to feel sleep tugging at him, and he looked up into the princess’ loving face. She kissed him on the forehead gently.

“Sleep, Rush, rest your heart, my little one. I’ll still be here when you awake.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Six - In The Shadow of Greatness

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

IN THE SHADOW OF GREATNESS

Lord Ire sat cross-legged in front of the grand painted battle scene, his father featuring prominently in it as an almost legendary warrior figure. His people nigh on worshipped the man as a hero, and to many, he was. Even after his death, people spoke reverently of the late lord’s great deeds both in battle and in the courtroom. How they saw their new lord was different matter. Ire gritted his teeth. How his family had fallen, from the heady days of expansion and conquest to this… this humiliation!

He tapped his fan on his knee as his advisors sat quietly, one either side of him as they habitually did. His sword bearer sat slightly off to one side, just in case. By the gods, he hoped it didn’t come to that, yet he would protect his clan no matter what, despite what the others may think of him. He knew how they viewed him—a drunkard, a womaniser, and maybe he was, to some degree. However, in this unforgiving world, life was cheap, a commodity that had little to no value and could be snuffed out in an instant.

Since birth, Ire knew that he was on borrowed time. Sooner or later, the old pact that his father had arranged with Saru’s clan would be discarded, and the largest fish in the pond would gobble up the smaller one. It was the way of things. Still, he wouldn’t throw the lives of his men away on pointless resistance should that happen. The victors were unlikely to show mercy to the vanquished, and the country was already full of lordless warriors who’d lost themselves to barbarity. He wouldn’t add to them, even if it meant taking his own life to appease his enemies.

There was a commotion outside. Moments later, the doors at the far end of the room slid open, one of his warriors bowing before moving respectfully to one side. In a long, loud voice, the warrior announced the attendance of…

“LORD SARU.”

Ire rolled his eyes. He hated formality, and this was one of ‘those’ moments where he had little choice but to choke down what he really felt. More specifically, he knew he’d have to avoid saying what he really thought as well.

A small fleet of immaculately-dressed retainers entered, flanking a large, rather round man with grey hair and a thin beard. Several of his clan staff buzzed around him like bees, bringing him a cushion, drink, and a small box of snacks. Ire gritted his teeth—obviously his clan was far too poor to afford to feed the mighty Saru!

Lord Saru stood, watching Ire for a moment in silence, before Ire and his advisors bowed respectfully. “Lord Saru, you grace us with your presence. Please, be welcome in our home.”

Saru nodded formally and folded his large frame onto the cushion beneath him. A retainer hurried to fill his cup that was already being held out in a meaty paw. Apparently, Ire couldn’t afford drinks either…

One of the retainers bowed to Lord Saru, then turned to address Ire. “Lord Saru wishes to know the location of Deputy Nile, Lord Ire.” The man looked him directly in the eyes.

Ire kept his voice neutral. “It is with the deepest of regrets that I inform Lord Saru that Deputy Nile tragically lost his life whilst bravely leading a group of villagers into the forest to hunt down a wild animal. I understand that Nile was killed by the beast whilst protecting the villagers.”

Lord Saru’s face was as featureless as stone. His attendant, acting as his spokesman, apparently already knew the powerful man’s wishes ahead of time. “Lord Saru is aware of the alleged circumstances surrounding the sad loss of his beloved son, Lord Ire. What my lord wishes to know is where his son’s remains are.”

Ire could feel his eye beginning to twitch. What the hell had they done with the deputy’s corpse? Hadn’t those fools from the governor’s office collected him yet? He leaned across to his advisor, who shook his head. Ire cringed inside.

“Lord Saru, I apologise for the tardiness in the recovery of your late son. Please be assured that I dispatched men from the local governor’s office as soon as I heard of this dreadful event.” Ire bowed to Saru, whose face never so much as twitched in response.

The attendant clapped his hands, and one of the seemingly endless legions of Saru’s entourage hurried to deposit a neatly wrapped box before Lord Ire. He looked down at it and felt a cold flush run through him.

“Lord Saru requests that you identify the contents of the package, Lord Ire.”

The young lord felt as if a lead weight was settling in his gut, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow as he waved to Dinu to open the parcel for him. His advisor bowed and hurried to untie the ominous thing which fell open dramatically once the string was removed. There was a collective intake of breath from the hall as the severed head rolled out, forcing Ire to step out of the way.

“It’s governor Yito,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry, Lord Ire, would you mind repeating that a little more clearly?”

“I said, it’s governor Yito,” Ire replied, trying desperately to keep his voice level.

Saru continued to stare at Ire, his eyes as black as onyx, boring into his soul. There was something cruel about this man, a terrible sense of calm laced with barely restrained power that could snuff out the tiny fiefdom with barely a flick of his wrist.

The attendant slapped his knee. “Wild animals do not decapitate people with swords, Lord Ire. Perhaps you would care to explain?”

Ire glanced at his advisors, but it was immediately apparent that neither of them knew any more than he did. “Lord Saru, you appear to have me at a disadvantage. I only recently gave orders for these men to recover your son and to hunt down the beast responsible. How this has happened… I cannot say. I have heard nothing.”

The attendant moved to speak, but a hand moved out from his master, silencing him instantly. The man bowed, and Saru himself spoke, “You are responsible for keeping the hills between our lands free of bandits, are you not?”

Ire nodded. “I am.”

“Then how do you explain this?”

“I cannot. Everything I was told—”

“—was wrong!” Saru angrily thrusted his arm out for his attendant to refill his cup. “I have lost my son, Ire, and all I have is your word about what happened to him. What I see is that he was likely murdered, murdered by bandits in an area that you were supposed to keep free of them.”

Ire bowed low. “I understand, Lord Saru, and beg your forgiveness. There have been no incidents of bandit activity for a year now and—”

“—I don’t want excuses, Ire, I want action.” The large man leaned forward, his eyes glistening with promised menace. “You take your men, you go to the village, and you bring my son back to me. Furthermore, I want the heads of the ones who did this… all of them.”

Ire bowed. “Of course, Lord Saru. I will attend to it immediately.”

Saru swallowed a mouthful of the wine from his cup and passed it back to his attendant. “Ire, I respected your father a great deal, and it is because of that respect that you are in the position you are in now.” He stood, looking down at the younger lord. “Don’t make me regret my decision. I would hate to have you face a similar fate as your late governor.”

Ire stayed bowed, his forehead touching the floor as Lord Saru turned to leave.

“I will await good news, Ire.”

Lord Saru left the hall, his retinue following behind like row boats behind a trader’s ship. Ire waited until the doors closed and the sound of footsteps died away. Groaning, he sat back up, rubbing his back. Dinu let out a long-held breath and shared a look with Ethru. They had weathered the storm, but… what now?

Lord Ire stared at the closed door and gripped his knees until his fingers went numb. “Dinu, Ethru, get everyone, everyone who can hold a sword or a spear and assemble them in the courtyard as quickly as possible.”

Dinu bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Ethru cleared his throat. “My lord, when you say everyone, do you mean—”

“—I mean everyone, Ethru! Even the blasted cat if the thing can hold a weapon. If we don’t sort this bloody mess out, it’ll be my head in a box, and you’ll be damned lucky to keep yours too!” Ire kicked the governor’s head angrily.

“And get that bloody thing out of here someone, for the gods’ sake!”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Seven - Belonging

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

BELONGING

Celestia watched Rush as he worked, occasionally passing across bundles of reeds for him to size and trim. It was steady, monotonous work, but strangely satisfying. She didn’t have to think about the repercussions of making a wrong decision, or worry about what the next messenger pony was going to bring before her. It was simple, physical work and she revelled in it. The smell from the freshly collected reeds was wonderful, so fresh, so healthy. No wonder people clamoured for the mats made from this fascinating material.

She had to admit, it made a comfortable bed as well, and the smell that lingered on her coat was quite intriguing. In the future, whenever she smelled freshly cut river reeds, Celestia knew it would remind her of Rush, and it frightened her. She was still young, and alicorns lived a very, very long time. Her mother had warned her of the dangers of engaging in relationships with ponies, their wonderful lives as bright and clear as the fireflies she loved so much. Swooping and whirling above the lakes and rivers of Equestria, the glowing insects fascinated her, but like the fireflies, the lives of ponies were all too brief. She’d known so many—some had become closer to her heart than others—yet all had passed from her world to the next. Some day, the same would happen to Rush, be it in this world or Equestria. Some day…

Celestia stared out of the window, lost in thought.

Rush lifted an armful of reeds and began to tie them together. “That’s another load ready. Two more and we should be ready for market.”

“Rush…”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you alright?”

He laughed. “Of course! Why do you ask?”

“Because you seem to be taking all of this very well. Too well.”

He shrugged. “Can I do anything about it?”

“Rush, I… I don’t know. I’ve never encountered anything like this and it looks like it’s not the first time this has happened either.”

“Apparently not.”

“Rush, you’re worrying me. Please, don’t shut me out.”

Rush put the knife down, placed his hands on the cutting table, and sighed. “I’m not shutting you out, Tia. It’s just that I don’t really know what to say. My mother was an Equestrian; my father was a stallion in the castle guard. Mother stole something important, ran through that archway thing, and ended up stranded here in this world. A few months later, along comes little Rush, the human-but-not-a-human. End of story.”

Celestia stood quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he said, letting out a breath. “I always felt like I didn’t fit in, like this place was somewhere I didn’t belong. The villagers seemed to notice it as well. I was always the outsider, you know what I mean? Even my own family seemed alien to me, my mother…” Rush wiped his face with his sleeve, continuing to stare at the reeds before him. “She never spoke to me about Equestria. At least, not when I was old enough to question her about it or even understand what she was talking about. I never knew, I never realised, until you came here. And now that you have that box, the one she stole…”

Celestia, placed a hoof on the table next to him. “That box was a gift from you, Rush, and that is what’s important to me. Whether your mother stole it or not is not the issue. You cared enough to give it to me, a complete stranger from another world.”

Rush placed a hand on her hoof and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want you to leave, Tia. I’m sorry, I know it’s wrong of me to say this, but by all the gods, I don’t want to lose you.”

Celestia moved closer and nuzzled him. “Are you sure, Rush, are you really sure you want to leave here, your world, your memories, your friends?”

Rush nodded, looking into her large purple eyes. “I want to be with you, Tia, I… I…”

She kissed him tenderly on the forehead. “I know… Do you want to know what’s in the box?”

Rush took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out slowly. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Come…”

The two of them left the workshop and went back into the house, Rush locking the door, which he’d only recently repaired, behind them. Thorn’s kick had been well placed, but there was now a distinct impression of a thestral’s hoof embedded in the wood. Celestia walked over to her armour and took out the small bag from her pannier in her magic, floating it over until it hovered between them.

“Hold out your hand,” she said softly, and carefully placed the box into Rush’s grasp.

Immediately, the familiar images of a golden sun, rolling green hills, and frolicking ponies played through Rush’s mind. He turned the box over, the images replaying once more, this time with them sleeping peacefully beneath a pale moonlit sky. He looked up at Celestia, who closed her eyes.

“Place your other hand over the box.”

Carefully, Rush did as the princess instructed. Moving closer, she placed one of her forehooves onto his hand, bringing her muzzle close to his face. Rush could feel his heartbeat quicken, the warmth from her coat sending a shiver through him. Celestia looked at him and blinked slowly, a smile on her face.

“Now,” she said softly, “all I need to do… is blow…”

She pursed her lips, and with the barest of whispers, blew onto the tiny keyhole of the small wooden box. There was the faintest of clicks and the princess closed her eyes, smiling, and took her hoof away. Rush watched in fascination as she then lifted his hand from the box and carefully lifted the lid.

From inside, a faint purple glow emanated, bathing both of them in its otherworldly light. Celestia’s smile was inscrutable. Rush’s own expression, he knew, must have been one of childish amazement. The princess’ horn began to glow softly, and a tiny golden filigree key floated out from inside the box, held almost reverently in her magic. It slowly rotated between them, a deep purple gem embedded in bow, reflecting every colour of the rainbow as it caught the light.

Rush’s mouth hung open, amazed at what he was seeing. “Tia… what is that? What is it for?”

She smiled. “This is the key to a magic that can save my home. When it was stolen, I lost any hope of being able to access its power.”

“But you’re the princess!”

Celestia chuckled. “I am, but so is my sister, Rush. The power was denied to her as well. However, I thought that I’d be able to defeat her with my own magic, and the strength of my beloved ponies.” She sighed. “I think you already know how that played out.”

Rush continued to watch the key. “Will this tip the balance?”

The princess shook her mane. “Maybe. I believe it can, but there is only one way to find out for sure.”

“You’re going to go back and confront Nightmare Moon.” He felt his heart clench in dread even as he uttered the words.

“I am.”

“Tia…”

“I know, Rush.” She put a foreleg around him. “If you want to, if you’re sure, we can go home…”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Rush lifted the princess’s hoof and kissed it, for he did not know what to say. Words seemed so pointless now, so meaningless. The beautiful white mare watched him, reached out her forelegs and embraced him. Celestia knew what this meant, what would happen… one day, at some point in the future. Still, it was not now, not this day. A tear rolled down her cheek as she held him.

“Rush…”

**********************

The fire had burned down low, and Rush was sleeping peacefully. Celestia sighed happily, gently stroking his hair and watching him breathing peacefully. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, a counterpoint to the beat of her heart that she had become increasingly aware of since meeting this enigmatic man. Of course, Rush wasn’t really a man at all, was he? He may look like one, even act like one, but in his heart, inside, he was what he always had been… the son of Willow.

Celestia smiled to herself. Willow, the thief who’d stolen the key to the Elements of Harmony, had produced a son who had, in turn, stolen her heart. A brightly-coloured bird began to sing outside the window, the tune similar to one her mother had sung to her when she was a foal, a long, long time ago.

She began to sing, softly, gently, so as not to wake Rush. He smiled in his sleep and snuggled further into her fur. Reaching over with her magic, she placed a few more sticks on the fire, the bird’s song following the rhythm of her own.

“Hello?” Celestia froze. Someone was outside the door. “Hello? Rush? Are you in there?” She kept quiet, but the man wouldn’t go away. “I can hear someone in there. Rush, are you alright?”

The front door began to wobble as the man tried it. Celestia quickly checked to see that the lock was secure with her magic. Blast it! The human would wake Rush with all that accursed noise!

“Hello?” she called softly. “Who’s there?”

“Rush? Oh… sorry, it’s Cray. I’m an old friend of Rush’s.”

“Cray? My apologies, Cray, Rush is a little out of sorts right now. Would you mind calling back another time?”

The voice came back, with an odd tone to it. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am. Please give my regards to Rush for me.”

“Of course.”

“May I ask your name, ma’am?”

Celestia froze. She mentally kicked herself for engaging the human in conversation in the first place. Now she’d have to talk her way out of it and quickly.

“Oh please don’t concern yourself, sir. I’m Rush’s cousin come to visit, that’s all. As I said, please call back another day, and I’m sure he will be feeling up to a visit from an old friend.”

“I see. Well, thank you ma’am. I’ll be sure to catch up with him another day. Please pass on my regards.”

“I will, sir, and thank you for your kindness.”

The sound of footsteps crunching through the snow dwindled away, and the princess gave a sigh of relief. How could she have been so careless? She should have known that someone would come here looking for Rush sooner or later. Despite his assertions, he did have friends, those who cared about him. Hadn’t he mentioned this human before though? Cray? He’d been in the forest at the time the thestral had ambushed them. She was pleased he’d escaped, and once Rush woke up, she’d let him know. He’d be so pleased…

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Eight - Honeyed Poison

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

HONEYED POISON

The dull thudding of the water wheel added an ominous background note to the meeting being held in the draughty old mill, but it was the only building in the village large enough to accommodate most of the villagers. The rest pushed in closer to the open door, those at the back standing on tiptoes to get a better look.

Chert sat with Stran, busily picking his teeth while surreptitiously watching the others seated around him. Nasta was there, along with Huro, the village elder, and members of his extended family, many of whom, Chert suspected, shared a little more than just a ‘passing semblance’ to one another. He’d have to warn his daughter about that sort of thing when she was older, but thank the gods that was a few years off yet.

Huro took a draw on his pipe, scratching the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, his timeless eyes taking everything in. Chert’s nose twitched. The smell emanating from the village elder was more than just the smoke from his tobacco. Didn’t the villagers ever wash? He glanced up at Stran who stood in silence, wearing his usual deadpan expression. Chert sighed. He’d begun to wish he’d brought Jinu along instead; at least she would have been a little more animated.

Huro nodded slowly to no one in particular. “Our food supplies are low,” he said levelly, “but we still have just enough to last until the next season.”

One of the senior villagers spoke up, “If we don’t mind starving half to death!”

A woman cradling an infant called out from the back, “What about the young? We can’t just live on rice. We rely on trade from the other villages for basic essentials. If the roads are blocked, nobody will be able to get through.”

There was a general murmuring of agreement, as the elder silently nodded to himself. Nasta spoke up, “We need to open the road, but it’s simply too dangerous—the hills are crawling with bandits. If we send work crews up there to clear the road, they’d end up like… like…”

Nasta closed his eyes and looked away, trying to hide the emotion on his face. Chert grimaced, holding out his hand to Stran, who passed him his pipe. It was damn typical, wasn’t it? Despite his efforts to keep the death of the governor’s men quiet, one of the blabbermouths had told his friend, who’d told his friend, and so on and so on until the whole bloody village knew of the slaughter. Now, as he’d predicted, there was little more than barely restrained panic. They were scared, and he couldn’t blame them either, but someone had to keep their head right now. Thankfully, Huro was well respected in the village, and if nobody else, they would listen to him.

The village elder raised an eyebrow. “What about your men, Chert?”

The boss shook his head. “I could send them up there with a work party to clear the second landslide, but then the village would be unprotected. I don’t have enough of my boys to effectively cover both.”

One of the villagers shouted from the doorway, “The governor’s men were professional warriors. What makes you think your men would be able to protect us?”

Stran whirled around, making the huddle of onlookers push back like a startled school of fish facing a predator. Chert placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. “You’re right, we’re not professional soldiers, but we are members of this community, and we will help to protect it the best we can.”

There was a sudden rumbling of agreement and general bowing, with one of their number being pushed roughly when he opened his mouth to reply. Chert noted who it was, in case he had to have words later.

Nasta shook his head, apparently having composed himself. “Sooner or later, Lord Ire’s men will come looking for the governor and his party, and they’ll take care of things for us.”

“When?!” one of the villagers shouted. “They were supposed to be keeping the hills free of bandits already, and now this!”

“How long before they find out about the massacre? It could be weeks, months!”

“We can’t survive that long! Our food stocks are—”

Huro slammed his hand on the floor, stopping the villagers’ worried outbursts instantly. “Will one of you volunteer to go to the castle and ask Lord Ire for aid?”

There was an embarrassed silence before one of the villagers called out from the back, “Going through the hills would be a death sentence!”

The elder nodded to himself. It was—anyone who went alone would almost certainly never be seen again. The bandits were doubtless watching the road in and out of the village, unless—

One of the villagers called out, “What about that hermit who lives in the hills? He knows the land; he could go!”

“Yes! Send him!”

“What was his name again?”

“The madman of the hills!” another shouted, eliciting numerous sniggers and guffaws from the assembled villagers.

Nasta looked up angrily, stopped from intervening by the elder’s outstretched hand. Chert shouted over them, “We can’t. He’s dead.”

Silence.

“You’re wrong. He’s alive.” The voice carried around the large room, confident and self-assured. Nasta’s eyes looked like they would bulge out of his head. Everyone turned to the door and the commotion outside.

“Let him through!” Huro shouted across the hubbub. “Make way there!”

The newcomer pushed his way through the throng to the surprised gasps and mutterings of the villagers. Nasta rushed forward, pausing to stare at the man before flinging his arms around him. “Oh gods! Cray… you’re alive! I… I thought you were dead!”

The blacksmith laughed, gently moving Nasta away. “No, no, I’m quite alive as you can see.”

Chert watched the man carefully. There was something about his mannerism that made him feel wary. He glanced up at Stran who gave his boss a sidelong look, confirming his concerns. People didn’t just suddenly reappear from the forest after… how long?

Huro raised his hand, and quiet descended on the gathering. Many of the villagers wore happy smiles, but some clearly had the same reservations as Chert, casting Cray with worried glances.

The elder scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. “It’s truly remarkable that you’ve returned to us, Cray.” He nodded to the assembled villagers. “We all believed you to be lost like the others.”

Chert fixed the newcomer with a half-smile. “Yes, truly amazing, Cray. Like everyone here, I share in their joy at seeing you alive and well. Please, would you tell us how you have managed to survive out there in the hills all this time? It may help us deal with our current situation.”

Cray smiled and patted his old friend Nasta on the back. “I survived by the grace of the gods, my friends. The goddess of the moon sent her very own warrior to protect me, and here I am.” He pushed forward and turned, allowing everyone to see him. “I have brought excellent news for you all, news that will lighten the darkest of hearts.”

Chert groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted was more folksy wisdom. The countryside was full of it, literally, and the more remote you got, the more potent it became. It hadn’t been that long ago that these very same people would have been sacrificing children to the spirits when they had a bad harvest. By the looks of it, things hadn’t moved on that much since then.

Huro tapped his pipe out and handed it to the young girl beside him, who replaced it with a mug of water. “And what is this wondrous news, Cray? Is it that the son of Willow still lives? You have seen him?”

“More than that, elder.” Cray’s voice suddenly took on a serious note. “Rush lives, but he now harbours a witch, a dread spirit from the world of the dead that mercilessly struck down our children. Our children!” He held out his arms dramatically. “The goddess’ warrior led me from the forest and showed me the dreadful slaughter the witch had wrought on the hill road, the same road where she used her evil magic to bring down the very earth of the land to trap us here like animals.”

Cray smiled at a young woman cradling her child. “Animals awaiting slaughter, just like Blossom.” The woman paled, holding onto her child so tightly that it began to whimper. “She would have been old enough to marry before long.” He turned to Nasta. “I feel your loss, my friend, I truly do.”

Nasta’s eyes lit up. “But Cray, I can’t believe it. Rush is alive? And… a witch? Surely that’s wrong. He may be a little odd at times, but he was there with the rest of us that night. How could he have been in league with some demonic spirit?”

Chert nodded. “I don’t see Rush here, Cray, only you. And what we saw on the hill road was the work of blade and bow, not ‘magic’.”

“True, but why don’t we see Rush here?” Cray asked, nodding to the assembled villagers. “Surely if one of us had only narrowly avoided death, we would have come down to the village for safety, wouldn’t we?” He waved a hand expansively across the room, eliciting a good deal of nodding and whispering. “If he has nothing to hide, why then isn’t he here?”

Chert slapped his thigh loudly. “Maybe because nobody asked him to come here!” He let out a loud sigh. “Good gods, Cray, this is absolute nonsense! A witch living in the hills with a reed cutter? And I expect this witch is strong enough to cut down a band of warriors, is she? Must be a bloody good shot to do that!”

A few of the villagers laughed, quickly being shushed by the others. Cray’s expression darkened. “I didn’t expect you to believe me, ‘Boss’. You’re not from these hills like the rest of us. We understand the land; we feel its life all around us; we depend upon it for our very existence. Our observance of the spirits and gods has protected us and our homes for generations.” His expression transformed into a sneer. “I expect that the only god you pray to now, Chert, is money.”

Chert’s hand flew up to stop Stran, who was ready to strike the man down for his insolence. Huro intervened quickly. “This meeting is about the attacks on the village, the safe use of the hill road, and the safety of our people, Cray. It is not for fighting amongst ourselves. The boss and his men are as much a part of this village as you are, and as a son of ours, I expect you to behave with honour and civility.” He turned to Chert. “I’m sorry, please forgive him. He’s been through a terrible ordeal and probably isn’t thinking straight.”

“Oh, I’m thinking straight, Huro.” Cray roughly pushed forward to stand next to the elder and addressed the villagers. “The governor and his men were cut down by a demon conjured by the witch and her human consort. The moon goddess’ warrior has explained that this demon can take the shape of a man, and he may well come here, claiming to be sent by the governor or the lord and use cunning and clever words to sway your minds. He warns you not to listen to his lies but to listen to your hearts!”

Huro stared up at Cray. The man had the villagers, all too ready to leap at the first offer of an explanation or a solution, hanging off his every word. Cray flung his arms out wide.

“You want to know who killed young Blossom? It was the witch! You want to know who blocked the hill road, making prisoners of us all? It was the witch! Your children, cut down and butchered like the governor’s men...” He took a deep breath, hanging his head sadly. “I think you all know the answer now, don’t you?”

“Where is this witch?” someone called out.

“Weren’t you listening? She’s in league with that reed cutter!”

“That Rush fellow?”

“The madman of this hills!”

“Crazy old Rush!”

“I always thought there was something strange about him!”

“He never talks to anybody, I heard. Always alone, that one.”

“I heard he killed his wife and daughter.”

“Good gods, really? His own family?”

“What sort of man does that?”

Chert could feel the anger in the room rising like water in a well, confusion and fear changing to a collective aggression that could likely lead to a murderous lynch mob. He had to stop this.

“Listen to me!”

The noise drowned him out until Stran stood up and held up his sword, his words bellowing out across the throng:

“BE QUIET!”

Silence descended. A lot of nervous looks, mixed in with determined and angry faces, met Chert’s as he addressed them, “Right then, let’s put this stupid nonsense to bed once and for all. If you’re that determined to run off into the forest to find Rush, we’ll need every man we can get, armed and dressed for the cold.” He stared at Cray. “And this is NOT a hanging party, Cray. The same goes for the rest of you too. We are going to find Rush and speak to him, that’s all.”

Huro rose shakily to his feet. “I agree, Rush is not to be harmed. If need be, bring him back to the village so we may speak to him. But remember, he is still a son of this village and has helped many of us when we were sick. Jea, he helped you when your daughter had the summer fever, did he not?”

One of the women nodded, muttering to some of the others.

“Funi, Rush helped save your leg when you fell from the tree when you were a child, do you remember?”

A chorus of nods and general discussions broke out. Cray nodded to Chert and Huro, his expression oddly blank. “Very well, but you shall see the truth of what I say soon enough. Then, you will wish you had shown the gods more attention when you had the chance. A time of reckoning is coming, and the gods are already walking amongst us.”

Chert took a mouthful of his water and leaned forward to Cray, his voice so quiet only the two of them could hear. “You listen to me, Cray. I’m watching you. I don’t trust you. You’re up to something, I know it. I can smell it a mile away.”

For just the briefest of moments, a flicker of uncertainty flashed across Cray’s face before the confident smile was back. He said nothing, but simply stepped back into the crowd, disappearing out the door as they all began to leave the confines of the mill.

Huro took hold of Chert’s sleeve. “I’ve known Cray and his family for a long time, but something’s wrong here, very wrong.”

“What do you mean? All that nonsense about witches and spirits?”

The village elder shook his head. “No, I mean he’s changed. The Cray I knew was a quiet, softly spoken man who loved his family and was observant of the will of the gods. This… zealotry, his mannerisms… He’s not the Cray I remember. Watch yourself around him, Chert.”

Stran watched the crowd leave and shouldered his sword, spitting on the mills dusty floor. “You think he’s working for the bandits, Boss?”

“That’s my guess. This whole ‘witch’ business stinks like a bull’s arse.”

“A trap?”

“Probably, but you saw the villagers. They won’t stop now; they want blood. The best we can do is to go along on this little trip to see the reed cutter and come back. The cold will cool their temperaments.”

“But if the bandits are waiting for you?”

“We run, Huro. We run.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Twenty Nine - Unwelcome Visitations

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

UNWELCOME VISITATIONS

“Good morning, Sleepyhead!”

Celestia nudged Rush with her muzzle, chuckling to herself at the muffled groans he made. She smiled happily since her magic was almost fully restored now. Another day at most and she would be able to open the portal back to Equestria. Such a spell would be a huge drain on her power, though, and the last time she’d opened one had been after she’d been fighting for her life. The fact that she’d managed to open a portal at all spoke of the desperation of the situation. As it had transpired, the spell had been more ‘thrown together’ than planned, and now here she was.

Finding the route back to Equestria wouldn’t be too much of a problem. She’d simply need to ‘retrace her steps’, in a manner of speaking. The issue, however, was that if anything went wrong, trying the spell over again would require rebuilding her magic reserves once more, and that could take a very long time. Celestia gave her mane a shake. She’d been away from home for too long; who knew what had been going on there in her absence? Maybe… Maybe Equestria had fallen! Maybe… Maybe Nightmare Moon had taken her over home completely and—

She sighed—it was all fruitless speculation, and pessimism wasn’t going to do anypony any good, least of all her. Their forces had lost the last battle, certainly, but not the war. The royal guard was still loyal to her and kept in reserve back at the castle. The envoys to the dragon had yet to return, and she had high hopes that she could bring them to her aid. Her generals had cautioned her against committing them all to the Battle at River Valley, but if she had then—

A hand on her neck brought her back to the present.

“Tia? You have that look again. I know you’re worrying about home.”

The hand began to stroke her, and she closed her eyes. “You’re right, Rush. Worrying fixes nothing, of course. We’ll be going home soon, and then I’ll be taking care of matters once and for all.”

Celestia had a determined look on her face that Rush found strangely appealing. She was strong, both in body and in mind, a talented and intelligent mare that made his heart soar every time he looked at her. Feeling her soft coat against his skin was such a wonderful sensation that he began to stare at his arm. What would his own fur feel like? What about hooves? He wouldn’t be able to grip things very well though—that could be a problem.

“Now who looks like they’re worrying!”

Rush looked up at the princess and laughed. “Sorry! I’m just wondering what it’ll be like to be the ‘real me’, fur and all.”

Celestia lifted his arm with her hooves. “You already know.” She placed one on his chest. “In here, you already know.”

“What I can’t understand is why my mother changed into a human when she arrived, and how you don’t look human. Is it some sort of magical effect?” Rush asked curiously.

The princess nodded. “It is. The portal Willow passed through was built before I was born. There is a magic within it that transforms whoever passes through it into a semblance of the people who live on the other side.”

“You made your own to come here, though?”

“I did, and a very hasty one as well. I have never had the need to perform any transformation magic before, and I confess that I’ve not really studied it in great depth. What you see now is who I am.”

“Your hair’s different here,” he noted idly.

“You saw what it looks like in the nether world. Does it… trouble you?”

Rush shook his head, lifting her mane in his hands and letting it run through his fingers. “It’s who you are, Tia, not what you are that matters to me.”

Celestia reached out and took him in her forelegs and kissed his forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Tia, if I’m coming back through your portal, won’t I be… you know… human on the other side?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps, but the truth is, Rush, I don’t know.”

“Oh…”

A delicate hoof bopped him on the nose as a pair of large purple eyes gazed into his. “No moping now, Mister. I don’t care if you’re human or pony, alright?”

“Mmmm.”

“Alright?” she asked again, lifting his head in her hooves.

“Yes, Miss!”

Rush reached out and began to tickle her. Celestia jumped and began to howl in laughter as the onslaught began. She laughed like she hadn’t in an age, tossing her head and kicking her hooves.

“Stop!” she gasped. “Great gods, Rush, stop! I can’t take any more!”

“Do you yield, my lady?”

“I do! Rush, please, I do!”

Rush dropped to the floor beside her, a huge grin on his face. For a moment, he wondered if he had gone too far. She was a princess, after all, and he—

“GOT YOU!” Celestia pushed Rush to the floor and attacked his ribs, sending him into howls of helpless laughter as he thrashed on the floor.

“Never underestimate the power of the mighty Celestia!” The princess laughed as the two rolled around the small wooden house like a pair of hyperactive children. Eventually, the play came to a gasping halt, and Rush had to reach up and wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes.

“That wasn’t fair! You ambushed me!” he laughed hoarsely.

“You deserved it, you rotter!” Celestia giggled, her chest heaving. She rolled onto her side and watched him as he composed himself. He was a fascinating being, and one who made her feel alive when all she had felt for so long was… nothing, only the blandness of an eternity of duty.

Rush rolled onto his side to face her, his heart beating so fast that he had to gulp air down to try and calm himself. Still… she was so close, so beautiful, her eyes so clear and bright. He reached out and brushed the hair from her muzzle, moving closer towards her.

“Tia…”

Celestia felt a flush of warmth run through her and leaned forward to meet him. After all this time, those terribly long years of loneliness, emptiness; on another world, she had met him. Perhaps she had something to be grateful to her sister for after all.

“Rush?”

The princess stopped, her eyes opening wide.

“I know, I heard it too.”

Rush picked himself up and hurried to the window, peering out of the crack between the shutters. There was a large group of villagers approaching, most of them, if not all, armed. He recognised a few, including… Nasta? Yes, and Cray as well—they were still alive! Suddenly, he felt embarrassed about not going down into the village to see if they were alright, but events here had taken precedence.

“Tia, stay inside and don’t say a word. I’ll get rid of them.”

The princess nodded. Rush knew these people, and would know how to deal with them. They were probably looking for that young thestral again.

“Rush!”

Nasta charged forward, grabbing him in a bear hug and laughing, lifting him off the ground.

“Good gods, Nasta! Calm down, will you!”

Rush pushed the over-enthusiastic man away, brushing his clothes down. “I’m glad to see you as well, but why’ve you brought half the village with you?”

The one Rush recognised as Chert, the village's gang boss, stepped forward. “I’m glad to see you’re alive and well. Rush, wasn’t it?”

Rush bobbed his head. “Yes, thank you for your concern, but I’m still alive as you can all see.”

Chert eyed him up and down. “Why didn’t you come down to the village, Rush? We’ve all been worried about you.”

“Yes, why didn’t you?” someone called from the back.

“What are you hiding up here?”

“Yeah!”

There was a general muttering which sent Rush’s hackles up straight away. This wasn’t a group here to check he was safe. There was something else at play here. Something he didn’t like.

“Chert?”

The boss waved his hand at the crowd. “Shut up and let him speak, will you?”

“When everyone started running, I fell down a gully and broke my leg. I managed to get home, and I’ve been recovering ever since. What else is there to say?”

Nasta stared at him. “Good gods, Rush. I’m… I’m so sorry! I should have come back for you. I shouldn’t have left you out here on your own.”

He bowed low and began to shake as Rush placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Nasta, it was every man for himself that night. In all the confusion, I didn’t know if anyone had survived the attack. I didn’t think I would for that matter.”

“No, it's quite the miracle, isn’t it, Rush?” a heavy voice boomed out from the crowd.

They all turned to look as Cray the village blacksmith emerged from the throng, a look on his face that Rush had never seen before. He didn’t like it. Normally a fairly dour man, more at home in the smithy than dealing with people, the Cray that stood before Rush now emanated a cold heartlessness that was at odds with his memory of the man he knew.

“Miracle?” Rush repeated levelly. “Maybe the gods blessed me that night, Cray. They saved you as well, apparently.”

“They did, Rush, they truly did.”

Chert held up his hand, addressing the crowd. “Well, thank the gods you’re safe, Rush. Now that that problem’s been put to bed and we’ve satisfied ourselves that Rush is still alive, we can all go home at last.” He laughed. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m bloody freezing!”

There was a general mumbling of agreement and laughter, some of the villagers turning to leave.

Cray took a step forward, a quizzical look on his face. “Just a minute, Chert. Something’s not right here.”

Rush felt a jolt of ice cold run down his spine. What was he up to?

Chert raised an eyebrow. “For the gods’ sake, Cray, what more do you want? We’ve not seen any bandits, spirits, gods, or who knows what else since we’ve been out here freezing our bits off in this bloody cold. This has been a wild goose chase and you know it!”

Cray smirked, the bitterness in his voice barely concealed by the sickly grin that spread across his face. “The witch is here…”

Rush balked. “Witch? What the hell are you talking about, Cray? Have you lost your mind?”

The blacksmith shook his head, projecting his voice for all to hear. “The witch saved you, Rush, the very same witch who murdered your niece and butchered our brothers and sister in the forest while you hid. Of course, you had nothing to fear, did you? You knew you would be safe because you are in league with that evil creature!”

Rush gripped his reed knife’s hilt. “Have you lost your mind, Cray? This isn’t like you. What on earth is this insane babble?” He turned to Nasta. “Don’t tell me you believe this lunacy? Chert, you too?”

“I don’t know, Rush!” Nasta held his head in his hands. “There’s an evil in the forest—bandits or spirits, I just don’t know!”

Chert spoke up. “Can any of you see a witch here? No? Maybe she’s hiding behind a tree, under a rock, maybe inside your bloody head, you damned fool!”

Cray rounded on him. “The warrior of the moon goddess told me she takes the form of a horse, a terrible, dread creature with wings and a horn she uses to impale her victims!”

There was a loud round of murmuring, several of the villagers looking frightened and glancing nervously at the forest around them.

“What do you see?” Cray shouted dramatically. “Look! Look in the snow!”

One of the villagers shouted out. “There’s hoofprints, hoofprints in the snow!”

“They’re everywhere!”

“It’s the witch!”

“Oh gods preserve us, it's here!”

Weapons began to be readied, the villagers huddling together for protection.

Chert shouted over the rising tide of panic. “It’s a bloody forest! Of course there's animal prints in the snow! Cray, shut up, will you? You’ll cause a riot!”

Cray held up his hands for quiet, then turned to Rush with a sly smirk. “Then let us look inside the reed cutter's home.”

One of the villagers called back. “There’s nothing in the workshop. I've looked—it’s empty.”

“Then let's look in the house and we’ll be on our way then,” Cray said calmly. “It's not a problem, is it, Rush? If you’ve nothing to hide…”

Rush backed up toward the door. “How dare you, you damned vermin. You come to my home, make wild accusations, and invade my privacy and my home?”

“Open the door, Rush!” Cray said aloud, moving forward.

Rush drew his reed knife. “You take another step toward my house and I’ll cut your stinking throat!”

Silence fell, nobody moved. Chert was the first to speak. “Rush, please, I know you’re upset, but put the knife down, eh? Nobody needs to get hurt today.”

“You’re right,” Rush said quietly. “Nobody does. Chert, get these people out of here and don’t come back. All I want is a quiet life and to be left alone. Don’t you people understand that? LEAVE ME ALONE!”

An arrow shot out from the crowd, embedding itself in the door beside Rush’s head. There was a pause as the world held its breath.

“STRAN!” Chert yelled, but it was too late. The crowd surged forward, hands grabbing Rush and yanking him away from the door. With a great shout of triumph, Cray kicked the door open and charged into the house.

“See!” he cried. “The witch is here! The evil that has tainted our village and our homes is before us! The warrior of the moon goddess spoke truly!”

Celestia stood quietly, watching the humans before her. She remained silent as the fearful yet emboldened press of humans pushed into the house. Chert shouted and yelled to his men outside to regain order, but the overwhelming sense of anger and pent up fear was proving a potent mixture for the villagers.

Rush lay flat on his face, held down by several of the crowd, and felt his arms being tightly bound. A gag was rammed in his mouth and he was hauled to his feet as a voice called out from inside his home:

“Get ropes! We’ll take the witch back to the village with us.”

Inside, several of the larger villagers had pinned the princess to the floor and held swords to her throat. Cray smiled to himself, reached into his bag, and took out a small pouch. Tipping the contents into his hand, he leaned down to the princess and whispered in her ear, “Lord Rend sends his regards, bitch.” Suddenly, he grabbed her muzzle and rammed the powder into her nostrils, making her gag and thrash in panic.

Celestia choked as the burning substance flooded through her nose, throat, and lungs. A terrible sense of fear gripped her, its bitter embrace contrasting with the raging heat inside her body. Her magic… it had gone! What had that monster done to her?

Rush watched in helpless fury as the princess was eventually carried from the house, her legs bound, a sack over her head, and carried upside down beneath a pole like a hunting trophy. Rage, cold and pure, ran through his veins. These people, these…things, how could they? Cray, Nasta, they’d betrayed him, they’d betrayed the princess! If he could free himself, if he could get loose, he’d show them; he’d send them to their precious gods with a smile on his face.

Chert pushed through the crowd with his men, shoving them out of the way until they were surrounding the princess and Cray.

“We’ll take them back to the village, but I tell you now, Cray, ALL OF YOU! This is NOT a lynching and anyone… ANYONE who tries to injure either of them will answer to me!”

“Why are you so keen to help them?”

“Yeah!”

Stran drew his sword, silencing any more dissent. Chert held out his hand to the tattooed man, addressing the angry villagers. “I’ll tell you why. It’s because I’ve seen too much killing, too much cruelty. I’ve seen babies torn from their mothers; I’ve seen parents burying their sons and daughters. Things most of you would never even begin to imagine, I’ve seen with my own eyes. And yet through it all, I have remained who I am… a man, a man who still believes in respect, honour, and the strength of the human heart.” He turned to Cray. “I understand how angry and afraid you all are, and we will take these two to the village. There we will wait for the proper authorities to deal with them.”

“Proper authorities?” Cray laughed. “The governor is dead! We can’t wait any longer. Let us kill these two and be done with it!”

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” Chert rounded on him. “Don’t you think the lord would have noticed his governor’s men were missing? Don’t be a fool!” He turned to the villagers. “Are you so keen, so desperate for blood that you would kill one of your own? What if you’re wrong, what if you make a mistake? Would you want that on your conscience? Don’t you think the memory of Willow deserves that we show her son some dignity?”

Nasta stood before them all, holding his hands up for quiet. “I lost my Blossom to that beast. I want the damned things head on my wall!” Cray nodded, and the crowd began to cheer. “BUT!” Nasta shouted. “I owe Willow a great deal for who I am today, and I will not see her son killed when have not heard in his own words what his relationship with this creature is. I say we wait for the lord to send his men and let them deal with them. Let them bloody their hands, not us.”

“Yes!” someone shouted. “Let them do the dirty work!”

“We might be cursed!”

Chert rolled his eyes. “Does that satisfy you, Cray? Does that fulfil your desire for death?”

Cray looked ashen. He opened his mouth to speak, but Chert cut in quickly. “Good! That’s that settled then. Stran, make sure nobody wanders off now.” The effect of being flanked by armed gang members had a remarkably calming effect on the villagers.

“Come on, everyone,” Chert called out. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty - Bound in Darkness

CHAPTER THIRTY

BOUND IN DARKNESS

“Stran, you and boys keep an eye on things here. Don’t let anyone in or out without my permission, understand?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Good, I’m going to have a word with the elder.” Chert leaned back round the door. “Oh, and Stran? If that Cray shows his ugly face in here…”

“I understand, Boss.”

Chert nodded, tapping the door frame on his way out. Stran was a good man—he’d keep order here. Meanwhile, he wanted to speak to Huro. Something stank here, and it wasn’t Rush or that… whatever that thing was!

Huro was already leaving the water mill when he heard Chert call out to him. He rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue irritably. The boss seemed to have become a lot more animated recently, or was it that he was just slowing down? He was a lot younger than the last village elder had been, but still old by village standards. His bones creaked almost as much his home these days. The ancient water mill had been his family residence for many years and had often played host to village meetings even before he became elder. Huro sighed. There hadn’t been one for quite some time, and then all of a sudden, his home ended up packed full of frightened children and the ranting of a lunatic! Even his grandson looked to have been infected with this hysteria, running into his home this morning and shouting something about a ‘winged horse’ of all things!

Chert was walking along the edge of the mill race with one of his men, shouting something to him and waving his arms. He didn’t have to shout—he wasn’t deaf! Blasted youngsters, they treated you like you were senile when you were only a few years older than they were. Still, it encouraged the younger ones to bring him nice treats now and again, and young Nasta had even fixed the leak in the roof with reeds he’d bought from that fellow that lived in the hills. What was his name again? Rush?

“Chert.” The elder held up a hand in greeting.

“Hello, Huro. Are you going to have a look at our guests?”

“Guests? There’s two?” the elder asked in surprise. His grandson hadn’t mentioned two.

“Well, there’s Rush, the reed worker and… the other one.”

“Other one? Ah! This ‘winged horse’ creature, I presume.”

Chert shrugged. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen the thing with my own eyes. Cray believes it’s a shape-shifting witch of all things. It just looks like an animal to me.”

Huro sniffed. “Looks can be deceiving, Chert. A gambling man tries to deceive his opponents into believing what he wants them to believe. You know that better than anyone.”

Laughing, Chert rubbed the back of his head. “True! Very true!” He sighed. What are we going to do about this? That blacksmith has been whipping the villagers into a frenzy. They want blood, Huro, and I don’t know how long I can keep a lid on things.”

“I don’t trust Cray,” the elder said quietly. “He’s not the boy I remember, Chert. Something’s happened to change him, and not for the better.”

Chert nodded in agreement. “I know. I just don’t know what to think of all of this. I can only hope Lord Ire’s men get here soon and sort out this mess.”

Huro snorted. “Lord Ire’s men? We’ll be lucky to keep our heads after Lord Saru finds out his son died.”

“His son?”

“Didn’t you know? Deputy Nile, the one who led that foolish expedition into the forest, was one of his sons.”

“Oh gods, I didn’t know.” Chert shook his head morosely.

“In fairness,” Huro explained, “not many did. That was the idea. Saru wanted his son to get some hands-on experience in a ‘safe’ environment. Not advertising his parentage was part of the deal he struck with Lord Ire.”

“You’re surprisingly well-informed, Huro.”

The elder laughed. “Not quite senile yet, eh?”

The storehouse was one of the most secure buildings in the village. Several extensions had been constructed over the years as the rice production expanded to cover enough to sell to other villages in the province. There was little need to lock the store rooms, as the village rarely had a problem with theft except during the last drought. At that time, locks had been installed, and Chert’s men had been employed to keep order.

Now, the spare storage rooms served a new purpose: as cells.

Stran opened the outer door, bowing to the boss and the village elder as they entered.

“Any trouble Stran?”

“No, Boss.”

“What about that Cray fellow?”

“Dunno, Boss. He’s disappeared.”

Chert rounded on him. “What do you mean ‘he’s disappeared’? I thought Jinu was keeping a tail on him?”

“She was, Boss, but he gave her the slip. Half the boys are out looking for him now.”

“Oh for—!”

Huro placed a hand on Chert’s back. “At least he’s not here causing more problems, my friend. Let’s be grateful for that.”

The elder was right, of course, Chert thought to himself. There were far more pressing matters to attend to than some deranged agitator. Besides, bad coins had a habit of re-appearing sooner or later. He’d just have to be ready for when it did.

It was dark in the store room. Little light penetrated the gloomy interior, with what there was filtering through a narrow ventilation grill near the ceiling. They’d kept their two ‘guests’ apart. It seemed to be the best course of action in the circumstances, but Chert wondered if it was really necessary? The ‘witch’, as Cray had called her, hadn’t put up a fight at all, only Rush. There was something about this, about what they were doing… it just didn’t feel right.

Chert held up a lantern, the faint yellow light picking out the huddled features of the bound white mare. She was lashed down to storage anchors, a rough sack over her head and without even water or food. Huro shook his head.

“It looks like a horse to me. Someone’s painted a sun on its arse, and it’s got fancy wings and horn.”

Chert stared at him. “You don’t think that’s strange?!”

“Of course, but when you’ve lived as long as me, you cease to find the strange that unusual.”

The creature stirred, making Chert stand back hurriedly, but Huro leaned forward, peering in at her. “Can you speak?” he called to the thing calmly.

Silence.

“Of course it can’t speak, Huro, it’s a bloody horse!” Chert declared hotly. “Honestly, I think I’m the only one in this village who isn’t going round the bend!”

“Please...” The word was barely a whisper from the dark of the store room. “May I have some water?”

Huro and Chert exchanged glances, the boss stammering as he called out, “S-Stran! Get some water here, man! Hurry!”

A minute later, the tattooed gang member reappeared, a wooden bowl of fresh water in his hands. Placing it on the floor, Chert used a broom to push it toward the bound figure.

A few moments passed. “I’m sorry, this sack on my head… could you..?”

Chert looked at Huro, who nodded in response. “She’s bound. What can she do?”

“I don’t know—that’s the problem! What the hell is it?”

“It’s a she, Chert. She may be a prisoner here, but she should be left her dignity.” He shrugged. “Give me your dagger.”

“What? Huro, please, don’t—”

“Oh, shut up, Chert! Your mother didn’t raise you to be such a whiner, did she?”

The boss nearly gagged in indignation as the village elder sighed and took the reluctantly proffered dagger. Stran opened the door, which creaked ominously on its hinges, allowing Huro to enter.

“Stran, if that thing makes a move…”

“Yes, Boss.”

The lock clicked in place behind him, with Stran and Chert peering through the bars at the elder and their guest. The old man shook his head sorrowfully at the stricken mare.

“I’m going to remove the sack now. Can I have your word that you won’t attempt to escape or cause injury to any of the villagers?”

The mare nodded. “Yes, you have my word.”

Huro bobbed his head, satisfied. Reaching over, he took the sack in his hands and lifted it up and away from the mare. She shook her head in relief, taking in the air and blinking, her eyes adjusting to the somewhat minimal change in light. Huro gasped as she fixed him with her large purple eyes. He’d never seen such a creature! She must be one of the spirit folk, or… gods forgive them, one of the hill gods! He began to wonder if the wrath of the gods would descend on them for this. Their anger could be dreadful indeed. Drought, flooding—who knew what could be in store for them? He bowed before her.

“Please, forgive the intolerable rudeness of my people. They are ignorant and afraid.” He chuckled. “Afraid of most things, I fear.” Huro pushed the bowl of water towards her. “Please…”

The mare nodded and lowered her muzzle, drinking in the water until the bowl was completely empty. She closed her eyes. “Thank you.” Huro bowed again, moving the bowl out of the way. “May I ask, is my friend unharmed? Rush?”

Huro nodded. “He is. He’s in the room next to yours.”

The mare tried to move, wincing in pain as the ropes cut into her legs. The elder nodded, noticing her discomfort and quickly drawing forth the knife, cutting the ropes binding her. One by one, they fell to the floor, and the mare breathed a sigh of relief at being able to move freely again.

“My name is Huro. I’m the village elder,” the man said calmly. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“My name is Celestia,” the mare replied politely. “I am a princess of the land known as Equestria.”

Huro closed his eyes. This was bad, really bad! “Lady Celestia, I have to ask, are you a spirit or goddess of our lands?”

She shook her head. “Some think I’m a goddess, but I am who I am, Master Huro, as you are who you are.”

He sat back on his heels, rubbing his head in embarrassment. “The villagers believe you are responsible for the attack on the governor and his men, and the young girl, Blossom. Some believe you to be… forgive me, a witch.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe I did these things? That I’m a witch?”

Huro shrugged. “I don’t know, Lady Celestia. I wish I did.”

The princess stretched her legs. “In answer to your question, Huro, no. No, I did not kill any of those people. I’ve not caused harm to any human since I arrived here.” She sniffed in indignation. “And I am most certainly not a witch!”

“And what is your relationship to the reed cutter, Rush?”

Celestia’s eyes flashed dangerously. “None of your nor anypony else’s business!”

Huro bowed. “Forgive me, Princess. I meant, how do you know him? How did you come to be in his house?”

The princess let out a deep sigh. “No, Huro, it should be me apologizing. I’m sorry; I’m rather exhausted. The last few hours have been rather… taxing for me.” She gave her mane a shake. “In short, Rush saved my life when I had been attacked by my enemies. He kindly nursed me back to health, and I helped him when he was hurt from his fall in the forest. I believe you know the rest of the story, Elder.”

Chert spoke up from the door. “What enemies?”

Huro shot him a look. The man had ears like an outhouse rat!

Celestia rubbed her legs together, reinvigorating her circulation. “They’re called thestrals. One in particular, the younger one, is the beast that killed the girl, Blossom. She was Rush’s niece. That animal is probably the same one who killed the others you speak of, but I cannot say with any certainty. Most of my time has been spent with Rush.”

Chert’s inquisitive voice carried across room. “What… you and Rush, you didn’t…?”

Huro facepalmed, turning to Chert with a look of fury. “For the gods’ sake, Chert!”

The look in the princess’ eyes said all that the elder needed to know, and he bowed low. “Please, forgive him, Princess, sometimes his mouth is like a runaway cart.”

Celestia giggled at the analogy. “Of course, Elder. Your friend's question took me a little by surprise, that’s all.” She brushed a wisp of hair from her muzzle. “May I ask what you intend to do with us?”

“I don’t know, Princess. I’m afraid that it’s not just a case of letting you go. The lord will be sending his men here looking for the killer of Lord Saru’s son and—”

“—And if you let me go, they’ll assume you’ve freed the killer, yes?”

Huro nodded. “Now that everyone’s seen you, it would be hard to say otherwise.”

“You realise, Elder, that the other creature is still out there?”

“So you say, my lady.”

She shrugged. He only had her word that she was telling the truth. After all, she couldn’t assume that he’d simply accept everything she said and release them. If only her magic was working, then it would be a simple matter of teleporting the two of them out of here. Still… she’d given Huro her word, and that had to mean something, no matter what world she was on.

“I’ll send food.”

“Thank you, Huro. You’ve been very kind to me. Please, I know I’m being presumptuous, but… would you please show Rush the same kindness you showed me?”

The elder watched her for a moment, then bowed. “Of course, Lady Celestia. It would be my pleasure.”

Outside, the lock clicked back into place, and Chert shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Huro, she’s either playing some game with us, or there really are monsters in the hills.”

Stran cleared his throat. “Boss?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you see her hooves?”

“What about them?”

“They’re not the same as the prints around the pond or the hill road.”

Chert stared at him. “Are you sure, Stran? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, boss. I know horses, and they weren’t like any hoofprints I’ve ever seen.”

Huro grabbed Chert’s sleeves. “Find Cray, Chert. Find him and bring him to me. I think we’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Huro and Chert headed for the door, but just as they reached it, Huro turned round to face Stran. “Give them food and water.” He glanced at the room that held the still-bound Rush. “And get those damned ropes off him!”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty One - Whispers

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

WHISPERS

She was here, so close that he could hear her breathing, smell her scent. In his mind’s eye, Rush could see her watching him, her eyes so large and bright, that smile warming his heart as she spoke his name.

“Rush, can you hear me?”

He sat up, leaning against the door to the store room. He was so close to her, mere inches that may as well have been miles. “I can. Are you alright, Tia? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No. I spoke to the village elder, Huro. He seems an honourable man.”

Rush snorted. “Is he going to let us go?”

Celestia’s voice drifted back, muffled by the wall separating them. “I don’t think so, Rush. I can only hope he will change his mind.”

Rush felt the light of hope beginning to fade. “They’ll be waiting for the lord’s men to arrive and ‘deal’ with us. The cowardly rats will let them stain their hands rather than doing it themselves.”

Celestia’s voice quavered. “Do… Do you think they mean to kill us?”

“Oh! No, Tia, I’m sorry!” Rush leaned his head against the wall, furious with his ill-conceived words. “I’m just being melancholy as usual. Ignore me.”

There was a pause before she spoke. “Rush… I… I can’t feel my magic any more. It was Cray… He did something to me, made me breath a powder of some sort. If only I had my magic, I could have simply teleported us out of here, but now…”

Cray? That stinking vermin. If only he could get a hold of that rat, he’d squeeze the life out him. Rush gritted his teeth. Was there some way they could get out of here? Escape?

Celestia’s voice sounded heavy with resignation. “Rush, I’m afraid… for my home, and for you.”

Her words were like an arrow into Rush’s heart. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her everything was going to be alright, but he couldn’t, could he? What possible good could he do either of them, locked up in here? He was helpless, and worse, he was losing hope. Tears stung his eyes as he did something for the first time in an age… he prayed.

Celestia could hear Rush speaking in a low voice and strained to hear the words. It was rude to listen in, but she couldn’t help herself. She needed to be near somepony right now, to help ease her troubled heart. Her home was in trouble, and now both Rush and herself were also in danger. If something were to happen to her, what would happen to Equestria? There would be nopony there to help protect them against Nightmare Moon. And what about Rush? It was her fault he was here, and if anything happened to him...

She shook her mane and whinnied. If only she had her magic! Why had that human done this? What had he said again? ‘Lord Rend’? She had a flash of realisation. Rend was the young thestral the older one had warned them about.

Celestia silently raged at herself. Why hadn’t she listened to Thorn? If she hadn’t been so stubborn, if she’d used her head instead of her heart, they wouldn’t be in this mess! She should have charged those humans when they burst into the room, trampled and kicked them out of the way to get to Rush and teleport them away to safety. But… there wasn’t any, was there? Using that much magic would have drained her, leaving them both to wander as fugitives in the forest, in the depths of winter, and to injure or maybe even kill those people when they were only behaving like that because they were frightened…

“Tia?”

A hand reached out through the bars of the door beside hers. If she reached with her foreleg just so, she could… there. It was a little uncomfortable, but she could feel Rush’s warm hand. The contact, as meagre as it was, was enough to give her hope. Whilst the two of them lived, there was still that, magic or no.

“Tia, if… if the worst happens, I want you to know…”

Celestia squeezed her eyes closed, her heart beating hard in her chest. “Rush, I know. Please, this isn’t the time.”

“I know, it’s just…”

“Shhh, now, come on. It’ll be alright. I’m right here with you.”

Rush’s hand shook slightly. She could hear the resignation in his voice. He was as frightened as she was, although he’d never admit it. Rush had been bottling up years of emotions inside himself, and only with her arrival had he begun to explore them with her. It was a good thing—she knew herself how keeping such pain to yourself could fester and ferment, even turning loved ones into a darker parody of themselves.

“Tia? What do your people believe happens when they die?”

She was afraid of this. Asking this sort of question, he was slipping into despair.

“When we die, our souls travel to the land of the eternal herd, the home of the king and queen, my parents.”

“What’s it like there?”

She leaned against the wall, cold and hard against her back, trying to imagine Rush’s body leaning against hers. Celestia closed her eyes and turned her face up to the ceiling.

“It’s a land of perfect days. The skies are the purest blue, the grass is rich, green, and lush. The trees offer the most wonderfully cooling shade where you can rest peacefully beneath their boughs. The waters of the rivers and lakes are crystal clear and as sweet as the finest wine.” A tear ran down her face as she remembered… home.

“The corn fields were always my favourite. The golden stalks were so high! I would play through them as a foal, running and jumping, trying to flap my wings and fly. Luna would chase me round and round until we were completely exhausted. We would fall asleep on the hills overlooking the valley. I can remember how wonderful the warmth of the sun felt on my coat, with my sister curled up beside me as the birds sang us a gentle lullaby.”

Rush’s hand squeezed her hoof. “It sounds wonderful.”

“It is, Rush, it truly is.” She tapped his hand. “Now! No more moping, mister. Pick up those hooves and think positively!”

A strained laugh drifted through the wall. “Yes, ma’am!”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Three - The Weight of Legacy

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

THE WEIGHT OF LEGACY

Huro sipped his tea thoughtfully, staring into the small fire pit as it crackled and snapped merrily away. The warmth it gave the room soaked into his bones, giving a welcome relief from the aches and pains he’d built up over the years from working the rice paddies. He’d lived a good life—simple, uninteresting, but still… a good life.

His wife had died a few years earlier, the summer fever taking her as it had so many others before, and would doubtless continue to do so. Only the gods decided when it was time to take one of them into their care, or send them to one of the hells. It was the natural order of things: uncomplicated, easy to understand, and that was just the way he liked it. This, however, was on an entirely different level. Huro knew more about rice production and dealing with squabbling neighbours over whose dog had pissed on whose house and other such nonsense, not this!

Chert sat across from him, the village gang boss looking every bit as flustered as he felt. The governor's men had all been buried and the road reopened, but for how long? The villagers were so scared that they wouldn’t dare venture along the road at all, and simply sat there waiting for trade to come to them. But what if it didn’t? What if the other villages and towns knew of their plight and had decided to wait until the villagers came to them? There were too many factors here that needed consideration.

The main one right now, though, was what to do with the princess. If indeed she was what she said she was.

The door slid open, and Jinu appeared, her hair hastily rearranged and complexion decidedly pale. By the looks of her, she hadn’t had any luck finding the missing Cray. Chert looked up at her, and she simply shook her head.

“Sorry, Boss. We looked everywhere, but he’s not here in the village so far as we can tell. He hasn’t even been to see his family. They hadn’t attended the meeting at the mill and didn’t know he was still alive!”

Chert looked at Huro and ran his hand over his face. The elder looked a lot older than he remembered of late. No doubt this situation was starting to get to him as well. For that matter, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night's sleep since this whole damned mess began.

The boss closed his eyes and took a sip of his tea, feeling the warmth run through him. At least Nasta wasn’t here. A good healer he may be—he’d been trained by Willow, after all—but he was far too highly strung for his own good. Imagine wanting to take your family out of the village at this time of year!

He waved his hand at Jinu dismissively. “Don’t worry, Jinu. Bring the boys back in and get them warmed up. Let the lookouts know to keep an eye out for him in case he mysteriously reappears.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Chert leaned back and stretched his arms. The dark bags under his eyes spoke volumes of his lack of sleep. Gods, he was so tired. Surely they had to have at least some good news sooner or later? Still, what about this ‘white horse’ thing, the ‘princess’? He didn’t believe in all this village mystical drivel, and yet here was something straight out of one of the tales he’d heard them come out with to scare the children. If Huro was right, and she was indeed some sort of hill deity, if they treated her poorly… it didn’t bear thinking about.

Huro cleared his throat. “Any thoughts?”

“Too many.” Chert shrugged, holding his hands near to the fire to warm up. “You’re not a gambling man, are you, Huro?”

The elder shook his head. “You’d know if I was.”

The boss laughed. “I would at that!”

Chert’s eyes watched the elder carefully. He never gave much away. If the old man had been a gambler, he would have been a difficult man to read, very difficult indeed.

“Life is a gamble, Huro. The prosperity of my family has been dependant upon my knowledge of it. One wrong play, one roll of the dice at the wrong moment, and it could all fall down around me like a house of sticks in a gale.” He scratched his leg, sighing. “If there’s one thing I know, Huro, it’s when I’m being played, and right now, someone is trying just that.”

The elder raised an eyebrow. “Cray?”

Chert shook his head. “Cray’s an idiot. Sneaky, yes, but someone’s pulling his strings. You didn’t see the look on his face when I said we’d take the two of them into custody. It was panic, Huro. He wanted them dead there and then.”

“You think this other party used him to arrange the killing of the princess and Rush, rather than do it themselves? They lived in the middle of the forest—why couldn’t they have done the deed? You saw the way they’d cut through the governor's men.”

“I know. Gods damn it all, I know!” Chert picked up his pipe and started to push tobacco into its bowl with a lot more force than necessary. “There must have been some reason behind it, but whatever it was, I think it's been foiled, and that’s bad news for us.”

“Oh?”

Chert grunted. “Because if they’re that determined to rid themselves of our ‘guests’, their next target is likely to be the village.”

Huro shook his head. “So, what do you think? Should we let them go? If we do and the Lord Ire’s men arrive, we’ll be the ones whose heads will likely roll. They’ll want blood, Chert, you know that as much as I do.”

“Boss?” Stran leaned into the room. “We’ve got company.”

The village elder and the boss sat in the visitors’ room at the main house. There’d barely been time for a quick wash and shave before the leading elements of what looked like a small army arrived in the village proper. A loud commotion outside and associated shouting was followed by a flustered Jinu, who only just managed to open the double doors as two burly warriors entered, pushing her roughly out of the way.

“Who is in charge here?” one of them demanded, staring at the two men.

Huro bowed. “I am village elder, Huro. This is the village boss, Chert. Please be welcome in our home, as humble as it is.”

Chert bowed low, grinding his teeth at the sheer rudeness of these men. He peered up at Jinu from under his brow. She was fine, thank goodness. If they’d hurt her…

“LORD IRE!” someone announced in a booming voice from the door as a blast of cold air entered the room.

Several warriors rushed in, closely followed by a moderately well-dressed young man with a very tired expression on his face. Huro noted the swords he carried. They were worn, well-used, and had a feel of menace emanating from them. Those must have been his father's—truly remarkable heirlooms for the young lord. He could only hope that Ire would live up to his father's noble ideals.

One of the warriors spoke quietly to the lord, who nodded to him in reply. Without waiting to be invited, Lord Ire sat himself in front of the two men, handing his swords to one of his attendants. The man’s eyes watched them with cold calculation. Huro smiled to himself. So, the young had some of the spirit of his father in him then, did he?

“Elder Huro, Boss Chert.” The two men bowed as Ire bobbed his head to them. “I will dispense with the pleasantries, gentlemen. You both know why I’m here. If there’s one thing I know about village life, it’s that you are usually a lot better informed than most would give you credit for.”

Huro bowed. “My lord is too kind.”

“And you can stop with that as well,” Ire snapped. “I don’t appreciate grovelling, Elder, but I do expect truth and candidness from you, both of you.” Lord Ire fixed Chert with a stare. “I trust I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Lord,” the two men echoed.

Ire clapped his hands together. “Good. Now then, let’s discuss what has been happening and what we’re going to do about it. First off, I need the body of the deputy.”

Chert groaned inside. This was going to take a while…

********************

If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would have thought anyone suggesting such a thing existed was either insane or some sort of charlatan. Certainly, these villagers believed in the spirits and gods more vehemently than most, but praying to them and actually standing there looking at one as it looked back at you was a different matter altogether.

Lord Ire stood watching the creature as it calmly returned his gaze, the light from the lantern casting a yellow glow on the beast’s white coat.

“What is it?” he breathed, more to himself than anyone else.

The village elder rubbed his hand over his clean-shaven chin, not used to the feeling these days. “She says she’s a princess, Lord Ire. Her name is Celestia.”

“A princess?” Ire shook his head in amazement. “And she can speak?” Huro nodded. “You!” the young lord shouted. “Celestia, can you speak?”

The princess watched him impassively. “I can, ‘Lord Ire’, and I would prefer not be shouted at in that tone of voice, thank you very much. There is nothing wrong with my hearing.”

Ire gasped, turning to the elder. “I have never seen such a thing!”

Celestia shook her head sadly. “I’m not a ‘thing’ either, Lord Ire. Don’t forget that you look strange to me.” With a grunt, the princess rose to her hooves and walked to the door. Ire stepped back hurriedly.

“I—!” he stammered, then caught himself, adjusting his clothing and swords. “Princess Celestia, forgive my rudeness. Your appearance startled me. I meant no offence.”

Celestia nodded her head. “No offence taken, Lord Ire. I presume you have questions for me?”

Ire turned to the elder. “Leave us. I would speak to her alone.”

Huro bowed, turning to leave. As he left, he caught sight of Rush watching him silently from his makeshift cell. Nodding to him, the elder grimaced. Something was in the air, a feeling, a tension of some kind. Stepping out into the street, he looked up at the sky. It was clear and blue, not a cloud to be seen. Chert was leaning against the door frame, smoking his pipe.

“You can feel it too, can’t you?”

Huro closed his eyes for a moment before the two of them headed off together back to the main house. “A storm's coming, Chert. I can feel it in my bones.”

The younger man glanced up at the blue sky and sighed. “I hope you’re wrong, old friend, I really do.”

Huro walked up the steps into Chert’s home as a small cart rumbled down the road, pulled by a man well-wrapped against the cold. It appeared to contain numerous small barrels and other supplies. He smiled to himself. It seemed like supplies were beginning to come through after all.

Everything was going to be well in the village.

********************

Rush pressed his ear to the wall and listened, yet as much as he strained his hearing, he just couldn’t make out the words.

The two of them had been talking for what felt like hours, but in here, in the darkness, time meant very little. At least he had food, clean water, a bed of sorts, and was even provided with some basic washing facilities.

‘A regular home from home,' he thought bitterly.

The sound of movement caught his attention, and he looked up to see the young lord walking away. He never said a word, nor even cast him a glance, simply walking away as if Rush didn’t even exist. It was probably for the best. Being invisible was something that came with living in the hills. Nothing good ever came of dealing with these people.

“Rush?”

He pressed himself to the door. “Tia? Are you alright?”

A slender white leg appeared which he held gratefully, a flood of warmth running through him with that simple physical contact.

“I am,” she said calmly. “The young lord appears to be quite a gentleman at heart. A little headstrong perhaps, but still a good man.”

Rush leaned his head back against the wall. “Are they going to release us, do you think?”

There was a pause. “I wish I had an answer, Rush, but this is a difficult position for Lord Ire to be in right now. This ‘Lord Saru’ he spoke about does not sound like a man to be trifled with.”

“I know of him,” Rush said quietly, “but I don’t see his connection to any of this.”

Celestia nodded to herself. “His son was Deputy Nile, Rush. His father wants his remains sent home along with the heads of the ones that killed him.”

Rush’s head slumped at the revelation. He knew Nile would be trouble from the start, but he never imagined it to be on this scale.

“Ones?”

“Lord Saru believes the attacks have been made by bandits. The trouble for Ire is that he’s the one who was tasked with keeping the hills free of them.”

“And so it looks like he can’t do his job.”

Celestia stretched her hind legs. “Indeed. But now they have a bigger problem.”

“No bandits equals no heads to take to Saru, right?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“So what, we’re to be the sacrificial lambs?”

The princess shook her head. “I don’t know, Rush, perhaps. I wish I had an answer.”

Rush leaned his head back against the wall. “No doubt we’ll find out soon enough.”

He stared down at his hands. Lately, he’d begun to see himself more and more as he had in the nether world, as well as in his dreams, and in some ways, in his heart. His body had started to look increasingly alien to him, his arms too… strangely naked somehow. He had an overwhelming urge to go home, home to Equestria with Tia, to stand with her and the rest of the ponies against the evil of Nightmare Moon. It was where he belonged, not here, not in this alien world… alone.

A sound from outside niggled at the edge of his hearing. It was reasonably late and most people would be going to bed around now. It was probably a guard. Boss Chert had stationed them outside to keep the more inquisitive villagers away. Judging by how quiet it was now, most had probably given up and gone home.

The sound was nearer now, scratching and scraping at the wall beneath the vent. Curiosity getting the better of him, he stood and walked quietly over to the opening as something appeared, dark against the lighter background. Startled, Rush backed up, staring in surprise as something heavy was pushed through, dropping to the floor with a thump.

He looked round. Nobody had heard it by the look of things. Maybe it was from Nasta? Was someone finally going to help them? His heart rate increasing in unbidden excitement, Rush leaned down to examine the item. It was… a length of bamboo.

Rush scratched his head, rolling the thing back and forth in his hand. What the hell was this? He brought the lantern nearer, then quickly moved it away again with a gasp. He’d seen similar things in service with the lord’s army all those years ago. Did someone want him to use it to blast his way out? If he used the thing in there, the confined explosion would likely turn him into as many fragments as the wall. But, if it was the only way…

He placed the device into his bed pillow, pulling the stuffing down around it. He might need it later.

********************

Ire sat alone in his room at the ‘guest house’. He rolled his eye, taking in the surroundings. It was a bordello turned gambling hall, and the guest house was most likely where many of the various liaisons occurred between the boss’ employees and their clients. He’d already been suspicious of the bedding in the room, but was gratefully relieved to find it all well-laundered and clean. He’d have to have reassess his opinion of the boss after all. He seemed a reasonable sort, considering.

One of the girls had lit the lantern, gifting him with a cheeky smile before she left. She was quite a pretty little thing, cute and with a nice, rounded figure; just the sort he went for. Women were meant to have some meat on them, not those stick insect types he’d seen paraded around the castle as ‘potential brides’. He shuddered. One day he’d be ready to marry, and when he did, it would be someone who would be right for him: a friend, a confidant, and a mother to the children his clan were expecting. Maybe that girl…

He chuckled to himself, stretching out his legs and watching the lantern flickering away. It was very quiet here tonight, probably an unusual occurrence, and more than likely for his benefit. Still, he didn’t intend to stay here long, just long enough to deal with matters. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That creature, Celestia, as unbelievable as it was, was a princess from another world. Although she had denied it, she was a goddess in all but name, and how had they treated her? Like a bloody monster!

Ire held his head in his hands. What was he going to do about this mess? Getting Nile’s body back to his father wasn’t the problem—the boss’ men had collected them all and buried them outside the village. The issue now was Saru. He wanted someone to pay, and soon. Maybe the reed cutter? That wouldn’t do—he was just a simple village fellow who had helped the princess. Killing him would doubtlessly turn her against him, and besides, Saru wanted heads, as in plural. Damn it all! What was he going to do?

A thought struck him. What about this other creature that was out there, the one that had tried to kill her? There were two, weren’t there? If what she said was true, just one of them had annihilated the governor’s entire column. By the gods, Celestia had said she was at war with them in her homeland. Imagine what an army of those things could accomplish! He could retake the lands they’d lost after his father had died, maybe even take control of the whole country! Then that fat slug Saru would be the one bowing and scraping, like a dog begging for scraps.

His mind drifted back to his talk with the white alicorn. She was a truly magnificent creature, so alien, and yet so familiar somehow. He’d been surprised just how easy she’d been to speak to and how natural it felt talking to her. Odd… most odd.

There was a knock at the door. “Lord Ire? The village elder and the boss are here as you requested.”

Ire waved a hand at the servant. “Send them in.”

The two men bowed and walked in, seating themselves on the cushions he’d left out for them. The drinks would arrive shortly and—

Another knock on the door. “Excuse me…” Ah! Right on cue!

“Gentlemen.” Ire nodded to them both. “May I invite you to share a drink with me? Boss Chert, I’m afraid it’s from your own stocks, although I assure you that I always pay my bills.”

Chert smiled. “Thank you, my lord.”

Huro bowed and raised his cup as they all took a taste of the wine.

“Very nice, Chert! My compliments.” Ire smiled, waving the empty cup at him. “Please, gentlemen, don’t stand on ceremony and help yourselves.”

Huro laughed. “You remind me so much of your father, my Lord Ire. He was a great man.”

Ire raised an eyebrow, giving Huro a thoughtful look before bursting out laughing. “He certainly was a great drinker, Elder! Alas, I cannot match his capacity for alcohol, but I do appreciate its effects nonetheless.”

Chert bowed. “I’m pleased you’re enjoy our wine, my lord. It’s made here in the village and makes an excellent export item.”

The two men visibly relaxed, putting Ire at ease himself. He hated the stuffiness of court life, much preferring life outdoors, or in the bedroom, if he could escape his retainers long enough. Huro and Chert appeared trustworthy, but he would reserve judgement on them for now.

“I’ve spoken to our guest. What’s your take on her, Chert?”

The boss bobbed his head. “A remarkable creature. I’m inclined to believe what she says and that she is who she says she is.”

“I take it you don’t accept the word around the village that she’s a witch, then?”

“No. You know about the prints around the pond and the forest being different to the ones we found up at the shack?”

Ire nodded. “Indeed, unless she truly is a shape-shifting creature of course. Huro?”

The elder gave a wry grin. “I think you already know my thoughts, Lord Ire.”

Ire snorted out a laugh. “I believe I do, Huro.” He poured himself another drink. “The question I really want to ask you both is this: what would you do with her?”

Chert looked shocked, turning to Huro with his mouth half-hanging open. The lord was asking him? Huro waved his hand at him to continue. Flustered, Chert turned back to Ire.

“I… well, personally, I would be inclined to release her. If she truly is a princess, we could be inviting disaster upon our heads by keeping her locked up here. If her people come looking for her and they’re anything like the creature that killed those warriors on the road…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Ire nodded to Huro, who took a deep breath before answering.

“I think we should use her as bait.”

Chert gasped. “What? You mean to bring the other ones here? Good gods, Huro!”

Ire held up his hand, stopping Chert in his tracks. “I agree.” The boss looked stricken, but Ire leaned forward to fill his cup and gave him a grin from under his brows. “You’ve heard the expression ‘a bird in the hand?”

“Well, yes… but I don’t think that really applies!”

Ire laughed. “True, but we have the bird in our hand, gentlemen. What we need is to bring the two from the bush to us, or at least one. Then…” He slammed his hand on the floor dramatically. “We have our head for Saru, all nice and neat.”

Huro bowed. “Do you have a plan on how we will do this, my lord?”

“No.” The elder looked at Chert, who looked as baffled as he did. Ire laughed. “That’s why I have you two here.” He took a mouthful of the wine. “You know the land, the village, and the people. I have the warriors. Between us, we should be able to bring this all to a conclusion, gentlemen.”

He looked at Chert. “You seem a little unsure?”

“Sorry, Lord Ire. I saw the carnage on the road, how that ‘thing’ had cut down so many of the governor's men. The brutality, the cunning—this is no mindless creature we’re facing. The thought of having it come into the village is, frankly, terrifying.”

Ire nodded. “I understand, Chert, so if you have any other ideas I’d like to hear them.”

Chert shook his head.

Ire filled their cups again, stretching out his leg and yawning. “The night’s still young, gentlemen, and I’d like to discuss our plans. Firstly, Chert, who is that delightful lady who tidied my room earlier?”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Four - Threads in The Loom

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

THREADS IN THE LOOM

Nasta yawned, leaning back against the wall and stretching like a tired housecat. His wife had gone to bed, as had most of the household. He took the opportunity for a good scratch and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d have to get that haircut at some point, for he looked a right mess. A good shave as well wouldn’t go amiss. The air outside was freezing tonight, the sky as clear as crystal with the tiny pinpricks of stars twinkling like silver fires in the heavens.

He smiled to himself, taking out his pipe and loading it with the last of the tobacco. Hopefully, the traders would be coming through again soon. In fact, word was going around that one had already come to town, so things were definitely starting to look up. With the lord’s men here at last, the situation would be remedied in no time, and they would be able to get their lives back to normal without the upheaval of moving to one of the larger towns.

Nasta walked to the side door, slipping out into the night. It was cold but deliciously refreshing, with a crispness that tingled his skin. The house and garden were in darkness except for the lanterns lighting the path to the gate. He felt safe here, relaxed for the safe time in… how long? He took a draw on the pipe, watching its blue smoke curl away to disappear into the ether. It was a nice blend; next time, he might buy the whole cask of it, so long as he could hide it from Petal and the children. They didn’t approve of such ‘smelly’ habits, as they called it.

Shrugging it off, Nasta rubbed his bare feet for some warmth. He might like it out here, but it was still damned cold. His breath mingled with the pipe smoke, wafting out over the stone lanterns. Their yellow lights made him think of the lanterns carrying the souls of the dead across the river, the river that would lead to the land of the dead. Blossom and Willow were already there, and he’d see them again some day, but not for a while yet with any luck. And he’d been lucky so far, very lucky, unlike those young ones in the forest. He shuddered. That shadow in amongst the trees, the way it had darted amongst them, taking them like death itself had come to claim them.

Nasta gave himself a shake. Why was he thinking like this? Was it that… thing, that witch that Rush had been hiding? Maybe, but it would be dead soon. Lord Ire would see to that, and as for Rush himself? Well, hopefully without the influence of that creature, he may eventually come back to himself and rejoin the village as a proper member of society. Goodness knows how long that beast had been influencing him for!

Sighing, Nasta took a draw on his pipe. It was time to go in; the air was a little too bitter for comfort now. A few more seconds and—

What was that? Something moved, a shape in the darkness. He watched in silence. The door was nearby; if it was… oh gods!

“Nasta?” A shadow, darker than the rest, appeared out from behind the ornamental bushes. It wore a wide hat, a cloak, and had no discernible features other than its voice.

“Cray? Is that you?”

“It is.”

“Good gods, what are you doing in my garden at this hour?”

“Nasta, look, I don’t have time…”

“—Not this again!” Nasta exclaimed. “Cray, come on, I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but come into the light so I can at least see you, man!”

The figure shook its head. “I can’t. It… It knows, Nasta. It sees.”

“What does? Cray, this is really strange. What’s going on?”

Cray’s voice sounded strange, strained. “Listen to me! Nasta, please… you must…”

“Yes?” he allowed cautiously.

“Tell my wife and daughter… tell them… I love them.”

“Cray?” Alarm bells began to sound in his mind, but he quelled them for now.

“Please, Nasta!”

“Yes! Of course, but you can tell them yourself, can’t you? I don’t understand…”

The figure stepped back into the shadows, blending into the background like he’d never been there. Nasta froze, staring out into the garden.

“Cray?”

Only silence greeted his words, silence and the faint sound of snow falling from the disturbed branches.

*****************************

Thorn checked over his armour. Most of the dents were from old blows, but there were always new ones to knock out. The village armourer had done an excellent job repairing this set, so much so that even his father would have been proud of it. To wear an old warrior’s armour was to wear a part of them, their memories, their soul, and honouring that memory in battle was extremely important to all thestrals. It was a belief that was heavily ingrained in the psyche of their people.

Before a battle, Thorn would clean the scarred and battered protective plates reverently, polishing them, checking equipment straps and buckles. The girth strap was a little worn, he noticed, but it was still serviceable. Most of it was, for that matter. Out here, he couldn’t maintain it as well as he’d liked, but it was a small thing.

He stared up at the night sky, saying a prayer to the goddess. Whether she could hear him from a world away, who could say? She seldom came to his dreams, but the times she had, he’d never forget. She was simply exquisite, a pristine beauty with a coat as black as the void, her mane and tail a magnificent rippling cascade of stars and constellations. Her armour gleamed as brightly as her eyes and teeth, her war scythe quick and deadly. All the warriors loved her—stallions, mares, it didn’t matter. Nightmare Moon was the warriors’ goddess, one whom they all deeply respected and would gladly die to defend.

Thorn ran a whetstone along the blade of his axe. The goddess had visited him whilst he’d slept the night before the battle at the river valley, whispering to him of how she would favour those who would fight bravely for her. He’d felt his heart surge, his strength and power increase to the point where he knew he could take on the very world if need be, single-hoofed. He knew it was her influence, her way, but he would have worshipped her anyway. Her smile was one that would melt the heart of any stallion, those eyes… he shuddered and grinned foalishly to himself.

It was a relief in some way that he had to kill the boy. As much as it pained him, though, he had to be stopped so he could fulfil the wishes of the goddess. The boy’s attacks against the humans would bring retribution, and it could very well lead to the death of them all. Time, he knew, was running out.

Ghai had returned to the governor’s residence. Thorn had escorted him there and watched him as he was suddenly engulfed by a swarm of concerned staff. There were some other warriors there as well; ones who looked out of place somehow. The way the staff had given them sidelong glances or walked around them made him wonder if all was as it should be, but Ghai appeared unconcerned. Probably, he was just relieved to be home.

Thorn shrugged. He’d taken a shine to the young human, and as alien as he appeared, he was still a warrior at heart. Whether he himself believed it or not was immaterial. When the time had come for Ghai to show his mettle, he had not been found wanting. He held the axe up and nodded to himself in satisfaction. It would do. A shame Ghai wasn’t here, really. He would have happily fought by his side. The young warrior would have made a good student.

His thoughts drifted back to the goddess. He hadn’t dreamt of her nor heard her voice once since coming to this world, and that worried him. If she had no influence here, how was he going to get home? Perhaps the gods of this world would send him back if he appealed to them, but Ghai had said that nobody here had ever seen them! Unthinkable! What sort of deity relies entirely upon believing they exist, when they could be there walking amongst them and receiving their adoration? Thorn shook his mane. It was a strange world, this one, very strange indeed. He didn’t like it, but it would be time to go soon enough.

The wind blew through the forest, creating small eddies of snow that swirled around the small camp. Ghai had helped Thorn with a map of the area—his ability to draw was really quite remarkable. Those small claws, or ‘hand’ things, were very useful indeed. He looked down at his hooves, inspecting them and snorting. These were the hooves of a warrior; strong, precise, and capable of crushing skulls. By comparison, humans seemed rather soft to him, but maybe it was because they were so hairless. How they’d survived as a species was remarkable!

He yawned and leaned his weapons against a tree. He preferred these to that strange ‘bamboo’, as Ghai had called it. These were more familiar, even if they were more reminiscent of Equestria than the Beyond. They made him feel a little more secure. The fire had burned low, and he would keep it like that until morning. The boy would be making his move soon—he could sense it, feel it in his bones. The tension had been building steadily and eventually come to a head. What would happen next, he couldn’t say, but he would be there when the time came. And come it would.

*********************************

Rush awoke to loud hammering from outside, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering through the narrow window of his cell. To him, time had become only a concept here, with just the scant light that made it through the vent to go off. He’d lost track of how long he’d been there. Was it days? Weeks? He lifted the wash cloth and gave himself a wipe down. At least they looked after him, after a fashion. They were far more interested in the princess, with that Lord Ire character talking to her for hours on end. They were always so quiet, just on the edge of hearing, so he couldn’t make out enough of their words to tell what was being said.

Tia would recount the conversations to him afterwards, but that young man was scheming at something. He knew it; he could feel it inside. The way he kept spending time with her, sneaking around—that damned fop was planning something! It would make sense as well, this ‘plan’ with the cage to use it to attract the thestral down to the village where they could kill it. Oh, quite ingenious! Rush snatched up his clothes and began to put them on with a lot more force than necessary.

He knew what was really going on here. That boy was after Tia—it was in his eyes. He lusted after her, desired her, and that cage? That was to put her in there so he could steal her away like a thief in the night back to his castle. These ‘lords’ were all the same, untrustworthy womanisers, flitting from girl to girl like some damned butterfly.

He clenched his fists, feeling his heart beating faster and faster, anger beginning to surge through him. The boy would leave him there, there to rot in that bloody cell. That, or kill him of course. Lords and their ilk weren’t squeamish about disposing of unwanted loose ends, and Tia’s ties to him could so easily be severed. One quick stroke of a sword, a thrust of a dagger and all Ire’s problems would simply disappear.

Rush walked over to the pillow and felt for the bamboo package. It was still there, waiting. If he had the opportunity, if he could…

“Damn them!” he swore, delivering a savage kick to the wash bowl, sending it crashing across the room. With a cry of anger, Rush delivered a punch to the wall, his despair and desperation overtaking his reason and calm. He wasn’t an animal to be caged, to be kept away from the light! He was supposed to be free, free to run, to roll in the grass, covering himself in the fresh morning dew! Lord Ire and his lackeys were the real animals here. How could they keep him in here? How could they?

Rush’s eyes filled with tears, his helplessness drowning him in sorrow and grief. He should have told Tia to escape the house when he saw the villagers coming. She stayed because of her connection to him, her feelings for him, and because of that, it was all coming apart. Tia’s home, Equestria, needed their princess. She should be there now, with her ponies, but instead that rat Ire was going to keep her as his personal plaything!

“Are you alright, Rush? I heard a crash.”

Celestia’s voice drifted in from the next room as Rush paced back and forth, too angry to speak, too furious at himself to even contemplate speaking to her.

“Rush, please?”

She knew, she could sense the conflict and pain in his heart. Over the short time they’d been together, Celestia had become increasingly aware of the connection she’d begun to share with Rush. In some ways, she was connected to all Equestrians, to all her ponies, but Rush was different. He’d been separated from his home, his true home, all his life. Born in an alien land, a prisoner in a body that was not his own.

She was frightened for him.

Rush’s true self had been awoken by her mere presence, simply by being in the company of another Equestrian. From the beginning, she’d suspected there was something more to Rush, especially after having seen glimpses of his ‘other’ self in the netherworld, but the revelation that he was an Equestrian was something that had brought her both joy and sadness. The thought of him being here, all those years, alone… it tore her heart in two, bringing tears to her eyes. She’d once called him a ‘lost foal’, and how true it was.

Celestia lay her head on her outstretched forelegs. Rush’s reaction to the news that he wasn’t human, that the living, breathing, two-legged creature he saw every time he looked in the mirror or down at his body, wasn’t what he was meant to be, had not surprised him as much as she’d thought it would.

She tried to think how she would have felt. To be told one day, or to discover for yourself, that you weren’t really ‘you’ after all. It was unthinkable, terrifying! Surely he must be having some sort of internal conflict, some deep-seated fear that would eventually surface, yet Rush had appeared to accept it all as readily as a duckling taking that first plunge into water. If anything, he had actually welcomed the news as confirmation of a deep-rooted suspicion that he didn’t ‘fit in’ with the rest of the world, that he was different somehow. His answer to this feeling of ‘otherness’ had been to secrete himself away in the hills. How Willow, his mother, had coped with everything, she had no idea.

Although the mare had been a thief, she’d had a remarkable strength of character which Celestia admired. Rush, similarly, appeared to have inherited some of those very same traits.

This morning, however, something was different. She could hear him pacing and cursing to himself, and she had an idea why. Stallions…

Rush slumped down by the door of his cell and wiped the cool cloth across his brow, taking deep cleansing breaths. He was angry with himself, angry at being angry, and… dear gods, was he actually jealous of Lord Ire? Damn it, he knew Tia better than that, didn’t he? Still, it was the self-styled ‘ruling classes’ who had caused so much suffering in the land. They came, they took what they wanted, and left nothing but destruction and widows in their wake.

Although not his biological parent, his human father had been killed in battle, and he’d witnessed the terrible effect this had had on his mother. That was what had hurt him the most—seeing her grief, hearing her cries of despair. He hadn’t been able to do anything to comfort her, or help ease her pain. And then, when he’d been old enough, they’d sent him off to fight as well.

It was a miracle he’d survived, but survive he had, and he’d be damned if he’d ever bow and scrape before another of those puffed up power mongers. This Ire was another one, just another over-privileged child who’d happened to born in the right bed. Now this one was creeping around Celestia. What his intentions were, he didn’t know, but he didn’t trust him, not one bit.

Rush leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His fears were running wild, taking over his ability to reason rationally, and he knew it. The excitement of finding out the truth about his birth had given him something he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago, especially after his mother had died… hope; hope and… Tia, the magnificent white mare, who had a mind and wit to match her beauty. To keep him from even seeing her was a torture that was beyond any physical suffering they could have inflicted on him. He was so close to her, and only this damned wall separated them.

Now life, fate, call it what you will, was having another laugh at his expense. He was going to lose her; he was going to be alone again, slowly withering away in this cursed place. No friends, no family… nopony.

In the next cell, a single tear fell onto the dusty floor.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Five - An Unexpected Gift

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

AN UNEXPECTED GIFT

“This seems extraordinarily dangerous to me,” Chert muttered to Stran as they watched the villagers carrying wood back and forth to the marketplace.

Stran said nothing. He simply stood in silence, watching the structure slowly taking shape. With a clink of china, Jinu appeared behind them.

“Tea, Boss?”

The small tray of cups was truly a welcome sight on such a cold day. Jinu gave him a smile and… was that a wink? Good gods, it was! Why that…

He laughed out loud, Stran raising an eyebrow at his boss’ unusual behaviour. Jinu had been with him for years, and even after his wife had died, she’d been there for him. So, after all this time, had he only just truly noticed her? Chert shook his head. Damn it all! He must be going soft in the brain with age, but still… Jinu? They’d been together since the early days when he was a young man in the employ of another boss—until he’d been ‘retired’, and Chert had taken his place. Those had been cruel and violent days, with deceit and death never far away. Despite everything, she’d stayed with him through it all.

Chert had eventually married and had a beautiful daughter, but as so often happened at the happiest of times, tragedy struck. His wife had died during childbirth. She was far too young, but the world had continued regardless. Business was still business, after all, irrespective of the hole in your heart. Nobody could feel it but you, nobody could see your pain, and as a boss, he was good at hiding things. He’d never bothered with women after that, despite the fact that he was surrounded by them.

He knocked back the tea in one quick slug and handed the empty cup to Jinu, looking into her eyes and seeing what he should have realised had been there all along. She blushed, looking away shyly. Damn it all, it was warm out here today… too warm!

“Boss?” Stran mumbled, passing his own cup back to Jinu. “That fella’s coming back.”

Chert could have kissed him. That ‘moment’ with Jinu had sent his blood pressure soaring, and this was just the sort of distraction he needed right now; if not necessarily the sort he’d particularly like.

The ‘fella’ turned out to be Lord Ire. He bowed. “Good morning, my lord.”

The young man yawned. “It is, Chert, a very good morning. And even more so for that extremely, er, ‘comfortable’ night’s sleep.”

Chert bowed. “Of course, my lord. I’m glad you’re enjoying our meagre accommodation.”

Ire waved it off. “Yes, yes. Now, how’s our little project coming along?”

“Very well, it seems. They should be finished by tomorrow at the present rate.”

Ire shook his head, wandering over to inspect the construction. “No. I want it to take at least another two days. It’s too quick, Chert, far, far too quick.”

The boss’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. “But… I thought you wanted this building—”

“—I do,” Ire cut in, “but it needs to draw that thing’s attention. Make a lot of noise, cut the trees down in the forest for the wood, drag it here, and do all the work in the marketplace.” He waved his arms. “Think big, Chert, BIG!”

The boss nodded. It made sense of sorts, but even so, he was worried about what this was going to mean for the village. He’d already installed extra fire buckets in the house and had extra guards posted, especially to protect his daughter. Gods help him, he’d even considered sending her away with Jinu to another town until all this was over, but the risk of sending them along that hill road was simply too great. At least here, he could keep them close, and safe.

“Good morning.” Elder Huro emerged from behind a group of workers, sporting a new growth of stubble. Chert grinned to himself; the old bugger had done his bit for ‘decorum’ and had quickly reverted back to the Huro they all knew. If Ire noticed, he never said. The young lord didn’t seem quite as formal as he’d expected, but from what he knew of the young noble’s father, it shouldn’t have been that surprising.

Huro watched the work and nodded sagely. “If your plan works, Lord Ire, then we’ll all be in your debt. Our village needs trade to survive, and we’re starving for it.”

Ire shrugged. “It’ll work, Elder. I have no doubt on that score.”

Chert scrubbed his head with his hand. “My lord, pardon me for saying so, but you do seem to put a great deal of faith in that creature. How can we be so sure she isn’t tricking us somehow? I’m not a superstitious man, but even I’ve heard the tales of the trickery of spirits.”

Ire stretched, chuckling to himself. “I understand, my friend.” He slapped Chert on the back, making the other man jump. “I understand entirely.” He turned and faced both of them. “She is no spirit, nor one of the hill gods. She’s as real as you or me, and could have proved to be an especially powerful ally. Sadly, all she wants is to go home and has agreed to assist in our little plan to help rid us of this ‘thestral’ that is in the hills. It seems we’ve stumbled into a war, gentlemen, a war from another world.”

Ire took out his pipe and began loading it with tobacco. “So you see, by helping the princess, we help ourselves. She goes home, we have our road re-opened, and the hills become safe for… for…” he waved his hand expansively, “whatever it is you do in these hills!”

He laughed and scratched his behind while grinning at Jinu, who glowered back at him. “I like it here, Chert. There’s a life here in this village, a spark that gives me hope for its future.” Ire adjusted his tunic. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a smoke, a bath and some breakfast. “Oh,” he added, turning back, “and if some rampaging monster attacks us, tell it to come back in at least an hour or two, will you?”

Still laughing, the young lord wandered back into the main building, the guards either side of the entrance bowing as he passed them. Huro chuckled to himself.

“He makes me long for my youth, that young lord; so much energy and optimism.”

Chert shook his head. “Too much, if you ask me. I don’t think he knows what he’s getting himself into, Huro.”

“Don’t be too negative, Chert,” Huro replied tersely. “It’s bad for your body as well as your soul. Hope is what keeps us all looking forward to the next sunrise.”

Chert clapped the older man on the shoulder. “I suppose so, old friend. Now, I want to talk to you about what we’re going to do when that thestral, or whatever it is, arrives to kill us in our beds.”

Huro tutted loudly. “Being so positive keeps you going eh, Boss?”

“Absolutely!” Chert quipped. “I’m a very positive person; just in varying degrees.”

**********************

Time passed slowly in the village, more so in winter with the short days and even longer nights. Fresh snow had already covered a lot of the construction the workers had built, making it look more like a bizarrely frosted piece of artwork. Chert gazed wistfully out of the window at the slowly falling flakes, the way they muffled sound, drifting from the sky in absolute silence. They had a strange sort of ethereal beauty all their own, but the sky today was another matter. The red-orange tinge was strangely bright for this time of day, casting a peculiar half-light across the village and surrounding hills that sent a shiver down his spine.

Swallow was sleeping in the room upstairs with Jinu, Stran downstairs dozing by the front door. The gang members were taking it in shifts to act as guards for the household, sometimes even sharing the duties with Ire’s men. The world felt like it was on a knife’s edge, waiting for something, the proverbial calm before the storm. He gave himself a shake. It wasn’t like him to be pessimistic. Cynical maybe, yes… definitely cynical, but then, he’d always considered cynics to be realists, and his tendency towards caution when dealing with some of the more shadowy people he’d encountered over the years had saved him on more than one occasion.

Huro tapped his pipe out on the window ledge and stretched his back, the cracking sounds making Chert wince in sympathy. That couldn’t have been normal, surely? The village elder saw the boss watching him and sniffed back a laugh.

“You’ll be old one day too, you know. Creaking bones are all part of the journey.”

Chert raised an eyebrow. “Maybe, old friend, maybe.”

Huro patted him on the shoulder. “I’m off to bed. It’s far too late for an old goat like me to be up and about. What about you?”

“I’m going to stay up a little longer.” Chert stifled a yawn. “I can’t sleep too well at the min—”

The words died in his mouth as he stared up the street. Something was coming, or rather some ‘things’. It was hard to make out, but by the gods there were a lot of them. Dark shapes, looking like little more than shadows in the falling snow, were slowly coming nearer. Damn this bloody snow! He couldn’t see or hear a blasted thing!

One of his men rushed in through the front door, his hair covered in white snow. “Boss! It looks like there’s half an army coming this way, and they’re not Ire’s men, that’s for sure.”

Huro, his tiredness suddenly forgotten, addressed the shivering man. “Did you see their banner? What colour was it?”

“Yellow, like two serpents chasing each other tails, with three spots in the middle.”

Chert exchanged a glance with the elder. “Oh gods…” His heart felt like lead in his chest. “It’s Lord Saru.”

*********************

Ire grabbed his swords from the attendant, turning to his commander. “Acceptable?”

The gruff man nodded. “You look fine, my lord.”

“Good. Come on then, let’s go see what this bloody nonsense is about.”

Ire fumed inwardly. What in the gods’ name was that man doing here, at this time? It was far too late in the day for this sort of thing. Was he trying to catch him out? He sniffed; probably. The sneaky old rat would like nothing more than to try and catch him out and use it as an excuse to absorb his clan. He’d have to try and think of something else now; and after all that blasted planning too!

Outside, Huro and Chert waited for him, bowing formally as he followed his hastily assembled entourage out to greet their unexpected guest. Saru climbed down from his litter onto the velvet foot stand provided by one of his unsurprisingly large number of retainers. His face was unreadable, but there was a quiet menace behind those eyes, a snake-like cunning that Ire hated.

“Lord Saru,” Ire said respectfully, bowing low. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Saru grunted. “Yes, it is, isn’t it, Ire?” He glanced up the road at the half-constructed wheeled cage before clicking his fingers. A thin man carrying a document case hurried up to stand beside him and bowed.

“My lord?”

Saru fixed Ire with a steely-eyed gaze. “The bandits?”

“My lord, we are addressing the problem with all due haste.”

“All due haste…”

Ire gritted his teeth, but stayed bowed. All the while, cold wet snow dropped onto the back of his neck, sending its icy finger down his spine.

Saru’s voice was a near snarl, “And your other guest, Ire? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Other guest? I don’t understand—”

The large man suddenly reached out and grabbed Ire’s tunic. Around them, there was a collective gasp as hands gripped swords, and Ire’s men faced off against Saru’s.

“DON’T PLAY GAMES WITH ME, YOU DAMNED PUP!” Saru roared, bringing Ire’s face up to his. “You know damned well who and what I’m talking about!”

With surprising strength, Saru shoved Ire backwards into one of his warriors, who quickly caught him, preventing him from being slammed into the snow.

“A funny thing happened, Ire,” Saru continued in a menacingly low voice. “A dead man appeared at the governor’s office, one who had somehow survived this ‘bandit’ attack. The story he told me was incredible, a truly remarkable tale indeed.” He glared at the thin figure beside him. “All he needed was a little persuading, and he told me everything.” Saru’s beady eyes bored into Ire’s. “I can be very persuasive, Ire.”

Saru gripped his dagger and looked about at the assembled warriors and retainers. “Where is she?”

“My lord?”

Saru’s voice was a low hiss. “The white horse creature, this ‘Princess Celestia’. Take me to her, Ire, now, unless you wish someone else to ‘take your place’?”

Lord Ire’s blood was at boiling point. Biting back his words, he strained to keep as much calm and respect in them as he could muster. “Of course, Lord Saru, please follow me.”

That blustering fat pig! One day, he would meet his maker, and Ire would give everything he had in this world to be the one to send him there. An image of his sword flashing through the old fool’s throat sent a thrill of adrenalin through him. It would be so easy, just half a second and that would be it, no more Saru. He shuddered. No more clan either, for his warriors wouldn’t stand a chance against this lot in a pitched battle—there were just too many of them.

Inside the storehouse was little warmer than outside, their warm breath creating small white clouds before them. Saru gripped the bars of Celestia’s cell door in his meaty hands, straining to see in the dim interior.

“Tell it come here.”

Ire took a deep breath. “Princess, forgive the intrusion. May we speak with you?”

Saru glared at him, before staring in amazement at the apparition in white walking slowly toward them from the gloom at the back of the cell. In all her regal glory, the Princess of Equestria looked up at Lord Saru, who involuntarily backed up a step. His jaw was slack, his eyes wide in shock. She was… beautiful…

“You can speak?”

Celestia nodded slowly. “I can.”

Saru balked, wiping his hand across his sweating face. “I…Ire…” he stammered. “I want that cage finished tomorrow.” He suddenly turned and headed for the door. “Tomorrow! Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Lord Saru.”

Ire watched him go, his heart as heavy as lead in his chest. The princess said nothing, observing him in silence from behind the barred door.

“I’m sorry, princess,” he said weakly. “I… I’m sorry.”

Stepping away from her, a hand shot out and grabbed his tunic sleeve. Rush’s eyes glared angrily from the gloom, his skin sallow from being out of the sun for so long. Ire nearly choked in surprise at the sight of the man. Rush’s grip was like iron.

“Let her go…”

“What?”

“Let her go. Ire, I know how you feel; I can tell. Please, if you have any heart in you at all… free her.”

Ire yanked himself out of Rush’s grasp. “You don’t think I would if I could?” he snapped. “You don’t know what Saru’s capable of. That man would kill us all without any hesitation.”

Rush’s hands gripped the bars so hard his knuckles went white. “Then free me. Give me a knife, get me close to Saru, and I’ll kill him.”

“Rush… I …”

“NO!” Celestia crashed into the door, her foreleg stretched out pleadingly. “Gods, Rush! Don’t, please! It’s not our way!”

Rush’s voice was calm, taking on a strange, flat, emotionless tone she’d never heard from him before. “I’ll do it, Ire. Nobody else needs to die. If you promise to free her, I will do this.”

Ire stood back, watching the man. Could he do it? Would the simple actions of one individual be able to eliminate the other lord? If he could encourage the boss’ men into taking his side, they could help set the trap… It could work.

Celestia pressed herself up against the bars in the door. “Lord Ire! I beg you, please don’t do this! I will go with Lord Saru; maybe he will let me go and… Lord Ire? LORD IRE!”

It was too late. Ire had gone, walking out of the building and leaving the princess leaning against the wall in absolute anguish. How could he? How could either of them? To kill, to murder, just to save her? It would taint Rush’s soul, change him from the one she… she…

The princess covered her face with her hooves, her voice a mere whisper. “Oh gods, no…”

Rush sat in his cell, stuffing the bamboo tube down his tunic and taking out the small tinder box. He wouldn’t need a knife—the plan he had would suffice. Soon, his beloved Tia would be free to return home to her ponies. She could save her home, his home, and at long last, his miserable life would have been worth something after all. It made some sort of sense, really. Perhaps it was fate? He had to have been alive here, now, at this time for a reason. There had to be a meaning to all of this, and now, it looked like he’d finally found it.

On the other side of the wall, Celestia hid her face under her wing, sobbing.

*********************

The following morning was as cold as it had ever been. This day, however, a thick, freezing fog had descended from the hills and engulfed the town in its bitter embrace. Lord Ire stood on the porch step as the village carpenter ploughed his way to him through the snow and bowed.

“My lord, the cage is ready.”

“I see. Thank you.” He rubbed his hands together. “Tell your workers to go into the house and have breakfast. I’ll pay.”

“Thank you my lord!” The villager near ran back to the others, who began to chatter excitedly, bowing to Lord Ire as they passed him.

The cart was a fairly large affair, with a cage firmly attached to its heavy bed. He’d intended to use this purely as bait to attract the thestral into the town where they could kill it and then give the damned monster’s head to Saru. Now, he couldn’t bear the sight of the thing. Saru would use it to take her away, and the gods knew what that monstrous tub of lard would do to her. If he…

Ire shook himself, pulling his hand away from his sword’s hilt. The pattern of the cords had left an impression where they’d pressed into his skin, he’d been gripping it that hard. Walking around the cart, he did his best to calm his nerves and heart. His father wouldn’t have worried like this! He would have done what was right, what was necessary. As long as the job got done, some sacrifices were necessary, even if Celestia ended up hating him for it. Her home needed her, his honour demanded it, and on some level, his heart did too. He didn’t feel anything for the reed cutter—it was a shame, naturally, but it was the princess who would suffer the most from what they had planned. He’d seen the look in the man’s eyes, his determination to sacrifice himself for the one he loved. And by the gods, such a love it was that the man would die with a smile on his face, knowing he had saved one so precious.

“Lord Ire? Lord Saru is here.”

Sure enough, from out of the fog, two warriors emerged, flanking the bulky form of Lord Saru. His appearance was about as welcome to Ire as a dose of the summer flux. Behind him, the thin clerk from the governor’s office kept a respectful distance, while Saru strode up through the snow and peered up at the cage.

“You have horses in this dung hole, I take it?”

“Yes, Lord Saru,” Ire replied respectfully.

The big man nodded. “Good. I wouldn’t want mine tethered to such a contraption. The princess will just have to put up with it until she reaches her new home.”

“Yes, Lord Saru.”

Saru gripped his dagger, leaning toward Ire. “And my son? Where is his body, Ire?”

The young lord looked up at the window of the house and sighed. The lady looking back at him was just his type too. He’d hoped to have had many happy years with her, and many children as well. He still may, if the gods smiled on him. He snorted back a laugh.

“If…”

Saru shot him a sidelong glare. “Ire? My son?”

“Pardon me, my Lord Saru. You understand that the villagers had to cremate the bodies due to the risk of disease and—”

“—Yes, yes, yes, I’m not a fool, Ire. Now where is he? My patience is beginning to wear thin.”

From behind them, a well-wrapped figure walked up the main street, carrying a large stoneware urn covered in a white cloth and tied with a red ribbon.

“Please, my Lord Saru, accept these humble remains of your beloved late son.”

Saru said nothing as the man approached. Ire closed his eyes momentarily. Celestia forgive him…

The man walked up to them and stopped, holding the urn reverently in his large hands. Ire couldn’t help but look down at them. They seemed different somehow. Was the reed cutter really this bulky? Ah, yes, probably the clothes.

He sniffed the air. Something smelt like it was smouldering, and it stank too.

The man was shaking, his ragged breath coming out in long white plumes. Saru cocked his head on one side. “Well? Give it to me, man!”

One of Saru’s men stepped forward impatiently, reaching out and grabbing the man’s cloak. With a yank, the cloak came free, revealing the person beneath, but not the one Ire had been expecting. The heavy-set man glanced at Ire before his gaze settled on the thin man with the document case. A look of recognition, fear, and grief flashed over his face as he held up the length of a smouldering match.

“Ghai… I’m so sorry…”

The thin man dropped his document case and dived forward, not at Saru, but at Ire. Grabbing him with surprising speed and strength, the young lord was taken to the ground as Cray, his eyes streaming with tears, placed the lit match to an opening on the urn.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Six - Fire Lillies

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

FIRE LILLIES

The force of the blast blew Ire and Ghai across the street and into a pile of hay left out for Saru’s horses, the wall of an adjacent house preventing them from travelling any further. The young lord’s body felt completely numb, his ears screaming with a high-pitched whine and his vision shrinking as his consciousness quickly began whirling away from him, taking him down into the darkness. The last thing he saw before he passed out was a large tattooed man reaching down for him. He smiled to himself; why did angels need to have tattoos?

Chert held the door open as his men pulled the mangled figures of the lord and the clerk out of the freezing fog. He looked out of the door both ways before pulling it shut quickly. Stran passed Ire to another who carried him upstairs, led by a worried-looking Jinu. Chert adjusted his sword.

“Keep alert, Stran, and keep them safe.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Outside, Saru’s men had found what was left of their lord and his two guards. One was still alive, barely. He managed to say one word:

“Assassin.”

That was all it took. A moment later, all hell broke loose around the house as the air began to fill with shouts.

Ire’s men, their ranks swelled by Chert’s, poured out of the main house and side buildings just as the one housing the bulk of the late lord’s men exploded into pieces of flying debris, fire, and body parts. Screams from the wounded and dying carried to those still living, adding an extra note of both fear and rage to the warriors.

More of them flooded into the street as additional explosions rent the air, spewing fire and death across the village. Saru’s men rallied, drawing swords and launching themselves in suicidal fury at those they believed responsible for the murder of their lord. Ire’s men, determined to defend their young lord and the memory of his late father, bellowed their own war cries and charged. Swords clashed; the ring of steel and cries of the warriors turning the once idyllic village into what Rush had always feared… another battlefield.

He staggered down an alley between two houses, leaning against a wall for support. His head was splitting; in fact, he was certain that was exactly what had happened. Probing it gingerly with his hand, he found a little blood, but not much as much as he’d feared, thank the gods.

What the hell had happened? Everything was going as planned. He’d been waiting in the alleyway for the signal before something had struck him hard from behind, and the ground had been the last thing he’d seen. Now, he’d come to in one of the circles of hell. All around him was fire, the burning shells of buildings and… oh gods, that sound! Steel on steel, screaming, shouting—it was happening again!

A hand suddenly grabbed him from behind, and he spun around to face Nasta, his eyes wide in shock. “Rush! Oh thank the gods, you’re alive! It’s Lord Saru—he’s been murdered, and now Saru’s men are fighting Lord Ire’s. We’re in the middle of a war! What are we going to do?!”

Rush could only think of one thing right then: he had to reach the princess, he had to get her out before…

“Rush, please! We need you!”

“Damn it!” Rush grabbed Nasta’s shoulder. “Where are they?”

“They’re in the house.”

“What the hell are you doing out here then?”

“I… I wanted to try and get you out, the two of you. I’m sorry, Rush, I’ve felt so guilt that I didn’t do more for you. I shouldn’t have left you in there! I thought that in the confusion I could—”

There was another blast as one of the outermost buildings turned to fragments that rained down heavily on the surrounding properties, dropping broken timbers and the memories of a family’s lifetime into the uncaring streets.

The two step-brothers pressed up against a wall as debris fell all around them. Nasta gasped. “Oh gods, we have to get to Cray’s family! I promised him!”

Rush grabbed a nearby pitchfork that was leaning up against the wall with some other assorted tools of the farming community. It wasn’t much, but it would be better than nothing. His heart strangely calm amidst the chaos, Rush could feel his long-buried army training coming back to him. He was all too aware how this was keeping him from Celestia, but he couldn’t abandon Nasta, not now. Whatever else he was, Nasta was still the nearest thing he had to family.

He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. “Come on, let’s move!”

They ran through the fog, the eerie orange glow from the sky contrasting with the flickering of burning buildings and eye-stinging smoke. Cray’s house wasn’t far, just around the next corner, the alley behind the workshops and behind—

Nasta slammed into Rush, who had pulled up suddenly, staring ahead of him at what had once been the home of one of the village’s families. Nasta, gasping for air from the short sprint, wiped his eyes and took in the scene. With a strangled cry of horror, he roughly shoved Rush out of the way.

“NO!” Nasta ran into the wreckage, pulling chunks of burning wood away with his bare hands, tearing at the remains of doors and walls. “Gods, no, no, NO!” He turned to his step-brother. “Don’t just stand there, for the gods’ sake, help me!”

Rush knew it was hopeless. Anything in this would have been obliterated in that blast, but maybe, just maybe, there was the slimmest of chances…

Nasta was desperate, howling and crying in despair as he dug through the destruction to find Cray’s family, or what was left of them. Using anything they had in hand, the two of them levered up the debris and peered underneath. Choking from the smoke and burnt by the flames, Rush finally grabbed Nasta’s shoulder.

“Nasta, they’re not here!”

His step-brother pulled away. “Of course they are! Why the hell wouldn’t they be? We need to get them out of here, Rush!”

“For the gods’ sake, man, look at this place! Its matchwood! If they’d been in here, we would have found something by now!”

Nasta stared at his step-brother, his eye twitching before he suddenly grabbed him in a bear hug. “Rush… I’ve failed him… I’ve failed my friend. It was all he asked me to do, and I couldn’t even do that.”

Rush shook his head, pulling away. “You don’t know that, Nasta, think! Is there anywhere else they could have gone?”

“I… I don’t know!”

“Well, we can’t stay here. We have to get to your house and check to see if your family’s alright.”

“Yes… I… You’re right. Let’s go.”

Despite the cold, the heat from the fires was intense, the simple wooden buildings taking little to catch light. Amongst it all, shadowy figures rushed here and there in the dense fog and smoke, some fighting fires as well as others fighting each other without any noticeable direction. Sweat poured down Rush’s back as they ran. The princess was probably in the safest place in village, he reasoned, since she was surrounded by guards and…

“Damn it, Nasta, move!”

Rush picked up speed, trying to remember the feeling of strength in his legs, the power, the speed, but nothing came. His frail human body was failing him at every turn just when he needed it the most. The princess needed him; he should be there for her right now, not running away from her in this chaos!

The door to the garden hung open, cart tracks and the evidence of a lot of people having passed through here recently was clearly visible. Nasta never slowed, charging up the steps and flinging open the doors.

“Petal! Sera! Wing! Daddy’s here; where are you?!”

Rush, hot on his step-brother’s heels, scanned the empty room. There were clear signs of a hurried evacuation, with clothing and bedding strewn around the floor haphazardly. Nasta turned to Rush, his eyes wide with panic.

“Oh gods, no! The hill road!”

Rush grabbed his shoulders. “No! Stop, Nasta, think, man. To head there in this, with all the fighting? No, Petal’s not that foolish. Look around you—they’ve gone somewhere for safety. Where’s the safest place in the village?”

“The boss’ house?”

“No.” Rush shook his head. “Not now. No, somewhere where there’s space for them to take shelter and remote enough to be away from the fighting.”

The answer hit him just as the side door was flung open by one of the servants, a sword in his hand and sweat dripping down his face. “Master? Thank the gods you’re safe.”

Nasta hurried over. “Frel, are you alright? What’s happened? Where’s my family?”

The man collapsed into Nasta’s arms, exhausted. “They’re at the mill with the elder and some of the other families. Some of the boss’ men are there too. I volunteered to come back and keep an eye on the house in case you came back.”

The relief of Nasta’s face was heart-warming. Rush closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks; not to their gods, but to another, one he could see, hear, and touch. He had to go now. Even if it meant running into the jaws of hell itself, he would be with his princess again.

“Rush?”

He looked up to see Nasta beckoning him over to a dark wooden panel beneath the family shrine. Nasta respected his elders, holding his ancestors’ memories in high regard. That level of respect and devotion left Rush feeling strangely empty inside. Despite his love for his mother and Blossom, he’d rarely thought of his extended family, or even his own past up until recently. Perhaps it was a result of his Equestrian ancestry, but whatever it was, it didn’t mean he didn’t keep a place for them in his heart. Such things as shrines, though, and the paraphernalia that went with them, helped those like Nasta. For Rush, keeping the memory of those you loved alive in your heart was what truly mattered.

Nasta lifted open the lid of a long, cherry, wood box, carefully removing a gently curved package wrapped in black and gold cloth from inside. Rush recognised it immediately and took a step back as a chill ran down his spine. Oblivious to his step-brother’s reaction, Nasta reverently untied the golden-coloured rope, letting both it and the cloth covering slip away to be neatly folded and replaced back inside the chest.

“Rush…”

“No.”

Nasta stared at him. “You need it, Rush. For the gods’ sake, take it!”

Memories of the war, the wounded screaming and crying for help, dying before his very eyes; his wife, his daughter, passing away as he knelt over them, their blood still fresh on his sword… his father’s sword…

“I don’t want the cursed thing!” he hissed, backing away from the weapon held in Nasta’s hands. “It’s killed too many times! It’s soaked in the blood of my family.”

The tall man shook his head sadly. “Then leave—”

A scream of pain echoed around the room, followed by the rumble of approaching footsteps. The servant looked out down the corridor. “It’s Lord Saru’s men!”

Nasta grabbed his own sword from the wall, ramming it into his belt. A strange calm settled across his features. “I won’t ask you to come with me, brother, but you are welcome to fight by my side.”

Rush stared at him, the man radiating a self-assurance he’d never seen in his step-brother before. It was… inspirational. Reed cutter, healer, stallion… Rush felt a wash of tranquillity run through his veins. He was desperate to reach the princess, but right now, his family needed him. Steadily, he reached out and took the sword, pushing it home snugly into his sash belt. Lifting the earthenware pot from the box, Rush removed the lid, taking some of the sand from inside and rubbed it into his hands. Whether he liked it or not, war had found him once more, and it was a time for sword work. He gritted his teeth, nodding to Nasta and running out the door with him towards the sound of fighting.

Blood covered the walls and floor, the bodies of men from both Lord Ire’s contingent and Lord Saru’s lay throughout the larger part of the buildings surrounding Nasta’s home. Without warning, two warriors appeared like yellow-coated beasts from legend, emerging from the fog, swords held high. Rush dodged, his training coming back to him as naturally as night followed day. The sword slid effortlessly from its scabbard, striking up and out in a lethal arc, taking Saru’s man to the next world with deadly efficiency.

The second had targeted Nasta. Saru’s warrior was frighteningly fast, his first strike cutting the tall man across the forearm before Rush’s thrust froze him. Nasta let out a held breath as his attacker slid to the ground.

The servant re-appeared from around the doorway. “They’ve gone, but there’s fighting everywhere!”

There was no coordination, no tactics, just killing. Small bands of warriors appeared to be spread throughout the village, stumbling across one another amidst the wreckage of burning buildings.

Rush flicked the blood from his sword. “Nasta, the two of you get to the mill and protect the others. There’s no more we can do here.”

“But what about you?” Nasta asked, wincing as his servant tied a makeshift bandage around his wound.

Rush smiled, sheathing his sword. “I have to save a princess, brother.” He opened the door to the garden and glanced back over his shoulder. “Give my love to Petal and the girls.”

Nasta opened his mouth to speak, but Rush had already gone, disappearing into the all-encompassing white cloud. He smiled to himself and tried his arm. “Not a bad job, my friend. You could make a good healer some day! Come on, let’s get to that mill. It wouldn’t do to keep the ladies waiting.”

**************************

Ire pushed the serving girl off him, quickly regretting his rough handling and giving her an apologetic smile. He turned to his commander, grimacing as the girl returned for another assault on his injuries.

“What’s the situation out there? Ow! Bloody hell!”

The girl bowed in apology. “Sorry, my lord”

He was sure it wasn’t accidental this time, judging by the poorly-hidden cheeky grin. The commander bowed. “Not good. We can’t co-ordinate our force because of this damnable fog. The smoke isn't helping either. Casualties are being treated in the back rooms by the civilians who’ve taken shelter here. We’re outnumbered, but the weather is helping make it more of a level playing field.”

“What about that thin fellow, the one who threw himself at me out there?”

“He’s being treated with the others, mostly burns and concussion.”

Ire nodded, wincing at the bolt of pain that raced down the back of his head. The girl tutted. “Please, my lord, I can’t help you if you keep moving about.”

Ire sighed. “I’d love to stop and have you minister to me, my dear lady, but I have to go. Maybe later?”

The girl shook her head. “As you wish, my lord.”

He couldn’t help but grin to himself. These country types were in a different league to the ones at court. They were so… rural. One of his retainers passed him his swords, as he rose rather shakily to his feet.

Ire looked about him. “Saru?”

The commander shook his head. “Gone. Both figuratively and literally.”

Ire knew now that his old adversary’s warriors, drowning in grief and despair, would most likely fight to the death to avenge their lord. Those that survived, those that ran, would likely face a frighteningly uncertain future as jobless wandering warriors. Many would eventually turn to banditry to try and survive, and that was where he came in. Or at least he did. With no more Lord Saru to bow and scrape to, the future was a little more…fluid. All he needed to do now was survive it.

Ire grabbed a couple of guards on his way out of the front door. “You and you, with me.”

The three men charged around the back of the building as another explosion, smaller this time, went off several hundred yards away. Ire and his men kept moving. Who the hell was doing that? It wasn’t his men, and it sure as hell wasn’t Chert’s—they wouldn’t blow up their own village. That narrowed it down to either some rogue element he wasn’t aware of, or… oh gods…

Something black appeared briefly through the fog, the light from the fires glinting off slick, spiked armour. Ire caught a glimpse of a pair of unearthly eyes, glowing as red as coals, before the thing threw a cylindrical object at them and disappeared as fast as it had arrived, back into the smoke. The piece of bamboo sizzled as it came, trailing a thin line of blue smoke. Ire shouted a warning, diving in through the open doorway of a house just as the makeshift explosive detonated.

The concussive blast made his head ring, the stink of bad eggs and stinging smoke making him feel nauseous. Picking himself up, Ire staggered to the doorway to be met with what was left of one of his men. His stomach heaved. Good gods, he had to get this mess under control and fast. If things weren’t bad enough having Saru’s men to contend with, now they had this damned monster running through there like a demon from hell. The image of the thing flashed through his mind. Those red eyes, its teeth and… it had been… smiling. That damned creature was enjoying this! What Celestia had said was true after all. By all the gods in the heavens, he had to get to her. If nothing else, he wanted that magnificent creature to escape this madness. It was a matter of honour now, honour and survival, for all of them.

Rush charged through the snow, dodging the fighting the best he could. Nobody seemed to know what was going on, with civilians running in all directions, and pockets of yellow-coated warriors battling those wearing the blue of Ire’s house. He recognised some of Boss Chert’s men here and there, who actually looked like they knew what they were doing, shepherding the panicked villagers off towards the mill. Gods, he hoped they’d be safe there. If that thestral got to them, there’d be a bloody massacre. A shiver ran down his spine. He knew what the creature’s real goal was, and he would be damned if he’d let it have it.

He rounded the corner of the next building, as something ran past him and off into the fog. The heat from the blast caught him, the smell of burning hair, his hair, making him gag. Ducking back against a wall, he looked around… It looked clear. His heart was racing… Damn it all, it was so near! All he needed to do was—

“YOU!”

Rush nearly slammed into the young lord as he appeared from the foul-smelling smoke.

“What the hell happened to you? I thought you were going to—”

“—No time,” Rush snapped. “The princess needs me. You coming?”

Ire sputtered in indignation. “Wha—? Yes! Gods damn it, yes!”

The three men hurried through the snow towards the storehouse and the princess.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Seven - The Blade's Edge

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

THE BLADE’S EDGE

“Fall back to the house! Stran, give us cover!”

Chert and his men crashed through the front door of the house, slamming it shut behind them as a rattle of gunfire rang out from the upper floor, the sound muffled by the already thick fog and smoke. The ground outside was carpeted with yellow-coated warriors, some of whom had been caught in the initial blast, many more by the carefully constructed ambush. It had worked to a degree, but the fog and the sheer number of Saru’s warriors was never-ending. Thank the gods that they did not know the layout of the village and had apparently become lost in the haphazard maze of buildings.

Something else was going on out there; however, that wasn’t part of the plan. There’d been a number of additional explosions around the village that they hadn’t expected. Initially, he had wondered if it was Ire’s doing, some distraction to try and break up Saru’s forces. Although he didn’t entirely trust the young lord, he only had to see the looks of surprise on the faces of his men to have his answer. Was it Saru’s doing? And what the hell had gone wrong anyway? Wasn’t that reed cutter supposed to have stabbed him? Someone had said it had been Cray the blacksmith who blew himself and Saru to pieces, nearly taking Lord Ire with them. What the hell was he thinking, blowing himself up? Now Ire, having barely avoided being killed, had run off into the village with a couple of his men for some bloody stupid reason.

He shook his head, wiping his sword on a curtain. Jinu would play hell with him later for it, of course, but right now there were more immediate concerns. With all the chaos out there, Chert had no idea what was going on more than a few feet from his own home. He stared out into the all-pervasive fog, squinting and straining to separate form from the shadows. Soon enough, yet another yellow-coated warrior charged recklessly at them, only to be quickly taken down a moment later by a shot from the upper floor.

Stran called down, “You alright, Boss?”

“Yeah. Damn it, Stran, how many of these fools are there?” Chert’s voice held a note of exasperation that belied the feeling of worry that gnawed at him.

“Dunno, but we’re running out of powder and arrows.”

Chert shook his head, leaning on the door frame, his men watching him expectantly. They all looked exhausted, and not a few sported numerous wounds and bandages. Jinu was sending those with minor injuries back to the fight where she could, but it was an uphill struggle. If this kept up, they could lose this fight, and then it would all be over.

Where the hell was Ire? Many of his warriors had stayed here to help defend the house but had dispersed out into the fog with all the fighting. Many of his own men had been assigned to protect the mill as part of Ire’s plan as well, but the focus of many of the attacks was still the main house. Some of his men hurried out to check the bodies, retrieving any of their own wounded and recovering weapons and scavenging for any supplies they could use.

Mercifully, the shouts and yelling of soldiers had died down, but now the sound of crackling wood from the numerous fires added a disturbing layer of uncertainty and fear to the household. It was the unknown, the—

“What the hell is that?” one of the gang shouted and pointed to a dark shape that charged past them at full tilt.

“It’s just a horse. Calm down will you; you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Chert stared, dread biting at his very being. “Pull back to the house, all of you! Now!”

An unearthly howl, the likes of which Chert had never heard, echoed out from the fog. Its hideous cry, like all the souls of hell trying to escape torment, froze his soul. His men stood there like statues, their faces pale and eyes wide in terror. What… What was that? It was getting closer as well, the howling never stopping, it didn’t—

There was a flash of silver and black, a crashing noise, and one of the men went down, nearly cleaved in two, blood spraying in a grisly fountain of gore.

Shaken from his fear-induced stupor, Chert began grabbing his men, hauling them into the house. “Get furniture, anything you can get your hands on. Barricade the house!”

From outside, the thunder of hooves and the clash of steel intensified, together with that terrible howling that pierced their ears, their courage faltering. One of the girls rushed out from the back of the house, her hands and apron stained with the evidence of her work with the wounded.

“It’s here, isn’t it?” She looked up at Chert, who nodded, his hand gripping his sword so tightly that it began to throb.

“Are the girls safe, Belle? I asked Jinu to keep them—”

He never got a chance to finish before his world turned to fire.

*********************

Ire and Rush watched in horror as the main house appeared to bulge outward, as though it were an old man taking a shuddering breath, before a blinding flash and eruption of debris overwhelmed their senses. In a heartbeat, what had once been the boss’ home was reduced to fragments that rained down all around them.

Ire’s mouth hung open. “This… This isn’t Saru’s men. It’s that thing!”

Rush shook his head. “It’s a diversion; it has to be. The thestral is after the princess. It wants us to divert our forces there.”

Ire grabbed Rush’s tunic. “Rush, go to the princess and get her out of here. I’ll do what I can at the house. There’ll be people trapped in there.”

“But—”

The lord stared at Rush in the eyes. “Damn it, man, she loves you, can’t you see that? If there’s one thing I know, it’s women, and even if she looks different, she’s still female.” He roughly turned Rush in the direction of the storehouse. “For the gods’ sake, man, go!”

Without another word, Ire headed off back to the boss’ house, his heart pounding. He couldn’t think straight—in fact, right now, he didn’t want to either. Acting on instinct meant he didn’t have to think on what he may find when he got there. He had only just met the girl, and yet her smile, her cheeky demeanour, had swayed his heart the way he’d never imagined possible. She was indentured to the boss, but he had already spoken to him about releasing her, and although reluctant, Chert had agreed. Ire had left her there to keep her safe and…

Damn it! He didn’t want to think about this now!

Running through the dense fog, Ire managed to pick up a few of his men along the way. They, like many of the other combatants, had become lost in the poor visibility and unfamiliar surroundings. The explosion at the house had been like a signal fire. Together with his small entourage, Ire arrived at where, only seemingly minutes earlier, he’d been sat chatting with Chert over a cup of tea.

His mouth hung open. A large building, the boss’ home looked like a cake that a giant had taken a bite out of. Men and women staggered around both inside and outside the ruined hulk, many sporting cuts, burns, or staggering around in shock and confusion. Smoke was everywhere, but…

“Belle!” Ire shouted. “BELLE!”

One of Chert’s men hurried over, his hair half-burned away and blood dripping down his torn sleeve. “Lord Ire? Thank the gods. Please, follow me.”

Ire grabbed him. “Listen… please… do you know if Belle is alright? Do you know where she is?”

The man paused, his brow furrowed. “I… I’m sorry, Lord Ire, I don’t. I don’t know her very well and everything’s such a mess…”

Ire nodded. “Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Lead on.”

The building was still standing, for the most part. The more intact sections were rapidly being filled with a steady stream of warriors carrying their wounded comrades in for care. By the looks of it, the blast had taken out the opposite wing to where the injured were being cared for. Was that deliberate, or a mistake on their attacker’s part? Ire strained to see past the mass of smoking wreckage and injured. Maybe she was in there?

“Lord Ire?”

He looked round, struggling to spot the boss amongst the press of people, but sure enough, there he was. Chert sat on the remains of a now much-damaged wooden chest, being rather enthusiastically bandaged by one of the many young women who worked at the house. He was covered in dust, bruised and battered, but very much alive.

“Boss Chert, thank the gods you’re alright.”

Chert nodded, wincing in pain at the movement. “Thank you, my lord. I’m glad to see you weren’t caught in that last explosion.”

Ire shook his head. “Chert, look, we have to secure this place as best we can. I’m going to try and pull as many of our forces back here as I can find. What about your people?”

“Most are at the mill, keeping an eye on the villagers, but we can’t pull them away from there or—”

“I know.” Ire held up a hand, nodding. “I want this place turning into a fortress, Chert: gunners, archers, anyone who can hold a weapon.”

Chert closed his eyes, nodding slowly. “We’ll use what we can to barricade the entrances as well as the bloody great hole that blast left.”

“Boss!” one of the gang members called from around the corner that led to the staircase. “Boss, quick! It’s your daughter, she’s…”

Chert paled. “Lord Ire, please?”

The lord nodded grimly as Chert rushed off up the stairs. He could take care of matters here. He could only hope the girl was safe, yet right now, if he didn’t do something, there would be a hell of a lot more to worry about than the safety of one person amongst this nightmare.

Taking the steps two at a time, his bandage trailing behind him, the boss of the village swung around the entry to his daughter’s room to find… nothing. It was gone, a gaping hole in the building and the prone form of a woman in a green dress by the doorway.

“Jinu?”

“B… Boss?” She coughed. “I’m sorry…”

Chert slipped his hands under her and gently lifted her head. She was covered in burns and splinters of wood. Her voice was faint… rasping.

“We only came upstairs to… to find her… teddy. It was only… only for a…”

The boss held Jinu’s head to his chest. “It’s alright, Jinu, I know…”

She was gone, his precious daughter, the one he’d never had a chance to get to know the way he should have. Jinu shook in his arms.

“Boss? I… I’m so sorry.”

One of the girls appeared, carrying a case of medical equipment. “We’ll take her, Boss.”

“No!” Jinu tried to sit up suddenly and cried out in pain. “Chert, please! I always wanted to… to tell you…” She squeezed her eyes shut tight, then opened them painfully, stretching out her hand to his cheek. “I… I…”

The light went out in Jinu’s eyes, her hand dropping limply from Chert’s face. The woman in the green dress, the one who had been with him since he was a young man… she was gone. Chert leaned down and kissed her gently, closing her eyes.

“I know.”

Two of his men appeared and bowed respectfully. Carefully, they collected Jinu’s body, gently prising her away from Chert’s grip. He sat in a daze, staring off into the space where his daughter’s room had been, where his daughter had been. He’d lost them both. He’d lost everything…

The building creaked ominously around him, the smoke still as thick as ever in the choking, cloying fog. Despite the time of year, the heat was unbearable. Chert sat in silence, looking down at his hands, still stained with Jinu’s blood. Why? Why had this happened?

Collapsing to the floor, the boss felt tears stinging his eyes, flowing out along with the pain in his heart. Almost as if it belonged to someone else, he vaguely noticed his hand had touched something… something soft. Looking down through his watery vision, his gaze alighted upon the sad, singed remains of the small toy bear he’d bought for his daughter last year. She’d loved that thing, more than anything else he’d ever gotten her before.

She’d hugged him so tightly, he thought she’d cracked a rib. He was the best daddy ever.

Chert folded his arms around the precious object and howled out his grief and fury at the world. His daughter, his wife, Jinu… Dear gods, was there anyone else left to take? Why hadn’t they taken him instead?

“Damn you!” he shouted out at the sky. “DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!”

A gust of wind suddenly sprung up, the blast catching him and making his eyes water all the more. Something large, something foreboding, was flapping down out of the fog and smoke, right in front of him.

“Daddy? Daddy!”

Chert stared, aghast, his eyes feeling like they were bulging out of their sockets. “Swallow?”

A small child, with hair as black as the creature that held her in its forelegs, waved down to him enthusiastically. Her clothes smouldered and a bit of her hair had burned away, but she was remarkably unharmed. The great beast holding her in its grip slowly moved closer, extending its legs out to place the child into the embrace of her trembling father.

The boss held his daughter to his chest and squeezed her for all he was worth.

“Daddy! Not so tight!” Swallow giggled as her father kissed her forehead.

Before him, the winged creature’s eyes blazed. “Keep her safe, human.”

“Who… are you?”

The thing shook its mane. “Thorn.”

Stran suddenly appeared behind the boss, levelling his gun at the flying creature. Chert moved like lightning, quickly grabbing the barrel and moving it away from its intended target. He glanced up at his subordinate and shook his head solemnly.

Thorn stared back at them for a moment and snorted, before turning around in a blast of wind and flying off back into the fog.

*****************

Celestia lay on the reed mat, inhaling its fragrance. Despite the time she’d spent in here, it still smelled fresh, reminding her of the workshop… and Rush. For the first time in a long time, she was completely at a loss as to what to do. She’d given her word to the elder that she wouldn’t try to escape, and her magic was still blocked. Now Rush…

She hid her face with a foreleg, closing her eyes. Why? Why had he agreed to do something so… wrong? Saru may be a cruel man—she had seen it in his eyes all too well—but to kill him? The chances were that Saru’s men would kill Rush and she would never see him again, at least not in this life. She felt a flood of cold run through her body. What could she do? She could probably buck the door open, charge out and… then what? Find Rush somehow, with half the village after her, and fly off into the hills? With no magic, she felt hamstrung.

Reaching down inside herself, the princess could sense her magic. It was so close, yet just out of reach, like trying to catch a bar of soap in the bath. If she concentrated hard enough, she might be able to catch it. A few minutes passed with no success. Stomping a hoof against the wall, she rose to her hooves and gave herself a shake, resettling her wings against her sides. She’d made her decision—

The door to the storehouse opened suddenly, and the princess backed up. She’d entice whoever it was to open the door and then…

“Celestia?”

She sighed in relief. “Elder Huro? What brings you here?”

The old man produced the key to her cell from a pocket and unlocked the door. “I know what’s happening,” he said with a note of sadness, “and I fear I know what’s going to happen.”

She looked at him quizzically. Huro clapped his hands, and two villagers appeared carrying cloth sacks. “These are yours, Princess. I’m afraid that this is as much as I can do.” He gave her a sad look. “I can’t get the villagers involved, you understand. The rest is up to you now.”

Celestia looked on in shock as the bags were opened and the burnished golden armour within them was revealed. Huro leaned down and unwrapped the last one, taking out the long deadly shape of the halberd. He knelt down and, if rather shakily, held out the weapon for her inspection.

The princess’ gaze slid along the lethal pole arms’ length. It had been her mother’s, honed and polished countless times, and used in more battles than she could ever imagine. It was an ancient thing, elegant and graceful, yet with a deadly purpose, and now, today, she had a new one.

Instinctively, Celestia tried to take the weapon in her magic, which stuttered and sparked. It was something, but still not enough… damn that thestral! He had done this to her! She rose on her hind legs and took the halberd in her hooves, remembering the feel of it. The two villagers stood back quickly, watching her with worried glances.

Celestia nodded approvingly to herself, then looked down at the armour. Normally she used magic or had assistants to help her, and now she was acutely aware of the need to be swift.

She glanced at Huro, who smiled and bobbed his head. “May I?”

Celestia bowed. “Of course. I would be honoured.”

Grinning like a child, Huro began placing the armour on her as she instructed. Each section was strapped into place, one piece at a time. The village elder marvelled at the craftsmanship of the metal, the inscriptions, the scrollwork—it was magnificent. As the pieces came together, he could see how they interacted with one another, the joints articulating and sliding effortlessly with the mare’s movements. Finally, the last piece was lowered into place, covering her forehead.

Huro stood back as Celestia turned to face him, ruffling her wings, readjusting to the feel of armour on her back. He smiled at her, his expression full of wonder.

“I can see how men fall in love with you so easily, your Majesty…”

Celestia looked away, blushing. “Huro, please…”

He just laughed, “Forgive an old man’s foolishness, Princess.”

She shook her head, a small feeling of gaiety washing through her despite the situation. “There’s nothing to forgive, Huro.” The princess leaned forward and nuzzled him gently. “Thank you.”

Huro turned bright red, wiping his forehead with a sleeve before stepping back. “I fear we may never meet again, Princess.” He smiled. “You will be going home now?”

She nodded sadly. “I will be, but first, I need to find somepony.”

“Rush?”

Celestia gave him a knowing look, and Huro laughed. “I understand!”

The smile was still on Huro’s face as he looked down at the sword blade that protruded through his chest. The last sight he had of this world, as the darkness filtered in, was of the princess rearing, a glow around her as bright as the sun, filling the room. She truly was the goddess of the sun…

*****************

Rush’s sword flashed, taking down another of Saru’s men who were grouped outside the storehouse. Two had already run inside, and he’d be damned if he’d let the princess be cornered by those rats. One of the warriors swung his sword, his inexperience showing all too clearly. The young one had leaned too far forward, and Rush stepped nimbly into the gap, ramming the hilt of sword into the lad’s throat before parrying the next attack that came in from his right. The warriors around him seemed unsure of themselves despite their numbers, hanging back and waiting for one another to make the next move. If they all rushed him at once, he wouldn’t stand a chance. The only thing he could do was to keep moving and take them down one by one.

The next warrior fell, but not before a slash across Rush’s leg near felled him. Any deeper and that would have been it, a quick end to a fruitless display of heroics. It was results that mattered here, and now was the time for work. He drew his reed knife, using it to deflect the next warrior’s strike and bringing his own sword down in a deadly arc. The air filled with a spray of crimson as the others began to back away. Rush stared at them, just as they disappeared in a blinding flash of golden light.

The heat and glare from the blast made him reflexively cover his eyes. That was no explosion! He recognised the glow, the tingling feel of magic… Tia’s magic.

Stepping through the large hole in the building, bathed in a glow like the summer sun, strode a majestic figure in golden armour, her pristine white coat creating a magnificent contrast of colour.

Rush stared in awe at the mare, the leader of the Celestian army, the Princess of Equestria… Celestia.

The princess nodded towards the bodies of Saru’s men. “They killed Huro and the two villagers who came to help me,” she said levelly, her eyes full of anger. “They came to help me, and they murdered them without a word, Rush, without a word!” She looked down at him and frowned, before charging forward and catching him up in her forelegs. “Oh, Rush! You…!”

He reached out to embrace her but suddenly found himself roughly pushed away. “Have you any idea how angry I am with you right now?!” Rush’s mouth opened to speak, the princess shaking her head as she advanced on him. “Ponies aren’t killers, Rush. They don’t murder; they don’t assassinate!”

He backed up involuntarily, stammering. “T-Tia…?” A wall blocked any progress, as the princess filled his vision against the backdrop of fog, smoke, and fire.

Her forelegs slammed into the wall either side of his head, her eyes gazing into his. “I don’t want to feel that way again, Rush. Watching you walking away like that, knowing what you were going to do…” She brought her muzzle closer. “I don’t want… to feel…”

Her lips were so close, the smell of her coat, her slowly closing eyes. Rush reached for her—

A howl cut through the air, followed by a gust of wind and searing heat. The thin flame cut through the snow before them a split second after Celestia dragged Rush out of its path. Above them, the black shape quickly faded back into the fog.

“Damn it!” Rush spat. “As if being able to fly isn’t bad enough, the bloody thing can breathe fire as well?!”

The princess glared at the thestral, spreading her wings. “We have to stop it, Rush. If we don’t, it will just keep on killing until either it’s killed, or there’s nopony left alive.”

Rush gritted his teeth, his grip on his sword becoming almost painful. He owed these people nothing… nothing! They’d thrown them both in those damned cells, and now the reaper had come to claim their rotten souls. A shock of pain from the gash on his leg lanced through him, making him wince. He stared up at the sky where the monstrous creature had disappeared.

“They sowed the seeds of their own destruction. Let them reap it.”

Celestia stood back, looking into his eyes with a searching gaze. “You don’t mean that, Rush.”

“I do.” Rush hung his head, hot anger seething through his veins. “To hell with them, Tia. After what they did to you, I couldn’t give a damn if every last one of them became food for that monster.”

Celestia shook her mane, placing a hoof on his shoulder. “Rush, you’re hurting right now. I can see it in your eyes, and your soul. These people did what they did because they were frightened, and frightened people do strange things. There’s good in them, I know it. Elder Huro, Lord Ire, Boss Chert, all men with good qualities. And what about Nasta and his family? They may not be Equestrians, but they still have ties to you, and who you are.”

The princess gave Rush a nudge with her muzzle. “You don’t know much of our people and culture, Rush, but helping others is the Equestrian way. We don’t abandon others, no matter how much they may have caused us pain.” She ruffled her wings. “I won’t force you. It’s your choice… and your life.”

Rush was frozen with indecision, his heart conflicting with his deep-seated resentment of the village and all it stood for. But… Nasta, Petal, the girls…

Celestia leaned forward and kissed him softly on his forehead, a single tear rolling down her face as she stepped back. Hanging her head, her horn glowed briefly, her wings outstretched. With a look a grief passing across her face, she glanced back at Rush before launching into the sky.

He stared at his hands, the sword in one hand and his reed knife in the other. It was all his fears, all his nightmares, rolled into one. His mind was a roaring tempest of confused thoughts and emotions. No matter how hard he tried, Rush’s body refused to move; that one word, that simple word burning through everything else.

“Goodbye.”

The way she’d looked back at him over her wing, her eyes wet with tears. He’d been too afraid, too cowardly to go with her and stop that creature. Self-loathing and hatred dragged Rush down into the dark depths, a hole opening up inside and swallowing him down. Collapsing to the ground, he closed his eyes and felt the tears trickle down his face. He was… nothing…

“What the hell are you waiting for, human?” Thorn landed in a plume of snow and ice, settling his wings and shaking his mane angrily. "Why are you here? Where’s the princess?” He reached out with his forehooves and grabbed Rush, shoving him roughly up against the wall behind him. “I said, ‘Where is she’?”

The thestral’s glowing eyes were flickering a bright crimson, his sweat-soaked hide shining beneath his black armour. Rush’s mouth was dry, the words refusing to come out. With a hacking cough, he finally managed to speak:

“She’s gone.”

“Gone? What do mean ‘she’s gone’?”

“She… She flew off to find the thestral that’s attacking the village…”

“WHAT?!” Thorn was incensed, his tail swishing from side to side furiously. “Then what in the goddess’ name are you doing here then, human?”

Rush stared past him, his eyes vacant. Thorn had seen warriors frozen with indecision before, but judging by the human’s injuries and the blood on his weapons, he’d been involved in the fighting, so what had caused this? He spat on the ground and stared Rush in the face.

“Get up.” The man stared back at him, a distant look haunting his features. “GET UP!”

A shock of realisation flashed across Rush’s face, the gravity of the situation he was in finally beginning to dawn on him. Thorn nodded and stepped back.

“Get on my back. We’re going after her.”

Rush hesitated a moment, before taking a deep breath and shaking himself free of the heavy shackles of doubt. The major smiled at the change in the human. The fire was back in his eyes, the fight returning along with something else: determination. Rush grabbed hold of the strange armour and hauled himself onto the thestral’s back. Grunting under the added weight, Thorn gave himself a shake to resettle his armour and tried to ignore the strange feeling of being ridden… again!

“Take the crossbow and hang on, Rush.”

A second later, the major lumbered into the air, the human on his back using his equipment straps as makeshift handles. He suddenly remembered how much he hated having anything on his back, but his priority right now was to reach the princess before that damned fool boy did. When he’d dealt with that matter, with the goddess’ blessing, he would be able to complete his mission and finally return home.

Rush’s eyes watered from the fog and smoke whipping past them. Below, all they could see was the glow from the fires and the sounds of fighting. Gunshots and shouting appeared to be centred round the boss’ house, but it was unlikely the creature had gone there. His mind finally clear, Rush tried to imagine what he would have done in that situation, but he was no tactician. He’d fought and killed because he’d had to, because if he didn’t, someone would have killed him. Now, the worst possible thing had happened: he had let Celestia fly off to face that demonic beast alone.

Ahead, there was a sudden blast of golden light, cutting through the fog like a hot knife.

“There!” Thorn shouted back at him. “Have that crossbow ready, boy!”

Rush gripped the heavy weapon as they headed towards the light. A moment later, however, the bright beacon had vanished, replaced by a searing gout of flame and a screech the likes of which he hadn’t heard since that night in the forest. He narrowed his eyes, willing Thorn to fly faster. There was no way on the gods’ earth he would let that beast harm her.

The sea of endless fog transitioned to a scene that made Rush’s heart thump hard in his chest. Before them, the black form of a thestral was engaged in a whirling spinning melee with a golden-armoured white alicorn. Weapons glinted in the eerie half-light, the young warrior occasionally spewing out thin jets of flame and the princess replying with thrusts from her halberd and narrow beams of focused energy from her horn.

The golden light, as bright as sunlight, burned swathes through the morass, but the young warrior was too fast. Celestia was already weakened from her captivity, and her magic was depleting rapidly. If she didn’t end this quickly, she knew she wouldn’t have enough left to open the portal home.

Thorn barrelled into the fight, swinging his axe in a brutal arc toward Rend. The younger warrior laughed out his screeching cry, his eyes blazing with the thrill of battle as he parried the major’s attack with his own weapon. Thorn grimaced—he could smell the haj from here, see its glistening remnants on his adversary’s nose. He’d lost his mind completely now, the damned fool; and a dangerous fool at that. Rend screamed as he flew into the attack. Completely ignoring the princess, he swung his axe around, knocking away Thorn’s blow with ease. Twisting in the air like a snake, Rend delivered a savage kick to the major’s chest that sent him reeling back across the sky.

Rush hung on for dear life while Thorn tried to recover. In a sudden movement that took them both by surprise, Rend flung his axe at them, the bladed weapon spinning end over end in a lethal cartwheel. Thorn barely managed to deflect it in time, but the blade clipped his neck on the way past, sending a spray of blood into the air. A blast of flame quickly followed, the heat burning his mane and his wing. Abruptly losing his stability, the major plummeted towards the ground, tipping Rush off in the process. Desperately, he tried to arrest his fall and catch the human, but it was all he could do to save himself. Not far from him, he could see Rush falling, the crossbow held in his hands as he aimed…

Rend screamed as the bolt slammed into him, stabbing through the unarmoured area beneath his right wing. He lost control, spiralling down toward the ground. It was too fast, far too fast! The armour was dragging him, and he pawed at it to break free. Fog soaked him, the heat from the fires below adding a warmth that quickly grew as he descended. Up here, in this whiteout, it was hard to tell up from down, but he’d be damned if he let that traitor and that bitch best him. He laughed to himself; they couldn’t beat him! He was a warrior of the moon goddess. He could feel her within him, holding him in her hooves and protecting him. He was invincible, unstoppable!

With a screech of triumph, the girth strap came loose, and the bulk of the armour fell away. The abrupt release gave Rend the chance to correct his descent and use his damaged wing to help guide him down to the ground. The pain barely registered now, the haj running through his system dulling it, allowing him to focus his mind with crystal clarity.

The ingredients he’d found in this world were unbelievably potent, so much more that what he’d made in the Beyond. With this, with the goddess in his heart, he could take them all on, send them to the pits of hell, and claim this whole stinking land for Nightmare Moon. She would be pleased, maybe even make him her consort… her prince! He howled out to the world his ascendance. The night was coming, and with it, the rule of Lord Rend.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Eight - The Reign of Steel

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

THE REIGN OF STEEL

A roaring sound filled Rush’s ears as he plummeted through the swirling fog. The unearthly orange glow of the light around him, although strange, at the same time felt oddly soothing. He had managed to shoot that damned thing at least, and with any luck, it would have been enough to help the princess. He released a forlorn sigh, staring at the white nothingness that whirled around him. At any moment, the land would come up to meet him, his descent meeting hard reality. Then he would be free of this world, this life, but still, he would have liked to have seen her one last time. Rush closed his eyes, picturing the world of lush grass, the blue sky and yellow sun, and a pair of beautiful purple eyes gazing into his. Rush smiled, reaching out to her...

The ground smashed into him, the jarring lurch throwing him across the ground and driving the wind from him. He blinked; he was still alive?

All around, the world was fragments of wood, tile, snow and—

“Oh gods… no!”

Celestia lay in a heap beside him, one of her wings lying at an unnatural angle and her eyes tightly closed. He hurried over to her, lifting her head in his hands while looking her over.

“Tia? Tia! Dear gods, no!”

The princess’ eyes flickered open, gazing up at him weakly. “Rush? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Tia, but… oh gods, you’re hurt!”

She smiled weakly. “Not… too badly, I don’t think.” The princess tried to move, coughing and grimacing. “I don’t think I’ll be flying for a while, though.”

Rush held her and stroked her mane. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not so long as I live.”

“And that won’t be long, human.”

Rush turned slowly to see the all-too-familiar form of the thestral, Rend. The beast smirked at him, reaching round to take hold of the bolt from his side and pulling it free before throwing the bloodied object at his feet.

“Come to die?”

Rush smoothly drew his sword. “I’ve come to send you to hell, demon.”

Rend laughed maniacally. “YOU? Send ME to hell?” He spat a gobbet of blood on the snow. “You sickening monkeys are nothing, NOTHING! You live in squabbling gangs in your hovels, terrified of the night, praying for the dawn so you can continue to populate this place with your pathetic kind. You’re like sheep, soft and weak!”

The thestral lifted his axe, his long tongue snaking out and licking the blood off its blade. “Delicious…”

Rush changed the grip on his sword, closing the distance with the beast, leading it away from the downed princess. Rend smiled. “I wonder how alicorn tastes?” he asked with a smirk. “Shall we see?”

Rush charged.

*********************

Thorn yanked the debris away from his body. Chunks of wood, plaster, and tiles covered him from head to foot, his body battered and torn from the violent impact with what had once been someone’s home. Thankfully, the occupants had apparently fled long before the armoured thestral had smashed through their roof. Thorn was furious with himself for allowing that human to ride him. What had he been thinking?! The weight had hindered him, slowing his reaction, and that impulsive decision to carry him into battle had cost the frail creature his life, and now he himself was injured.

With a shout of anger and frustration, Thorn finally pulled himself free of the evidence of his ungraceful landing. He checked himself over, snorting the dust and filth from his nose as he did so. A quick check revealed dented armour, cuts, and bruises but, thank the goddess, no broken bones. A bolt of pain tore down his side and staggered him. Ah, maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to thank the goddess after all. It wasn’t that surprising, really, considering the fire damage to his wing, and the speed of his uncontrolled descent… the damned thing was broken.

Considering how many times he’d actually broken them in battle, he was surprised he could still fly at all. A thestral’s wings were their strength, but also a weakness, which was why they mostly fought on the ground. Wings were best used for rapid mobility, so it was strange indeed to find the princess fighting the boy in the air. Whatever the child had been thinking, he’d still managed to nearly kill him, and the goddess knew what was happening with the princess now.

A final shake threw off the last of the detritus, but some had lodged painfully under his armour and in the vicious wound he’d taken to the neck earlier. It didn’t seem as deep as he’d feared, but it still hurt like hell. Looking about himself, he tried to get his bearings. They couldn’t be that far away, surely?

*********************

Celestia watched helplessly as Rush’s sword flashed through air, the polished edge deflecting off the thestral’s axe. Rend laughed and shrieked manically, jumping, dodging, and swinging his great axe with what appeared to be complete abandon. What looked to be dangerously careless openings in his attacks were all quickly closed, despite Rush’s speed and skill. She noticed something in the thestral’s movements, the way he danced away, his half-hearted attacks…

He was playing with Rush.

She wanted to warn Rush, to call out to him, but her chest felt like it was on fire. She closed her eyes momentarily, biting back a cry as she tried to stand. The pain was familiar, one she remembered from a day playing with Luna that had involved their early attempts at flight and resulted in a broken rib. Luna had cried more than Celestia had, her younger sister’s distress at her condition having been heart-breaking. Celestia gritted her teeth; what had happened since that day had broken hers.

Rush stood there, panting for breath and wiping the sweat from his brow. Damn it all, he was too out of condition. Years of harsh life had hardened him, true, but the suppleness needed for nimble and sustained sword work was draining him faster than a bucket full of holes. The thestral knew it as well; the damn thing was toying with him and enjoying every moment of it. It stared at him, its teeth glinting in the light from the burning building behind it.

“Tired? You look it!” Rush remained silent. “Oh dear.” It chuckled. “Looks like the lady’s been hurt. Running to her rescue, are you?” The thestral began to circle him, dragging the great axe through the snow in an almost leisurely fashion. “What I can’t understand, and maybe you can help me here, is what you see in her?” Rend stopped to lean on his axe’s haft. “I mean, she’s got a cute flank and oh that rump!”

Rush glared hatred at the creature as it taunted him. “Yes, I suppose I can see why you lust after her, human, but what does she see in you, I wonder? You? A helpless pink monkey? Who could ever imagine the two of you could…?” Rend took an exaggerated intake of breath, covering his mouth in mock outrage. “My goddess, you have, haven’t you? You’ve ploughed the mare…” He shouted to Celestia. “Tell me, Princess, how well does the human buck?”

It was too much. Fury seethed through Rush’s body, and he attacked with complete abandon. Rend laughed, ducking the first strike, but his overconfidence had inadvertently made an opening that he couldn’t cover in time for Rush’s sword thrust. The steel bit through flesh, blood spraying from the wound onto the churned snow and mud. Crying out, Rend fell back on his haunches, avoiding a deeper wound that would probably have been fatal. He readied his axe and huffed out a snort of blood.

“Looks like I underestimated you, human.” The thestral grimaced. “This ends now.”

With a howling war cry, the thestral came at him. In a whirlwind of fire, steel, and hooves, it was all Rush could do to stay alive. Rend was a killing machine and highly trained. Rush, on the other hand, had rudimentary sword training that he’d taken to naturally enough, but he was certainly no seasoned warrior. The thestral’s axe snarled past his face by mere inches before hooves crashed into him. Rush heard as well as felt the crack as ribs gave way, and he was flung to the ground like a broken toy. Spitting blood, he caught a glimpse of the axe and rolled to one side, narrowly avoiding having his skull cleaved in two. He didn’t get far.

Rend’s hoof smashed him across the side of the head. “Why won’t you just… DIE!”

A crossbow bolt whirled out of the smoke, clipping the thestral’s shoulder. Momentarily distracted, Rush seized his opportunity and dived to one side, avoiding Rend’s next attack. The young warrior backed away, glaring hatred at Rush and at the great armoured creature that was advancing on them.

Standing in the firelight, spiked black armour dented from countless wars, eyes burning a deep scarlet, Storm Major Thorn looked every part the commensurate thestral warrior. Rush felt a lump in his throat as he stared at him. This was a real soldier of the moon goddess, a true warrior; one Rend could have been…

The young thestral raged at the older one. “You… You COWARD! You TRAITOR!” Rend screeched in fury. “You betrayed the goddess, you betrayed our people, and you betrayed ME!”

Thorn dropped the crossbow, removing his axe and taking a breath. His eyes never left the other thestral, not even for a moment. “I have come to kill you. I have nothing more to say.” He rose to his hind legs, shifting his weight and hefting his axe.

Rend blasted a stream of fire up into the sky. “The goddess is with me, you old fool! Your time is over; my time is now! REND! LORD REND!”

The young warrior snatched at the small bottle beneath his throat and inhaled its contents in a singular long snort. The effect was instantaneous, and terrifying. Rend coughed a spray of blood and began to shake, his muscles visibly bulging. His eyes were the worst part, flaring from red to almost white, smoke pouring from his mouth as he made a loud strangling sound. Thorn simply stood there.

“Rush,” he said levelly, still watching the other thestral. “Get the princess out of here. If I can, I’ll meet you at the cabin. Go now.” Rush nodded, quickly sheathing his sword and hurrying to help raise Celestia to her hooves.

Rend’s insanely staring eyes locked onto the princess before Thorn called to him. “I thought you were the goddess’ warrior, Rend? Still trying to kill the defenceless, the innocent? You are no warrior of our goddess. You are a coward, a pitiable foal.”

The object of Rend’s hate was before him, the princess forgotten. He dared to taunt him? Didn’t he know who he was? He was Lord Rend! The chosen warrior, the future ruler of this dung pile world.

“When I have finished with you, you will kneel before me and beg for death!” Rend shrieked, the smoke pouring from his mouth. Uttering the war cry of his people, Rend charged. Thorn waited, shifting the balance ever so slightly, waiting for just the right moment. Rend came howling, blood and smoke spraying from his muzzle. Thorn had seen it once before, when a warrior had gone too far and taken haj to the point where the only option had been to put him down like the mad beast he had become.

The boy was almost on him, the axe in his forehooves swinging down. The look of triumph in the youngster’s face was almost painful to see.

“Tragic,” he whispered as he sidestepped the downward stroke. With frightening efficiency, Thorn’s axe came up from behind. Nothing could stop that blade now.

Rend staggered forward, gasping and turning, his legs and chest pouring with blood from the terrible wound. Thorn was impressed; the boy should have been almost dead by now. It was probably only the haj keeping him on his hooves.

“You… You think you’ve won, old stallion?” Rend coughed. “I still have a little… surprise… for you!”

Reaching into his pannier, Rend pulled out a bundle of what look like metal tubes. With dawning realisation, Thorn tried to duck, but it was too late. With what sounded like a rumble of thunder and smoke, the gun barrels discharged their deadly payload.

Thorn slid along the ground. He’d avoided the majority of the deadly projectiles, but one had struck his leg, burying itself deep into the flesh. Another had penetrated his chest armour, a third entering the muscle on his hind leg. He coughed, the pain roaring through him like white hot brands. With a deep gasp for air, Thorn unleashed a blast of flame at Rend.

The younger warrior laughed. It was weak flame, far too weak to cause damage. “What was that supposed to be?” Rend spat as he staggered forward. “You are weak… feeble, a fossil that should have been put out to pasture long ago.” He sneered down at Thorn. “I’ll tell you what, Storm Major, I’ll extend a helping hoof, a little ‘gift’ from the goddess. The gift of death as I send you into the eternal night.”

Thorn looked up at him weakly. “You really do talk too much, boy.” He grinned.

Rend stared at him, then sniffed the air. With horrible realisation, he suddenly noticed the wisp of smoke rising from his still-armoured haunches. Howling, the thestral twisted and bucked, trying to reach the smoking device. With surprising speed, Thorn leaped to his hooves, twirled, and bucked the young one into the wreckage of the burning building.

Thorn was already moving away when he heard the blast behind him. He fixed his eyes straight ahead, clearing his mind; that fool didn’t deserve another wasted thought…

*****************

Rush and Celestia hurried as quickly as they could away from the village and up into the hills. She was hurt, her wing broken and body covered in numerous gashes and cuts. Her breathing sounded laboured as well.

Rush stopped and turned. “Tia, wait. You’re hurt. I need to—"

The princess shook her head. “No, Rush. There’s no time—we have to go now. We’ll need to recover the box, and then I’ll open the portal home.”

He took a deep breath, fighting back his fear for her health. “Do you have enough magic?”

Celestia nodded. “Yes, but only just. I daren’t use much more.”

“Then take that armour off, Tia, please,” Rush pleaded. “It’s slowing you down.”

She smiled. “I don’t want to leave this behind. It belonged to a far greater alicorn than I. Look, Rush, it’s not far now.” Her purple eyes shone with determination. “I’ll be fine.”

Rush sighed. “You’re more stubborn than I am, your Majesty.”

Celestia shrugged, giving her mane a shake. “Probably, Rush, probably.” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a cheeky wink. Rush couldn’t help but laugh aloud, the winter seeming that less chilly. The two of them forged ahead, following the almost concealed track up through the trees that went into the forest and to Rush’s home.

*****************

Rush pushed the door open, the hinges groaning under the strain. With no regular heat, the wood had swollen, the all-pervading snow and ice now inside the house as well as out. The fire pit, once the welcome focal point of his home, had been reduced to a mess of frozen burnt wood, the rest of the room looking ransacked. Rush stared about him, his heart like lead in his chest.

“My home…”

Celestia gently nuzzled him. “Rush… I’m so sorry.”

He reached up and held her head against his chest. “It’s alright, Tia. It’s the heart that makes the home.”

She smiled at him. “That sounded very Equestrian, Rush!”

Looking at the ruins of his life, Rush felt strangely relieved. This was the end. The new beginning, the new chapter in Equestria, was about to begin. He walked over to the loose floorboard, clearing away the snow to retrieve the box. His hand groped around in the space, finding… nothing.

He looked up at Celestia. “It… It’s gone!”

She stared at him. “It can’t be! It must be there; it must be! I put it back there for safekeeping!”

A note of panic entered her voice as she began searching the room. Rush felt cold. He knew, in his heart, he knew; the way the snow had been shallower here, the board put back the wrong way… someone had stolen the box.

Celestia collapsed next to him, her face a picture of anguish. “Oh gods, Rush,” she said weakly. “What are we going to do? What are we going to do…?”

Rush pulled out the broom from the corner of his room and began to sweep out snow from around the fire pit. “What we’re going to do, Princess, is get warm and get a bloody good cup of tea.”

The wood was still dry, for the most part. Rush had always kept it well-stacked for use during bad weather, and his diligence had paid off. The bamboo was no good for firewood, so he’d had to travel out into the forested areas with his sled and axe. It was hard work, but he would have gladly done it all again just for this moment with the princess.

Blowing on the faintly glowing shavings, the fire began to catch, sending smoke up as he continued to feed the slowly building flames. Before long, the fire began to blaze, the warmth welcome to both body and soul. Celestia stared blankly into the flames while Rush found them both a couple of blankets from the chest in the corner.

Gently wrapping the blanket around her, he reached down and touched her hoof. “Tia, can I take off the breast plate and listen to your chest?”

She nodded, allowing him to reach the concealed clasps and detach the large plate. He’d forgotten how light the armour was despite its appearance. It was a beautifully made example of the armourer’s craft, and he once more marvelled at the intricate scrollwork, the intertwined flowers and vines embossed into its surface. Somehow, it seemed to be a part of her, reflecting who she was both inside and out. Celestia sighed next to him, her breath warm in the chilly room. He could smell her, that feminine scent that filled his nostrils with its allure. Rush could feel himself blushing as he leaned down and listened to her breathing.

“Take as deep a breath as you can.”

Nodding, Celestia took several breaths, wincing in pain at the last one. Rush ran his hands carefully over her chest, feeling for any damage, any breaks. The princess gasped.

“Sorry, did that hurt?”

“No…”

He glided his hands over her soft fur, so warm and smooth beneath his fingers. Rush could feel a heat running through him and not just from the fire. Celestia watched him as he checked her over, noting his hair, his eyes, the swell of his muscles. She wondered how he would take to life in Equestria, and if they could find the magic to turn him into who he truly was… a stallion. She sniffed his hair, giving him a light nuzzle. Her heart stirred.

“You have one, maybe two broken ribs, not mention the cuts and abrasions. If I had my medicine chest here…” He shook his head angrily. “All the years I’ve had the bloody thing and now I need it, some thieving—”

Celestia suddenly grabbed him in her forehooves and pulled him into her chest. “Never mind that now. Just be close to me; you’re freezing cold.”

“Watch those ribs!” he admonished, minding how close he was to her.

The princess chuckled, her voice taking on a sultry tone that made him feel like his heart was going to burst from his chest. “Of course, doctor. Now shush a moment and let’s listen for the water boiling.”

Gently enclosed in her forelegs, the warmth from Celestia’s body made Rush feel as if all his troubles and worries were drifting away. Even his leg wasn’t hurting as much as it had been. He yawned; it had all been a real drain on his energy and emotions. The fear, the strain both mental and physical, had sucked him almost completely dry. He could feel his eyes closing, but refused to sleep. The water would be boiling soon.

Celestia leaned her head against Rush, listening to his heart beating. The gash on his leg had been deep, but hadn’t cut anything too serious, otherwise he could well have bled out before she’d noticed him limping. She’d risked using a little magic to heal it as well as his cracked ribs, but they would still need time. Fortunately, once back in Equestria, they’d be able to get all of that fixed up enough to get back to the castle and have him checked over properly. But what of the box? The key to the Elements of Harmony? She sighed. After all those years, it had been so close that she’d even held it in her hooves. Now she was right back where she had been before she came to this world.

The princess listened. Rush’s heartbeat was strong, level, a rhythmic thump that was beginning to make her drowsy. Around them, all they could hear was the silence of the forest in winter, the snap of the fire, and the water beginning to bubble. Whoever had ransacked the house was probably long gone, not even realising what the box was, or more specifically, what it contained. She could go back to the town, try to speak to Lord Ire, but would that accomplish anything? She didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.

A shuffling sound from outside made her sit up. Thorn? Celestia magicked over her halberd and readied herself for a fight.

Rush opened his eyes, whispering, “Someone’s there.”

Quickly, he was on his feet and clipping the chest armour back on Celestia before drawing his sword. Whatever came through that door would be dead before it made it even one step…

“Thorn!” The thestral staggered in, dropping to the floor with a grunt of pain and exhaustion. Celestia quickly hurried outside, looking around.

“He’s on his own. I can’t see anypony else.”

Rush gave him a quick examination, shaking his head at the major’s injuries. “It’s not good—he’s been shot. If I don’t get the bullets out, he’ll die.”

Celestia’s mane quivered. “Get them out?” She raised an eyebrow. “I could use magic, but I don’t know what I’m looking for, and I may do more harm than good.”

Rush shook his head. “Wait here. Hopefully they didn’t steal everything of use here.”

He hurried over to the corner of the room where a lot of his rarely used, or just simply discarded junk, sat haphazardly. Despite a build-up of snow, it looked the same as it always had done. Old spades, rope, broken chair pieces—all of it was unceremoniously seized and thrown to one side. It had to be here! He hadn’t used it for so long, but—yes!

A large battered wooden box covered in a musty leather-lined lid sat beneath the last of the carelessly discarded items. A few moments later, it finally yielded to his determined onslaught. Dragging the box free, Rush brought it over to the light of the fireplace and hauled open the heavy lid.

“What’s that?” Celestia asked curiously.

“Medical equipment from my army days.” He began rummaging through it. “It’s for field surgery, so it’s a little more… crude.”

Thorn’s breathing was laboured, and he winced in pain as Celestia unbuckled his armour and pulled it away. Probably, she supposed, not unlike Rush had done with her. Strange though… not that long ago, the mere thought of even being near to one of these terrible creatures was unthinkable. Now, this one needed their help, and he had even helped them in a way. She still didn’t trust him, though, after what she’d seen, the acts they were capable of…

“Tia?”

“Oh!” She jerked back into the present.

Rush handed her another kettle of water. “Can you please put this on the fire? I need to clean these.”

He opened a small velvet-lined box containing some of the most frightening objects Celestia had ever seen. Shining despite languishing in the box for years, the array of long metal probes, pincers, even saws, glinted almost blood red in the firelight. She covered her mouth and looked away, her stomach lurching. If it affected Rush, or if he noticed her reaction, he never said. Right now, he looked calm, self-assured… professional. Celestia took a deep breath and placed the kettle on the fire as Rush took out a selection of wax-sealed jars and packets. He sniffed their various contents and nodded to himself.

“Good,” he murmured, “they’ve not dried out.” Turning to Celestia, his face took on a serious cast. “Tia, I’ll need you to hold him down. If he thrashes, I won’t be able to get the bullets out and it could cause more damage.”

“R… Ropes…” Thorn’s voice was little more than a whisper but still seemed to echo around them. Rush moved his head closer to the injured major.

“Ropes?”

Thorn’s lips moved ever so slightly, the strain showing all too clearly in his eyes. “Tie… my legs, and… muzzle.”

Celestia balked. “Tie your muzzle?”

Rush nodded to his patient. “Of course, Major, I understand.”

Taking a bundle of rope from the wall, Rush returned to the thestral’s side and began tying the ropes as firmly as he could without endangering the major’s circulation.

The princess shook her head in disbelief. “Why?”

Rush never paused. “He’s a proud warrior, and this is going to hurt… a lot.”

Celestia leaned across, placing her hoof on his arm. “Rush, I can take him into the netherworld while you…” the princess closed her eyes before continuing, “do what you must do.”

Rush nodded. His training had instilled in him the ability to shut out his emotions, to ignore the cries and pleading of the wounded as he worked on them. He did what he had to, to save lives. Sometimes, at the loneliest and darkest hours of the night, he could hear them… see the pain in the eyes as he worked. If Tia could help Thorn, dull the pain somehow, it had to be worth it.

Lowering her horn near to the pitiful figure of the downed warrior, the mare’s horn began to glow, sending shadows out across the room. Thorn shivered for a moment and then settled back down, his breathing beginning to even out and the lines on his face visibly relaxing. Rush smiled to himself. Thorn wouldn’t have to consciously face what happened next, but how long Tia could keep him ‘away’ from the rigours his body was going through, he didn’t know. He’d have to work quickly

*****************

Celestia watched Thorn as he floated in the sea of stars, his eyes wide in wonder. In some respects, and from certain angles, she could almost forget what he was. This creature was one of her sister’s soldiers, brought here from the Wither world to wreak havoc in hers. She had to admit, the thestrals were quite enigmatic beings, a close relative of Equestrian ponies from what little she knew of them, and most of that had been gleaned from fighting them. Despite Thorn’s apparent geniality, she was acutely aware of the fact that he was still one of them. They were an incredibly brutal, strong, and deadly foe, a truly powerful addition to the army of the night.

The princess pondered her sister’s decision to use such an odd people. What had she promised them? Land? Wealth? Thorn had said something about offering them hope, a chance at a new beginning. She decided she’d have to look more deeply into this strange race when she returned to the castle and its secret libraries. She felt a chill at the thought. There were some things buried there in the bowels of the castle library that could warp the mind of the unwary; books of power and forbidden magics that were as deadly on the page as when spoken or cast. But, if there were something there to help her understand her enemy, it was worth looking. Perhaps she would learn something here…

Thorn looked about himself and spotted the animated images of his life, the little windows into the past and the self which Rush had inadvertently used to help reveal who he truly was. The thestral warrior drifted toward the closest of the images. Celestia, keeping herself hidden, floated nearer, filled with curiosity. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to have a little peek?

It was dark, very dark. The sand beneath their hooves was as black as the void, with nothing but an expanse of desert as far as the eye could see. There were no rocks, no trees… nothing but that colourless sand. On the distant horizon, a range of hills were outlined against the shadowy sky. Around them were masses of thestrals, all uniformly armoured in black with an assortment of wicked-looking weapons: axes, swords, spears, and some even the princess had never seen before.

Not far away, another hoard of the creatures stood silently beneath banners emblazoned with yellow stripes, echoing the highlights on their spiked armour. Other than that, they all looked very much alike: muscular, yet gaunt with those strange fiery eyes. On closer examination, the princess noticed, many actually had different subtle shades to their fur, manes, and tails—greens, blues, and even purples adding a sombre splash of colour to the drab surroundings. Their eyes differed to a degree as well. Celestia could see clearly that some blazed with the more common red glow, but others were green, yellow, and even white. Her hackles went up just looking at them.

A horn blew, others taking up its haunting refrain along the battle lines. With a howl, the yellow-trimmed warriors charged. The thunder of hooves, despite being muffled by the black sand, was deafening. The wan light glinted off their strangely crystalline weapons as they thundered forward, drawing the eye. The princess closed hers as the two lines impacted with a deafening crash that shook the ground. Celestia forced herself to look, and quickly wished she hadn’t. The death in the village had been nothing… nothing compared to this!

Heads, legs, pieces of what had once been living beings were hacked and hewn, the screams of pain and rage mingling with the cries of the dying. She shook. Dear gods, no wonder her people had suffered such terrible losses. The thestrals’ sheer determination to kill, to win at any cost, was… unimaginable; even against their own people. Celestia felt physically sick, but was determined to watch, to observe and record in her mind everything she saw. Maybe there would be something here, something that would help her in the war against them when she returned home.

The scene changed to a thestral warrior lying on the blood-soaked sand, looking up at a young one… Thorn? Celestia covered her mouth with her hoof in shock. He was so young, not much more than a foal! How could they put him into battle and all its horrors at such a tender age? Thorn leaned down, taking off his helmet.

“Father…”

The older thestral coughed, pain etched in his features as he tried to smile up at his son. “Thorn… don’t… don’t mourn. Take my armour and my axe to… remember me.” He coughed again, blood spraying onto the ground. “In that, and in your soul… I will live on.”

Thorn looked up at the retreating army of armoured thestrals, their yellow banners snapping triumphantly in the faint breeze. He stared at them emotionlessly.

“They took Mother.”

His father tried to nod, but only managed to close his eyes, his breathing increasingly shallow and ragged. “It is the way of the world, Thorn. She can bear foals, and the Yellow Sands tribe have fewer now than ever. If… If they don’t have more young, they will die out, and we… we will die out.” A racking cough overtook his father. He grabbed Thorn’s foreleg in his hooves. “Soon… Soon there will be no more of us, and we will be no more than… a memory.”

“A memory…” Thorn echoed quietly, watching the distant figure of his mother walking away with the other tribe’s warriors.

“Thorn…”

He looked down. His father’s eyes were now nothing but a guttering candle compared to the raging fires he remembered growing up with him. The older warrior choked back a cough.

“Thorn! Don’t… Don’t let hate enter your heart, my son. Be its… master. Be… yourself…”

The fires, once so bright, went out. Thorn laid his father’s head on the unforgiving ground and lifted his muzzle to the sky, letting out an ear-piercing howl. A howl of anger, of pain, of loss… the lonely song of the thestral.

Suddenly, Celestia was back in the wooden house, her connection broken. “Rush?”

He nodded to her, wiping the sweat from his brow and washing the blood from his hands. “I’ve removed the bullets. Nothing major has been hit, but he’s going to be in a lot of pain for a while. I’ve treated the wounds the best I can with the washes and ointments.” He pointed to Thorn’s leg. “The stitches should hold, but he’ll need help through the portal, Tia.”

Celestia sighed in relief, reaching out a hoof to Rush’s face. “You look exhausted.”

Rush shrugged, a wry smile on his face. “I am. What about you?”

“I’ll live.”

Drying his hands on a cloth, Rush reached over to the old box and removed the lid, holding it out for the princess to smell. She inhaled deeply, sighing in satisfaction and giving him a smile, that special smile he’d come to love so much. Rush rearranged the two cups he’d salvaged earlier.

“Tea?”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Nine - Cry of The Alicorn

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

CRY OF THE ALICORN

“CEASE FIRING!” Stran bellowed. “Damn it, listen, will you?!” The tattooed man kicked one of the other gang members, who quickly lowered his long arm from the open window and gave a garbled apology.

Chert slapped him on the back, treating him to the first smile he’d been able to muster since...

“Boss? Lord Ire’s looking for you.”

“Bloody hell. Alright, I’m coming.”

Squeezing past the wounded and exhausted warriors crowding the stairs, the gang boss reached the atrium and looked about at the horror that had overtaken his home. The back rooms had been transformed into a makeshift hospital, overflowing into the corridors, guest rooms and, as he’d found out, even his own bedroom. He tutted to himself. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than a scrubbing brush and soap to clean this mess. In fact, it may be simpler to just build a new home, one with extra rooms, a new bath house…

“Ah, Boss Chert! Come out, my friend, and smell the air.”

“The air?” Chert sniffed.

Ire leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s the smell of victory.” Momentarily disarmed, the boss scrubbed the back of his head, opening his mouth to speak before Ire jumped in. “We’ve won! We’ve done it, Chert, we’ve bloody well done it!”

“Oh…”

Ire stared at him in disbelief. “Oh? That’s all you’ve got to say? Oh?” Ire flung his arms up in an exaggerated display of frustration. “We’re alive, man, gods’ damn it! Can’t you take it in yet?”

Chert hung his head. “I can, but at what cost, my lord? I’ve lost so many of my people, my friends…”

The young lord’s expression changed. “I know. I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

“…The fog’s lifting.”

The two men looked up at the sky. The eerie orange glow had all but receded, the pervasive fog thinning out and even the smoke dying away. Ire sheathed his sword, looking out at the area in front of the main house. With all the fighting and the limited visibility, he had focused only upon survival. Now, the terrible cost of his plan to have Saru killed became all too apparent. It had cost too much, far too much. The reward for defeating that man and his clan wasn’t worth… this.

Chert stared past him at the bodies. “My gods…” he whispered. “What have we done?”

The corpses, mostly wearing the yellow of Saru’s clan, carpeted the ground, looking for all the world like monstrous flowers set against the white backdrop of churned snow. He turned to look at the remains of his home and sighed.

“There’s going to be a lot of work to rebuild our home. The village looks more like a battlefield than a farming community.”

Ire nodded. “Don’t worry about that, Boss. I’ll cover the costs.” He dragged over a box from beside the door and sat down, his muscles shrieking in protest. Grimacing, the young lord leaned back against the wall. “Any chance of a cup of tea?”

Chert laughed, the sudden merriment causing those nearby to stop and stare in amazement. He couldn’t help it—the combination of such a bizarre situation, his relief at being alive, and the incredible joy at finding his Swallow unharmed when he thought she was dead; it was all too much.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, the laughter dying away. “I think I need one too.”

The two men sat on the porch, quietly watching the dribs and drabs of his forces wandering back from the village. There was a good chance some of Saru’s men were still out there, of course, but there was time enough to hunt them down later. Right now, all Ire wanted to do was rest. Before long, he’d have to return home and maybe even visit the late Lord Saru’s castle. Perhaps a change of ownership was in order?

Ire closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing the feeling of tension to slip away. Was this what it had been like for his father? Constantly fighting to stay alive, counting the dead and wounded after a battle? The bulk of Saru’s forces now lay scattered and broken around the village, some in heaps. A few had been captured, of course, and would be given the chance to join him or be stripped of their positions and wealth as was customary. It was harsh, but at least they would live. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. Maybe… Maybe there was another way? His mind wandered back to the enigmatic white mare, the princess from another world. She had a fascinating outlook on life; her pragmatism and optimism were inspirational. He shrugged to himself. It was a shame he couldn’t have spent more time with her.

“Lord Ire. Boss…”

The young lady wearing a bandage across her forehead knelt between them and began arranging the delicately painted tea pot and cups. Ire watched her as she worked, her nimble fingers moving the finely made porcelain as if it were a part of some intricate dance. She was clearly well-practiced, and just watching her was fascinating. There was a moment where doubt crossed his mind and then dawning realisation.

“Belle? Belle!” Ire grabbed her in a tight embrace, making her squeak in surprise. “Oh gods, sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Belle shook her head, opening her mouth to speak just as the young lord pulled her back into an embrace. “Belle,” he said quietly, “I thought you were dead. I tried to find you, but with everything that was happening, all the smoke… How?”

Belle smiled, gently pushing the uncharacteristically emotional lord away. “I don’t know, really, my lord. I was helping with the wounded when I left to collect more blankets from the storeroom.” She bent down, rearranging the now upset tea service. “There was a huge bang, and then I found myself wandering outside surrounded by smoke and fog. I couldn’t see or hear anything!”

Belle’s eyes took on a faraway gaze. “And… And then I heard a voice, one that seemed to appear in my head rather than my ears. Isn’t that strange!” She shrugged to herself, smiling. “Whoever it was, was on a big black horse, and led me back to house where one of the boss’ men took me in to be treated. You know, I never had a chance to thank the rider who helped me. I didn’t even see his face…”

Ire stared at Chert, who shook his head in wonderment. “A big black horse…”

**********************

Nasta shook with cold, the heat that he’d generated in the fighting having left a sheen of sweat that was now beginning to freeze on his skin. Petal fussed around him, wiping him down and checking for injuries.

“You should come inside. There’s a fire there for you to get warm by.”

Her husband shook his head. “I can’t, love. There could be more of them out there.”

Petal rolled her eyes. “There are more than enough of the boss’ men here to protect us, and we haven’t seen any more of those soldiers in ages.” She rubbed his back. “Come on inside and get warm. You can come back out afterwards.” Nasta went to protest, but Petal tapped him playfully on the nose. “You won’t be any good to anybody if you’re too cold to move now, will you?”

Laughing, the tall man shook his head and put an arm around his wife. She was right as always, the unsung hero of his home and the holder of the keys to his heart. He gave her a kiss on the forehead before looking up at the sky. “The fog’s lifting at last.”

Petal smiled. “Looks like the nightmare’s over then. We should give thanks to the gods we’re all safe.”

Nasta sniffed. “The gods…”

“Hmmm?” Petal looked up at him quizzically.

“It’s nothing,” he said cheerfully. “Come on, let’s make sure Cray’s family is alright. They’ve had a rougher time than most.”

Petal nodded, the two of them disappearing into the crowded interior of the mill.

*******************

Thorn couldn’t stop shaking. He was cold… so, so cold. He sat in shock on the sand, holding his father’s armour and battle axe. The others had already left, leaving their dead on the field after singing them to the next world. It was the way of things.

The young warrior stared into the distance. His mother had been taken, his father slain. What was he to do now? His tribe would raise him of course—they always did with those who’d lost their parents—but it was a bitter pill. Hefting his father’s gear, he unclipped the cloak from his pannier, using it to wrap everything in. It was heavy, but now he had the responsibility of carrying his father’s soul and memory, as well as his armour and weapons. It was a burden he would gladly carry for the rest of his life.

Thorn took one last glance towards the direction his mother had been taken. He wouldn’t cry; he wouldn’t mourn. He would remember…

The world swirled around him, transitioning from the black sand and dark sky to the dimly lit interior of a wooden house. A human stared down at him, a worried expression on his face. “Storm Major, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse. “Water… please.”

The human he recognised as Rush passed him a bowl of water that he drank down, slowly at first and then in long drafts. Raising his muzzle, he gasped and quickly lost all strength.

“Don’t push yourself, Major,” Rush said levelly. “You’ve been badly hurt, but at least I’ve managed to get the bullets out of you.”

Thorn blinked, refocusing on the princess whose horn was glowing faintly. “Celestia…”

Her eyes were closed in concentration, but upon hearing his words, opened one to gaze down at him. “Be still, Thorn. I can’t help you if you move about.”

Rush passed him another bowl of water that was infused with some strengthening herbs that he’d had drying in the workshop. Thankfully, the thief who took his medicine chest hadn’t stolen those as well.

“Your… magic…” Thorn whispered weakly.

“I have enough spare for this, but no more. When you’re well enough to walk, I shall open the portal, and then we will be on our way home.”

Thorn hated weakness. The tiredness that dulled his senses and made his body feel heavy and lethargic was infuriating. Without his armour, he felt naked too. Had that human removed it? Or had… No, he couldn’t think of that now. To have a mare, let alone a Celestian touching his armour, his father’s armour… it was scandalous. She wouldn’t know, he supposed—thestral customs and practices were no doubt alien to Equestrians—but the sanctity of a warrior’s armour was inviolable. The same applied to mares—the stallions never touched their armour, save in the gravest of situations. Fights had broken out, even between mated couples, over such acts, and some had even been killed. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Just being in the presence of Celestia, away from his people, he began to wonder whether such a rule was really worth fighting over. Tradition had to worth something, though, hadn’t it? Damn it all! He had to get out of here and back to his own people. These thoughts were poisoning him.

The golden light winked out. “I’ve done what I can, Rush, but I dare not do more. I have barely enough to open the portal, and who can say how long it would take to restore my magic if—”

Rush placed a finger on her nose. “Stop. It’ll be fine, Tia. We’ll be home soon, and then we’ll be able to… well, see your castle.”

“See my castle…” Celestia suddenly began to laugh, her eyes sparkling in the dim light of the fire as Rush started to shake with mirth. For the first time in a long time, the wooden house on the hill was alive with the sound of joy.

Thorn opened an eye and shook his head slowly. “Foals…” he muttered.

*******************

Thorn awoke to the sound of birds in the forest chirping happily. He checked himself over, finding that he was, surprisingly, still in one piece. The dreadful wounds he’d received had been bandaged well, and he even felt fit enough to attempt to stand. Taking a deep breath, he tried moving his legs before a jolt of pain pulled him up short. Magic and skilled healing aside, there was no substitute for time, it seemed.

Looking across the room, the human and the princess were curled up together. He had to admit, they made an unlikely pair, and it was a relief the lad hadn’t been killed in the fall. Despite his weak appearance, Rush had proved himself more than capable. How he had been able to withstand Rend’s onslaught was quite remarkable. Thorn took a mouthful of the water that had been thoughtfully left out for him while he pondered the events of the last few days. Watching Rush sleeping, he couldn’t help but feel there was something off about the strange being. He looked human, but there was something about him that made him stand out from the others. Rush had a strength inside him, a bearing that made him look like he would be more at home back in the Beyond.

Thorn smiled to himself. He’d be happy to fight beside him, but certainly not on his back again! He couldn’t think of anything more unnatural than having another living thing ‘riding’ him like that. He shivered. He’d look forward to telling the colonel of his adventures over a flagon of… what did Equestrians drink again? Cider? Hmmm, maybe not, then. He liked something a little stronger, a drink that could take the roof off your mouth and strip the lacquer from your armour; a stallion’s drink.

Finishing off the water, Thorn thought of home, his house of crystal in the Beyond. His wife had been a warrior like him, strong and proud. She could drink him under the table, and in fact, that was how they’d met. Both of them had collapsed drunk in the great hall after a fight against one of the lake creatures, and one too many rounds of balta. By the goddess, he’d suffered for that the next day, but still, waking up next to a warm mare had been something to be happy about. That particular one was to be his mate and mother of his son. He missed her…

A yawn from the sleepy duo brought him out of his revelry. The human was stretching and doing what was universal to male both equine and human… scratching. Thorn chuckled.

“Good morning, Rush. Sleep well?”

Rush shrugged. The warmth from Celestia was so inviting and comforting, he didn’t want to move away. The room was still cold despite the fire, and snow lingered here and there that he hadn’t managed to get around to moving. Not that it really mattered, anyway. They’d be leaving soon, so long as Thorn was fit enough.

“Morning, Major.” He yawned. “How do you feel?”

“Not bad, considering I had more holes in me than a colander,” Thorn quipped. “You have quite the talent, lad.”

“Don’t thank me. It was Tia who did most of the healing work. You had quite a fever and had us worried for a while.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “Tia?” He thought for a moment. “Oh… Celestia.” Rush flushed bright red, his reaction making the major chuckle to himself. “Nothing wrong with that, Rush,” he said calmly. “Love comes in all shapes and sizes.”

“I—!”

Celestia stirred, stretching her legs and gave her wing a quick preen. It was still quite sore, despite binding it last night. She glanced across at Thorn and the now bright-red Rush.

“What are you two chattering about?”

Thorn gave his mane a shake. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Princess. Rush was about to help me to my hooves so we can get ready and on our way.”

Celestia shook her head. They must think she was deaf as well as stupid!

Rush moved around to the major’s side, checking his bandages before deciding on the best way to lift him. “Is Rend...”

“Dead?” the major replied calmly. “Yes. I’m afraid I have a confession to make. I borrowed your ‘device’ to help him on his way to the next world.”

“Device? Oh…” Rush nodded to himself. He’d never found out where that thing had come from, but was damned glad he’d never used the thing himself. He glanced up to see Celestia giving him an inscrutable gaze and quickly resumed his work without another word.

The rest of the morning passed quietly, with Rush checking over Thorn’s injuries as well as the princess’ and his own. Rush had to admit, they were a sorry-looking lot, but it could have been a lot worse…. a hell of a lot worse. He felt a pang of guilt for not seeing if Nasta and his family were safe, but there was no way he was going back into the village now. Now, it was time to go, to leave this place and to travel…home.

Celestia and Rush helped Thorn to stand. It wasn’t easy; the large creature was a considerable size despite his bony appearance. Outside, they’d managed to hook up the old sled to some reigns for his armour, which Thorn had insisted on pulling despite Rush’s attempts to change his mind.

The sun was well up in the sky now, the snow already dripping from the trees as it melted. Despite the beautiful morning, being warm was still the order of the day, and Rush had jury-rigged the last of his blankets for them all. Fortunately, they proved quite serviceable despite the faintly musty smell from long storage.

Thorn stood outside the front of the house, looking out at the forest as Celestia walked up beside him. Her voice was calm but held a note of regret. “Major, when we return…”

He shook his head. “I know, Princess, but please, right now let’s consider ourselves to be travelling companions, yes?”

She smiled sadly. “Yes… travelling companions.”

“Where’s the boy?”

“He’s saying goodbye.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow, looking up at the sun. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

“He doesn’t need me there, Thorn. They’re his family.”

“If I were Rush,” the thestral warrior said, stretching out a leg, “I would want you there with me. You know how he feels about you.”

Celestia watched him for a while, unsure what to say. Taking a deep breath, she let out a long sigh and glanced back at the tracks Rush had made in the snow. Without another word, she turned and headed towards the back of the house. She found Rush kneeling before the stone cairns, the last resting place of his wife and daughter. The bamboo trees around the clearing rustled eerily, making her shiver despite the warmth of her blankets. Celestia stood there quietly as Rush carefully brushed away the snow from each of the cairns and placed flowers on them. Clapping his hands together in prayer, he spoke a few words she couldn’t hear. She didn’t want to, anyway. This was his time, his last time with them.

She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer for the souls of the two departed, ones whom Rush had shared a part of his life, and his heart. Celestia heard him approaching and opened her eyes just as he wrapped his arms around her and held her silently.

He stayed there for a while before he spoke, “Tia… I’m sorry, could I just hold you for a while?”

The white mare reached a foreleg around him. “Of course, you don’t need to ask.”

Celestia gave him a nuzzle as he held her. His scent filled her nostrils, the smell of blood, sweat, and dirt combined with an undertone of what he was… a stallion. Celestia smiled sadly. It was a shame to take him away from the physical reminders of his life here, but his memory of them would remain, and as long as he remembered them, they would stay with him forever.

Rush eventually released her, kissing her on the muzzle. “Thank you, Princess.”

“Rush, you don’t need to call me a princess, you know.”

“I know. Sometimes, I just can’t believe you’re here with me. I don’t feel I’m worthy of you…”

Celestia couldn’t blame him for allowing the darker thoughts in. This was the greatest challenge Rush had ever faced. To live here most of his life, alone, after losing his mother, wife, daughter, and later, even his niece; she couldn’t imagine how much pain that would have caused him. And now, he was going to leave it all behind. She sat on her haunches and lifted his chin with her forehooves.

“Maybe I don’t feel I’m worthy of you, Rush. Have you ever thought of that?”

“No… I…”

“No more talking…”

Rush gasped as a pair of soft lips pressed against his, taking his breath away. He moved into her, wrapping his arms around the white mare’s neck as she held him close. Breathlessly, the princess eventually broke the kiss, holding him to her chest as her heart began to race.

“We need to go, Rush.”

He closed his eyes, savouring the feeling of her. “I know…”

Gazing into each other’s eyes, they walked slowly back to the front of the house and the waiting figure of Thorn. He smiled at them, a little too knowingly for Rush’s liking.

“Ready to go?”

Celestia nodded, turning to a gap between the trees and concentrating. Gathering the magic, weaving the intricacies of the spell, it was tricky but not beyond her skills. Remembering home, sensing its magic, she homed in on it, using it like a beacon and beginning to knit the strands of the power together. Slowly, piece by piece, the link began to form. It was a lot harder with having only a limited amount magic than it had been in Equestria, with its naturally strong magical field, but with one final incantation and pulse of energy, the spell was released.

Rush and Thorn stared at the large oval of shimmering silver that hung unsupported in the air a few inches from the ground. The surface rippled like the surface of a pool of mercury. Celestia let out a breath, the strain of unleashing the last of her magic clearly showing on her movements.

She turned to Rush. “Let’s go home…”

He smiled, turning back to Thorn, who was lying in a pool of blood on the snowy ground.

“Oh, how touching…”

Celestia gasped sharply, backing up. Her horn glowed momentarily and then winked out. “You…!”

The dark figure of Rend stood near the downed major, casually discarding the crossbow and hefting his axe. The thestral had discarded most of his armour now, the snow beneath him dark with his own blood, yet the cruel white gleam in his eyes remained as bright as the last time they’d encountered him.

Rush’s hand gripped his sword. “Why?” he snarled. “He was your comrade, your commander, and you shot him in the back!”

Rend laughed. “You think I’ve killed him? Oh no, human, I haven’t killed him. He’s just napping, for now.”

Celestia drew her halberd and strode up beside Rush, dropping into a fighting stance. “We’ll take him together.” She staggered suddenly. “Oh no, Rush, I… I can’t keep the portal open much longer… I’ll...”

Rush saw the princess falter, the strain of using the last of her magic showing clearly on her face and in her movements. He glared at the young thestral. “Let them go, Rend. It’s me you really want. It’s always been me.”

The warrior stared at him. “You? How you flatter yourself, human! It’s the princess I want, or more specifically, her head.”

“What’s wrong, Rend?” Rush asked in a strangely calm voice. “Can’t you admit the truth? I don’t mind, you know; you can have it all, all of it. You know it’s what you want.”

Rend cocked his head on one side. “What are you talking about?”

“This world, Rend.” Rush stared him right in the eyes. “It needs a leader, one who is strong and brave. You can be that leader. You don’t need Celestia; you don’t need the goddess of the moon. All you need to do, to have it all in your hooves, is defeat me.”

Celestia gasped, “Rush, no!”

Rush turned his head to her slightly. “Get Thorn out of here, Tia. Quickly.”

“No!”

“Tia, for the gods’ sakes, get him away from here. I’ll be as quick as I can—just get through the portal and keep it open as long as possible.”

Celestia hurried to Thorn’s side. Grabbing him, she began to haul him to his hooves. “Come on, Thorn, come on!” She glanced back at Rush and snorted, pouring the last of her strength into moving the heavy thestral.

With painful slowness, the major groggily managed to stand, blood from where the bolt had glanced off his skull running into his mane. He seemed unfocused, lost. Probably concussion, Rush surmised, but at least he was alive.

Rend pawed the ground, smoke rising from his muzzle. His anger was now fully focused on Rush. “You foul piece of human scum, you think you have the right to challenge me? I am already the ruler of this dung pile, and all your kind will soon bow before me. But not you… you have the audacity to stand there and lecture me? I will make you grovel at my hooves and plead for your passing to the next world to be swift!”

Rush stood firm, his sword ready. “Thorn was right,” he chided. “You really do talk too much, ‘my lord’.”

With a shriek of rage, the bloodied and ragged form of Rend hurled himself at Rush, his blood spattering the ground as he charged. The force of his attack forced Rush back, the reed cutter quickly sidestepping to avoid the worst of the impact. His sword flashed, taking a slice from the thestral’s shoulder.

In his delirium, Rend didn’t even notice. He raised his axe and swung, time and time again. Sooner or later, the human would tire and then he would have him, then he would have the witch and the traitor too. It was so easy, so simple! His plan had been flawless, even down to using that fool as a walking bomb! He laughed as he fought—the look on the blacksmith’s face when he’d threatened to kill his family had been priceless! He didn’t even know who they were, and yet the human had pleaded with him, begged him not to kill them. These humans, they were so pliable…

Rush’s sword swung time and time again, whether connecting with flesh or steel, none of it seemed to make any appreciable difference in stopping the maniacal creature. At the back of his mind, he could hear Celestia shouting to him to hurry, to be swift. But how could he be? Despite his injuries, Rend was still terrifyingly strong. Horrible realisation dawned as Rush realised he’d made a fundamental error—he’d underestimated his enemy.

With frightening speed, Rend smashed his hooves into Rush’s already injured chest, hurling him to the ground in a sprawling heap. Howling in triumph, he stamped down on Rush’s sword arm, grinning madly as he felt the bone snap beneath his hoof. Rush screamed in pain, echoing the princess’ own cry of anguish from the other side of the portal. She was doing all she could to keep it open. He had to do something to try and kill this monster and reach her. He had to…

And then he saw it.

Hanging beneath the monster’s neck was the box, the intricately, beautifully carved box hanging beside the bottle containing the powder that the thestral used to induce his battle madness. With a speed born of desperation, Rush reached up and snatched the bottle from Rend’s neck. Flicking off the top, he rammed the whole thing into one of the thestral’s nostrils.

Rend jumped back in surprise, but in so doing, inhaled heavily on instinct. The contents of the bottle roared into his system, the empty container falling to the ground as he pawed at his nose, trying to dislodge the powder. It was too late. The haj was like a molten torrent of white-hot rage and agony running through his veins and nervous system.

Rush backed away as the thestral screamed, foam pouring from his nose, blood flowing from his ears and eyes. Pulling himself back to his feet, he reached down and picked up the thestral’s heavy axe, testing the weight with his good arm. The beast was flailing around in absolute torment as Rush advanced on it, hefting the deadly weapon.

“Time for the reign of Lord Rend to come to an end.”

The axe fell.

“Rush! RUSH!”

Celestia’s voice seemed to be coming from a mile away, the silvery glow of the portal shrinking fast. He made to run but stopped and looked behind him… the box!

“Rush! What are you doing? Come on!”

He ran back and snatched the box from Rend’s steaming corpse and sprinted for the portal. The glow was beginning to fade away, his passage home shrinking faster and faster as he ran.

“RUSH!”

Celestia’s panicked voice was farther away than ever now, the portal fading away before Rush’s very eyes. In a final desperate move, he leaned back and threw the box as hard as he could towards it, watching the precious object arc through the air and vanish into the last remnants of the silvery light.

*********************

“Rush?”

Celestia stood in the darkness of the forest, dappled sunlight playing through the thick canopy overhead.

“Rush…?”

Thorn hung his head and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see this. No matter who she was, be she the enemy of his people or of his goddess… to see the pain on such a beautiful creature’s face was too hard to bear.

The princess reached out a hoof to the place where, only moments earlier, the portal had stood. The shimmering silver light was gone, the sheer absence of it sending a chill through her heart. Where was he? He was right behind them, and then… then that monstrous thing had attacked them, and he said he’d be following them through, so where was he?

She trotted around in a circle, staring out into the trees. “Rush? RUSH! Where are you?”

Thorn couldn’t take any more. He shakily rose to his hooves, gritting his teeth against the pain in his legs, and spoke as softly as he could. “Princess, please… he’s not—”

“HE IS!” she shouted, rounding on him suddenly. Thorn backed away quickly as Celestia’s eyes bore into him, the piercing light of magic searing through them. “He’s here! He must be… you saw him!” The princess stomped her hoof, the warm familiar tingle of the Equestrian magic field quickly beginning to fill her.

Thorn watched in amazement as Celestia’s dull pink mane and tail began to shine and take on a life of their own, filling with colours as varied and vibrant as a rainbow. The princess was visibly shaking now, her horn glowing as she tried again and again to re-open the portal.

“Why? Why can’t I open it? Why won’t it work?!”

“Celestia, I…”

The princess spun round, the halberd held in her hooves as a wind suddenly sprang up around them. Thorn’s eyes went wide as the white mare, the serene and noble princess of the sun, transformed into a creature that struck his heart with a sensation he hadn’t felt in an age: fear.

Golden light flooded the forest, Celestia’s eyes changing from their familiar purple to colourless orbs of burning white light. Her mane, like her anger, pain, and fury, swirled like it was held in a tempest. Pouring out her agony to an unforgiving world, the princess screamed…

Thorn hunkered down as the magical storm of helpless rage and suffering howled, tearing trees from their roots, scattering shattered branches, rocks, soil and the very fabric of the world from around him. Her cries echoed with the emptiness in his own heart, the loss of his mother, his wife, the cruelty and soul-crushing misery of a pointless eternity of existence.

Gradually, the light began to fade and the princess lowered her head, her face soaked with tears. He couldn’t look at her, not now.

Thorn’s ears picked up the echoing sound of approaching hooves. They would upon them in moments, but were they Nightmare Moon’s forces or Celestia’s?

The white coats and golden armour of the ponies were all the answer he needed. “Your Majesty! Thank the gods you’re alive!”

Celestia stared at the pony, her face suddenly an unreadable emotionless mask. The newcomers stared around them at the devastation in shock, before one of them spotted the injured and ragged form of the major.

“Thestral! Kill it, quickly!” One of the ponies raised a crossbow, yelling in surprise as it was yanked away from them in a sudden golden glow of magic.

The princess turned to face them. “No. Leave him.”

“But, your Majesty, he’s—”

“I said LEAVE HIM!” Her voice boomed through the wreckage of the forest as her anger flared once more, making the ponies back away and bow. She shook her long mane and faced Thorn. “This… This is your fault. Your kind, your ‘goddess’, all of it.” The princess advanced on him. “If you hadn’t chased me down like baying hounds, if that beast hadn’t attacked us…”

A tear rolled down her cheek, dropping onto the ravaged ground. “Why, Thorn, can you tell me why? Why do I feel like this, this pain? Haven’t your people taken enough from me already?” Her eyes closed tight as her voice shook. “Where is he, Thorn? WHERE’S RUSH?”

He didn’t reply. It wouldn’t do any good—she was lost in her own world of heartache and sorrow, for which there was nothing anypony could do to ease her suffering.

Celestia briefly glanced back at her ponies, before turning her attention back to him. Her timeless purple eyes stared down at him, every part the ruler of Equestria, the goddess of the sun, the nemesis of Nightmare Moon.

“Go back to your people, Storm Major, and tell them this. Nightmare Moon, your ‘goddess’, need not send anypony else to look for me. I will come looking for her.” The princess’s voice lowered menacingly. “She wants war? I will bring her such a war that will make the very heavens scream for mercy. And for those who oppose me…”

She leaned down and stared him right in the eyes. “I will show none…”

Thorn closed his eyes, listening for the rumble of hooves to fade away, replaced by the quiet sounds of the forest and the heavy beating of his heart. Slowly, he tested his legs and shook himself off. So, this is how it would end, was it? War… complete and total destruction of one side or the other. He could see it, smell it in the air. He had seen it in her eyes; the pain she’d suffered from the loss of the one she loved had tainted her heart, colouring her once proud and calm demeanour. Nothing would stop her now, and the goddess help them when the wrath of the sun was brought to bear upon them. He knew deep inside that the end was coming, and soon.

Taking a deep breath, the major lifted the rope for the sled in his mouth and began pulling it through the fallen debris. It obviously wasn’t meant for this sort of terrain and dragged heavily, but if nothing else, he wanted to get as far away from that place as possible. All he could hope for now was that the princess’ heart would recover before she drowned the land in the blood of her enemies.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Forty - Hope's Flame

CHAPTER FORTY

HOPE'S FLAME

Celestia sat in the castle’s throne room, the vacant seat beside her emblazoned with the crescent moon of her errant sister. The torches flickered on the walls, sending long, dancing shadows across the floor and walls. The way the light played with the eye made it seem like shadowy figures writhed amongst the pillars to some unheard tune from another world.

Her eyes were dry. There were no more tears to shed, and shed them she had. The princess had cried, howled, and raged, sending her castle staff running in terror. No doubt there were some now who thought their ruler had lost her mind to grief, not knowing why she was acting the way she was. Nopony knew, and it would remain that way. It was for the best. What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. It didn’t mean, however, that she had given up hope.

Each night, or whenever she could find time away from her duties, she would go to the hidden libraries, the secret places within the castle, and read the dusty old tomes in the hope of finding a way to recreate that spell. Her sorcerers had told her emphatically that without specific notes or the particular ‘chords’ of the incantation, there was no telling where, or even when, the portal could take her. In short, it was nigh-on impossible to recreate the spell to return to the human world and Rush. The gateway portal that Willow had used in the castle had also proved to be a forlorn hope; its magic had somehow become scrambled and unusable. Why this was, she had no idea, but she had tried… gods, how she had tried.

At first she’d raged, screaming at her court sorcerers for their incompetence, their pessimism and failure, when really, it was herself that was at fault. She was the one who had cast the spell; she was the one who hadn’t been able to keep portal open. Her magic had returned shortly after arriving in Equestria, but it was too late, far, far too late. Now she didn’t know if Rush was alive or… dead. Celestia shook her mane angrily. No! She couldn’t think like that; she would find a way. Somehow, someday, she would. Right now, though, the armoured pony walking toward her required her attention.

He was a large unicorn stallion, grey-coated with silver inlaid golden armour and piercing yellow eyes. He bowed. “Your Majesty.”

Celestia bobbed her head in reply. “General Dray, report.”

“Your Majesty, our forces have been pulled back as you have requested, and orders given to the divisional commanders. We will be ready tomorrow morning to begin the operation.”

“Good. And our special units?”

The general smiled knowingly. “They went into action this morning, your Majesty.”

She didn’t return the smile. What they were doing, and how they were doing it, wasn’t the Equestrian way. It was ‘their’ way: victory at any cost, no matter how terrible. Attacking the homes, the camps, the food supplies; hit and run tactics to confuse and divert the enemy whilst she prepared to entice the bulk of their army to a place of her choosing. She had learned well from the thestral Rend; learned and adapted. Soon, they would see the folly of attacking her home. Celestia lifted the small key that hung from its fine gold chain around her neck. The box that had once held it was safe on a shelf in her bedchamber, valueless to anypony but her. She closed her eyes, remembering the look in his eyes as he had offered her the gift, the innocent box Rush had found at the market and given to her, not realising its significance and power.

Rush. He had given her the box for no other reason than his desire to see her smile, to express his feelings for her. And now, now she would use that gift to bring down her enemies and smite their ruin upon the fields of Equestria. It would be brutal, harsh, and merciless, but Equestria would have its peace back, and it would be a peace for everypony. A peace for Rush, for when she brought him safely home.

The general stood quietly, waiting for the princess to continue. He was used to that faraway gaze now. It had been there ever since she’d returned from wherever it was she had been. She had changed. No longer the overconfident and headstrong ruler he remembered, now Celestia was more calculating, driven, with a hard streak that would take the fight to the very heart of their enemies. Right now, she looked like what she was: their leader, their ruler, the one they could all trust with their lives. She could and would win this.

Celestia took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before casting her purple-eyed gaze back to the general. “And what of my other request, General?”

He bowed. Goddess, he’d been dreading this moment. He steeled himself and continued. “It was as I feared, your Majesty. Captain Silver Spark lost his life in the defence of Equestria at the Battle of the River Valley. I was able to find several eye-witnesses who confirmed his bravery and skill that day. They stated that he’d managed to fight off several minotaurs single-hoofed, allowing many of our warriors to retreat.”

The princess nodded solemnly. She already knew, of course. She just wanted to hear it from somepony else, one who knew him or had known him.

“What was he like, General, as a pony. Tell me honestly.”

The general nodded, letting out a breath. “He wasn’t well liked, your Majesty. A quiet, brooding sort of stallion who many thought was too dark to be a leader of ponies.”

“What did you think?” she asked quietly.

“I would have trusted him with my life,” Dray replied with conviction. “He was a good soldier, honest and true in every sense. That’s why we couldn’t understand why he let that thief escape after we had her cornered. It made no sense to throw his career away like that, for what?” He shook his head. “I wish I knew why.”

Celestia gave a small smile that never reached her eyes. “For love, General, that’s why. The mare he loved, the one who bore his child, was the thief.”

“My goddess…”

The princess shook her mane, the rainbow of colour rippling behind her like a waterfall of pastel colours. “He was demoted, stripped of his rank, and sent to work with the new recruits. Eventually, he volunteered to lead them in the Battle at River Valley. You know the rest.” Celestia turned to look out the window. “Thank you for indulging my curiosity, General Dray.”

The general bowed. “Your Majesty, if I may…?”

“Yes?”

“Silver Spark’s personal effects were never cleared out. With the war, his chest was left as it had been, and I was able to have a look through it.” He sighed. “He had no next of kin, but… he left this. I don’t know if it may be of interest to you?”

His horn glowed purple as he magicked open his pannier and floated out a small object. Celestia gestured the general forward, and moments later, the object was carefully placed in her outstretched hoof. The princess stared down at the locket, gently opening it with her magic. Inside, the image of a chocolate-brown mare with a white mane and violet eyes smiled back at her.

“Willow…”

The general’s brows drew down. “Your Majesty?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing, General, nothing at all. Would you mind…? I’d like to be alone now.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

The veteran warrior bowed, taking several steps backwards before turning and leaving the hall. Celestia waited until the doors closed before lifting the locket and wiping away a stray tear.

“Willow…” she murmured. “I’m so sorry. I tried to help him, to save your son, but… I failed.” Her body began to shake as the tears began. Despite her promises to herself, regardless of how much she knew she had to be the strength and drive behind her people to save them from the eternal night, her heart hurt so.

“Tia…”

Celestia closed her eyes and faced away from the bearer of that majestic voice. She didn’t want to see her now. She didn’t want to speak to her…

“Tia, look at me. Don’t hide your face, my daughter.”

The calm, steady voice of her mother had always been reassuring when she’d been a foal, yet now she didn’t want anypony to see her grief. Why was she here anyway? Had she come to lecture her?

Celestia wiped her eyes on her foreleg and faced the golden-coated mare. “Come to admonish me, Mother? To tell me how foolish I have been?”

The golden mare shook her head sadly, the blue-grey constellations in her mane and tail flowing with the eternal magical flow of the universe. “No, Celestia. We spoke of this long ago, of the pain and emptiness that follows when you lose one you love.”

Celestia closed her eyes and choked back a sob. “What do you want, Mother?”

The goddess smiled, walking over to Celestia and looking into her eyes with her piercing silver gaze. “I want to help my beloved daughter, that is all. You will allow me to, won’t you?”

“Help me?”

“To find this lost pony. Rush, I believe he is called, yes?”

“Mother…” Celestia’s heart leaped into her mouth. Could it be true? Her mother and father, so notoriously distant from the affairs of mortals, had left their daughters to their own devices and had kept decidedly quiet on all matters, even the war. Yet now, the goddess herself, her own mother, stood before her.

“Celestia, your father does not know I am here. There is little I can do directly without going against him, but I can still offer ‘advice’.”

The princess’ ears perked up, her heart thundering. “Yes?”

The goddess smiled sadly. “Do you have something he touched? Clothing, hair, anything?”

Celestia searched her memory. Rush's makeshift cloak had been lost in the forest when her emotions had raged out of control, but…

“The box!” she exclaimed excitedly. “The wooden box the key was in. It’s in my bedchamber; I can—”

“No, not yet.” The goddess held up a hoof. “Listen, you need to seek out a unicorn mage by the name of Starswirl the Bearded. He has been tinkering with ancient and forbidden magics for some time now, something that your father and the Eternal Herd are furious about. However,” she smiled, her eyes twinkling, “he knows a great deal about portals. When you find him, show him the box and tell him that it was held by Rush. He will know what to do.”

Celestia shook her mane, her mind a sudden turmoil of thoughts and emotions. “Mother, I know you are skilled in prophecy and portents. Can you tell me where and when I will meet this mage? Please, I know you well enough to know that you already know…”

The goddess gently placed a hoof of Celestia’s mouth. “You know I can’t do that, my darling daughter. There are rules that even I cannot break, and I have done more than I should have already. You know that I would do everything within my power to heal the pain in your heart if I could.” She planted a kiss on Celestia’s nose. “You know I would. We love you very much, Tia, you and Luna both.”

Celestia hung her head. “I know…”

“Farewell, my daughter, and remember what I told you.”

The princess looked up to where the goddess had been standing mere seconds ago. Now, only the emptiness of the hall remained, her mother already back with the Eternal Herd and her temperamental father. It was so typical of her mother, offering a tantalising piece of hope, only to find it wasn’t quite what you expected it to be. Riddles and conundrums she didn’t need. What she did need was to find this mage, find Rush, and then all would be well in her world regardless of Luna, thestrals, and who knew what else.

With a simple spell, the princess amplified her voice. “Guards!”

The doors opened, and an armoured pony stepped into room, snapping smartly to attention. “Your Majesty.”

“Find the royal courier and our head of intelligence. Send them to me. I have a task for them of the utmost importance.”

He clicked his hooves smartly, bowed, and rushed off to act upon her request. Celestia smiled. It was all coming together now, piece by piece, the picture beginning to take shape and reveal its final secrets. She lifted the small key up to her muzzle and kissed it tenderly, her eyes staring off into another world.

“Rush.”

************************

Nasta leaned back and stretched, treating his boisterous family to an expansive yawn. Petal slapped him on the shoulder playfully, sending their girls into fits of laughter. Meal times had always been important in their household, now even more so. They were a special time for Nasta, one of togetherness and thanksgiving for their safety and that of many of their friends in the village.

So many had been lost: Cray, Huro, Jinu, and countless others whose remains were now buried in the hastily constructed burial mounds on the village’s perimeter. The smoke from the funeral pyres had lasted for almost a week, an eerie reminder of that terrible foggy day.

“Dear?”

“Hmmm?”

“You’ve got that look again. You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Nasta nodded, glancing up at Petal. “A little. I just wish, you know… that he could be here with us now.”

Wing snatched up a piece of radish and slurped it down as her sister made a grab for it. “Daddy? Why won’t Uncle Rush have dinner with us?”

Nasta shrugged. “It’s just his way, love, that’s all. He has his own life to lead, and that’s that. You’ll see him again at the next market anyway.”

“We could certainly do with some new matting, and your uncle is the best reed worker in the village.” Petal chuckled, although there was a sad undertone to it that Nasta picked up on, making him ponder her words.

Sera grabbed her sister’s pudding, holding it just out of reach as Wing desperately tried to take it back. “He’s the only reed worker in the village!”

Wing began tickling Sera until she finally relented under the onslaught and was able to retrieve the sweet treat. “He doesn’t live in the village, silly. He lives in the hills with all those funny trees.”

Sera pulled a face. “Uh! Who’d want to live in that creepy place? It would be so lonely and quiet. I’d hate it!”

“At least he’d have some peace and quiet away from noisy little monsters like you two!” Nasta quipped, a broad grin on his face.

“Hey!”

Petal laughed, taking a dainty portion of her own meal before speaking in a conspiratorially low tone to her husband, “She’s got a point, though, love. It’s been so long. Why not go and invite him down here for dinner one evening? It can’t be good for him being up there all alone all the time.”

He sighed. “You know what he’s like, Petal. Rush won’t come. He’s stubborn like that.”

“It isn’t healthy to live with nothing but memories, dear. Please, at least try? For me?” She reached across and gave his knee a squeeze.

Nasta relented. “Alright, if it means that much to you. I’ll go up in the morning.”

Petal nodded, smiling. Nasta was a good man, if a little scatter-brained at times. Still, she thanked the gods that their family had been saved the horrors of that day in the depths of winter. Now, much of what had happened had either been quickly and conveniently forgotten by the villagers, or embellished to the point where many simply laughed the stories off as superstition. She remembered all too well the screaming, the fear pervading the families taking shelter in the mill when Saru’s men had attacked. The evidence of that dreadful day was buried not that far away, but the village had its way of coping with tragedy, and one of those was to forget it ever happened. She shook her head and sighed inwardly. In truth, she suspected that her husband’s reluctance to travel up to the wooden house was more down to his memories of what had happened the night the young ones were killed than anything since. He’d always been such a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow, but whether he showed any physical signs of it or not, the emotional scars were still there. She knew; she could see it in his body language and his eyes. Regardless, he was still the man she’d married all those years ago, and she loved him.

Nasta let out a sudden squeak as Petal hugged him. “Petal? Wha—?”
She looked up and tapped him on the nose. “Oh shush. Do I need a reason to hug my husband?”

“No…” he said softly, embracing her and kissing the top of her head. “No reason at all.”

*******************

The winter was dying away, and new growth was already beginning to sprout through the still lingering patches of white. Spring would be here soon, and the end of winter festival. Nasta trudged through the muddy ground that was beginning to steam in the warm sunshine. In the distance, the river roared, the snow melt having helped to swell it well past its usual size.

The wooden house sat quietly on its own, with only the workshop to keep it company. A small trickle of wood smoke lazily rose from the top of the roof, dissipating into the cold morning air. Nasta took a deep breath. He hated coming up here. It wasn’t because of Rush, of course. It was just… memories. He knocked on the door.

“Rush? Are you in? It’s Nasta.” Only silence greeted him. Carefully, he pushed open the door and peered inside. “Rush? You there?”

His voice echoed slightly in the empty interior. The small fire burning away was evidence that someone was around, or at least had been very recently. He checked the workshop, but that was also empty except for a fresh batch of reeds awaiting the next stage of the workers craft. So, he’d been out already then, but where was he? Realisation dawned on Nasta. He’d be there with them, wouldn’t he? Pulling his belt tighter, he headed around to the back of the house.

Rush was kneeling in the snow before the stone cairns, his hands pressed together in prayer. Nasta stood and watched him for a moment as his step-brother knelt there, unmoving. It was strange seeing Rush like this; he was normally so practical and serious, perhaps even a little dour. To see him like this, with such a sad look upon his face, he looked ‘lost’ somehow. He shook his head… No… Rush was just like him—it was the world that had changed. It had changed and left Rush behind, trapped in the fog.

He waited until Rush stood, wiping the damp snow and mud from his knees and turning to face him. By the gods, he looked so old! How long had it been now? Weeks? Months? The look in Rush’s eyes, the lines around his face, the haggard look of his body… it was like he’d been here for years, if not decades.

Rush stared at Nasta, his face devoid of emotion. “Hello, Nasta.”

“Rush, how have you been keeping?”

The reed cutter snorted. “As well as expected.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, it’s alright. They won’t mind.” His eyes stared off into the distance. “It’s been so many years now, I can’t even remember their faces anymore.” He began to walk towards the house. “Come on, let’s get a hot drink. You look frozen.”

Nasta motioned towards the third cairn, the earth beneath it considerably larger than the rest. “Rush? That…”

Rush stretched his back, rubbing his arms to get some warmth back in them. “He deserved a burial, Nasta. I cannot forgive what he did, or forget, but he didn’t deserve to be left for the forest beasts to tear apart.”

Nasta’s eyes bulged. “Didn’t deserve it? After what that thing did?”

Rush shrugged. “It’s dead, Nasta. Whatever else you want to say about what it did or what I did, you can’t change that fact.”

Inside, Rush topped up the kettle and put it back on the heat. Nasta looked around at the interior of the wooden house, his gaze falling upon the large blue blanket hanging from the rafters. The beautifully embroidered golden images were a strange contrast to the darkness of the room.

“That was hers, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“It is hers,” Rush replied quietly. “It’s here for when she comes back to collect it.”

“Rush…”

He looked up at him from under his brows. “She’s coming back, Nasta. I know it in my heart and my soul. One day, the princess will return, and I’ll be here to welcome her.”

“Rush, you can’t stay up here forever on your own, dreaming of shadows and—”

“Did you come up here to lecture me?” Rush glowered at his stepbrother.

“No, Rush, I came to—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Nasta! I just want to live here in peace, and if that means that I spend the rest of my life ‘dreaming of shadows’, as you put it, then I damned well will!”

“The village is always there if you need it, and we have room for—” Once again, Nasta was cut off, this time by Rush’s snort of disbelief.

“The village?!” Rush shouted in indignation. “What did those scum do for me, for her? They threw us in cells like common criminals and were more than happy to abandon us to that animal, Saru, when he came calling.”

“It wasn’t like that, Rush, and you know it.”

“Oh, I know it alright! He would have killed me without batting an eyelid, but what he would have done to the princess would have been unimaginable! Those vermin, those stinking humans, they’re all the same!”

“Humans are not all the same, Rush, and you’re one of them too, aren’t you? For the gods’ sake, man!”

Rush rubbed his face with his hand and shook his head, turning away from his stepbrother. “Nasta… I… I’m sorry.”

Nasta got up, walked over to Rush, and put an arm around him. The man was freezing cold and shivering, though not from the bite of winter, he suspected. Moving Rush’s head gently to his chest, he held him, the tears staining his tunic as Rush’s tears flowed. He’d never seen him like this, not since his wife and daughter had died. It was unsettling. A change had come over Rush, a despondency and sadness that cut deeper than any wound. He looked into the fire as Rush wept.

“I wish I could bring her back for you.”

Rush’s voice was a bare whisper, “I know…”

“You loved her, didn’t you…?”

Rush said nothing, huddling up into a ball of grief that Nasta couldn’t even begin to understand. Gradually, the shaking subsided and he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. His voice was an echo of his heart, full of pain, emptiness, and loss.

“I don’t belong here, Nasta,” he said quietly. “I never did.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Forty One - Home

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

HOME

The moon truly was beautiful, hanging in the night sky far above, its pale glow bathing the land below with an otherworldly luminescence. Celestia rested her head on her forelegs and gazed out at the rooftops, lost in thought. In some ways, it was incredible just how few of her people actually understood how much it wore her to raise such a majestic orb each night, to paint the sky with stars, and in mere hours, replace it all once again with the warmth of the sun ready for a new day.

This had been Luna’s task, one which she now alone had to perform. Her mind wandered back to the terrible battle that had left her completely alone in this land she called home. The Elements of Harmony had, as she had known all along, tipped the scales in her favour, casting out the bitter cruelty of Nightmare Moon. Victory over her sister’s forces had come at a terrible cost, however, both to her people and the land. In her heart, what she had feared most had also come to pass.

In her grief, in her emptiness and pain, Celestia had turned her full fury, all her magic, onto not only Nightmare Moon’s forces, but on her sister, casting her into exile for the next thousand years. Her heartrending sadness at what she had done had threatened to drown her in its cold embrace. Nopony could know what had happened there; nopony needed to know. It was a burden only she could bear now. She closed her eyes. What a dreadful weight it was, to know that she had sent away the only pony who could truly understand the crushing responsibility of leadership, the only one she could have talked to about how lonely it was to be that which she was.

Ponies worshipped her, adored her. For all their praise and love, they could never see her as anything more than their beloved leader, the pristine white alicorn named Celestia. Her magic glowed around her horn, and a hot cup of tea floated over to her. Taking a sip, she thought back to the tea she’d shared with Rush. It had been so simple, so rustic, and yet so ‘real’ somehow, that everything that had had happened since felt like a dream. When she visited the towns or just walked around the palace, every so often she would see a chocolate-coated stallion and her heart would leap, and she would have to hold herself back from calling out his name.

Celestia sighed. Mother had been right—love only brought pain. She glanced up at the moon, placing the cup back on its saucer. “Goodnight, dearest Luna.”

She gave her mane a shake and looked back at the forest in the distance, far below the palace. Would he be looking up at the same moon, she wondered. Would he even remember her? Humans seemed such fanciful creatures… but then, he wasn’t human, was he? A lost stallion, a lost pony in a world where he was never meant to be.

A knock at the door at this hour? The princess trotted over and opened it to the sleepy-looking maid standing in the corridor.

“Yes, Lilly?”

The orange-coated maid bobbed a curtsy. “Please, your Majesty, pardon my intrusion at this hour, but you asked to be informed when the royal mage had news?”

Celestia’s tiredness disappeared like dew in the morning sun. Could it be? But… she’d been disappointed before. They’d been so close, and yet now something felt different. She hadn’t noticed it before, but… yes, there was a subtle change in the air, in the world around her. Her heart thumped in her chest. This could be the time, couldn’t it?

“Thank you, Lilly. Now, to bed, young lady. You look exhausted.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The door slowly closed.

What was she to do? She had to get ready, but where had she put her crown? Her shoes, she had to—

With a loud crash, the door flew open, the guard outside near-flattened by the image of the princess charging past him full tilt, her rainbow mane quickly disappearing round the corner of the corridor. He sat back on his haunches, re-adjusted his helmet, and smirked at his colleague, who shrugged. Who knew the minds of alicorns?

Starswirl yawned, taking a mouthful of his tea as he leaned back to admire his work. It was done. It had taken years, but finally, he’d finished it. Unpicking and deciphering the thing’s residual magic had been hard enough, but recalibrating it based upon nothing more than the barest of memories on a wooden box had been a feat he’d originally thought impossible. A box, of all things! He smiled to himself in satisfaction and stroked his beard before taking out his pipe. Yes, it had all come together at last. As he lit his pipe, he pondered the destination. Why had the princess been so keen on that place? His familiar had been through the portal and reported nothing more than trees and a small hamlet of sorts. The beings there were evolved simians of some kind, intelligent apparently but bipedal, and that sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t trust two-legged things. It always struck him as shockingly strange to think that they could somehow balance on two legs… two! Birds, he could understand, but anything bigger… Starswirl took a draw on his pipe. They probably used their upper limbs as weird pendulums, swinging them back and forth to keep—

A loud hammering at the door was accompanied by a guard jumping aside as the image of the Princess of the Sun appeared before him. She was… naked?! Well, not really—all ponies had fur—but… no crown, no shoes, no gorget? He’d never seen her like this! He sputtered and coughed on his pipe smoke as she approached.

“Master Starswirl, is… is this it? Have you…?”

The grey unicorn mopped his brow with a handkerchief, wafting away the tobacco smoke. “Yes, your Majesty.” He let out a loud cough. “Pardon me, I didn’t expect you to appear so soon.”

“Not soon enough, Master Starswirl. It has been too long already.”

The mage bowed. “Forgive me, Princess, I—”

Catching herself, the princess laid a hoof on his shoulder. “No, Starswirl, I didn’t mean you. You’ve done far more for me than you could ever know.”

He stared at her, adjusting his cloak. “Yes… well, I’m pleased to say, your Majesty, that the gate has been established, checked, and is ready for use.”

She stared at the silvery rippling surface of the portal. The thing had been off-limits since the theft of the box containing the key to the Elements of Harmony, and now, after all these years, here it was.

“As you requested, I’ve realigned the transformational matrix to allow anypony from this world to appear in their natural form on the other side. Anypony coming back through, however, will appear as, well, one of us.” He scratched his beard. “Somehow, when it was last used, the coordinates of the magical confluxation were scrambled, leading to a misalignment in the—”

Celestia held up a hoof. “Yes, Starswirl, thank you. You’ve done remarkably well... quite remarkably well.”

He looked up at her expression, the determination and single-minded look that shone in her eyes. Starswirl cleared his throat. “Princess, there is something you should know.”

She looked around at him, a faint flash of irritation and concern on her face. “Yes?”

“Erm, one of the reasons I was able to find the destination and reset it is that there is something there that is… I don’t know how to explain this, really.” He fidgeted with his beard. “There’s something, or someone there, who’s from this world, from Equestria.”

The princess smiled at him. “I know.” She reached across and kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you, my dear mage, from the bottom of my heart… thank you.”

“Why… I… oh!” Starswirl choked, turning bright red.

Celestia smiled, shook her mane, and did something she hadn’t done in an age: she neighed. It felt good, the world felt good… it was time! Rearing up, she charged into the silver light.

************************

The clatter of cart wheels, animal noises, and the chatter of people, the roaring hubbub of a town in full swing on market day. The air was filled with almost impenetrable sound. Winter was gradually relinquishing its grip on the land, yet despite the cold of the day, the market felt stiflingly hot. With the reopening of the hill road and Lord Ire’s promotion of the village’s products, people from the towns and even cities had come here to trade.

Rush was pushed and shoved from side to side, aggravating the old injuries that plagued him. Winter was the worst of times for him on many levels: the cold made his bones ache, and his scars pulled painfully. He used his stick to whack a large man out of the way, the other male glowering at him menacingly but still giving way to the older man. Age had to be good for something, he thought to himself bitterly. It sure as hell hadn’t been worth anything useful.

Rush elbowed his way to the small cart that most people appeared to be ignoring. Its peculiar array of trinkets and knickknacks looked more of a tourist magnet than something you’d actually expect to see in a remote village like this one. However, this was no ordinary trader—this one sold ‘specialities’, and Rush could almost smell it now. The tall man in the cloak nodded to him, his face hidden by the cowl.

“Greetings, Lord Rush, how fares you this fine day?”

The gruff older man huffed. “Not as well as you, it seems.” He stared up at the dark depths of the cloaked figure’s hood. “You never age, do you? Not as long as I’ve known you.”

The trader laughed. “We all age, my friend. Even I do.”

Rush gave him what he hoped was a rather sardonic grin. “I’m sure you do, under that bloody cloak all the time. Some sun would do you good, you know.”

“Really?” the figure replied levelly. “I have something that would do you some good as well.”

“You have it?” Rush asked expectantly.

The trader nodded, reaching down underneath the cart and extracting a waxed earthenware jar. With a flick of his wrist, the man removed the seal and opened the lid, passing it to Rush, who inhaled the contents deeply. The aroma was intoxicating, fresh, alive, and wonderfully earthy.

“Blackwort.”

“Indeed.”

“How much?”

“Oh, I think something can be arranged…”

Rush glared at the man. “Don’t play games with me, man. How much?”

The trader clucked his tongue. “Five bundles of reeds should suffice.”

“Four.”

“What?! For such a hard to find item of such flavour and rarity? You ask too much, Master Rush.”

“Four!”

The trader waved his arms in the air in exaggeration, before relenting. “Very well. You’ll make a pauper of me yet!”

Rush harrumphed. “I doubt that, somehow.”

“Oh?”

Rush pushed forward, leaning toward the cloaked man. “You must think I was born yesterday.” He stared up at the figure and smiled knowingly. “I’m nopony’s foal, my friend.”

Staggered, the figure took a step back. Rush could feel his stare boring into him as he chuckled. “I should thank you, really, shouldn’t I? For helping Willow and me.”

The trader cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rush laughed. “Oh, don’t you?! Well, never mind. It’s all in the past now anyway.” He dumped the bundled reeds next to the cart and quickly deposited the jar of tea into his satchel. Leaning on his stick, Rush raised an eyebrow. “You were right about one thing, ‘trader’. The box really does find its way back to its owner. I can only hope they knew what to do with it.”

The trader said nothing. Rush watched him for a moment and then huffed, walking away back into the crowd. A voice behind him called out, “See you next market, son of Willow.”

Rush raised his hand and gave him a wave. “Maybe…” he muttered to himself. “Maybe.”

The climb back to the house had nearly finished him this time. Gods damn it, his bones ached, his chest hurt, and now he was starting to feel dizzy just to add to the cacophony of ailments that made his everyday life that little bit more ‘interesting’. Rush collapsed into his large chair by the fire, one of the more essential items he’d constructed to help him as the years had passed by.

Recovering his breath, he reached down to put the kettle on the fire and tipped forward, crashing onto the floor in a heap. Gasping, he tried to right himself, yanking the corner of his cloak out of the banked coals. Pushing himself back upright, he angrily poked the fire with his stick and began to coax the flames to catch on the fresh dry sticks. He hated this, the weakness, the tiredness—it was so bloody endless, and each day it seemed that little bit worse than the last. Mostly, all he wanted to do these days was sleep, yet he had to keep going, he had to see this winter to its end. Gods willing, he’d see another, but something within him expressed its doubts.

He checked the lid on the kettle and placed the precious jar of tea next to his two favourite cups. He smiled; there were always two. Rush’s eyes fell upon the most precious item he possessed in this world. Hanging from the rafters, carefully cleaned and maintained, the embroidered blue blanket had never aged, nor ever faded. He rose shakily to his feet and shuffled over to it, gently lifting a corner in his rough hands and held it to his face. It still smelled of her, of the beautiful mare who had brought such joy into his life.

Rush sighed, sitting back down by the fire and placing a few spoonfuls of tea into the pot. He stared out of the window at the snow dripping from the trees. For some, the world had moved on. For him, his world had ended that day in winter, the day he saw the one he loved vanish from life forever. He snorted, berating himself for such melancholy thoughts.

“She’ll come…” he murmured, pouring the water into the teapot. “She’ll come.”

The sun sank below the horizon, the forest falling into absolute silence as he lay on his bed, watching the fire die down. His eyesight wasn’t quite what it had been. He sniffed. Just like the rest of him! Bloody hell, it was cold as well. Grumbling, he looked round to the door… it was wide open. Hadn’t he just shut and locked the bloody thing? His bones groaned in protest as he hauled himself to his feet and slammed the door shut, pushing the lock home.

“Bloody damned thing…” he muttered, turning back to his bed.

A faint clink of china made his freeze in his tracks. “Exquisite…”

Rush began to turn, his body horribly reluctant, his heart racing in his chest fit to burst. His eyes went wide in shock, surely…?

“Tia?”

The white mare sipping the tea placed the cup back down and fixed him with her timeless purple gaze. “Hello, Rush.”

With a flurry, the princess was on her hooves, walking over to him. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. After all these years, she was here…

Celestia slowly leaned forward and nuzzled him tentatively, running her muzzle gently over his cheek. Rush reached up and touched her fur, recoiling in surprise.

“I… I’m dreaming this, aren’t I? Gods damn it, I’ve finally lost it.”

The princess shook her head, bringing him into her warm embrace. “No, Rush, you’re not dreaming, unless I am as well.”

Rush reached his arms around her neck and held her, the sting of tears welling in his eyes echoing those that were already soaking into his tunic from his beloved mare. She kissed him tenderly on the forehead and moaned softly into his hair.

“Oh, Rush, I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Rush hid his face in the gloriously warm white coat. “I always knew you’d come back, Tia… one day.”

She smiled and pushed away gently. “Are you ready?”

He looked at her with the same large brown eyes she remembered from the very first time she’d seen him. “We’re going home?”

Celestia nodded.

“Oh gods!” he gasped, collapsing to his knees. “Tia…”

She leaned down and nuzzled him, her voice kind and reassuring. “Come on now, do what you need to do and let’s go. Time waits for nopony, my Rush.”

His heart racing, Rush collected the few things he could think of that were of any significance to him: his reed knife, the cups, tea, and…

“Tia?”

“Hmmm?”

He reached out and spread the blue blanket carefully across her back. “This is yours.”

Celestia’s eyes went wide. “You kept it? All these years? I thought it had been lost!”

Rush smiled. “Our old friend Rend had it, I’m afraid. I just asked for it back. Nicely of course.”

She shook her head, treating him to a wink and a smile. “Ready?”

“All set.”

Celestia trotted out into the night, the silver light of the portal casting its shimmering luminescence over the clearing. Rush walked out of his house in a daze. Was this real? Was he dreaming? He shrugged to himself. If it was a dream, it was one he didn’t want to wake up from. Turning around to lock the door, he paused.

“I suppose it’s a bit pointless now,” he muttered to himself and left the key in the lock. Hefting his small pack of possessions, he followed Celestia to the portal, gazing into those beautiful purple eyes.

The princess smiled. “It’s not very far now, Rush. It’s just a hop, skip, and a jump.”

“Tia!”

With a flash of silver light, the echoes of laughter rang out across the hills, leaving only the whispering leaves of the bamboo as witness to the alicorn and her stallion leaving for home.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Rush snorted the grass from his nose and flailed his hooves in the air. This was more like it! It was a beautiful spring morning; the grass was deliciously lush this time of year, with the apple blossoms blooming on the trees in the woods and the river sparkling below him at the foot of the hill like liquid diamond.

Nearby, foals were playing tag, their parents lounging on picnic rugs, enjoying the freshness of the clear morning. He reached back and scratched his mane. Rolling wasn’t really done in ‘proper’ society, but who the hell cared? Rush was too old to be bothered by what other people, or rather, other ponies thought of him. For the first time in years, he was happy, the wind playing through his mane, tickling his ears and making him chuckle.

Rush looked up as Celestia lay down beside him and reached a foreleg across his shoulder. “Do you like it?”

He smiled. “It’s beautiful, Tia. Every sunrise you make surpasses the last.”

“Pfff! They’re all the same, you smoothie!”

Rush chuckled. “Not when I’m with you.”

She leaned down and kissed him tenderly. His chocolate-brown coat and cream mane he had inherited from Willow made him stand out from the crowd, but it was his eyes that caught at her heart. They were his father’s eyes, so piercingly blue. Celestia felt like she could melt every time she looked into them. His cutie mark had been a surprise as well, more to him than to her: three river reeds.

Rush snuggled into her, feeling her warmth against his coat and sighed. “Tia?”

“Hmmm?”

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“Yes, Rush,” she said teasingly, tousling his mane with her hoof. “Many times!”

Rush grinned like a foal. Closing his eyes, he felt himself beginning to drift off into the land of sleep as a pair of warm lips brushed his ear softly.

“And I love you too, my little one.”

THE END

Author's Note

The story continues in 'Ice Fall'.

Edited by JBL

Chapter One - The Reed Worker

WHEN THE SNOW MELTS

CHAPTER ONE

THE REED WORKER

Rain water dripped incessantly through the gaps in the roof, a staccato note to the heavy drum beat of the deluge outside. The modest wooden house, not much more than a hut, was in darkness, save for the light of the small fire merrily burning in the centre of the living room.

The house had been shuttered against the worst of the weather, yet with its ally, the howling easterly wind, it still found its way inside. Every crack, every joint and knot, became a whistling jet of cold air. Once, countless moons ago, Rush had been fastidious in keeping the forest home water tight and snug. After all, who would buy his wares if he couldn’t demonstrate their effectiveness to customers by managing to keep the elements from penetrating his own property?

Rush sat back on his heels, stretched his neck, and indulged in a good scratch. No one came here any longer, not since that day, that awful day so long ago. Now the villagers simply waited for him to set up stall, bought what they needed, and left. He couldn’t complain—they didn’t want to speak to him, and he didn’t want to speak to them either, the self-righteous hypocrites. Still, the rain and wind were a lot worse than usual. Even his bedding area had become damp despite the strategic placing of bowls and pans to collect the intruding water.

Occasionally, Rush wondered if he should bother to go up and repair the roof. It had been that long since it had been done last. The entire thing really needed to be replaced with fresh reed work. While it was a laborious task, he was certainly no stranger to strenuous work. It was just…

He yawned and shrugged to himself. It didn’t matter; nothing did really. One day he would pass from this world and meet his family again, and all would be well as it should have been in this one.

Picking up the bamboo pipe from side of the fireplace, the dark-haired man blew into the burning logs, fanning the flames to help boil the kettle hanging over them. One of the problems of having an open fire in the centre of the home was the problem of smoke. He’d incorporated a type of chimney in the top of the thatch for ventilation once, but that had been quickly abandoned after the first storms had struck, turning the house near inside out.

Rush leaned back and picked up the small wooden box that sat on a low shelf he’d made specifically for it. Opening it, he sniffed happily at the contents. The heady aroma of blackwort tea made him smile in satisfaction. It had been a devil of a job to get his hands on it, especially as the travelling merchant only visited the village once a month on his circuitous route through the region. With little way to mark the passage of days, Rush had had to rely on marks he’d made on the wall or by asking people in the village. He hated that. The villagers treated him like he had some sort of disease, avoiding talking to him or even coming near him. That was unless they needed reeds or reed work doing, of course, in which case they were his best friends.

He hated them. Well, maybe not all of them. Blossom was different, but the rest were nothing but a group of vain, selfish bigots.

The lid on the iron kettle began to rattle in earnest, and Rush quickly removed it from the fire, pouring the boiling water into the small, green-glazed, ceramic teapot. It wouldn’t take long for the water to be infused with the gentle yet pungent smell of the blackwort. He couldn’t understand why so many people didn’t like it. It was, after all, one of the rarest teas in the region. Granted, it was a bit stronger in flavour than most, but it still tasted wonderful on a cold day. A day like today.

Steam trickled from the spout of the teapot, the swirling white vapour standing out clearly in the cold air. The fire hadn’t done much to warm the place today, but Rush had dismissed it as unimportant. He had already decided to go out again after the rain had died down to collect another batch of reeds from the river, for it was ready for preparation and sale at the weekly market. It wouldn’t take long to build the fire up again when he got back. In any case, what harm was there in a little water and a few draughts?

Draining the last of the tea, Rush rinsed his cup and collected his cutting equipment from the work table. The blade was sharp, the keen edge vital for making short work of the reeds on the river bank. He bent to tie his foot and leg wrappings in order to keep the worst of the water out. They’d still leak of course, but there were worse things than getting wet, and there were those that had made their home amongst the reeds which would happily feast upon him given half a chance. Stories abounded in the village of those struck down with strange maladies following bites from the long snake-like creatures that would latch onto the exposed skin of the unwary.

In some ways, Rush was glad they were there. Few ventured into the river because of the stories and that meant more work for him, and more work meant food on the table. With luck, there’d still be enough coin left over for him to keep his stock of tea replenished as well.

The cracked mirror hanging on the wall gave him pause. The image reflected was distinctly unflattering. His unkempt black hair, the scraggly beard, and lined face hardened from years of manual labour did nothing to endear him to the locals. Not that he had any interest in that sort of thing anyway. They had their world; he had his. Rush liked it that way: peace, quiet, and best of all, no company.

It had stopped raining, if only barely. The clouds were a lighter shade of grey than they had been earlier, but still threatened a further downpour at some point. Rush collected his oil cloth cape from its hook beside the door and bundled it onto the frame pack, before hoisting everything up and onto his back. The familiar weight seemed a little heavier than usual, but as always he shrugged it off as something of little importance. He was getting older, time eating away at him as surely as the river dwellers would if they had half a chance. Rush looked down at the leg wrappings. If only he could thwart the onset of age as easily.

Unlike many of the villagers, he had never been blessed with children. Nobody in their right mind would want to be the wife of a reed cutter, no matter how much money he had. He’d found that out a long time ago, but it ceased to bother him as much as it had back then. Certainly, now and again, on the long dark winter nights, loneliness would jab his heart with its insidious cold fingers, but the feeling would pass eventually. A hot cup of tea helped see to that.

The solid wood door closed with a dull thud, Rush not bothering to lock it. Out here, there was no point. Other than his precious tea, there was nothing in the hut a thief would be interested in taking. Any money he had was spent on food, rice, and vegetables for soups and anything else that took his fancy. Occasionally the village would have a few extra treats in he’d indulge in: cakes, thread, and bolts of cloth to make new clothes and so forth. He was quite proud of his sewing skills and had made several sets of work tunics, most of which had been left hanging since the day he made them. He had his favourite, old and patched as it was, but set habits were hard to break.

The walk down to the river took around ten minutes, for it wasn’t far. He’d chosen the site for his home higher on the hillside in case of flooding, which the river did several times a year. If he was lucky, the floods brought fish that would end up stranded and help supplement his mainly vegetable diet. He would often experience a pang of guilt when that happened. Rush felt a deep connection to the bamboo forest he lived in and the other living creatures that inhabited it. He considered himself to be one of them, just another life trying to survive whichever way he could. In his eyes, a fish had a right to life as much as he did. So did the bears that preyed on the fish, he’d noted silently one summer.

Rush kept his mind empty as he worked, careful to take only the reeds that were mature, rotating the areas to ensure a constant supply that would keep him in business all year round. It wasn’t long before he’d cut, trimmed, and tied the latest batch into place, ready for the trip back to the work shed.

Walking slowly back up the track to his home, Rush made out a movement by the side wall of the shed and sighed…

He was back again.

“Rush! How are you today?”

The reed worker unslung his pack and began unloading the reeds. “Fine.”

“Have you considered my offer yet?”

“No.” Rush continued his work, steadfastly avoiding looking at the man.

“Oh, come on now. She’s a fine woman, fit and strong. You’d like her if you took the time to know her. Tell you what, come round tonight and we’ll introduce you!”

Rush pushed past the tall well-dressed trader, laying out the reeds on the table ready for beating. “I’ve already said no. Am I not being clear enough?”

The taller man’s eye twitched, his smile flickering before he continued his overly enthusiastic approach, “Look here, Rush, I promised your mother I’d keep you right and by the gods I will. I have a daughter and—”

“…And the answer is still no. Nasta, I’m quite happy here doing my job and living in peace.”

“In this dung hole? For the god’s sake, look at this place. Look at yourself!”

Rush looked down. The reflection in the puddle wavered but showed enough of the weather-beaten, world-weary man he had become. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin and sighed.

“You see?” Nasta threw his hands in the air in exaggerated exasperation. “You need someone to look after you. Every man needs a woman behind them.”

It was too much. Rush picked up his long reed cutter, the broad blade old but sturdy, and brought it down in a snarling arc. With a loud thunk, the knife embedded itself in the support pillar by Nasta’s ear.

“I do NOT need a woman behind me, ‘good’ or otherwise, and I don’t know why I have to keep explaining this to you time and time again. How many times, Nasta? How many times do I have to repeat myself to you?!”

Rush was nearly shouting now, his eyes narrowed with anger. Nasta swallowed. “Look… Look, Rush, I’m sorry. There’s no need to get so angry. I’m only trying to do what’s best. You know that, don’t you?”

Lowering his head, Rush let out a long breath and pulled out the knife, returning it to the work bench. “I know, Nasta, forgive me. I know you mean well, but you must understand, this is my choice. It’s my life.”

Nasta put a hand on Rush’s shoulder, his voice was heavy with resignation. “This isn’t a life, Rush, not this. Please, will you come and meet her, just once? I promise I won’t ask again after this. Please…for me.”

How the on earth was he going to get out of this one? His late mother’s apprentice would appear once every month or so, try to coerce him into meeting his daughter, and then leave, only to try again a month later. He just never seemed to get the message, despite Rush’s constant refusals. Rush stared down at the reeds on the work table that was waiting to be crushed, dried, and tied. This was what he knew; it was what he understood. Women were like another species to him: strange, alien…intrusive.

He looked around the room. If, by some chance he ended up married to this woman, all this would likely change. Most likely he’d be expected to live in the village with her and her extended family in one of those ridiculously large houses. He shuddered at the thought. Lonely he may be from time to time, but he was free to live his life as he wanted. Nobody told him what he could and could not do.

He sighed in resignation. “Fine. Yes, I’ll meet her.”

Nasta’s eyes lit up. “Wonderful! I’ll tell my wife straight away. Petal will be so thrilled!”

Nasta began rattling off dates, times, and other arrangement details as if Rush was no longer in the room with him. His words flowed over Rush like the rain, but unlike those soaking droplets, he couldn’t simply throw his hood up to keep them out. Still, he didn’t have to actually listen to this, did he? But, damn it all, there was work to do, and Nasta didn’t seem to be getting the hint.

“…and then there are all the invitations. I mustn’t forget to invite the local officials, even if they don’t want to come. You know wha—”

Rush grabbed Nasta’s shoulders with both hands and propelled him from the workshop, a grim smile on his face. “YES! Thank you, Nasta. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do for the market. Let me know when you want me there, and I’ll come along, alright?”

“Wha… Yes! Yes, of course!” Nasta sputtered, propelled backwards and out the doorway.

Rush shot him what he hoped was a meaningful look and turned back to his workshop, before pausing. “Nasta?”

“Yes?”

Rush’s voice was a bare whisper. “Thanks for your concern.”

“I…”

Nasta never had a chance to finish before the large wooden door slammed shut, ending the conversation with a loud bang. Rush picked up his stone mallet and stared at the reeds on the table. Why had he agreed to this? For the gods’ sake, he should have just told Nasta to…

“DAMN IT!”

He brought the mallet down onto the reed with a resounding thud. Adding more, he repeated the process, crushing and working the natural material with far more force than was really necessary, but right now he didn’t care. His world was under threat, his little piece of this godforsaken land of greed and selfishness where he could be himself, be left alone. Now, with the assistance of Nasta, his mother was interfering with his life from beyond the grave.

They had never been a wealthy family, but after his father died, his mother had been wooed by the local business leader, and naturally, after some insincere rebuttals, she’d accepted his hand in marriage. Rush had been the baggage that came along with her, and he’d hated every moment of it. He’d never been that close to his mother, or even his father for that matter. They’d all been like a family of strangers living under one roof, never quite arguing, never quite fighting, never quite having a life. It was a constant state of grey, boring, dull, and cold. Rush looked out of the window and shook his head. It was just like the miserable weather.

He paused in his work, sweat pouring from his brow and chest heaving. It was ruined, all of it. In his anger with Nasta’s constant badgering, he’d crushed the reeds beyond use, and the whole damned day’s work was wasted. The mallet crashed down on the table as Rush picked up his knife and pack once again. He’d just have to work harder to make up for it…

“Females!” he spat, slamming the door shut behind him.

Trudging off along the muddy track to the reed beds, something cold and soft tickled his nose, making him look up to the sky. Large white flakes of fluffy snow, the first of this year, began to drift down around him. Soon, the winter would begin in earnest. Here in the mountains, the weather took on a life of its own, near drowning the land in white each year and bringing with it the bitter winds that made living in the bamboo forest feel a little lonelier than usual. Rush readjusted the pack and set to work, for he had no time for emotional introspection. It served no purpose, and he certainly had no need for examining thoughts and feelings that he’d buried long ago. No, all he needed was to keep working. That and a nice hot cup of tea when he got home would make this whole miserable gods-forsaken day seem like a bad dream.

The bamboo forest had a beauty all of its own, the slim leaves rustling in the gentle wind amid the quiet fall of snow. It was dark when Rush finished the last batch of roofing reeds, stacking them under an oiled tarpaulin ready to take to market. They should fetch a good price, he thought to himself. It was still a blasted shame about the others, but for his temper, he could have had near double the amount. Still, all told, not a bad day’s work.

Outside, the snow was coming down steadily, blanketing the muddy ground with a pristine white layer that stuck to his shoes and wrappings on his way back to the house. He was glad to be finished for the day. It was hard work, but made the rewards all the more satisfying. Back inside, Rush hung up his cape, removed the sodden wrappings and shoes, then set about building up the fire from his stack of dry firewood. Soon, the flames began to build and, with a little encouragement, transformed into a roaring fire that filled his home with warmth. Rush sidled over to a floorboard that he pried with his pocket knife, extracting an oilcloth bag from its depths. Opening it up, he took out the small, carved, wooden box and marvelled at it.

The images and symbols on the sides were strange, yet oddly familiar. When he stared at them for long enough, the alien characters felt like they were dancing just on the edges of his memory and understanding. On one side, carved horses pranced around rolling hills beneath a large sun, its rays bathing all those beneath it in its radiance.

On the opposite side of the box, the same horses slept peacefully beneath a crescent moon in a starry sky. The other two sides were covered in the odd language. At least, he thought it was a language, but none he’d ever seen before. Rush sat for a while, contemplating the odd thing. He hadn’t travelled much, although he’d always dreamt of doing so. As always, life had gotten in the way. There was always something to do, something holding him back. He sighed. Dreams were for dreamers, but regardless of that, it was what was in the box that fascinated and tantalized him.

A small, gold-framed lock thwarted any and all attempts at opening it. Rush had tried everything he could think of, always stopping short of brute force for fear of damaging the beautifully-made item. The travelling trader had sold it to him one day after he’d fallen on the mountain trail heading into market. Thankfully, a couple of the villagers out hunting deer had found him and brought him in. Rush had heard the commotion, and after finding that the local healer, Nasta of all people, had left to visit relatives in a neighbouring village, he’d intervened.

He sat back, the box on his lap and a fresh cup of tea in his hand. The trader had seemed oddly pleased to get rid of the thing, and for little more than the price of a steamed bun too. Rush expected it was more as a ‘thank you’ for helping him with his leg. He certainly hadn’t expected anything for free. Traders wouldn’t be traders for long if they gave things away after all, but still, it was what the man had said that haunted him…

“The box will return to its owner someday. Whoever that is, and when that would be, only it knows.” He had laughed. “It’s sure as hell not telling me!”

Rush had kicked himself for not asking more about it, but the box had been so beautiful that it had seemed to call out to him, resonating on some level with his very soul. In fact, no sooner had he seen the intricately carved object, he’d reached into his money pouch almost instinctively. Even the possibility of leaving it with the trader had never entered his head. The box was his; he had to take it home…

The symbols teased him with their odd language, yet despite enquiring with the local scholar, he’d never been able to discover what it said nor what language it was written in. He traced them with his finger, feeling the texture of the wood, strong and fragrant. Lifting it to his nose, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. In his mind, the world was full of sunshine, the fields green with lush grass, the trees rustling in a playful breeze. He lay on the gentle slope of a hill, above a sparkling river that was so beautiful that it made his heart sing. He could smell the sunshine, the grass, the trees, everything. Beside him, a horse trotted over, her pristine white coat glistening beneath the golden sunlight. She smiled at him, her deep purple eyes catching the light and filling his heart with a sense of happiness and wellbeing he’d never known. Rush tried to stand, but a slim white leg reached down, gently stopping him from rising.

The white horse slowly blinked, her mane a river of rainbow colours flowing out behind her as she spoke softly to him. Rush strained to hear, but couldn’t make out the words. Who was she? How could she talk?

The image popped like a soap bubble, leaving nothing but a warm glow and a sense of loss, of disconnection. He sighed, placing the box back in its hiding spot before rolling onto his side next to the fire. This happened every time he held that damned thing, so why did he do it? It was akin to torturing yourself…nice when it stopped. He had spent many nights wondering about the box, the images playing through his mind about what mysteries lay hidden inside the thing. Rush scratched at his chin, lost in thought. Perhaps he was losing his mind? He’d lived on his own here for so long now that he couldn’t remember when he’d first moved into the derelict building away from the main village. If it was any consolation, if he’d lost his mind, he wouldn’t have to keep putting up with Nasta’s incessant pestering!

Stretching out, Rush set up his bedding roll and snuggled in beside the fire. He’d have a shave in the morning and look at fixing that roof and the gaps in the walls. It was still snowing out there, and it was only going to get worse. If this was just the beginning of the winter’s snowfall, it was going to be a long one. The reed worker let out a huge yawn and pulled the musty old blanket over himself, letting his breathing slow as he closed his eyes. Rush didn’t tend to dream, or have much of an imagination at all for that matter, but tonight, he smiled to himself. He hoped he’d dream of the beautiful white horse with the purple eyes.

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirteen - Family Ties

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FAMILY TIES

Nasta crashed in through the front door of his house and slammed the door closed behind him. With a grunt, he fell forward as his tortured legs finally gave way, shaking like leaves in the autumn gales. He took great gulps of air, his heart hammering so hard in his chest that he thought he was going to faint.

“Dear! Oh my gods, what’s happened, what’s going on? Where have you been all night?!” The black-haired woman knelt beside her husband and cradled him in her arms. “You’re home now; it’s alright, you’re safe.”

She pushed away suddenly, taking in his bedraggled appearance. “Oh, Nasta! You’re soaking wet!” The woman turned and shouted for one of the servants. “Iris! Run a bath, quickly, and fetch a clean set of dry clothes!”

The serving girl bowed and hurried off, quickly surrounded by several others who’d gathered to see what all the commotion was about. Nasta staggered to his feet, kicking off his winter boots.

“Petal… Oh gods above, where are our children?”

His wife’s face paled. “What? Dear, you’re frightening me! What’s going on?”

Nasta pushed past her, flinging one of the sliding doors open and charging off down the corridor to the children’s room. His heart was hammering like a drum in his chest; if anything had happened to them…

The memory of Blossom fresh in his mind, he all but smashed through the door to their room, falling to one knee as he lost his balance. “Sera! Wing! Where are you!”

A young girl, around six years of age, sat up from her bed suddenly, her hair bedraggled and eyes bleary. “Daddy?”

Nasta scooped her up in his arms, kissing the top of her head over and over again. “Oh thank the gods! Thank you, thank you!”

The little girl sniffed. “Daddy? Is something wrong?”

Petal hurried into the room with one of the male servants, who carried a sword. “Give her to me, Nasta. Come on, you’re scaring Sera.”

Nasta took the sword from the servant. “Where’s Wing?”

“What? She’s—”

He grabbed Petal’s shoulders, his eyes bulging. “I said WHERE IS SHE?”

His wife stood there open-mouthed. This wasn’t like her husband at all. Normally so calm and light-hearted, he was radiating fear like a signal fire. It was infectious as well. Petal could feel her own emotional state starting to crumble now.

“She’s at her friends for the night.”

“Which one?!”

“Lint, she’s—”

Nasta didn’t wait. Running from the room, he shouted back to the servant, “Get everyone here armed. Lock the doors and don’t let anybody in but me, do you understand?”

The servant opened his mouth to reply, but Nasta was already gone.

Damn it! Why was she at Lint’s? Of all the times! By the gods, he hoped he wasn’t too late. Around the village, more shouting broke out. Torches were being lit and lanterns appeared in the street as armed men gathered. Nasta ignored their shouts, heading like an arrow straight to Lint’s parents’ home. She was on the other side of town, of all places, and he was still exhausted from that terrible nightmare in the forest.

He rounded a corner and pounded up the steps to the large three storey building. It was a gambling house run by the local ‘boss’, a character he really didn’t want to get on the wrong side of, but now wasn’t the time to stand on ceremony. He had to make sure his daughter was safe.

A tall tattooed man opened the door, a look of irritation on his face. “What the hell’s all the noise? The boss is trying to sleep, you bloody idiot! Don’t you know what—?”

“Where’s my daughter?” Nasta tried to push past him, but a strong arm shot out, blocking his passage.

“Shut up, will you?! He’ll—”

“Wing! Are there? WING!”

The man pushed Nasta roughly back into the street, opening his mouth to speak before an older male, still pulling his tunic on, appeared behind him.

“Nasta? Is that you? What’s all this interminable shouting about? I could hear you in the next village!”

“Chert, thank the gods. Is Wing here?”

“Yes, she’s upstairs with my daughter. Why? What’s all the commotion?”

Nasta gasped for breath, a shock of pain making him cry out; his legs could take no more. The young man caught him as he collapsed.

Chert carefully slid his arm under Nasta’s. “Help me bring him inside, Stran, and get us some tea, would you?”

“Yes, Boss.”

Chert sat the exhausted Nasta on some of the plump cushions he kept for more ‘intimate’ evenings with guests and waved to several of his girls to light more lanterns. He’d never seen Nasta like this before. He had always seemed so… ‘chatty’ and happy-go-lucky, and he had a soft spot for the man. Really, his family were like an extension of his own, and he cherished the time they could spend together. It was a welcome diversion from the endless internal politicking of gang life.

The tea arrived in short order, Chert pouring it out himself and waving his people out of the room for some privacy. “Care to tell me what’s happening in my village, Nasta?”

The healer weakly shook his head. “Is she safe, Chert? Are you sure both the girls are safe?”

The boss called for one of his servants, who appeared obediently at the doorway. “Are the girls upstairs?”

“Yes, Boss. They’re both upstairs, fast asleep. Jinu checked on them when Nasta started shouting for his daughter.”

Chert nodded, relief flowing through him like a flood. Damn it all, the man’s hysteria was infectious. He needed to know more about what was going on, but Nasta was clearly very distressed. He would have to be careful how he teased the information out of him. Chert was about to speak when Stran stuck his head into the room.

“Boss? There’s something going on out there. There’s armed villagers taking to the streets.”

“Find out what’s going on, would you? I shouldn’t be the last to know!” Chert banged his fan on the wooden floor angrily. “GO!”

Stran bowed and ran out, shouting for other to go with him.

Nasta took a deep draught of the tea. It was good, a warming and soothing blend. Chert always could afford the best. He looked up into his eyes,

“There’s something in the forest, Chert. We… We went looking for it with the new deputy, Rush, Cray, and bunch of the youngsters.”

“I heard. Did you find the thing that killed poor young Blossom? She was that reed worker’s niece, wasn’t she?”

Nasta’s face paled. “Yes…”

“So what happened? You were hunting an animal, weren’t you? I said it was bloody stupid going out so late at night, and in winter too.”

Nasta shook his head. “Gods, Chert, we were so foolish. Why the hell we listened to that idiot of a deputy, I don’t know. I just don’t know…”

Chert reached forward and took his friend’s shoulder. “Where’s the deputy now, Nasta?”

“He’s dead. They’re all dead… every last one of them!”

“Dead? Who? What the hell are you talking about? You’d better start making some sense, my friend.”

Nasta took another draught of the tea, snatching up the pot and shakily pouring himself another cup.

“You don’t understand! That… That ‘thing’ that killed Blossom, it’s a monster! It hunted us down through the forest like cattle to the slaughter. They were cut down, Chert, cut down one by one until there was only… Oh, I don’t know!”

“It’s alright, Nasta, you’re safe here with us now.” The boss shook his head and turned to the door. “Where the hell is Stran?”

Right on cue, the tattooed gang member reappeared, a group of armed villagers in tow. “Boss! Something’s out there! It’s killed a bunch of the youngsters and set fire to our supply barns!”

“WHAT?!”

The boss stood, holding his hand out for his sword which promptly appeared, brought in by one of his servants. “Right then, Nasta. You are going to tell me exactly what’s been happening. Stran?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Get the boys, all of them.”

“All of them, Boss?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Stran bowed low, backing out the door and started loudly barking orders at the others. Nasta felt himself beginning to shake, the cold and terror of the night gripping his heart with a vice like grip. Chert noticed his friend’s distress and draped a blanket around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, my friend, I’ll get a few of the boys over to keep an eye on your place. Meanwhile, I want to hear your story. It’s important, Nasta, so don’t leave out any detail, no matter how small.”

Nasta’s teeth chattered despite the heat of the tea.

“A few of the boys…” he muttered bitterly.

Chert looked up as Nasta’s bloodshot eyes fixed on him. The weary man, soaked in sweat and near complete exhaustion, hung his head before continuing.

“You’re going to need a lot more than that, Chert.” He let out a long breath. “A hell of a lot more.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL

Chapter Thirty Two - Master and Servant

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

MASTER AND SERVANT

“You useless bloody ape!” Rend yelled, his hoof connecting with Cray’s jaw and sending him sprawling on the ground. “I gave you one task, one simple damned task, and you can’t even do that right!”

Cray could feel blood pooling in his mouth and spat it out on the snow. “I’m sorry, Lord Rend. I did my best.”

The thestral brought his muzzle close Cray’s face, his voice a menacing whisper, slowly emphasising each word, “It… wasn’t… good… enough!”

Rend viciously pushed Cray back into the snow and stalked off, wincing as his wound reminded him that it hadn’t fully healed yet. He slammed down on his haunches regardless and growled low to himself. That stupid human fool! How had he allowed this to happen? He’d found the witch, brought the humans to her with that carefully concocted story, and the rest should have been as natural as water flowing downhill. What the hell had gone wrong? He’d thought of everything! He’d been betrayed; he must have been. It was that damned Thorn, it had to be.

“Why is she still alive, Cray?” Rend snarled. “Why didn’t they kill the witch when they had her in their dirty little claws?”

Cray bowed low in the snowy ground. “Lord Rend, it was the gang boss, Chert. He persuaded the others to take them into the village.”

“What for? For what purpose?”

“They intend for the lord's men to deal with them.”

“And what do think he will do with them, Cray? You know these people far better than I.”

Cray sat up. “They will execute them, my lord.”

“You don’t know that for certain! How could you? You said they’d do that when they found the bitch princess in the damned shack!” Rend stomped a hoof, his rage peaking. “They will probably kill the monkey, but as for Celestia, they may well take her back with them and exhibit her as some sort of freak!”

“But they will kill her nonetheless, Lord Rend, and the goddess will be pleased, will she not?” Cray asked, his face half-buried in the snow.

The young warrior let out a heavy breath and opened his pack. “And just how are we going to know for certain they’ve done it? Do you think they’ll nail her head to a post for us to see? Even if they do, when? I’ve had my fill of this cesspool. I want her dead, I want her head, and I want to get out of here!” Too fearful to move, Cray stayed where he was. “Oh, get up, human! Your constant grovelling irritates me. Act like a damned stallion for once.”

“Yes, Lord Rend.”

Rend rolled his eyes and began to pack the pieces of bamboo with the black powder he’d managed to salvage from the wagon. The traitor’s cowardly attack hadn’t been as accomplished as he must have thought. The blast, as large as it had been, had thrown two of the barrels of powder clear and off into a snow drift, singed but unbroken. Additional powder, pouches of metal balls, and a considerable length of slow-burning rope-type material had been recovered from the dead, not to mention a quantity of those ‘guns’.

This cold was beginning to get to him. The fact that he was in an alien land was bad enough, but it was taking all his survival skills just to stay alive. He missed the company of other thestrals as well. The human, as weak as he was, was better than nothing. It was a pity that all the spineless weasel could do was grovel. By the moon, why couldn’t he show just a little spine? In his homeland, leaders became leaders because they defeated their superiors. The weak and feeble were quickly weeded out, either by battle or left at home as nothing more than servants and breeding stock. Rend intended to find a mate once the war was over in Equestria, and he could then settle down, raise a foal, and become so much more than he had become. Success in war meant a stronger mate, and a strong mate meant strong foals. In thestral society, successful breeding brought status and power, something that many young thestrals like him dreamed of.

Rend fumbled with the bottle around his neck, checking the contents. He shook his mane angrily. He was running low. He’d had to ply the human with it to make him more servile, but now the hopeless creature kept grovelling for more. There had to be the raw ingredients here in this land, or something similar that he could use surely? Worryingly, when he hadn’t taken haj for a length of time, he could black out as the withdrawal symptoms took him. Sometimes hours, even whole days would be unaccounted for. Since he’d been taught the secret of the forbidden powder, he’d made sure to always have a decent quantity of it on hoof. Now, though, he’d have to think of something else. There had to be something…

“Human?”

“Yes, Lord?”

“Do you know where we can find herbs, spices, elements of the healer’s trade?”

Cray scratched his chin in thought. “There’s Nasta’s down in the village, but that’s crawling with Chert’s men now. But… Rush, he was a healer. His mother taught the two of them. There could be something up at his house, if it hasn’t been ransacked yet.”

Unlikely, Rend thought wryly. These humans were a very superstitious lot, prone to huddling together when frightened, like cattle. He smiled to himself. This could be it!

“Well, what you waiting for? Get your gear, and let's see what we can find in the home of our friend Rush, shall we?”

*************************

The house was a wreck. The door had been left open, and wind and snow had blown freely through the building, scattering what hadn’t already been upended or smashed by the vengeful villagers. Cray stopped and took in the scene. The sad remnants of a man’s home, all that he had owned in this world, lay in ruin around him. Had he been the cause of this… this destruction? Lord Rend had explained why they had to find the witch, why they had to deal with Rush the way they had. Now he was facing execution. Cray shook his head angrily, trying to dispel the doubts that were beginning to blossom in his mind. All of this was of Rush’s own making, all because he’d been harbouring that evil creature. Thank the gods that Lord Rend had had the foresight to give him the powder to subdue the witch’s cursed magic!

What Cray couldn’t understand though was why. Why had Rush done those terrible things? He didn’t want to have to do what he did, but Rush had become corrupted by her, and the gods knew what the two had been doing up here in the forest… alone. He shuddered. Standing in here, in this cold empty place, made his blood run cold.

“What’s taking so long? Cray? What are you doing in there?”

Rend’s voice echoed around the cold room. He hated confined spaces and had decided to wait outside for Cray to conduct his search. The blacksmith pulled his winter coat tighter around him, supplementing it with some more clothing, blankets, and an embroidered blue blanket he’d found stuffed in the rafters. That would make a fine bedding roll. The rest of the house yielded little, other than regular household items: brushes, pans, a kettle.

There was a crack under his foot as a floorboard gave way, startling him. A splinter caught in his ankle, and Cray hissed in annoyance, sitting down to pull the painful thing out. As he reached down, he saw something hidden in the dark recess beneath the broken floorboard. Intrigued, he pulled at the loose wood, finding it came away surprisingly easily. For some reason, it hadn’t been nailed down like the rest. He peered inside. There, in the darkness, his questing fingers found something… a small pouch secreted away in the corner. Was it gold? Coin?

Hurriedly, Cray extracted the bag and untied it, dumping the contents into his large hand. The box sat there, small, bland… uninteresting.

“What’s that?” Rend called, peering in through the open door.

Cray jumped, dropping the box into the snow. “I don’t know, my lord. It's a box of some kind. I can’t seem to open it.”

“Well, bring it along if you must, but keep looking for what we came for. I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to. This place feels wrong to me. It stinks of Celestian.”

Eventually, Cray re-emerged from the building, dumping the items he’d found into the small cart. The largest by far was the large medicine chest. That caught Rend’s attention immediately, and he quickly opened some of the drawers, muttering to himself and finally nodding his approval.

“Yes… good, good. Most of what we need is here. I’ll need some bark shavings, but I’m sure I’ll find something similar to those we have in the Purple Sands.”

“Purple Sands?”

Rend lifted an eyebrow. “Where I’m from, human, my home. A place very different from this.” He looked about himself at the wooden house, the snow, the forest, and lifted his gaze to the sky. “This is not my home…”

Cray remained silent. He’d never seen the thestral like this before, so…human. Maybe he wasn’t so different to this warrior of the moon goddess after all.

As they trudged away, Cray glanced back over his shoulder. It was a relief to get away from that house and its memories. At least now he’d be able to concentrate on helping Lord Rend make more of the haj. He wasn’t sure whether it was the cold weather, the terrible feeling he had from being inside Rush’s home, or something else, but by the gods, he couldn’t stop shaking. All he wanted right now was a little more of that marvellous powder from the goddess, just a little, that was all. Then the world, his worries about his family, what he had done—it would all disappear once again in that blissful sea of calm.

Back at the camp, Rend began to work on the bamboo tubes once more. Cray sat nearby, watching in fascination as the thestral used his teeth and hooves to measure powder, pack material in the top, seal it with heated tree resin, and insert a length of the cord that they’d recovered.

Rend noticed him watching and raised an eyebrow. “Wondering what these are for?” Cray nodded. “I’ve decided to have a little... insurance. Just in case things don’t work out the way I’d like them to.” Rend laughed. “Think of them as gifts, Cray, for your old friends.”

The young thestral scratched his mane. It hadn’t been washed in weeks, but no matter. When all this was over, he’d be bathing in the witch’s blood and be able to stand before the goddess of the moon as she showered him with her love and praise at his good work. His last plan hadn’t quite worked out as he’d hoped. Rend hadn’t been fit enough to fight the Celestian witch head on, rather hoping the villagers would have charged in and killed her in his stead. She would have taken a lot of them down with her, of course, but she was confined and had that human with her as well. He furrowed his brow. There was some connection there between those two, but he couldn’t quite put his hoof on it.

Finishing the last one, Rend sat back, rubbing his forelegs together for warmth. The cloak really was a nice addition, even it did stink of Celestian. The goddess wouldn’t mind, surely? A thought suddenly struck him. He could present it to her with the head of the witch! Rend grinned to himself. It was all coming together, piece by piece. The box was interesting as well, undoubtedly Equestrian in design. The writing on it was unfamiliar, but the carving of the moon and the sleeping ponies was probably a representation of the moon goddess. The other side was… her. Whatever this thing was, he couldn’t get it open. No amount of forcing had even so much as marked its surface, suggesting some sort of foul Celestian sorcery. He placed it to one side. It was probably no more than a sentimental trinket box, unimportant to him, but... not to them. Rend lifted it in his hoof, staring at it intently before shrugging and dumping it in his pannier.

Cray sat nearby, the sound of the pestle and mortar surprisingly loud in the silence of the forest. Rend scratched his chin. Celestia's human, this Rush, was more likely to be a puppet of the witch princess as much as Thorn was. In fact, just as much as Cray was to him. These humans were so easily manipulated, it was almost a shame to slay them. Still, it was so easy! And they really did taste quite delicious. When all this was over, maybe he’d have one last meal before the goddess took him home. He watched Cray as he ground the herbs as he’d instructed him to.

Rend had thought of killing and eating the blacksmith several times, but he’d proved surprisingly useful so far. He smiled to himself, a plan beginning to formulate in his mind. Taking a quick huff of the powder around his neck, he sighed loudly. Yes, he had plans for that human, and the rest of them in that village… interesting plans. Rend grinned.

“Soon,” he whispered to the sky. “Soon.”

Author's Note

Edited by JBL