Fallout Equestria: Homelands

By Somber

Chapter 24: Ashes to ashes.

“I really miss the Whiskey Express,” Scotch muttered for what felt like the thousandth time since they’d been dropped off at the base of the stone spire rising up out of the surrounding plain like a giant stone pin set in the yellow fields. They’d barely gotten clear before the Flame Legion showed up in force, doing little more than surrounding it and shouting threats at the distant Storm Legion hundreds of meters above them. Then the Raptors and airships had started to blast the stone spine, sending chips raining down on them, and the Flame Legion withdrew. By that point Scotch and the others were walking south. She was elated to see a sign that said Roam was a mere one hundred kilometers away!

Thousands of kilometers, and they were almost there… except now they were walking.

After pockety-pocking their way for so long, she discovered she hated walking. Maybe it would have been different if there was nothing around them to slow their passage. A nice straight distance to traverse towards the south. Except now they weren’t alone, and it seemed like they were drowning in a morass of the whole world was trudging besides them.

Countless zebras plodded along, their multitude of tribal stripes blurring together into a field that Majina had more than once disappeared into. That was punctuated by other things. Cat, dog, and apelike creatures walked along with minotaurs, gargoyles, and centaurs all moving along the expressway pulling a multitude of wagons and carts that would roll over anyone inattentive enough to lose track of them. Anything that could fly, did to escape the press of bodies and the reek of so many travelling so close together. The risk of getting separated was so high that they’d tied each other together. Any progress southward slowed to a crawl in the milling crowd. Occasionally they’d break free into open road, only to run into another mob plodding north on the same road. All they could do was get off the road and wait.

Fortunately, there were villages to stay at. They sat slightly apart from the road. Tiny circular collections of long houses arranged in concentric circles. Vendors had stalls that sold food and water and local goods to the travellers. A few had even set up old tractors as temporary inns where people could just climb in for a few hours’ rest. “I really miss my salt,” Charity mourned. “We could have bribed one of those Flamers to take us there.” They sat in the shade of a wall of one of the circular villages. Rocky stoically sat in his granite block, serving as a chair while Pythia did her thing. If Scotch carried him, he could serve as a seat. It wasn’t quite Badlands hot, but the humidity made sweat pour off her green hide. Pythia sat a little ways away at a booth that consisted of a board and the backs of Skylord and Precious. She was telling a fortune to some cat people who seemed quite impressed with her map and pendant. Scotch just hoped she was far enough away that the black book wasn’t interfering.

“The Flame Legion would probably just take it anyway,” Majina muttered. She’d stuck a large leaf to her hoof and fanned herself. The fortune telling wrapped itself up and the two ‘Abyssinians’ returned to the road going north. “Good fortuning?” she asked as the cloaked zebra passed two imperios to Charity, ignoring Precious’s pout.

“Not sure that’s the right word for it, but yes,” Pythia said. “I augured off the Southern Cross. Seemed fitting for desert dwelling cat people. If I had a proper spooky tent, some incense, and some soft nonsensical chanting I could make a fortune. The gold kind,” she amended hastily as Scotch chuckled.

Skylord lay down and put the board in the shade. “Too bad we can’t buy a wagon with it.”

Scotch had hoped for that too. Find another steam tractor to fix up and drive, or a wagon to carry things. She never anticipated so many people though. Villages and fields and more villages and so many people! “Where are they all going?” Scotch asked, looking north. Two days on the road and the Storm Legion’s base was still in view!

“Roam, same as us,” Skylord answered. “Probably not the city proper, but wherever the Flame Legion’s headquartered. Bringing tribute so they can get a token saying they’ve paid their dues for the year and get on with their lives. Most legions do it. Easier to let people carry the goods rather than waste troops and supplies on it.”

“It’s so much. Compared to Rice River and up north this is… a lot,” Charity muttered as she watched the people moving about.

“There was a lot up north you missed. Go a little north and you would have seen the Blood Legion’s breeding camps. Go south west and you’d hit our batteries. We threaded the needle on the Old Road,” Skylord remarked. ‘Breeding camps’ was a phrase that Scotch could have gone the rest of her life not hearing. “What’s it like in Equestria?” Skylord, asking about home?

Scotch glanced at the others. “Nothing like this. Not even the Hoof had this many. Tenpony neither.” Scotch reflected on the crowd. “It’s mostly like up north. Lots of big empty, and you come across a settlement or two. Like those scar farmers outside Rice River. But mostly it’s just empty.” She regarded the multitudes shuffling along. “I didn’t know there were this many people in the world.”

“First time for me too,” he said. “I’m probably one of the first Irons south in a generation. Not a lot of overlap with our legions. Sometimes we might clash on the southern edge of the Empties when Aizen’s not stomping on both of us, but mostly we just do our thing and they do theirs.”

“All these people can’t be Flame Legion, though,” Charity insisted.

“Nah.” He dismissively waved a claw. “They’re just tributaries and conscripts. Flames save their brand for people that survive Roam,” he said, looking south. There wasn’t anything visible though but faint wisps of dark clouds.

“What’s waiting for us?” Scotch asked.

“Don’t know. Not a lot of intel,” he said, eyes oddly fixed on the southern horizon. “You hear stories. Fire monsters. Volcanos. Flames that try to eat you.” He shook his head. “But then people say Irons have a gun that can shoot all the way around the planet.”

“And you don’t, right?” Majina asked, leaning towards him, eyes wide in anticipation.

He didn’t answer for a moment as she leaned towards him, and then said evenly, “I can’t say.”

She fell, sprawling on her front with a groan. “That’s so mean.”

“What’s does the Flame Legion do though?” Pythia asked with a frown as Majina picked herself back up again. They were the only steam tractors they’d seen on the road: large flatbeds full of horribly scarred zebras. Most had such masses of keloid that their stripes were unrecognizable. Their stares chilled Scotch, who felt as if they just wanted to tie her up in wire and throw her on a bonfire.

“According to them, saving the rest of Zebrinica from whatever’s in Roam,” he replied evenly, then gave a little shrug. “Guess we’ll find out.”

A shadow rose, poking out above the line of shade. “Did I hear you right? You’re from the north?” piped a young stallion. Scotch looked up, seeing a zebra with short, dash like stripes looking down at them.

Scotch glanced to the others. The village hadn’t said anything to them while Pythia had been telling fortunes. What happened outside the village wasn’t their concern. Everyone just shrugged and Scotch answered, “That’s right. From Rice River. Though my friends and I came here from Equestria last year. And who are you?”

“Equestria, huh?” His mouth split in an easy grin. “Want some lunch?”

They shared a look. Who could say no to a free lunch?

Hexan, as he soon introduced himself once they’d reached the gate, wore a leather smock that covered his back and flanks, his glyphmark two cubes with conspicuous dots. He took them all to his home, a single room in one of the curving village houses. He set a steamer on a little iron stove and loaded it with food before introducing himself. “I’m a probability shaman,” he proclaimed with such proud openness that Scotch wondered if he was serious or not. A passerby spat on the ground as they trotted past.

And he wanted to know the world. Where was Rice River and what was happening there? What about the different legions up there? What were the odds someone could reach Equestria by sea? Had they reached Bastion on the west coast? What about east? The only time he wasn’t asking questions was when they answered or had his mouth full of the spherical steamed dumplings crammed full of peppery sauce and grilled vegetables. He’d pop the whole thing in and blurt out questions about everything from their odds of crossing from north to south without a train, to what they thought of one’s chances to make a boat and follow the coast to Equestria.

“Because I want out of Zebrinica,” he said firmly as they finished the last dumpling. His long mane partially obscured his face as he regarded the rest of the village which glared at them like intruders, but said nothing besides, ‘Null’, as if that should be insulting rather than baffling. “And I don’t care how cursed I have to get if it gets me the hell out of here.”

Scotch glanced at Charity, her face locked on his. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear a shaman say something like that.”

He dug into his smock and pulled out a pair of dice. “You do seer work, right?” he asked Pythia.

“Null,” a zebra mare muttered at the seven of them, spitting as she trotted past.

“Stars, yes,” she replied evasively.

“Yeah. Stars. Starkatteri. Duh. Well I do seer work too. With these,” he said as he produced a pair of dice.

“Ooh!” Pythia brightened. “Cleromancy.” Everyone, including Hexan, seemed baffled by this. “Divination via the casting of lots or sortation. Technically, astragalomancy. Very old divination. Almost as old as stargazing.” She jabbed a hoof at the dice. “In ancient times they’d be hoofbones or teeth, etched with runes. You toss them in a bowl to see the future.” Everyone just stared at her silently. “What?”

“I have never met anyone like you,” Hexan muttered, his green eyes wide as he leaned towards her. “Marry me.”

“What!” Pythia blurted as she leaned back. “No!” Scotch suppressed the urge to thump him, barely.

“Darn,” he said as he sat upright again. “Probably for the best. The elders would never approve it. Just another reason to go to Equestria.”

“Why’d you ask her to marry you?” Scotch demanded, ears burning.

“Eh, she’s the first mare I’ve met that didn’t spit at the mention of divination,” he paused, and a sallow faced zebra across the street spat, glaring at the young stallion, “fortune telling,” he said, with another pause, and sure enough two more zebras passing glared in and spat, “or telling the future.”

“Hexan!” a stallion roared from the house adjacent to theirs. “Why are you making everyone curse our home!? Go count dates or something!”

“I’m entertaining guests, papa!” he bellowed back. “A Starkatteri.”

“Null! My family is null and undone! Our equation shall be solved! For shame!” And there was a thump against the wall. Some foals next door laughed though, so Scotch wasn’t entirely alarmed. Yet.

“Sorry,” my tribe isn’t big on fortune tellers, so you can guess how welcome a probability seer is,” Hexan muttered with a shrug. “But I am a shaman, so no one’s tried to poison me yet. No one wants to risk bad probability.”

“You’re all Logos, right?” Scotch guessed. “I knew a Logos named Vega in Rice River. A Proditor.”

Hexan recoiled. “Wow. What odds that would happen? I’d rather run off to Equestria before taking the red.”

“Because of the spitting? You know if you shoot people who spit, they stop spitting,” Skylord suggested. They gave him the look. “What? You don’t have to kill a person when you shoot at them. Just aim for the legs!”

“Yes, but then they’d calculate the exact moment to kick a pot to crush my head. My people tolerate me, but only so long as they can spit to ward off random probability spirits.” Hexan shrugged. “It’s traditional,” he stated, as if one explained the other.

“But why?” Majina asked. “Why don’t they like your fortune telling?”

“It cheats the calculation of life,” he said as he put the plates and steamer trays in a bucket and set them off to the side.

“The what now?” Precious asked, her face screwed up. “Is life a math problem? Is that why I’m so bad at it?”

Hexan laughed as he turned a tap and filled the bucket with water. Strapping on a hoof brush, he started to clean. “All Logos believe that life is a mathematical equation. The whole universe is math. Math says where we go. What we do. Who we are even. One plus one always equals two. That our act of living determines if, when we die, the summation of our life was positive or negative. And that when we die, our equation is solved, and the result will either be a positive or negative number.”

“Negative!” came the father’s wail through the wall. “Negative cubed! Woe to my family!”

Hexan kicked the wall with a hind leg. “I solve my equation my way, Father! A negative squared is positive!” He let out a huff and gave them all a half smile. “Needless to say, if you fortune-tell, you’re basically cheating. Solving sections of the equation by peeking at the future is like doing the math without showing your work. It’s null.”

“Null,” a pair of zebra muttered in unison, spitting on the ground as they passed in unison.

“That is getting on my last nerve,” Precious muttered.

“It’s just an expression of disgust. A null is a mathematical error. One that can’t ever be solved. A lot of Logos believe that once you peek into the future, your life’s equation is ruined. And since I can help others see the future, well…”

“They really don’t like you. I can relate,” Pythia admitted with a smile.

“See! I knew you’d get it!” he laughed. “It doesn’t bother me that much. I’m a shaman. They don’t want to screw up their equation by killing me. So they say null and spit every time they pass my door. It’s tradition,” he repeated, and let out a very long sigh. “A very annoying tradition.”

“You know what else is tradition? Getting married! How are you to do this if you keep cheating your equation?” his father wailed. “My line will be undone! My summation lacking, for my failures to parent my eldest child!”

“I have three sisters and two brothers! Your line is perfectly fine, Father!” He huffed as he put the cleaned dishes on a rack to dry. “Village life. Anyway, it’s not so bad.” He carried the bucket of dishwater to the steps and poured it out, washing away the mess. “It’s easy enough to clean away. And it could get much worse.” He dropped the brush into the empty bucket and set it next to the steamer stand. “Do you want to see the village?”

“Yes,” said Majina and Precious. A grunt and shrug from Charity and Skylord.

Pythia asked, “Will it be safe?”

“Oh, yes. Just ignore the swears and occasional spitting. Logos are very welcoming to outsiders, so long as we can show how much we despise them.”

It proved not quite as bad as that. Majina, Scotch, and Charity were received with smiles, Skylord and Precious with aloof respect, but one look at Pythia and everything turned to scowls and mutters of ‘null’. But in spite of that, the village was a fascinating place to tour.

Row homes were concentrically arranged around a central domed structure, with canvas sheets pulled overhead to block the sun or let in light. The walls were decorated in mosaics with geometric patterns. Every now and then there’d be mathematical equations on the wall that Scotch could almost understand, and a few that she recognized, like liquid flow pressure.

The Logos as well seemed exceptionally neat and orderly. They wore smocks similar to Hexan, but decorated with feathers, ribbons, or shiny buttons. The more they had, the more respect they seemed to receive. Hexan’s undecorated smock was identical to the ones the children wore. While the spitting was a bit excessive at times, Scotch found it very regular and orderly. The clocks all chimed at the same time.

These people are a stable, Scotch realized. Not a fucked up one like 99, but everyone was acting their part and in their place. There was a certain number of toilets, which meant a certain number of toilet cleaners, which meant someone had to be convinced to clean them. Everyone had their place, like Security or Maintenance, and everyone did as they were expected. 99 had acted that way out of a desperate fear for survival. These zebras did it as casually as breathing. If all these Logos were put in a stable, or in the middle of a desert, she suspected they would rebuild the exact same village there.

As she thought, she realized that Hexan’s fortune telling could have been far worse received. Being male aside, the one thing 99 could never tolerate was the idea that it could be anything other than what it was. It had chosen death over that. Somehow, even after years, it made her sad.

In the center of the village was a row house that was more palisade than building surrounding a courtyard and a large round building. The palisade seemed like an elaborate storeroom for the village food. Inside there was a well and Scotch guessed that most of the population could fit inside. They climbed up onto the roof of the central ring structure, looking out at the concentric rings of structures.

“One. One. Two. Three. Five. Eight. Thirteen,” Pythia remarked as they walked. She met Scotch’s eye. “The number of buildings in each ring.”

“And it would be the same in every village. Ours is quite small. Someday we’d like to expand the wall and add a ring of twenty one,” Hexan said as they trotted along the roof over the palisade. “If we were attacked, we’d withdraw into here. Of course, if the Flame Legion really wanted to destroy us, there’s little we could do to stop them. Mud and straw are poor defense against napalm.”

There really wasn’t much else to say after that as he led them down to the central structure. It was at least ten meters tall before the dome began, nearly perfectly spherical. Inside was refreshingly cool. Small holes in the walls were fitted with glass lenses that spread the light evenly throughout the chamber, creating a suffuse glow of yellow light. The walls were covered in geometric patterns that drew the eye upwards towards an intricate sunburst filling the dome. Arranged around the walls like spokes in a wheel were shelves going up three stories. Delicate ladders on wheels accessed the uppermost shelves, of which every inch was filled with scrolls, books, and even clay tablets.

“Amazing!” Majina gasped. “It’s just like the Zencori library we passed! Remember Master Baruti?”

“No,” Skylord muttered flatly.

Majina eyed him just as flatly. “Remember shooting some Blood Legion, getting caught, and having to wear those chains?” the filly asked in a low monotone.

“Vividly,” he replied in the same tone.

“He was just before that happened,” Majina answered as a grandmotherly mare approached. “I love your library, ma’am. It’s just like a Zencori one we visited a while ago.”

“Not quite the same, my dear,” she said brightly, her mane tied up in a bun. “You won’t find many people playacting physicists and recounting historical dramas in mathematics. We Logos tend to focus on more practical applications of lore rather than the more… creative aspects.” She then swept her gaze to Hexan, who rubbed his foreleg abashedly with the other. “Hexan. How are you? Is Pentan still bemoaning your lack of marriage?”

“Father’s fine. I’m fine. He is, but never mind that, Granny Tetra. These six came all the way from the north. Five of them from Equestria. That’s almost on the other side of the world!”

“Ten thousand kilometers or so from Roam. Not quite a quarter, but I understand your sentiment,” she said, and then eyed Pythia. “And a Starkatteri too. My my.” She suddenly leaned in, her voice dropping. “You wouldn’t be in the market for a husband in the near future, would you? Hexan’s a bit flighty at times and a bit too fond of the dice, but I’m sure a hard working young mare as yourself not concerned with his habits could knock him into a more respectable shape.”

“Wha– wha–?” Pythia babbled. “Why is everyone trying to get me married today? No! Just… no!”

“Ah, pity. You’re the only zebra I could think of that’d put up with him and his relentless urge to jump ahead in his calculations,” she said with a sigh and trotted over to a tea set. “I fear the mares of our village have audited him right out of their calculations.”

Hexan scoffed, “Sometimes knowing what’s coming can be an advantage.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Scotch said with a wave of her hoof. “I mean, Pythia knowing the future is damned useful sometimes, but… well… I once dealt with a spirit. He wanted to show me the future. He showed me two, but I stopped him from the third because it wouldn’t really be my future anymore. It’d be whatever he showed me. Knowing the future’s a double edged sword, Hexan.”

Granny pursed her lips. “How would I feel about zony grandchildren?” she mused aloud, setting off alarms in Scotch’s head before she started to pour tea. “Care for a cup? I’d love to hear your stories.”

Scotch glanced at the others and they shrugged. Why not? For once, it wasn’t as if there was any rush. Majina told the tale with her usual creative embellishments. Scotch tried not to snort into her tea when she defeated the Stone King in a hoof wrestling contest.

“My, you certainly are cursed,” Granny Tetra said as she held her cup contemplatively before her. “I’m no shaman, mind you. My study is in engineering. But anyone who heard such a tale couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for whoever was swept along in your wake.”

“I don’t suppose you know where the Eye of the World is?” Scotch asked plaintively as she sat on Rocky. The older mare had arched a brow but hadn't said anything at the block she carried.

“Why, Scotch! It’s a metaphor! Or an idea! Or it’s some spirit thing! Or it’s waving a rubber chicken over your head as you dance like an idiot!” Charity scoffed.

“Actually, I can tell you exactly where it is,” Granny Tetra replied calmly. “But such a sour attitude, I’m not sure I’m inclined to.”

Charity flushed, her eyes bulging and opened her mouth before Scotch put her in a headlock, muting her with her other foreleg. “She’s sorry. She’s very politely wondering if you could tell us where it is?” Then her eyes popped wide. “OW! You bit me!” she whined as Charity glared at her now.

“Ah, to be young,” Tetra said as she rose from her cushion and trotted to a shelf, pushing a ladder over and ascending much faster than Scotch supposed a mare her age should. She returned with a strange roll of bamboo slats tied together, the brown lengths marked in precise little glyphs, and carefully unrolled it. Carefully carved on the inside of each slat were more etched grooves. Once unrolled and the slats pressed tightly together, it formed a map of Zebrinica. A green painted line meandered through it, and there were a number of delicate glyphs marked all over it. “This etching was Master Decapentahexahepta’s work, made one year before the end of the war. And there,” she said, conversationally, pointing at a glyph, “is the Eye of the World.”

Scotch stared in horror at a marking right off the north coast. “It is?” she asked weakly.

“Well, it was two hundred and seventy six years ago,” Granny said as she pointed to another. “Then the Eye of the World was moved here.” She pointed to a second dot to the east of the first. “The Shrine of Sekkan, in the Deserts of Saccarush. It stayed there for twenty seven years and then was moved over here in the city state of Prala, until it was razed by the thirty seventh Caesar.” And she pointed at a third glyph with her hoof.

“You’re saying it moves around?” Scotch asked, feeling the world falling out from under her hooves. “Or destroyed?”

“More that it can be relocated anywhere sufficient shamanistic power is gathered. The Eye, near as I understand Shamanology, is a convergence of spiritual and material existence. A place where the physical and spiritual can come into contact more clearly than through visions and the like. The Eye’s been moved several times. It’s even been destroyed in varying conflicts! So asking where the Eye is located is a bit of a misnomer. What you are asking is where the eye was last. According to Master Deca, his last recorded location was… ah. Roam.”

Scotch mentally landed on her hooves. “It’s in Roam? It’s there? It’s just right that way?” she asked, thrusting a hoof what she hoped was southward.

“It was last there, in the Temple of the Twelve and One Tribes. Whether it was there when the megaspells hit or not I can’t say,” Granny said as she trotted to a desk and returned with two pieces of paper, along with a charcoal stick. Putting the paper on the slats, she carefully rubbed out a copy of both sides of the map.

“How do they move it? And why?” Precious asked.

“The how is beyond me, but the why was simple. Originally, the Eye was summoned as the tribes migrated around Zebrinica. If there was some disaster that befell the Eye, it could simply be reformed elsewhere,” Granny Tetra said calmly.

“So is that what it meant?” Pythia asked. “Was blinding the Eye just code for moving it somewhere?”

“If so, can we find it? Maybe use it to help things somehow?” Majina pondered.

"That would be good," Rocky opined from under her rump.

“What did it actually do? Or is that more shamany junk?” Charity asked.

“Well, it’s certainly more Zencorish in nature. The Logos deal in more material and mathematical issues. Metaphors are really not our forte,” Granny Tetra admitted.

On one hoof, they still didn’t know everything, but on the other three they knew the Eye could be moved, and that the last place it had been had been in Roam, and that it was a place where shamans could do special stuff. “Well, thanks for the information,” Scotch said, “though, I’d kinda hoped you would have just given us a X marks the spot.”

“That I could. Knowledge unapplied is useless. Ultimately, we all must solve our equations on our own, and determine whether we add or subtract from the universe,” she said solemnly, and then her whoof whipped out and cuffed Hexan’s head. “Which means you need to stop playing with the future and be more mindful of the present! You can’t get foals by multiplying by one!”

“Yeesh, sorry Granny!” he yelped, and together they departed the library. It was already afternoon, but Scotch wanted to make better time. Still, something nagged at her as Hexan escorted them out of the village.

“Well, thanks for lunch,” Scotch said as they trotted out, getting a final round of nulls and spitting at Pythia’s hooves. “Sorry, but I don’t think Equestria’s far enough to get away from your troubles.”

Hexan blinked and then his eyes widened. “Oh! No! That’s not why I want to get out of Zebrinica,” he said as he dug in his saddle bags and shook out some dice. “A few months back, I was doing some scrying for a zebra. Strange sort. Achu. Really severe. He wanted to know if there was any future for Zebrinica.”

Scotch leaned in curiously, peeking at their spirits. A golden glow covered each cube in a faint aura, their surfaces glittering with tiny numbers that seemed to constantly change. “How’s it work?”

“I throw the dice and look at the numbers, how they come to rest, if there’s any patterns or pairings. Lots of little hints.” He looked at all of them. “Any takers?”

Majina rushed to the front. “Ohh, me! What’s the best story I’m going to tell?” she asked with an eager grin.

He popped the dice into the bag, shook it, and let the dice fall out. They landed in an almost perfect line before him. Every single die showed six pips.

“Someone forgot to unload their dice,” Skylord muttered.

“No! No. That’s… huh. I guess it’s a really awesome story,” he muttered, a bit baffled. “I don’t know what or to whom but yeah. Awesome.” He didn’t look happy though, his brows furrowed as he looked at the pips. They made a pair of almost perfectly straight lines, but the fifth die sat at ninety degrees to the first four. He shook his head hard. “Anyway, that’s how my seering works.”

“So what happened?” Scotch asked, a little bemused, “Why does that make you want to leave?”

“Ask me,” Hexan said with a nod. “The future of Zebrinica.”

Scotch looked at the others, then at him, and asked in a slightly baffled tone, “What’s the future for Zebrinica?”

The dice tumbled out with no more force than last time, but this time the dice went wild, bouncing off legs and hooves. Not a single one came up straight. “Whoa!” Scotch said as she nudged one away that rested cocked against her hoof.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Hexan said as he cleared away a patch of ground and lifted a single die. “Ask again.” Scotch frowned as he let it drop. It bounced once, twice, and then came to rest balanced spinning on a point. It slowed to a stop within a few seconds, but remained perched perfectly on a single point.

“That’s the weirdest shadow I’ve ever seen,” Pythia muttered as she stared. At the blank looks she said, "When you can't see the future, usually because of some unknown variable."

“That’s what I thought too, but when I get a shadow the numbers are usually just random. No patterns. Nothing special,” he said as he pointed at the dice with a hoof. “I knew someone was trying to tell me something,” he said and then pulled out a second set of cubic dice. “Then I made these.” He showed the dice, only instead of pips, they were numbered 0-5. He put them in the bag. “Ask again,” he said as he shook them.

“What’s the future for Zebrinica?” She asked. He tumbled the dice out.

All five ended up 0, lying in nearly a perfect row. He looked at them gravely. “And that’s why I want to go to Equestria. I’d take my family and even my village if I could, but they won’t listen to a cheater.”

Pythia regarded the dice. “It seems dire, but what if you’re wrong? What if the zeros just mean a shadow you can’t see past?”

“That I can’t see past? Sure. But I don’t ‘see’ the future. You ask the question, I throw the dice, the spirits answer. If they can’t, the dice bounce somewhere or land on top of each other or whatever. But this seems way too specific. It freaks me out that something is going to happen here and I don’t want to be here when it does,” Hexan said with a sigh. “I’d like to get my whole village to Equestria, if I could.”

“Or maybe,” Charity posited, “it’s a null.”

“If you spit, I’m going to smack you,” Precious growled.

“No. I mean an actual null. You’re asking the spirits about Zebrinica, but if Zebrinica doesn’t exist anymore, you’re doing bad math,” Charity said. “You’re multiplying by null.”

A mustached stallion poked his head over the village wall. “You! Which of you said that?” he asked. All eyes glanced at the unicorn, and the mustached zebra pointed a hoof at Charity before grinning. “Would you like to marry my son?”

“Father!” Hexan wailed. "Stop!"

"He is a decent enough boy. Cheats at life but I'm sure a pony wouldn't mind. Eh?!" He asked, giving her a wide, toothy smile.

“Can you meet my dowry price of a million imperios?” Charity shot back. His grin disappeared and he sank back behind the wall.

“What if he could have?” Precious asked with a smirk.

Charity gave Hexan a look and then shrugged. “Eh. He’s not the worst male I’ve seen. And we would probably open a heck of a casino.”

Hexan’s mouth worked. “That is a brilliant and terrible idea,” he said as if dazed by the idea.

“The start of many a Flim Flam business model,” Charity sniffed with a triumphant business model. Charity rubbed her chin. “Actually, with your probability magic and my business sense, we could probably be profitable inside a year!”

“I think that’s our signal to leave,” Majina said and they all started towards the road, save Charity who seemed to be mulling it over.

Charity waved a hoof at the village. “Wait! Sir! If your village could manage say a hundred imperios I think that’d be a sufficient–” Then Precious scooped her up and draped her over her back. “Wait! I just need a little capital! Capitallllll!” she wailed as she was carried back into the throng of people following the road towards Roam.

***

Of course Hexan hadn’t just told them about their village. He’d filled them in on what to expect with the Flame Legion. While technically in their lands and paying tribute to them, they rarely interacted past that. If a village caused another village trouble with their tribute, or one of the monsters living on the plain was being too monstrous, they’d hunt it down, cook it, and eat it. Killing was optional, and most creatures avoided annoying the legion.

Because one thing the Flame Legion did, a lot, was burn things alive. Scotch spotted only one incidence of this herself. A dozen zebras chained to the base of a metal water tower, splashed with oil, and then a candle was lit, resting on the oil. Scotch made damned sure that she and her friends were away before that fire met the fuel, adamantly keeping her eyes off the spirit world.

Lots of people bore the raised scars of branding irons showing X’s. Others had eight pointed stars. The former, she learned, was for first time offenders. The eight was second time. She could find third strikers dangling from chains beside the road as charred skeletons.

And yet she rarely saw Flame Legionnaires. A steam wagon would push through the crowd with a dozen scarred zebras staring down at them, and then they’d be on their way. And while everyone was in poor spirits, tempers instantly cooled when the smoke of one of their transports came into view. Scotch hated to admit, but with utter brutality, the Fire Legion had completely and utterly imposed order on dozens of different races and tribes.

She’d also learned that Flame and Fire could be used interchangeably for the legion, just as ‘flammable’ and ‘inflammable’ meant the same thing. Maybe it was a ‘fire’ thing. It didn’t help the legionnaires screaming ‘Flame and Fire!’ which she supposed meant ‘fire and more fire!’

And all the while, the smoke to the south increased. There were occasional flickers of light in its heart, but the shelf of lingering gloom soon blotted out the sun. Only a hazy red glow pierced through the skies. A fog seemed to drape increasingly over the land, and a steady flurry of ash rained down. The masses hushed, shuffling forward like children being herded to class.

It was the next day when they finally reached the big Flame Legion settlement. It squatted on a demolished interchange where five roads came together, the concrete rubble pulled into a ring. In the center blazed a huge bonfire as the people were funneled into lines. The lines snaked back and forth before finally forking again and again. Honestly, part of Scotch wished they could have just snuck past, but the highway south to Rome was blocked by the camp and a river. It wasn’t more than a muddy ditch filled with yellow-gray ash, but it was still more than they’d get across on their own.

Finally, the six of them shuffled forward to where a tired mare held a thick book. “Village?” she asked, without even looking up.

“Excuse me?” Scotch asked. Half the mare’s face was shiny scars. The other half had the broad black stripes of the Roamani.

“What’s your village… pony?” she asked as she finally lifted her head, took in the six of them, and scowled. “What the heck is this?”

“We need to go to Roam,” Scotch said.

“If we waited in this line for nothing,..” Skylord growled.

“This is for villages to offer tribute, conscripts, and enlistees. Which are you?” the mare asked crossly.

“Um… none? We just want to go to Roam.” Scotch silently prayed this would go smoothly.

“Do you have tribute from your village?”

“No.”

“Are you fighters sent by your village to protect and defend the Empire?”

“No,” Scotch repeated.

“Are you enlisting in the Flame Legion?” she asked in the same monotone.

“Fuck, no,” Skylord grumbled. “I already have a Legion.”

For the first time the Legionnaire paused and regarded the six of them with tired, annoyed eyes. She stared for several seconds and then ducked her head and pulled out a red flare. Her hoof flicked off the cap, and a bright red flare blazed out. Within ten seconds they were surrounded by a dozen zebras. “What’s the sitch?” another mare asked brusquely as she eyed them.

“These six, Ember. Claim they’re not with a village. And that one’s an Iron. Handle it for me, ‘kay?” And she turned and dunked the flare into a bucket of wet sand.

The new mare, Ember, glared at them and led them past. Some villagers were continuing south, but most were loading the tribute on to wagons or shuffling south in silent lines. “What’s going on?”

“Look, I’m not from your territory. We don’t have any tribute, aren’t conscripts, and don’t want to join the Legion. Most of us aren’t even from Zebrinica,” Scotch said. She pointed a hoof south towards the roiling clouds. “We’re going to Roam,” she said evenly.

The mare said nothing as she stared from one the next. Her eyes lingered on Rocky resting on Scotch's back. “Right... So you’re like… crazy people or something?”

“If it will help us get to Roam faster, sure. We’re crazy,” Scotch said with a shrug. “We don’t have any problem with your legion. The sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll get out of your manes.”

Ember just nodded over to a tent and trotted inside the ash covered shelter. “Look, pony, I don’t get who you are, but people don’t just… go to Roam. They just don’t.” She pointed south with a hoof. “There’s nothing that way but fire. The worst fire.”

Scotch shared a look with her friends. “We came all the way across the continent from the north. We’ve dealt with five legions and tribes. And now, after three months, we’re finally here. We’re going to Roam,” Scotch said evenly, adding, “but we don’t want to cross your legion if we don’t have to.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not just forcing us to be conscripts,” Charity pointed out sharply.

“If you had a village, we would,” she said with a frown. “That’s one way to get to Roam. But forcing people without ties to serve just gives us more trouble than you’re worth. We’d rather burn your family alive if you’re a problem than constantly watch you for trying to escape. We’ve tried slave conscripts. Just doesn’t work. So we only take conscripts for a year. One year in Roam and they go home.”

“Generous. Irons take ours for three to ten,” Skylord said.

“Yeah, well, a year of Roam is a lifetime anywhere else. Most don’t make it back,” she said with a sigh. “Honestly, I’d say flame the six of you, but one of you looks like a dragon, and that’s just hot,” she said with a smirk at Precious. The dracofilly let out a puff of smoke from her nostrils. “Toasty!”

“There’s got to be something we can work out,” Scotch said, praying that the Flames would be more reasonable than other legions. Ember seemed to be rolling a response in her mouth and didn’t seem to like the taste of it.

“Are you cursed?” Ember asked. “This is just too weird, and gran always said if someone was cursed, to get them out of your mane as fast as possible.”

“I’ve been called cursed,” Scotch said evenly.

"Touched," Rocky corrected, but of course the mare didn't hear.

Ember rubbed her chin and then shrugged, reached into her pocket and pulled out a square of paper. “Okay. I’m listening to gram gram then.” She scribbled some glyphs. “Follow the others to our headquarters. Mind the ash. When you get the tribute drop off, go to the last one and ask for Flare. He’s a captain. Tell him Ember from Second Offering sent you.”

“And he’ll get us to Roam?”

“That’s between you and him,” she said with a sniff. She stomped her hoof twice and a half dozen zebras stepped into view behind her, flamers posed. “Or…”

Scotch took the paper and they made their egresses. The note was simple. ‘Cursed pony wants to go to Roam. Useful? Ember. PS, do me again.’ Most of the people were getting names jotted down before going back north, but all the offerings were piled high in wagons and were pointed south along the freeway. Being almost alone after the pressing crowds made her stomach clench in worry.

The walk forward passed in almost complete silence. The ghosts of cities surrounded them, reduced to heaps of rubble. She could make out a few tribal layouts.. Triangular Propoli. Rectangular Romani. Snaking Carnelian. Circular Logos. They stood silent and hollow, half buried beneath ash and mud. The water alongside the road was soapy and foul, the air making all of them cough. The road signs were the only indication of time as the ash drifted down. Roam was only fifty kilometers away. Forty. Thirty. Twenty…

The haze grew ever thicker. From somewhere ahead came a perpetual flicker. The sky rained either flecks of ash or filthy gray water. Rags damped in the water alongside the ditches were all that spared Scotch’s lungs.

Then they reached the legion headquarters. Almost tripped over it. ‘Roam Continental Airport’ proudly proclaimed a sign as they shuffled forward through the gloom.

There was nothing to do but shuffle along. A large building lurked in the haze, but she couldn’t make out anything but a large tower rising above it. “What’s an airport?” Majina mused as they reached an exit. This one was marked for legionnaires only, so they shuffled past.

“Think skyport, but instead of sky chariots, they use flying machines,” Pythia explained.

“Like hot air balloons?” Precious mused.

Skylord stared and then gave a small shrug. “Sure. Whatever. Doesn’t matter now, though. The only things that fly are Storm Legion and things with magic. Fly over, or near, the wrong megaspell and you’re going down.”

“Ember said this Flare was at the end of the tribute. That way?” Scotch asked as wafts of ash drifted down. The air tasted like plastic and rubber. Further down was a sign saying ‘conscripts’ and beyond that ‘tribute’.

“Do we want to listen to her though?” Skylord suggested. “I mean, we could just keep walking south and see what happens.” He peered up at the Flame Legionnaires watching them from platforms on the overpass signs. Their flamers seemed extra large and pointed more or less their way.

“I don’t want to make an enemy I don’t need to. Let’s find this Flare. At the very least maybe we’ll get some answers,” Scotch said, following the majority of the crowd to the third off ramp. “Are we really in Roam?”

“Roam was, is, huge. Like Manehattan. This is just the edge of it,” Pythia said as the crowd diverged. The airport was certainly massive. A cluster of four great striped domes with a tower in the middle. Two of the domes were broken and empty, showing only the rubble of collapsed floors. But the tribute train wheeled right past both toward large square structures. ‘Cargo Hanger A1’. ‘Cargo Hanger A2’. They approached the first and a legionnaire mare looked up from her clipboard. Her hide was such a patchwork of shiny burn scars it was impossible to tell her tribe. “Food or Non-Food?” she asked the six of them.

“Ah… non?” Scotch asked.

“Keep walking,” she said with a toss of her head. At the next hanger, they asked if their tribute was bullets or weapons. The next, barding. Every step the crowd got thinner and thinner.

“They’ve got their shit together, I’ll give them that,” Skylord observed.

“Together? Are you kidding? They’re just tossing the junk into bins. They should sort it out and save problems later. Lousy organization!” Charity said crossly.

“You have a problem, pony?” an equine asked as they stepped out of the haze surrounded by six others. The stallion’s hide had a particular, waxy glow to it. “Where do you think you’re going? The only thing past here to give are tractors, and you do not have one.” Scotch tried not to stare at the little pilot light at the mouth of the flamer he wore, which was pointed right at the six of them. He was so scarred, Scotch couldn’t imagine what tribe he was from, or how he’d gotten those burns.

“I was… saying… you would do better to organize things, separate high value salvage from junk. Not just dump it all into tubs,” Charity said with a scowl.

“Bastion does the separating. We have better things to do,” he said with a cracked smile. “What is your business here?”

Scotch glanced at him and the others. “We’re trying to get to Roam. Are you Flare?”

His grey eyes bulged as his fellows chuckled. “Do I fucking look like Flare?!” he demanded, as if she had any clue what he was supposed to look like.

“A Flame Legionnaire told me to ask for Flare. Gave me this,” she said as she fished out the note and passed it to him.

His eyes twitched over the paper. “That fucking coal,” he growled and then held the note to the flame. Scotch tried not to lunge for it as it charred to ash. “Congratu-fucking-lations, pony! You have arrived! I hope your village sent you with something valuable for the trip.”

“Not really, no. We’re from a lot further than this place,” Scotch said. “I don’t suppose you could let us go through? Into the city?”

“No, I can’t let you go into the city.” he said in short, snippy words. “Roam’s under martial law. Our law. Looters will be incinerated. The only salvagers allowed are our own conscripts and Bastion’s people. Everyone else is smart enough to stay the fuck away.”

“Well we have to go there.”

The scarred equine leaned in. “What do you think is south of us, pony? Are you imagining ruins? There are ruins. Are you imagining monsters? There are monsters. Are you imagining fire? There is much fire,” he said in a low, raspy purr. He straightened with a smirk. “Is your imagination satisfied now? Good. Go elsewhere, pony. Be thankful. Only death and flame awaits.”

Scotch glanced at the others. It’d worked twice before. “Can we speak to your general?”

“General Inferno is much too busy to deal with…” He seemed to struggle a moment.

“Tourists?” Majina suggested.

He grunted. “Tourists. Yes. So I will handle this myself.”

“Handle what, Pyre?” a zebra asked as he approached out of the gloom. Unlike the others, he didn’t have any burned skin showing. He looked over them all with a calm, placid, reasonable smile.

“None of your business, Flare,” Pyre stated firmly. “This is a security matter. I am addressing it!”

“They’re in the tribute section of the base. I’ll deal with it,” Flare contradicted. Pyre’s chin rested on the flamer’s mouth grip. A bite and a twist and they’d all be burning. “Try it, Brother.” Flare murmured, his body calm and his smile dismissive.

Pyre raised his mouth away from the grip. “As you say, Brother. I’ll get back to the line.”

“Ah, Flare. She’s c–” one of pyre's stallion started to say. Pyre snarled at him, hissing through his teeth. “Crazy! She’s crazy! One crazy pony!” he amended in a rush.

“Dumbass,” Pyre growled as he turned away slowly, disappearing with the others back into the haze. It was at that moment there was a loud plop of rain, followed by a heavy hiss. The water was warm, like piss, and tainted gray brown. It even tasted salty.

“We should get inside,” he said, gesturing to the last cargo hanger in the line. It was empty save for two large steam tractors and a huge winged contraption with propellers. Did things like that actually fly? It seemed impossible! Where were the storm clouds to keep it aloft? “You’re fortunate Pyre saw reason. He rarely rubs flanks with it,” Flare said with a calming air.

A half dozen Fire Legionnaires filed in around them, no less menacing illuminated by the lamps above. The rain was rapidly transforming the ash outside into more gray mud which seemed to be flowing like runny cement. The air filled with a soapy scent and frothed as it poured off the roof. The Flame Legionnaires seemed happy to get out of the filthy drizzle. Flare took a seat on a filthy cushion, and six more were pulled out. From somewhere outside came a rumbling roar, but Flare ignored it.

“So, a green pony mare heading to Roam. You’d be the ‘Green Menace’?” he asked with an amused smile. He certainly seemed pleasant enough, but she’d met Haimon, and refused to relax just because he had a pretty face, especially compared to Pyre.

“You’ve heard of me,” Scotch said, tensing. “So is this the point where you kill me, try to capture me, take you to your leader, or help me?”

“Are those really all my options?” he asked with a wry smile.

“I’m going to Roam,” she swore as she glared at him.

“Going? You’re here,” he said as he pointed out the far end of the hanger, where an open door pointed south. The rain was washing the haze out of the air and she walked forward and stood in the doorway for a moment looking south. Through the rain and smoke, she saw the red glow that resolved itself into great plumes of flame. A great rift bisected large, wide fields of concrete, and from that chasm, which ran as far as her eye could see, leapt tongues of yellow. She stepped out into the downpour, walking closer to the rift. Beyond, fires burned through the charred hulks of sky scrapers, in a ghastly illusion of internal lights. Puffs of fire periodically exploded from streets and storm drains.

All that would be enough, if it wasn’t for the screaming.

Equine shapes moved through the buildings, not on fire, but as fire. Their hides blackened, fire erupted along their bodies in horrifying parody of stripes. The ravine was full of blazing boulders, glowing with heat. On the far size, burning zebra corpses screamed and raced along the edge, as if trying to find a way across. Then a side of a building glowed bright orange and a ball of flame exploded out over the streets, sending the blazing zebras running wildly.

“Welcome,” Flare said with a clap on her shoulder, “to Roam.”

“That is shit! That is complete brahmin shit! Dragon shit!” Skylord swore as he pointed a talon at the city once the shock faded. She didn’t think it would ever fade.

“Everyone knows the Flame Legion protects Zebrinica from the horrors of Roam, Iron.”

“Why is it still on fire? Anything flammable should have burned away long ago?” Scotch asked, trying to focus. She knew that a balefire bomb in a prison had once caused fires like this, but unless there were thousands of balefire bombs in Roam, it shouldn’t be.

Flare trotted over to a table and pulled out a metal box with hoses. “See this?” he asked as he opened it up. The dirty, gray Equestrian diamond had surely seen better days. It was cracked through the middle, the glyph inside flickering and fuzzy.

“It’s a talisman. For… methane?” Scotch guessed, looking at the symbols.

“No surprise a pony would know,” Flare said with a nod. “Before the war, Roam had all the latest pony gadgets, back when we were trading for gems. Some talismans produced gasses. Others made things like plastics or cloth or anything really.” He paused, chuckling. “Then the megaspells hit. The talismans went nuts, and the Beast appeared.”

“What Beast?” Majina asked in a near whisper. Flare paused, holding up a hoof for silence as he cupped an ear. Then Scotch heard it over the rain and fire. A deep bellow, like a volcano in agony.

“No one knows what it is, but needless to say, Roam burned. Millions lived here. And soon after, the balefire bombs flew.” He gave a shrug. “Didn’t help there were balefire bombs in Roam too when it went off. The megaspells and balefire bombs and everything mixed together into Roam, and the dead walk as undead flame.”

“Just let us set up some artillery batteries and we’ll turn them into rubble,” Skylord swore.

“Doesn’t work that way,” Flare said with a shake of his head. “Lucria!” he snapped. A mare approached with a rifle. “Pop a Cremite.” The burned mare glanced at all of them and then pulled out her rifle. She took the two-legged stance, steadying it with her forelegs before the rifle barked once. The skull of a flaming zebra on the edge exploded with a pop of flame. From the neck hole emerged a blazing equine shape ending in a long, snakelike tendril. It let out a scream of rage, swished forward and disappeared into another lump on the ground. The headless body crumbled, and the lump suddenly formed blazing stripes before rising to its feet again.

“Cremites can possess any body, and without a corpse to move into, they’ll happily move into yours. Worse, if they’re not contained, they’ll seek out bodies and cook them from the inside out. You can’t kill them. Best you can do is drive them off with fire,” Flare said with a smirk. “The golems are another thing entirely. They don’t burn at all.”

“I heard about them,” Majina said, “Old animated statues?”

“Fetishes. Shaman junk. They wander around the ruins doing things and setting things on fire. Worse, you can blast them to pieces and they just reform later,” he pointed a hoof at another building where another glowing blot appeared. “And, of course, fireblasts. Some things simply,” his eyes popped wide as his voice dropped, “explode. All because of the megaspells. And our legion keeps that,” he thrust a hoof at the ravine, then swept it in the opposite direction, “from getting out and spreading all over Zebrinica.” He leaned towards them, lips curling smugly. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

They took refuge in a shed outside the hanger. The muddy rain continued to wash filth out of the skies. Every now and then came a soft ‘krump’ of a fireblast. Pythia consulted her star map and crystal pendant while everyone else sat silently. Precious piled her gold coins and moved them one by one into a stack. Charity seemed to be jotting down numbers. Skylord disassembled and reassembled a gun over and over. Majina just stared out the grimy window at the city beyond. Pythia gave Scotch a look and she rose. Four sets of eyes turned to her.

“Toilet. Be right back,” she said as she stepped outside, walking out onto the ‘runway’. Why flying machines needed to run, she had no idea, but Majina had explained the word. The thick concrete and asphalt was split by the chasm. She wasn’t sure how far she needed to go so she trotted up to the edge and took a seat. The Flame Legion didn’t seem to care, so long as she didn’t interfere with them.

She took a deep breath, lifting her head back and letting the hot rain patter down on her. Then she lowered her face, shifted her sight, and looked–

A scream tore from her throat as an icepick rammed right between her eyes, twisting her thoughts as she clenched her eyes shut and pressed her face to the wet ashes. She smacked her forehead into the ground again and again as if trying to beat the images out of her head. They wouldn't stop! It was like she'd just looked at a whole library of black books! She cupped her face and screamed into the earth just as the city screamed before her. It took several seconds, her throat raw, before she fell silent.

“If you’re going crazy, could you scream less?” rasped Pyre from where he sat on an oil drum nearby. “Last thing Roam needs is more screaming.” He shielded a cigarette and lit it with a flip lighter, drew in a deep breath, and let out a curl of his own smoke in the drizzle. “Flare sent me to keep you from doing something stupid.”

“It’ll never stop,” Scotch muttered, the rain washing the gray sludge away from her face. “The city… I don’t think it can stop. Ever. It’s on fire. All of it!” She hugged Rocky's block to her chest. Hard comfort.

“Yeah, can see that.” He glanced at the stone but said nothing as he returned to watching the trench.

But he couldn’t. Not like she could. Take a city of millions of people and countless spirits, soak them all in flamer fuel, and light a match. Two centuries later, the spirits of the city still screamed. Millions of them.

And she had to go in there. Her friends had to go in there.

They’d burn. Screaming. Forever. Well, maybe not Rocky... maybe. But if there was somewhere rocks could scream, it would be there.

“You’ve been in there?” Scotch asked. He gave her a scornful glare. “Sorry. Dumb question.”

He grunted as he smoked, tilting his face to protect the ember. “Every week at least. Sometimes two, three times. Send in conscripts to try and scavenge valuable stuff. Dig firebreaks. Supplies.”

“How?” she muttered. “How does anyone go inside that place?” Her forehead throbbed, but it was just enough to dull the pain of that glimpse of spirit sight.

“‘Cause we have to,” he answered with a shrug. Then he stared at her a long moment, blowing a spear of smoke at her. “If it’ll cut out your whining and moaning, just fart in my general direction, and I’ll throw you in with the next batch of conscripts and save you the torment of decision. That’s all it will take.” But she was skeptical. He’d clearly decided not to kill her, for some reason she couldn’t imagine.

She stared ahead. Across the airfield she saw a canyon of fire. Like gazing into a blast furnace. It seemed… welcoming… “How do people like you… like her… choose to go to a place like that?” She tore her gaze away and looked up at him. “I knew a person. Blackjack. She went into places like this all the time. I never asked her how she did it.”

“‘Cause we’re dumb,” he muttered. “Smart people like Flare get other people to do it for them. I’m told to patrol. I patrol, fire or not. He gets told to patrol, he’ll get a village to cough up a half dozen idiots to burn.” He glanced at her again. “Normally, I keep scavengers out. Idiots trying to build a bridge to scavenge things.” He gestured to the ravine. “See this? We dug this. Not me, but my legion. Trying to keep the fire inside.”

“How?” she asked with a half smile.

“A whole lot of lives and pain,” he said, his scarred hide twisted as he grimaced. “But honestly, I’d rather chew glass than get into it.”

“Are you sure? I’d really like to know,” she asked as she faced him. “I’m not a legionnaire. I think the legions do a lot of bad things, but I’m learning it’s a lot more than just good and bad.”

He rolled his gray eyes and groaned in his throat. “Must be the damned Zencori in me,” he muttered. “Fine. We were the homeland defense force. While the other legions went over to blow up parts of Equestria, we were here to respond to Equestrian raids. Raptors. Teleport infiltration squads. Things like that. And one thing that always came with raids were explosives and firebombs. So we got really good at fighting fires.”

He paused, his eyes narrowed. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me that ponies would never do anything like that?”

She blinked in surprise. “Why? I mean, I don’t know everything that happened in the war, but I know a lot of mess up things did.”

He seemed even more sour at that and took a thoughtful pull in the cigarette. “Ponies normally say ‘Oh, Celestia would never!’ or ‘Luna was misunderstood.’ I’ve seen recordings of the attacks. Factories. Bases. Even civilians.”

Scotch shrugged. Though she doubted that ponies would go after civilians outright, she had no doubts ‘collateral damage’ occurred. “I don’t think ponies were much different from legions, back then.”

He grunted again, looking at the city. “Fire Legion wasn’t all that military. Mostly civilians mobilized to respond to disasters. We’d charge in then too. Because we had to.”

“Is that the secret then?” she wondered as she looked across into the fire. “Just eliminate all other options till you have to do it? Is that even making a choice at all?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, taking a pull off the cigarette. “Shit, one can hope. See the miraculous thing about not having a choice is no one can blame you if it all goes wrong.”

He was wrong. You absolutely could blame them. Even when you tried your hardest not to.

“Why don’t you and your friends just go home? You’re not conscripts. You don’t have villages or anyone owing us tribute. I mean, I’d like to toast you all and call it a night, but Flare’s pissed in that campfire.” He leaned away from Scotch as if trying to view her from a new angle.

“Not really sure where that is,” she replied, rubbing her face with her hooves. “I’ve seen more of the world than I even imagined. From floating mountains to the sea. Not sure where I’m supposed to be.”

“Well, take the brand and we’ll give you a home. It’s a shitty home, but we look after our own,” he grunted.

That wasn’t going to happen, ever. She didn’t know what that brand did, but that black spirit sin she didn’t want anywhere on her. “I need to go in there. We need to find some kind of temple or something. The temple of the twelve and one tribes. Ever seen it?”

“Temple? Shit, we’re lucky if we can hold on to a corner deli for a month,” Pyre said with a shake of his head. “If it’s fancy, and that sounds fancy, you’re going to need to go all the way to Bayside. A lot of old, fancy buildings there. Big money. Gold and other treasures.” He rubbed his chin. “Otherwise, Government Plaza. But good luck getting there. I don’t think we’ve reached it in two centuries.” He stared at her a moment and suddenly scowled. “Why am I telling you this?”

Scotch rose to her hooves as well. “Because I asked?”

“No!” he spat. “I should have told you to fuck off. Zencori? Who the fuck gives a fuck about tribe once you get the brand? That’s the whole point of the brand.” Scotch had no clue what to say to that as he glared. His glare softened a little. “Shit. You really are cursed…”

“You doubted it?” Scotch said, smirking at meeting the first skeptical zebra she could remember. “Ember said I was. And you didn’t tell your brother. Which makes me think you’re hoping my curse bites him in the ass.”

Doubt flickered across his face. “Something’s got to, eventually. Statistically, if nothing else. I just want him to step in it just once. Letting a cursed pony into Roam might do it.”

Scotch may not have liked his reasons, but they aligned with her goals. “And if I get my curse all over you, Pyre?”

The scared zebra threw his hooves wide. “What else is it going to do to me? He’s is charge of all the salvage. Me, I get to walk meat into an oven.”

Scotch then looked back at the hanger. “I’m scared for my friends though.”

“You should be,” he said with a sniff. “Roam is a crucible. It burns away weakness, and only the strong survive. The smart never go there to begin with.”

“Part of me wants to go alone. Or maybe just with Pythia.”

“Sure. Double the curse,” Pyre replied. “But you’re not going to do that.”

That irked. “How do you know? You don’t know me.”

“You’re a pony. It’s how you’re wired,” he scoffed. “If you were the kind to go alone, you’d be gone already. The fact it bothers you is proof enough.”

Scotch wondered if this was how Blackjack felt. Time and time again, did she doubt herself? Did she wonder if her choices were the right ones? Or did she just do things and never once wonder how it could all go wrong? Scotch remembered all the times Blackjack led her around the Hoof. Not once did Blackjack ever just park herself in Chapel for her own good. Did Blackjack think about it? The risk? Or did she just… do things?

“A fool can do anything, because they don’t know what they can’t do,” Scotch wondered aloud, thinking of Sekashi, Majina’s mom. She wasn’t a fool, but then what was she? She heard cards in the back of her mind, but she didn’t want the Dealer to tell her. She wanted to decide who she was.

“What’s that?” Pyre asked with a frown.

“Nothing,” she said as she turned her back on the horrors that awaited her. “Time to come in out of the rain.”

Inside the hanger, Flare seemed to be having a tense argument with several other zebras. Pyre only went as far as the hanger door, smoking. “Did I miss something?” she asked as she looked at the knot of zebras.

“Politics,” Skylord grumbled. “Nothing unusual. I think Flare’s on your side. That one wants to take it up with their general, and that one just wants to shoot all of you, death curses be damned.” Skylord sniffed and dropped his voice a little. “Pretty sure I can get us out of here if you want to split and try to find some other way across.”

Scotch glanced over her shoulder at Pyre, then back at the knot of Flame Legionnaires. “Not unless they plan on making us conscripts.”

“Probably not, if they’re like Irons. Easier just to kill us,” he muttered.

“Okay. Like Gāng said, be the boulder… be the boulder,” Majina whispered to herself as she danced on her hooves.

"I am the boulder," Rocky commented.

Scotch smiled at the block. "Are you good with going?"

"She's talking to her pet rock again," Skylord muttered.

"I am not a pet," the spirit sniffed, but then added, "I fear no little flame. But there is a great and terrible fire here. Still, you will take me somewhere new. I will go."

“Shh, they’re coming,” Pythia muttered, moving behind Skylord and Precious.

“So,” Flare said as he clapped his hooves together. “I’m going to let you across. You’ll go with our next batch of recruits, and as far as anyone else cares, you’re with Bastion’s tech teams.” Scotch’s insides lurched at the unexpected news. No fights to the death? “But, I have two conditions.”

“Here it comes,” Charity muttered.

“First, I want a balefire bomb.” He said with that placid smile. “Mini or mega, I don’t care.”

Mini was not a word Scotch associated with 'balefire bomb.' “What on Equus do you need one of those things for?” Scotch demanded.

“What does one use such a thing for?” Flare mused out loud, and gave Skylord a cool stare. “Don’t worry, Griffon. I’ve no interest in using it on your legion.”

“Good enough for me,” Skylord answered. “Not like you’re the only legion with the damned things.”

“Indeed,” Flare said with a chuckle.

“Where are we supposed to get one of those?” Scotch demanded.

“You’re resourceful and you’re determined. I’m sure you’ll trip over one eventually. That’s your ticket out,” Flare said in his smooth, confident voice.

“And two?” Pythia asked coolly.

“One of you will stay here as my guest. If you run off, they die. If they run off, at least one of you will die.” He spread his forehooves wide. “I assume ‘the magic of friendship’ will keep you from doing something too stupid.”

“Done,” Charity said promptly.

“What?” Scotch gasped.

“It’s the smart choice.” Charity pointed to the south and then lowered her voice. “I’ll be useless in there. I’m tired of being useless. Out here I can try and help you. Find ways to get supplies to you. If these Bastion people are going in, some of them should be able to bring needed packages.”

“But how will we communicate?” Scotch asked with a frown. If Dr. Z was still on the air, maybe that would have been an option.

Charity pointed at Scotch’s PipBuck with a hoof. “Tune in to DJ Pon3’s frequency. I’ll find a transmitter somewhere that can reach you. If you can find a transmitter in there, I’ll be listening every evening.” She then took a deep breath and turned to Precious. “I’m going to need your imperios.”

“What?!” Precious blurted, clutching her golden necklace to her chest. “That’s crazy talk.”

“I don’t have my salt. I’m going to need some kind of trade fodder to work with here.” Charity said in a rush as she glanced over at the Flame Legionnaires. “It’s not going to be any use to you in there. I promise I’ll repay with interest. Two percent.” Precious wrinkled her nose. “Two point five?” A flat stare from the dragonfilly. Charity tried a sickly smile. “Three?”

Precious leaned in slowly. “Ten,” she declared.

“Ten percent?” Charity muttered, swaying on the spot.

“No. Ten thousand percent!” Precious said dramatically.

Charity stared a moment. “Do you have any clue what that actually is?”

“Not a bit,” Precious replied, then grinned. “Just stay safe. I don’t like this Flare guy. Too smooth.” Scotch had to agree. A legionnaire that was too ‘smart’ to get hurt struck her as someone with a plan, like Haimon. Precious pulled the string of gold coins off her head. “Ah, I’m going to miss more episodes of ‘El Dorado.’ It’s my favorite show…”

“I know, right! I was wondering if the contessa was going to take her family away the next time we had to buy food,” Majina said with a sigh.

“You two are so frigging weird,” Skylord stated as he rubbed his beak.

Scotch tried to smile as she regarded the unicorn. “If you’re sure,” Scotch said, looking into Charity’s gold eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Just bring out some good salvage for me when you find your shaman stuff and come back again,” she said with a wave of her hoof. “Be careful,” she added as her smile melted. “You’re annoying, and I’m going to start racking up a tab if you make me wait too long.”

Scotch then turned to Flare. “We have an agreement,” she stated firmly.

Flare gave her a confident smile she did not like in the least. “Excellent!”

* * *

“Listen up, my little charcoal briquettes,” Pyre shouted as they gathered at the edge of the ravine. A massive steel cage made from the fuselage of one of the ‘airplanes’ dangled from a dozen cables hanging from a towering construction crane erected on the field. “You want to help your villages? Then keep your heads and stay alive. You get torched by a cremorian, your village gets to send someone else to finish your time. You go in together. You fight together. You leave together.”

The conscripts were a hundred or so assortment of people. Mostly zebra villagers, but there were a few other strange creatures mixed in as well. Off to the side waited a half dozen zebras in fancy tech gear. ‘Bastion’s people’. Everyone else, including Scotch and her friends, wore heavy rubber boots and black coats that covered their entire bodies. The only weapons they had were hammers and flares. Only legionnaires got flamers and guns.

Pyre marched back and forth, giving instructions to the new recruits. “Soon as the cage lands, you’re going straight down the highway to our base camp. Hopefully it hasn’t been forced to move. Listen to any order a legionnaire gives you. At worst, dying to a cremorian is less painful than pissing us off. It’s a ten kilometer hike. Don’t get lost in the smoke, and don’t stop. The second you do to take a piss or shit or jerk off, something’s going to kill your ass. You stop and rest when we tell you to stop and rest. You see something shiny, tell us, and keep moving. Do not try and grab salvage for yourself. Anything in there already belongs to us.” He gave the group a look before his eyes slid over to the Propoli from Bastion, as if he wanted to add something, but didn’t.

The group of nearly a hundred gathered inside the cage. Scotch tried to get herself closer to Pyre. As soon as the conscripts were loaded, she moved over to where he stood at the front. “What about us?”

“What about you?” he snorted, glaring scornfully at her before looking at the city. “Do whatever. Shoot at us and we’ll cremate you.” He paused, twisting his lips. “But till Flare or the general says otherwise, you can stay at our firebases. Just hand over whatever loot you find.”

The platform lurched as the crane lifted the fuselage into the air and started to swing it across the ravine. The hot blast of air raked past her, in spite of the fireproof coat she wore. The cremorians raced back and forth underneath them, screaming and waving their hooves, as if they were begging to be let out of this burning hell. If they were warded off by fire, did that mean they feared each other as well? Did they even know they were ablaze?

“Torches ready!” Pyre bellowed, reached down and lit a flare, and held it out. Legionnaires passed the flame along from one to the next. Scotch and her friends weren’t conscripts. They’d have to rely on Precious.

An area had been cleared out on the far side of the chasm, looking like parking for the airport. As the platform dropped, the Flame Legion threw down firebombs upon the cremorians, who screamed and thrashed their hooves as they fled from the circle. No sooner did the platform touch down than Pyre screamed, “Move!” and with that ran forwards towards the burning city. Scotch gave one look at her friends, saw the Bastion zebras were right in the middle, and moved along with them.

She gave one look over her shoulder at the airport, but it was already lost in the smoke and haze.

After that it was eyes forward, and running.

The cremorians howled as they’d swarm in towards the group, and then break at gouts of flamers. It’d almost be funny, save one of the conscripts faltered to the side as he frantically waved the torch in front. The cremorian raced in from the side and jumped on him, screaming. The fire-resistant coat bubbled as the cremorian tried to cling tight, before a flamer let out a puff of fire at the pair. The cremorian screamed as it threw itself away from the flame. The zebra staggered, blisters and char on his neck from where the cremorian’s hooves had gotten past the coat. No other words besides ‘move’ were given.

The golems seemed almost harmless in comparison as they moved around, ambling like burning statues. But when they grew close, the golems, each two or three times the size of a zebra, would suddenly turn, rear up, and slam their hooves down, sending flaming pebbles everywhere. The Flame Legion simply ignored them, spreading around the enormous statues, which returned to their mindless patrols. The one time a golem blocked the roadway completely, Pyre sprinted ahead and pulled something like fire crackers from his saddlebag. He tossed them in such a way that they wrapped around a leg before exploding, taking off the leg at the joint. Without the limb, the golem toppled over, and they raced past before it could recover.

Explosions punctuated the run. Fire burst from storm drains and utility shafts in the road. There were streams of flame. Puffs. Balls. Fountains. Sometimes the fire would crawl overhead like it was trying to fight the rising air and fall upon them. Sometimes it did fall in blazing droplets of petroleum. And sometimes the ground just exploded. The dull red glow gave a few seconds’ warning before fire ripped free of the ground.

And it rained. It rained hot, dirty rain. Rained fire. Rained rocks. Rained ash. Every second was things falling on her flank, and she could only hope it wasn’t a cremorian. The veil of smoke and rain and mud threatened any second to overwhelm them.

Then it was gone.

The fire disappeared as if someone had cut off a match. The ruins were coated in ash and gray mud. Hot, wet water trickled along the stones. For a moment, all the conscripts dared to pause and look at the buildings looming up in the gloom overhead. The burned statues of zebras loomed over them from the hollow shells of skyscrapers. Their columned facades betrayed the swirling metal girders of their gutted magnificence.

“Move!” Pyre shouted at the gawking conscripts.

Because it exploded. The fire ripped out of the yawning facade of a bank, screaming as it washed across the conscripts. With it came the cremorians, racing as if being driven by the flames straight at the legionnaires.

And it was back to running.

Scotch silently thanked the Mountain King for clearing out her lungs. Even with that, her chest throbbed and she struggled against the waves of smoke. Majina was there, using water from a bottle to wet the cloth over her muzzle. Skylord kept them all from walking right into the path of a golem simply sitting by the road. It lunged as soon as they were in reach. Pythia kept shouting out warnings before the ground exploded underneath them. There were a few false alarms, but these were excused when the ground could, and was, exploding under their hooves.

It didn’t help when they were going up a hill. The skyscrapers had given way to five story block houses, turning the boulevard into a canyon. Distant explosions preluded burning rubble raining down from above. The air was half smoke, half mist, all horrible, and barely breathable. Some conscripts faltered, but Pyre at least made an effort to keep them moving.

Up. Up. Up. No switchbacks. What a horrible layout for a road, Scotch thought bitterly as they struggled up the slope. Cremorians, unburdened by physics, flared and nipped at their hooves. Up. Up. to a distant gap in the block houses.

And suddenly she was hit by a blast of hot, salty air. Its only redeeming quality was it blew the smoke away behind them.

Roam lay before them in a great crescent around an immense natural bay. Thirteen tall hills ringed it, and the ruins were punctuated by skyscrapers, great broken domed buildings, and enormous zebra statues. A roiling cloud overhead threatened a new dose of mud and ash. But all that was secondary.

This was the Beast.

It sat near the mouth of the bay, buried up to its waist in the earth. Liquid fire poured off its vaguely draconic features as it pounded at the rock that entrapped it. Huge plumes of salty steam erupted from its forelegs as the sea washed against it, and the beast screamed and thrashed in response. Molten stone and fire flung off it, raining down across the city as it wailed and frantically beat upon the stone entrapping it. The water inside the bay was a sickly yellow green, punctuated by chalky white flows of mud. Periodically waves would roll right up the rocky encasement and splash against it, evoking another scream of agony.

Pyre patted her on the head. “Say hello to the Beast of Roam.”

Author's Note

Sorry this took so long. In the interest of putting 2020 behind me, I'm going to try to get more of these out more promptly. But Scotch finally made it! She reached Roam!

This is officially the ending of part 1. There should be 2 more parts, and if part 1 is any indication I'm going to be at this a while. Sigh...

I'd really like to give special thanks to my editor Icy Shake. What with 2020, its been hard getting good feedback, but he still ponied up and helped me edit this into something more decent.

Thanks to Kkat for FoE, thats to Bro and Heartshine for helping me with the story, and thanks to everyone that's stuck with me so far. If you like the story and want to help more, I have tip jars with paypal and patreon. Every bit is appreciated.

Thank you.