The Everfree is restless, but it’s not fear that’s on my mind; I’ve long since gotten accustomed to the creatures that nest here. But it’s been
three months since I’ve been so close to Ponyville. Without meaning to, I start trotting faster, fighting a smile. I have to
remind myself I can’t visit the farm, or risk being seen. But at least I’ll be able to get
some news rather than just staying up all night worrying.
The ground feels glad to see me.
Groaning, I get off, shooting a glare at the root I tripped over. Me and my big hooves, back in action. I’d like to blame my clumsiness on the
fact my true form isn’t a pony, that I’m not used to having four hooves. But according to every thing I’ve heard, sirens were supposed to be
graceful creatures no matter their form.
I sure do great at living up to my legacy, don’t I?
Sighing, I roll my eyes, smiling as I duck into the small clearing, dominated by a familiar looming mossy tree. I hurry up to the door set in the
tree’s trunk, knocking quickly. “Zecora? You home?”
There was a pause, then the door swung open, a familiar wrinkled face smiling. “Brio Vespers, long time no see. I trust you were seen by no
pony?”
“There was a spot in back at Vanhoover,” I admit with a grimace. “Barely made it out of that one. But I got away, and look!” I say, brightly,
pulling off my saddlebags. “I brought you some dried ice iris leaves!”
Zecora, however, was not distracted. “You should be more careful when you
roam. They may use their magic to follow you home,” she chided, opening the
saddlebags to gather to leaves I’d gathered.
Pausing, I clear my throat, managing a nervous smile. “Speaking of home, how...
how’s Sweet Apple Acres doing?”
Zecora smiles, shaking her head in amusement as she sets the dried leaves in a bowl and begins grinding them with a pestle. “I can see
behind your casual mask. You’ve been impatient to ask.” She chuckles, then pauses, wincing at one of the aches that had come with old age. “All is
well with your family. Apple Jack is as safe as can be. And if I may add from what I hear, you may have a half-sibling near.”
“Really?” I say, blinking in surprise. “That’s-that’s great,” I say, nodding hesitantly as I trot across the room to dig out my mattress. “She’ll be a
great mom.”
“She’ll love you less you presume, than a child from her own womb?” asked Zecora gently, offering a sympathetic smile.”
Hesitating, I shrug, shoving the straw mattress into the corner before flopping down on it. “No! Well, yeah, a little bit. I mean, I wasn’t a choice.
I wasn’t even a normal pony,” I say, trying not to sound quite so bitter. It doesn’t much work. “Now she can have a son or daughter to raise on the
farm, to take on the family trade and work the farm, her own child born from the pony she loves.”
To my annoyance, Zecora only laughs, smiling as she shakes her head, pouring the powdered leaves into the cauldron at the heart of the
room. “Foolish boy! to Miss Jack you’re rather dear. I know she’d be glad to know you’re here.”
I try to think of some sort of clever response, a witty comeback, but everything
that comes to mind is stupid, so instead I just let out a huff, sinking into the mattress. It’s not exactly Canterlot satin, but it’s better than sleeping
outside in the mud. Taking a long deep breath, I sit up, glancing to Zecora. “I hope you’ve been taking your rheumatism medicine.”
She grimaces, avoiding my eyes. “I do not approve of the doctor’s pill. I think I’d rather feel ill.”
“Come on Zecora, at least take the pills until I find some dock root for you to make your own,” I argue, letting out a frustrated huff. “I don’t like
leaving to get you things like those ice irises when you’re feeling this poor.”
“My ailment is something they call old age. Illness is just another word on the page,” she said, coughing with a wince. “Does something smell
not right to you? I know it is not the scent of my brew,” she said, lifting her head to sniff the air.
Pausing, I raise my head, breathing deeply. I can smell the heavy scent of the various herbs and plants hanging from the ceiling as they dry,
and the spicy-sweet smell of the potion she’d been mixing. Beneath all that, there’s a faint heavy smell, growing stronger quickly.
Smoke.
By the time I’m on my feet, flames are slowly starting to gnaw right through the walls. Beyond I can hear guards shouting orders, magic as
they speed the fire’s rage. Before I can react, a beam of wood shatters, falling across the door, blocking us in.
No one but Zecora knows I live with her now, and she’d never tell. They’ve tracked me here. I’ve put her in danger. “Zecora!” I yell, hurrying to
her side. “Stay close, I’m going to get us out of here!”
“No!” she suddenly says, her voice vehement. “You must run and flee! It’s you they want, escape quickly!”
“I’m not leaving you here!” I insist, focusing my magic. The gem in my chest glows as I try to fight the fire. But it’s no help. I’m not good enough
with magic. “Do you have anything we can use to put up the fire!?”
“I can handle this attack!” Zecora said fiercely, her lines face becoming almost young. “Escape through the window at the back!”
“But-”
“Get moving you cow! I said now!”
Chewing my lip, I grab my saddlebags, throwing them on. “I’ll come back for you, alright?” I say, hurrying to the back window. I want to make
her come with me. The window is too high. She’s too old, too fragile.
“Now!” she yells, grabbing a series of elixirs and potions. She casts me one last glance before I leave.
I drop out the back window, kicking free of the burning tree. Gritting my teeth, I run. Guards shout, cast spells, throw spears, but I just run.
Their fear, their anger, it fuels me, feeling me with energy and anger to match. I fight it away, pouring all that power into my legs, forcing myself to
run faster, racing until the shouts of the guards fade into the distance and my magic is drained.
I run a while longer at that, as if I can outrun what happened. Finally, I pull out into an empty clearing, with no one but a few singing birds and
a quiet stream. Collapsing at the edge, I drink eagerly.
Pausing, I look to the sky, back the way I came. A trail of smoke pirouettes upwards, fading as it grows wider. Since leaving Sweet Apple Acres,
Zecora’s tree hut was the closest thing I had to home, and now Celestia’s taken that from me too.
But even that blow is nothing compared to Zecora.
She was always there for me, always willing to give me good food and a place to sleep, willing to lie to keep me hidden. But there was a look
in her eyes when I escaped the tree. It was a fierce look, the look of an old warrior woman headed into her last battle. I promised I’d go back for
her.
But there might be nothing left to go back for.
Tearing my eyes from the morbid sight of the stained sky, I glance back at the stream, staring into my own warped reflection. It’s the face of a
pony, just another ordinary Equestrian, but I know it’s not who I really am.
Do I really deserve this? Because of what my ancestors did, because of what I am, do I deserve to never had a home or a family? No one and
nothing?
Pausing, I blink back tears with a grimace, looking away as I force myself to my feet. I can’t stay here long, or those guards, useless as they
tend to be, might track me down eventually. I need to keep moving.
I will never forgive Celestia for what she’s done to me.
Author's Note
And so begins the tale of Brio Vespers! This takes place quite a few years after "The Nature of Nurture," with Brio nearly all grown up and on the beginnings of his own adventure! More to come soon, I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!
Crickets hum as the sun sets over the forest, casting long crooked shadows. The smell of burnt wood is thick in the air, but it’s already begun to fade.
I don’t know where I’m going, but it hardly matters. I can’t show my face anywhere near Ponyville, or any city for that matter. For all I know they still might be tracking me with some sort of magic, and it might not even matter that I escaped.
I hope Zecora’s alright.
I hesitate at the creaking sound of wagon wheels, briefly wondering whether to ditch the path. But I hesitate too long, and a crooked old stallion near as big as Big Macintosh comes around the corner, dragging a covered cart painted with fading colors.
“You, boy,” the gruff unicorn says, wiping sweat from his face. “Is it much farther to the next town?”
“Half a day’s walk, moving quickly,” I say quickly, eager to get out of the conversation as soon as I can.
He nods, groaning slightly. “Suppose this is good a place as any to rest my bones, then. Boy, can you help this old stallion get down his blankets?”
“You really shouldn’t sleep here,” I say hesitantly approaching the wagon. “This is timberwolf territory, and it’s mating season.”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout me boy, I know a thing or two ‘bout monsters!” the stallion said with a wheezy chuckle, stretching his crooked limbs as he sat back against a tree, apparently waiting for me to get to work. After a pause, I dig around in the back of his cluttered wagon, digging out a tattered quilt, barely holding together at the seams.
He nods his thanks as I pass it to him, but as I turn to leave, he cuts in again. “Aren’t you gonna build a fire? It get’s mighty cold at night without a fire,” he points out, getting comfortable. “Don’t think these old bones would last the night without one!”
Biting back a sigh, I gather some ignored sticks. It doesn’t take long to build a quick fire, something I’d gotten used to after spending a few cold nights at the side of roads. Still, I hate staying still, hate that any moment, the royal guards could be getting closer.
Striking the flint and steel one more time, I return them to my saddlebags, bending to blow the embers, trying to coax them to live. Finally, a small fire catches on the dry kindling.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I straighten, forcing a smile for the old stallion. “I really should be on my way, sir,” I say, chewing my lip as I glance up and down the path.
“Nonsense!” cries the old stallion, letting out another wheezing chuckle. “You’ve got me all bedded down for the night, so it’s only fair I repay you! How about a horn brace?”
I pause, staring at him for a moment. “I’m not a unicorn, sir,” I point out, wondering if I should maybe just ignore him and leave.
He pauses, the lets out a sudden laugh, clucking to himself. “Right you aren’t! My old eyes are going, just thought I saw a something about you-pegasus oil won’t do you much good either, would it, and you don’t seem much like the voodoo and hoodooing type, so that’s out; genies aren’t in season and wishing fish aren’t ripe, did I sell that old spinning wheel yet?” he mused aloud.
Hesitating, I clear my throat, blinking through the confusion. “Excuse me, sir? But who exactly are you?”
“Ah!” he said brightly, chuckling. “Where are my manners!? The name’s Vibrant Grimm, m’boy, of the Brothers Grimm! Peddlers of stories and harbingers of magic, travelers of the worlds!”
“Brothers? Then where’s the other one?” I ask, uncertainly sitting down across the fire from the strange stallion.
He pauses, his bright demeanor wavering for the first time. “Oh, I’m sure Stygian’s around here somewhere. Ghosts are never far off.”
“Ghosts?”
“But enough about us! You and your patience deserve a reward, a magic to make all your dreams come true! I don’t suppose you’d care for glass slippers?” guwaffed Vibrant, snorting at his own joke.
“Wait-like Cindershoes? In that fairytale?” I cut in, trying to get a word in edgewise. “But-”
“Nothing, nothing, nothing! What say you, Stygian? What’s the boy’s reward?” shouted the unicorn, raising his head. There was a pause, only broken by a chill wind that rustled the trees overhead, and blew shadows across the now rising moon.
Despite the silence, Vibrant lit up. “Of course! I should have thought of it myself! Brilliant Stygian, just brilliant!” He turned back to me, beaming with a friendly gap-toothed grin. “You’ve had a long hard day on the run my boy, so how about we tell you a story to lighten the mood?”
“I have no clue what’s going on,” I moan, grimacing. This stallion’s insane, and I’m wasting my time.
Vibrant pauses, chuckling. “Ah, yes, I do tend to get ahead of myself, don’t I? Me and my brother are archeologists, historians, and explorers, all rolled up into one. We studied magic, collected strange artifacts and traveled into the lands of Equestria and beyond. But most of all, we collect stories. Ever since Stygian died, his ghost’s been guiding me about, leading me to where stories need to be shared or found. It’s quite the advantage, having someone with a peek into the weavings of time on your side, even if a bit lonely-but never mind that!” he said, breaking back into a smile. “Come on boy, Stygian led me down this road for a reason, and I’d wager he wants me to tell you a story!”
“Really?” I say, curiosity and hesitance fighting. I shouldn’t stop here, not while there still could be guards looking for me. But idea that this meeting wasn’t a coincidence, that a ghost guided this strange stallion here-it sounds impossible, amazing, like some sort of story. And I could use a quick escape from reality. Better than thinking about everything that happened.
“Absolutely!” Vibrant said with a fierce nod. “I was on my way to Ponyville, actually, to collect stories about the friends and ascension of Princess Twilight, but this definitely wasn’t the shortest route. Stygian! What story do you want me to tell!?” he asked the emptiness. There was a pause, then another cold wind. Vibrant laughed at himself, offering me a smile. “Ah, there’s the catch. I never asked your name, did I? Go on then, tell Stygian!”
This stallion could just be some con pony, or insane, or any number of other reasons. But after everything, I want something I can believe in. I need something I can believe in.
“Brio,” I say aloud, biting my lip. “My name is Brio Vespers.”
Vibrant raises a curious eyebrow, though he doesn’t seem shocked or scared like I would have expected. “You don’t look much like a monstrous emotion sucking monster,” he said brightly. “But then, you can’t always believe political PR, can you? Stygian?”
A bottle fell from the back of the wagon, rolling to a stop near Vibrant’s hooves. He uncorks it, dumping out the paper inside and unrolling it. “This? Haven’t seen this old thing in years-I was starting to think it wasn’t for anyone,” said Vibrant in surprise. He passed it to me, and I smooth it out. Ancient symbols were painted on, and it took me a moment to recognize it.
“It’s a map,” I say in surprise, lifting my head.
Vibrant nods, getting a look in his eyes as if he were waxing nostalgic. “Yes indeed it it. Back when Stygian was alive, we discovered that there nearly falling apart in some pony’s attic. Styg insisted we buy it off them, but I was sure it was fake. But Stygian always knew what he was doing better than his goof of a big brother. It was no ordinary map. That map nearly let us unlock all the secrets of the City of the Sirens. Our story starts many millennia ago, way back when that Starswirl bloke was still in diapers. It starts with the most prosperous and beautiful city in all the world...”
