Those first steps are always the hardest
The train to Canterlot was crowded, with many ponies packed into the commuter car, which had wooden benches to sit upon. Sitting together on one of these benches was a mother, a pale blue-green pegasus pony, and her son, a unicorn, who had an unremarkable blue-grey pelt. The train, overloaded, chugged and puffed as it made its way up the Canterhorn to the grand city of Canterlot.
“Mama, I’m scared.” The unicorn colt, who approached his first decade mark, looked up at his mother with wide pale blue eyes, which peeped out from beneath a dark blue mane. He was large for his age and he wouldn’t be smaller than his mother for much longer, in perhaps another year or two, he would surpass her for size.
“Flicker Nicker, don’t be afraid,” the mare said to her son. “You have nothing to be afraid of. You have a bright and promising future now that you have your cutie mark. I am very, very proud of you and so is your father.”
“What if he doesn’t like me?” The colt both looked and sounded distressed. His voice was almost a whine and his ears kept rising and falling with each breath he took. “What if I get homesick? What if I mess up?”
“I am told that Mister Chandler is a pleasant fellow and I have been assured that he is kind to his apprentices.” The pegasus mare smiled down at her son, reached out with her wing, and tousled his mane. “Your father and I will come to Canterlot to visit you and you’ll be able to come home for visits.”
“But he is a candle maker—”
With a boop, she didn’t allow her son to finish. “And the head of the Rat Catcher’s Guild of Canterlot.”
Turning his head, Flicker Nicker looked at his cutie mark, which had appeared about a week ago after an epic battle with a rat found in the root cellar. It was an odd mark for a pony to have, very distinctive. A flaming rat on your backside tended to stick out in a crowd. Every pony had a place, and there was a place for every pony. Miss Cheerilee had told him that and she was an honest earth pony.
“You have an opportunity to learn a trade. I know it is difficult, but this is your future. Your father is a farmer and I work on the weather team. We’re poor. You have a chance to be a member of a guild—you’ll have a good life with a steady income. This is a noble profession… the rat catchers protect us from the plague.”
The plague was a very real threat. Flicker Nicker had learned about it in school. Rats carried fleas and lice that could and would infest ponies. The fleas and lice carried something that caused bubonic plague, septicemic plague, and pneumonic plague, diseases that affected the lymph nodes, the blood, and the respiratory system. Miss Cheerilee had stressed vigilance and the class often checked one another for fleas, lice, and mites. Try as he might, he could not think of the bacteria responsible for so much equine suffering.
“What about my schooling, Mama?”
“Mister Chandler is going to provide you with a tutor. The guild requires that all of its members, from the very top to the very bottom, all be educated.”
The colt mused upon his mother’s words as the train continued its upwards struggle to reach Canterlot. A cutie mark had caused this. He was leaving home to go and live with strangers, to grow up, and to learn a trade. A profession. His cutie mark was like a key that had opened a door and now, he had an opportunity. And all because he had killed a rat in the root cellar.
He was terrified. Scooting a little closer to his mother, he thought about how when this train ride ended, he would be left in the company of strangers and his mother would leave to go home. Without him. His memories drifted back to all of the times that his mother had held him under her wing. Her kisses, especially the ones just behind his ear that left him all tingly. The way she hugged him. It was time to leave all of that behind, to grow up, to embrace the pony he was meant to be.
A week ago, he hadn’t even known that the Rat Catcher’s Guild existed. They were quiet heroes, unknown heroes, ponies that worked in the shadows, in the sewers, in all of the dark places of the big cities, trying to keep Equestria safe from the plague. As he thought about it, he felt better about it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He had liked the sense of accomplishment that he had when he killed the rat down in the root cellar. That feeling of triumph, of victory.
Soon, they would be in Canterlot, the place where he, a colt, would become a stallion.
Canterlot was quite unlike Ponyville and Flicker Nicker wasn’t prepared for the change from rural simplicity to urban sophistication. The buildings were tall, the streets were narrow, and everything almost felt claustrophobic. There wasn’t much space to work with—indeed, space here was at a premium—and this many ponies crammed into such a tight space was an open invitation for disease.
Flicker Nicker could feel it all around him. Below him. For the very first time, his talent truly awoke and it screamed at him about the danger to him—to other ponies—all around him. Below the streets. In the walls. His danger sense was almost overwhelming and it was all Flicker Nicker could do to try and bear it.
The city appeared to be such a clean, perfect city, but the colt knew different. Something terrible lurked in every unseen passage, something hid in every shadowed gutter, there was foulness hidden behind the picturesque beauty that was Canterlot. It unnerved Flicker Nicker, but he felt the call. He felt the call and he would answer.
There was no longer any doubt, he knew what was right, what had to be done. It was time to put away foalish things and obey the call of his cutie mark. Overwhelmed, he leaned up against his mother, trembling against her, and she smelled like the seasonings that grew in the kitchen window planter.
“Come, Flicker, we must hurry, we have places to be,” his mother said as she gave him a reassuring nudge. It was just what he needed to get moving, to get motivated, and he resolved to make her proud. No, not just her, but Ponyville as well. A unicorn he might be, but he prided himself on his work ethic, something he had inherited from his earth pony father.
The Rat Catcher’s Guild was a nondescript building with a sign that had a golden crown over a dead rat lying flat upon its back. It was tall, made from storm cloud grey stone, and appeared to have a landing strip for pegasus ponies upon the roof. Flicker Nicker had the most peculiar sensation when he looked at the building, a strange feeling that he could not shake.
Above the door was a brass plaque that read, “It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.”
He was coming home. This was the place he was meant to be. Through this door was his future and he felt a curious sensation upon his hips, on both sides, where his cutie marks were. It was here, in this place, where he would find himself. Here he would become the pony he was meant to be. Without knowing how or why he knew, but he knew that every answer that would ever be important in his life would be found beyond that heavy oaken door trimmed in brass.
Not waiting for his mother, he stood upon the stoop, and, using his magic, rapped upon the heavy oaken door with the ornate brass knocker. Waiting, trembling, he swallowed and took a deep breath. His life, his purpose for being, it would be found beyond this door. The colt’s eyes were as wide as saucers when the door opened and a kind looking stallion stuck his head out.
Flicker Nicker was ready.
Mister Chandler was a tall, scarred, and weary looking unicorn stallion who had kind eyes. He was missing a leg, which had been replaced with a prosthetic limb made from wood and brass. His other legs had scars, some deep, gnarled, and twisted, which reminded Flicker Nicker of tree roots.
The office in which they met was a place of wonder and Flicker Nicker could not help but look around at all of the curious things on the shelves, on the display stands, and on the somewhat battered desk that had seen better days. There was something else upon the desk that caught the colt’s attention; a mask, heavy rubber leggings, and a short double-sided sword. tucked into a beat up wooden sheath.
“‘Ullo, Lad.” Mister Chandler squinted down at the colt. “Aye, I see ye eyein’ yer finery. Ye have that look about ye, Lad. An eagerness. Does me ‘eart good to see that, it does.”
Overwhelmed, the colt stared up at his new master with a reverent awe and his mother wrapped one of her wings around his neck. The sense of being at home, of belonging, of doing right, it was palpable now, it flowed through him like blood or current. Unable to speak, he gave Mister Chandler a nod.
“Aye, these are the masks we wear,” Mister Chandler said as he lifted up the heavy looking mask. It was almost bird like, with a long protruding nose. The eyes were thick glass. Everything about it was protective, designed to keep the rats from chewing off a pony’s face. “This’ll be the mask ye’ll wear. Today, actually. Ye’ll be joining me on yer first ‘unt, Lad.”
“A sword?” Flicker Nicker’s mother’s eyebrow arched in concern.
“Aye, a sword is a common tool to our trade. Saves magic, it does. Ye can skewer rats all day with a sword.” Mister Chandler smiled and gave young Flicker Nicker a nod. “I won’t lie, the work we do is bloody dangerous. Why, I was about 'is age when I lost my leg. I was a ‘ot ‘eaded cuss and I didn’t listen. I went charging in with all the angry blood of youth.”
The concerned mare let out a muffled gasp.
“Aye, Lad, ye won’t make the same mistake as me, will ye? Ye’ll listen to me and do as I say, right?” Mister Chandler’s face contorted into a stern, sour squint and his lower lip protruded out from his muzzle. His lip was scarred and appeared as though it had been chewed on. “Ye look eager to take on the wee scunners, Lad. We’ll go out and give ‘em such a doin’.”
The colt had no idea what that meant, but it sounded right, so he nodded.
“Aye, Lad, I ain’t one for fancy ceremony or speeches.” Mister Chandler’s heavy brows furrowed like a fresh-plowed field. “My apprentices are like my sons and daughters. They’re my family, and are treated as such. I’d lay down my life for any of ‘em if needed. All I need from ye is yer word, Lad, yer word that ye’ll do yer best.”
Flicker Nicker pulled away from his mother’s tight embrace. It was time to grow up and stop being such a foal. Mouth dry, he looked Mister Chandler in the eye and thought about what he might say. He could feel his mother’s eyes upon him and he thought about all of the work she must have done to find him a worthy master, an outlet for his talent, his special gift. After all of her work, all of her effort, after everything that she had done for him, he was going to make her proud.
“I promise to do my best and give you all I have to give,” Flicker Nicker said in a voice that squeaked just a little. Embarrassed, the colt cleared his throat and wished that his voice hadn’t cracked. “Miss Cheerilee says I’m a good student and my father says I’m a good listener.”
Beside him, his mother nodded, her head bobbing up and down as he spoke.
“Aye, but are ye a killer?” asked Mister Chandler.
Flicker Nicker thought about the rat that he had killed. He thought about his yearling sister, how fragile she was, how helpless, how tiny and precious she was. As his eyes glanced over at the sword upon the desk, he thought about the rat that he had killed in the cellar coming into her room while she was sleeping. The very thought unnerved him, made his stomach clench, and made his knees have a wobble that he didn’t like, not at all.
“If I have to be. I’m not too bothered by the rat I set on fire. I don’t feel bad about it, if that is what you are asking. I don’t feel guilty. Not in the slightest.” The colt looked up at the older stallion that would be his master and saw that he was being studied.
“Aye, ye don’t seem to be a squeamish one,” Mister Chandler said in a low voice. “Welcome to my crew, Lad. I don’t abide being called ‘Master,’ so don’t ye do it, or I’ll ‘ave ‘arsh words with ye and ye’ll be sorry. My name is Wick, but most just call me Wicked, on account of ‘ow I look wearing the mask. Ye’ll be a right scary li’l nipper yerself, I reckon. Say goodbye to yer Mum, Lad.”
Turning about, he saw tears in his mother’s eyes and the look of pride upon her face almost made his heart stop. It was time to heed the call, to leave home, to become the pony he was meant to be. And that meant saying goodbye to his mother, whom he loved a great deal. When he saw her next again, he suspected that things would be different between them.
“Goodbye, Mama.” Flicker Nicker tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Mother.” He corrected himself, feeling the need to be grown up about this. He was taking his first steps towards being a stallion and it was time to put away foalish things. “Mother, I’ll do my best to make you and Father proud. I won’t let you down. I’ll send home some of my wages so you can buy Knick-Knack nice things.”
His mother moved closer, she filled his vision, and then he felt her kissing him on the top of his muzzle. Then, she took a step back and he looked into her eyes, basking in her glorious expression. He drew strength from how she looked at him, and deep inside, something changed, but he didn’t know what it was.
“I wish to see you, as you will be,” she said in a muted voice that was husky with emotion.
“Aye, we can do that,” Mister Chandler said. “‘Ere, Lad, put this on.”
The mask was surprisingly heavy. Made of wood, brass, and glass, it had a curious weight to it. It was somber, some might even call it morbid or macabre, but to Flicker Nicker, it was the symbol of his calling. The mask felt right and he held it in his magic. It would transform him, change him, putting it on would turn him into the pony he was meant to be, almost as if it were some magical spell of transmutation.
“He’ll be educated?” the worried mare asked. “And he’ll learn magic?”
“Aye, Ma’am,” Mister Chandler replied, “yer colt will learn ‘is letters and numbers, and magic is the backbone of our trade. But we’re not wizards, no… we’re plague doctors. We cure the sickness.”
The mask slid into place and Flicker Nicker felt his muzzle sliding into the bird like beak that protruded from it. The magical seals tightened around his face, but he did not panic. He was calm, calm as can be. After waiting for a moment, the mask’s magic began working and he was able to breathe again, breathing protected air that had been secured against the diseases born by vermin. The sounds of his own breathing filled his ears, the faint hiss of every inhale and the soft chuff of every exhale. The mask fit him, as he knew it would.
There was no longer any doubt or reservation—Flicker Nicker had become the pony he was meant to be.
Author's Note
This may or may not become a series. I have ideas. I suppose it depends upon the reception that this gets. Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you like it.
As always, discussion is welcome and appreciated. Thank you, dedicated readers.
