Megaspells: Far Away

Fate is a strange thing. It draws together, and splits apart. Only a fool will attempt to change fate, as fate sees all past, present, and future.

Though the waving branches of the drooping willows, shading the rocky gravel path out of a small weatherboard house, set back from the road, a tan coloured pegasus took flight, a tightly rolled piece of yellowed parchment tucked underneath her wing. Shew flew over the bustling streets of the great city of Canterlot, heading straight for the grand Canterlot train station, with its marble pillars and gilded domes that stood proudly into the sky.

She took out a ticket from the saddlebags slung over her back, and headed for the entrance, where two opened wrought iron gates stood. She passed into the hub of the station, a bustling space of chaos where different everypony was travelling different directions for one reason or another. She headed for platform three, which was at the close end of the station, which unfortunately was also the busiest part.

Large crates of cargo were being unloaded from freight trains and swarms of townsfolk flooded out of the doors of arriving passenger trains, but platform three itself was barren. It was understandable, as it held the train that headed south-east to Ormont, a tiny county within Equestria that was scarcely visited as it was almost completely populated by zebras and other weird creatures, unheard of in the more civilised parts.

She found herself looking at a small steam engine of two passenger cars and one galley and cargo hold, where luggage and other items like mail and parcels were deposited. The conductor inspected her ticket, and gave a nod of approval. She headed aboard a passenger car, which held three compartments, which were rather spacious for trains, that included a bed, table, chair and some small ornaments on the window sill.

She threw her saddlebags onto the bed, threw her pith helmet onto the table, and sat herself down, staring out of the window onto the empty platform. The time between adventures were few and precious. It was always a time to reminisce about the past and future, regrets and hopes, and particularly one thing.

“I hope old Kasha does not find me,” she said to herself ambiguously, “there has been enough trouble in the past few months.”

As she always did, she took out a pen and a notepad from her saddlebags, and wrote down anything of interest that came into her mind. Through the pages were fears, sorrows, joys and regrets. It was those imperfections that made her. Forged her. Shaped her into the pony she would become.

The train slid forwards and accelerated steadily, gliding on the tracks. The sun sank slowly as the train ran away from it, into the dark horizon of the east. The Unicorn Range soon cast long shadows onto the ground, its jagged peaks visible in the bright backdrop of the orange horizon of sunset. Where the light was allowed through, it touched the fields of long green grasses, and cultivated farmlands of golden grain, waving around in the tranquil wind.

The shadows grey longer, and soon the sprawling fields were completely dark, the first signs of night approaching. Luna’s silvery moon soon rose from the eastern horizon, the twinkling stars along with it in the dark night sky, filling the empty voids of space. The small amount of light cast onto the lands was enough to make the grasses in the fields to cast dancing shadows and fields of grain to shine silver in the moonlight. Night was truly a sight to behold.

She spent the night bathed in the moonlight restlessly as nightmares came to visit periodically. Sometimes the vision seemed so real, and terrifying, causing her to wake up drenched in cold sweat. The night went by slowly as the train rocked backwards and forwards on the tracks. Sometimes she wonders, ‘Is it the best idea to constantly be on the road, and leave my future to fate?’ The answer never came, and as sure as day won’t come easily.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the train flew through the barren plains in an easterly direction, a grizzled brown stallion laden with heavy saddlebags and a dusty coat trotted towards the city of Ormont, which was still many days away on hoof. The sun was setting and the day was beginning to draw to a close. Dead trees were littered scarcely around the barren plains, casting long shadows onto the rough uneven ground, shadows which he used to guide himself to the shelter of a wispy tree, whose bark was peeling off in the heat of the continuous radiance of sun during the warm days behind them now.

As the sun sank further behind the horizon, the air grew colder, a sure sign of the coming winter in the southlands. Tearing down branches and bark, he made a stack of firewood ready to be lit. Producing a flint and steel from his saddlebags, he struck them together, causing sparks to fall onto the dead pile of tree, where a small fire arose. Soon, the fire was cackling merrily as he sat down, back on the trunk of the tree and reminisced about the days that he has been through.

Taking out his map as he did every night, he looked at the progress he had made. Some damned pony came up to the cartographer’s office and asked for a new map of the train route to Ormont so he could publish his plans to reconstruct the rail to Parliament and somehow get a government grant and permission to complete his plan. The rail hasn’t changed for a century from when it was built, so why commission a new map for it? Looks like the average IQ of citizens is dropping again.

Small thuds in the dirt behind him disrupted him from his train of thought. Slowly taking out his revolver without a sound, he stood. Slowly, he rounded the trunk of the tree. “What do you want?” he demanded as he stared into the face of a very familiar zebra. One who had been shadowing him for days on end without a trace. His just felt like he was being shadowed and this confirmed his fears.

“Oh, still so naïve, I see, young Jackson,” he said with an evil smirk. “I just wanted to make sure that you,” he took out a pistol of his own, “were dead.”

Jackson reacted quickly, swerving so he could be covered by the trunk of the tree, then swung around and blasted a round with a loud crack from his revolver straight into the face of the zebra, whose gun fell from his mouth and slumped onto the ground in a heap, blood flowing freely from the fatal wound to his brain. He collected his opponent’s gun, took the remaining ammunition from it, and then he threw it bitterly onto the ground next to the corpse of the zebra.

“Go burn in hell, but not before you have told Kasha that he will never best me, no matter how hard he tries,” he spat at the corpse.

Jackson then sat against the tree again, after brushing the corpse away. He looked into the fire, as it wavered in the slight breeze. It radiated a pleasant warmth that mitigated the cold night air in the plains that were commonplace. His eyes wandered into the sky, watching the stars shimmer brightly, and the moon cast her silver light onto the earth. Staring into the dark abyss that is the universe above, he drifted off into sleep.

Jackson woke abruptly in the morning with Celestia’s sun shining brightly on the horizon. He packed his bags quickly, kicking out the pile of ash that was the once radiant fire, then set out on the same south easterly direction. With the sun behind his back, he could see the horizon much more clearly than he could in the afternoons. Scanning the horizon constantly, and checking his compass to correct his direction, Jackson kept moving at a steady rate.

After trotting for two hours on end, he saw the form of an abandoned homestead in the distance. Getting closer, he could see that it was clearly run down. The windows were blocked by wooden planks nailed to the window frame and the door was also bolted down. This was a reminder that the southlands near Ormont was bandit country. Many ponies throughout these parts have been subject to robbery of large sums of money or even murder by these outlaws who kept their profile low so the police force could not catch them.

The furnishing on the homestead looked quite fine, and the construction seemed excellent. From the architecture, Jackson could tell this building was there before the bandits infested the region. Such a shame that the building was abandoned and now fallen into disuse. He felt for his revolver, which was tucked in its holster, for reassurance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The train finally left the southlands, and now was heading straight into a verdant rainforest, where the canopies were green and alive, and the undergrowth snaked across the ground, absorbing the considerable amounts of moisture in the earth that was never evaporated. Vines crawled up the thick trunks of the tall trees that crowded the jungle of different plants. The trees soon grew more sparsely as the train slowed and pulled into a station a short while later.

The pegasus packed her saddlebags then exited the train into the city of tall spires, reaching into the clouds. The city loomed over her as she trotted closer to the main streets which were packed with black and white stripes. It was dizzying to stare at the streets with all the zebras walking around in them. She walked through the outskirts of the city, avoiding large crowds of zebras.

She soon turned into a little motel that she knew from her other travels that saw her travel to Ormont. As she entered, the zebra at the front desk looked up and greeted her warmly, “Daring! It’s been forever since you visited.”

“Yeah, it’s about time I did too,” Daring agreed as she collected a room key from him. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Bye.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jackson trotted across the southland still. The furious sun cast its relentless rays upon him as he struggled to keep a good pace. Taking out his last bottle of water, he drank half of it with a gulp. He massively underestimated the amount of water he needed on the expedition. His tongue still felt parched after downing the rest of the water as he kept on. Dehydration started to grasp at Jackson’s heels, pulling him from his target. Giving a very conservative estimate, it would still be at least two days walk to Ormont.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he wouldn’t make it. Only if a miracle occurred. Dusk arrived slowly as the sun sank from its highest point in the sky. The warmer winds of day now were replaced by the cooler gusts of night air. The cool wind felt refreshing on his fur, especially after a long exhausting day. Jackson was not ready to die. He made the decision to trek as far as he could to reach within five miles of the border so that the Equestrian border might find him.

Three hours later, he knew that he could not make it. He sat down feeling exhausted almost to the limit of his body. He thought about his home back in Canterlot. What would his friends think? What a depressing place to die. The screeches of vultures could be heard, as he neared passing out. He soon lay motionless on the ground. “This is our last, my world, we barely knew ye…”