Brightly Lit

Chapters

Chapter 1: Diggy Diggy Hole
Chapter 2: Ch-Ch-Changes
Chapter 3: Believe it or not
Chapter 4: Homeward Bound
Chapter 5: Hello, I love you.
Chapter 7: Guess who's back
Chapter 8: Yesterday
Chapter 9: Eye of the Tiger
Chapter 10: Blowin' in the Wind
Chapter 11: Riders on the Storm
Chapter 12: The Storm
Chapter 13: Neighsayer
Chapter 14: Hymn to Breaking Strain
Chapter 15: Fly by Night
Chapter 16: Sonic Boom
Chapter 17: Flawless
Chapter 18: On Top of the World
Chapter 19: Worlds Collide
Chapter 20: Can't Find My Way Home
Chapter 21: Towards the Sun
Chapter 22: Do you Believe in Magic?
Chapter 23: 9 to 5
Chapter 24: These Dreams
Chapter 26: 57 Channels (And Nothin' On)
Chapter 27: Once in a Lifetime
Chapter 28: All Night Long
Chapter 29: Talking in your sleep
Chapter 31: Holding out for a hero
Chapter 32: The Bunny, and the Duck
Chapter 33: Dreamweaver
Chapter 34: Morning has Broken
Chapter 35: Don't Stop (Thinking about Tomorrow)
Chapter 36: Princes of the Universe
Chapter 37: Monster
Chapter 38: Moondance
Chapter 39: All the strange, strange creatures
Chapter 40: Bad Moon Rising
Chapter 41: We are Family
Chapter 42: Instruments of Destruction
Chapter 43: Stand by Me
Chapter 45: Snuff Out The Light
Chapter 46: Oh, Death.
Chapter 47: Dare
Chapter 6: We've only just Begun
Chapter 25: To Be Named Later
Chapter 30: Emergency!
Chapter 44: Thus Spake Zarathustra

Chapter 1: Diggy Diggy Hole

Saturday morning. Two words that have thrilled school children for decades with the promise of 48 hours of fun and gleeful chaos, before being dragged back to the dungeon of the classroom. A tradition shared and experienced by generations of children across North America, and no exception was the village of Brightly, on the central coast of British Columbia.

“Coming,” called the woman, to the knock on her door. She smiled as walked the few steps needed to cross her kitchen. It was a Saturday and just after breakfast time in the neighborhood, so she had a pretty good idea who was knocking on her door. Opening the door, she saw, as she expected, a young boy of about eleven with dirty blond hair. Billy Kye was eleven, perpetually dirty and something of an apprentice of hers when it came to finding anything edible that could be had from nature.

“Hello, Billy,” said the woman, looking down at Billy’s smiling face. “What can I do for you this Blessed morning?”

“G’morning, Ms. Pedersen,” said the boy, smiling up at her. “Would Romy and Rowey be able to come out and play?”

“I think they might,” said Ms. Pedersen with a smile. “Let me just cast my spell of ‘Daughter Summoning’ and get them down here.”

“You’re going to cast an actual spell?” asked Billy, in wide eyed amazement. “Cool!”

Jean Pedersen was Brightly’s sole acknowledged and practicing witch. Widely accepted as a local authority on local flora and their uses, she was a common sight in the local woods as she gathered items for various preparations. Long raven hair flowed down a strong back and she was attractive enough that many gossips had linked her and Billy’s father. Who, to the gossips disappointment, remained nothing more than a good friend and neighbor.

“Billy,” began Pedersen, with very gentle reproof in her tone and a smile to lessen even that, “I’ve told you before. Not everything pagans do involve spells, herbs, or prayers to the Goddess.”

“Aww,” said the boy, eyes downcast.

“Besides, this is only going to seem like magic,” she said, still smiling. She turned, deeply inhaled, and bellowed out, “ROWEY! ROMY! Billy’s here!” As the echoes of that stentorian shout faded, the thunder of feet came from the stairs leading to the upper floor, and within seconds her two daughters appeared before her.

Rowan, at twelve, was her oldest. Slim bodied with brown hair as straight as a ruler, she was just beginning to blossom into her potential as a woman and a witch, like her mother. Also, like her mother, Rowan’s brown eyes were very good at spotting details and she could be a bit of a nag when she chose to be.

Romy, eighteen months younger, almost defined “different”. Romy had heterochromia, the colour of her irises vertically split with green on the left and brown on the right. Those arresting eyes were framed by brown curly hair covering a perpetually smiling face. Which was a good thing as the speech impediment caused by a fall at age two had never entirely left her, despite surgery and speech therapy.

“Hi Billy,” said the girls, in unison, to their friend.

“Mom,” asked the older of the two, “can we go out with Billy?”

“Yes, Rowan,” said their mother, noting that both Billy and her daughters were dressed in sturdy jeans and shirts. “Are you three planning on going out hunting?” she asked Billy.

“Yup,” said the boy. “The museum is still paying for dug up bottles from the old burnt-out town-site. We just have to go get Zak and Kya, borrow some shovels and we can head out.”

“Alright, be back by four, girls,” said Pedersen, nodding. “Billy, let your father know that the two of you are invited for dinner. We’re having cabbage rolls and sausage at five.”

“Okay, Ms. Pedersen, thanks!” said Billy, as he headed out with the girls hot on his heels. The trio scampered out of the Pedersen yard and across the small street to another house. A sign on that fence proclaimed the house as “The Harding’s.” Another door knock and a conversation later, and the Harding adults were more than happy to have their youngsters out from underfoot for the day, having given their blessing as well to a day spent out and about.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Zak Harding, his shy sister Kylara, following him like a shadow. “We are going bottle hunting, right?”

Zak Harding was often found in Billy’s company. He was eleven as well, with wavy dark hair and laughing brown eyes. Solidly built, he was a contrast to Billy’s sparse leanness and the two made a good team for just about any sort of fun. Zak had a bit of a reputation as a joker and a talker, which often got him into trouble in school.

Zak’s sister, Kylara, was a very different person from her brother. Small and slight, with a red hair that blazed like fire, she was quiet where he was loud, shy where he was outgoing, and where Zak loved to plunge into things, Kylara preferred to hang back and see what happened. She avoided being the center of attention where possible and far preferred her nickname of “Kya” because it was shorter and smaller.

“Billy said tho,” said Romy, chirped happily, even as her impediment butchered the “s” sound. “I need thome more money. My allowance ran out.” The rest of the group chuckled and giggled at that, as they were all similarly broke. They were so used to Romy’s impediment by now that it no longer even registered to them.

“We just need to swing back past my place and pick up some shovels,” said Billy, as they reached his house. The sound of a powerful machine grinding metal could be heard from the garage behind the house, the others waited, anxious to be on their way, as Billy went into a small tool shed by the garage. As he came out of the shed with shovels and a long handled probe, the loud noise from the garage sputtered to a halt. A few moments later a heavy set blond man, his arms black to the elbows with engine grease and dirt, looked out of the garage door.

“Hey kids,” said the grimy man to the group in his yard. “Billy, you planning on heading out to find some more stuff for the museum?”

“Sure am, Dad,” said Billy. “Just borrowing some shovels. See ya!” The boy turned to go but was interrupted by one of the girls.

“Billy,” said Rowey, in a severe tone that sounded weirdly like her mother’s. “What did my Mom tell you, to tell your Dad?”

“Oh right,” said Billy. He was used to Rowey’s nagging reminders by now. “Ms. Pedersen says we’re invited for dinner at five o’clock tonight. Cabbage rolls.”

“Thank you very much, Rowan,” said Mr. Kye. Billy’s father was always careful to say everyone’s proper names, instead of their nicknames. “Tell your mother that cabbage rolls sound great and we'll be happy to accept her invitation. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to introduce a cranky engine block to a large hammer.” With a wave he closed the garage door behind him, and a few moments later the sound of metal striking metal in a steady beat could be heard.

“Can we go now?” came Kya’s quiet voice, just barely audible over the hammering.

“Ya,” said Zak. “Kya figured out a great new place for us to dig at.”

“Really,” asked Rowan, as they left Billy’s yard. “Where?” The group began the walk that would take them across the village, each of them carrying a shovel except for red haired Kya who was carrying a slim ground probe. Kya tried to hide behind her brother instead of answering the question.

“I pulled out a couple of books from my Dad’s library last night,” said Zak, getting the hint that as usual, his sister wasn’t comfortable tooting her own horn. “One of them had a really good map of the old Chinatown area, and Kya noticed one showed a map, that Old Man Leung had a storage building for his store way off to one side of that part of town. She went and asked Dad about it, and he said that area was bulldozed as a fire break during the big fire that wiped out the Chinatown, back about a hundred years ago.” Various gasps sounds of surprise and astonishment came from the other kids.

“Are you telling me, that there’s a totally untouched area for digging up stuff?” asked Rowan. “And we’re gonna be the first ones at it?”

“Yup!” said Kya, before hiding behind her brother again.

“We’re gonna be rich!” exclaimed Billy, doing a little dance. “We’re gonna find tons of stuff to sell to the museum.”

“Keep it down,” said Rowey, with a hiss. “You want everyone to find out what we are up to and beat us there?”

“Oh crap,” Billy said in a whisper. “Right.” With that, the group suddenly tried to look at nonchalant as possible, walking with their shovels and gear held behind their backs. Brightly is a quiet place and few noticed the group walking along. Those that did thought nothing of a group of kids headed toward the old part of town, or behaving a little strangely. It was a Saturday morning, after all, and the bright morning sunshine was beginning to bring a real warmth to the day as in the distance the growl of a lawnmower or two could be heard.

After several minutes of walking, the group left the paved streets and crossed into the area of high brush and low trees, that marked the beginning of where “Brightly Chinatown” had been. The ground was lumpy even after a hundred years, as the remains of long burnt out and collapsed buildings slumbered beneath a foot or more of earth and overgrowth.

“Which way?” asked Romy, leaning against her shovel.

“Over there,” said Kya, pointing to the right, as she consulted the map she had printed out the previous evening. The group went in the indicated direction, until they began to leave the main area and get into the forest proper. Romy and Rowey began to get a little nervous. Digging in the old townsite was normal for them, but the woods were not their usual territory and despite the warmth of the late spring morning there was a chill under the evergreens.

“Are we going much farther?” asked Rowey. “We told our mom we were going to be in the usual area. I don’t want to get into trouble.” Kya just pointed to the center of the forest glade they had entered. They were close enough to the main area that they could still see it through the trees but far enough in that no one would see them from there either.

“I don’t thee nothin’,” said Romy. The sun filtered down through the trees onto the lush green of the clearing and small birds flitted to and fro, filling the air with their chirping. A few brave robins lit on the mossy ground, among the ferns and bushes, searching for worms or other good things to eat. But, she could see no sign that a building was, or ever had been here.

“Ya, I don’t see anything...” said Billy, his voice trailing off as he focused on the middle of the clearing. “Wait—yah, I do see something. Look!” Waving his hand between two points on the ground several yards away.

“Wait, I see it too,” said Zak. “Look at the ground. See how it’s kinda lumped up, all in a straight line?” Now that it had been pointed out, the straight lines of the foundation of the long ago building were obvious to all of them. The lines combined to form a rough rectangle, some ten feet wide by about thirty long.

“Are we the first ones here?” asked Rowey.

“No dirt piles,” said Kya, referring to the piles of dirt left behind when diggers searched an area for old bottles and other artifacts.

“I think you’re right, sis,” said Zak. “You’re the best with the probe, where do you want to start?” Without a word Kya carried the tool into one of the corners of the rectangle and began to sink it into the rich, fragrant soil. As she pushed deeper Kya closed her eyes and concentrated on her sense of touch, as it was extended through the metal of the thin shaft. About two feet down, she sensed the distinctive “tap” of the tip coming into contact with something, and Kya stopped advancing the probe instantly.

“Here,” she said, looking up and smiling at her friends, who promptly attacked the ground with their shovels.

Three hours later, several holes had been dug and the five friends were sitting on a fallen log drinking some water while munching on some shoots and early berries that Billy had scrounged up from the surrounding forest. A few of their attempts had resulted in broken bottles or ended at rocks, but several holes had resulted in intact bottles.

“How many do we have?” Romy asked, looking at the assembled pile of dirty glassware.

“Eight bottles of ‘Burdocks Blood Bitters’, four bottles of ‘Coal Tar Ointment’ and,” said Zak, making a dramatic pause, “one ‘Tiger Whiskey’ jar. The bitters and ointment bottles are pretty common and the museum only pays a couple of dollars each for them.”

“But the jar is rare?” asked Billy.

“It sure is,” said Zack, nodding, and pulling out a sheet of paper with a list of items and prices. “In fact, it’s on their top twenty list. They’re offering a hundred and fifty bucks for just one!” The whole group erupted in cheers at that, even shy Kya, as they all did the math and came up with similar results.

“We can go for one or two more,” said Rowey. “We’ve got lots of time.”

“Okay,” said Zack, getting up and brushing himself off. “Can you find us a good one, sis?” His quiet sister smiled, set down her water bottle, and picked up the probe she had used to good effect all morning. Everyone shushed themselves so that Kya could concentrate on finding a good spot. Back and forth she walked, tracing and retracing the area, finally settling on a spot just outside the rectangle the group had been working in.

“That’s outthide,” said Romy, in protest seeing the probe beginning to sink into the ground.

“Trust me,” said Kya, out from under her hair. Down the narrow shaft of the probe went, slowly and carefully, with the skill of a natural talent. About a foot down she stopped, as if she had contacted something, but then she twisted the probe a bit and kept pushing deeper. She had nearly pushed the shaft to its full three foot length, when she stopped and delicately tapped the probe with a finger.

“I’ve hit metal,” she said, looking up at the others. “At least that’s what it feels like.” The rest of group began to dig down into the earth. Halfway to their target their shovels revealed the charred, rotting timber that had made Kya pause during her probing. The digging went on, and at two feet down they had to stop for a break. What they were doing would have been significant work for an adult, never mind a group of children their age.

But enthusiasm and the timeless lure of buried treasure drove them on, and at last, they reached the end of the probe, its tip just touching a piece of metal. Careful clearing of the hundred years of dirt and debris revealed the metal to be part of a flat brass box, about a foot square and a few inches deep.

“Lemme see, lemme see,” chanted Billy, as Rowey reached down into the hole and brought the box up. It was made of brass and engraved with figures of horses and serpentine Chinese dragons.

“It’s heavy,” Rowey said, as she felt the weight of the box in her hands, “and it feels solid. Not rotten.”

“Open it,” said Romy, crowding in for her own look. “I wanna see what’s inside.”

“Hang on a sec,” Zack said, turning toward their pile of things. “Let me see if the museum is looking for this.” He pulled a thick sheaf of printouts from his backpack and started going through them, the others crowding around him trying to spot a match to the box they had found. Rowey however, could not take her eyes off the box. The carvings held her eye and she couldn’t help but notice the latches that held the box closed and one at a time she began to flip them open, as the others poured over the printouts.

“Nope, nothing about a box,” said Zack, his attention on the papers and not noticing what Rowey was doing. “Just a note at the end saying they will pay lots for really rare stuff. I think this counts as—hey, what are you doing?” Rowey undid the last latch, and as it came undone, the lid popped off revealing the contents.

Inside the box was a bundle that had been well wrapped in several layers of waxed papers, and Rowey carefully lifted it out. The inside of the box was clean and shiny, showing it had remained sealed over the past hundred years and Romy slid the box out of the way. The older sister slowly unwrapped the bundle revealing a large, brown book, bound in thick leather. The book’s spine was reinforced with a golden metal and the cover was embossed with the profile of a golden unicorn’s head with a blue eye. Rowey opened the book as her friends clustered around her to have a look..

“Oh pretty,” said Romy, as the opening pages were revealed. The pages were covered mainly in large images, the colours amazingly rich and vibrant. Two large winged unicorns were on one page, one dark and one light. Another showed small horses of different kinds playing in a large field. There seemed to be a story progression in the pictures describing a fight between the two large unicorns with the darker one losing. There was writing of a sort at the bottom of each page, but the letters weren’t any sort of alphabet they knew. Rowey turned back to the opening page where a column of the strange text stood.

“Can you figure out what it says?” Zak asked, leaning over Rowey’s shoulder.

“How should I know?” Rowey said, with a little exasperation, until she saw the hopeful look on his face. “Fine, I’ll see if I can figure it out. Why don’t you guys see if there is anything else down in that hole, okay?”

“Okay,” said Kya and Zak together, as the others began to expand the hole they had dug looking for more artifacts.

As they did that, Rowey looked back at the page with its strange symbols. The odd letters made no sense to her, but at the same time they looked like they were supposed to be words. That they were meant to be spoken, and she just needed to know the sounds they were supposed to make, to sound them out. She thought back on what her mother had told her about strange and confusing situations.

“When something doesn’t seem to make sense, take a moment, breath, find your focus and let the Goddess work through you,” Mom had said. So, taking her mother’s advice, she paused, took a breath and wrapped her hand around the amethyst point she wore on a leather thong. She looked down at the script on the page and began to breath in the steady, meditative rhythm her mother had taught her. She let the words fill her vision and mind, and as she did the sounds began to come to her.

“In...nom..in..eh sole,” she began. “In nomin eh, loo na.” The syllables slowly tumbled out of her, the sounds and the words felt right, but something was off. She tuned out the sounds of her friends, the noises of the woods around her, letting the words and their sounds become all that she heard and saw. She repeated the sounds she given the strange lettering, but this time in a rhythm that seemed to fit them. As she did, the crystal in her hand flared to light, but Rowey took no notice of that, so deep was her concentration. Nor did she notice her friends turn in surprise at the sudden lavender light, as their friend began to chant:

In nomine Sol
In nomine Luna
In nomine Equus
Orbis Terrarum Equorum
Mannulus Terrae
Mannulus Caelo
Mannulus Magi
Facti Sunt Nobis

There was a sudden, brilliant flash of light that blinded everyone and it shattered Rowey’s concentration. All of them tried to clear the spots from their vision, and as Rowey blinked to clear hers, she could see that she had dropped the book and it lay on the mossy ground in front of her. She looked up from where the book lay and blinked again in surprise, as four small horses looked back at her. They were small and cute and seemed to be wearing her friend’s shirts. She reached out a hoof to touch one and...she had a hoof, not a hand.

“Uh oh”

Author's Note

Welcome to my new project, Brightly Lit, a tale of a group of young friends who find themselves changed into colourful ponies and how they, their friends, and their families deal with these sudden changes. This commissioned story of fun adventure and exploration, is brought to you by my patron, and as such will be updated at least once per month for as long as my patron remains committed to the project.

This chapter is brought to you through the assistance of my current patrons:

Damaged
and
Canary in the Coal Mine

Please support me on atreon Supporting me helps me concentrate on writing and keeps me in coffee and keyboards and if I can make my first goal I can start commission art for my stories to give back to my fellow creators who have done so much to inspire me.

Chapter 2: Ch-Ch-Changes

“Uh-oh,” said Rowey, looking from herself to friends and back to herself. She wasn’t human anymore, she realized. She had been changed in the blink of an eye into a small horse. Yellow fur covered her body down to dark hooves, one of which brought forward a length of night black hair into her sight, with a wide grey streak through it.

“Um, guys?” she said, looking at the four little horses in front of her. They were all examining themselves, in the sun that was filtering through the trees. She noticed that one of the little horses had brown and green irises on its huge eyes, split down the middle between the two colours and Rowey smiled in recognition. Her sister Romy, had heterochromia with eyes just like that.

“Romy!” cried Rowey, and stepped forward to give her sister a hug. Unfortunately, Rowey hadn’t noticed that she was still wearing her shirt and pants, stretched over her new form. She took one step and then her clothing, never meant for an equine form, joined forces with her trying to use four legs instead of two, to send her sprawling. As Rowey went down, her friends automatically tried to step forward to break her fall, only to have the exact same thing happen to them. Within seconds there was a pancaked pony pile on the forest floor.

“Oof,” came Billy’s voice, from a brown furred body. “Everyone okay?” A chorus of assents came from the pile.

“Nobody try to stand up,” said Zak. “Dad works on a farm and I’ve seen baby horses try to get up after being born, it doesn’t go good for them at first.”

“I’m kinda getting squished here,” said Romy. “Get offa me, you guys are heavy.”

“We gotta get our clothes off,” said Zak. “They’ll just keep tripping us up, and we can’t get them off while we’re in a big pile. Everybody roll away from each other.” Being on top of the pile, Zak set the example and rolled off the pile and a few feet to one side. He was quickly emulated by Kya, Billy, Romy and finally Rowey. All five of the friends lay belly down on the mossy ground nearly touching each other.

“What happened?” asked Billy, voice slightly muffled, as he tugged at his T-shirt with his teeth.

“I think...” began Rowey, “I think I cast a spell. Or, at least I think I set off something in the book and it turned us into...Zak, your dad works on the farm, what are we?”

“We’re not horses,” said Zak, pondering for a moment. “We’re like ponies, except ponies don’t have eyes as big as ours and ponies don’t come in colours like ours.” He gestured around and to his own charcoal grey body, which was a normal colour, but the fiery, red outline around his brown mane and tail were definitely not standard. Romy seemed to have the wildest colour combination of them all. Her body was covered in brick red fur, with a purple, grey streaked mane. “Maybe we’re some kind of magic pony,” he said, beginning to work off his dirt stained shirt.

Kya was next to get off her top, her glossy black fur actually blended nicely with a dark red mane, but the real shocker was when the shirt pulled free, revealing that she had a pair black feathered wings, with silver tips.

“Those are super cool, Kya,” said Rowey, from where she lay. “I can’t wait to see if those work.”

“Me either,” said Kya smiling, her wings half-fluttering at her side. “But what about you? You’ve got a horn.”

“I’ve got a horn?” asked Rowey, and Kya nodded in answer. “Wow, well, once we figure out walking and stuff, maybe I’ll see what I can do with it. Can you come over here and give me hand getting my pants of my back legs?” Kya started to belly crawl her way over to Rowey, her own pants dragging. In the meantime, Zak had gotten his own shirt off, revealing that he had wings as well, like his sister. His wings matched his charcoal grey body and were silver tipped like his sister Kya’s. By unspoken agreement, it was a case of boy helping boy, and girls helping girls, when it came to removing their leg wear. After a few minutes the five were fully furry.

“Okay,” said Billy, looking at Zak, “now what?”

“Right,” said Zak, “the first thing baby horses try to do is stand up. So I figure we should try that.”

“What about your wings?” Romy asked, gathering her legs beneath her. “Why don’t you just try flying?”

“I figure flying is harder than--” Zak was cut off by the sound of heavy flaps. All of them turned to look at Kya who, flapping hard, was starting to rise up off of the ground. A foot, two feet, three. The small pegasus hovered three feet in the air, flapping her wings in a steady rhythm.

“How are you doing that?” Rowey asked, incredulously, even as the wind from the downbeats washed over them. “That’s awesome.”

“I...just...thought about...my wings...and...pushed down,” Kya said, between wing beats. She was maintaining her height, and it seemed as if the more she flapped, the easier it was becoming for her. As she had risen into the hair she had tucked her legs up under her body, but then she extended them downward and stopped flapping. Kya dropped an inch or so to the ground and her knees buckled as they took up her weight. Kya almost collapsed back down, but then she gritted her teeth and straightened until she stood in front of the group, wings still extended outward.

“Just do what you are,” Kya said. “Billy, you and Romy should just be able to stand. Zak, I bet you can do what I did.”

“What about me?” asked Rowey.

“I don’t know,” Kya said. “Maybe you should just try standing.” Kya’s legs quivered occasionally, but she was definitely standing on her own power. In the meantime, the others were trying her suggestion. Billy and Romy had both levered themselves upright and now stood fully upright on their four legs, without any of the leg quivers that still plagued Kya. Zak had done something different, and had pushed his body upwards by bracing his wings against the ground and shoving upwards. He and his sister leaned against each other in mutual support, as their legs slowly steadied and they began to support their weight more and more surely as the moments went by.

Rowey however, was having no such success. Everytime she tried getting up, her legs would collapse under her. After her fourth attempt, she just lay on the ground, and her friends looked at her with concern.

“Rowey, did you want some help?” asked her sister, taking a shaky step forward.

“No, I need to figure this out,” Rowey said. “If I can just brace myself with something this once, I should be able to get the hang of it like you are.” Rowey thought for a minute, and as she did her friends began to take a few careful steps.

“Okay, guys,” Rowey said, gathering herself. “I’m going to try something kinda weird. Let’s see if this does the job.” Screwing up her face in concentration, she began to attempt to rise once more. But this time her horn began to glow orange, and as it did an orange band appeared under her and began to lift upwards. Supported by both her legs and the glowing, translucent band, Rowey finally stood up straight. As she locked her legs into place the glow about her horn faded and as it did the orange band beneath her disappeared.

“Cooooool,” said the group as one, to which Rowey just smiled. Over the course of the next several minutes the new ponies gained in skill and confidence in their movements and a pattern developed. Rowey, the unicorn, had the most trouble learning to move. Zak and Kya, the pegasi, had the next amount of trouble walking, but were already able to lift themselves off the ground with their wings. Billy and Romy were charging around the clearing at a fast clip, fully confident in their ability to move over ground.

“Feeling good, sis?” asked Rowey, smiling at her sister’s obvious joy at running around like a purple-maned maniac.

“I think tho,” said Romy, or at least, said the horse she had become. “I feel good, strong, and fast. Like I could run to the lake and back.”

“We’re ponies! Ponies!” shouted Billy, his voice full of glee. He spun in place on his front hooves and delivered a kick to a nearby spruce with a hearty, “HiYaa!” As the others watched with disbelief, the four inch wide tree slowly toppled over from the blow. Billy trotted back over with a wide smile below his yellow mane. “That’s why we don’t look like regular ponies,” he said. “We’re super powered ponies. Me an’ Romy are strong and tough. Zak, how’s flying going?”

“Haven’t tried mu--,” began Zak, only to be interrupted as his sister extended her own silver-tipped black wings and leaped into the air. At the height of her leap, Kya gave a huge downbeat with her wings and shot straight up. Directly into a thick cedar branch that was nearly twenty feet overhead. Stunned, her wings folded up and she began to crumple to the ground. Only to be caught partway down as her brother did his own aerial leap and caught Kya, gently bringing her back down to the ground.

“Pegasus,” she said, looking up at him as he lowered her to the ground. “We’re pegasuses.”

“I think it’s pegasi, sis,” Zak said, a lopsided smile on his face as he looked down with concern. “You okay?”

“Ya,” she replied, and her voice became filled with wonder. “I really can fly.”

“We can fly,” said her brother, smiling. “What about you Rowey? You’ve got a horn, so that makes you a unicorn. Unicorns are supposed to be magical and stuff. Kinda makes sense, seeing as you did the spell that did this and did that thing where you lifted yourself off the ground.”

“I don’t really know,” said Rowey, touching her head and feeling the small horn that was perched between and above her eyes. “I mean, the thing with the book was pretty much an accident and I’m not really sure how I--”

“Catch!” yelled Billy as he kicked a large stick at Rowey. Billy still wasn’t used to using his new strength, so instead of the gentle toss through the air he intended, the stick was instead launched like an arrow toward Rowey, Zak and Kya. Rowey didn’t think, she reacted, and a glowing, translucent, orange wall appeared between the trio and the stick. Which broke into pieces as it struck the summoned wall of force.

“Holy crap, are you guys okay?” asked Billy. “I’m sorry, I only meant to lob it toward you.” Rowey was about to reply, when Romy grabbed her from behind.

“That was awethome,” said the younger sister. “You’re like a pony Jedi.”

“Is that even a thing?” asked Rowey, laughing a bit. “I mean, really. A pony Jedi?”

“Betcha are,” piped up Zak. “Me and Kya can fly, Billy is super strong. Probably Romy too. You just made a force field and you picked yourself up with magic. See if you can pick up that book using your magic like a Jedi picking up a lightsaber.” Rowey snorted but decided to humour Zak. Closing her eyes, she imagined a hand picking up the book and holding it in front of her. She could feel a tingling on her forehead, and a moment later heard gasps from her friends around her. Rowey opened her eyes to see the strange book they had unearthed hovering in front of her, surrounded by an orange glow.

“Wow,” she breathed. “I did it. I really did it.” Then she squinted a bit and stared at the book in front of her face. “Hey guys,” she said, opening the book wider as it hovered before her. “I can read it. Whatever made us into ponies is letting me read the book.” The others clustered even closer, curiosity aflame.

“What does it say?” asked Billy, almost pushing his nose into the book himself.

Rowey nudged Billy aside and began to read, “Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, there were two regal sisters who ruled together and created harmony for all the land...”

In the magical land of Equestria...

Another quiet day in the archives, Frozen Quill thought to himself, as he began dusting the line of glass cubes. The sign at the entrance to the passageway he was in said “Student-Made Artifacts - Do Not Touch,” and the cases in the hall were filled with strange and weirdly functional artifacts. Each item had been made by a student of “Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns” over the years. Celestia insisted that every student make, or attempt to make, at least one magical item during their time with her, and for the most part those items either worked as advertised or failed to work at all.

But a select few worked in strange ways. Items that turned books into random pieces of fruit, ones that made orange juice taste blue or did even odder things. Princess Celestia was a big believer in being prepared, and her long life had shown her sometimes you needed the insane to solve the impossible. So, instead of these strange items being destroyed as failures, they were instead cataloged, stored and watched to make sure they didn’t cause problems until such time as a use was found for them.

The corridor Frozen Quill was in was a storage and display area for some of the more inert items. Every couple of days a pony was assigned to have a look at the items, make sure nothing had changed, and dust off the cases they were kept in. It was dull, boring work, but it was quiet and peaceful, which suited Frozen Quill just fine. Let other ponies risk their lives against Chrysalis or Sombra or Discord, and he was more than happy to remain with his books, his scrolls and the artifacts under his watch. He sighed, looking around. Everything was calm and in its own peaceful place.

In the days to come, Frozen Quill would reflect on that thought and it’s incompleteness. He would wonder if by thinking it, he perhaps had angered the God of Perverse Mischance, and the Mighty Murphy, who is His Prophet. It would be the only reason he could think of for what happened next. As he began dusting the third glass case in the corridor, one of the items within it, a overly large hoof mirror, lying beside an odd green statuette, began to glow. The glow brightened and with a sudden flare of light, coalesced into a fiercely shining ball of light about the size of a bit hovering about an inch above the surface of the mirror.

Frozen Quill stood there for a long moment, frozen in shock that one of the peaceful items under his watch had so betrayed the calm and quiet of his morning. Recovering himself, he checked the plaque on the stand beneath the case.

Hoof Portal Mirror and Statuette

Probably not Harmful

Report any changes to Princess Celestia

IMMEDIATELY

Frozen Quill shook himself and shouted for a pair of guards. When they arrived he told them, “Guard this corridor and make sure nopony enters or leaves, I’ve got to go see the Princess right now because something very strange is happening. Do you understand my order?”

The guards snapped off a parade ground salute and said, “Yes, Archivist. Guard the corridor, nopony in or out.”

“Do your duty, stallions,” said Frozen Quill, nodding. “I’ll be back with the Princess as fast as I can.” Whirling, he galloped away to alert his monarch that once again, something weird was going on in Canterlot.

Author's Note

This chapter is brought to you through the assistance of my current patrons:

Damaged
and
Canary in the Coal Mine

Chapter 3: Believe it or not

Fifteen minutes after the ball of light appeared over the mirror, Archivist Frozen Quill skidded to a stop in front of the pair of guards protecting the entrance to the throne room.

“Halt, stallion,” said one of the guards. “State your name and business.”

“I’m Archivist Frozen Quill, and I have to see the princess right away!” Frozen Quill said. His anxious tone of voice underlining the fact that he wanted immediate entrance.

The guardpony held up a hoof and in an apologetic tone said, “I’m sorry, Archivist. But both princesses are currently in talks with the Saddle Arabian Minister of Trade. Unless it’s a full scale emergency they are not to be disturbed.”

“Look, I know you’re under orders, but this is important,” Frozen Quill said, as his mood and voice switched from anxious to aggravated. “The princess needs to hear my message and she needs to hear it now.”

“I’m sorry, Archivist,” the guard said, in that same apologetic voice. “But I am under orders that the Princesses are not to be disturbed.” Normally, Quill would back off and be understanding of the guard’s position. After all, a royal guard who didn’t obey their orders to the letter was soon an unemployed guard.

But all the guard’s patient voice did now was to ratchet Frozen Quill’s aggravation up yet another notch. Putting his muzzle an inch away from the guard’s, he growled, “You need to get in there and tell Princess Celestia that one of Discord’s Children has woken up, and you need to do it right now.”

“Discord’s what?” the guard asked, his face a mask of confusion.

“It’s a code phrase, you idiot,” Frozen Quill said, as he dragged a hoof down his face in frustration and wondered if trying to break down the door was worth it. “Look, just please give Princess Celestia the message immediately.”

“Very well, wait here,” the guard said, more than willing to get away from the seemingly insane archivist. Nodding to his companion, he opened the door and quietly headed into the room. He came back out a minute later, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what that phrase meant,” the guard said, as he resumed his position, “but it sure meant something to the Princess. She said she would be out in a few minutes, and asked me to tell you to wait for her.”

“Was that so hard?” Quill asked, as he sat down and awaited the arrival of his princess.

“Thank you for being so reasonable about this, Minister,” Celestia said, bowing her head toward the pony opposite her.

“It’s not a problem at all,” the Saddle Arabian said with a smile on his face, gathering up the last of his documents. “I well understand the pressures of government, and that sometimes situations arise that need to be dealt with immediately.”

“Hopefully, I can have the issue resolved quickly, and tomorrow we can pick up where we left off,” Celestia said.

“Tomorrow then,” the trade minister said, bowing to Luna and Celestia in turn. “I look forward to it.” The dignitary left the throne room, escorted by a guard to ensure he didn’t get lost in the massive complex that was the castle.

“Sister,” Luna said, after the visiting pony had left. “What did that guard say that made you end the meeting early?”

“Walk with me, sister,” Celestia said, descending from her throne and her dark hued sister followed suit. “It seems that one of Discord’s Children has stirred from its slumber.”

“Wait,” Luna said, eyes widening in surprise. “Discord...has offspring?”

Celestia gave a merry, tinkling laugh and said, “Not as such, Luna. The term refers to a group of magic items whose effects are so strange they could be from Discord himself.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Luna said, opening the door for Celestia and the guardsponies on either side of the door snapped to attention as she did so. So too did a pony Luna did not recognize. He was a middle-aged unicorn stallion whose cutie mark was a writing quill frozen into a block of ice.

“Ah, Frozen Quill,” Celestia said warmly. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I will assume that the lack of screaming means things are under control for the moment. Which item has become active? The lead balloon? The singing tea set?”

“The hoof mirror, your Highness,” Frozen Quill said, in a voice that managed to find a balance between respect and annoyance. “The notation on the item says to contact you immediately, but these...” he waved a hoof towards the guards, “these myrmidons insisted that you couldn’t be disturbed.”

“You both were doing your duty, Frozen Quill,” Celestia said, still smiling but with a hint of reproof. “The guards found a way for your duty and theirs to co-exist, and all it cost was a little time. You should thank them for their willingness to be flexible.”

“I...Yes, Princess,” Frozen Quill said, face and ears drooping, and he turned to the guards. “My apologies, noble guards. My sense of duty caused me to be somewhat abrupt with you, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Not a problem, sir,” the guard said. “We’re used to it. But it is nice to get an apology.”

“My apologies to you as well Princess,” Quill said, turning back despondently. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you. I’ll just head back to my duties now.”

“Not at all, Archivist Quill,” Celestia said, placing a wing around the saddened pony. “I could never be disappointed in a pony as conscientious as yourself. Besides, I have another task for you.”

“You do? You aren’t?” Quill said, visibly brightening.

“Of course,” Celestia said. “I need you to go to my majordomo’s office. Tell Kibitz to send an urgent message to Princess Twilight Sparkle. I need her here in Canterlot as soon as possible, and she needs to bring Granny Smith with her.

“Sister,” Luna said, watching Frozen Quill hurry off, having watched the entire exchange in silence up to this point. “I can understand why you would summon Twilight in regards to a magic item, but why Granny Smith? She is a fine old mare, but this would seem to be out of her depth.”

“Granny Smith is intimately connected with the situation,” Celestia said, as she began to walk down the corridor. “Come with me and I’ll tell you the story of Twilight’s ancestor, Gloaming Gleam and his failed courtship of Granny Smith...”

For the group of five friends and siblings, the past two hours had been a wonderland of discovery and delight, as they began to learn the potential inherent in their new forms. Romy wasn’t as strong as Billy, who could knock down trees just by kicking them, but she could feel what was in the earth several feet below her hooves. Zak, as a pegasus, was incredibly maneuverable on his wings, zooming between trees just for fun.

His sister, Kylara, on the other hand, was steady and strong in flight. She had even been able to let Romy and Rowey ride on her back, so powerful were her wings. As for Rowey, the sole unicorn of the group, she could make a shield strong enough to stop a falling tree or pick up one of her friends with her magic. But little else. Eventually though, the new ponies ran out of energy and stopped for a break in the clearing where it had all began.

“So guys,” Rowey said, as her breathing slowed, “I’ve got a really important question for you all.”

“What’s that?” Billy asked, as he tucked his legs underneath himself and sat down a few feet away.

“How, and what do we eat?” Rowey asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I mean, we’re ponies now. I get that, and it’s actually kinda cool. But are we gonna be stuck eating hay and grass now?”

“I don fink fo,” Kya said, from the opposite side of Rowey, as she munched on a peanut butter sandwich.

“What the?” Rowey asked, utterly astonished at the sandwich seemingly held by a hoof. “How the heck are you holding that sandwich without fingers?”

“With my hoof,” Kya said, in a matter of fact tone, as she took another bite. She chewed, swallowed, and said, “Seriously, just reach in and grab a snack from my backpack. Don’t think about it, just do it.”

“Okaaay,” Rowey said, as she dragged out the word. Zak and Romy drew close as well, as Rowey dragged Kylara’s backpack over and reaching in a hoof, drew out a granola bar with her hoof just like she would with her hand.

“How?” Romy asked, eyes wide as they all stared at the granola bar.

“I have no idea,” Rowey said, taking a bite of her snack. “But it works!” The group sat down and munched on the few snacks they had brought with them. As they did, they all experimented with picking up and putting down things with their hooves. Lots of giggling ensued, as things went up and things fell down again. Again, it was a learning process and the group of ponies learned that their hooves could lift small weights, but nothing heavy or large.

“Um, guys,” Billy said. “You realize we’re all superheroes now, right?” The other four disagreed, vociferously.

“Seriously guys, this is like the origin story of tons of superheroes,” Billy said, trying to convince the others. “Think about it. Awesome kids in a sleepy small town are transformed and given incredible powers when they find a magic book. It’s like every origin story ever.”

“What about Green Lantern? He’s got a ring, and Doctor Fate has a helmet,” Zak argued back.

“Ring, helmet, book...it’s all the same,” Billy said, firing right back. “Every hero starts from something.”

“Us?” Romy asked, her smile getting wider. “Superheroes? Like Wonder Woman?”

“You bet,” Billy said, smiling widely, now that his friends were becoming convinced, “and she has a magic origin too.”

“We need a superhero group name,” Zak said, putting a hoof to his chin in thought. “What about ‘The Superfriends’?”

“Ugh, that’s a horrible name,” Billy said, dismissively. “Besides, it’s taken by some ancient show my dad made me watch on DVD.”

“How about ‘The Power Rangers’?” Kya asked, quietly. “We’ve got powers, and we’ve been ranging all over the place.”

“Sorry Kya,” Rowey said, softly so as not to hurt the gentle girl’s feelings, “but that’s taken too.”

“Power Ponies,” Romy said, smiling. “We’ve got powers and we’re ponies. Power Ponies.”

“I like it,” Billy said, and he extended out a front hoof. “Who’s with me, Power Ponies?”

“It’s better than anything I’ve got,” Zak said, putting his hoof against his friend’s and looking at the girls “Whaddya say, Power Ponies?”

“Power Ponies, “ Romy and Rowey said together, as they touched the boys joined hooves with their own, and the four looked at Kylara who froze as she looked at the other four. She bit her lower lip a bit as she tried to decide what to do.

“It’s okay, Kylara,” Zak said quietly to his sister. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Kya said, as she came to a decision, and laid her hoof on top of the other four. “The book turned us all into ponies, so it wouldn’t be right of me to back out. So...I guess we’re ‘The Power Ponies.’ Oh, and you can call me ‘Angel.’”

“Oh good thinking, sis,” Zak said, hugging his sister with a wing. “We should all have our own superhero name. Um, call me ‘Darter.’ What about the rest of you guys?”

“Iron Hoof,” Billy said, as he blew on a forehoof and buffed it against his chest.

“I can find stuff,” Romy said. “Tho call me ‘Seeker.’” She looked across to her sister, who said nothing for a moment as she thought on the idea.

“Well, we did that stuff on Vikings in school a couple of weeks back,” Rowey said. “So, I guess you can call me ‘Shield Maiden.’”

“So, now what?” Billy said as he brought down his hoof and began to trot around. “What do we do next? Do we practice stuff, find a place for our secret HQ, or what?”

“Um, I think we need to start on our first mission,” Rowey said, as she looked through the trees, and noted the position of the sun, in relation to the hills Brightly was nestled in.

“Cool!” Zak shouted, taking to the air and flapping around the clearing in a circle. “What’s our first mission?”

“Getting home and telling our parents what’s happened,” Romy said, as she too noticed how low the sun was.

“Uh-oh”

Author's Note

So, yes, I went there. The Power Ponies are a thing. And they are charging straight into their most dangerous adventure. Telling their parents.

As to ponies, both on the show and here, picking things up. I've been doing some research and I am going with the idea that ponies in both cases have small hairs on their hooves and exploiting the Van der Waals force in the same manner that geckos, spiders and ants do.

This chapter is brought to you through the assistance of my current patrons:

Damaged
Canary in the Coal Mine
and
Shaushka

Please support me on atreon. Supporting me helps me concentrate on writing and keeps me in coffee and keyboards and if I can make my first goal I can start commission art for my stories to give back to my fellow creators who have done so much to inspire me.

Chapter 4: Homeward Bound

Panic seized the five youngsters as each of them imagined their parents response at discovering their children had become a quintet of colourful little ponies.

“Crap, crap, crappity crap,” Billy repeated, lying on the ground with hooves on his head. “We are soooo dead.”

“Our parents are going to shit themselves!” Zak exclaimed, while nervously prancing in place.

“Zak! That’s a swear!” Rowey said, in shocked admonishment. Zak turned to protest at first, but as his eyes fell on Rowey they widened as an idea struck him.

“Wait, Rowey, you can fix this,” he said running up to the little unicorn. “You can...oof!” Air huffed out of him, as he tripped on a root he hadn’t noticed and fell onto his chest at her hooves.

“You okay?” Rowey asked, as she put a hoof on his shoulder in concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zak said, getting himself up and dusting himself off. “But you can fix this!”

“Me? How?” she asked, as the others clustered around her and Zak.

“You cast the spell that changed us,” Zak said, smiling. “You can reverse it, change us back.” Romy, Kya and Billy all voiced their agreement in a babble of sound.

“Guys, guys!” Rowey shouted over the babble, and the other four quieted down. “I don’t have a clue what I did exactly or how to reverse it. I mean, I can try a couple of things but...” She trailed off, shrugging.

“Try,” Kya said quietly, fumbling over the book that seemed to be at the centre of it all. “That’s all we want, just try.”

“Okay, but don’t expect much,” Rowey said, as she lay down on the ground and opened the book to the incantation she had read out before. Once again she read out the strange words and as she expected, nothing happened. Her friends all voiced their disappointment.

“Lemme try one more thing,” Rowey said, and she tried saying the words again, only this time backwards. Again, nothing happened. The five of them were still a group of colourful ponies in a forest glade near the foundations of an old ruined building.

“Sorry guys,” Rowey said, putting the book back into the box they had found it in. “Looks like we’re just going to have to live with it.”

“We better pack up and get going then,” Romy said, finding her watch where it had fallen off and looking at it. “Because if we don’t get going now, we’re gonna be late. And I don’t know about your folks, but our mom is gonna be pissed.”

The group began to pack to leave and head for home. The book and it’s box were stowed in a backpack, garbage from their lunch tucked away, and the backpacks transitioned fairly easily to use by a pony with some adjustment to the straps.

“Um, problem,” Kya said, around the shaft of the ground probe which she was holding in her mouth. “I ken karry ths, but ah can’t fly with it.”

“Same problem here guys,” Billy said, trying and failing to balance a shovel over his back. “I think we’re gonna have to leave the tools here. Dad’s not gonna be happy about that.”

“I think your dad’s gonna have a couple of other things on his mind,” Zak said, as he started to put the tools in a pile. “Let’s just stack them up here for now, our parents can come get them later, but we gotta get going.”

“Which way we gonna go?” Romy asked, standing at the edge of the glade and looking out toward the town.

“We can’t go straight through town,” her sister said. “If we did, people would flip out. Super ponies running through town would scare them.”

“Then we take the back road around the outside of town,” Billy said. “C’mon guys. Let’s go, and try to stay under cover.” Over the next twenty minutes a couple of things became apparent. First, that there was a great deal of difference between the five of them when it came to running. Billy and Romy were definitely the frontrunners of the group. They were easily able to outdistance the others, as a trot for them was like a full gallop for the others and Rowey couldn’t even begin to keep up with Zak and Kya, the two pegasi of the group.

Second, it also because clear that despite the couple of hours they had spent learning to use their new bodies, they had a long way to go in order to master the abilities those bodies gave them. Moving at top speed for minutes at a time is not something a toddler, or even a foal does right away, and each of the five accumulated their share of bumps, scrapes and bruises as simple inexperience brought them down in a heap on the gravel back road that circled the outer edge of town.

Nor did the three times the group had to jump into the scrub and bushes by the roadside, to avoid being seen by other groups coming down the old road, do anything to help. At long last though, the group now sweaty, and a little dirty with bits of leaves and twigs in their fur, made it to the Pedersen’s small garage that held their car and accessed the back yard. The group sat in the warm garage for a few moments catching their breaths.

“What are we waiting for?” Zak asked, as his huffing and puffing slowed a bit.

“I’m trying to figure out how I’m gonna tell my mom we’re all ponies now,” Rowey said, and looked around. “Anyone have any ideas?”

The smell of cooking food filled the comfortable kitchen and Jean Pedersen leaned against her kitchen table and sighed. Cabbage rolls in tomato sauce were made and baking away in the oven. A pack of pork sausages sat on a tray on top of the oven, ready to go in and join the rolls soon. Racks of herbs and spices were all around the kitchen and it was a warm and homey place well lit by the late afternoon sun.

So, why have I been feeling nervous all afternoon? Jean thought to herself, rubbing her forehead. “And why does my forehead hurt? “ she asked the empty room, frustration colouring her words. She glanced at the clock on the stove, noting the time. Ten after four and the kids were ten minutes late, which was surprising because with Rowan as part of their group the kids were usually punctual to the minute. She nervously paced toward the living room, her long braid of hair swinging behind her as she tried to narrow down the source of the inexplicable anxiety that had plagued her all afternoon.

She looked over to her altar, sitting in its spot by the fireplace and the silver gleam of its bowl and the blade of her athame beside it comforted her, and settled her mind a bit. She felt drawn to the altar and bowing her head in recognition of the call of her Goddess, walked over and ran the tips of her fingers over the selenite rod that served as her wand. A tingling, crackling electricity ran up her arm, and she pulled her hand away in shocked surprise.

Jean’s eyes went from her fingers to the rod and back to her fingers as she tried to determine the source of that tingling electricity that had run up her arm. It wasn’t static electricity, but something deeper and more powerful. She picked up the silky white rod and clasped it to her chest, as the electric buzzing filled her senses. She had handled high-tension lines a few times on a dare and they felt like her rod did just now. She was thinking on that and concentrating on the rod while holding it, when she heard the back door to the kitchen open.

“Hey Mom,” Rowan’s voice came from the kitchen.

“Hey,” Jean called back, wrenching her attention away from the white rod sitting between the peaks of her breasts. She was unable to see her daughter as the hallway partition blocked line of sight to the kitchen, “You girls are late. What happened? Is everyone okay?”

“Um...” Rowey’s voice came, and Jean could hear the spring of the back door creak as it was opened again. “Yah, we’re okay, but something...kinda, sorta happened.”

“What happened?” Jean said, a little annoyed as she set her wand back on the rose quartz points that formed its holder with as much care as she could manage.

“Um,” Rowan’s voice said, with that same hesitation. “It’s kinda hard to explain. Can you come to the kitchen so we can show you?”

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Jean said, to her daughter. “Is your sister with you?”

“Ya,” Rowan said, “Billy, Zak and Kya are with us too.”

“Oh go--” Jean turned the corner and froze, as she saw five little horse-like creatures who looked like they had run through a thicket, clustered in her kitchen by the back door. An odd foreboding came over her as she spoke, “Rowan, I’ve told you before, no bringing home strays, but where did these little cuties come from? And where are you?”

“Mom,” the little yellow horse said in her daughter’s voice. “It’s us.” Jean Pedersen’s mind completely shut down for a moment or two, and then bounced back in the only way it could initially, with denial.

“That’s a pretty good one there, Rowan,” Jean said, looking around. “Seriously, where are you?”

“It really is us,” the charcoal grey horse with silver tipped wings said. “We ran into something, well...magical.”

“Zak...is that you?” Jean asked, looking into the brown eyes of the small pegasus, who nodded his answer in the affirmative. Jean got down on one knee in front of him and tentatively touched him on the snout. Warm air from living lungs blew against her hand and the flesh beneath her hand moved and flexed. This wasn’t some prank, this was a living creature. She moved her hand to cup the side of the yellow horse’s face and it leaned into the touch.

“Rowan?” Jean asked, and she felt the head in her hand nod. It wasn’t possible, they couldn’t be her children and their friends, and she looked from one expressive, large eyed face to the next. Until she saw that one of them, a small red horse with a purple mane of all things, had irises that were split in colour down the middle. Half green and half brown, in the exact same manner of her younger daughter, and Jean knew she had a way to prove the identity of the furry ponies in her kitchen.

“Romy, come here,” Jean said, and the red horse took a few steps forward and laid its head on her shoulder.

“Hi Mom, I love you,” Romy’s voice came into her ear. A mother’s instinct filled Jean and she wanted to do nothing more than to hug that warm furry body to her, and say that everything was going to be okay, but she had to be sure.

“Romy, I have to be sure it’s you,” Jean said, moving the horse to arm’s length.

“Okay Mom, what do you want me to do?” the horse asked and Jean half saw, half felt the other horses gather around her in anticipation.

“What was the name I wanted to give you, but your father vetoed?” Jean asked. Only her children and her never to be sufficiently damned ex-husband knew the answer to that.

“Romanadvoratrelundar,” came the near instant reply. “Lady President of Gallifrey.” Jean gasped out a breath and pulled the pony into a bear hug. No one, outside her immediate family, knew of her childhood addiction to the classic Doctor Who and how she had wanted to name her daughter after the one companion that had been The Doctor’s equal in every way. The colourful pony in her arms had to be her daughter. There was no other explanation.

“Mom...air,” Romy gasped out with a giggle and everyone laughed a bit at that as Jean released her daughter. Jean let herself fall down onto her butt and the little horses around her followed suit, which put her barely a head taller than them. She looked from one to the other, and as she did she could begin to recognize the facial expressions and body postures of her daughters and their friends. It really was them, and her mind swirled with the questions of how and why this had happened to them.

Keep it together, girl. You’ve got to stay calm, for their sake. Take things one at a time, Jean thought to herself. Aloud, she said, “Okay, first off. Are any of you hurt or in pain?” All five said they were fine. “Are you sure?” Jean asked, “Because I’m seeing a fair bit of dirt and a few skinned knees at the least.”

“We’re fine, Mom,” Rowan insisted, then amended. “Well, mostly fine. We fell down a few times running here from where we were digging.”

“Okay, you five,” Jean said, deciding to insist on normality on some level. “Wipe your feet...er, hooves, brush yourselves off a bit, and go sit down in the living room. Kya, Zak, Billy, you head in there too, and I’ll be along with some bandaids after I call your parents over. I think we all need to be here while you tell us what happened. We can worry about how and why later.”

Author's Note

This chapter is brought to you through the assistance of my current patrons:

Damaged
Canary in the Coal Mine
Shaushka
and my newest patron,
Airar

Thank you, very much. It really is a big help.

Chapter 5: Hello, I love you.

“Well crap,” Jean Pedersen said, as yet another band-aid fell off the knee of the furry body in front of her. “Sorry Kya, but it looks like the best I can do is clean it off and put some disinfectant on that scrape since band-aids don’t seem to stick well to fur.”

“That’s okay,” said the black furred, pegasus pony in front of her. “It’s just a scrape.” Jean nodded and started to pack up her little medicine kit. She’d spent a few minutes after calling Arnold and the Hardings, tending to the scrapes and bumps of the collection of now furry children in her living room.

“Kya, your wings are absolutely gorgeous,” Jean said. “Those silver tips are lovely.”

“Thank you, Ms. Pedersen,” Kylara said, bringing up a foreleg to cover her face in embarrassment at the praise. “Did my Mom and Dad say when they’d be here?”

“They said they’d be over in about fifteen minutes,” Jean said, looking at the group of transformed children. “I know I said we’d wait until all the adults got here before you explained how and why this happened, but I need to have one question answered first: Did any of you intend for this to happen?” All five shook their heads and Jean sighed in relief, “Okay, sit tight and I’ll bring you some cookies. Actually, can you kids handle cookies?”

“Yes, Mom,” Rowan said, rolling her eyes a bit. “We can handle cookies just fine.” The mother of two of the ponies went into the kitchen and opened a package of cookies onto a large plate.

"At least they all seem to be okay. Huh, I wonder if this makes my girls ‘fillies’ now," Jean thought. "Or if that makes me their ‘mare’ instead of their mom." Jean chuckled over that to herself as she walked back into the living room, watching in fascination as the kids picked up and ate the cookies with no problems at all. She stood there and watched them eat, listening to their chatter until a knock on her back door brought her out of her reverie.

“Okay kids, remember what I said,” Jean said to the group. “Let me handle the initial revelation, then you can talk all you like with your parents.”

Jean went to her back door, and as expected, found three adults waiting there for her. Lynn and Ernie Harding, Zak and Kylara’s parents, along with Arnold Kye, Billy’s dad.

“I’m glad you were all able to come over so quickly,” Jean said, opening her door to let the three adults in. As usual, Arnold had to twist a little sideways in the doorway to accommodate his large, well-muscled frame.

“What’s going on, Jean?” Lynn asked, her classic red hair and green eyes now shaded in concern. “Are the kids okay?” Jean shifted to move between the three others and the entrance to the living room.

“Look, I’ve tried to figure out how to tell you this,” Jean began, and she saw Ernie and Arnold exchange worried glances. “The best way is just to show you, but remember three things: These are our children, they need us to stay calm, and what happened was an accident.”

“Jean, you’re really starting to worry me,” Ernie said. “Where are they?”

“In the living room,” Jean said, making way for the others to move past her, “eating cookies.” As the others went past her Arnold paused, and put a massive hand on her shoulder.

“No matter what Jean, I trust you and I know you would never allow anything bad to happen to our kids,” he said softly, looking straight into her eyes and she warmed a bit at the trust in that steady regard. She was about to reply when they both heard an exclamation from the Hardings.

“What the bloody blue blazes!” the Harding father burst out. “Get the hell in here right now Jean Pedersen, and explain what the hell has happened to my kids!” Jean turned and walked into the living room, Arnold a comforting bulk in her wake and she heard his surprised gasp as he too, saw what had become of his son and his friends.

“I said,” Ernie repeated, loudly, “what have you done to MY kids!” Lynn stood on one side of the room. She didn’t seem to know whether she should be with the ponies that were now her children or with her husband.

“Dad...” Zak tried to interrupt, holding up a hoof.

“Hang on a minute, son,” Ernie said, then continued in a voice just below a shout. “I trusted you to keep an eye on my kids and now look at them!”

“Dad!” Zak again tried to interrupt, but was cut off as Jean stepped forward to defend herself.

“Look Ernie, I know you’re upset—” Jean began, placatingly.

“Upset? UPSET?!” Ernie yelled, fully angry now. “My...Our children are—”

“DAD!” Zak yelled, flapping his wings as he did so.

“What?!” His father yelled, spinning to face his son as the rush of wind pulled his attention away from Jean. Zak didn’t say anything else, he just pointed a hoof toward where his sister, Kylara, was huddled in a corner by the couch, wings and hooves both over her head, as she tried to hide from the emotional storm in the room.

The image of his transformed daughter, cringing in fear at his rage, cut Ernie Harding deeper than any knife ever could and cooled his anger more effectively than the coldest snows of winter. His face fell as it reflected the sudden pain in his heart at the realization of what his unfocused rage had wreaked on his sensitive daughter.

“Oh God,” he said, going to his daughter and wrapping her furred form in his arms. “I’m sorry, my little skylark. I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you. Shh, it’s okay.” He kept repeating his apology to his daughter, stroking her mane as father and daughter both struggled to find their emotional balance again. His wife, son, and the girls clustered around the pair, lending their comfort as well. Billy, however, moved to stand beside his father.

“Dad, what’s wrong with Mr. Harding?” the boy quietly asked, puzzled. “I mean he just got mad because he thinks someone hurt us. He just wanted to know who and why.” His father looked over at Lynn who gave a nod of permission.

“Son, you ever notice that when Mr. Harding comes over, and he and I have a drink, he always has pop?” Arnold asked his son.

“Ya,” Billy replied, green eyes looking up to his father, “I just thought he didn’t like beer.” Arnold chuckled slightly at that.

“Well, when Mr. Harding was a little boy, smaller than you,” he paused for a moment, trying to pick his words with care. “His parents weren’t nice people, and they hurt him, until someone made them stop. So, when Zachary was born, he promised himself that he would never be like they were. That he would never drink, or abuse drugs, and that he would never, ever lose control and hurt his own children like his parents hurt him.”

“And so now he feels really bad because he broke that promise?” Billy asked, wrapping a leg around his father’s leg in a hug.

“No, he feels bad because he thinks he did,” Arnold said quietly to his son. “Good men always blame themselves more than anyone else can. Let’s just give them a few minutes.” It did indeed take a few more minutes, but eventually Ernie got up from holding his daughter and stood, still keeping a reassuring hand on her. There had been no tears but his eyes gleamed suspiciously.

“Guys,” Kya said, sniffling a bit herself, but smiling as she rubbed her head against her father, “is it okay if I change my superhero name to ‘Skylark’?”

“I don’t think anyone would mind,” Rowey said, looking to the others, who all shook their heads. “Skylark it is.”

“So, is that what happened?” Ernie asked, exhaling sharply as he moved to sit on the couch. “You kids all became superheroes?” He patted the cushions on either side of him and his children jumped up to join him. Lynn smoothly moved onto one end of the couch as well, sandwiching Kya between herself and her husband. She stretched an arm over, putting a hand on her husband’s shoulder, to let him know she was with him.

“Billy, why don’t you and your dad share the easy chair, while me and my girls grab the other couch,” Jean said, her own balance restoring as things calmed. Arnold sat down in the big easy chair, just managing to squeeze his bulk into it. Once there his son, now a brown pony with a yellow and orange tail, jumped into his lap and sat there, leaning against his father’s solid chest.

For her part Jean sat down on her second, much more tattered couch. It was what she and her girls called their “working couch”, where everything from homework, sewing or anything else, could be done without excessive worry about spilling or staining anything. Her girls jumped up on the old couch beside her, as all five children snuggled against their parents.

“Okay, Rowan,” Jean said, as she addressed her older daughter. “Why don’t you tell us what happened, from the beginning...” The story went on for about fifteen to twenty minutes, as each of the children told their parts of the story. In excited voices, they told about how they had gone to the new dig new site, how they found intact bottles, then finding the book. Arnold started to ask to see the book at that point but Lynn shushed him, and he subsided. Then, Billy described how Rowan had looked as she had chanted the words that had triggered the spell that had changed them all and Lynn threw her hands up in surrender as all three of the other adults demanded to see the book.

“Fine!” Lynn said in an exasperated tone, but chuckling as she said it, “I wanted to hear the whole story first, but go ahead Rowan, show us the book.”

“Mom, it’s a little hard to reach around,” Rowan said. “Can you get it out of my backpack?” Jean reached for the backpack still strapped to her daughter’s back and then stopped her hand an inch before she touched it. Like her wand earlier, she could feel power coming from the backpack and she pulled her hand back.

“Romy, why don’t you get the book?” Jean asked, and Arnold’s eyebrow rose as he heard a slight quaver in his friend’s voice.

“Jean?” he asked, concerned as Romy opened her sister’s backpack and used her mouth to pull out the box holding the book and lay it on the coffee table. The mother of two said nothing, just holding her hand toward the old ornate box.

“Jean,” Lynn said, reaching over and putting a hand on her neighbor’s outstretched arm, who started and jerked back at the touch. “Are you okay?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Jean asked the room, an odd look on her face. “Kids, didn’t you feel the power coming off of this thing?” The other three adults exchanged worried glances with each other, as did the five children.

“Mom, we didn’t feel anything. Except when I cast the spell,” Rowan said, and then she flipped open the box to reveal the book itself. Her mother threw her arm in front of her face, as if to shield herself from something, and then gingerly lowered it.

“Jean,” Arnold said again, “talk to us. What’s going on? What do you feel?”

“Warmth,” Jean said, holding out her right hand again. “Heat, but not searing. More like summer sun. There’s power here, a strength. I don’t know what to make of it”

“Maybe only us ponies should touch it?” Billy asked, looking up at his father.

“Go ahead, son,” Arnold said, lowering his son to the floor with his massive hands. Billy took a step to the table, reached into the box with a hoof and pulled out the book with its large stylized unicorn on the cover.

“How the hell did you do that Billy?” Ernie asked, leaning forward. “Those are hooves, not hands.”

“I’m not sure how we do it, Mister Harding,” the boy said, as he flipped open the book. “It just works is all. Oh, and here’s the spell.” Billy pointed out the lines of strange text that Rowan had read earlier that day that had triggered their transformation.

“That reminds me, did this...whatever it is, give any of you shoes?” Ernie asked, then continued at the blank looks. “You know, horseshoes?” Zak smacked a hoof into his forehead.

“D’oh,” he said. “Sorry Dad, I should have thought of that. Um, no, we didn’t get horseshoes from the change.”

“Right, let me see those forehooves,” Ernie said, patting his thigh. “C’mon, put ‘em up here and let me have a look.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, we should all do this together. Lynn, grab Kylara. Arnie you’ve got Billy, of course.”

“I’ll check Romy first,” Jean said, sitting cross legged on the couch. “Do like Zachary is doing dear. Rowan, you watch me.” Parents and ponies arranged themselves on couches and chair.

“Okay, first off,” the farmer began, “Check the outside of the hoof. Look for cracks, ridges or any missing chunks.” He demonstrated by running a hand over the outside of one of Zak’s hooves and showing it to the others, who followed suit.

“Got a crack here,” Arnold said, lifting one of Billy's hooves, so that Ernie could see it. Sure enough, there was a small hairline crack in the hoof.

“Okay, that’s not a bad crack,” Ernie said, nodding. “But any crack should be dealt with right away. Hmm, we should really have some tools to do this right. How about we take a small break. I’ll head to the farm, grab a bunch of hoof picks and some epoxy for that crack. I can be back in twenty minutes.”

“Jean, if it’s okay with you, I’ll bring over what I was cooking for dinner, and we can have a bit of a potluck here,” Lynn said, shifting her daughter to one side.

“Sounds good to me,” Jean said, getting off the couch. “I have a feeling we’re going to be doing a lot of things together from now on. I’ll walk you out, Ernie.” He nodded and the two adults headed out via the kitchen, leaving the chatter in the living room behind them.

“Jean, I’m really sorry about what happened earlier,” he said quietly, without preamble. “I lost my cool and got angry at you, in your own house. When all this is done if you—”

“Ernie,” Jean said, putting a hand on his arm to interrupt him. “Your world got turned upside down and you reacted like a lot of people would have.”

“That’s no excuse,” he said in reply, lowering his head. “My anger, it isn’t like most folks. If I ever really lost control...well, you saw what happened to Kylara.”

“Have you ever hit her?” Jean asked, seriously.

“What?” he replied, in surprise. “No, God no.”

“Have you ever insulted her, belittled her, or just plain screamed at her,” Jean asked him, just as seriously.

“No, today was the loudest I’ve ever been around her,” he said, sighing. “She’s so much like I was, when I was her age. Scared of everything. All she wants to do is fly away from things that scare her.”

“And now she has wings,” Jean said. “Now, she can fly, and today, you showed her that she’ll always have a safe place to land in your arms, because you love her and care about her feelings.”

“Thanks Jean, I needed that,” Ernie said, smiling a bit at the corner of his mouth. “But I still owe you an apology for my blowing up on you.”

“You show me how to go over their feet, er hooves, and how to brush their manes and tails properly,” Jean said, smiling, “and we’ll call it even.” Ernie smiled and nodded, got on his shoes and headed out the door. As Jean returned to the living room she could hear him start his pickup, its ever present animal trailer in tow.

“He’ll be okay,” Lynn said, hearing the truck as well, while she ruffled her daughter’s mane. “I’ll be back in a minute or two myself. I’ve got a pot roast that should be ready.” She began to get up.

“I’ll give you a hand, Mom,” Zachary said, getting up.

“No son,” Lynn said, waving him back down. “You and your sister stay here for now.”

“Why?” Kylara said, sounding a little hurt. “Are you ashamed to be seen with us, now that we’re ponies?”

“Of course not,” the mother of two said. “No matter what body you wear, I know that your minds and souls are unchanged, and you two are the best parts of me and your father. But some people might not be ready to see such a radical change. Let’s get you kids settled and see how long this lasts before we start throwing this in people’s faces.” She hugged both ponies to her, which they returned with gusto.

“Jean and I will keep an eye on them,” Arnold said, his comforting rumble echoing slightly. “The kids can give me a hand helping Jean get things ready for everyone.”

“Thanks Arn,” Lynn said, and got after placing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “I’ll grab my sewing kit too.”

“Why?” Romy asked. “Is it tho you can sew us some stuff?”

“I’m thinking pockets are a bit of an issue right now with you kids,” Lynn said, as a gleam came to her eyes. “Oh, I can see it now. Cute little saddlebags, or an actual little saddle maybe, a high-viz harness to keep you safe, maybe even some pony quilts.”

“Mooom!” her children both complained, as their mother laughed, and got up to leave.

“We’re doomed, guys,” Zak said, hanging his head low. “Doomed I tell you.” Arnold stood up and deposited Billy onto the chair he had been sitting on.

“Dad?” Billy asked, looking up.

“You kids sit,” Arnold said, and he looked at each of the pony children in turn, getting their attention. “Me and Mister Harding didn’t have a chance to finish checking all your hooves properly so I want all of you off of them for now.” A chorus of groans greeted that pronouncement.

“He’s right, kids,” Jean said backing him up. “All of you, sit your furry tushes down and off those hooves. Billy Kye, don’t you dare move from that chair. I don’t know what you were doing to crack a hoof when you’ve barely been a horse for six hours but—”

“Kicking trees in half,” Billy interrupted. “I was trying out my super powers and I kicked a few trees in half.”

“You...kicked trees...in half,” Jean repeated, incredulously. “How thick were they?”

“About four or five inches across,” Billy said, looking at the crack in his hoof worriedly now.

“You kicked a tree, in half, that was four or five inches across,” his father repeated, slowly. “Way to go, son. Damn, but that’s pretty awesome.” Billy smiled, basking in his father’s pride.

“No wonder you cracked a hoof,” Jean said to the boy. “So, you especially, stay on the chair. You set so much as one foot, um...hoof, on the floor and I’ll have Missus Harding see if you can be fitted for a bridle.”

“Dad!” Billy complained loudly to his father, while making sure he stayed on the chair.

“Hey, I’m not the one who kicked trees in half,” Billy’s dad said, spreading his hands in apology. “But she’s got a point. You. Sit.”

“Yes Dad,” Billy said, head down. The two remaining adults headed into the kitchen and began to set out plates and cups.

“You’re taking this awfully well,” Jean said quietly to her large friend, as he pulled the tray of cooked cabbage rolls out of the oven.

“Well, it’s like Lynn said,” he said, pausing as he slid in the tray of sausages to cook. “Inside, our kids are still the same. Same minds, same attitudes...same love.”

“I know what you mean,” Jean said, getting out glasses and cups. “From the moment I saw those furry faces I could see the girls in them. Didn’t mean I didn’t double check though.”

“We...are the parents of a group of fuzzy little horses,” Arnold said, wonder in his voice. “One of which can kick through four or five inches of solid wood.”

“They mentioned something about powers and abilities,” Jean said, listening to the chatter from the living room for a moment. “I’ve got a feeling they’re going to need them, and us backing them up.”

“What do you mean? Is it something from the whole—” he asked, waving his fingers in the air, “witchy side of things?” Jean grimaced and looked back at her friend as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“I think so,” she said. “I could barely touch my wand earlier. Something’s changed in Brightly, something fundamental, and our kids are on the forefront of that change.”

Author's Note

Got in a bigger, extra chapter this time. If all goes well I intend to update this story with chapters of this size or larger, every two to three weeks from now on. Thanks to Sandstorm94 who pitched in on the editing for this.

This chapter is brought to you through the assistance of my current patrons:

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and my newest patron,
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Thank you, very much. It really is a big help.

Chapter 7: Guess who's back

That night, five very tired children slept deeply in their beds, as it had been a long, exciting day, filled with challenges, friendship and family. Despite the awkwardness of their new bodies, each of the children were asleep nearly as soon as their heads found their pillows. Their parents however, were not so fortunate as sleep proved to be an elusive quarry, and each tried to deal with it in their own way.

Lynn Harding found her comfort and solace in the sounds and rhythms of sewing, as she spent the next few hours turning the measurements, and crude drawings she had made of the transformed children into functional items for them. Honed by years of practice, Lynn’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, doing the needed functions without a thought, and allowing her eyes and mind to consider the next steps in the task she had set for herself. Five pairs of saddlebags came together around her in a natural, organic manner. As if the creation of clothing by her hands and eye was a right and proper thing, and no piece of fabric would be so rude as to deny her will in this matter.

Her neighbor across the street, Jean Pedersen, paced silently back and forth in her house. She alternated between checking on her girls, who didn’t even stir, to running her hands over the cover of the old book on her living room table. The mystic power in the ornate tome tingled across the pads of her fingers and she kept resisting the temptation to open the book and read the incantation within.

“It would be easy,” a treacherous part of her mind whispered to her. “You have the ability to channel the power. All you have to do is open the book, read the words, and you can join your daughters on their strange journey.” She began to lift the gilt leather cover of the book, and closed it again.

“That will be enough out of you,” Jean said aloud, dropping a drying cloth over the book and putting it out of her mind as she spent the next few hours cataloging her supply of herbs and noting which ones she needed to search for on her next trip into the local forest.

Arnold Kye couldn’t sleep either, and like the other parents he kept checking on his son, who slept the completely relaxed, boneless sleep of the young. Arnold even had to check his son once to make sure he was breathing, so deeply asleep was young Billy. After the fourth cycle of checking his son, returning to his bed, tossing for several minutes and then rechecking the boy, Arnold gave up. He had long practiced the ability to move silently, so Arnold ghosted silently through his home gathering what he felt he would need for the night.

When he was done, his son’s room hosted an extra chair. Beside it, a small bowl of quiet snacks and a water bottle sat with a small stack of paperback books. Taking one last check to make sure he hadn’t disturbed his son, he settled himself into the chair, a small dim LED light strapped to his head. He picked up the first of the books he had chosen from his personal library. The “Well World” series by Chalker, seemed to be a fitting choice, all things considered.

The fourth parent, Ernie Harding, was just as restless as the other three and like the others decided to try to do something other than lie in his bed, tossing and turning. He went to his small study and turning on the desk lamp began to look for some specific books on the history of his small town. He smiled as he listened to the occasional whirring sound of his wife’s sewing machine. He loved how she could take pieces of cloth and seem to magically create clothing from them.

Ernie’s smile widened as his hands fell onto a very thick and heavy book titled, “Brightly Lit, an Illustrated History of Brightly, British Columbia.” Using both hands, he tugged down the ponderous volume and set it down on the table with as much care as he was able to manage. He began to page through the images and the biographies of people who had made Brightly what it was, and his eyes settled on one entry in particular.

John Leung - Arrived in Brightly as a penniless miner of Asian descent. His first mention in Brightly is as the victim of an explosion and cave-in at Number Two Mine. He was trapped in an air pocket for five days and was not expected to be found alive. However, when rescuers broke through to him he was in surprisingly good health, which he attributed to the assistance of “a celestial spirit” who helped him survive.

He worked in the mines until age 21 when he quit the mines to run an independent store for the miners who used to be his co-workers. He and his store were noted for being willing to bring in anything the miners asked for, and for ignoring the mining company's blacklist, gladly serving any miner, past or present, who entered his store. His stand brought him into conflict with the mining company and he soon found himself blacklisted from using any company supply ships to restock his shelves. Despite the extra costs, he hired his own supply ships and kept his store fully stocked, much to the anger of company officials.

This came to be of particular importance in 1918. After the murder of Albert “Ginger” Goodwin by a company enforcer in the forests near Cumberland, a wave of labour unrest swept across the BC coast, culminating in a series of bitter mine strikes in several communities. During the strike in Brightly, the company forbade any of its stores to sell anything to striking workers or their families with the intent of starving the miners into submission.

Leung cheerfully ignored the prohibition, selling to any and all customers, even allowing striking miners to purchase needed goods on credit. Doing so helped prolong the strike which eventually caused the mine owners to give in to the demands of the striking workers and paved the way for general strikes across the nation, culminating in the Winnipeg General Strike of 1919, which was a defining moment in Canadian labour history.

After the strikes were over, and relative labour peace was restored. Leung publicly burned all of the credit slips of the miners who had been forced to purchase on credit, an action that earned him the title “The Spirit of Generosity.” From that point on the company stores were doomed as almost the entire town began to buy from him. More than once, the mining company tried to undercut his prices to ruin him, but such tactics never seemed to bother him or his store. Thugs, hired by the mine, tried to intimidate him on more than one occasion. But each time miners would come to his defence, protecting him and running the thugs out of town.

After the mines closed down, Leung continued to run his store, refusing to leave Brightly for larger, more prosperous communities. When asked why he stayed, he always had the same answer, “This is where the celestial horse of the Jade Heavens saved my life and delivered the blessings I have been able to share with my friends, my family and my community. I do not need to go anywhere else.”

Ernie leaned back in his chair. Old Man Leung seemed to somehow be at the centre of the mystery that involved his and his neighbor’s children. It was at the site of his warehouse where the book had been found after all, and the way it was protected definitely said “Asian,” which Leung had been. Ernie got up from his chair and went back to the shelves. He had almost as much documentation on Brightly and its history as the local museum did, and book after book began to come off his shelves to sit on his desk. This was going to take some digging, but he had time.

Despite their individual restlessness, each of the four parents fell asleep at one point or another over the course of the night. The first of them to wake up though, was Arnold Kye as the chirping of birds outside the window stirred him to wakefulness. Stretching a bit, he quietly pulled himself together and looked over to his son. Billy had buried himself under his covers as he tended to do, but Arnold could see the shape of his son by the light of the morning overcast.

Feeling his joints pop, he stood up as quietly as he could and made his way over to his son’s bed. He drew back the covers carefully and kissed his son’s dirty blond hair. He turned, gathering up the remains of his snacks and books and a smile lit his face as he remembered the cherubic face of his sleeping son. Arnold felt his heart seize as he realized what he had just seen. His son’s face, his son’s human face, and eyes wide in hope, he spun around to look back at the bed. There lay his son, quietly breathing and as human as he had been twenty-four hours ago.

Nerves singing, his hand shaking a tiny bit, Arnold reached out to touch his son’s hair. It was dirty blond and mussed and completely normal. Taking a slow, deep calming breath he crept from the room and made his way to his kitchen phone where he punched in a number. The phone rang several times.

“Huh, Arn?” Jean’s sleepy voice came from the other end. “What’s up?”

“Jean,” Arnold said without preamble, “go check your girls right now. Billy’s back to normal.” Arnold heard a sharp intake of breath followed by the sound of the connection cutting off. Chuckling, Arnold hung up and then dialed the Pedersen’s.

“Are you sure?” Lynn asked, from the phone in her sewing room, and her eyes raised to the floor above where her children slept. “Okay, thanks Arnold, we’ll call you back.” She hung up the phone to see her bleary-eyed husband standing in the doorway.

“Who was that?” he asked her, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

“That was Arnold. He says Billy is back to normal,” Lynn said, in a deceptively calm voice. She saw the sudden apprehension in her husband’s eyes as hope and fear warred for dominance within him.

“We better go check on them then,” Ernie said, holding out a hand to his wife. She took it and they clasped hands for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. An entire conversation silently passed between the two of them in that moment, then Ernie nodded and the two of them went upstairs to the bedroom of their son and daughter. By mutual, unspoken agreement Ernie went to check on his son, while Lynn looked in on their daughter.

“Ernie,” Lynn asked, from Kylara’s room, “are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“I am,” Ernie said, looking down at the sleeping, perfectly normal form of his son in his bed. “Lord of Hosts, Father of Mercy, thank you for restoring my children.” Zak stirred at the sound of his father’s prayer, as fervent as it was rare.

“Hey Dad,” Zak said, sleepily, cracking his eyes open and stretching. “What’s up?” Ernie Harding cut off his prayer, and bent low to wrap his son in a hug. Zak hugged back in automatic response and noticed the changes.

“Hey!” he said, wiggling his fingers in front of him, “I’m a kid again!”

“You sure are,” Ernie said, smiling as he heard similar happy chatter between his wife and daughter in the other bedroom. “Get yourself up Zak, and I’ll make us all an early breakfast. Church is in a couple of hours and today is one day we are going.” Zak’s father gave his son a last squeeze and got up, collecting his wife from Kylara’s room.

After their happy parents went downstairs, Zak and Kylara both got out of bed and began to dress.

“So Kya,” Zak called over from his room, as he put on a shirt. “No more hooves for you either?”

“No hooves,” Kya said, rummaging through her drawers, “and I was really getting to like being a pony too.”

“Granny Smith,” Princess Celestia said warmly, “thank you so much for coming.”

“Oh, shucks Princess,” the elderly mare said, “tweren't nuthin’. Any Apple would be right pleased to be able to help you out.”

“Still, I’m glad you were able to catch the overnight train,” Celestia said, smiling. “Come with me and we’ll go to my sitting room and have some tea.” Granny Smith fell into step beside her ruler, who took pains to keep her pace slow so as not to stress the matriarch of the Apple Family. Frozen Quill and a pair of guards fell in behind them.

“You know why I sent for you?” Celestia asked, as she opened the door to her sitting room. The morning sun streamed in through the open balcony, illuminating the table set with a silver tea service. The room itself was dressed in expensive fabrics and furniture but it managed to retain a lived-in look. It was a comfortable room, putting those who entered it at ease.

“There’s really only one reason why’d you'd be calling me here and not Applejack,” Granny Smith said, following Celestia into the room and taking a seat with some difficulty. “Gloaming’s mirror’s gone and fired up again, ain’t it?”

“Age hasn’t slowed down your mind at all, Granny,” Celestia said, as she began to pour tea.

“Excuse me,” Frozen Quill said, interrupting, “if I may. How do you and Gloaming fit into this?”

“Granny, allow me to introduce Frozen Quill,” Celestia said, setting laden teacups before both her guests. “Frozen Quill is one of our archivists and he is the one who discovered that, as you guessed, Gloaming Gleam’s mirror has activated again.” Granny Smith looked down sadly at her tea.

“Is it the same poor pony on the other end as before?” she asked, taking an apple fritter from a tray.

“I called through the mirror all night, Granny,” Celestia said, taking a sip of tea. “There was no response.”

“Ah still remember the voice of that poor colt,” Granny said. “All alone and desperate to hear the voice of somepony, anypony before they died.”

“I’m sorry, Frozen Quill,” Celestia said, apology in her voice as confusion manifested itself on the archivist's face. “I told you some of the middle before the beginning or the end. Granny, maybe we should just tell our poor archivist the whole story from the beginning?”

“Heh, ya I durn figured this colt of yours here was gonna explode from the half bits we dun gave him,” Granny Smith said, with a cackle. “Yer just like my granddaughter’s friend, Twilight. Always wantin’ to know everything and write it all down.”

“Ma’am,” Frozen Quill said, pleased pride flowing into his breast. “I will take being compared to the Princess of Friendship as a great compliment.”

“Ah meant it as one. The Princess says a lot of good things about ya, which is why I’m fine with you being the one to finally write all this down,” Granny Smith said, as Frozen Quill blushed at the praise. “Anyway, it were all right at the beginning. Oh, I had suitors a’plenty in those days. You may not know it to look at this old piece of fruit leather, but I was considered quite the catch in the day.”

“If even half of what I’ve read of your granddaughter is true, I can believe it,” Frozen Quill said, as he pulled out a stack of parchments and writing materials. “The Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Heh, good one,” Granny said, smiling. “As I were saying though, Ah had many a suitor, and among them was a handsome young unicorn stallion by the name of Gloaming Gleam. He was a fine looking stallion, smart as a whip too. He came out to Ponyville and the farm, to try to figure out how Earth Pony magic worked, right from the source as it were.”

“Princess Celestia told me that you had been courted by a Gloaming Gleam. But I can’t shake the feeling I’ve heard the name before,” Frozen Quill said, rhetorically.

“Gloaming Gleam went on to become an archivist like yourself, here in Canterlot, so you've likely seen some of his work in passing,” Celestia said, answering the question anyway. “He also was the father of Night Light, Twilight Sparkle’s father.” Frozen Quill’s eyes went wide as he made the connections and his quill began to fly across the parchment.

“Anyway,” Granny Smith said, continuing. “He came out to study magic, and soon took a shine to me. And Ah have to say Ah took a shine right back. Soon enough, though, he had to go back to the big city and it began to tear him up something fierce. So, he dun’ made me up that mirror so we could talk back and forth no matter where we were.”

“But the mirror is more than a simply scrying device,” Frozen Quill said in protest, looking up from his writing.

“Ah’m gettin to that. Hold yer horses, you young whippersnapper,” Granny Smith said, a little testily.

“Sorry Ma’am,” he said, apologizing. “This is all just so fascinating.”

“Well, fair enough,” Granny Smith said, accepting the apology, “and yer right. The mirror he made only let us talk, in the beginning. But then, one day, we Apples were making one of their first batches of Zap Apple jam and the dang mirror fell into the pot. Ah pulled it out as fast as I could and cleaned it off but the damage was done.” Granny Smith leaned back and took a long sip of her tea.

“What happened?’ Frozen Quill prompted, quill hovering in anticipation.

“Welp,” Granny Smith said, setting down her cup, “we found out the blasted thing would open up a kinda hole between here n’ there. Me and Gloaming could send stuff to each other. Nothing big, mind you, the hole weren’t much larger than an apple. Then...” Granny Smith paused as an old pain brought tears to her eyes.

“Would it be better if I told Frozen Quill the rest of the story?” Celestia asked, wrapping a comforting wing around the old mare.

“Thank ye kindly, but no, Princess,” Granny Smith said, wiping a tear from her eyes. “It all turned out well, in the end.” The older pony seemed to summon the strength inherent in her breed and pressed on. “Anyhow, one night Ah woke to the sound of somepony crying...”

Author's Note

So, things seem to be getting back to normal and the kids will never be ponies again....

Ha!

Their four legged days are far from over, but we are going to leave them for a little bit and take a side trip to Equestria. Where some secrets will be revealed.

Chapter 8: Yesterday

Many years ago...

All was dark and quiet in the farmhouse as Granny Smith Apple snuggled a little deeper into her blankets. It was a chilly spring evening and the newly built home still hadn’t had every nook and crack chinked against the cold. The earth pony mare stirred in her sleep, slowly rising to wakefulness, something disturbing her.

“Huh?” Granny Smith asked the dark room. “Who’s there?” The room didn’t answer and Granny lifted her head to look around. The light of the full moon overhead streamed into the sparse room. The only items of furniture were her bed and a small dresser with an attached mirror. On the dresser, in front of the mirror, along with a few other items, were a brush and a hoof mirror. Granny smiled as she saw the soft glow coming off the mirror her coltfriend had given her.

Gloaming Gleam was a nice stallion, even if he did keep going on about taking Granny away to the big city and away from the farm. He may not understand the connection she had to her family, but he did understand how to make a mare feel wanted and the enchanted mirror he had given her was partial proof of that. She was just turning to snuggle back into her covers when she heard the faint sound again.

Granny could barely make it out, but she could swear it sounded like crying, as if one of the young fillies had hurt themselves, and as her sensitive ears tracked on the sound she realized it was coming from the mirror. Her hooves thumped to the wood floor and she crossed the room in a few quick strides.

“Gloamin’?” Granny asked. “Is that you?” Granny picked up the mirror to look at it, and as she did the glow from it became slightly brighter, as did the sound of somepony crying. Not just crying, it was somepony in hopeless despair and the sound wrenched at Granny Smith’s heart.

“Hello,” she called into the mirror. “Is anypony there? Hello?” The sobbing broke off.

“Hello!” a strange male voice said back, and Granny could hear a desperate joy in the voice. “Oh please let you be real.”

“Ah’m as real as can be,” Granny Smith answered. “What seems to be the problem, pony? Yer soundin’ like you’ve been havin’ a powerful bad time.”

“You are real!” the pony on the other end shouted. “Where are you? Are you close?”

“Hold yer horses, there lad,” Granny said, trying to puzzle out what was going on. “I’m likely a long ways away from ya. Are you a friend of my Gloaming?”

“I do not know any Gloaming,” the voice on the other end said, and Granny could hear that crushing despair return to his voice. “My name is Lee Ung and I am a miner trapped in a cave-in. If you are far away, how am I talking to you?”

“Never mind that now Lee,” Granny said, worry in her own voice now as she held the mirror. “Are you hurt? Is anypony coming for you?”

“Yes, I think that they are coming for me, but there is a great deal of rock for them to get through and I do not believe rescue will reach me in time,” Lee said, sadly, “but it was good to hear another voice. Before the end.”

“Hold on there, you ain’t dead yet,” Granny said, firmly. “How long do you figure it will take for yer friends to get you out?” Granny began getting out her saddlebags, she knew she was going to need some help.

“Days at least,” Lee said, “and I have neither food, nor water with me.”

“I might be able to help a bit with that,” Granny said, adjusting her saddlebags onto herself as she left her room to head for the kitchen.

“If you can, I would be most grateful,” Lee said, through the mirror. “Can you promise me something though?”

“If it’s somethin’ I can do, I’ll do it for ya,” Granny said, as she entered the kitchen, and got out a half dozen apples from the storage bin.

“If whatever you are going to do does not work,” Lee said, and Granny’s heart nearly broke at the controlled fear she heard in his voice. “Could you stay with me, until the end? I do not want to die alone.”

“Nopony is dyin’ today,” Granny said, as she put the mirror down on the kitchen table. “Now, kin ya see around ya?”

“No, I cannot,” Lee said. “My lantern was smashed during the cave-in. I am in a relatively small area though.”

“Alright then, I’m gonna try to send somethin’ to ya to eat. Get ready now,” Granny said, and then she pushed an apple through the portal the mirror created. Almost immediately she heard a muffled scream of pain and she realized that the pony on the other side hadn’t told her if he was hurt. “Are you okay?” she asked, into the mirror.

“Something fell, and struck my leg,” Lee said, pain clearly in his voice. “Wait...how did this apple get here?”

“I sent it to ya,” Granny said, smiling. “I’ve got a few more here, and what was that about yer leg?’

“It doesn’t matter,” Lee said. “Please, send the food.” Granny eyed the mirror sideways for a moment. She could hear the lie of a stallion who didn’t want to show he was weak and hurt to anyone. The pony on the other side of the mirror needed food though, so she pushed the other three apples through the portal and immediately heard a scream of anguish.

“Lee!” Granny shouted. “Ye durn fool. What’s wrong with ya?”

“I...I,” Lee began, gasping for breath in pain. “My legs are broken and your apples are landing on them.”

“Yer legs are broken?” Granny said, horrified. An immobilized pony was soon a dead pony. “How bad is it? Be honest with me.”

“The bones are poking out,” Lee said, and Granny could hear some hesitation in his voice, even at that admission

“What else?” Granny said, a little testily. “C’mon, out with it.”

“I have lost quite a bit of blood,” Lee said, crunching into an apple, “and I am still bleeding. The food should help though.”

Granny thought for several moments. Lee was obviously hurt, possibly dying and trapped in a mine with rescue days away. Granny knew about mines, and the death traps they could be. Lee didn’t have days to live, he had hours at most.

“Lee, I need to get you help,” Granny said, filling a jug with water. “Powerful help, and I think the only pony for that is Celestia.”

“Who is this...Celestia?” Lee asked, filling the space between words with the sound of eating.

“Huh? You know, Celestia,” Granny said, strapping the mirror to her saddlebags where she could still talk to it while running. “Big white mare, lives up on high.”

“Kanthaka,” Lee said, in a hushed whisper. “You are talking about the celestial white horse, Kanthaka. That explains so much.”

“Kan...who?” Granny asked, heading out of the farmhouse and heading toward the gate at a brisk walk. “Look, sonny. Celestia runs everything around here, not some Kan..whatever.”

“You serve her?” Lee asked, pain still tinging his voice.

“I reckon most everypony does,” Granny said, increasing her gait to a trot as she began up the dirt road to Ponyville.

“Then it is her,” Lee said, with a sigh. “When I realized my situation, I cried out for help and you answered, sending me miraculous food and speaking to me. You serve a great, white mare who rules from on high. It can only be Kanthaka acting through you.”

Poor feller, Granny Smith thought, he must be half gone already. Time to get this caboose in gear. Aloud she said, “Sonny, I need you to be quiet for a bit. I’ve got to put on some speed and I won’t have time or breath for talk.”

“Okay,” Lee said. “I will try to rest.” With that, Granny Smith shifted into a canter. She could maintain the ground eating pace for a time, but it wasn’t the most efficient gait for travelling a long distance. That would be a trot, and for an earth pony, the thirty mile trot it would take to reach the railhead coming toward Ponyville would be an easy day’s effort. The problem was that Granny Smith was sure down to her bones that she didn’t have a day. She had hours.

So, by the light of the Mare in the Moon she held to the punishing canter. Mile after mile pushed by, as Granny followed the pre-graded rail bed, ignoring the pain as the punishing pace continued to wear her down. She could feel her coat becoming matted with sweat, her legs becoming covered in trail dirt and dust, but she pushed on. As the coming dawn began to tinge the horizon with pink, Granny Smith finally saw the rail camp and put on a last sprint of effort, collapsing into the hooves of the camp foreman.

“Get me to Celestia,” the exhausted mare said before she passed out.

Some time later Granny awoke. Her first impressions were of softness. A soft cushion beneath her head, a soft breeze moving across her, a soft voice saying, “Wake up.” Consciousness came roaring back as images slammed into her brain. The mirror, the rail head, the pony trapped in the cave-in, all passed before her eyes, jump starting her brain and she leaped up even before her eyes were fully open.

“Somepony get me to--” Granny began to shout, only to realize she was muzzle to muzzle with her liege. “Oh.”

“Hello, my little pony,” Celestia said, smiling serenely at the earth pony, as the early morning sun backlit her. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Yer Highness,” Granny Smith said, bowing to her ruler. “Sorry to be such a bother, but I wouldn’t have come if there weren’t a need.”

“I assumed so,” Celestia said, helping Granny to her hooves. “It isn’t often a pony runs themselves into the ground begging to see me. What can your Princess do for you?” Speaking quickly, Granny Smith explained about how she had been awakened by somepony in need, calling through the mirror. About their injuries and how Granny believed they only had hours to live.

“Lee, Lee, are you there?” Granny called into the mirror. “Lee, I made it. I’m with Celes...er, Kanthaka now.” Celestia rose an eyebrow at the name, which climbed even higher as a groaning voice came from the mirror.

“Ka...Kanthaka?” Lee’s faint voice came through the mirror. “Is it truly the celestial white mare?”

“Yes, my pony,” Celestia said, her face taking on some of the pain she heard in the voice. “What can I do for you?” A hoarse chuckle came from the other side.

“I was born under your sign, great Kanthaka,” Lee said, his voice strengthening a bit, “but I am not a pony. I am a man, or at least what is left of one. Surely your handmaiden has told you my time is short, in spite of her gifts.”

“She has,” Celestia said, bowing her sad face over the mirror, “and though it pains me greatly to say this. I do not believe I can help you.” Granny Smith looked at Celestia in shock, and angrily pulled Celestia to one side.

“What the hay do you mean, you cain’t help him?” Granny demanded. “It don’t matter that he ain’t a pony. He’s hurt...dyin’, and you can save him.” Celestia looked down at Granny Smith, a brief tinge of anger colouring her face that was quickly smoothed over.

“Even for a Princess there are certain rules that must be followed,” Celestia said. “Certain balances that must be kept.”

“So, there is some kinda price, I get that,” Granny Smith said, looking up in earnest. “I’ll pay it, whatever it takes.”

“You don’t understand,” Celestia said, trying to keep her patience. “He is in another world, and if everything you say is true the only way to save him is with magic.”

“So what?,” Granny Smith asked, frowning. “Make with the zippity zap already.”

“Granny,” Celestia said, frustration at the obstinate earth pony showing in her voice, at last, “that is no pony on the other end of the mirror. They may be good, and deserving of our help, but their world has no magic of its own. I would have to open his world to Equestrian magic in order to save him.”

“I still don’t get the problem,” Granny Smith said. “Either you are a Princess, or you ain’t. Either yer a good pony, or you ain’t. Either yer a pony I can look up to, or you ain’t. So, which is it?” Celestia just stared at Granny Smith in shock. It had been decades, no centuries, since anypony had spoken to her like that and it hurt to hear the accusation in her subject’s voice.

“If I do this,” Celestia began, trying to demonstrate a calm and reasonable demeanor, “his world will be exposed to a force it has never known before. It could destroy his world, even as it saves him.”

“Celestial Kanthaka,” Lee’s weak voice came from the mirror, as both ponies realized that the subject of their discussion had likely been listening in the whole time. “My world has known magic before. Across the world there are legends and stories of magical creatures, like you and your handmaiden.” Granny Smith just looked up at Celestia with a smirk, knowing her Princess’ main objection had been trumped.

“Alright then,” Celestia said, “but I will require a promise from you, Lee.”

“Of course, Celestial Kanthaka,” Lee said. “Whatever you wish.”

“Promise me that you will use what you are given this day to help those around you,” Celestia said, solemnly. “That you use them generously, and with kindness. Dealing honestly with those around you, while bringing laughter to them, and being loyal to your friends and family.”

“Yes, I promise,” Lee said, almost instantly. “It would be my honor to do so.”

“Granny Smith,” Celestia said, still serious and solemn. “I need to ask you for something as well.”

“I already said I’d pay whatever price needed payin’,” Granny Smith, said.

“This isn’t just a pledge from you, but from your descendants as well,” Celestia said, spearing the earth pony with her gaze. “I need you to pledge a portion of the power of you and your descendants.”

“I don’t have any, not yet, anyhow,” Granny Smith said, “but the Apple Family has never shied away from doin’ whatever needs doin’. So ya, you got my pledge. Whaddya need it for?”

“To open the portal to magic,” Celestia said, gathering up some items, “and once I do it, I cannot stop the process. A portion of the power of your line will power the portal for as long as you or your descendants live.”

“No worries, Princess,” Granny Smith said, with a smile. “You just do what needs doin’, and us Apples will back you halfway to forever.” She watched as Celestia finished writing something in the front cover of a large book, and then pulled several good sized gems out of a drawer.

“Lee,” Celestia said, even as she touched the gems and the book with her power, “I am going to be passing you a book and some gemstones. The gemstones will provide you with light, food and air for a few days. I am also passing you a book. When all that gets to you, read what I have written on the front page.”

“If he isn’t a pony, how is he gonna read the book?” Granny Smith asked, puzzled. “In fact, how come we can talk to each other if he ain’t Equestrian?”

“Gloaming put a translation spell on the mirror,” Celestia explained. “Everything that goes through it is translated into an idealized version of what those on the other side of the mirror can understand.”

“Say what now?” Granny asked, suspicion lending a frown to her face.

“It means that Lee is able to understand us, but we sound as if we have a perfect command of his language. It is why he sounds so mature and sophisticated for somepony of his tender years,” Celestia said, explaining. “When the book passes through, my writing should change into something he can read. I’m not too sure about the actual printing in the book though.”

“So Lee isn’t really talkin’ all hoity toity, like we’ve been hearing?” Granny said, suspicion growing to conclusion.

“No. His speech is likely quite plain, and he is without magic as well,” Celestia said, setting one last set of enchantments on the book and gems. Then, the conversation she’d been having with Granny Smith registered, and her active mind put circumstances and what she knew of the two ponies together. “Granny, please don’t take anything I’ve said as a crit--”

Granny held up a hoof interrupting her princess. “Don’tchu worry none about it, Princess. I’ll have me a talk with Gloamin’ about it afterwards,” Granny said. “ Meantime, we’ve got a life to save.”

“Indeed we do,” Celestia said, a sad smile on her face as Granny Smith sounded the death knell of her relationship with Gloaming. “Lee, can you still hear me?”

“Yes, Kanthaka,” Lee said, his voice barely audible. “I think I will be joining you very soon now.”

“Not for a long time yet, I hope,” Celestia said, and then held out her hoof to Granny Smith. “Quickly, put your hoof in mine. We need to pry open that portal now.” Granny Smith did as she was asked and placed her hoof in Celestia's. Moments later, she felt a warm swirling sensation as her spirit was swept up in Celestia’s magic and she felt a gentle tugging sensation as the princess pulled something from her.

“What’s that now?” Granny Smith asked. She knew she should feel scared, or at least concerned with what was being done to her, but the love and trust she had in her eternal princess kept those negative feelings away.

“That’s the spirit of the Apple family,” Celestia said, nodding toward the swirling red-gold energy she had drawn from Granny Smith. “If I ever doubted your family’s commitment to Equestria I can assure you that after today, I never will again. Now hush for a bit, this is both delicate and brutal work.” Granny nodded and watched as Celestia draw off a portion of the ball of energy before her.

Celestia hadn’t told Granny that there might be real consequences to her generosity and her open offer, but Celestia also knew that if she had told Granny about any of them they would have only made the obstinate pony dig in her heels even more. Celestia took the portion of the energy she had brought forth and, merging it with her own, began to use it to pry open the portal created by the mirror.

The universe does not like having holes poked in it, and so the resistance was massive. Celestia could not even have begun to start what she was attempting if a path had not already been laid. With slow care, Celestia began to make the hole in reality larger. Widening it, and making it more permeable to more things, not just sound and matter, but the raw power of magic as well. After what seemed an eternity it was done, and the portal above the mirror was now wide enough to accept the book and Celestia's mystical senses could feel Equestrian magic flowing into and through the opening.

“Granny,” Celestia said to the mare beside her, “push the book and the gems through now.” Without a word Granny did as she was told, and while she was distracted with that task, Celestia returned the energies she had borrowed from Granny Smith and added a bit of her own to help make up for what had been used.

“Oh my,” Granny said, the combined energies sinking back into her at the same time she slid the book and gems through the glowing portal above the mirror. “What in tarnation was that?”

“Shh,” Celestia said. “Lee, do you have the book and the gems.”

“Yes, Kanthaka,” Lee groaned out. “Much light is coming from the very large gem. I can see quite easily.”

“Good,” Celestia said, in a voice of command. “Now open the book and read aloud what I have written there. Do it now, Lee.” Immediately, the two ponies could hear the weak voice take up the chant of the spell Celestia had written onto the first page of the book.

In the name of the Sun
In the name of the Moon
In the name of Equus
The world of Ponies
Ponies of the Earth
Ponies of the Sky
Ponies of Magic
We have become them

There was a strange sound of displaced air and Lee spoke again, his voice much stronger, “It worked Celestial Kanthaka! You have blessed me by giving me your form, and my legs are healed! Thank you!”

“Remember your promise, Lee,” Celestia said, smiling at the joy she heard coming from the mirror.

“Of course!” Lee said, excited. “May I be permitted a question, however?”

“Go right ahead,” Celestia said in response, while Granny Smith hugged her leg in happiness.

“Am I a horse forever now?” Lee asked. “Not that it would be bad. But I am finding it a little hard to figure out how to move.”

“You will get the hang of it in time, Lee,” Celestia said. “But no, you are not a pony forever. The sun is my element and my magic is tied to it. The spell will fade at dawn. The book I have sent you will soak up the power coming from my realm into yours and concentrate it, so you will be able to recast the spell if you need to.”

“Thank you, Kanthaka,” Lee said. “Um, would you terribly mind staying and talking for awhile?”

“I have duties to attend to,” Celestia said, but she was smiling as she said it. “However, my hoofmaiden here would be more than happy to stay and talk, I’m sure.” Granny Smith looked up at Celestia, pointing a hoof at herself and mouthing the question, “Me?” Celestia nodded.

“So...ah, what did you wanna talk about?” Granny Smith asked, opening the conversation as Celestia quietly left the room.

Author's Note

So, two quick notes here.

First, sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. Usually I have this up and out by the fifth of the month, but life, and a coworker with a broken ankle, interrupted that plan. But, better late than not at all.

Second, I've once again borrowed from real life. Chinese mythology does have a white horse named "Kanthaka" that did ascend to the heavens and achieve enlightenment. However, that horse wasn't a mare. You can blame that change squarely on me.

Writing wise, things are a little up in the air at the moment. My plan each month is to write two chapters of Brightly, two of Mail Troubles and one of Twilight Learned. This month may be a bit of a challenge. But I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, as next month it's back to Brightly.

Chapter 9: Eye of the Tiger

For several long moments there were no sounds other than the scratching sound of Frozen Quill’s writing implement as he wrote out the account while the two mares in the room, one elderly, one eternal, gave him the time to get caught up while they finished off their tea.

“Incredible,” Frozen Quill said, as he finished, looking up. He had the look of a starved pony who was halfway through a feast. “What happened next, Granny Smith? What did you talk about?”

“Oh, all kinds a things,” the elderly earth pony replied. “Over the next five days I think it was, Ah sorta held his hoof while he waited for the other miners to dig him out.”

“I assume they did,” Frozen Quill said, adding to the account.

“Indeed they did,” Celestia supplied, her eyes distant. “Lee Ung was discreet enough to hide the portal before his fellows opened up the area where he was. Even discreet enough that we were able to make contact again afterwards.” Frozen Quill’s eyebrows and ears both went straight up at that bit of knowledge, but he held his tongue, even though Celestia could see he was burning to ask more questions.

“Go ahead Frozen Quill,” Celestia said, with humour in her voice at the restraint of the archivist. “Ask your questions before you pop something.” The pony had the grace to look a little embarrassed at how obvious he was being.

“Thank you, Princess,” he said, nodding his thanks. “If this other pony was able to make contact with you later, does it mean that the portal on his side is mobile? Like the hoof mirror?”

“I’m afraid not,” Princess Celestia said, an oddly wistful smile on her face. “Much like the portal to the world that plays host to Sunset Shimmer, the portal on the far side of the hoof mirror is fixed to a specific location. It would take several unicorns working together or an alicorn on that side of the portal to move it.”

“We stopped hearing from Lee Ung about three years after we got him outta that pickle,” Granny Smith said. “Said he was getting outta mining and was gonna start selling supplies and such to the others. Seems those gems Ah passed him were worth a few bits on his side and he was using them to start up.”

“Wait,” Celestia said, interrupting. “You sent him gems? I sent him gems over those years as well. Oh...Oh my.” Celestia's eyes became distant again as she looked back across the years, and an amused half-smile came over her lips.

“He he he,” Granny Smith cackled. “No wonder he sounded so pleased with hisself the last time we talked. Oh, we musta set him up a pretty bit, eh Princess?”

“Indeed we did,” Celestia said, coming around the table to give Granny Smith a hug. “We got taken in by a pretty voice. Oh, that rascal.” Celestia’s smile was wide and broad now.

“Eh, Ah don’t regret nothin’,” Granny Smith said, returning the hug. “He was a good pony, even if he really weren’t one. But that gets us to where we are all at now. Have either you or this smart pony here figured out why the mirror has lit up again now, after all this time?”

“Well, Frozen Quill, any thoughts?” Celestia inquired as she released the earth pony and looked over at Frozen Quill. The unicorn finished writing things down and frowned in thought as he consulted his notes for a few moments, before looking up at the two mares across from him.

“My guess is that someone is drawing on the power absorbed by the book,” Frozen Quill said. “As that power drains out, the portal is opening in a sympathetic response. Princess, this explains why you wanted the mirror watched, to see if somepony was going to make contact again.”

“Indeed, but as the years passed into decades I assumed that the portal languished in a forgotten section of that mine, which is likely long abandoned by now,” Celestia said, a little saddened but then her expression brightened. “I wonder. Perhaps Lee had foals of his own, and it is his descendants who are now drawing on the power.”

“Perhaps,” Frozen Quill said. “Princess, with your permission I would like to take the mirror to be examined by the College of Magic.” Celestia nodded.

“You should also contact Princess Twilight, to have her take a look at it as well,” Celestia said, putting a hoof to her chin as she considered options. “She knows more about mirror portals than anypony alive, including myself.”

“Of course, Princess,” Frozen Quill said, bowing to his monarch.

School. The bane of children, that chains them for six or seven boring hours in one place away from the wonder of fun. A dungeon of drudgery, tormenting children with fact, figures, letters and learning. A seeming endless enslavement to unwanted and unneeded knowledge, only relieved by the occasional break. So when those breaks came, they were embraced with the thorough fullness that only the young can bring to such an activity. Their minds and bodies engaged completely in the process of having fun, at least until they were dragged back inside by their teachers.

Brightly Regional School was located on the opposite end of town from the lake and the old town site, and well positioned on the road leading down and away to the ocean, some eight kilometers away. The school’s single, large building sat in a big grassy field, which was bordered on one side by the road, houses on the other, and the pines and firs of the local second growth forest on the other two.

As such, the near areas of the woods, while not actually allowed to the students during breaks, were not completely forbidden either. As long as the students stayed within about five or six meters of the edge of the field, no one really batted an eye. In fact, years ago, an enterprising parent had actually marked a line of trees with bright paint and they had become the de facto border, with the children not straying beyond the line in return for being allowed to enter the forest at least that far.

It was in this wooded between space that young Romy Pedersen was playing during the Tuesday lunch break by making a pretend house out of sticks surrounded by groomed pine needles and other forest materials. It was another fairly warm day with a surprising amount of sunshine for spring. Engrossed as she was in the fantasy homestead she was creating, she didn’t hear the three older girls come up behind her.

“Well, if it isn’t the eye freak,” came the voice of Alice Seigler, a blond girl who was fully two years ahead of Romy, and who in a regular school system would already be in the lower levels of high school. “Watcha seeing, freak?”

Due to Brightly’s relative isolation, in comparison to the urban schools in the province, the school catered to the entire run of grades, from kindergarten all the way up to Grade 12. This made for an extremely wide range of ages in the student body of around 150 who came from Brightly itself and the few nearby hamlets.

Romy startled a bit in surprise, knocking over a mini lean-to she had been setting up beside the little house, and then hunching her shoulders she turned to look at her tormentor. There was Alice, a couple of meters away and flanking her were her two friends, Connie and Sharon. The three were friends by dint of their parents all having served in the Canadian military, and coming back alive from a deployment to Afghanistan. A fact the trio never failed to remind anyone at any opportunity they could.

“Hello Alice,” Romy said, knowing this probably was not going to end well. “Are you lost?’

“What do you mean by that, freak?’ Alice demanded, emphasizing the word as she took a step forward.

“The last time you saw me you said you never wanted to thee me again,” Romy said, standing up slowly. “Tho I have to wonder if you are lost and need directions.”

“I think freaks with weird eyes who can’t say their words right shouldn’t talk at all,” Alice said, taking another menacing step forward, her companions moving out a bit to the sides. Romy was trying to think of a response and how to get away when a quiet voice interrupted things.

“Is there a reason why you’re picking on someone half your size?” the quiet voice interrupted, and Kylara calmly stepped from around the fat bole of an old cedar tree, her red hair like a banner behind her back. She regarded the trio menacing her friend with all the fear the wind had of a mountain.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Connie said, planting a fist on her hip and half turning to face Kylara.

“Romy’s my friend,” Kylara replied, in that same calm and still voice as she moved up to stand to one side of Romy.

“Fine,” Alice spat, recovering her balance after the sudden arrival of an ally for her prey. “You can have some of what she’s having.”

“Oh, giving something away, Alice?” another new voice asked, and from the other side of the group Romy’s sister, Rowan, came striding up. “I’ve heard that you give a lot of things away.” Rowan smirked just a bit to help the verbal barb slide home.

“Uh...” Alice said, unsure of how to react. Things had started out pretty straight forward, catching the little eye freak all by herself during lunch break. Plenty of time to have some fun by trolling her in real life and teaching her to stay out of Alice’s way. Alice hadn’t planned on having to deal with both the freak’s witchy sister and her friend. Connie and Sharon both looked at her, questions in their eyes, and the doubt Alice saw there stiffened her spine and her resolve. “Fine, I guess there’s enough for all three of you.” Alice said, setting her course.

“Enough what?” yet another voice asked, and Alice looked wildly around in time to see Billy Kye step through the trees from beyond the boundary line. He was walking along with a trimmed branch as a walking stick, and everyone could see the stems and leaves of several plants he had gathered, sticking out of a plastic bag he had tied to a belt loop.

“Um, nothing,” Alice said, her aggression gone. Bullying one freak, even two, wasn’t a problem and taking on all three of the shrimps in front of her wouldn’t have been much of a problem either. She and her friends were bigger than the freaks and their friend after all, but the arrival of Billy changed everything. Not only was her side now outnumbered, but Billy had a reputation for strength and toughness, especially when it came to sticking up for his friends. Alice began to back away.

“Is there some sort of problem?” Billy asked, circling around the aggressors to take a stand with Rowan, with Romy and Kya behind her. He watched Alice continue to back up, Sharon and Connie with her, confused at the turn of events. “You know Alice, maybe you should just head in for now.” Billy was more than willing to let Alice keep backing up with her friends, especially if it brought this confrontation to a close. Alice backed up another step and Billy was about to breathe a sigh of relief when, attracted by the clustering going on in the trees, Alice’s brother decided to check things out.

“Are you messing with my sister?” Gary, Alice’s brother demanded, as he walked up with his buddy Nelson. The two had a fearsome reputation among the local youngsters, such that the pair had earned the nicknames “Turtle” and “Knuckles” because of how they would get into fights and just shrug off blows while dishing out damage. Billy had never had to confront them because of how much older they were than him. The pair would be graduating soon and would likely never be seen again as they had told everyone they had planned to get jobs up the coast in Kitamat.

“I’m not messing with anyone,” Billy said, trying to keep things calm and knowing that if things got physical, the odds of him lasting long against the pair were very small. “Maybe we should all just walk away and head back to school, eh?” Gary just sneered at that.

“I don’t think so, you little shit,” Gary said, stepping up to loom a full two heads of height over the younger boy. “I think maybe I should beat the crap out of you just for talking to my sister.” Gary had all the advantages and he knew it. He was going to pound this little worm who had the nerve to talk back to his sister right into the ground. It was just a matter of deciding when and where to punch.

“You know, Turtle,” Zak Harding said as he ran up and slid to a stop by his friend, so that he was in front of Nelson, aka Knuckles. “I hear that the principal told you that if you get in one more fight before graduation, he’s going to suspend you so you can’t graduate at all. Maybe we should all just walk away.”

“No little shit tells me what to do,” Gary said, angered now. “I’m gonna pound you all into the ground like tent pegs. What are you gonna do about that?” He pushed himself into Billy, chest first, forcing Billy back a couple of steps and assuming that like so many times before, his opponent would passively wait for him to strike the first blow.

Billy was afraid, but he didn’t let it show because he knew that you never let a predator see fear. Instead, he took a calming breath and some of the words of his father rolled through his memory from a talk they’d had just after Billy started school.

“Son, one day, no matter what you do or say, you will be in a fight. When that happens you need to remember two things,” Arnold had told his son. “First, only fight to protect yourself or others you care for. Don’t fight for money or honor or stupid things like that. Fight for people, because everything else can be replaced. Second, when you fight, fight with everything you have. Forget about rules or ‘fighting fair.’ Fight to win, because it’s who wins the fight that decides what was fair or not.”

His father had never mentioned it again, but Billy had never forgotten the quiet steel in those words, along with the one or two bits of fighting he had taught to Billy and Zak. So, when Gary came in for another empowering chest bump, Billy was ready and knew what to do.

As Gary thrust his chest at Billy to push him back again and continue to establish dominance, Billy dropped to a crouch and bounced straight back up, bringing his fist up along with him. His rising fist gained the combined momentum of his arms and legs together, and he hit Gary straight in the groin with every erg of power he could muster. Everything seemed to slow down from that point as Gary began to fold over his gut, letting out a noise that almost sounded like a steam engine tearing itself apart.

Nelson looked on in shock as his friend, who had rarely been staggered by even the hardest punches, began to keel over like a fallen tree. He turned, took a step to close the distance, and swung a leg back to kick the hell out of the little bastard who had gotten in a cheap shot on his buddy. In doing so, however, he ignored the fact that Zak was right in front of him, being under the assumption that there was nothing that the smaller and lighter boy could do to him. He was wrong.

Zak kicked off from the fallen trunk of a sapling like it was a starter’s block, launching himself forward with the force of a small missile. Either through intent or accident, Zak threw a near perfect rugby tackle into the much larger boy, but with one vital difference. A standard rugby tackle is to the upper legs or thighs, but Zak’s shoulder hit Nelson’s knees at right angles to the motion of the joint. Around forty kilograms of weight, backed up with the speed of Zak’s lunge, impacted the joint that was carrying all of Nelson’s weight at the exact worst possible angle and the joint popped under the blow.

Nelson’s keening wail of agony sent birds flying, as it joined Gary’s groan and both collapsed to the ground. Terrified of what would happen if the two much larger, more powerful boys managed to get their feet back under them, Zak and Billy got on top of Nelson and Gary, and started raining down blow after blow. While this was happening, Romy, Rowan and Kylara jumped the three girls in front of them, and the entire fracas turned into a massive biting, kicking and scratching affair that went on for a few minutes more before it attracted the attention of the teacher assigned to monitor the play areas.

“I have to say, I’m very disappointed in you lot,” Principal Hoeppner said, about an hour later to the assembled group of five in his office. “I can’t think of the last time I’ve had a problem with any of you.”

“But Principal--” Zak began, before a raised hand cut him off.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea what happened,” Hoeppner said, schooling his face to maintain a disappointed frown. “I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Knights, who was on playground duty, and to the other group involved in this headache.”

“Yes sir,” the group of children said in unison, staring down at the floor with shame as they did so.

“Now, while it’s pretty clear the others involved in this were the aggressors, it is also true that there is going to be a district level inquiry into this,” Hoeppner continued. “Do you know why?” A mumbled chorus of “No, sir” reached him from the group.

“It seems someone caused a major injury to Nelson,” Hoeppner said, looking toward Zak. “It’s severe enough in fact, that Nelson is going to be airlifted out to the hospital in Haida Gwaii in a few hours and may even have to go down to Vancouver at some point to have his knee repaired.” The room was still for nearly half a minute after that, until Zak spoke up.

“Sir, I did it to him,” Zak said, looking up at the principal. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to tackle him and I lunged and things sorta...popped. Don’t punish the others, I’m the one to blame.” Hoeppner sighed.

“I know the actual injury was an accident. In fact, odd as it sounds, you and Billy seem to have gained some respect from Nelson and Gary,” the principal said, with a wry look toward the boys. “However, school district policy is clear. For fighting and causing injury, all five of you are suspended for the next three days. The superintendent will be here tomorrow for the mandatory inquiry, but in exchange for being allowed to graduate, Gary has freely admitted that his group caused the altercation and is accepting all blame for it.”

“Are you going to tell our parents?” Romy asked, in a small voice.

“Young lady,” Hoeppner said, with a slight chuckle. “I think your mother would notice if you weren’t in school for three days. I will be arranging for your teachers to send work home for you, after which I will be calling your parents and having chats with them, explaining the situation.” He was interrupted as an old dot-matrix style printer sprung to life behind him, startling everybody.

“I didn’t even know that worked,” Billy said, nodding to the printer chattering away underneath a rigid plastic case.

“It’s one of two printers in town that are hooked up to the microwave system used by BC Hydro,” Hoeppner said, by way of explanation as he turned to read the message being printed out.

“Microwaves?” Rowan asked, in an attempt to distract the principal as she saw how intent he was on whatever it was that the machine was printing out.

“As you know kids,” the principal said, slipping into "teacher" mode. “BC Hydro is responsible for generating and distributing electricity across the province. Part of that includes a series of microwave relay towers to send important messages and data, and this printer here, plus one in the mayor’s office, are part of that system.”

“What’s the message say?’ Zak asked, craning to get a look.

“It says there’s a storm coming, a big one.”

Author's Note

I borrowed the names of a couple of my own elementary school teachers here. Edna Knights was my Grade 3 teacher, and Mr. Hoeppner was the principal. Both have since moved on to that great chalkboard in the sky, having shaped generations of young children. And, in case anyone was wondering, this is about as gritty as this story is going to get. I need to stick to that "E" tag after all.

If you want to say "Hi" or anything, you can find me often on Damaged's Discord server. Just be aware, the server is for 18+ as any and all conversation there should be considered NSFW. You can also find me hanging out in Second Life as "Penalt Godenot." Frequent hang out locations are the YouMustObey sim, which is welcoming to all avatar types and has some very mellow tunes that I find good to write by. I can also be found in Trotsdale or The Burning Mare near their central fires.

Chapter 10: Blowin' in the Wind

The Pacific Ocean. The single largest body of water on the planet holding almost half of that life giving liquid and playing host to the deepest depths as well as the infamous Ring of Fire. It was named “Pacific” meaning “peaceful” by Ferdinand Magellan after it greeted him with calm seas following a tortuous crossing of the Cape of Good Hope. In the centuries since then, the Pacific has mostly lived up to that name. Not for it the sharp fury of the Atlantic, nor the steady rain filled monsoons of the Indian.

Throughout the long memories of humanity, the Pacific has been a gentle mother, nurturing and providing for the peoples along its coasts. Bounties of fish, highways for travel, and shellfish in the billions the Pacific has given to us, but even the most gracious and steady tempered of mothers has her bad days. The days when she reminds her children of just who exactly is in charge of their world.

The following is a special weather statement from Environment Canada.

Wind and rain warnings are in effect for:

Haida Gwaii
North Coast - Coastal Sections
Central Coast - Coastal Sections

Strong winds that may cause damage are expected. Loose objects may be tossed by the wind and cause injury or damage. High winds may toss loose objects or cause tree branches to fall.

An unusually intense Pacific disturbance will come ashore on the BC coast Friday evening, bringing with it significant wind and rainfall. Sustained winds in excess of 100 kmh are expected, with gusts up to 120 kmh. Rainfall is predicted to be upwards of 60 mm.

Please continue to monitor alerts and forecasts issued by Environment Canada. To report severe weather, send an email to ec.tempetepacifique-pacificstorm.ec@canada.ca or tweet reports using #BCStorm.

Wednesday and Thursday after the fight were busy days for the youngsters. As Principal Hoeppner had told them, the school district superintendent came with a small staff and gave everyone involved the third degree, interrogating mercilessly. Connie and Sharon both turned on Alice during questioning, stating that the initial encounter had been to bully Romy and scare her from ever coming into the woods again.

Gary had fully admitted his part in the fight to the supervisor, only adding that when he and Nelson had approached it had only been to even the odds. Nelson had already been airlifted to Haida Gwaii so had been unable to give his part about what happened. It turned out that while there had been damage to his knee he would make a full recovery without surgery, although he would need to have his knee in a brace for weeks to come.

Alice had tried to lay blame for the whole thing on Romy, saying the younger girl had thrown sticks and pinecones at her and her friends. This was shown for the lie it was when Principal Hoeppner revealed his hole card. Over the past few months, local hunters had installed cleverly camouflaged wireless trail cameras high up on trees in the wooded area the schoolchildren frequented. They were intended as an early warning system for the school in case a bear or similar large predator enter the area. The coverage of the cameras was far from total, but it was more than enough to show the entire encounter between the children, from before its beginning, clear through to the end.

Confronted with the evidence, Alice, and more importantly Alice’s parents, had been forced to accept responsibility for the entire fight and it’s consequences. As a result, Alice’s suspension had been expanded to a week, and a note was made in her permanent record. Gary had also had his suspension expanded to a week, due to his bullying of a boy much younger than himself. Nelson, due to his injury, was only suspended for three days.

As for Romy, Rowan, Kylara, Billy and Zak, their suspension remained at three days. Only Zak, who had caused the injury to Nelson, had received any extra punishment. For the week after his suspension was done he was to stay after school for an hour, helping the janitor clean the school after all the other students had gone home.

“I can’t believe they’re making you do school service for an entire week,” Rowey fumed to her friends as the group helped haul cut branches out of the Harding’s yard and into Mr. Harding’s truck. The wind freshened again for a moment, making the shape of the clouds in the leaden sky begin to stream out as they were pushed along in the threatening late Friday sky.

“Eh, they could have done worse,” Zak said, grabbing another branch in his gloved hands from the pile of cut limbs that had been taken from trees in anticipation of the coming storm.

“Ya, my dad said I should have just grabbed you guys and run,” Billy said, grabbing the other end of the heavy branch. “Then he said he saw the tape and showed me how I could have made the punch better.” All five of the kids laughed at that. The first light drops of rain began to splash down on the group.

“We’d better hurry up,” Rowey said, as she felt the rain hit her head. “I want to get inside before we get soaked. Where’s your mom, Kya?”

“Around the back,” the red haired girl said, from where she was raking up a bunch of leaves. As if on cue the girl’s mother came around the side of the house, her neighbor Jean close behind. Both older women wore jeans, work shoes and work coats, which were beginning to be spackled with wet as bits of rain began to strike them.

“Hey kids, almost done?” Lynn asked, her own red hair tucked up under a knit toque.

“Just finishing up, Mom,” Zak said to his mother, as he and Billy levered the last branch onto the packed bed of the pickup truck.

“Good,” Lynn said, smiling to her son. “The back is all finished and your father should be back from the farm soon. Billy, when does your father think he is going to be done?”

“He had everything around our yard taken care of yesterday,” the blond boy said. “He’s just trying to get a job finished before the end of the day.” Lynn glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at Arnold’s priorities.

“He knows when dinner is set for, right?” Jean asked her friend’s son, who nodded in response. “And do you need to grab anything from your place before you come over?”

“Just a couple of things,” Billy answered. “Can I get Rowey or Romy to give me a hand?”

“Sure, Mrs. Harding and I can handle things from here,” Jean said, a grin coming to her face as her two girls eagerly dropped what they were doing to join their friend.

“Zak, Kylara,” Lynn Harding said to her two children. “Go grab your stuff too and head over to Mrs. Pedersen’s. I’ll be along in a bit.”

“Okay, Mom,” the two children said, scrambling for the door.

“Are you sure you still want to do the sleepover party with all the kids tonight?” Lynn asked the other woman. “It's going to be a heck of a storm.” As if to punctuate the comment, the wind picked up more and things began to actively blow around the area.

“Well, if something happens due to the storm, Arnold and Ernie are both going to get called in to the fire hall,” Jean replied, her long black hair beginning to stream behind her in the wind. “In which case, it’s best if all the kids are in one place and there’s no sense in you being by yourself over at your place.”

“Good point,” Lynn said, nodding. “Okay, grab the other end of the tarp and let’s get this load secured.”

On top of Burnaby Mountain, near Simon Fraser University, was a large nondescript building nestled in a section of woods located some distance away from the main campus. This unassuming building is known as the Remote Control Facility, and allows the BC Hydro power utility to remotely control the dozens of small hydroelectric dams across the vast province of British Columbia.

“Everything buttoned down Ms. Shaushka?” the facility supervisor asked the orange haired tech on duty for the dams on the North and Central coasts.

“Yes sir,” the English ex-pat said, looking up at her boss. “Everything is locked down except Carmanah Lake and Falls River.”

“Why aren’t those two rigged for the storm?” the supervisor asked.

“Reservoir levels are low for both locations,” Remote Tech Shaushka replied, pointing to the relevant readouts. “They should manage just fine and it will build up some capacity for summer.

“All right,” the supervisor said, clapping the tech on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on them just in case, okay?”

“Yes sir,” the tech replied, going back to scanning incoming data from the eighteen dams under her direct control.

The wind-driven rain beat against the glass window in waves, but inside all was warm and snug. The three families had finished dinner just as the power had gone out, which had been expected. As such, there had already been a fire going in the woodstove and a candle lit. Once the power had gone, that candle had been used to spark others to life and now the inhabited areas of the house were filled with a cheery, golden glow.

“Okay kids,” Jean said to the five children clustered around the kitchen table playing a game together. “You all may as well head up for bed.” A chorus of groans greeted that proclamation.

“Kids, you heard Mrs. Pedersen,” Lynn said to her pair. “With it being dark and the power out, there isn’t much to do so you may as well--” She was cut off as a loud siren began to sound from somewhere outside. Up and down, the classic air raid siren warbled for a solid three minutes, then slowly faded to silence. The two men in the room were already stuffing their feet into boots and throwing on jackets as the last echoes of the alert siren were drowned by the driving rain.

“I really wish they had a different way of calling the fire department,” Lynn said to her husband, as he began to do up the raincoat he had brought with him. “That siren drives me nuts every time I hear it.”

“Any other method pretty much relies on cell phone technology on some level,” Arnold Kye said, wrapping his own raincoat over his massive frame. “Even pagers wouldn’t be as effective as a simple siren is and a volunteer fire department has to take what it can get. Ernie, we should take our own trucks to the fire hall, they might need both depending on what the problem is.”

“Right,” Ernie said, hugging his wife and then addressing the children. “You kids all behave yourselves, okay?” All the children had stopped complaining at this point and nodded, knowing things must be bad if Brightly’s volunteer fire department was being called out in this weather. Jean Pedersen made a point of hugging her friend Arnold.

“Be safe out there,” she told him, as her married neighbors shared a look with each other and tried to suppress smiles.

“I will,” Arnold said, opening the door, and he and his neighbor stepped out into the howling storm to make their way to the local firehall. The two women left behind watched through the window as the men staggered through the winds to their vehicles, started them and headed off. In the meantime, the group of children had gone upstairs by the light of a couple of glowsticks, candles being considered a little too dangerous to be in their hands.

“Did you bring it?” Zak asked Billy when they reached the bedrooms.

“Bring what?” Rowey asked, her face oddly shaded by the green-gold light of the glowstick.

“This,” Billy said, quietly, as he unzipped the top of the backpack he had left in the girls room to reveal the corner of a large electronic device.

“What is it?” Romy asked, her voice loud with excitement.

“Shhh,” the others hushed her, not wanting their mothers downstairs to hear and they all paused for a moment, listening to see if they conversation in the living room stopped.

“Okay, but what is it?” Romy asked again, in a much quieter voice as the five children clustered around Billy and his backpack.

“It’s a radio scanner,” Billy said, pride of possession in his voice. “Dad got it years back and I found it under a bunch of stuff while he had me clearing out our old storage room.”

“What does it do?” Kya asked hesitantly as she rolled out her sleeping bag onto a foam mattress.

“It’s really cool,” her brother Zak replied. “It scans all the radio frequencies in range, locks onto them when it finds them and lets you listen in on them. As long as they aren’t encrypted or anything.” A chorus of ooh’s and aah’s came from the group as he laid out the device.

“Does it work?” Romy asked, shuddering as another blast of wind and rain hit the bedroom window.

“Yup, tested it out today,” Billy said, beaming. “I could hear all the local work crews making sure the drains were clear for the storm.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to be working now,” Rowey said, frowning as she looked at the chemical light and giving it a shake.

“Me and Billy’s dad are,” Zak said, passion in his voice, “and so is the rest of the fire department. We can listen in and hear what’s going on.”

“How are we going to listen in without our moms hearing?” Rowey asked. “They did send us to bed after all.”

“Oh, they expect us to be up,” Kya said, speaking up and surprising the group as she pulled a large bag from her backpack. “My mom thought we might want to finish these off with name tags or something.” She opened up the bag and pulled out five sets of straps with attached bags.

“Are those?” Rowey asked, her eyes widening.

“Ya,” Kya supplied in answer. “Saddlebags and equipment harnesses for the Power Ponies. I helped finish them this week.”

“So, your mom thinks we’re gonna become the Power Ponies again?” Billy asked, loading some large batteries into the back of the scanner.

“You know my mom,” Zak said, smiling as he rummaged in his backpack. “Once she starts a project she’s gotta finish it.” A round of chuckles went around the group. Lynn Harding’s skill with a needle and thread was something of a local legend, as was her determination to see projects through to their end. “Here guys, if we use these earbuds we can listen and not bug our moms.” He passed a set of earbuds to each of his friends, keeping one set for himself.

The group plugged themselves into the scanner at a splitter that Billy had provided and they heard a wash of static as the device was switched on and it began to scan up and down the frequency range. The scanner took less than thirty seconds to find and lock on to the only frequency in active use.

“So tell me again. Why the hell do we have to go to the dam in this weather?” a voice asked.

“BC Hydro needs us to manually close the spillway gates,” Arnold Kye answered. Billy leaned forward as he recognized his father’s voice. “They’ve lost communication with the dam so the controls defaulted the spillway to fully open.”

“So?” the first voice shot back. “Leave ‘em open. Let the rain out of the lake.”

“Flood control, John,” a new voice broke in, and the children recognized the voice of Darrell Montcalm, Brightly’s long serving, hands-on mayor. “If the water is allowed to just spill over into the Carmanah River half the town could be flooded, because it’s damn sure she’ll blow her banks if we just let the water pour out.”

“Well crap,” the first voice replied, again. “Sounds like a pretty crappy design to me. Making us go up there.”

“Normally we wouldn’t have to,” Mayor Montcalm replied. “But something's happened to the microwave and the remote controls have....STOP! STOP! EVERYBODY STOP RIGHT NOW!” the mayor yelled into the radio, and the sound of skidding tires could be heard. The children listening in all held their breaths as the frequency went dead and silence fell.

“What’s wrong Darrell?” Ernest Harding asked over the radio about half of a very long minute later, the sound of his truck could be heard in the background.

“There’s a damn tree across the road,” the mayor replied. “I need you and Arnie up here with your chainsaws to cut it into a couple of chunks. John, once they have it cut, I need you to winch it out of our way.”

“Sure thing, Darrell,” John, who was the first speaker, said. “Um, how long did Hydro say we had to get up to the dam and get those spill gates closed?”

“They wanted us to get there in the next thirty minutes or so,” Montcalm said, and the guttural roar of a chainsaw flaring to life could be heard over the radio. “Then they asked if we could check the microwave tower and see if it was okay.”

“Welp, we might not make it in time,” John said, and the radio crackled a bit with static. “Take a look up the road while I shine my spotlamp.” The five heard an intake of breath by the mayor.

“Oh hell, there must be a dozen trees across the road, just in this stretch,” the mayor said, and the despair in his voice was plain to anyone listening.

“We’ve got to do something,” Zak said in a firm voice, as he pulled the bud from his ear.. “We’ve got to help.”

“We’re a bunch of kids, how can we help,” Romy asked, wide eyed as the wind smashed some more rain against the bedroom window.

“We’re kids, we can’t do much,” Rowey said, then smiled as she picked up an equipment harness with the tag “Shield Maiden” on it. “But I bet that the Power Ponies could help a whole lot.” Romy’s face lit up with a giant smile, which was answered by the others gathered around the scanner.

“Yes!” Billy said, pumping a fist and grabbing the harness for Iron Hoof. “I bet I could drag those fallen trees right off the road, maybe even kick them in half.”

“We need the book,” Kya said simply, but smiling as the harness for Skylark came to hand.

“Mom‘s been keeping the book in her room,” Romy said, referring to the book that had powered their transformation nearly a week ago into a group of super powered ponies. All eyes turned to Rowan, who had accidentally cast the spell that had triggered their change. One by one she looked into the faces of her friends, each of them either smiling or nodding to her in turn, telling her silently that they trusted her to again embrace the power they had felt before.

“Okay,” Rowey said, taking a deep breath. “But if we do this, we do it as a team, with me in charge. Everyone good with that?” She looked directly at Zak and Billy as she said it.

“Darter is ready to follow your orders...” Zak said, putting out a hand toward Rowey, “Shield Maiden.”

“Say the word, Shield Maiden,” Billy said, putting his hand over Zak’s, but looking at Rowey. “Iron Hoof is standing by.”

“Seeker is ready, sister,” Romy said from the other side and covering Billy’s hand with hers, and all eyes turned to shy Kya, the last of the group.

“Skylark online,” Kya said, putting her hand onto the pile. “What are your orders?” Rowey reached out and clasped the four offered hands between her own.

“Thanks for trusting me,” she said to the group, smiling. “Okay, first thing to do is grab the book. I know where Mom keeps it in her room so I’ll go grab it. While I’m doing that, everyone needs to change into stuff that’s as easy to take off as possible.” The group nodded, remembering the problems they had run into with their regular clothing when they had initially transformed back in the woods.

Rowan moved with the care and quiet only someone who had lived for a long time in a home could manage. Her steps fell only in places that would not cause a floorboard to creak and her hands knew how to gently twist the knob on her mother’s door so it would not make a noise. Still moving with as much stealth as she could manage, she crept into the room and pulled the magic book from it’s place on the nightstand by her mother's bed. By the time she got back to her friends with the warm book clutched to her chest, she found them all changed into pajamas.

“Hey, they’re quick and easy to take off,” Billy said at Rowey’s inquiring look.

“Good thinking, Billy,” Rowey said nodding, and handing him the book. “Hold this while I get changed.” Billy tried to not take the book but gave up when Rowey simply pushed it against his chest and let go.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to hold it?” he asked, then smiled. “Hey, nothing’s happening!”

“Of course not,” Zak said, punching his friend lightly on the shoulder. “You’re not a unicorn like Rowey is.”

“Good point,” Billy said, as Rowey came back, just finishing with her pullover top.

“Back door or basement?” Romy asked her sister, finishing tying an unsnapped glowstick to each of their pony harnesses.

“Basement,” Rowey said, holding up one of their already active lights. “Everyone follow me. We are going to the basement, to get extra blankets.” She made quote marks in the air as she said the last and everyone smiled. Rowey headed down to the main floor of the house, not bothering to try to hide her footsteps.

”What are you kids doing down here?” Jean asked her daughters and their friends. She was smiling as she said it over the glass of wine she and Lynn were sharing.

“Just grabbing some extra blankets, Mom,” Rowey said, hoping her mother wouldn’t see through the deception. “Thought I’d take everyone down so we could get one for everyone in one trip.”

“That’s very good of you, sweetie,” Jean said, relaxing back into the couch. “You kids be careful down there, okay?” A chorus of “Yes, Mom” and “Yes Missus Pedersen” flowed back to her and the kids rounded the corner and headed down the basement stairs. Neither of the two adults noticed the book in the mass of children or thought it odd that the kids closed the basement door behind them.

The five children quickly reached the concrete floor of the basement and looked around in the green light of the chemical glowstick. It was a large empty space for the most part, with an alcove set aside for a laundry area and another set aside as a cool storage room. The air smelled of dust and a hundred different herbs that sat in containers on several shelves that made up the majority of the rest of the furnishings of the basement.

“Okay guys,” Rowey said, taking the book back. “Once I do the spell, grab your harness and run out the basement door because I’ll bet anything that our moms are gonna notice the spell.”

“We’re gonna get in so much trouble,” Kya said, worry in her voice.

“Not if we do a good job helping the fire department,” Zak said. “Mom would never ground heroes.”

“We still have to take a minute to get out of our PJ’s,” Billy noted. “Unless we want to...uh, get out of them now?”

“Are you nuts?” Zak shot back, incredulous.

“It’s okay guys,” Romy said, in a serious voice. “It’s only skin and we’re going to be changing that right away anyways.”

“Doesn’t your mom do some of her witch stuff naked?” Billy asked.

“Guys, focus,” Romey said, snapping the group’s attention back to her. “Clothes off and we get out of here faster. I’m in charge, so take ‘em off.” Kya and Zak weren’t happy about being told to strip, but they nodded, recognizing the need for speed. A minute later the five were naked, and laying out the book on the floor Rowey began the now familiar chant.

In nomine Sol
In nomine Luna
In nomine Equus
Orbis Terrarum Equorum
Mannulus Terrae
Mannulus Caelo
Mannulus Magi
Facti Sunt Nobis

As Rowey said the last word a rainbow coloured bubble of light burst from the book, enveloping and blowing past the children as it expanded. Once again, where there had been five young children there now stood five fur clad ponies. The group took a moment to look at each other, smiles on their faces as they took in each other’s pony forms. Until a large thud came from the floor above.

“KIDS! WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?” Lynn Harding’s voice sounded from the living room.

“Crap,” Rowey said, opening the basement door to the outside with her magic. “Grab your harness and go, go, go.” Within seconds all five young ponies were out the door and heading into the howling storm, the door closing behind them. Upstairs, in the living room, a snow white unicorn, half fallen off of a couch, looked over at a black pegasus with silver wings.

“Those kids are in some deep trouble when they come home,” Jean said, trying to untangle herself from her clothing.

“I’m going to ground them for a month,” Lynn said, trying to get her wings out from her sweater. “No, not a month. A year.”

Author's Note

Grounded.

How are a group of rough and tough firemen going to react to getting help from a bunch of cute furry ponies? We shall see. Also, the email and hashtag are the ones actually used by Environment Canada for storm reports, and they like having them put out where people can see them.

If you want to say "Hi" or anything, you can find me often on Damaged's Discord server. Just be aware, the server is for 18+ as any and all conversation there should be considered NSFW. You can also find me hanging out in Second Life as "Penalt Godenot." Frequent hang out locations include the YouMustObey sim, which is welcoming to all avatar types and has some very mellow tunes from SomaFM, that I find good to write by. I can also be found in Trotsdale or The Burning Mare near their central fires on occasion.

Chapter 11: Riders on the Storm

“I swear Jean,” Lynn Harding said, falling off the couch for a third time with a painful thud. “I’m going to kill them... but not until they teach me how to move in this body.” She looked at the rear legs of her pegasi form, where her slacks had tangled and twisted, binding her as effectively as any rancher’s rope and sighed.

“Stop fighting it so much,” her friend, Jean Pedersen said, as she raised her own equine body, that of a snow white unicorn, to its hooves. “Like the kids did with picking up stuff with their hooves, just let it happen.” Jean took a step forward, and her leg promptly buckled and sent her crashing to the floor. She rolled into her friend, who collapsed on top of her.

“Jean face it, neither of us is going anywhere fast,” Lynn said, going limp and letting gravity get her off her friend. “Even if we got moving with any kind of ability, it would be stupid to try to go after the kids in this weather.”

“I know, I know,” Jean sighed, having mastered her unicorn body enough to move into a proper sitting position. “It’s just... It’s my girls. I know them and I trust them, but—”

“But you’re a mother,” Lynn said, interjecting as she put a hoof on her friends and smiled at her, “and you can’t help but worry about them and want them to be safe. It’s one of the things you and I have always connected on, but if we try to go to them now we’d be more of a danger to them than the storm.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Jean said, trying to channel some magic through her horn, like she had seen Rowan do, and failing. “Fine, let’s get you out of that tangle you’re in and we’ll see if we can figure out how to move around at least enough so we can figure out what the kids thought was so important.”

The rain came down in solid sheets, while the wind battered the five young ponies as it howled through the treetops. With the power out, the only lighting came from what moonlight filtered through the storm clouds or from houses lit by candles and lanterns. The intimate familiarity of natives guided the children as they ran through the storm washed town.

“How are we even going to find them in this?” Iron Hoof asked Shield Maiden, as they pounded along the cracked asphalt that hadn’t seen a paving crew in years.

“We don’t need to find them,” Shield Maiden said, trying and failing to manifest a shield to keep some of the rain off. “We know where they’re going, all we have to do is head down the road to the lake and we’re bound to run into them.”

“How come I feel tho warm?” Seeker asked, drawing close on the other side, her lisp carrying over from her human form. “I’m thoaked and it’s windy. I should be cold.”

“Horses,” Skylark called back from the front of the group. “We’re little horses, we make a lot of heat. But less rain would be nice.”

“I think maybe I can help with that,” Darter said, from slightly behind his sister. “I don’t know if it will work, but it feels like it should.” That said, the dark grey pegasus half-spread his wings, his pace slowing as he concentrated. The group of friends slowed with him in their headlong rush, gathering around him, and Rowan aka Shield Maiden, saw crackling sparks begin to spread and grow along the silver tips of her friend’s wings. In almost instant response the rain pouring down on the group was lessened, and even the driving wind eased off.

“Way to go, Darter,” Shield Maiden, the group’s leader said. “How are you doing it?”

“Not really sure,” Darter said, his concentration on the magic he was running through his wings. “It’s sort of like I’m pushing everything to either side of us.”

“Well, keep doing it,” Shield Maiden said. “We’ll slow down a bit so you can keep up.”

Darter nodded and the group slowed down, but as the pegasus became more used to his task he was able to shift more of his concentration back to the world around him and the group sped up again. Five more minutes later the group of ponies was rewarded by hearing the growl of a chainsaw and seeing the muted glare of spotlamps up ahead. Charging forward, the youngsters passed the severed chunks of several trees that had been bucked into pieces and dragged or pushed off to the side of the road.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Shield Maiden said as they came up behind the fire chief, who was directing his men in getting yet another fallen tree off the road.

“Who the— “ the fire chief began, and as he spun the ponies could see it was Mayor Montcalm. “Oh, it’s you. I’m guessing you’re here to help?”

“Yes, sir,” Shield Maiden said, then broke off, shaking her head. “Wait, you know about us?” She and the ponies with her all wiped rain from their faces as they looked up at the mayor in surprise.

“Yup, saw you five running along the back road the other week, didn’t really trust my eyes then,” Montcalm said. “Kinda good to see I wasn’t going crazy. Anyway—”

“Darrell, these kids shouldn’t be here,” Arnold Kye said to the fire chief, having come up to see why orders had stopped coming and now surprised to see his son and the rest of the ponies clustered around him.

“Kids?” Darrell Montcalm, asked, looking Arnold in the eye with the authority of both of his offices. “I didn’t say anything about these being kids, and you’re reacting to them like you know them, am I right?”

“Um,” Arnold said, not wanting to outright lie to a man he respected. “Yes sir, I know them. Please don’t ask me how.” The other firemen had also stopped and were walking over, various expressions of surprise and disbelief coming from them. Except from Ernest Harding, who clasped his friend’s shoulder in support. Montcalm noticed the gesture, took it in, and after a moment's thought made a decision.

“Arnold, Ernie,” Montcalm said, his voice kind but firm as he noticed the wind and rain had eased off. “You know what’s going on, you know what can happen if we don’t get our jobs done in time. Give it to me straight, can they help?” The two men thought for a moment, responsibilities and obligations warring inside of them before Ernie answered, pride in his voice.

“Yes, Mr. Mayor,” Ernie said, decision made. “The Power Ponies can help.” Arnie half-smiled at his son, tilting his head in wordless request that he be careful. Iron Hoof just grinned back and ducked his head.

“Okay then,” Montcalm said, “We’re going to do this legal and properly, through established precedent here in Brightly.”

“There’s precedent for this?” one of the fireman asked, the name “John” stenciled on his gleaming wet firecoat.

“No time to explain, but yes,” Montcalm shot back, before turning back to the ponies in front of him. “Okay, raise your right...hoof, and repeat after me.” All five ponies dutifully raised a hoof. “I, your name, do solemnly swear to protect the community of Brightly, British Columbia, and its people, keeping them safe and warm with the fire of generosity that burns with us all. So help me God.” The ponies dutifully repeated back the oath, two of which ended it with what sounded suspiciously like something other than “God” but Darrell Montcalm had a pretty good idea whose children they were, so he let it slide.

“You are hereby officially deputized as rescue ponies,” Montcalm said to the group. “First off, you two with wings, I assume they aren’t for show?”

“No sir, we can fly,” Darter said, standing proud in his abilities.

“We need to get to the dam and close the floodgates,” Montcalm said, quickly sketching out the situation for the newcomers. “With the road blocked by fallen trees it’s going to take longer than we have. Can you fly one of us to the dam?” The pegasi siblings looked at each other and then back to the fire chief.

“I can carry the most weight,” Skylark said, hesitantly, “but I’ve never carried anything as heavy as you.” In the light of truck spotlamps the other fireman had restarted their task of chainsawing chunks out of fallen trees, the roar of the saws making it a little hard to talk.

“It won’t be me,” Montcalm said, before yelling at one of the other firemen. “Ben! Get over here, and bring your climbing harness and a breaking bar.” One of the other firemen, a tall lanky individual, put down the line he was moving from one tree trunk to another and made his way over to the pony group. As he passed a truck he pulled out a harness of some sort and a long metal bar from it.

“Whatcha need?” Ben, a young lean man said, tipping his fire helmet up and getting his first look at the ponies. “Whoa, okay...cool.”

“Focus, Ben,” Montcalm said, his stern voice leavened with understanding. “These ponies are with us. Miss...” His voice trailed off as he pointed to the female pegasus.

“Skylark, Sir,” the red-maned, black pegasus said. “I can probably fly with him but not much else.”

“Darter,” Shield Maiden said. “How about you go with them and carry the tools? You won’t be much help trying to clear the trees.”

“Good idea,” Montcalm said, smoothly taking charge without ruffling feathers. “You three get going, fast as you can. Ben, you know where the manual gate control is, so you need to be the guide, and don’t forget your radio. Skylark, Darter, do your best, but take the trip in sections if you have to. You won’t do anyone any good if you hurt yourselves trying to get Ben there too quickly. We’ll catch up as fast as we can. Got it?”

All three gave a quick “Yes, sir” and the two pegasi followed Ben to his truck. The lean young firefighter put several tools into a large duffel bag and strapped himself into his climbing harness. The siblings waited expectantly as Ben turned to them with the gear in hand, along with several strong carabiners and a length of rope.

“Um, is it okay, if I like, touch you to get hooked up?” Ben asked, nervous as Skylark instinctively shied away from him.

“We’re good, c’mon,” Darter said, urgency in his voice, anxious to take to the sky. “Let’s go, it’s hero time.” Ben nodded and clipped the strap of the duffel bag to a pair of D-rings on Darter’s harness.

“Are you okay with all this, um, Skylark?” Ben said, ignoring the eagerness of Darter. “I’m not going to hurt you, am I?”

“No, I’m just...” Skylark said, in a quiet voice and looking down a bit. “I’m a little scared, okay?” Ben’s heart went out to the cute pegasus in front of him, and he no longer saw a creature out of fantasy. He saw a little girl trying to be brave and strong, because she thought that was what was expected of her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, hugging her and whispering into her ear. “It’s okay to be scared, I am all the time. Just do your best, that’s all anyone here will ever ask of you, okay?” He smiled and looked into the furry face before him, which slowly broke out into a smile to match his.

“Thank you,” Skylark said softly, then she cleared her throat and spoke in a louder voice. “If you can give me a couple of meters of space between us, that should be good.”

“Right,” Ben said, smiling as he roughly measured out the proper length of rope, and attached himself to Skylark with it, giving a few tugs to ensure it was secure. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Okay, here we go. Please don’t wave yourself around,” Skylark said, lifting off the ground with powerful flaps of her wings.

She rose to the extent of the rope connecting her and her cargo, hanging there for a few moments, like a balloon at the end of its string. Then slowly, she began to lift Ben up into the air with her, Darter following suit at their side. The pair rose about five meters into the air, then turned and began to accelerate forward, heading down the road to the dam on the lake, easily staying above any fallen trees. As Darter left the area, those on the ground were once again welcomed by the full fury of the storm, pelting down rain on them as they struggled to move the trees out of the way of the trucks.

“There has got to be a better way to do this,” John said, frustrated. “You ponies got any ideas?”

“I could buck the trees into chunks,” Iron Hoof suggested. “I’ve busted up trees pretty close to a lot of these.”

“No!” Arnold Kye shouted, standing up from where he had just finished wrapping a winch cable around a trunk. “The last time you did that you cracked a hoof.” The others, except Ernie, all stopped to look at Arnold, surprised at his outburst.

“It’s how me and Ernie know the ponies,” Arnold said, improvising on the fly. “Iron Hoof cracked one of his hooves while kicking trees in half and we helped fix it for him...And he is NOT going to wreck that repair or do worse by kicking bigger trees in half.”

“But Da—” Iron Hoof aka Billy Kye began.

“Dang it all!” Shield Maiden shouted, to cover Iron Hoof almost blowing his cover. “Um, I think I might have an idea, that is.”

“Watcha got?” Ernie said, also realizing what had almost happened and changing the subject quickly.

“I can make a sort of force wedge, and if Iron Hoof bucks that instead—” Shield Maiden began.

“Then it will act like a splitting wedge, and it should protect Iron Hoof’s hoof,” Montcalm said, grinning at the doubled word. “We’ve got five more trees to clear, go for it.”

Concentrating, Shield Maiden summoned a narrow triangle of orange coloured force into being. The wide end was about thirty centimeters across, but the edge of the wedge tapered to an almost impossibly sharp edge, which rested perpendicular to the side of a fallen tree trunk. The fire crew all stopped what they were doing, amazed at something being created from thin air, to watch what happened next.

“Okay, Iron Hoof,” Shield Maiden said, rain making her mane and tail droop. “Go for it.”

Iron Hoof, his body also soaked through by the rain, lined himself up so that he could buck his side of the wedge with both of his rear hooves. With a “hah” of effort he kicked out both of his rear legs back in a classic double kick, his youthful aim true as both rear hooves struck dead center of the wedge, driving it into the side of the fallen fir.

The group had hoped that something would happen, that at the least, a deep gouge would be made into the trunk of the fallen tree. What was not expected was for the preternaturally sharp blade of the force wedge being driven clear through the entire thirty centimeter wide bole of the fallen tree. Steam rose from the splintered ends as kinetic energy translated into heat and the entire group raised a cheer for Iron Hoof.

“Way to go!” Fireman John said, clapping Iron Hoof on the shoulder. “Can you do it again?”

“I think so,” Iron Hoof replied after a quick check of his hooves and seeing no damage to them at all. A quick move of a few meters over, another double kick and Seeker was towing away the severed chunk of tree, leaving a neat pathway for the five vehicles in the team. It took barely ten minutes to clear a path through the four remaining fallen trees, and the fire chief paused to address everyone.

“Good work, everyone,” he said, the group smiling as one while they piled equipment back in the vehicles. “Ponies, one of you to a vehicle, please. Drivers, make sure they are strapped in, things could get rough.” People and ponies both scrambled to obey. Iron Hoof got in with his father, Seeker with Ernie Harding, and Shield Maiden rode in the SAR truck driven by Fireman John.

“Dad, I... we—” Iron Hoof, aka Billy Kye, began to his father as they started moving.

“Son,” Arnold said, cutting off his offspring, and doing his best not to be angry with his transformed child. “We’ll talk about this later, but for right now try to remember that you’re Iron Hoof, slayer of tree trunks, and not my son who I am both proud of and a little annoyed with. Okay?”

“Okay,” Iron Hoof replied, not sure if he should be scared or happy. As the small convoy continued to move forward Darrell Montcalm triggered the mike on his radio.

“Come in, Ben. Ben, it’s Chief Montcalm, come in,” Montcalm said into his radio mike, while he shifted gears as his truck cleared the last of the wooden obstacle. “Ben, if you can hear me, we’re past the fallen trees and are on our way. Ben, please respond.” Silence reigned for a few moments before static crackled and a wind-swept voice replied.

“Hey Chief,” Ben shouted into his radio, barely audible above the wind and rain. “Great to hear... We’ll be touching down at the dam any minute now. Sir... we have GOT to keep these ponies on the team. This is freakin’ awesome!”

“Worry about that later,” Montcalm said back, suppressing a grin at the younger man’s exuberance. “We’re about fifteen minutes behind you, unless we run into more problems. I want you to try to use the manual control to close the gate on the spillway. Got that?”

“Yes sir, I can see the dam now,” Ben reported. “I’ll get back to you once I get the spillway closed.”

“Good luck,” Montcalm said back into the radio. “And if you get a chance, check the microwave tower for damage.”

Ben Thompson signed off and looked up at his ride. He still couldn’t believe he had spent the past several minutes being carried through the air by a night black pegasus. He could see where the straps of her harness were digging into her body, but they were wide enough that his weight was being smoothly distributed. He looked down and saw they were barely a hundred meters from their goal.

“There!” he yelled back up at Skylark. “Set us down in the parking lot. More room for you to land.” Skylark didn’t reply but their course altered a bit, and a few seconds later his feet touched down in the small, rain swept parking lot for the dam and the small green space around it. Skylark herself touched her hooves to the ground moments later beside him, and a moment after that the pegasus who called himself “Darter” touched down on his other side. As he bent down to untether himself from Skylark she wobbled against him, almost falling.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked the soaking wet pony, providing her support, and he could see that she was breathing heavily.

“S’okay,” Skylark gasped out to him, propping herself back up. “Just never carried so much, so far.”

“Go rest by the map,” Darter said to her, concern in his voice. He pointed a wing to a large wooden “You are here” map that had a small roof over it, creating a bit of shelter. Skylark nodded her thanks to Ben as he finished detaching himself from her harness and slowly made her way over to the small shelter, wings drooping.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Ben asked, bending down again to get his tool bag off of Darter.

“I think so,” Darter said, keeping his voice low, his wings still sparking as he used his pegasus powers to force back a portion of the storm. “We haven’t done this before, but we heard what was happening and had to come help.”

“I don’t know about the others, but I’m sure glad you came, “ Ben said, ruffling the wet mane of the pony as he shouldered the tool bag. “Come on, I’ve got the keys for the access gate.”

Unlocking the gate allowed the pair to pass through a chain link fence and walk onto the flat surface of the dam itself. Despite the wind and damp, their footing was sure, as the dam’s builders had ensured the walkway was roughened to provide a good grip no matter the weather. Despite that, Darter and Ben stepped carefully as their exposed position gave even the reduced wind ample purchase on their bodies, as it tried its best to sweep them off the dam. At last they came to a spoked metal wheel about the size of a steering wheel attached to a thick metal axle that descended vertically into the concrete of the dam itself.

“Right, this is the manual spillway control,” Ben said, to his furry companion as he quickly undid the anti-tamper lock on the metal wheel. “All we need to do is turn the wheel, lift the spillway gate and everything will be good.” Setting actions to words the young fireman put on a pair of gloves and heaved on the wheel, which didn’t budge an inch. Darter raised an eyebrow at Ben, who looked back.

“Okay then,” Ben said, determination large in his voice. “Time to use force.” He got out a large socket wrench, one without a ratchet mechanism and wedged it between the spokes of the wheel. Then, with the increased leverage, he heaved again and for long seconds it was as if he was a stone statue. After thirty seconds of supreme effort, he fell away from the wheel, panting for breath much as Skylark had earlier.

“What’s wrong?” Darter asked, worried.

“It’s been so long since anyone used the manual control, I think it’s rusted shut,” Ben said, rummaging in the tool bag and coming out with a can of WD-40. “Let’s give it a few shots with this, and then we’ll both hit it together.”

Darter smiled at that while Ben used liberal amounts of the famous fluid. As he waited for the liquid to hopefully penetrate the rust, he put a pipe, known as a “cheater” over the breaker bar, then wedged another breaker bar into the opposite side of the wheel and harnessed Darter to its end.

“Okay, Darter,” Ben said, breathing deeply to charge his system with oxygen. “When I give the word, you pull on your bar while I pull on mine and either we get that gate moving or we are gonna rip this wheel right off.”

“Yeah!” Darter shouted, pumping a hoof and then bracing himself. “Ready.”

“Okay, on three,” Ben said, leaning against the bar. “One, two, three.”

On the count both pony and person strained with everything they had, pulling with every ounce of muscle, sinew and magic they possessed. Once again, time passed as they strained at their task, until there was a sudden lessening of tension. Darter fell forward onto his chest, while Ben sprawled backwards, nearly falling off the dam. Only to be saved at the last second by Skylark, who had seen his peril and had streaked through the air to reach him, knocking him back onto the dam.

“Hey, great catch, we did it,” Ben said, scooping Skylark into a hug. “Thanks for saving my ass.”

“Um, Mister,” Darter said, holding up the fallen metal wheel so that Ben could see that the shaft itself had twisted and broken into two pieces, a sharp metal stump still poking up from the dam.

“Shit,” Ben said, cursing with feeling. “Water must have gotten into the seals, and the whole mechanism rusted and seized solid. The only way to move the gate on the spillway is with the separate remote systems.”

“What are we gonna do?” Skylark said, looking up at Ben glumly.

“We report in, is what we do,” Ben said, fishing out his radio. “Thompson to Montcalm, Thompson to Montcalm, come in.” A few moments later the voice of Darrell Montcalm, the fire chief came over the radio, and once again the snarl of a chainsaw could be heard in the background.

“Ben, thank God,” Montcalm said. “Tell me you’ve got the spillway gate in place.”

“Sorry sir, I’m afraid not,” Ben said, and the lack of response was deafening. “The whole mechanism must be rusted shut. Me and the ponies twisted the crank wheel right off the shaft without moving a thing.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Montcalm said, in as bleak a voice as Ben had ever heard from his chief. “We’re about two miles away and there’s a big old tree across the road. Must be a solid two meters across.”

“What can I do, sir?” Ben asked, as both ponies with him looked at him with worried faces.

“Check the microwave dishes, see if they’re okay,” Montcalm said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can, and we'll see if we can do something to help Hydro get that gate up, but if we can't, we may have to evacuate the town, and fast.”

Author's Note

This and the next chapter are fairly action filled as our plucky pint-sized pony protagonists gain some notoriety and start to become known to others. The mayor certainly had an interesting reaction didn't he?

Also, older people in Canada, like myself and Mayor Montcalm, tend to use Imperial and Metric measure interchangeably. It's weird, I know. "Hydro" is the common nickname for the provincial power utility, BC Hydro.

Anyway, more action next chapter as the crisis unfolds.

Shout-outs to my editing team of Rejara, Coyotethetrickster, Sandstorm, and MxSpitfire. These poor put-upon ponies perpetually pummel me toward perfection. Poor ponies.

Also, more shout-outs to my Patrons:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
and Shaushka.

Chapter 12: The Storm

“Wild were the winds that came
In the thunder and the rain
Nothing ever could contain
The rising of the storm.”

“The Storm”, Blackmore’s Night

Montcalm signed off with the group at the dam and looked to where the rest of his team was attacking the body of a fallen giant. For decades, probably centuries, the massive tree had stood on the ridge overlooking Carmanah Lake, watching the turn of the seasons with implacable patience. Until this night, when erosion and the winds of a once in a hundred year storm had finally toppled the giant so that it now lay across the roadway.

The tree trunk was massive, almost ten feet or three meters across. It had fallen down the steep cliff to lie across the road at an angle, blocking it completely. After the flatness of the road the cliff continued down steeply to the edge of the lake. If the trunk could be severed, the bulk of the ancient tree would carry off down the embankment, but getting through that mass of timber was proving to be a problem.

“Sorry Darrell,” Arnold Kye, one of his men said to him. “We only have the two saws and neither of them have a bar longer than two feet. We’re going to have to chunk our way through and hope neither of the saws bind up on the wood.” Darrell nodded, knowing the problem well. In the wet weather the wood of the trees would be swelling, threatening to bind against the bar of the chainsaws and locking them immovably in place. Even as the thought crossed his mind he heard the snarl of one of the saws sputter to a halt.

“Fuck!” John Vatten, one of his hosemen, cursed as he jerked futilely at the chainsaw he had been wielding. “I’m jammed. Does anyone have a splitting wedge and a maul?”

“We didn’t come expecting to chop wood,” Ernie Harding, the entry specialist with the volunteer fire department said. “No wedges and a fire axe can’t be hammered into a gap, not with that spike on its backside. Arnie, see if you can cut around and free up John.”

“Right,” Arnold said, turning away from his mayor, who was also the fire chief. Montcalm let out a bit of a sigh and turned toward three of the newest members of his team. A group of big eyed colourful ponies that stood beside him in the pouring rain of the storm, looking to him for direction.

“I don’t suppose you Power Ponies have any suggestions?” he calmly asked their leader, a small yellow unicorn with a black mane and tail who went by the name "Shield Maiden.”

“Not really, Sir,” Shield Maiden said. “That tree is way too thick for Iron Hoof to try to buck through and our fliers are at the dam already. You know, you don’t have to use our pony names, if you don’t want to. You know who we are already, don’t you?”

“Yup,” Montcalm said, reaching down to put a comforting hand on the shoulder of the young, and to his mind very brave, pony. “When this is all done, you kids and your parents will have a nice quiet chat about all this with me in the mayor’s office. Brightly’s mayors have been told to expect something like you kids for a long time now. But for right now, I think it best we keep your names under wraps unless we have to, okay?” The ponies nodded to him in response.

“Um, you know I might be able to buck that,” Iron Hoof, the pony who had already demonstrated a talent for breaking apart trees, said. “If Shield Maiden here could make another one of those force wedges of hers, and I bucked it really hard...”

“Son, that tree is about three meters across,” Montcalm said, smiling at the pony. “Way I figure it, you would have to buck through about seventy cubic feet of wood. I know you kids are good, but I don’t think you’re that good.”

“Um, what if I helped,” said the third pony of the group, a scarlet coated, purple maned mare who went by the name ‘Seeker’. “I could find the weakest point in the trunk for him to buck.”

“C’mon Shield Maiden, we’ve got to try,” Iron Hoof said passionately to the pony leader. “It’s gonna take them forever to get through otherwise, and we’ve gotta get to the dam quick.”

“I’m gonna regret this, I know it,” Shield Maiden said, grimacing. “But I think you’re right, Iron Hoof. Seeker, go find us a weak spot.”

“Hey guys,” Montcalm yelled over the din of the remaining chainsaw. “Back off for a minute, the ponies are going to try something.” The rest of the firemen, having seen what their diminutive allies could do, stepped back from the fallen tree, as the light of their truck headlights continued to illuminate the work area through the raindrops. Seeker walked slowly along the length of the tree bole, running her hoof along it. After about a minute she stopped and tapped a spot in the initial wedge that the firemen had cut.

“Here,” she said, gouging the wood slightly with her solid hoof. “This is the weakest part of the trunk. Hit it here.”

“Right,” Shield Maiden said, as she again created a splitting wedge for Iron Hoof to strike, out of thin air and her glowing orange magic. “Better back off a bit, this could get messy.” The firemen all took a few steps back at that.

“Can his hooves stand up to that?” Arnold Kye, Iron Hoof’s father, said to his friend, whose own transformed children were already at the dam.

“Don’t know,” Ernie replied, with a shrug. “He cracked a hoof on smaller trees before. It just depends on whether or not that wedge reduces the shock of impact like it did before.”

Iron Hoof lined himself up in front of the glowing wedge of power his friend had created for him. He knew how much everyone was counting on him and how much depended on this. If he couldn’t clear the way for the firemen to get to the dam and fix it, his town, his friends and his neighbors could be washed away in a flood of rushing water.

“Can do this, will do this,” Iron Hoof muttered, as he measured the distance between himself and the wedge. To one side, the stuck chainsaw still poked out of the trunk like a badly shaped arrow, its metal surfaces gleaming in the rain and the headlights.

The pony took one last deep breath and let instinct guide him into a perfect spinning double back kick, his hooves impacting on the wedge like twin hammers swung by the arm of Thor himself. There was a deafening crack of thunder, a flash of light and one end of the now flaming trunk went hurtling a full five meters back up the embankment, where it lodged against the base of another tree. The main piece of the massive tree, one end burning from the explosive release of kinetic energy, slowly tipped over the downward side of the road and crashed its way through the brush as it fell toward the surface of the lake, some thirty or so meters downslope.

“That was awesome,” Arnold Kye said, running up to where his son lay on the ground after his massive effort. His pleased grin turned to horror as he saw that the trunk of the great tree wasn’t the only thing that Billy had shattered. Both of his son’s rear legs had been broken into compound fractures from the impact, his flesh and bone unable to withstand the massive power he had unleashed. Even as Arnold looked on, heartsick, he could see blood beginning to flow freely from the wounds where the sharp ends of the broken bones poked through his son’s flesh.

“Hey Dad,” Iron Hoof said, looking up at his father in a daze. “I did it. I got the tree cleared.”

“Oh God,” Arnold said, throwing himself over his son’s upper body. “Oh God, don’t move son. Jessica, get up here! Man down!” The department’s paramedic, Jessica Harkins, came running up from the rescue truck where she had been.

“What’s wrong?” Billy asked, confused, as he looked down at his rear legs. “Oh, s’okay, I don’t feel a thing.” Jessica ran up in time to hear that.

“He’s going into shock,” Jessica said, recognizing the signs and knowing the danger the young pony was in. “Kevin, get up here with the inflatable tourniquet, blankets and the splinting kit. Now!” Her partner was already throwing open panels on their vehicle to pull the items out of their storage spaces.

“Oh God, son,” Arnold said, openly weeping as he held Billy’s head, as the paramedic began to try to slow the bleeding. “Stay with me. I can’t afford to lose you too. Stay with me.” Another of the firemen, looking on helplessly, wanting to help but knowing he had to stay out of the way, went over to stand beside his chief.

“Son?” John Vatten whispered to Montcalm. “That’s his kid? And the rest of the ponies?” He gestured toward where the other two ponies were crying beside their fallen friend.

“Jean Pedersen and Ernie Harding’s kids. Once I knew who one of them was, it wasn’t hard to figure out who the rest were,” Montcalm said, before shooting a hard look at his man. “Are we going to have a problem with that?”

“Not me, and not anyone else ever, if I have anything to say about it,” John said firmly, then his voice shifted as he began to quote. “For he today that sheds his blood with me, Shall be as my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition.”

“That’s not how the quote goes,” Montcalm said, as the medtechs worked to save a young life.

“Don’t care,” John said. “They’re our kids, our ponies... I guess. And I’ll kick the ass of anyone that tries to hurt them.”

“Good man,” Darrell said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now if only we don’t lose one of them.” As they looked on, they saw Arnold’s friend and neighbor come up and put a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Dear Lord,” Ernie began, he wasn’t usually open about his religion, but he felt this was the time for it if anytime was, “be with my friend and his son in their hour of pain. Strengthen them, ease their suffering. Honor their brave and generous hearts. Amen.” It was a short prayer, but what it lacked in length, it made up for in heart.

For a moment after the ‘Amen’, the only sounds were those of the rain coming down, the soft work of the two paramedics and the dying crackle of the tree trunk pieces as their fire was washed out by the driving rain.

Then a strange sound came to the group clustered around the injured boy. It was the sound of hooves clip-clopping along solid ground, drawing nearer, but the sound was coming from the empty air over the lake. Then, to the astonishment of the firefighters the sound resolved itself into an equine outline, one with no real features but whose dark blue body was filled with a million twinkling points of light. As if someone had made a winged unicorn pony out of the night itself and filled it with stars.

“Death,” Shield Maiden whispered in a barely audible voice, her tear-filled eyes wide in fear.

“You stay away from them,” John said, carrying a fire axe and moving to place his body between the figure and his friends. “If you want him, you’re going to have to come through me first!”

Thirty minutes earlier, in Equestria

Princess Celestia, the Solar Diarch, might have been very much a morning pony, but she was also very much NOT a pony who liked being woken up in the middle of the night. So, it was with a growl that she woke to somepony pounding heavily upon her bedroom door in the dark of night.

“Go away,” Celestia commanded, in a sleepy voice that held absolutely no authority at all. “Go away... before I send you to the moon.”

“‘Tia, wake up,” Luna’s voice came through the door. “There is an urgent message from Twilight. She needs us at her castle immediately.”

“Wait, what?” Celestia asked, even as Luna burst open the door.

“Twilight had Spike send a message,” Luna said, impatient as her sister’s mind came up to speed. “The mirror is flaring, somepony on the other side is drawing on the magic again. A lot of it.”

“Granny Smith?” Celestia asked, bolting out of bed as she fully grasped what was going on.

“Already there,” Luna said, grabbing her sister’s hoof and teleporting them both to Twilight’s castle in Ponyville. The sisters arrived in the map room of Twilight’s castle, where they immediately saw Frozen Quill and Twilight Sparkle bent over the hoof mirror that was this side of the portal to another world.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” Twilight exclaimed, running up to hug Celestia. “The mirror. The mirror’s portal is pulling in a lot of magic all of a sudden. Whoever is on the other side is really working their pony magic.”

“Are you certain it is one pony, Twilight Sparkle?” Luna asked the purple alicorn.

“I, yes, that makes more sense,” Twilight said, after a moment’s thought had her realizing what the Princess of the Night was driving at. “It’s more likely five or six ponies. Maybe a few more, but not many.”

“Luna,” Celestia said, her magic covering the mirror for a moment. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” Luna said, after a moment’s concentration and use of her own magic. “But how is it possible? You told me that there are no actual ponies on the other side.”

“How is what possible?” Twilight asked, nearly shouting the question in her desire to know what was going on. To one side at the table, Frozen Quill took notes of the conversation as fast as he could make his quill fly over the paper.

“Twilight, there is Cutie Mark magic going in through the portal,” Celestia said. “Lee Ung or perhaps his children are doing something special and are likely about to take their place in their world fully as ponies.”

“But, is it even possible for someone transformed into a pony to get a cutie mark?” Twilight asked, looking from one princess to the other. “And even if it is, is there enough magic to do the job?”

“Lee Ung never abused the abilities we gave him,” Celestia said, her eyes distant. “We have to assume that his descendants follow in his hoofsteps, and that the magic will do what needs to be done.”

“But Sister,” Luna said, frowning. “There cannot be enough Cutie Mark magic on the other side to allow one pony to attain their mark, let alone several. Those ponies would be forever unable to reach their full potential and that could not be good for them.”

“I know, Luna,” Celestia said, looking around. “Which is why we shall send as much of our magic through as we can to prevent that. We won’t need Granny Smith for this, thankfully. Is she doing alright, Twilight?”

“The magical turbulence has made her really nauseous,” Twilight said, grimacing. “She’s laying down in one of my extra rooms though, and should be fine. Spike’s watching her, just in case.”

“Simply sending our magic through the portal will not be enough,” Luna said, ears flicking in annoyance. “If what you told me of the other side is accurate, the portal opens hundreds of feet underground. It would take years for our magic to seep through that much earth and stone.”

“You have a better idea, Luna?” Celestia asked of her sister, hoping she had a solution.

“Indeed Sister,” Luna said, a slight smile replacing her annoyance as she took on the expression of somepony who had just found something. “We need a vessel to carry our magic swiftly and surely to the surface. Once there it would be best if our vessel were also able to seek out these new ponies to give them the magic they need directly.”

“I agree, Luna,” Celestia said, puzzled. “But where are you going to find a vessel like that, and can fit through a mirror that is no bigger than the width of a plate?”

“Tantabus, come forth,” Luna commanded, and the pony shaped figure of the magical creation that Luna had created to punish her for her crimes as Nightmare Moon walked Equestrian soil once more. The entity emerged from Luna’s breast and stood there, looking at Luna, as it’s body and mane rippled.

“Princess, are you—” Twilight began, only to be cut off by the raised hoof of the Lunar Diarch.

“Tantabus,” Luna said, addressing the creature directly. “I once used you sorely, having you do something that was against your nature for many years. Can you forgive me?’ The creature, not having a true mouth, said nothing. Instead it wrapped a hoof around Luna’s neck and hugged her in a gesture that needed no translation.

“Thank you,” Luna said, wiping at suspiciously wet eyes for a moment. “If you are willing, I have a much better task for you. The task of carrying the magic of my sister and I to those who are in sore need of it. I shall not lie to you, you may not be able to return once we send you through, but you would be helping myself, my sister, and untold ponies on the other side. Will you help us?” The Tantabus seemed to consider this for a moment, then went to one knee in front of Luna.

“Thank you, brave Tantabus,” Luna said, smiling. “Now, let us give you the power you shall need to accomplish your task. Sister, if you will assist.” Together, the Princesses of the Sun and the Moon each laid their horns on the shoulder of the Tantabus and fed their power into the nebulous creature until it was filled with starry power fit to bursting.

“Now go, Tantabus,” Luna commanded, and in obedience the midnight blue form stood and poured itself through the portal to the other world. “Go... and thank you.”

Author's Note

Normally I would not end a chapter of this story at such a cliffhanger but I wanted to get this out before the holidays. As a father of three myself, I found parts of this really, really hard to write, but I pulled through.

Merry Christmas and thank you to my editing team, who have given me the gift of their time over the past year. Thank you to Sandstorm94, MxSpitfire, and Coyotethetrickster. You keep me on the straight and narrow, which is not an easy task at times.

And my thanks to all of you as well who read my stories. May you know peace and friendship this holiday season and may the new year find you filled to the brim with health and happiness.

Chapter 13: Neighsayer

“I just wanna find me

Some magic somehow

Oh don't be a neighsayer now.”

Neighsayer, Lukas Nelson

“It’s Death,” Shield Maiden whispered in horror. The pony-shaped being drew closer to the group around Shield Maiden’s terribly hurt friend. It was more than twice the size of any of the transformed ponies, the horn of its star-filled body easily reaching as high as the shoulder of John Vatten, who stood in the path of the creature’s approach.

“I said,” the fireman growled out, holding his fire axe across his body like a medieval warrior, “you are going to have to come through me to get him.”

The Tantabus stopped just out of what it judged to be axe range of the biped in front of it and considered its next action. On the one hoof it had a mission, and it could tell that the pony lying on the ground needed its magic. The Tantabus easily had the power to remove the creature barring its path, or to ignore the being and walk around him.

However, that was the kind of thing it had done as an instrument of punishment and self-loathing. Luna had given it a chance to do something better, to be something better, and the Tantabus also recognized the protective stance of the biped. It instead turned itself sideways and lowered its head so its horn was pointing towards the ground in a display of non-aggression. It then took two measured, sideways steps toward the creature, putting its vulnerable flank in range of the axe and inviting attack to further show it meant no harm.

“Huh,” Vatten said, puzzled as the creature simply stood sideways in front of his half-raised axe without making any attempt to defend itself. “Wait a sec. Are you here to take Bi... Iron Hoof away?” The night pony shook its head in the negative.

“Can you help him?” Vatten asked, and wild hope surged in his breast when the creature nodded. “Then do what you can for him, okay?”

He lowered his axe to the wet ground and the night pony lifted its head and stepped past him, nuzzling his hand in passing. Vatten thought he saw one of the stars from the pony’s body slide into his hand at the point of contact, and a sudden vast warmth washed away his perception of the cold and the rain. A comforting strength wrapped around his core, like a mother’s hug on a cold day.

“Hey!” Ernie protested. Ignoring him, creature stepped around John and slid between the paramedics, who backed off in surprise.

“Is okay, Mister Harding,” Seeker said, her eyes distant and her voice slurring slightly. “Is a good faerie. Wants to help.” Arnold looked up at the Tantabus as he heard that, his face covered in an equal mix of tears and rain.

“Help him,” he said, still pillowing his son’s head in his lap. “Whatever it takes, whatever the cost. I’ll pay it. Just help him.”

The Tantabus slowly lowered its head, softly laying its horn against the soft, wet fur of the injured pony. It could sense the fading life force of the child as it lay in its father’s arms, and it could also tell that if something was not done, and soon, that force would fade completely and a young life would come to its conclusion far before its time.

But all the Tantabus had to do was what it had been sent to do. It focusing on the power the Diarchs of Equestria had given to it, streaming that energy into the broken body of the boy, and those looking on saw star after brilliant star pass from the rippling body of the Tantabus and into Iron Hoof. The transfer took only moments, and the Tantabus felt a surge of satisfaction as it took the opportunity to share more of its power with the others who were in physical contact with the wounded pony on the ground.

Its immediate mission accomplished, the Tantabus turned away to seek out the other two ponies it could sense.

“Hey!” John shouted, having managed to pull himself out of the Tantabus’s soul-hug. “You haven’t done anything. I thought you were going to—”

John’s words died in his throat as a great light came into existence behind him. He turned, and saw Iron Hoof’s body wreathed in a corona of light. An angelic chorus rose up around the group, and the young pony rose up and away from his startled father’s arms. Rippling rainbow light ran up and down his limbs, and where that light touched his shattered rear legs, a miracle occurred. Bones, broken under frightful impact, returned to their rightful place, knitting back together and becoming one again. Flesh, torn and sundered by the breaking of the framework beneath, fused back together as the torn cloth of skin and fur became whole and vital again.

For some immaterial and unknowable time, the power of Equestrian magic manifested itself as those present watched in awe. The Tantabus paused a moment to bask in the joy around it, then used the distraction to leave unnoticed. There were other ponies and perhaps future ponies who had need of the power Luna and Celestia had given it, and it vowed to make sure those creatures had what they needed.

After what seemed an eternity, but in truth could only have been mere moments, the chorus and light faded away and Iron Hoof lay on the ground once more, only to quickly push himself up to a standing position—on all four of his legs.

“Billy!” Arnold shouted in joy, wrapping his arms around his son’s neck. “You’re okay! It healed you. Oh, thank God.” Arnold knew in the back of his mind that he was blowing his son’s superhero “cover” wide open, but at that moment he didn’t really care. Jessica, the fire department’s paramedic, started running her hands up and down Iron Hoof’s rear legs, searching for any signs of the life-threatening breaks that had been there only a minute before.

“I don’t believe it,” she said, amazement and wonder in her voice. “I don’t freaking believe it. I saw the breaks, I felt them. Arnie, I don’t want... hang on, was that there before?”

“Was what where before?” Iron Hoof asked, unable to move with everyone trying to hug him at once.

“Your hip,” Jessica said, pointing. “Whatever else that thing did to you, it left its mark.” There, on the flat portion on the side of both Iron Hoof’s hips was a mark. An emblem a few inches across of a wooden barricade being broken asunder was etched through Iron Hoof’s fur and clear down to the skin.

“Look folks,” Montcalm, the fire chief, said. “I’m as happy as anyone that it looks like you’re going to be okay, Iron Hoof, but we’ve got to get going.” The rest of the group, people and ponies alike, leaped into motion, getting into vehicles or putting away gear. Everyone, except for Arnold, who broke off from the others, and before anything else, carried his son back to his truck and deposited him on the bench seat.

“Dad,” Iron Hoof said in protest, as his father secured him to the truck seat with not one, but two safety belts. “I’m fine, honest. That magic pony fixed me up great. I can walk and everything.”

“You just sit and stay put,” Arnold said. “I almost lost you just now, and if you even think about moving off that seat without my say-so I swear I... I... I’ll hogtie you and see if you can fit in that animal carrier Jess has in the rescue truck.”

“Daaaad,” Iron Hoof said plaintively, before his father silenced him with a look and a raised finger that brooked no argument.

“What happened?” Ben, the firefighter already at the dam with the two pegasi of the team asked over the radio. “Who did we almost lose?” Arnold looked down at his radio and saw that he had accidentally keyed his mike when he had leaned forward to strap Iron Hoof in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Montcalm said over the radio. “Everyone’s good and we should be there in about five minutes. Any luck finding the problem?”

“Yeah, the microwave tower got knocked down,” Ben said, as he and the ponies with him huddled underneath the partial shelter of a large wooden map meant for tourists. “What are we gonna do, boss?”

“Don’t worry about that for now,” Montcalm said, reassuringly. “We’ll put together a plan as soon as I get there and can have a look at things.” The convoy of emergency and personal vehicles quickly set off down the remaining stretch of road to the failed dam.

True to his word, Montcalm and the rest of the team arrived at the dam five minutes later. The firefighters all headed over to talk to Ben and get briefed on the situation he had encountered while trying to manually operate the dam’s controls. The ponies, however, all clustered around Arnold’s truck where Iron Hoof remained strapped in.

“C’mon Iron Hoof,” Darter said, trying to make his point. “Your Dad won’t know if you step out of the truck. Besides, I wanna see it.”

“No way,” Iron Hoof said, shaking his head. “My dad is ticked. Really ticked, big-time. I’m not allowed to step out of the truck, but you can hop in and have a look.” Darter and Skylark needed no further invitation and climbed into the cab of the truck, oohing and ahhing over the mark on Iron Hoof’s flank. Seeker and Shield Maiden stayed out in the driving rain, having already seen the mark while sharing a happy hug with their friend.

“What’s it mean?” Seeker asked her sister, wiping rain out of her eyes.

“I dunno,” Shield Maiden said, shrugging her furred shoulders. “Maybe he’s levelled up or something. Evolved, like a Pokemon maybe.”

Meanwhile, the firefighters had made their way to the top of the small hill where the downed tower that held the microwave receiver had stood. Montcalm cursed sulfurously as he looked at the rusted stubs where yet another wind blown tree had snapped off the tower at its base.

“There is no flippin’ way those struts should have been allowed to corrode to that state. Hydro should have been up here years ago to replace that tower,” he growled, pawing at his belt and coming up with an oversized satellite phone on which he pressed a preset button. “Brightly VFD to BC Hydro Control. Brightly VFD to BC Hydro Control, please respond.” A bright and much too cheery voice for the weather came from the device.

“Hello Brightly VFD, this is BC Hydro,” the cheery voice responded immediately. “Remote Tech Shaushka here, how can I help you?”

“Ya, we’re at the Carmanah Lake dam and we’ve got big problems,” Montcalm said over the phone. “The microwave tower is down and the manual controls are so rusted they’re useless. We’ve got no way to raise that floodgate.”

“Are you sure you applied enough torque to the manual control?” the tech said back. “Sometimes it takes—”

“Look lady, my man twisted that wheel so hard the axle actually deformed and broke!” Montcalm exploded at the satellite phone. “I need some real solutions right now or my town is going to start flooding sometime in the next thirty minutes.”

“Sorry mate, I had to ask,” Tech Shaushka said, her old British accent slipping out as it sometimes did when she was under pressure. “Okay, emergency procedures then. First, try to create a makeshift dam across the spillway entrance. Logs, or even full trees will do. Anything to slow down the flow rate.”

“Okay, we might have something that will work for awhile,” Montcalm said, his eye falling on Shield Maiden down by Arnold’s truck, as his mind played back the image of the orange planes of force the pony could create. “But it won’t hold forever.”

“No worries, love,” Tech Shaushka said in a calm voice. “It just has to last long enough for you to raise the tower back into place. Are the connecting data cables still intact?”

“I think so,” Montcalm said, trying to shield the phone a bit from the rain and wind. “But the tower itself completely snapped off at the base.”

“Use lines to secure it in place, weld it if you have access to the equipment,” Shaushka said, trying to sound reassuring. “There’s a fair bit of leeway with the beam path. I only need fifty percent of the data packets to get through, and that only long enough to raise the gate itself. Get that tower up for me and I’ll get that gate closed for you, Sir.”

“Right, we’ll get it up. You just be ready to raise that gate,” Montcalm said, closing down the phone and cupping his hands so he could be heard down to the truck. “Shield Maiden! I need you and the rest here with me right now!” He pointed to the ground at his side in emphasis. He saw Shield Maiden nod, gathering her four friends together to head his way.

“Are you nuts?” Arnold said, gripping Darrell’s arm tight. “That’s my son down there. My son who almost died a few minutes back.”

“No, that’s Iron Hoof and his friends,” Montcalm replied as he met Arnold’s eyes with every ounce of authority he could muster from twenty-five years as mayor and fifteen as Brightly’s fire chief. “When this is over, you can ask for my resignation if you want. I won’t fight you over it because I feel guilty as hell that my decisions nearly caused the death of a child. But right now, God help me, we need every resource I can lay my hands on. Hate me later and I’ll understand, just help me save the town first.”

“Fine,” Arnold said, not happy in the slightest but understanding the pressure Montcalm was feeling. “But if I say call them off, you call them off.”

“Fair enough,” Darrell said, as Shield Maiden came pounding up with her fellow ponies in a wedge formation through the rain and the mud.

“How can we help, Sir?” Shield Maiden asked.

“How strong are those shields of yours, and how long can you hold one?” Montcalm asked, looking down at the pony leader.

“Um, they’re pretty strong,” Shield Maiden said in earnest reply. “But I’ve never held one longer than a minute. That doesn’t mean I can’t hold one longer though.”

“I need you to use one to block the water going out through the spillway,” Montcalm said, looking down at the young pony. “Every minute you can hold back the water gives the rest of us that much more time to raise the tower back up. Can you do it?”

“I don’t know, Sir,” Shield Maiden said, before taking a deep breath that filled her with confidence, “But I promise to try as hard as I can.”

“Good girl,” Montcalm said, before turning back to the rest of the crew. “Okay folks, the little lady here is going to buy us some time, let’s use it well. John and Ernie, get out as many lines, winches and come-alongs, as you can and get them to the tower. Arnold, you and Ben get the arc welder and the gennie up the hill as well. Kevin and Jess, give them a hand as much as you can. After that, you two are on medical backup.”

“Power Ponies, to me!” Shield Maiden called out, her voice ringing out in childish imitation of the tones she had just heard from the mayor. Iron Hoof hesitated before leaving the truck to answer the call, but his father just nodded, and it took only seconds for the five to be together again.

“Okay ponies, listen up,” Shield Maiden said. “The mayor wants me to try to hold back the water using one of my shields. In the meantime, Darter, Skylark and Seeker, you help the firemen get their stuff up to the top of the hill.”

“Um, what about me?” Iron Hoof asked, still shooting occasional nervous glances at his father, who seemed to be shooting equally nervous looks back. Which was impossible, because Arnold Kye never looked nervous or unsure.

“You’re on... medical backup,” Shield Maiden said, as Iron Hoof raised an eyebrow at the copied phrase. “We don’t know if the Night Horse fixed you all the way up or not, and I might need someone to keep me focused if things get really tough. Okay?”

“Okay,” Iron Hoof said. He was fairly sure the job was just to keep him busy, but he would still help out in any way he could.

“Right guys, this is why we decided to be ponies again,” Shield Maiden said, smiling to her friends. “Go go, Power Ponies!” The group split up to their assignments as Shield Maiden belted out their adopted catchphrase, none of them noticing Ben’s struggle to keep from laughing in recognition. As the other three went over to the trucks to help the firemen, Iron Hoof and Shield Maiden carefully made their way onto the walkway that traveled over the surface of the dam itself.

“All right,” Shield Maiden said, stopping at the halfway point. “This should be just about right. Whatever you do, Iron Hoof, don’t let me fall.” She turned to look down at the rushing water, an emergency lamp lighting the spillway and she felt something brush along the center of her back at the same time as she heard a clicking sound.

“I grabbed a safety line from Dad’s truck,” Iron Hoof explained, clipping the other end of the line to the front of his own harness and connecting the two of them together. “We’re really gonna have to thank Mrs. Harding for making these harnesses for us.”

“Yeah. Anyway, here goes nothing,” Shield Maiden closed her eyes in concentration. A breath or two later an orange wall of force covered the open spillway, stopping the outward flow of water, and Shield Maiden opened her eyes. She smiled for a moment, but then the first waves hit the wall and she realized where her true battle lay.

The gap being covered was roughly ten feet across by two deep, and rising slowly. Putting up and holding the wall in place of that wasn’t terribly hard for the magical pony, but it was a constant, draining effort. The real danger lay in the waves of the storm-tossed lake striking the wall. Carmanah Lake was typical of many of its brethren in British Columbia. Gouged out during the last ice age, the lake was narrow, deep, and very long, which gave waves a very long distance to gain both momentum and power.

Each wave struck the wall with the impact of a sledgehammer, and while Shield Maiden could hold her construct against that kind of impact, the improvised dam was being struck every second or two and the battering waves quickly drove Shield Maiden to her knees.

“It’s okay, you can do this,” Iron Hoof whispered to her. “Just focus on your shield. You can keep it up forever because we all believe in you.” Shield Maiden’s smile briefly touched her lips again, as she closed her eyes and reached deep inside of herself for reserves of determination, courage and power she didn’t know if she had, applying herself fully to the fight to keep the wall up.

“Pull!” Montcalm shouted at men and ponies alike as they dragged the arc welder and the generator to power it up the muddy hill. Where boots slipped, hoofs dug in and kept their grip, allowing the combined force to get the equipment up to where the base of the tower lay. Everyone paused at the top, panting as they caught their breath.

“Okay, Arnie,” Montcalm puffed to the mechanic and metal worker. “How long do you need us to hold the tower in place for you to weld it solid?”

“I can have tack welds in place on all three legs inside of a minute,” Arnold said, as he started to check his equipment. “But to weld things solidly, at least solid enough to last more than a couple of minutes in this weather, I’ll need about five minutes a leg. Give or take.” Montcalm nodded and turned to the others.

“Good, because I don’t know how long that little pony down there can hold back all that water,” Montcalm said, looking down toward the dam significantly. Arnold followed his gaze and then hurried to get his gear set up.

“What can we do?” Skylark said, standing beside Darter, her brother. “We aren’t strong like the other—” Her words stopped as she felt a warmth settle over her back, strength and confidence seeming to flow into her.

She looked to her brother but instead of seeing the wry smile Darter usually had, her gaze ran into the flowing body of the creature that the others had called the “Night Horse.” It had deftly landed itself between the siblings and had draped a wing over each of them. As it looked at each of them in turn, Skylark got the feeling that the creature somehow approved of what they were doing, and why they were doing it. Darter was about to try to say something when the creature suddenly extended its wings, leaped upwards and began to fly off.

“Was that the Night Horse?” Darter asked, out loud to the others.

“Yeah,” Ernie said to his son. “That’s what brought Iron Hoof back from two broken legs. I don’t know if it’s an angel, if God sent it, or what. I do know that it means well, and that I owe it. You kids okay?”

“Yeah Da—” Darter began, clapping his mouth closed before he finished saying “Dad.”

“It do anything to you?” Ernie asked, equal parts curiosity and parental worry.

“It kinda... ” Skylark began, before walking over to lean against her father’s leg affectionately. “I think it wanted to say ‘hi’ but it can’t talk, so it kinda made us feel warm and fuzzy instead. Like when Mom tells us we’re doing something good.”

“Ernie, we need a hand over here,” John called over from where he was rigging a crude pulley system to multiply and redirect the force of the rope intended to pull the tower back up.

“Be right there,” he called back, before looking back to his transformed children. “You two just stay here in case we need you.”

“What about me?” Seeker asked, her rain-streaked coat glinting in the flashlights.

“You’ve got strength like Iron Hoof does,” Ernie said, smiling down encouragingly toward his neighbor’s child. “We’re going to need you on the pull rope.”

“Okay,” Seeker said, cheerfully, and walked toward the increasingly complex tangle of ropes, chains, cables and equipment around the base of the tower. The men and women of the Brightly Volunteer Fire Department might not have been professional fire fighters, but each and every one of them were comfortable thinking and acting independently, which gave them a wide variety of skills. Skills such as how to raise a pole, or in this case tower, using nothing but ropes and pulleys.

Less than ten minutes later every thing was rigged and ready. One member of the fire crew stood on each side, in case the tower slewed off course, with a third to keep the tower from going to far. The rest, save only Arnold Kye who was getting the welder ready, prepared to pull the tower up through a 120 degree arc and back to the vertical.

Arnold brought the power unit to life with a few quick pulls of the starter and he aimed a built in light at the broken base of the tower. A moment later, the arc welder was switched on. and Arnold quickly adjusted settings on the machine and made sure he had a ready supply of the correct welding rods. Assured all was good to go, he made a quick thumbs up sign to the fire chief.

“Okay everyone!” Montcalm yelled out to the group. “On three. One... Two... Three!” On the count he and every other person there pulled with everything they had, and with agonizing slowness the tower began to rise up off the ground. Five feet, ten, then twenty. The tower swung up the needed arc, but as the tower rose past the forty-five degree mark, the top of it cleared the surrounding tree tops and the microwave dishes were once again directly in the path of the storm winds.

“Oh no!” Skylark exclaimed, as she saw the top of the tower twist and spin to one side as the twin dishes on the top acted like sails in the wind, pulling the tower off course. The firemen on the guiding ropes did their best to counteract the forces they were dealing with, but nature had both the wind and leverage on its side.

“It’s gonna fall!” Darter exclaimed, and clutching his sister close. “We gotta do something.”

“Quick, you do your weather thing. Stop the wind pushing at the tower,” Skylark said, urgency slurring her words as they blazed past. “I’ll catch it. Go!” Darter needed no further urging, and he streaked skywards. His sister was only a second slower in getting off the ground, and the air shrieked with her passage as she zoomed to the tower’s peak.

“We’re losing it!” Montcalm cried, his eyes glued on his crew. “Arnie! Get clear!” Arnold scrambled away as the pulling crew finally lost their grip, falling to the ground as the torquing tower pulled the hauling line free. Only Seeker was still attached to the pulling rope, crying out helplessly as she was dragged back up the slope by the falling tower.

The tower fell back earthward, only to stop with a sudden thrum of tension as Skylark stopped the tower by its tip, some twenty feet off of the ground while her silver tipped wings pounded at the air. The beats of her wings sounded through every person there, even over the wind of the storm, and as the amazed fire team looked on, the speed of each beat increased as the pegasus reached inside herself and found a core of power and determination within.

“I don’t believe it,” Vatten said in a hushed breath. “That’s gotta be five tons of reinforced iron and steel.”

“It’s not going to mean much if she can’t control it when she gets above the trees again,” Montcalm said. “Hey where did the other pegasus go?”

“Look up,” Ernie said, and everyone could hear the pride in his voice. For there, high above the hill in mid-air was the pony who called himself Darter. Like his friend and his sister before him, need gave him the ability to reach inside and grab hold of the gift the Tantabus had given him when it had touched him. Flaring his own silver-tipped wings wide, he reached out to the storm around him, asking it to be calm.

They say that all prayers, to all deities are answered, but sometimes the answer is “No.” So it was this time. The storm around Darter heard his request, as much as a force of nature can be said to hear something, and ignored him. Skylark was nearing the tops of the trees in her slow steady ascent, her wings glowing like fiery coals with the effort of channeling her power and magic through them. Darter saw her climbing higher, and growling he set his jaw in determination and once more sent his will out through his wings and into the storm around him. Only this time, he wasn’t asking.

Zak was known around town as a boy who leaped wholly into things. It was one reason why he had been able to adapt to becoming a pegasus so easily. It was also a reason why he was able to take an even firmer hold of that warm power inside of him and fling it outwards. As the pulling crew grabbed onto their line again, the light from Darter’s wings went from red, to yellow, then blazing white, as he threw furious power at the storm to calm the winds for his sister. As she climbed over the trees the winds around dam died, the clouds parted and the skies cleared. A single blazing star shone high above the hill, in the form of a charcoal pegasus.

“Holy crap,” Ben said, looking up. “That’s in-freaking-credible.”

“Less talk, more pull,” Montcalm said, knowing that their success now depended on not one, not two, but three supreme efforts. Unimpeded now by wind, the tower swiftly swung up to the vertical and the broken off bottom of the tower stood beside the stubs they had come from.

“I’m on it!” Arnold yelled, arc welder blazing to life as man-made lightning in the form of ionized plasma began to join metal to metal. “Okay, tack welds are on, hold it steady as long as you can.” Darter kept going with his effort, holding back incalculable tons of air and water vapor, forcing back the fury of nature through a combination of magic and determination.

Skylark, though, was no longer in the air. Exhausted and drained of every reserve of strength, the enervated pegasus lay on the ground. She lay there, unnoticed and unmoving, as the greater drama revolved around the others now at the fore of the effort.

Minute by minute the snap-hiss of the arc welder continued. Arnold Kye might not have been a pony, he might not have had access to the magic his son did, but he had a sorcery all his own. Metal moved and shaped to his will, like a living thing as it obeyed him and he now used every ounce of that skill and art, ruthlessly using every shortcut and scrap of knowledge to make the welds faster and more solid. After what seemed an eternity, it was done, and he shut off the welder. The tower was again one with its base, only a little shorter than it had been before.

“Darter!” Montcalm yelled up at the star-bright pegasus. “You did it! You've done your job, now come on down!”

“Gotta hold... gotta keep it back...” Darter replied, his voice echoing oddly, everywhere and nowhere at once

“It’s done! Get down here!’ Montcalm said, and then he noticed that the sky was short one pegasus. “Crap, anyone seen Skylark?”

“There she is,” Seeker said, running over to her friend and lifting her up. “You okay?” Skylark opened her eyes, looking up at her friend.

“Did we do it?” the black furred pegasus asked, her body completely limp but still managing a smile as she looked at her friend. Her black coat was muddy and soaked from the events of the night, and her wings felt like they were made of lead. “Please tell me we did it.”

“Ya,” Seeker said, smiling. “You did —” Seeker’s reply was cut off as gasps of horror cut them off and she looked up. Darter was falling toward the ground, the will and magic that had kept the young pony aloft and in command of the elements utterly drained by his herculean effort. With no power to keep him in the skies, he had begun flopping gracelessly towards the earth.

“Coat,” Montcalm ordered, spearing Arnold with his gaze and knowing they had only seconds to act, and he ran through the same chain of thought that Montcalm had in a fraction of a second. Darter would hit the earth in a few seconds, and if anyone tried to catch him directly, those involved in that collision would break bones, if they were lucky. However, if Montcalm and Arnold could string something between them, something that had some give to it, something like a fire coat held between two strong firemen, Darter could be safely caught like a ball being caught by a glove.

Arnold rose, his movements smooth and fluid, casting down his welding gear with his left hand, he swept up his coat off the top of the arc welder with his right. Two swift strides took him toward Montcalm and his right hand continued in its arc, sweeping his jacket out in front of him. Montcalm caught the end of Arnold’s jacket, gripping it tight, and roughly a second later Darter flopped onto it, driving both men to the ground as with his falling momentum.

“Hey, kiddo,” Montcalm said, leaning over and unfolding part of the coat that had flopped over the pegasus. “You okay?” A groan came from the dark furred body in front of him.

“Out of the way,” Jessica said, elbowing aside the men. “Let me check him out.” The paramedic began quickly going over the fallen pony, looking for injuries as the storm closed back in, the wind and rain returning.

A series of snapping, sparking sounds came from the arc welder, and with a final crack of sound the main fuse of the device blew. Without Arnold’s jacket to shield it, the welder had been shorted out by driving rain entering its top vents. Montcalm and Kye stood up, the dying welder having first drawn their attention, then looking around to see Jessica’s partner, Kevin, examining the fallen body of Skylark with Seeker beside him.

Kevin felt their gaze on him and looked up at his chief, giving them both a thumbs up to indicate that Skylark was not seriously injured. Jessica did not seem to be overly worried about the Darter either and Montcalm took the opportunity to pull the satellite phone back off of his belt.

“Brightly VFD to BC Hydro Control,” he said into the device. “The tower is up. Brightly VFD to BC Hydro Control, I say again. The tower is up. Start raising that floodgate.”

“I read you, Brightly VFD. Sending the commands now,” the cheery voice of the remote technician said, but a minute later the voice returned with a less confident tone. “I have no function from the gate. No response at all from the remote systems. Please check to see if the data cables are intact.”

“The cables aren’t the problem,” Ernie Harding said, tracing the data cables up to the top of the microwave tower by eye with a hand-held spot lamp. “Look at the dish on the tower.” Everyone who had heard his voice looked up to where the dirty microwave dish was mounted.

“Oh, hell,” Ben Thompson cursed. “How did we not notice that?” Montcalm realized that Ben was right. As the tower had fallen, it had rotated under the pull of the guide ropes on the side. When Skylark had powered the tower back up again it had retained its new orientation because everyone had fallen off the guide ropes. Once she had the tower standing, no one on the ground had really been able to see up into the dark sky to notice that the tower had rotated 120 degrees. One strutted face of the structure being fairly identical to the others.

The dish pointed in the wrong direction now, and there was no possible way it could receive any commands to close the gate on the spillway and keep Brightly from being flooded.

Author's Note

Sorry for the long delay in getting this out. One of my editors had their computer go "kaboom" and I had to beg an old friend to step in. Which they did, and combined my editors trawled out over 100 errors of mine from my drafts.

Treat your editors like gold, people. They are just as precious.

Chapter 14: Hymn to Breaking Strain

"So when the buckled girder,
Lets down the grinding span
The blame of loss or murder
Is laid upon the man,
Not on the steel, the man…."

Hymn to Breaking Strain
Rudyard Kipling, lyrics by Julie Ecklar

While the battle for the tower was being raged, another smaller, yet no less intense fight was happening on the dam itself. Two ponies lay on the concrete walkway, looking down at the water below which was blocked in its intended path by a glowing wall of orange light. An answering orange flare came from the horn of the young unicorn pony, while her earth pony companion busied himself making sure that neither of them were blown off the narrow walkway by the storm that blew around them.

The unicorn had been tasked with holding back the waters of the lake for as long as she could. Every minute she could hold back the water was another minute her home would not be flooded by the rainwaters that were filling the lake. If she could hold her shield long enough the tower would be fixed, the floodgate raised, and everyone the pony cared for would be safe. Long minutes had already passed though, and cracks were showing in the shield.

“Billy,” she said, addressing the pony beside her. “I don’t think I can hold it much longer.”

“Code names, Shield Maiden,” Billy reminded her, automatically. “Use our code names.”

“Billy, it’s just...us,” Rowan said with a small groan as waves continued to batter at the wall, “and they all know who we are already anyway. Oh crap.” Another series of cracks appeared in the glowing wall beneath the pair, and water began to leak through.

“You can do it, Rowey,” Billy said, holding his friend close and shielding her a bit from the rain with his own body. “C’mon, just uh, zap it harder.” Billy could see that his friend was scared. Rowan wasn’t scared of getting hurt, or afraid for her life even. She was scared of failing, and Billy could see the truth of it in the tightly shut eyes Rowan had closed in order to concentrate better. He could see it in the tears leaking out of the sides of those eyes, and he could feel it in the shudders of her body that had nothing to do with the cold or wet.

“Oh no!” the yellow unicorn suddenly cried out, and Billy could see Rowan’s magical wall of force crack once more and then shatter completely, water pouring gleefully into the gap. “I screwed up, Billy. I put in too much power and broke it all up myself. I’m a total screw up. Everything is going to flood!”

As Rowan began to sob and cry at her failure Billy took a look at the hill where everyone else was. Something was going on there, and Billy could see his friend Zak hovering in mid-air for some reason. As Billy watched in amazement, the pegasus began to glow and then shine like a star, and as he did so the wind around them died and the skies cleared directly overhead.

“Look. Look at Darter,” Iron Hoof said, nudging Shield Maiden and directing her gaze toward the shining pegasus. “He’s still trying his best and giving it all he’s got. He hasn’t given up and neither should you.”

“But I can’t do it,” Shield Maiden said, crying as the water poured through beneath them. “I just can’t make a shield that can hold it all back. I tried, I really did, but the waves just keep banging away.” Iron Hoof thought for a moment, trying to think of something to suggest that might help, and after a moment he hit on it.

“Don’t make a shield,” Iron Hoof said in a rush. “Make a wall, make a fortress.”

“What?” Shield Maiden asked, confused. “It’s not going to make a difference.”

“Yes, it will,” Iron Hoof insisted. “It will matter, if you think it will.”

“What are you talking about?” Shield Maiden asked again, her eyes open and her tears drying.

“Don’t think of yourself as the only one trying to protect the town,” Iron Hoof said, explaining. “You aren’t a shield, you’re the front part of a huge wall that protects Brightly. Everyone is behind you, supporting you, backing you up.”

“Um, okay, but unless I come up with a different way to use my magic here, it won’t matter how much support I have,” Shield Maiden said, despair still in her voice.

“Think of a castle wall,” Iron Hoof said, putting a leg over his friend in comfort. “It’s all flat and hard on the front, but in back it’s got all kinds of supports and stuff.”

“Okay,” Shield Maiden said, flaring her horn again as she began to create a new construct.

“No, not yet. Stop,” Iron Hoof said, interrupting her effort. “See it in your mind first.”

“What?” Shield Maiden said, in a somewhat angry tone. “How is seeing a fortress in my head going to help me?”

“It’s what my dad always does before he starts putting an engine back together,” Iron Hoof said, looking toward where his father was among those struggling to re-raise the microwave receiving tower. “He imagines putting it all together in his mind first. Every nut, and bolt, and part. He says that way, when he goes to actually do it, it’s easier, because he’s already done it once before.”

“Fine, but how do I do that?” Shield Maiden asked.

“Close your eyes and just listen to me,” Iron Hoof said, sounding much more confident then he felt, but his companion listened to him anyway and closed her eyes. “Okay, just imagine a wall. See the bricks, and the cement holding them together. They go up higher than the water, and end at those up and down things that castles have.”

“Merlons,” said Shield Maiden, who had gotten an “A” in their medieval history section.

“Merlons, whatever,” Iron Hoof said, continuing. “Okay, behind the… merlons, picture the walkway behind them, and the stairs going up to the walkway. Then see all the stuff holding up the walkway and the stair. Then, finally picture in your mind the big round stone towers that anchor either end of the wall. Can you see all that in your mind?”

“Ya, okay,” Shield Maiden said, eyes flicking back and forth behind her eyelids. “I can see it.”

“Good,” Iron Hoof said, smiling slightly. “Now put your magic into it, then open your eyes and put what’s in your head down in front of the water.” Shield Maiden’s horn glowed bright with power, she opened her eyes and the power flowed from her streaming down into the water below, stopping it cold as it bridged the spillway gap and rose up in a towered parapet.

“It’s working!” Shield Maiden cried out joyfully, as the wall took on a far more solid appearance than the shields before it had. “How did you know it would work?”

“Like I said,” Iron Hoof said, a trifle smug. “It’s what Dad does all the time, and he taught it to me. I figured it couldn't hurt.”

Back at the top of the hill where the repaired microwave tower stood, a group of disheartened individuals looked up in despair. The vital receiving dish was pointing a full 120 degrees away from where it should, preventing the stream of command data from reaching the dam’s remote operable systems.

“Well, shi-oot,” Ben exclaimed, cutting off his expletive in consideration of the minor members of the team who were present. “We’re screwed now, completely—”

“Enough of that,” snapped Montcalm, interrupting the younger man, before turning to their paramedic. “Jessica, how are Darter and Skylark?”

“Barely conscious,” the woman said, looking up from where she was bent over one of the group's two pegasi. “I don’t know much about pony physiology, but they don’t appear injured. At a guess, I’d say they’re both exhausted.”

“Okay, this rain can’t be good for them in their condition,” Montcalm said, looking up at the water pouring down. “You and Kevin get them down to your truck. At least they’ll be out of the wind and the wet.” Nodding, Jessica bent down and scooped up Darter in a fireman’s carry.

“Nuh uh,” Darter moaned from Jessica’s shoulder. “Wanna stay, wanna help.”

“You’ve already done more than anyone could have asked,” Jessica said, starting her way carefully down the muddy slope. “Just let me get you to my truck and you can come back as soon as you’re rested.”

“Mm’kay,” Darter said, laying his head back down on Jessica’s shoulder. Beside them, Jessica’s partner Kevin had Darter’s sister Skylark in a similar carry. Skylark, unlike her brother, was wise enough to know that there was nothing more they could do and simply lay quietly over Kevin’s shoulder as he carried her.

“Right, that’s those two taken care of,” Montcalm muttered before lifting his satellite phone to his lips. “Brightly VFD to BC Hydro Control, we’ve identified the problem. I’m afraid that in our haste to re-weld the tower together no one noticed that the whole thing had rotated and the dish is now facing the wrong way. Any ideas how we can fix that?”

“One moment, Brightly VFD,” said the English accented tech on the other end, and Montcalm could hear the high-speed clitter-clatter of a keyboard go on for a long minute before the tech came back on the line. “I’m sorry, but checking the specs I can’t see any way to twist the dish around on its mounting so the commands can be received. I’ll keep digging though to see if I can find any contingency plans for this sort of thing.”

“Right, Brightly VFD standing by,” Montcalm said with a sigh as he released the talk button. “I’m open to ideas folks.” The rest of the firefighters looked around in thought, trying to think of a way to twist a tower of interlocking beams without breaking it, as they stood there in the rain.

“What’s wrong?” Seeker, the youngest of the group, asked as she tugged at Montcalm’s pant leg. “We got the tower up, right?”

“Well, it’s like this,” Montcalm said, kneeling down so he wouldn’t tower so far above the youngster. “The tower spun sideways and now the dish is pointing the wrong way. We’re trying to figure out how to get the dish pointing the right way again.”

“Can’t we just move it to the right place?” Seeker asked, her colour split eyes looking up imploringly at Montcalm. Montcalm felt himself sinking into those wide, wide eyes that were full of emotion and he had to force himself not to sweep the young pony into a hug to tell her everything was going to be okay.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, Seeker,” he said, squelching down on the mud to sit beside her. “You can’t just spin the dish around.”

“Why not?” the young filly asked. Montcalm bit off the automatic response and thought for a moment. Could they just mount the dish on the proper side and be done with it? It was worth a shot.

“Brightly VFD to BC Hydro Control,” Montcalm said into the sat phone. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Tech Shaushka here,” the voice of the tech came back instantly. “I’m still looking for contingency plans, what’s your question?”

“What would happen if we detached the dish from the side of the tower it’s on and mounted it on the proper side?” Montcalm asked

“Well there is no way it would work,” Shaushka replied back instantly.

“Why not?” Montcalm said back, just as fast, in imitation of Seeker a minute before. Montcalm grinned over at Seeker, who covered her mouth with her hooves to stop from laughing at the sputtering sounds that came from the sat phone.

“Well, because…” the tech’s voice trailed off, and Montcalm could again hear the clatter of keys as the person on the other hand worked their computer. “Huh, you know what, physically it should work. You should just be able to mount the dish on the southern face of the tower for it to work.”

“Terrific,” Montcalm said, levering himself off the ground. “We’ll get right on it.”

“Wait, there is one problem,” the tech said, quickly. “I was originally counting on the dish being at least close to its original position, but now? Unless you have some way to detect microwaves I don’t see how you will be able to get the dish into the path of the beam.”

“Start sending the beam,” Montcalm said, determination rising in his voice now that there was a plan. “We’ll just go with trial and error until we find the right spot.”

“Will do sir. BC Hydro Control, clear,” the tech said, cutting off the line. Montcalm felt a tugging on his leg again and he looked down to see Seeker looking up at him again

“What is it, Seeker?” Montcalm asked, again fighting off the urge to hug the young pony.

“I might be able to help a bit with that,” Seeker said, a little bashful. “I can find things, that’s why I’m called Seeker. My eyes and the pony magic let me see things.”

“They do, do they?” Montcalm asked, and then grinning he finally gave into his urgings and scooped the pony up into his arms.

“Hey, hey!” Seeker exclaimed, a little scared by the sudden movement.

“It’s okay,” Montcalm said, reassuring the small weight in his arms. “I just wanted to give you a bit of a boost. Look up to the tower, and tell me if you can see the microwaves going past it.”

Seeker reached inside of herself and touched the magic within. Montcalm could see something in her eyes shift as she looked upward and the pony’s wide eyes went wider still as she gasped in wonder at what she saw.

“It’s beautiful,” Seeker said, voice hushed in awe. “So many colours.”

“Focus, Seeker,” Montcalm said with a gentle, yet insistant voice. “Can you see a beam or something coming from the south?”

“Uh,” Seeker said, blinking a moment and letting go of her reverie. “Um yes. There’s something like that, I can see it.”

“Great,” Montcalm said, walking back toward the base of the tower, still carrying the slight weight of the pony. “Ben, grab your tool belt. We’ve got a plan.” The others clustered around the base of the tower looked at their chief, smiles crossing their faces.

“Sure thing, boss,” Ben said, charging down the hill to the fire truck. The rest of the firefighters clustered around Montcalm and Seeker.

“It seems little Seeker here can see microwaves,” Montcalm said, with a touch of pride in his voice. “I’m going to send her and Ben up the tower. Then Ben can take the dish off it’s mount and move it to the correct side. Seeker can steer him so that he gets the dish in the right spot.” Arnold, Ernest and John all looked at Seeker who shivered a bit in Montcalm’s arms.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Montcalm asked the little red furred pony, who was trying to hide behind her purple mane for some reason. “It’s okay, we’ll have a safety line on you and everything.”

“I—I’m scared,” Seeker said, shuddering. “I really don’t like being high up.”

The four men looked at each other in surprise. Their unexpected pony allies had been so brave, so daring, that it was sometimes easy for them to forget that they were children, all five of them. All four men were also fathers of children either grown or growing and so their automatic reaction was to gather around to comfort a child in distress. The four men did their best to reassure the young pony, up until the point Ben came back with his tools.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Ben asked, various implements clanking away around him. “Something wrong?”

“Yah, “ Arnold replied, his hand on Seeker’s mane. “Seeker here isn’t the biggest fan of heights.” Ben nodded in understanding, and came up to look the worried pony in eyes.

“Seeker, it’s okay to be scared,” Ben said, in a gentle tone. “I’m scared all the time. I’m always the one these guys ask to climb up high because I’m the lightest.”

“It’s just tho thtupid,” Seeker said, her eyes sad. “I know I won’t fall, but every time I get up high I look down and the world starts to spin, and it’s like I wanna throw up.”

“Then I’ll make sure that you’re looking up the whole time you’re with me, okay?” Ben asked, trying to smile confidently to make the young pony feel better.

“But we’ll still be up high!” Seeker wailed.

“Yes, we will,” Ben said, acknowledging the truth. “But I promise you, that no matter what, you won’t fall. You’ll be attached to me the whole time via a safety line.”

“But what if you fall?” Seeker asked, calming a bit to ask the question.

“I won’t,” Ben said, still oozing all the confidence he could manage to squeeze out. “And even if I did, I’ll be attached to the tower the whole time.”

“But what if—” Seeker began.

“If worst comes to worst,” Ben said, interrupting what he knew could be a near infinite game of “What-if,” “if the tower comes down with us on it, I’ll make sure that I’ll cushion your fall. I may not have a beer gut like these guys—”

“Hey!” came the reflexive protest from the others.

“—but I definitely have enough of a cushion to make you bounce,” Ben said, finishing. “Okay? You and me, together. For Brightly and all our friends.”

“O-okay,” Seeker said, pulling herself together and nodding. “For our friends.”

“Good girl,” Ernest said, patting the pony on the head. “Arnold and I will get you ready while…” He stopped talking as a brilliant flare of orange light came from the dam.

Shield Maiden and Iron Hoof had been doing well after passing their initial crisis. The improved magical construct was holding up well against the waves, its greater thickness able to absorb more of the momentum of each wave, reducing the stress on the magical pony who had created it. Even so, Shield Maiden would have already have lost her second fight with the storm if it wasn’t for Iron Hoof at her side.

“You’ve got this,” he kept assuring her, keeping up a constant stream of encouragement and advice. While Shield Maiden worked to keep a constant flow of power into the fortress wall Iron Hoof would advise her what parts looked to be weakening and needed shoring up.

“How are we doing?” Shield Maiden asked, as she repaired a spot that had cracked.

“Pretty good,” Iron Hoof replied, “if you can keep this up we should...oh crap.”

“What?” Shield Maiden replied, blurting the question out. “What’s ‘oh crap’?”

“Put everything you’ve got into the wall,” Iron Hoof said, urgency in his voice. “There’s a tree coming at us.”

“Oh crap,” Shield Maiden said, pushing all the power she could into her barrier.

For decades, the tree had stood on the edge of Carmanah Lake, drinking deep of the lake waters, providing shade close to shore for fish and seeding thousands of its kind downstream. However, like so many of its brethren during this once in a century storm, it had succumbed to wind and water, as the two combined to both cut out its anchors and push it over.

The snapped off roots had then acted like a sail, pushing the fallen tree toward the far end of the lake and the small current of the lake’s outflow had been enough to pull it in toward the dam. Normally, the spillway of the dam would be protected from such large pieces of debris by a large log boom, but like other items in and around the dam the boom had not been maintained for far too long and it had become waterlogged. The wind and rain action of the storm had been more than enough to remove the last traces of buoyancy from the wood of the boom and it had sunk a handful of feet below the waves. Over which the large fallen tree had easily passed continuing toward the dam without incident until Iron Hoof had spotted it.

“Any second now!” Iron Hoof called out. “Everything you’ve got!” Hearing his urging, Shield Maiden poured every ounce of energy she could into the wall. As energy filled the construct it went from translucent orange to completely opaque, an impassable barrier of force. A few seconds later several tons of cedar tree struck the barrier with thousands of pounds of force and Shield Maiden’s fortress wall disintegrated in a brilliant flash of orange light. The backlash knocked the unicorn out and she collapsed in a boneless heap onto the walkway.

“Shield Maiden!” Iron Hoof yelled out, shaking his friend, as water roared through the spillway again. “Wake up!” His friend didn’t respond though. He could tell from the rise and fall from her chest she was alive, but she was completely insensible. Gripping the back of her harness in his teeth, Iron Hoof began to carefully pull his friend back along the walkway to safety as the tree finished its plunge through the spillway.

“What’s wrong?” came a voice from behind Iron Hoof a minute, and a few feet toward safety later. Iron Hoof let go of his burden to look behind him. At the starting part of the walkway was Kevin, the rescue tech. He had mounted a bright LED flashlight to his helmet and he was just clipping a safety line to the handrail of the walkway.

“It’s Shield Maiden,” Iron Hoof called back. “A tree broke through her wall and I think something from it knocked her out.”

“Okay, don’t move,” Kevin said, nodding. “I’ll come to you.” Checking his line he moved out onto the walkway with slow, but steady and sure steps. Kevin Banta was well practiced in his craft and within a couple of minutes he had Shield Maiden over his shoulder and secured to him with a safety line. Together, he and Iron Hoof made it off the walkway.

“All units,” he said into his radio a moment later. “Be advised that Shield Maiden is down. A tree punched through her barricade and I’m guessing some portion of it hit her and knocked her out cold. Iron Hoof and I are headed to the rescue vehicle to assess her condition. Will advise when we know more. Banta out.”

The group on the hill looked up from their radios to the tower before them, and then to the young firefighter and younger pony who comprised their last throw of the dice to save their town from flooding. Over the past hour they had come together as a team, fighting back against everything Mother Nature could throw at them. However, as the prophet Murphy had once said, Mother Nature was a bitch and she had been up to the challenge of showing mere mortals what she thought of the flimsy workings of humanity.

Author's Note

Hymn to Breaking Strain can be found here. It's originally a Rudyard Kipling poem that was set to music by Julie Ecklar and Leslie Fish.

As for our heroes, things are looking a little grim aren't they?

Also, an apology. I have a Patreon, which I stopped pushing or mentioning awhile back but my patrons, Luna bless them, have kept on supporting me. So, I'd like to again acknowledge the ongoing support of:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged
Shaushka
Airar

and my newest patron,
Pseudosapien

Thank you. I probably couldn't do this without you.

Chapter 15: Fly by Night

Moon rise, thoughtful eyes.
Staring back at me from the window beside.
No fright or hindsight.
Leaving behind that empty feeling inside.

Fly by Night, Rush

*** CONTENT WARNING, FEELS AHEAD ***

High up in the storm swept skies, the Tantabus looked down on the small village below and considered its options. Princess Luna had directed it to carry Equestrian magic to the potential ponies on this side of the portal, and its encounter with the brave ponies by the lake had convinced the Tantabus that the power of the Princess of the Night was sorely needed.

It could visit each of the not-yet-ponies one at a time, but it would take far too long to meet each of the roughly two thousand beings below. The Tantabus smiled as it hit upon another idea. It was in a powerful storm, with rain pouring down over every part of the village beneath. Why not use the storm to its advantage?

Turning inward, the Tantabus touched the glowing magic inside of it that Luna and Celestia had bestowed. Touched it, massaged it, and then sent it flowing outward into the clouds that filled the skies. The storm did not appreciate being violated by both the power of the Sun and the Moon at the same time and made its displeasure known with a sudden, rippling discharge of lightning that spread from cloud to cloud.

The Tantabus forced more power into the clouds, and not just the magics the Diarchs had given it either. Like positive and negative energies, the power of sun and moon were cancelling each other out, manifesting as thunderous bolts of lightning. To keep the powers from annihilating each other, the Tantabus had no choice but to throw its own power into the mix, keeping the energies separate until they merged with the clouds and began to precipitate out with the rain.

For many long minutes the Tantabus continued to pour power into the sky around it, until finally it was forced to stop for the simple reason of having nothing left to give. Nearly completely drained and no longer able to keep itself airborne, the Tantabus allowed itself to slowly drift down to the ground below. As it did so, it reached out with its senses, searching for the portal through which it had originally come. With all the twists, turns and motions of the storm, the one-time creature of dreams had gotten turned around and had understandably lost track of where it had come from.

The Tanabus was in luck however, and it sensed the portal nearby as it touched down in a small, rain-soaked clearing with the sign “No. 3 Mine Memorial Park” above the entrance. Touching down, the Tantabus was shocked with surprise when its legs and hooves nearly gave out from beneath it from the force of gravity acting on it. Where once the Tantabus had flowed out of the cement covered mine entrance with ease, it now staggered gracelessly across the ground, barely able to walk a straight line.

Pushing with its waning power toward the entrance the Tantabus discovered how badly it had drained its reserves, as the dregs of its power simply bounced off the concrete instead of sinking deep into the created stone, and allow the Tantabus to slide further toward home. For a minute the Tantabus simply stood in place before the entrance, trying to figure out what to do next. It needed to merge with Luna again, having never been meant to be away from its host for this length of time, at least not without the power necessary to sustain itself in the waking realms. Power the Tantabus had held, but had used to spread Equestrian magic across the community and its environs.

In desperation, the Tantabus spread wide its senses again. If it could find some source of power, some way that it could regain enough energy to pierce the barrier of rock and concrete, it could make its way back to Equestria and become one with Luna again. As luck would have it, there were two sources of power nearby. One was very close, but quite weak. The other was fairly distant, but glowed with the power of a small sun.

Which way to go, the Tantabus wondered. It could tell it only had enough strength left to get to one of the two sources, and if it chose poorly, the mistake could prove to be fatal. The Tantabus could not die as such, but it could become so drained of energy that it would lose coherence and drift into nothing but random wisps on the aether. It would not be death in the physical sense, but it would be close enough for most purposes. Which way, close or far? The Tantabus then studied the terrain it had to cover to make the journey to both. The weak, close source was downhill, in a large building that had only one or two beings near it. The strong, far away source was uphill and had multiple beings nearby.

That clinched it. With the Tantabus so low in strength, the sky was denied to it at least for now, so it would have to walk on the ground like any other pony. Wobbling on its legs, the being from the dream realm turned and staggered downhill toward the nearby weak source of power. Hoping against hope that there would be enough power there for it to return to Equestria, or at least enough for it to head to the larger, but harder to reach source.

The Tantabus travelled unnoticed along the streets of Brightly, its dark colouration providing the perfect camouflage for a dark and stormy night. After what seemed an eternity, it reached a strange building with a broad front door and a section of its roof shaped into a tall tower. It pushed on the door to walk in but was stymied by a simple lock that kept the portal shut. The Tantabus had no choice but to use the very last of its strength to deal with the lock.

The doors blew open under the pressure of wind and rain as lock released, and the Tantabus staggered into the building beneath a sign that read, “Brightly Anglican Church, Welcomes You.”

Addison Adamschek, known affectionately to his friends as “AA”, had been an Anglican priest for twenty-five of this forty-five years of life. Born into the Heiltsuk First Nation, he had left to find his way in the greater world offered by the big city. While living in Vancouver, he had first become an alcohol and drug counselor, which garnered him his nickname, and put him in close proximity with members of the Anglican faith who helped run the “Mission for Seafarers” out of Vancouver Harbor. He found his calling in helping others and in the quiet peace of relying on God to help with life. Five years later, and with a wife who was a forestry major from UBC, Addison moved back home to the lands claimed by his nation.

Brightly might not have been the most exciting of postings, but Addison didn’t mind one little bit. It was home, and there was a small but vibrant congregation to minister to, along with the usual assortment of hikers, forest fire fighters and traffic from the nearby herring fleets. His duties ranged from holding the usual services, to counseling local youth and helping them avoid the twin snares of boredom and intoxicants. As the only minister within a hundred miles, he’d even been called on a few times to bless ships, firefighting gear and the occasional climbing tool.

So, he was used to odd things going on, and his wife nudging him awake at odd hours. Which is why he was able to snap to instant alertness when a familiar elbow impacted his ribs.

“Honey,” his wife, Natasha, said to him in an urgent whisper. “I just heard a big bang from the chapel.” Addison paused for a moment, listening carefully. He could hear the storm outside still howling fiercely away, and despite his confidence in the solid construction of the old rectory and church, he could hear a definite difference in the noises coming from the outside.

“Okay dear,” he said, sliding out from the ever so warm covers beside his wife. “I’ll go have a look, hopefully it’s nothing bad.” Addison flipped the switch of this bedside lamp and frowned when nothing happened, cursing softly.

“Power out, dear?’ Natasha asked, reaching over to her night table, and searching for her phone to shed some light.

“Again,” Addison said, feeling the round grip of a flashlight come into his hand. “I swear, we should just go solar and get one of those battery bank things going. It would be more reliable than relying on Hydro.”

“Not the time, love,” Natasha said, from her side of the bed just as another loud bang came through the connecting hallway to the chapel itself. “Want me to come with?”

“Probably just a branch from the storm,” Addison said, shuffling his feet into a pair of slippers by the bed that he kept there to protect his feet from the cold hardwood floor. “If I need you I’ll give a yell, okay?”

He saw his wife nod in the gleam from the flashlight as he shucked on his housecoat that was hanging on a bedpost. Making his way down the hallway was easy and he ignored the strange imagery made by the branches of nearby trees against the coloured windows that lined the passageway into the chapel.

Opening the door to the small church office where he did most of his ecumenical work, his legs were immediately made aware of a cold draft coming from the far side of the room, where another door led into the chapel proper. The sounds of wind and rain had become louder, and the priest turned to look back up the hallway.

“Nat, I think something may have blown open,” Addison called back up the hallway. “Better get your housecoat on. I think I might need a hand.”

“Right,” came the immediate response, “be there in a minute. Or as soon as I find my flashlight.”

“It’s the rechargeable in the outlet down low by your night table,” Addison replied, stepping around his office chair to the door leading out of the room. “You forgot to plug it in last time, so I did it for you.”

“Right, got it,” Natasha replied, just as Addison opened the door to the chapel proper, and a gust of wind greeted him.

“Just like in one of those old horror movies,” Addison said to himself as he swung the flashlight around toward the chapel’s windows, looking for damage. “The naive priest, dressed in his holy vestments of housecoat and bunny slippers, goes forth to battle unspeakable evil.”

The windows seemed to be intact, so he swung the beam of light toward the doors of the chapel and immediately saw that the pews closest to the entrance had been blown over. Continuing his sweep he saw the problem. The doors of the chapel had blown open somehow and the source of the noises was now obvious. The doors must have been very slightly unlatched and had been pushed open by the storm, causing the first bang. The pews being blown over must have been the second.

“Found the problem,” he called back, and he could see the beam of his wife’s flashlight as she began to follow him down the hallway to join him.

“Anything bad?” she asked, her voice concerned.

“Doors blew open,” Addison said, moving toward the entrance. “Grab the mop and bucket for me while I get the doors?”

“Okay,” Natasha said, already entering the chapel behind him.

Walking briskly, Addison stepped toward the entrance to the chapel. He had to slow to watch his steps when he reached the overturned pews. Prayer and hymn books, along with some bibles, lay scattered on the floor. As he stepped into the vestibule, wind-blown rain blew heavily against him and he could see that even in the short amount of time the doors had been open, enough rain had come through to thoroughly soak the floor. He was just about to ask his wife to grab both of the mops from the concealed storage closet behind his lectern when he heard her fall heavily.

“Dear, you okay?” he asked loudly, even as he swung the doors closed against the wind.

“I’m fine, dear,” Natasha called back to him, and Addison could see the beam of her flashlight jerk around near the pulpit as his wife recovered the light. “Just tripped over some—AAAAHHHH!”

“What? What’s wrong?” Addison said, turning to run to his wife, adrenaline singing in his veins. “I’m coming!”

“Holy Mother of God! Oh, God be with me,” Natasha yelled out, babbling in panic as she pushed herself away from the thing she had tripped over.

“I’m here, honey,” Addison yelled, his wet slippers letting him slide to a stop beside his wife. For her part, Natasha Adamschek continued to stare wide-eyed toward the pulpit, and Addison’s gaze was drawn toward what she was looking at.

“Mary, Mother of God, be with your servant,” Addison breathed in prayer as his eyes took in what had so deeply terrified his wife.

There, sprawled on the steps leading up to the raised platform that held the pulpit, was a shape, a thing. It was something not of this world, Addison knew instantly. It was if someone had taken a piece of the night sky, shaped it into something like a small horse, and set it to movement in the world. What was more, the creature was alive, for as the frightened couple watched, it raised a vaguely equine head and laboriously tried to drag itself up a stair.

“What is it?” Natasha gasped to her husband. “I was trying to get the mops and I tripped over...that.” Badly frightened himself by what appeared to be creature of darkness, he fell back on his training and the cultural impact of a hundred movies and proceeded to brandish the cross he held around his neck.

“Back, minion of Satan,” Addison said, trying to keep his voice from squeaking. “Leave this holy place of the Lord.” He might as well have been waving a newspaper for all the good it did. The creature turned its head toward him for a moment with a quiet regard and then continued to drag itself up the last stair leading to the raised platform that occupied the sanctuary of the chapel.

Laboriously, the Tantabus dragged itself across the wooden floor. It could understand what the not-yet-ponies were saying, and if it could, it would have wept in frustration. The Tantabus’ strength had failed it as it started up the aisle, knocking over two of the benches in the room and almost making it to the platform that held the source of the Equestrian magic that beckoned it onward. If only Luna had given it the ability to speak it could have told the not-yet-ponies that it meant them no harm, that it only wanted to go home, and that it desperately needed their help.

The Tantabus could sense that its final dissolution was close, the framework that made it a distinct entity rapidly beginning to unravel. All it could do was keep trying, and hope that it could reach the power in time. Pausing, as it finally climbed the last of the three stairs, the Tantabus reached out toward the thing that held the power, mounted as it was on a sort of bent “X” shape.

Addison continued to watch the creature make its slow and painful way onto the sanctuary. He watched it as it paused, and reached out toward the cross mounted to the back wall. That cross was an old gift from one of Brightly’s leading citizens, now passed on to his reward. The cross was an old piece of beautifully carved Douglas Fir, dipped in gilt paint and had a single, large but extremely flawed ruby mounted to its center. So many were the flaws in the stone that it simply wasn’t worth selling, but as Addison watched, the creature on the floor of his chapel continued to painfully drag its way toward the symbol of his Lord’s love and suffering, as if it was the most precious thing in all the world.

“No creature of the Pit would try so hard to be near the symbol of God’s love,” Addison said, confidence welling in him as he came to a conclusion. “Nat, whatever this creature is, it is one of God’s children, and in its final moments it seeks comfort as so many have before it.”

“What do we do?” Natasha asked, relying on her husband in this. She was the scientist of the two of them, with a degree in forestry and forest management from UBC. In things that touched on her areas of expertise, he listened to her. This was something from his side of the fence however, and she resolved to follow Addison’s lead on this.

“We do what we would do for anyone at this point,” Addison said, moving forward and sitting down beside the creature. “We give it what aid and comfort we can in its final moments. Go get me the cross off the wall.”

The Tantabus felt itself being lifted off the floor by the male of the two not-yet-ponies, and placed onto its lap. It made soothing noises while its mate went to the wall, and began working to pull down the thing that the gem that held some of the magic of Equestria.

They understand! the Tantabus thought to itself, hope rising within its breast. They want to help. Luna was right, these are good not-ponies. The female of the two brought down the frame and handed it to her mate, who said some strange words about their father and son, before placing it on the Tantabus, who clutched it eagerly to themselves.

“See?” Addison said, smiling through the unshed tears that stung his eyes. “In nomine Patri, et Filis, et Spiritu Sancti. Be at peace, creature. Surely God will know his own and welcome you home.” The creature had no eyes, or mouth, but Addison would swear to his dying day that the thing in his lap looked up to him and smiled in gratitude.

Yes, the Tantabus cried out to itself, as it dove its awareness into the gem against it, accessing the power within. There was almost no power to be found however and the Tantabus was again knocked back in shock. It examined the gem with everything it had trying to find the power, and what it found a moment later would have made it weep if it could.

The gem had been damaged at some point in the passage of time. The gem was and could, only hold a few minutes worth of absorbed power before it leaked out again. Which is what the Tantabus had sensed as Equestrian magic. The Tantabus would be better off standing in the rain for all the power it could get from this gem, and the Tantabus realized it was doomed.

There was no time to reach the other source of power, and while it could cannibalize the enchantment in the gem to cast a single spell the Tantabus simply didn’t have the power for anything that would reach beyond the room it was in. The Tantabus felt despair as it realized it would never be one with Luna again, and it lay its head down on the lap of the creature that held it. Both the not-yet-pony and its mate seemed to know this was the end for the Tantabus, and it felt grateful that its last moments would be with ones who had shown it Kindness and Generosity.

Wait, the Tantabus thought to itself. Two of the Elements are present in these not-yet-ponies. Maybe there is one last thing that can be done. Acting quickly, it ripped apart the enchantment in the gem at its breast and reshaped it into something else. The spell would burn away the last of the Tantabus’ life force, but it would help the not-yet-ponies that had shown it kindness, and there was even a chance it might save its life. Even if it failed, Luna would be proud that her Tantabus had done all it could, right to the very end.

For Luna, was the last thought of the Tantabus, as it activated the spell.

“Is there anything we can do for it?” Natasha asked, stroking the body of the creature that lay in her husband’s lap as she tried to give it what comfort she could. Despite all appearances, it seemed that a personification of the night sky felt furry.

“All we can do is provide it what peace and comfort we can,” Addison said, ruefully. “I wish Jean Pedersen was here.”

“The witch?” Natasha asked, surprised until the answer came to her. “Oh, you think this is something from her side of the spiritual street.”

“Yup,” Addison replied. “Jean’s a good person and...wait. What in God’s name?” As Addison said the last, the figure of the creature in his lap began to pulse and glow in a rhythm not unlike a heartbeat.

“I think this is it,” Natasha said to her husband, bending over the creature and holding it close. “You came in peace, may you go in peace as well.”

The pulsing of the creature became greater and greater, and its body started to become immaterial, passing through the couple as they tried to comfort it. Light pulsed and flowed in time with the movements of the body, until with a final flash, the creature disappeared. Addison had a brief impression of something flowing into him and his wife and then everything went dark for him and it felt like someone had dropped a cloth over his head.

Addison tried to get out from under the soft fluffy fabric he had been inexplicably buried under, but for some reason his limbs didn’t seem to want to work properly. His arms didn’t want to seem to lift up over his head and the cloth seemed to be caught on something at his sides. He could hear his wife nearby sounding like she was having similar problems.

“You okay, honey?” Addison called out, as he struggled to get out from under whatever had him trapped.

“Yah, I’m just stuck under a big, fluffy…” Natasha said, and then paused. “Oh crud. I think I know what we're under. Hang on, I’m gonna try something.” Addison could hear his wife start grunting as she started exerting herself in some sort of pattern. Then he heard a rolling sound followed by a thump.

“Aha!” Natasha said, her voice triumphant, then dipped as Addison heard her say. “Oh...oh crap. This is not good.”

“What?” Addison asked, still stuck under the cloth. “What isn’t good?”

“Okay, first off, you’re under your housecoat,” Natasha began, as Addison frowned at how he could possible stuck under a housecoat. “Second, start rolling yourself side to side until you roll out of it. Go ahead and you’ll see what I mean.”

What his wife was saying made no sense at all, and there was a very strange tone in her voice, but it was a very foolish husband who didn’t listen to his wife. So, he began to rock back and forth sideways, building momentum, until he flung himself as hard as he could to one side. He rolled over across his back, a couple of spots complaining as he rolled over them. He rolled a second time and suddenly, he was out of the cloth, rolling onto his stomach as his four hooves made a clopping sound as they came into contact with the wooden floor beneath him.

“Don’t freak, dear,” came his wife’s voice, from a cute furry muzzle beneath slit pupiled, golden eyes.

Luna, Diarch of Equestria, Princess of the Night and Guardian of Dreams suddenly staggered against the wall of Twilight’s castle, her moonlit eyes filling with pain. Seeing her sister collapse and clutch her chest in pain, Celestia rushed over to help.

“Luna, what’s wrong?” Celestia asked, alarm growing as Luna said nothing in reply. “LUNA!” There was no answer as Luna’s eyes unfocused and she began to stare off into the distance at something only she could see and sank to the floor.

“LUNA!” Celestia screamed, unleashing the full power of the Royal Canterlot Voice at point blank range in an attempt to get her sister to respond. It worked, as the Princess of the Night blinked, her eyes returning to normal and focusing on Celestia, tears flowing.

“Luna, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” Celestia asked, checking Luna for wounds, magical or otherwise.

“The Tantabus,” Luna said, in a voice filled with sorrow and pain. “It’s gone. Sacrificed itself to accomplish its goal.”

“The poor thing,” Celestia said, torn between happiness that her sister was okay and empathy for her sister’s sorrow, “but it was just a construct, Luna. Something you made to punish yourself with.”

“It was far more than that, sister,” Luna replied, muzzle dark with tears. “It was a part of myself, and I was a part of it. I saw its last moments, and when it is possible, I intend to journey to that other realm to thank those who were of comfort to my Tantabus at the end. In person. This, I vow.”

Luna looked up once more and when she spoke again her voice was filled with her magic, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. You have earned your rest.”

Author's Note

I've only been in an Anglican church once, for a wedding. I likely made a metric crap ton of errors with the layout, but i hope the mistakes aren't too egregious. We will get back to the drama at the dam in the next chapter, which will be out later this month. As for the brave Tantabus, this is not the end. Heroes never die.

Support me on Patreon. Patreon is probably one of the best things ever for word Sherpas like me. So, I'd like to again acknowledge the ongoing support through Patreon of:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
and
Pseudosapien

Thank you. I probably couldn't do this without you and your support.

Chapter 16: Sonic Boom

The time is now, you can't hide,
Find the power deep inside!
Make it happen.
Make it happen!

Sonic Boom, Crush 40

BC Hydro Remote Dam Control Technician Shaushka had worked in her position ever since immigrating from the UK ten years ago. She had risen up through the ranks through a combination of skill and the classic British stiff upper lip, to where she was currently in charge of an entire district of the province’s far flung power generation sources. In six months she planned to take the exam to qualify as a watch supervisor for the entire facility on Burnaby Mountain and some of the other techs swore they had never once seen her sweat.

Which is why they would have been surprised that as the minutes passed and there was no response from the team of volunteer firefighters on the central coast, that she was the one to nervously pick up the satellite phone to call them back. She was in the middle of picking up the phone, when a heavy hand fell on her shoulder.

“And just who are you calling?” a deep male voice asked. Shaushka twisted away from her status board to see the tall heavyset form of the watch supervisor. Jim Hemphill was six foot five, with two hundred and eighty pounds of heavy muscle from his earlier career as a power lineman still on his frame. A shock of dirty blond hair topped a face that seemed to have a perpetual scowl and he intimidated everyone around him without even trying.

“Brightly VFD, sir,” Shaushka said, taking her hand off the hardwired handset. “They’re trying to realign a communications dish on the tower near the Carmanah Lake dam.”

“What?!” the supervisor yelled, drawing every eye in the room with his outburst. “None of them are authorized to do something like that, and I really don’t think any of them even have the technical expertise to even try to do it safely. Give me that phone.”

“But sir,” Shaushka protested, trying to gesture toward her screen. “If you would just have a look at my event log you’ll see that—”

“Just connect me,” Hemphill demanded, and with no other option Shaushka punched the saved number for her last call.

“Brightly VFD here,” Montcalm said over the line. Both he and the rest of his team were busy harnessing up Seeker and making sure she was safely attached to Ben before the two began their climb up the tower.

“What are you people playing at up there?” Hemphill exploded into the handset without preamble. “Not a single one of you is authorized BC Hydro personnel, and I’m ordering all of you to get off of BC Hydro property before I have the RCMP come there and arrest you for trespassing.”

“Who am I speaking with, please?” Montcalm asked in a deceptively calm voice. All the other members of the team stopped what they were doing when they heard the tone Montcalm was using. It was the tone he used when someone had just made a very, very bad mistake and he couldn’t rip a strip off the person at that moment.

“This is Watch Supervisor Hemphill,” Hemphill said, blustering into the phone. “Under the authority given to me by the BC Utilities Commission, I’m officially ordering you off the site, fireman.”

“Well, this is Fire Chief Montcalm. I also happen to be Mayor Montcalm,” Montcalm said into the satellite phone, “and my authority just happens to be a little higher on the totem pole. Now get off this line and put that tech back on who was actually being helpful.”

“You haven’t heard the last of this!” Hemphill all but screamed into the phone, furious.

“Oh yes, I have,” Montcalm said, a tight smile coming to his lips, “unless you intend to involve the mayor of every municipality in British Columbia.” The threat of involving the political might of the Union of BC Municipalities worked, and Hemphill handed the phone back to Shaushka with a wordless snarl and stalked off.

“Tech Shaushka here,” Shaushka said, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. “Sorry about that, love. What more can I do for you?”

“We’re about to send someone up the tower to try to move the dish into place,” Montcalm said, feeling his blood pressure begin to climb back down. “Are you able to give us any feedback about whether we’re close or not.”

“Some,” Shaushka said, reorienting to her screen so she could see the readouts for the Carmanah Dam. “I can see what percentage of data packets are being received, but as I said before, I need at least fifty percent of the packets to make it before I can actually send any commands.”

“Understood,” Montcalm said, nodding even though he knew the tech couldn’t see him. “Do that for us then, and keep us updated as best you can. Also... do what you can to keep that supervisor of yours off the line.”

“Will do, sir,” Shaushka said, not bothering to hide her chuckle. “I’ll keep the line open but mute my end until I have something to tell you.”

“Sounds good,” Montcalm said. “Brightly VFD, out. For the moment.”

“Good on ya, mate,” Shaushka whispered, before pulling out her phone and dialing a number. There were good people out in the storm trying to do the right thing and her boss still might manage to get in their way, unless someone managed to get in his way instead.

“Newsroom, CKNW News 980,” a chipper, English accented voice said. “Wilcox speaking.”

“Hey, Wilcox. Still watering down your Guinness?” Shaushka asked mockingly. “Or have they got you drinking it from a can now?”

“Hey Shaushka!” Wilcox said happily, ignoring the barb as the playful jesting it was. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a hell of a story brewing up right under my nose,” Shaushka said, shooting a glance over to make sure Hemphill was still in his office. “You ever hear of a town called Brightly, on the central coast?”

“Well, so much for that,” Montcalm said, as his team finished getting pony and person ready for their perilous climb. “You two ready to go?”

“Just about, sir,” Ben said, checking his tool belt one last time and leaning back slightly to deal with the weight of his companion. “How you doing, Seeker?”

“I’m okay,” the young pony said, a slight tremble in her voice. The firefighters had decided to take no chances with Seeker, wrapping her in a second safety harness they had cobbled together from bits of their own gear. Each harness was also attached to Ben with it’s own safety line, making sure that the pony couldn’t fall away from the firefighter. “Is Shield Maiden gonna be okay?”

“Kevin would have said something, if she wasn’t,” Montcalm said. “Can you still see the beam coming in?” The purple maned pony nodded her head not trusting her words.

“Ben,” Montcalm said, clapping the young man on the shoulder. “Take your time, do everything by the book. Always keep one line attached to the tower.”

“You bet,” Ben said, nodding as he looked up at the tower, eyes blinking as rain from the storm struck them, and carrying his burden, he made his way over to the shortened tower and clipped on his first safety line.

“Good luck you two,” Montcalm said. “The hydro tech said she’d let us know as soon as any of her readings started to change. I’ll call them out to you through your radio so you know how to adjust things.”

One step at a time the pair began to climb the tower. Ben made deliberate, slow work of the climb. He made sure every footing was secure before moving to the next, unclipping and moving only one safety line at a time, giving it a tug to make sure it was secure before moving on. It was a terribly slow climb, but as the pair rose higher into the air, the wisdom of a careful course became clear as the wind and rain began to tear at the duo. Seeker gave a small whimper and tried to bury her muzzle in Ben’s chest after one particularly strong gust made the entire tower sway on its rewelded moorings.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ben said, pausing the climb so he could comfort his equine passenger and partner. “We’re doing fine. You’re doing great.”

“Th-thorry,” Seeker whimpered out through her lisp. “I’m not brave like the others.”

“Are you kidding?” Ben asked, letting surprise colour his voice. “You’re being braver than all the others.”

“You’re just saying that!” Seeker accused loudly. “You just making it up to try to make me feel better but I’m tho useless I can’t even talk right.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ben said, cupping the pony’s chin to look her in the eye and letting the safety lines take up their weight for the moment. “I meant it when I said you are braver than the others. You know why?”

“No,” Seeker said, sniffling a bit, her mane already plastered flat by the rain. “Why?”

“The other four, Iron Hoof, Shield Maiden, Darter and Skylark, all did big things, and they did them well,” Ben said, smiling as the raindrops rolled down his cheek. “But they did all those things while in their element. Think about it. Darter and Skylark are both pegasi, natural flyers, and they did their thing in the air.”

“Yah... tho?” Seeker asked, not realizing where Ben was headed yet in his train of thought.

“And Iron Hoof and Shield Maiden,” Ben continued, smiling now that he had Seeker’s full attention. “They both did their thing on the ground doing things they knew how to do. But here you are, a Power Pony without wings or magic, high up in the air doing something you aren’t sure how to do outside of your natural area. That makes you the bravest pony of them all.”

“You think tho?” Seeker asked, eyes going wide as she realized the truth of what Ben was saying. “And what about the way I talk?”

“Unless you intend to talk that dish into place, how you speak won’t make a difference,” Ben said, ruffling Seeker’s soggy mane a bit. “And yes, I really do think you are the bravest of the ponies. Take a look up for me. How much further do we have to go?”

“Um,” Seeker said, lifting her head to look straight up the tower and surprised at how much progress they had made while she had been climbing with Ben. “I think about another four or five meters.”

“Okay,” Ben said, mentally marking off about fifteen feet of tower. “Your harness still okay? Nothing slipping anywhere?” Seeker shook her head in the negative and the pair resumed their slow but steady climb up the triangular steel needle. At times they had to stop when the wind gusted or the rain was particularly fierce, but another five minutes found them at the microwave dish.

“Okay,” Ben said loudly over the wind that was an almost constant roar now. “You just hang on, while I undo the dish and bring it around.” Seeker just nodded and tried to hold in as much heat as she could from the wind and rain.

Ben had been well trained for working in the conditions they were in. He knew that undo haste could doom their effort through a simple mistake. So, even before he started working on the fasteners he put a line on the dish so it couldn’t blow away in the wind. As he worked, each nut and bolt was put away, every item that could fall was caught, protected and stowed away.

“Okay Seeker,” Ben said, as he began to pull the dish around to the correct face of the tower, “whereabouts is the beam. I need to know so I can stick the dish in it’s path.” Seeker looked up again and Ben saw the light in her heterochromatic eyes shift as her vision changed to see things no human could.

“I can see it,” Seeker said, and the marvel was in her voice again. “It’s tho sparkly. Oh, and it’s about a meter up from us.”

“Right,” Ben said, mustering everything together. He took a step, and then another, but when he went to take a third he was jerked short and only his sure and steady precautions kept Seeker and himself from falling.

“What happened?” Seeker asked, fear in her voice.

“Something stopped us, give me a second to see what’s going on,” Ben said, looking around and it didn’t take long for him to find the problem, causing him to growl in frustration. “Crap. The cable’s too short, it won’t go any further.”

“What are we gonna do?” Seeker asked, making a worried glance back up at their target. “We’re still about half a meter short.”

“All I can do is secure the dish as high as I can and hope it’s enough,” Ben said, and he began to bolt the dish into its new place. Seeker just lay in her harness against his chest, her eyes still shifted in that strange way.

“Tho pretty,” she murmured, looking at the sparkling lights streaming by and she could almost feel an answering tingle in her hooves.

“I’ll bet it is,” Ben said, pulling out his radio. “Hey boss, Ben here. The cable would only stretch so far, so I’ve put the dish up as high as I could. Is it enough?”

“Gotcha Ben,” Montcalm said back over the radio. “Give me a minute and I’ll find out.” Montcalm dropped his radio mike and pulled the satellite phone back out of its holder on his hip, wondering why the Hydro tech hadn't spoken up to him yet.

The past ten minutes or so for Shaushka had been very interesting. She’d passed the details about the situation in Brightly to her friend at the radio station. CKNW wasn’t just any radio station, it was one of the biggest names in the provincial news business, with a reputation for getting into the faces of those in power, and refusing to back off until tough questions got answered. Which was a good thing, because five minutes after she hung up with her old friend in the newsroom Hemphill was out of his office and at her station.

“I’m giving you a direct order,” Hemphill said, looming over her. “Shut down that transmission stream right now. Those people might mean well, but they aren’t authorized personnel and they are likely doing millions of dollars of damage to our facility.”

“But sir…” Shaushka tried to protest, and just as Hemphill opened his mouth to interrupt her another voice interrupted them both.

“HEMPHILL!” roared a voice from the entrance to the facility. Everyone turned to see the short, rain drenched figure of the facilities manager. Tara Singh Sahota was an Indo-Canadian who packed a million volts of energy into her diminutive frame, and at that moment everyone in the room could see that power crackling around her as barely restrained fury.

“Manager Sahota,” Hemphill said, deferentailly trying to deflect the anger his boss was directing towards him. “I was just having to—”

“Shut it,” Sahota said, the wet soles of her sensible flats making squeaking sounds as she crossed the tiled floor. “We’re going to my office right now and you’re going to explain to me why for the past several minutes I’ve had reporters on my case about interference in an emergency situation.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Hemphill said, deflating.

“As for you, Technician,” Sahota said, spearing Shaushka with a gaze that made her sit up straighter in her chair. “You are to render every possible assistance to the Brightly Fire Department, understood?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Shaushka said, making the only possible response.

“Let’s go, Hemphill,” Sahota said, walking off with the big man trailing in her wake. “Tech Shaushka,” she called back, “you might want to check your status board.” Shaushka spun in her chair in time to see the number under “Packets Received” climb from zero to ten percent.

“Hello, Chief Montcalm?” Shaushka asked through her headset. “Are you there?”

“Just about to call you,” Montcalm’s voice came through over the wind and rain on his end. “Any change in the readings?”

“Yes sir,” Shaushka said, studying the numbers. “Up to ten, make that twelve percent reception. Tell your man he’s on the right track.”

“Bit of a problem with that,” Montcalm responded. “The cable won’t reach any further, anything you can do on your end?”

“Let me see,” Shaushka said, her fingers flying over her keyboard, searching through command trees and checking sub menus for the option she was seeking. “Okay, I can up the transmission power a bit. That should make the beam wider. Damn.”

“No joy?” Montcalm asked, knowing the answer.

“Topped out at twenty-one percent,” the tech said, her sigh of frustration audible through the phone. “Anything you can do to move the dish even a few inches further into the beam path could make the difference.”

“Right, stand by,” Montcalm said, leaving the phone on but putting it back in its carrier, before picking his radio mike back up. “Ben, any chance you can move the dish even a little bit?” Up on the tower, Ben and Seeker looked at each other and then at the dish.

“Do what we can, sir,” Ben replied, before releasing his mike key.

“What are you gonna do?” Seeker asked him, shivering a bit from the rain as it took its toll on her body’s warmth.

“The only thing I can, “ Ben said, unfastening the bolts he had secured only a minute ago. “I’ll hold the dish up as high as I can instead of bolting it in place. That should give us a few more inches. I guess.”

“How are you gonna hang on to the tower?” Seeker asked, her eyes still locked on the beam, the tingling feeling in her hooves had grown stronger in the past minute.

“I’m not,” Ben admitted. “I’ll have to let my safety lines hold me. If’ it’s okay, I’d like to hook up your safety lines to the tower, just in case I slip.”

“Okay,” Seeker said, still a little dazzled by the light show. Having been given permission, Ben unhooked the small pony from himself and connected her to the tower. Then once he made sure Seeker’s hooves had purchase on the structure of the tower itself, he finished unfastening the receiving dish and lifted it as high as the cable would allow with both his hands .

“24... 26... 27 percent,” Shaushka’s voice chanted out through the radios of all the firefighters.

“Tho pretty,” Seeker said under her breath, and without looking, the young pony began to climb the tower in an apparent daze.

“Seeker!” Ben called out, alarmed but unable to do anything with both of his hands occupied holding the dish.

Seeker? Shaushka thought, hearing the shout through the open mikes everyone had at that moment. Wonder what that radio call means.

Slowly the young pony climbed the tower, oblivious now to the great height she was at. Seeker now only had eyes for the glowing beam of light into whose path she slowly moved. Several hundred miles away, a reading began to change.

“28 percent... 29,” Shaushka called into the mike, every tech in the room had abandoned their stations to watch the unfolding drama. “30 percent, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

“Seeker!” Ben called again, hearing the distant tech. “You’re doing it!”

“Tho beautiful,” Seeker said, and now she could feel the pressure of the beam directly on her fur, as if it was a real physical thing. The tingling in her hooves grew to an itch, and as Ben watched in amazement they began to come to light, as sparkling lights of every colour began to dance over them.

Seeker only knew that she was wrapped in light and beauty, and it filled her with its warmth. Then, she remembered that her town, and her new friend just below, needed those sparkling warm lights to go to a certain spot. Moving her hooves with gentle motions, the red and purple pony made a few firm motions and pushed the beam she was being bathed in downwards.

“33 percent... 35... 38... 41,” Shaushka chanted out, excitement building in her and the room around her.

“C’mon kid,” Montcalm whispered. “One more miracle, that’s all I ask.”

“43... 45... rate slowing now,” Shaushka said, hand hovering over her mouse to send the commands to the dam. Every tech in the office was now holding their collective breath, Hemphill and Sahota also watching from the entrance to the facility manager's office.

“You can do it, Seeker!” Darter yelled out, trying to scramble out of the rescue vehicle to come to the aid of his friend.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Banta said, grabbing Darter by his harness and pulling the squirming pegasus back from the doorway of the vehicle. “Calm... down. Don’t make me... oof... restrain you.”

“Keep going,” Seeker said, her eyes showing her that the beam was listening to her, and bending to where her friends needed it as her hooves continued to work their magic.

“47... 49... 52 percent!” Shaushka yelled out, not caring that she was deafening everyone who could hear her. “Data link established! Sending commands!” She hammered down the mouse button with a force that threatened the life of the small instrument.

Fractions of a second later the Carmanah Dam sprung to life. Floodlights came on, highlighting the floodgate area, while warning sirens whooped and an automated voice warned everyone to stand clear of dam operations. Three times the warning sounded, before a series of loud clanks and clunks sounded from deep within the bones of the dam itself, and at long last the floodgate rose.

“Brightly VFD,” Shaushka called, over the sound of thunderous cheers from the gathered techs around her. “I am reading a fully closed floodgate here. Can you confirm?”

“Confirmed!” Montcalm yelled joyfully back. “Confirm full spillway closure.”

“Well done, sir,” Shaushka said. “You folks can just leave everything there. We’ll have a team up your way to deal with the dam as soon as the weather clears.”

“Roger that, BC Hydro Control,” Montcalm said. “You ever come up this way, there’s a lot of people who would like to shake your hand.”

“You and your people did all the work, love,” Shaushka said, with a wide smile. “BC Hydro Control, clear.”

“Brightly VFD, clear,” Montcalm said, a smile plastered to his face as he grabbed his radio mike. “Ben. You and Seeker did it. Come on down.”

“You bet, Boss,” Ben said, clipping the line he had put on the dish to the tower so it wouldn’t fall and hurt someone. “We’ll be down as soon as... Holy Crap!”

Yet again that night another pony was covered in radiant light as Seeker was enveloped in a brilliant ball of energy. Totally blinded by his ring-side seat, Ben Thompson could only hang on and hide his eyes from the light. Energy swirled and gathered around the young pony, warming her, comforting her as the Equestrian magic the Tantabus had gifted to her burst forth in herald of a pony finding something she was born to do, even as it marked her as its own.

After some unknowable time the light faded and the pony hung limply from the safety lines that kept her attached to the tower. Blinking to clear his vision Ben moved quickly to secure Seeker back to his harness, and pull the semi-conscious pony back against his chest. As he did he took note of the pattern that had appeared on Seeker’s hip. That of a beam of light, entering a prism, bending, and coming out as a rainbow of colours.

“Hey Seeker, you okay?” Ben asked, starting to make his way down the tower.

“Five more minutes, Mom,” Seeker mumbled, clearly not tracking fully. Ben chuckled a little as Seeker snuggled up against his chest a little closer. A few minutes later they were back on the ground being surrounded by the cheering members of the rest of their team.

“Well done, everyone,” Montcalm said, smiling but still focused. “Get yourselves home, keep your radios on just in case there is some localized flooding we have to deal with, but get home, get dry, get some food in you and get some sleep if you can. Barring any problems, and Shield Maiden being okay, I want everyone and... everypony to meet me tomorrow at the firehall at 5pm for a debrief.”

Author's Note

And so, we come to the end of the first section of Brightly Lit. Our young ponies have endured their first trial and have come out as heroes with two of them earning their cutie marks. What is next in store for the Furred Five? What of the two mothers, back home, dealing with their own transformation? What exactly has happened to the Anglican priest and his wife, and how will their own change affect the small community they are a part of?

So many questions to answer. I'll keep typing as fast as I can.

Support me if you can on Patreon for as little as a dollar a month. Patreon is probably one of the best things ever for keeping word Sherpas like me in coffee and working keyboards.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
and
Pseudosapien

Chapter 17: Flawless

We're not flawless
We're a work in progress
We've got dents and we've got quirks
But it's our flaws that make us work

Flawless - Daniel Ingram, M.A. Larsen

It was a tired, wet, but jubilant group that made its way back to town through the storm that was blowing as fierce as ever, as if to say, “Fine, I might not be able to flood your town, but that can’t stop me from dumping my rainy wrath all over you.”

“What now Dad?” Iron Hoof said, sitting on the bench seat in the cab of the truck beside his father while they rode toward home, a seat belt across his furred chest.

“Now, we get home, get you warmed up and get Jean’s girls into bed,” Arnold Kye said to his son, ruffling the yellow mane that Billy’s pony form had and noticing the orange streak in it for the first time.

“M’okay,” Seeker said, slumped over but securely buckled into one of the two jump seats behind the bench seat. “Just kinda tired. Is Rowey okay?”

“I’m okay, Romy,” Shield Maiden said to her sister, cracking her eyes open and speaking for the first time since she had been felled at the dam. “My head hurts. What happened? Did we do it?”

“We sure did!” Iron Hoof said, his voice loud with both excitement and happiness that his friend was all right. “You should have seen it. Seeker was awe—”

“Not so loud,” Shield Maiden interrupted, holding her head in her hooves. “Hurts.”

“We’ll keep it quiet, and get you home,” Arnold said, shooting a warning look to his son. “Just keep your eyes closed if you can and try to relax.”

“Okay,” Rowan said, and leaned her black maned head back against her seat.

“What’s wrong with her?” Iron Hoof whispered to his father, as they dodged the remains of the last set of trees to enter Brightly itself. Arnold didn’t answer, but instead reached for the radio mounted under the dashboard of the truck.

“Kye to all units,” Arnold said, as softly as he thought he could as he keyed the mike. “Shield Maiden is awake but complaining of headache and noise sensitivity. Please advise.”

“Near as I could tell, she didn’t suffer a concussion,” Jessica said, over the radio from the paramedic rescue truck. “So it sounds like a sensory overload of some kind. Get her home, keep her in a quiet, dark place. If she starts vomiting, call me no matter what time it is. Otherwise, I’ve got no idea what happens when a magical unicorn girl overdoes things.”

“Right, will do,” Arnold said, replacing the mike and turning toward home. As he did so he noticed one of the other vehicles in the small convoy peel off to follow his.

“Banta to Harding,” came a second call from the paramedic vehicle, as Jessica’s partner took the mike. “Come in, Ernie.”

“Go ahead, Kevin,” Ernie said, as he followed his friend’s truck home.

“Make sure you put a good meal into the two youngsters you have with you,” Banta said, his serious voice holding some humour to it. “Skylark was smart enough to lay still and rest after she pushed herself, but Darter kept overdoing it.” Everyone on the small radio network heard a small whine come from Ernie’s end of the mike.

“Oh right,” Banta continued, as a chuckle slipped out. “You can take that tape muzzle off him once you get home and remind him that when one of the team medics says to stay down and rest, it isn’t a request.”

“Will do, Kevin,” Ernie said, laughing into the mike. “When the weather clears I’ll have him come over and wash your truck as well. Other than that, I think the muzzle was punishment enough.”

“This time,” Kevin said, as the headlights of the truck hit the small town firehall. “It happens again and he spends an hour in the animal carrier.” A muffled cry of “No!” sounded in the background as Ernie replied.

“Understood, Kevin,” Ernie said, catching his son’s eye, who looked down shame faced, having given up on trying to undo the tape keeping his muzzle closed. It was a standard procedure for making excitable animals safer to handle, and one Kevin had used on the impulsive pegasus as he had tried to rush to Seeker’s aid.

“You’re lucky he isn’t asking that you get kicked off the team, you know,” Ernie said, in a calm steady voice once he had put the mike down. “He and Chief Montcalm are cutting you and the other pony’s some slack, because we couldn’t have done what we did tonight without you five. Plus, all five of you are still kids, one of whom I’m proud to call my son.”

Darter’s head shot up at that, and Ernie pulled the charcoal furred body of his son close, careful not to disturb the sleeping form of Skylark on the far side of the truck.

“Fowwy Bab,” Darter said, nuzzling against his father’s side. “Bibm'g meam go make him mabe ag me.”

“It’s okay, son,” Ernie said, as he pulled up beside Arnold Kye’s pickup in front of Jean Pedersen’s home and he could see the faint golden glow of candlelight from the windows. “I’m pretty sure Mrs. Pedersen or your mom will have a pair of scissors. I’ll carry your sister in, you okay to walk on your own?” Darter nodded, working the door handle and stepping out of the truck into the wind and rain.

Beside him, Arnold’s large form stepped out of his truck, one of the Pedersen girls over either shoulder. Billy came around the far side, chuckling a bit when he saw the predicament his friend Zak was in.

“Guess you can’t be a big mouth now?” Billy said, as the rain drenched them both again. Darter started to glower at his friend but quickly saw the humour himself and a matching chuckle escaped the corners of his mouth.

“C’mon kids,” Ernie said, opening the gate with his free hand. “Let’s all get inside and get warm and dry.” Everyone made their way along the path around the house to the side door, which was the main entrance for day to day use. Ernie, again the only human present with a free hand, opened the door that opened up into the kitchen of the house.

“Who’s there?” Jean called from the living room, which had enough candle light coming from it so that the adults and ponies were both able to see the safe way through the kitchen.

“It's us, Jean,” Ernie said, noticing that Arnold was keeping quiet for some reason. “We’ve got the kids with us.

“Thank the Goddess,” Jean said aloud, in a prayerful voice. “Get your shoes off, there are towels at the foot of the stairs before you come into the living room. I’m guessing the kids are ponies again.”

“How did you know?” Ernie asked, scuffing off his work boots as best he could without disturbing his heroic little Skylark.

“Um, about that...” Billy said, realizing that of the five ponies, he was the only one in any real shape to explain how they had all originally ran out of Jean’s basement after Rowey had triggered the transformation spell.

“Just get in here,” Lynn said, and her voice took on a note of concern. “Is everybody okay?”

“The girls all need some TLC,” Ernie said, padding barefooted across the wooden floor of the kitchen. “Zak ran afoul of some tape, and…”

Ernie’s voice trailed off as he turned the corner into the short gap that led both to the upstairs of Jean’s house and into the living room. He stood there paralyzed as he looked in and saw, instead of the familiar forms of his wife and his neighbor, a snow white unicorn sitting across from an elegant pegasus, black fur gleaming metallically with her mane, tail and wings a burnished silver that glowed in the golden candlelight.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Lynn Harding said to her husband, fluffing her new wings a bit. “Say ‘hi’ to your wife and bring your daughter over here so I can have a look at her.”

“My God, Lynn,” Ernie breathed, pure wonder in his voice. “You’re gorgeous!” Both mares laughed a bit at that.

“I bet you say that to every pegasus mare you see,” Lynn said, lifting a wing to partially cover her face. “ But seriously, how is our daughter?" Concern for his child shook Ernie out of his shock and he stepped into the living room.

“She’s okay,” Ernie said, laying Skylark down beside her mother, who wrapped a wing around the smaller pony almost instantly. “Just exhausted after lifting a few tons of structural steel.”

“Wow,” Lynn said, smiling as her daughter snuggled up a little closer sleepily.

“Let me get by, Ernie,” Arnold said, softly as he tried to get around his friend. “Shield Mai… Rowan got hurt, Jean.”

“What?” the white unicorn said, in Jean Pedersen’s concerned voice. “Bring her here, let me see.”

“Trying,” Arnold said, carefully moving around Ernie, who was just as carefully moving aside to give Arnold room without tripping over anything. “Romy’s okay. I think her… ascension tired her out.”

“Ascension?” Jean asked, deftly plucking Rowan off of Arnold’s shoulder in a now familiar field of magic. However, where her daughter’s magic was orange in colour, Jean’s was a shade of purple so dark it was almost black. “What’s wrong, honey?” Jean asked her daughter.

“It hurts, Momma,” Rowan said, burying her face in her mother’s chest. “Everything’s too loud and bright. Even the candles hurt.”

“Shhh, it’s okay honey,” Jean said, horn flaring with dark power, and a moment later a damp washcloth floated in from the kitchen to lay over Rowan’s eyes and face with an ease that amazed everyone present. “What happened to her, Arn?”

“She was holding back the lake with one of her shields,” Arnold said, as he laid the now soundly sleeping pony form of Jean’s other daughter against her. “A big cedar tree came along and plowed right through it. She got knocked out, and at first we thought a chunk of the tree clipped her as it went by, but there’s no bruising, blood or sign of an impact.”

“Sounds like some sort of overload or backlash, from when her shield got blown through,” Jean said, wrapping a bandana around Rowan’s head to keep the washcloth in place and partly cover her ears. “Arnold, you and Billy get out of your wet things, grab some towels from the closet by the bathroom and find yourselves a place to sit.”

“No problem, Jean,” Arnold said, as he laid Romy’s limp form beside her mother. Standing, he grabbed one of the lit candles and motioned to his son, who followed him closely.

“You have any bandage scissors?” Ernie asked, gesturing toward Zak who had finally slunk into the room trying to hide his taped muzzle.

“There’s a kit in the cupboard above the stove,” Jean said, with a curious chuckle. “Anyone want to explain what happened out there? We know the kids charged out after you, but no idea how any of this happened.”

“It’s quite a story,” Ernie said, walking back into the kitchen and Jean could hear him open the cabinet and start rummaging.

“It’s the white plastic box,” Jean called, eliciting a whimper from Rowan at the volume. “While you’re there grab the container marked ‘Henderson’ for me.” Jean flared her magic again, and used it to pour a measure of steaming water from a kettle that was sitting on the woodstove into a nearby coffee cup, which she then floated over to sit on the end table beside her.

“Got it,” Ernie said, as he came back into the living room, scissors in one hand, glass mason jar in the other. “Looks like tea.” Jean nodded in answer, lifting the jar from his hand and the adults in the room watched in amazement as Jean’s magic opened the container, filled a tea ball from the jar’s contents, and placed the filled ball into the coffee cup of hot water.

“How are you so good with that, so fast?” Arnold asked, walking in with a towel knotted around his hips and a double load of fluffiness in his arms. Jean and Lynn both paused for a moment to appreciate Arnold’s displayed body. The mechanic definitely carried some extra weight on his frame, but there was no doubting the power displayed in his upper torso and arms.

“Visualization,” Jean said, blinking away from her frank admiration. “I’ve been a witch for longer than Rowan’s been alive. I’ve been visualizing moving forces and energies for years now. Sure, up until now it’s been more a matter of faith than reality, but now I’m getting to put all that practice into practical use.”

“What’s in the tea?” Arnold asked, distributing towels to everyone who had been out in the cold and wet. “I’m guessing it’s something you’ve made.”

“It’s the migraine tea I make for Mrs. Henderson up the road,” Jean said, moving the tea ball around to speed the infusion. “It’s got feverfew, red clover, peppermint, and a few other things. It should help with the headache, whatever the cause was.”

Over the next half hour or so, the group of ponies and people proceeded to towel off and get warm. As the children snuggled against their parents, the males in the room told the story from both the perspectives of the fire department and the ponies. Under Jean’s direction, Arnold another made a trip upstairs, gathering blankets from the bedrooms and everyone burrowed themselves into warm nests.

“The only thing that comes to mind is Epona,” Jean said at one point in the story, careful not to disturb Rowan who had fallen asleep after consuming half the tea that had been brewed for her, “and she healed you? I mean, actual healing?”

“Billy was dying,” Arnold said, his voice roughening a bit. “Jessica told me later that she figured he was done for no matter what she did, and then that ‘Night Horse’ showed up and literally put him back together. I owe her a debt I’ll never be able to repay, but if I can, I’m going to try.” Father and son just spent a minute hugging each other while silence reigned, as all three adults contemplated the tragedy that might have been.

“And it marked you, Billy?” Jean asked, keeping her voice soft. All the children except for Billy were asleep now, Zak having been uncharacteristically quiet after the tape had been snipped off his muzzle.

“Ya, it left me this,” Billy said, shifting the blanket over him to show the breaking barricade mark on his hip. “Romy got one too when she moved the beam into the dish.”

“The same one?” Jean asked, craning her head around to try to see Romy’s flank, but unable to as it was hidden under a comforter.

“No,” Ernie said, running a hand through the silvery mass of his wife’s mane. “Her marking is a beam of light hitting a prism and breaking into a rainbow.”

“Okay, that’s a good thing,” Jean said, nodding in satisfaction. “If they had the same mark it would be a symbol that this ‘Night Horse’ was laying claim to them. But if they have different marks it means that they’ve been given an outward sign of something inside of them.” Jean chuckled for a moment afterward.

“What’s so funny?” Lynn asked, her head laying on her husband’s bare chest and reveling in the simple physical closeness to the man she had chosen as her partner in life.

“A beam of energy can always be diverted,” Jean quoted, laying her head down and smiling at her sleeping daughters and the questioning looks from the other adults. “It’s from the original Tron movie.”

“Well, well,” Arnold snickered. “My Jean, the witch, the earthy pagan, closet sci-fi fan.”

“Your Jean, is it?” Jean said, tilting her head to look at Arnold as her heart gave a small double thump at the possibility his phrasing offered.

“If you’re okay with that?” Arnold asked, leaning over to take one of her hooves in his hand. Lynn and Ernie looked at the pair from across the room, eyes shining as they saw their friend take a major step toward healing the wound in his heart.

“I am,” Jean said, smiling back as her heart warmed with a heat that had nothing to do with the fireplace. “What changed your mind?”

“Tonight I learned that some things are too precious to just let sit on the sidelines,” Arnold said, and at that moment he only had eyes for the unicorn near him.

“You know, dear,” Lynn said, in a quiet voice so as not to disturb her friends, “you should really try being a pony too. I’d love to see what you look like.”

“We’ll see, dear,” Ernie said, before putting some brakes on the incipient romance in front of him. “Jean, is it okay if we all just pass out here tonight?”

“Oh,” Jean said, tearing her eyes away from Arnold’s face. “I’d planned for that. Be honest, do you really want to go back out into that rain?”

“Not a chance,” Lynn said, looking around at the big, pile of people and ponies, noting that the candles were beginning to burn low. “Thank you, Jean.”

Jean just smiled back and relaxed into the couch she was on, as she noticed that Billy had finally fallen asleep as well with his father’s hand resting against his side. Arnold saw her noticing and nodded back, relaxing into the couch as well, and all four adults quieted and began the long, slow, lazy drift toward sleep as the wind and rain continued to blow outside. Until, what seemed a split second later, when there was a loud knock on Jean’s back door.

“Who could that be?” Jean asked, raising her tired head. “Arn, any chance you could get that?”

“Sure thing,” Arnold said, getting up and wrapping a spare blanket around his mainly naked form. He lit a spare candle off one of the dying stubs, and carried it into the kitchen as three steady raps sounded again at the door they had all come in some time ago.

“Hello?” he asked, opening the door and looking out at the wind and rain just a few feet away beyond the covered porch at Jean’s back door. He saw no one and nothing other than the weather, and as the wind blew past his legs he made to close the door.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from below, and Arnold looked down in reflex.

Staring back up at him were the cutest things he had seen, barring his son and his friends. A pair of dark blue little ponies with golden eyes looked up at him, rain dripping off of them and laying their manes and tails flat. As Arnold tried to work his mind around there being even more ponies in town, one of them extended and shook out a pair of leathery bat wings sending water around the porch.

“Um,” Arnold said, as the brief water spray jump started his brain. “Hello there, who are you?”

“Believe it or not,” the slightly larger bat pony, who was about a head taller than Billy, said, “I’m, or at least was, Father Addison. I think you might have met my wife, Natasha. Is Jean Pedersen home?”

“Ya, come on in,” Arnold said, opening the door wide. “Wipe your hooves and head into the living room. There are some towels there you can use to dry off.”

“You don’t seem too surprised at seeing a pair of little horses at the door,” Father Addison said, as his wife preceded him in. "I actually impressed with how easily you're dealing with the shock."

“Father,” Arnold said, smiling ruefully and gesturing the way to the living room, “you don’t know the half of it.”

Author's Note

Here's a small bonus item as well for everyone. The following is a deleted scene that was originally going to the first introduction of Mayor Montcalm, but I decided it wasn't necessary to introduce him until the storm.

Darrell “Dude” Montcalm was a very distant relative of the general who had commanded the French on the Plains of Abraham. Nearing sixty years of age he had spent most of the past twenty-five of those years as the Mayor of Brightly, and remained a popular figure in town. His yard near the edge of town was often the site of impromptu barbeques and potlucks and he had deliberately avoided fencing the yard so that neighborhood kids had someplace safe to play.

This particular late Saturday afternoon found him on his own for once, tending the barbecue as savory smells came from grilling meat. As he turned a piece over, a flash of movement in the trees caught his eye. The old gravel service road that went around town passed near his house and it was a common pathway. It was also something of a highway for the local wildlife, including black bears, who occasionally came into town trying to find food.

Which is why he had a pair of binoculars near the barbeque, along with a couple of very loud, very illegal, firecrackers. Dropping the meat tongs and pulling his binoculars into position he scanned the area where he had seen the flash of movement. He looked back and forth, trying to pick up what had caught his eye.

I know I spotted something...wait...there! he thought as he spotted movement in another gap in trees. Focusing now, he was able to track the object. It was a small, yellow horse of all things. What the hell? Horses don’t come in that colour... Darrell’s mind locked up as two other four legged, horse like creatures, only with wings, flew in to flank the little yellow horse. Then, the animals were past the gap and Darrell knew he wouldn’t see them again with how thick the foliage was.

“Hun,” he called to his wife. “After dinner remind me to go over and see Ernie Harding, someone might have messed with something on that farm he works at.”

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Chapter 18: On Top of the World

I’m on top of the world, and now I’m livin’
And the good just gets better, keeps on givin’
Not even close to the end, it’s just beginnin’

On Top of the World - Tim McMorris

“Who was that at the—” Jean began to say, as a pair of dark furry muzzles rounded the corner into the living room, “door.” The newcomers froze at the entrance to the room as they looked in, and Jean could see them focusing on the furred heads of the sleeping children, as well as her horn and Lynn’s wings.

“Welcome to the pony club,” Jean said, hoping to draw the pair into motion and out of their frozen shock.

“Hello,” said a familiar, male sounding voice, from one of the ponies. “Mrs. Pedersen, is that you? It sounds like you.”

“Father Addison?” Jean asked right back, then smiling as the original speaker smiled and nodded. “Come in and be welcome in my home. There are towels to your left. Dry off and pull up a blanket by the fireplace.”

“Here I thought I was going to be shocking and surprising you,” Father Addison said, reaching out a leathery wing and snagging a towel that he passed to his wife. “It seems Natasha and I were right to come to you for some help.”

“How long has this been going on?” Natasha asked, taking the towel from her husband and starting to rub herself dry.

“For the kids, a couple of weeks now,” Jean said, mesmerized by the ease at which her new guests were using their wings as secondary hands. “For me and Lynn, it’s only been tonight. Speaking of which, how are you doing that so easily? It took me and Lynn almost an hour just to be able to walk straight.”

“We just seemed to be able to do it,” Addison said, towelling off his dark blue-grey head. “After the creature we gave succor to passed away—”

“Wait, what happened, Father?” Ernie said, a little loudly, making Skylark stir in her sleep and Lynn put a feathered wing against her husband’s lips.

“Maybe you should just tell us what happened, Father,” Lynn said, pitching her voice low. “Then we can tell you how it happened with us and compare notes, but please keep your voices down. The children have all had a very busy evening and they need their rest.”

Over the next half hour, Addison told the story of how he and his wife had heard something crash in the chapel, only to discover a mysterious being that they gave comfort and aid to in its final moments. As the creature died it seemed to pass something into the two of them, turning them into the bat winged ponies that they now appeared to be.

In return, Jean quietly told the story of how Rowan had found the book containing the magic spell, of how it seemed to be filled with power and how using it turned anyone who happened to be nearby at the time into a colourful little pony blessed with extraordinary powers of one sort or another.

While Arnold made another trip upstairs for more blankets, Ernie picked up the story with what had happened in the hours previous, and how their little ponies had been instrumental in preventing what could have been a devastating flood. What piqued the interest of Father Addison and his wife though, was the description of the creature that had healed Billy from the life-threatening wounds sustained after he had bucked the huge tree trunk in half.

“That ‘Night Horse’ sounds exactly like what came into the chapel tonight,” Natasha said, toweling off the last of a very long, black mane shot through with blue highlights.

“I knew it had to have been a creature of God,” Addison said, his own dark grey mane bobbing with the force of his nod. “You are sure it actually healed Billy?”

“Sir,” Arnold said, resting his hand on his son’s side. “I was getting ready to have to bury my son, even as I held him in my arms. I don’t know if what saved his life was of your god, some spirit related to Jean’s beliefs, or what. All I know is that right now my boy is alive and well.”

“And there were witnesses to this miracle?” Addison asked, insistent.

“Yes,” Arnold said, drawing out the word. “Why is that so important?”

“I don’t know if you know it,” Addison said, snuggling close to his wife, “but a witnessed act of healing is one of the criteria for sainthood. The Catholic Church is quite big on finding such accounts for their saints. Mother Teresa is a recent example.”

“Well, the Night Horse isn’t… wasn’t exactly what one would call human,” Arnold said. “So it couldn’t exactly be a saint now, could it.”

“Acts, chapter ten,” Ernie said from his spot, to Arnold’s surprise. “For a certainty I perceive that God is not partial, and those that fear Him and do what is right are acceptable to Him.” Addison nodded in confirmation of that.

“Plus, when you combine that with the creature reaching out to the cross in its final moments,” Addison continued. “It makes for a fair argument that it was one of God’s creatures.”

“Not so fast there,” Jean said, chuckling a bit. “Just because something comes to a place of worship and does good deeds doesn’t automatically make it one of yours, Father Addison.”

“You’re saying it wasn’t a good creature?” Natasha asked, backing up her husband.

“I’m saying it was a good creature who was seeking a place of peace in its last moments,” Jean said, smiling as Arnold ran a hand down the back of her neck. “Epona is the protector of all equines. Horses, donkeys, mules… and ponies.”

“And a protector of such creatures would have a vested interest in healing one of its kind who had performed a heroic act,” Addison said, a rueful smile crossing his muzzle. “I have a feeling we could debate this all night.”

“Yeah, we should probably get some rest,” Arnold said, and then a thought crossed his mind. “You said it really wanted the cross in the church. Is there anything special about it, other than its symbolic importance?”

“It was carved from a single piece of Douglas Fir, by one of the carvers in Bella Bella,” Addison said, putting a hoof to his chin in thought. “It was a gift to the chapel back in the 1960s when we went against the Methodists by giving our blessing to the return of the potlatch. The only other thing about it is the ruby mounted on it.”

“Ruby?” Arnold asked, sitting up a bit at that.

“An extremely flawed one, but yes,” Addison said, his voice holding a note of caution. “It’s not worth much of anything, being more a piece of crystal than a true ruby, but it was a gift by John Leung a few years before his death. No one knows where he obtained the gem.”

“John Leung again,” Ernie said, continuing as Lynn looked at him inquiringly. “Remember that the kids dug up the book by the ruin of his old warehouse? That’s twice now his name has come up in connection with what’s going on. What was it Churchill said about things?”

“Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action,” Lynn said.

“Ian Fleming, actually,” Natasha said, and all eyes shifted to her.

“What? I like James Bond,” she said with a smile, tossing her mane to one side.

“Either way, I think Ernie has a point,” Jean said, just before she gave a huge yawn, which found itself echoed around the room. “I really think we all need some sleep though. Father Addison, you’re more than welcome to spend the night.”

“Thank you, Jean. I hadn’t wanted to impose, but the weather out there is not the best. We gratefully accept,” Addison said, with a nod of his head. The other adults in the room smiled at the exchange and started to snuggle into their blankets, all except Arnold.

“You two know each other?” he asked, confusion on his face and in his voice.

“When Mrs. Pedersen first came to Brightly,” Addison said, wrapping himself and his wife in a blanket by the fireplace, “some of my parishioners were somewhat less than Christian in their attitudes, and it took a few sermons to remind them that we are long past the days of ‘suffer not a witch to live’.”

“It was from before you moved here, Arnold, and it all worked out in the end,” Jean said, her eyes closing. “Sleep well folks, I just can’t stay awake any longer.”

The others in the room were just as tired as the white unicorn, if not more so, and what had been a long night had become even longer with the arrival of the bat ponies. The other adults murmured “Good Nights” to each and slowly, as the wind and rain beat a lullaby against the roof of the cozy home, people and ponies dropped off one by one into a deep and restful sleep.

It was a quarter to three in the morning, and Shaushka was typing up the incident report on what had happened earlier that evening at the Carmanah Dam. With only fifteen minutes left in her shift she was pounding out the words as fast as she could, chewing on strands of her bright red-orange hair. Her eyes flicked back and forth over the screen as she mentally compared what her memory told her with what she had written down. She had just saved what she hoped would be the last draft of her report when the phone at her station rang.

“Tech Shaushka here,” she said into the phone with as much professionalism as she could muster.

“It’s Sahota, do you mind coming to my office for a few minutes?” asked the pleasant sounding voice of the facilities manager.

“Not at all, Ma’am,” Shaushka said, knowing full well that when someone two levels above your pay grade asks you over for a quick chat it’s never a good thing. “I’ll be right there.”

“Shaushka,” Tara Sahota said, a couple of minutes later as the tech walked into her small office just off the working area of the facility. “Come on in and have a seat.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the tech said, sitting down in the spartan office. It was a small, barren cube of an office, built along with the rest of the facility back in the 1970s. Shaushka knew Sahota had been using this office for nearly two years now but it retained not one whit of her personal life, being instead filled only with the necessary items of a middle manager.

“I’ve been going over your personnel file,” Sahota said, leafing through a manila file folder and Shaushka felt a chill go down her spine as she recognized her name on the cover of it. “Been with us a few years now. Smart, ambitious, you have a reputation for knowing the job and getting it done with a minimum of fuss.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Shauska said, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

“So, can you tell me why you decided to risk a promising career by doing something as incredibly dumb as what you pulled tonight?” Sahota asked, leaning back and looking Shaushka full in the eyes.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Ma’am?” Shaushka said, knowing full well that the jig was likely up, but it was best to admit to nothing until she knew what Sahota knew about what had gone on.

“I mean this,” Sahota said, spinning around her monitor so that Shaushka could see a video clip of her talking on her smartphone while at her station. It was from one of the many security cameras from around the facility and from the timestamp Shaushka could see that it was from when she had called her friend at the radio station.

“I’ll go clean out my desk,” Shaushka said, shoulders slumping. Her career with BC Hydro was over. No one liked a leaker, which made it probable that she would be spending a long time in the unemployment line.

“Not just yet,” Sahota said, a small smirk on her face. “As I said, you’re smart, you know the job and you’ve got some ambition. Other than this, your record is spotless, and if this recording was to somehow ‘disappear’ you would likely have a long career with us.”

“Are you saying you would be willing to do that for me?” Shaushka asked, hope flaring in her breast.

“Like you, I plan to go a long way in my career here,” Sahota said, and the smirk turned predatory. “It would help me a great deal to have someone personally loyal to me in the company. Someone who was smart, knew their job and knew when it was time to break the rules.”

“Are you… blackmailing me?” Shaushka asked, incredulous. “I mean, yes, I want to hang onto my job but I’m not going to do anything illegal to keep it.”

“Who said anything about illegal?” Sahota asked rhetorically. “You broke the rules tonight. It was the right thing to do, but the rules in a Crown corporation are adamant, and if I follow the rules your career is over. But rules are not the law, and rules are not always right.”

“As long as it doesn’t mean breaking the law, I’m more than willing to report to you directly on things,” Shaushka said, choosing her words with care.

“Right then,” Sahota said, tacitly accepting the conditions while pulling a small usb device from the computer and handing it to Shaushka. “First things, first. You’re off remote monitor duty and tomorrow evening you’re flying out to Haida Gwaii.”

“What?!” Shaushka sputtered, “Why?”

“There’s going to be a massive investigation into what happened tonight,” Sahota said, grimacing, “and while Hemphill is an ass he’s got the rules on his side, as well as upper management. I need you out of sight and away from that investigation.”

“What am I supposed to do up there?” Shaushka asked, still not understanding why she had to travel hundreds of kilometers just to get out from underfoot.

“Not only do I need you out of the way, I need an honest report about the condition of the Carmanah Dam by someone who isn’t covering their ass,” Sahota said, tossing her midnight hair back. “You know the systems, you know what happened, and I need you to tell me the situation there before any ‘official’ report comes down. That way I can make sure both of us are covered when the political fallout rains down from above. Once the dust settles there should be some good positions for us to rise into.”

“So, I’m headed to Brightly eventually?” Shaushka asked, red eyebrows climbing toward her scalp.

“You’re headed to Brightly directly,” Sahota said, laughing. “I’m designating you as the manager of the assessment and repair team.”

“I’ve never managed a field team,” Shaushka protested, spreading her hands wide. “In fact I’ve never managed anything bigger than a safety meeting.”

“You were going to need some managerial experience anyway, and from what I’ve seen tonight you work well under pressure,” Sahota said, extending her hand. “So, are you ready to work with me and start moving up in the world?” Shaushka looked at the hand extending towards her, and for a minute considered walking away knowing the bargain she was being offered.

“Yes Ma’am,” Shaushka said, taking Sahota’s hand in a firm grip as she made the only choice she could to save her career.

“Okay then, finish up, head home, and pack,” Sahota said, releasing her new lieutenant’s hand. “Your itinerary will be waiting for you at the Air Canada desk at YVR.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Shauska said, getting up. “I’ll call in when I’m on site in Brightly.” Sahota nodded and waved the tech out her door.

“Meanwhile, I’ve got a few calls of my own to make,” Sahota said quietly, lifting the handset of her phone while she twirled a duplicate of the usb stick she’d handed Shaushka in her fingers.

“Good Morning, BC. John Chernicke here, with your Global TV weekend news update for 7 AM. News is just coming in of a dramatic battle against rising flood waters in the remote town of Brightly on the Central Coast overnight. For the latest we go to Jill Chou in our newsroom. Jill..."

"Hello John. Details are sketchy at this hour, but it seems that the BC Hydro dam on Carmanah Lake malfunctioned, allowing water to flow unchecked toward the nearby community of Brightly, British Columbia. Preliminary reports say that the local volunteer fire department was able to somehow do the impossible, and get the dam functional long enough for BC Hydro to remotely close the spillway, saving the town from what could have been a catastrophic flood. No one with BC Hydro was available to speak to us on the situation, but we will keep looking into this story and update you as we know more."

"Thank you, Jill. In other news related to the powerful storm that battered the coast overnight…”

Romy Pedersen cracked open her eyes to see the light of morning coming in through the living room window. She was warm and comfortable under her blankets with the comforting weight of her mother’s arm around her. The incessant pressure of a full bladder made going back to sleep impossible, however.

Yawning widely she raised her head up and looked around the room. Despite it being well into the morning everyone was still fast asleep. Her mom was there, of course, as were Zak and Kya’s parents, and Billy’s dad. Poking out of the blankets around the room, Romy could also see the manes and tails of her sister and their friends. There were also a couple of lumps covered in blankets by the fireplace, from which the sounds of sleep emerged. Someone else had come over after she had fallen asleep, obviously.

Any further thoughts were cut off by increasingly loud messages from her bladder as it demanded attention, and Romy stepped out of her blankets as quietly as she could to make her way to the bathroom on silent hooves. Something twigged at her, but her still waking mind couldn’t focus on it as she took care of her business. Opening the door of the bathroom she was momentarily startled to see Billy standing in the hallway, waiting for his turn at the toilet.

“Hey,” he said, shifting a bit from side to side. “All done?”

“Yeah,” Romy said, stepping out of the bathroom. “Go ahead. I’ll get us thome cereal. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done.”

“Okay,” Billy said, moving quickly past her and into the bathroom while Romy carefully negotiated the stairs back down. She had discovered it was far easier for a four hooved pony to go upstairs than down, but she did it and by the time Billy joined her in the kitchen she had poured out a bowl of Cheerios for each of them.

“How you doing?” Romy asked as she nudged a bowl toward Billy, who awkwardly climbed up onto a table.

“Pretty good,” Billy said, nibbling a few of the oat based circles. “I wonder when we’re going to change back.”

“Change back?” Romy asked, confused for a moment, and then blinked in realization. “We… we’re still ponies.”

“Yup, by the way, how are you doing?” Billy asked, munching on his dry cereal that neither pony had bothered to add milk to. “You were pretty out of it after you got the dam to work, which was super cool.”

“Thanks,” Romy said, blushing. “You were too, and that mark you got was awesome.”

“Yours is too,” Billy said, smiling before scooping more oatey goodness into his mouth.

“Mine?” Romy said, twisting her head around to look at her hip. “Hey! I did get one. When did that happen?”

“You kinda did the big glowing ball of light thing, like I did,” Billy said, a few Cheerios spilling from his mouth. “It lit up everything all around.” Silence broken only by the sound of hungry munching went on for a few minutes.

“Should we wake the others?” Romy asked, when she had finished her bowl off.

“Nah, you wanna go outside for a bit?” Billy asked, finding and slurping up the last few stray bits.

“Still raining, “Romy said. “Any idea who that is by the fireplace?”

“Nope, they must have come in after we went to sleep,” Billy said. “You wanna go back to sleep?”

“Too awake now,” Romy said, moving the now empty bowls to the sink. “How about we go up to my room and I get out a board game?”

“You guys don’t have any video games?” Billy asked, getting down from the table.

“Power is still off,” Romy said, shrugging.

“Oh right,” Billy said, “Board games it is then.”

John Horgan, Premier of the Province of British Columbia, sat waiting for the phone to ring as he rested in his kitchen. He was the elected leader of the massive chunk of land that formed Canada’s western gateway to the Pacific. The nearly million square kilometer landmass was populated by a mere five million people who were as diverse as the land they inhabited.

Every day reminded Horgan that he had won the election, toppling an entrenched political dynasty, by a mere 190 votes in what had been probably the closest election in the 150 year long history of Canada. The storm that had come ashore overnight was just another in a never-ending series of challenges and opportunities that he had to face if he was going to stand a chance of re-election in a few years time. So, when the phone finally did ring, he was ready for it.

“Horgan here,” he said into the phone, putting down the newspaper he’d been idling through.

“Mr. Premier,” said the voice on the phone. “We’ve got a potential situation.”

“Of course we do, Peter,” Horgan said to his personal assistant, Peter Cutter. “Do you need me in the office or can you tell me over the phone?”

“I would much rather go over this with you in your office, Sir,” Cutter said, his voice polite but insistent. “At the request of the Minister of Energy and Mines, I’ve set up a conference call for you with him and the president of BC Hydro, in about an hour from now.” That made Horgan take notice.

“This have anything to do with Site C?” Horgan asked, his fingers tightening on the handset.

“Not directly, Sir,” Cutter said. “At least not that I can see. If you would come down to the office, Sir, I can brief you fully before the conference call.”

“Right,” Horgan said, getting up from the table. “I’m on my way.”

Author's Note

Pulling in some actual people and places into the story again. John Horgan is indeed the current Premier of BC, and he did win the last election in a squeaker. Site C is a real place and I'll leave you folks to google it if you like before I spell things out in the next chapter.

I think we can expect a time of relative peace for our pint-sized protagonists, but as you can see the ripples of their actions are spreading far and wide

Huge shout outs to my editors: Sandstorm94 and Coyotethetrickster. Thank you for sacrificing your sanity.

Support me if you can on Patreon for as little as a dollar a month. Patreon is probably one of the best things ever for keeping word Sherpas like me in coffee and working keyboards. Some months you folks really make the difference.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,

and my newest Patron,
Machara

Chapter 19: Worlds Collide

Do we fight to hold our heads up high
And beat the drum to what we love?
Risk the fall, oh we have felt it all
Come crashing down from far above

"Worlds Collide" - Arty

John Horgan drove his car carefully through the streets of downtown Victoria. The city was a significant tourist destination and this particular Saturday was no exception. Crowds of tourists and shoppers filled the downtown and occasionally spilled off the sidewalks, forcing him to drive with care. Normally, he would have a driver for this trip, but as it was the weekend and the Legislature building was normally just another tourist attraction there usually was no need for one.

Reaching his destination and pulling into his parking spot, he made his way into the monolithic stone building that was affectionately known as “The Ledge.” A few more minutes at a brisk walk found himself opening a wooden door with a golden plaque that read, “Premier of British Columbia.” Seeing that plaque gave him a familiar thrill as it reminded him once again that this was his office now, for as long as he could hold onto it.

“Hello sir,” Peter said, greeting his boss and rising from the chair he had been sitting in just inside the door.

“Hello, Peter,” the premier said, walking around the desk to take his seat and gesturing his aide to the chair on the other side. “What’s so bad that you had to drag me into work on a Saturday?” It was a fiction both men were familiar with. Each of them knew that as head of the province, Horgan was on call 24/7 for any situation that came up. This one just happened to be nice enough to allow for a drive into town on a weekend.

“Well sir,” Peter began, opening up a briefcase that had several folders and documents in it. “The storm that crossed the coast last night hit a lot of isolated communities hard.”

“This is about that?” Horgan asked. “I think I caught something about that over the radio on the way in. A town on the central coast?”

“Yes sir,” Peter said, nodding in confirmation. “The village of Brightly, near Bella Bella. There is a hydroelectric and flood control dam on Carmanah Lake, which lies near the community. During the storm BC Hydro lost remote contact with the dam, and with the spillway in the ‘open’ position the rainfall from the storm was threatening to flood the town.” Peter passed over a map of the area along with an older satellite photo, showing the lake, the dam and the associated river that flowed past the small town.

“Right, they were able to get the dam closed though,” Horgan said, then snapped his fingers as his memory kicked in. “Wait, the report said that the local fire department got the dam working, not BC Hydro, and I remember the word ‘miraculous’ being used. What happened?”

“When the remote systems failed, BC Hydro called the local fire department to attempt to operate the manual controls, per established procedure. Apparently there was more than a little difficulty reaching the dam through the height of the storm, due to fallen trees and debris,” Peter said, passing over a folder detailing the Brightly VFD’s equipment and people. “Once there, they discovered that the dam was in a shocking state of neglect. The manual controls had rusted solid, and the tower carrying the microwave dish for remote access had collapsed under a blow from a fallen tree.”

“Wait,” Horgan said, frowning. “Isn’t the area around those towers supposed to be cleared of trees precisely so that doesn’t happen?”

“Correct sir,” Peter said. “But apparently this had not been done in some time. Not only that, but the metal of the tower itself had become compromised due to age and simple rust.”

“So how come we aren’t organizing flood relief right now?” Horgan asked, half-seriously.

“Somehow, in the middle of all that wind and rain,” Peter continued, shaking his head a bit in disbelief, “that team of seven men and women not only managed to raise the tower again, but they were also able to somehow reposition the microwave dish itself long enough for BC Hydro to punch a signal through, and use the intact remote systems to close the spillway.”

“Okay, first off, we need to see about getting that team fast-tracked for a Good Citizenship medal,” Horgan said, smiling. “Those folks meet the criteria, that’s for sure, and we can use any boost we can get in the polls. Second, what’s our exposure on this and the implications?”

“We can lay the neglected maintenance squarely at the feet of the previous government,” Peter said. “Plus there are other considerations.”

“Site C,” Horgan said, referring to the massive hydroelectric project in the northeast corner of the province. “Those idiots before us left us stuck with their multi-billion dollar boondoggle, and then made sure there was no way I could cancel it without costing us even more billions.”

“Exactly sir,” Peter said, nodding. “If we can make people think that Site C has been draining away resources and personnel needed to maintain existing infrastructure…” The premier smiled wolfishly as he made the connection.

“Great work, Peter,” Horgan said, and his smile became approving. “Send someone to get the exact details of how bad things are at that dam, and make sure you get access to any maintenance records. Anything else I need to know before the conference call?”

“Just one thing, sir,” Peter said, gesturing toward one of the folders he had given Horgan. “If you would have a look at the details on the personnel for Brightly’s fire department.” Horgan scanned the document indicated and his eyes widened as he found the relevant information.

“Is this accurate?” Horgan asked, incredulous. “Because if it is, we just had a political windfall drop into our laps. We can make points with the progressive voters in Victoria and Vancouver, as well as showing the rural communities that we care about them. That’s got to be good for at least a few approval points in the polls.”

“The information was on their application to the BC Ambulance Service, sir,” Peter said, sliding across a photocopied sheet. “As far as I know the information is accurate.”

“All right then,” Horgan said, coming to a decision. “Once the selection committee approves the medals for those folks, we are going to hold the award ceremony at the Carmanah Dam instead of here in Victoria. In the meantime, I need you to dig into the background of this Jesse, now Jessica Harkins, and make sure there are no surprises.”

“So, Mrs. Pedersen,” Father Addison said, as he wolfed down a bowl of canned pears in syrup, “when do you think we might change back? Sorry about my table manners, I guess bat ponies are something of messy eaters.”

“I’m learning to live with it,” Jean said with a chuckle as she slid over a damp washcloth. “And please, call me Jean.”

“Not planning on taking on a different pony name like the kids?” Arnold asked from behind her, as he chopped up vegetables for the large pot that was simmering away on top of the woodstove.

“Oh, I considered it,” Jean said, leaning back to run a hand down Arnold’s forearm, a gesture that was not lost on Addison’s wife, Natasha. “The kids picked their pony names based on what they could do. Lynn and I haven’t really had a chance to explore what we can do, so we don’t really have anything to go on.”

“Go with something you already have done or are known for,” Arnold said, his hands moving in a blur over the cutting board. “What about ‘Wood Witch’?” Jean groaned and put her face in her hands.

“Goddess, no,” she moaned, before looking back up. “Just for that I get to see what you look like as a pony the next time this happens.” Arnold just snorted and went back to his chopping.

“One thing that I don’t get,” Natasha Adamschek said, as she finished licking her own bowl clean, “is how calm everyone is being about this. I mean, look at us. We’ve been changed, transformed, by some unknown agency or power. Why aren’t we panicking, or angrily demanding answers? Why aren’t we screaming for a doctor?”

“Well, first off the closest thing Brightly has to a doctor is Jessica, our paramedic on the fire department, and she already knows as much as anyone can about this,” Arnold answered, scooping up the massacred vegetables into a bowl and carrying them to the simmering stock pot. “Secondly, what’s a doctor going to do about any of this anyway? First thing we know, they push the panic button and then Brightly is going to be crawling with government people shortly after.”

“And the Hieltsuk have little reason to trust any level of government,” Addison said, turning to his wife. “My people have never given up title or authority over this land. The stance has always been, ‘We are letting you borrow this land, and we expect to receive what we are owed for that use.’ If large numbers of government people come here expecting to throw their weight around, it will be seen as an attempt to return to the bad old days of the potlatch ban, and I guarantee things will not go well for them.”

“That still doesn’t explain us,” Natasha said, waving a leather-like wing for emphasis. “I should be freaked out of my wits right now, and I’m not.”

“I think it’s because of the kids,” Arnold said, returning from the simmering pot. “They’ve been enjoying this, exploring their new abilities, and I think we’ve all been doing our best to stay calm for their sake. Plus, I think some of their wonder at all this has rubbed off on us.”

“That explains you, Jean and the Hardings,” Natasha said, humming a bit as her husband rubbed a wing along her back. “But Addison and I don’t have any children.”

“Do you feel like a different person?” Jean asked, to which Natasha shook her head. “There you go then. You still feel like you are ‘you.’ and as long as you keep feeling that way you probably will keep being fine with being a bat pony. Oh, and by the way, you two look incredibly cute.”

“I was going to say the same thing about you and Arnold,” Natasha said, smiling as both of the humans in the room blushed. “Do I need to tell the old biddies in the congregation that they were finally right about you two?”

“Don’t you da-” Jean began to retort, only to be interrupted as the children thumped their way down the stairs.

“Hi Mom!” Rowan said, in the lead of the pack. “Can we go outside?”

“How are you feeling now?,” Jean asked, putting a hand on her daughter’s brow and peering into her eyes. “Any bright spots, pain?”

“A little bit,” the small unicorn admitted, “but I haven’t done any magic stuff and I’m feeling lots better.”

“Sorry sweetie,” Jean said, to Rowan’s intense disappointment. “Any pain or spots at all mean you aren’t fully recovered yet. All it would take is some sunlight shining into your eyes, and you would be right back to square one. Besides, isn’t it still raining?”

“It’s not raining anymore and we’ve been playing board games for hours,” Romy said, backing up her sister. “We’re bored.”

“The rest of you can go out and play, but only the backyard,” Jean said, ignoring Romy’s unintentional pun, before directing her stern look to the two pegasi in the kitchen. “And no getting airborne. At least one hoof on the ground at all times, at least until your parents come back.”

“Yes, Mrs. Pedersen,” Zak and Kya said, in not exactly happy agreement.

“Not you, Billy,” Arnold said, holding up a massive hand. “I’m still not entirely convinced you’re completely okay. You can keep Rowan company.”

“But Dad,” Billy protested instantly, “the Night Horse really did fix me up. I’m fine.”

“About that… ” Father Addison said, before a warning shake of the head from Jean had him changing the subject. “Um, could you see if you could find me some more fruit?”

“Down in the basement, Billy,” Jean said, smoothing her face so the child didn’t notice the expression of relief she’d had that Father Addison had gotten the hint. “I’m fairly sure that after last night you know the way.”

“Yes, Mrs. Pedersen,” Billy said, looking down and scuffing a hoof as the others headed out the door. All except for Rowan, who had noticed the look the batpony priest and her mother had shared.

“Mom… “ Rowan began to say, a questioning note in her voice.

“Rowan, could you go get me the book, please?” Jean asked her daughter, and heir to power. “Make sure you bring it in its box, okay? And no using your magic, you need to keep resting that head of yours.”

“Okay Mom,” Rowan said, turning around and heading to the living room. “Be right back.”

As her daughter left the room Jean turned to a drawer, and pulled out a piece of purple stone on a leather thong. Moving purposefully through her kitchen she then took a mason jar of water that was sitting in the window sill, and placed it in front of the two bat ponies. As the other three adults in the room exchanged curious glances, Jean placed the pointed amethyst crystal near the jar and then from a long pocket of her skirt she drew out a long, striated, milky white rod of some sort of mineral.

“Jean, what are you doing?” Father Addison asked, a hoof reflexively going to the cross around his own neck.

“Trying something,” the woman said. “Please Father, keep your cross out. This, by the way, is my wand. It’s made of pure selenite, and ever since things started happening touching it has been like grabbing onto a live wire. The crystal there is Rowan’s amethyst. She used it when she first triggered the spell that made them into ponies.”

In the meantime, Billy had returned from the basement and silently put a jar of preserves on the counter by his father, trying to be inconspicuous. Rowan also re-entered the room, carrying the box holding the spellbook across her back. She put the book on the table by the jar of water, and looked up expectantly to her mom.

“Rowan, up you go to my room. Billy, please stay with her. Father Addison, when I open the box, please tell me if you see or hear anything unusual,” Jean said, shifting her grip on the rod so that it pointed at the box, then notice the two young ponies being reluctant to leave. “Rowan, I mean it. I want some distance between you two and the book when I try this.”

“Okay Mom,” Rowan said, and headed upstairs with Billy trailing in her wake.

“Very well,” Father Addison said, and not knowing what else to do he held out his cross as far as it would go. “I can’t say that I’m not particularly nervous about this, but as I said before, ‘Your home, your rules.’ I assume you are about to attempt some sort of ritual, what is the water for?”

“It’s blessed water,” Jean said, then at Father Addison’s surprised look added, “Think of it as my version of holy water. Arnold, if anything goes massively wrong, grab the jar and dump the contents all over everything.”

“Sure thing Jean,” Arnold said, picking up the jar and looking through its glass side dubiously.

“Okay, here goes,” Jean said, and with one hand she opened the old box that had held the book. The moment the book was visible, the buzzing tension that Jean had come to associate with “magic” became a series of crackling pops in her ears. At the same time the cozy kitchen became lit with lambent fire in three colours.

Jean’s wand, fourteen inches of slightly curved selenite, glowed with rippling white light in her hand. Rowan’s amethyst point shone with a brilliant violet counterpoint as it sat on the table. Joining them, to Father Addison’s astonishment, was a steady golden yellow that came from the cross he held in his hoof. The three lights seemed to blend together in a harmonious whole that was beautiful as it was unexpected, and it seemed to go on forever.

“My God,” Natasha said, in a shocked tone an eternity later that shook everyone from their trance. “Look outside!”

Eighteen hours earlier, five daring youngsters had given their all to help save their town. Each of them had made a supreme effort during the crisis, and while all five had passed the threshold needed to acquire their cutie marks, only two had done so due to the Tantabus’ work having left gaps. In the same way that supercooled water can stay liquid until it is disturbed, so too did the magic in them need just a small disturbance to trigger the change from blank flank to cutie mark inside of Kya, Zak and Rowan. A disturbance like the small surge of magic Jean and the other adults had inadvertently created.

In the backyard Zak and Kya held hooves as they rose together in an angelic chorus of light and sound. The light surrounded them, enveloped them, became them until only their outlines were visible. Lynn and Ernie Harding had been about to knock on Jean’s back door when the sight of their ascending children brought them to an astonished halt, but Jean Pedersen had no eyes for that.

“Rowan!” she yelled, dropping her still glowing wand on the table and running up the stairs to her bedroom. Bursting through the door to her bedroom, she tripped and fell as she hit a spellbound Billy Kye who had been sitting on the floor in her path. She sprawled out, full length on the floor, just in time for Rowan to land in her arms as the light lowered her to the floor and dissipated.

“Hi Mom,” Rowan said, as she opened an eye to look into her mother’s face from a distance of a few inches. “What happened?”

“I’m not—” Jean began, before Billy interrupted them both.

“You got your mark! You got your mark!” Billy shouted, jumping up and down. “I knew you guys had to get yours too.” Jean looked down her daughter’s yellow furred side and there, standing out in bold relief on her hip, was the image of a medieval shield.

“You okay?” Jean asked her daughter, running a hand over her daughter’s head.

“Uh huh,” Rowan said, enjoying being close to her mother too much to bother trying to get up. “My headache’s gone even.”

“It must have been something from the Night Horse,” Billy said, coming in to hug his friend from the side. “It touched all of us didn’t it?”

“I think you just might be right, Billy,” Jean said, getting up and scooping up her daughter to hug her close. “We better get downstairs and get everyone inside. The neighbors might have seen that light.” Jean made her way down the stairs with Billy close behind in time to see Ernie and Lynn with their children in tow, Romy following.

“Hey Jean,” Ernie said, as he shepherded the children into the kitchen. “The Malinski’s saw the light from the kids, but I told them it was just a reflection off a big mirror and the kids yelling together. They seemed to buy that.“

“Those two have looked the other way from a few strange things in my backyard,” Jean said, with a smile. “They like my wild mushroom soup too much to risk not getting any more.” The others laughed at that.

“Jean, what did we just see, and what were you trying to do just now?” Father Addison asked, now that things had calmed down. “Because, to be honest I could make a good case for that being the Holy Spirit coming down and anointing the kids.”

“I was sort of trying to see if what I’ve been feeling is magic, or what,” Jean said, a little embarrassed. “I was hoping that my wand would be the only thing to react. Sorry, I guess that was a little selfish of me.” Everyone in the room assured Jean she wasn’t being selfish in a mixed chorus.

“No more so than my leaping to claim it being the Holy Spirit. Jean, it’s fine,” Father Addison said, waving away Jean’s worries. “Besides, the fact that all three presented symbols of belief reacted tells me that whatever is behind this, its intentions are benevolent. If they weren’t then the power would have sought to divide us. Instead it has brought us together.”

“Dad! We got our ‘Marks of Power’,” Zak said, excitedly showing off his hip to his parents. There, in contrasting white stood the image of a Thunderbird, a lightning bolt clutched in its talons.

“Marks of Power?” Ernie asked, eyebrow rising. “Just how did you figure that that is what they are.”

“They showed up after we did really huge stuff, just took awhile for me and Kya,” Zak said, nudging his sister until she showed off the dragon now adorning her hips.

“Me too,” Rowan said, wriggling a bit until Jean put the little unicorn down so that she could show off her own marking.

“So that makes all five of the Power Ponies now with emblems,” Arnold said, thinking for a moment. “Does anyone else think it’s interesting that whatever these marks are, they relate to things the kids have done?”

“Definitely,” Natasha said. “This… force or power or whatever it is, it isn’t just reshaping people, it’s letting us shape it as well. Why else would the kids marks be things that are close to their interests or significant events? To add to that, Jean, who is a witch, was made into a unicorn which is a well-known symbol of magic.”

“Hey, I hate to break this up,” Ernie said, gesturing toward the clock. “But me, Arnold and the kids have to get going. Darrell wanted us at the fire hall at five for a debrief on last night.”

“He seemed to know a lot about what was going on, didn’t he?” Arnold asked his friend.

“He said he’d seen us the other day when we were running down the back road,” Romy said, piping up.

“We’re all going with you,” Lynn Harding declared, from where she had begun brushing out her daughter’s mane. “All of us. We need to know what’s going on and it looks like Darrell Montcalm might just have some answers.”

Author's Note

A few notes about politics in this story. As you can tell I'm incorporating real world politics and politicians, mainly because the situations in current BC politics are almost tailor made for a story like this. I will, however, be doing my best to avoid naming actual parties and bringing my own political leanings into this.

The British Columbia Medal of Good Citizenship is a real thing and is giveN to those who, "have served their community with the greatest humility without expectation of reward or recognition." Here is what the medal actually looks like. Note the virtues inscribed on the back.

Things continue to build for our growing crew of ponies and friends. New pieces and ploys have stepped onto the board. Only time can tell what the consequences will be.

As per usual, an unusual amount of thanks to my most beloved editors: Sandstorm94 and Coyotethetrickster. Some folks polish tin foil balls, these two polish my... less than shiny stuff.

Come over and say hi to me and the folks on Damaged's Discord server if you like. Just be ready to link your Fimfiction account and please be aware 18+ only as the chat can and often does venture into adult subjects and language.

Support me if you can on Patreon for as little as a dollar a month. Patreon is probably one of the best things ever for keeping Word Weavers like me in coffee and working keyboards. Some months you folks really do make the difference.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,

and my newest Patron,
Machara, whose Patreon reward will be coming to them in the new month.

Chapter 20: Can't Find My Way Home

The sun was very low as the early spring afternoon began to draw to a close, and its light gleamed off the three vehicles making their way up the hill of Brightly’s main street. The town had a small natural rise at one end, which is where the original founders had decided to establish the nascent community’s town hall and other important buildings. Over the decades, many things had changed about Brightly, but the location of the more important buildings in town had not.

“It’s hot underneath here,” the large lump in the back of Jean’s car said in Rowan’s voice. “Can we get out?

“Almost there, sweetie,” Jean said, driving carefully behind Ernie and Arnold’s trucks. As she drove she could see the havoc the storm had wreaked on the town, but she could also see her community pulling together to clear the debris from streets and yards. “How are the rest of you doing?”

“We’re doing fine, Jean,” Natasha said, from under the blanket as well. “It’s just a little cramped with four of us back here.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re quite ready to show the town their new four-legged residents, are we?” Jean asked without turning her head, as she drove past a chipper that a village crew was feeding fallen branches into.

“Not unless we have to,” Father Addison said in agreement, as he sat on the car floor beside his wife.

“We’re there,” Jean said, a minute later. “Oh, they are waving us in beside the fire truck.” A moment later the car came to a halt, and Darrell Montcalm looked surprised as he rolled down the doors for the firehall’s garage. He and the others had already parked their three vehicles out back, but he had only expected to make room for two vehicles, not three, but then he recognized the face behind the wheel of the third vehicle.

“Jean Pedersen,” Darrell said, coming to the car door. “It’s good to see you again.”

“We need to have a few words, Mr. Mayor,” Jean said, as she got out of her car and opened the back door. Montcalm’s eyes grew wide as the forms of Seeker and Shield Maiden were joined by a pair of dark furred, bat-winged ponies.

“It’s spreading?” Montcalm asked, as the rest of his team joined him among the vehicles. “The letter never said anything about that.”

“What letter?” Ernie asked, Lynn circling around from the far side of the truck with Darter and Skylark at her side.

“Seeker!” Ben yelled, as he came out of the firehall’s small office. Pony and person bounded toward each other, Seeker leaping into Ben’s arms as the young firefighter slid forward on his knees. The two grabbed each other in mid-motion and shared a fierce hug for several seconds, before Ben looked up to see Jean looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Sir,” Jean said, fighting down the corner of her mouth that threatened to quirk upwards. “What are your intentions toward my daughter?”

“Oh… uh, sorry Ma’am,” Ben said, standing up and extending a hand to Jean. “Didn’t realize… Just good friends, Ma’am. Not like that, I mean we’re friends but not…” Jean decided to take pity on the young fireman, releasing her stern demeanor and laughing at Ben’s embarrassment.

“It’s okay, Ben,” Jean said, chuckling. “Romy told us everything. I’m glad that you were there to protect my daughter.”

“What letter?” Ernie repeated, refusing to allow circumstances to divert him from what had sparked his interest.

“Hang on a second, Ernie,” Darrell said, approaching the two new ponies. “Hi, we probably know each other, but if not, I’m Mayor Montcalm. Everyone here knows about ponies and is okay with them. You are safe, no one is going to hurt you, and we won’t tell anyone about this unless you want us to.”

“I’m Father Addison,” the darker of the two ponies said, “my wife, Natasha.”

“Oh,” Montcalm exclaimed, clearly surprised. “Father Addison. Well, I’m glad to see you’re taking this well.”

“About as well as can be expected when an angelic spirit gifts you with a reflection of its form,” Addison said, then he noticed Montcalm’s grimace. “What?”

“That may or may not be accurate,” Montcalm said. “Let’s all go into the break room and I’ll explain. Yes, Ernie, that includes the letter I mentioned.”

The entire fire department, plus seven ponies, plus Lynn and Jean, made for quite a crowd in a break room that was only meant as a place to have coffee and reheat snacks. Thankfully for all concerned, someone had prepared ahead of time by placing all the available chairs around the room's edges with a trio of beanbag chairs in front of them.

“How come there are lights on in here?” Iron Hoof asked, looking around as he settled onto one of the bean bags. By unspoken consent, the bat pony couple shared one chair, Darter and Skylark another, with Iron Hoof, Seeker, and Shield Maiden on the last one.

“We’ve got solar panels on the roof, and a bank of deep cycle batteries,” John Vatten said, bending down to ruffle Iron Hoof’s mane. “We can run all our lights and radio equipment for a full day, just on the battery charge.”

“And that’s before firing up the generator,” Arnold said, smiling.

“Okay folks, settle down,” Darrell said, getting up in front of everyone. “We’ve got a lot to cover and I’d like to get through it before my wife decides to give my dinner to the dog.” People and ponies alike stopped talking and gave their attention to the fire chief.

“First off, I’d like to thank you all for coming, and being exactly the kind of people I’ve come to expect to find in Brightly,” Montcalm paused, a smile touching his lips. “Good people, who give of themselves for their neighbors. People who are friends with each other, no matter what race… or species they are.”

“That almost sounds like you knew this was coming,” Ben said, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Seeker.

“I did,” Darrell said, riding out the outbursts of surprise from the group. “Two weeks ago, I saw the kids here running along Back Road. I didn’t hit the panic button because I, and every mayor of Brightly since the 70s, have been half expecting something like them to come along.”

“So what is it?” Kevin asked, leaning back in his chair. “Secret government experiment? Accidental release of radiation from a misplaced American nuke?”

“Never took you for a conspiracy buff,” Jessica said, sitting on the floor beside the ponies as well.

“Man has to have some secrets,” Kevin replied, with a quick grin.

“Ya, but take it from me, transformations don’t need any sort of super conspiracy or sci-fi technology,” Jessica said, to which Kevin gave a sober nod.

“Folks, we’re getting away from things here,” Darrell said, cutting through more than one conversation that began to start up. “Let me read a letter to you that will hopefully explain a lot. This was written by John Leung, who probably did more to shape our community than just about anyone else.”

“I knew he had to be behind this somehow!” Ernie exclaimed, before subsiding at Darrell’s glare.

To those in the years to come,

I am John Leung, and I have lived nearly my entire life in Brightly. The doctors tell me that soon my life will come to an end but I am not sad at this. I have lived my full measure of time in this world and I am ready to leave it. But before I do so there are certain things I need to ensure are passed on to you, the person reading this letter.

If you are the Mayor, thank you for keeping this trust. The things you are about to read will seem fantastic, even impossible, but they did happen and the proof of them is all around you. Even if you do not believe the story, the endowment trust fund for Brightly in my will is based on you keeping to my instructions. Please continue to do so.

As for the story. When I was a young man I was trapped in a cave-in while working in Number Three Mine. I was trapped, my air was running low, both of my legs were broken and I was slowly bleeding out. With no other hope left to me I began to pray, to my ancestors, to the gods, to whatever power might hear a poor dying miner.

To my astonishment my prayers were answered by a handmaiden of the divine horse of the Jade Heavens, Kanthaka. She took pity on my plea for help, and brought her Mistress to the hole that had come to be between her realm and ours. Together, Kanthaka and her handmaiden sent me fresh air and water through magical gems, as well as fresh food.

It was not enough though as my body itself was still broken and dying. It was then that Kanthaka gave me the greatest blessing of all in exchange for a promise. I agreed to her conditions and in return she blessed me with her form, healing my broken legs instantly. Over the next few days while my fellow miners worked to free me I spoke with the handmaiden. I will not bore you with the details, but hers was a land of beauty and wonder.

The magic Kanthaka used to transform me into a small pony was held in a book she sent me, and I allowed it to finish running its course before I was rescued days later. Over the next three years, I was able to visit the same spot in the mine a few times. Each time I visited I was able to speak with Kanthaka or her handmaiden and they lovingly gifted me with more gemstones.

The stones sent to me were emeralds and rubies of fantastic size and quality. As you can imagine they were the beginning of a vast fortune that I have done my best to use to help those around me. At this time you might put this all down to the ramblings of an old man as he lies on his deathbed, but there are three items that prove my tale.

One, is a ruby I have had set in the cross for our local church. Father Kingsley is something of a humourless sort, so I did not tell him that the gem was made to hold magic from the heavens and push it out as good, clean air. He did not seem to mind being gifted a large ruby, until I told him that under no circumstances was the gem or the cross to be sold or leave Brightly for any reason. Oh, and if you hold it to your lips you will easily be able to feel the air coming off of it, which should prove to you its power.

The second item I have entrusted to the mayors of our town, to be passed down along with this letter to future generations. It is an old mining lamp that I have had refurbished, but instead of a wick and oil there is yet another gem. This one will glow if Kanthaka’s magic is used anywhere near Brightly. It is meant to give you time to prepare, Mr. Future Mayor, for the arrival of another pony, as it will mean that someone has managed to find the third item.

The third item is the book Holy Kanthaka gave me, written in heavenly script, except for the spell it holds on its first page which was written by her own hand. It was lost during the great fire that swept over the Chinese section of Brightly long years ago, and I have established a treasure hunting fund with our new museum in the hopes that one day it will be found. The book was well protected from fire and is likely buried under some rubble somewhere.

Anyone who is close to magic should be able to cast the spell in the book and experience the blessing of Kanthaka’s form. That of a pony, with strengths beyond what any pony should have. For me, it gave me the ability to endure the trials of five days sealed in a cave-in. For others, who knows. If you are reading or hearing these words, future pony of Brightly, I lay on you the same charge Kanthaka laid upon me.

That you use your new gifts generously on behalf of those around you and our town, that you temper your new strength with kindness, dealing honestly with people while bringing them laughter and joy. Do this in loyal service to your friends and your community. Do this and I am certain that Kanthaka will bless your life as she has mine these many long and happy years.

Now, I must close this somewhat rambling letter as I am very tired. I wish you health and long life. Take care of our town, please.

John Leung
April 1973

“Since the letter was written, it has been passed along to every mayor of Brightly,” Montcalm said, as he reverently folded the letter back up. “I can confirm that the lamp in the trophy case in my office does indeed have a very large gemstone hidden inside of it, and that it is glowing softly. As for the ruby however, I’ve tried it and felt nothing, apparently the stone was damaged when the cross fell off the wall during a small earthquake in the 80s, so that might have something to do with it."

“That doesn’t explain why Natasha and I—” Father Addison began, just as the two bat ponies shifted back to human in the blink of an eye.

“Whoa,” Ben said, spinning away from the middle-aged couple who were very human and very naked all of a sudden.

Natasha Adamschek, demonstrating good mental agility, grabbed the beanbag chair she and her husband had been sitting on, yanked it out from underneath him and flipped it up and over them both, giving them some cover. Kevin and Jessica stared in shock for a few seconds and then dashed out of the room, returning less than a minute later with blankets that had been stored in the rescue truck. The Adamscheks gratefully accepted the blankets, wrapping them like grey togas around their bodies.

“Jessica, how close is it to sunset?” Jean asked, taking in the scene in front of her, mind racing.

“Sun is just going down now,” the paramedic replied. “Why?”

“Arn,” Jean said, turning to the big man. “When was it that you first noticed that Billy had changed back from being Iron Hoof?”

“Not sure exactly when it was,” Arnold said, rubbing his chin in thought. “I do know that the birds had woken me with their noise because the sun had just come up.”

“Sunrise and sunset,” Jean said, pausing as she noticed she had drawn the attention of everyone in the room. “Sunrise is a time of new beginnings, sunset is a time of endings. It makes a sort of sense for the transformations to end at a sunrise or sunset.”

“So, there are rules to this?” Lynn asked, a hopeful note in her voice. “Rules that we can figure out and maybe manage this?”

“Most forms of magic, particularly non-harmful ones follow rules,” Jean said, nodding. “It’s generally the harmful ones that run without control, I guess it has to do with their nature.”

“The Old Testament is full of precise rules and guidelines that the Israelites had to follow as part of their worship,” Father Addison said, accepting a cup of water with a nod of thanks. “Rules create discipline and allow one to show respect for God by following them. I would guess that Jean’s rituals allow her to show respect for the beliefs she follows.” A phone began to ring in the building with an odd double chime of its bell.

“Interesting as this is, I’d better get that,” Montcalm said, sliding past people. “That’s the direct line from Emergency Management BC, be right back.” Montcalm left the room and everyone heard him pick up the line and greet whoever was calling before he closed the door of his office.

“Kids, there’s something I’d like to say to you,” Jessica said, with the look of someone who had come to a decision. “Some of you know what I’m about to say, some of you don’t.”

“Jess, you don’t have to—” Kevin began, before Jessica cut him off with a raised hand.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” Jessica said, her voice taking on an odd note. “Last night these kids and their parents became part of our family, and I’ll always do everything I can to help our family.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” Ernie said, tilting his head in curiosity, “but beyond what you’ve already done, how are you able to help? It’s not like you’ve been changed into a pony.”

“But I have been through a transformation, a changing from one sort of person to another,” Jessica said, as she drew herself up. “I was born as a man. As Jesse Harkins. Four years ago I underwent gender reassignment surgery to change myself as fully as possible into a woman.” A ripple of shock went through the group, except for Kevin Banta.

“Jessica told me when we first partnered up,” he said to the others. “Darrell knew as well because that information was on her application to work here.”

“And you kept this a secret?” Ernie said, his voice hard edged.

“I told people what they needed to know,” Kevin said, narrowing his eyes a bit. “What Jessica is doesn’t affect how she does her job.”

“Ernie, is this a problem for you?” Arnold asked, leaning over, concern in his voice.

“Yes… No… I… don’t know,” Ernie said, the hard edged tone from a moment ago dissolving into confusion. “This is just a little hard for me. I was raised to believe that this sort of thing was the Devil’s work, that it was evil and wrong. I’ve tried to put all those things I was raised with behind me, but sometimes it’s hard to change even when you want to.”

“Ernie,” Kevin said, relaxing a little as he realized that his fellow firefighter was making an honest attempt to deal with the revelation. “Did your kids being ponies make them any less able to help us last night?”

“No, it made them better,” Ernie said, before letting out a sigh. “Sorry Jessica. This is something I’m going to have to work on. Can you put up with me being a bit of an idiot about this?”

“No worries, Ernie,” Jessica said, a smile touching one corner of her mouth. “You actually took it better than some people I knew, and while my transformation may not be quite like the kids, it is a transformation and I might have a few insights on how to deal with it.”

“You used to be a guy?” Darter said, looking up at Jessica, eyes wide.

“Yes I was,” Jessica said back, not quite able to quell the nervousness she had. “I wanted you kids to know that if you want to talk about these changes or how they make you feel, or just anything at all about being in a different body, my door is always open.”

“Hey guys,” Shield Maiden said, getting the attention of her fellow ponies. “Whaddya say? Next time we pony up…” She trailed off, tilting her head in Jessica’s direction. The other four broke into smiles and nodded.

“Wait,” Jessica said, frowning a bit. “Are you all talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

“I think they are,” Jean said, with a small laugh. “Apparently the magic has a small area of effect. Last night it caught Lynn and I in it’s effects and we spent the night as ponies as well.”

“How come you weren’t with them last night then?” Jessica asked, still frowning. “Is there a problem with having a new body?”

“Got it in one,” Lynn said, chuckling. “It took us an hour just to figure out how to stand up, and walk—” Lynn and everyone else stopped and looked up as Darrell Montcalm came back into the break room with a serious expression on his face.

“Hey everyone,” Montcalm said, with an expression the firefighters all recognized as his serious look. “That was Emergency Management on the phone, as I thought.”

“Ya, what’s up?” John Vatten, who had been silent through most of the conversation, asked.

“Bit of a mixed bag,” Montcalm said, leaning heavily against a wall. “First off, there will be a Hydro crew here probably late tomorrow. They’ll be assigned to assess the dam, manage it until it's fully repaired, as well as getting all the downed lines back up and running.”

“Oh f… udge,” Arnold said, correcting himself at the last second. “We’re going to have people crawling all over town.”

“It gets better,” Montcalm said, growling slightly under his breath. “Apparently we all made the news, so not only are we going to be having at least two full Hydro crews crawling all over town for an unknown length of time, but we can expect a horde of reporters at any moment asking all sorts of fun questions.” He looked directly at the five ponies in the room.

“Are we gonna make you all in trouble for what we did?” Skylark asked, voice trembling a bit.

“No sweetie,” Montcalm said, bending down to give the pegasus a one-armed hug, “You’re part of the team and the town, and we protect our own. However, to be on the safe side we need you all to lay low until you all change back to being kids again, okay?”

“Okay,” Skylark said, reassured and hugging Montcalm back.

“As for the rest of you, I think it goes without saying that we keep mum about the kids,” Darrell said, spearing each of the other adults in the room with his gaze. “Be friendly, be helpful, but be careful about what you say about last night. As long as we don’t give the reporters anything to dig into, things should blow over like they did in Hartley Bay a few years back."

Good evening, British Columbia. Global News here with your weekend evening news from across the province and the country. Our lead story remains the dramatic events in the small town of Brightly, British Columbia. Where an intrepid band of firefighters braved howling winds and driving rain to save their town.

Global News has also learned that the firefighters had to contend not only with the storm, but at least two decades of neglect to the Carmanah dam and a BC Hydro manager who tried to interfere in the emergency. At one point the manager even ordered the firefighters off the dam in order to reduce BC Hydro’s liability. Had the firefighters obeyed the order their town would have been flooded, and only their determination and the cooperation of a low level BC Hydro employee enabled them to succeed.

We have also learned that an investigation has begun at the highest levels of BC Hydro, and there are rumors that the shocking state of neglect at the Carmanah Dam may have been due to resources being diverted away from maintenance, and toward the massive Site C project in the north-east corner of the province. Sources with the former government had no comment regarding these rumours.

And, in an exclusive only to Global News, our newsroom has managed to obtain dramatic audio of the moments when the daring crew of volunteer firefighters succeeded in saving the dam and their town. In advance, we apologize for the quality of this raw audio.

“33 percent... 35... 38... 41,”
“C’mon kid, One more miracle, that’s all I ask.”

“43... 45... rate slowing now.”
“You can do it, Seeker!”

“Keep going.”
“47... 49... 52 percent! Data link established! Sending commands!”
"Brightly VFD, I am reading a fully closed floodgate here. Can you confirm?”

“Confirmed! Confirm full spillway closure."

Global News will continue to follow this unfolding story of heroism triumphing over government mismanagement. In other news…

Author's Note

So, a couple of notes. First off, the Hartley Bay incident Darrel Montcalm is referring to is the sinking of the Queen of the North. The entire village of Hartley Bay mobilized in the middle of the night and rushed every boat they had to the stricken vessel. All but two passengers were safely rescued.

Second, we finally get a reveal of how the mayor knows so much and a bit more information about how heavily seeded Brightly is with magic.

Also, this marks the 20th chapter of Brightly Lit, and as of a couple of weeks from now this story will have been a part of my life for a year. It's been a very good year.

All hail my mighty editors: Sandstorm94 and Coyotethetrickster. Soon we will have our revenge, and Deathstalker two.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,

and my newest Patron,
Machara

Chapter 21: Towards the Sun

Of all the unicorn mages in Equestria, there was one among them who had gone on to become recognized as the authority on portals and portal magic. Unfortunately for Princess Luna however, Twilight Sparkle was passed out face down, on one of the tables in the library of the Castle of Friendship. Despite the room being brightly lit by candles, the lateness of the hour had defeated the intrepid alicorn, and she now lay on a table snoring softly under close guard by the stacks of reference volumes gathered around her.

The two alicorns had spent a good chunk of the previous night, the past day and deep into the current night researching any possible way to expand the size of the portal so that Luna could pass through it. Every line of research had led to a dead end that promised either the destruction of the portal or the death of Granny Smith and every member of the Apple family in Equestria with her, through magical backlash.

“Sleep, friend Twilight,” Luna said, sighing as she pulled down yet another stack of tomes with her magic. “You have done your best, but it seems the quest may be mine own to accomplish.”

“Oh, we’re all pullin’ for ya,” Granny Smith said, appearing as if by magic at Luna’s side.

“How? Where?” Luna said, sputtering in surprise. “How did you manage to sneak up on me?”

“T’ain’t hard with ya half asleep on yer own hooves,” Granny Smith said, chuckling. “Brought you and Twilight some snacks, but it looks like yer the only one that’s gonna have any.”

“Thank you, Granny Smith,” Luna said, gravely accepting a mug of what smelled like cider and a bag of small somethings. Looking in the bag Luna saw what looked like a large number of beans, if beans came covered in hard candy shells.

“Heh, those are somethin’ Pinkie Pie and Bon Bon put together,” Granny said, at Luna’s look of inquiry. “There were this here bean, and we used to make a kinda tea out of ‘em. Powerful good at keepin’ a pony awake, but they tasted purty bad. So, Pinkie dumped them in chocolate, but the chocolate was getting messy, so Bon Bon went and coated them in candy.”

“Wonderful,” Luna said, shoving a hooffull of the candy and chocolate coated beans into her mouth. “Oh! I see what you mean, Granny. The bean in the center is quite bitter, but acceptable with the candy and chocolate.”

“Heh, Gloaming first found the beans out Arabica way,” Granny said, smiling with the memory. “He’d send the beans to me through the mirror and I’d send him cups of the bean tea back. Said it was a darn shame he couldn’t make himself bean sized and come back that way himself so I didn’t have to send him cups of the stuff one at a time.”

“Yes, I can see how that situation would have been less than ideal,” Luna said, then paused to frown for a moment. The old mare’s words triggered a memory in the lunar princess, but her fatigue muddled brain couldn’t nail it down.

“Somethin’ wrong, Princess?” Granny Smith asked, lifting an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Luna, please,” Luna said, smiling at the elderly mare. “The services of you and your family have more than earned your right to use my name, in private at least.”

“Heh, well thank ya kindly,” Granny Smith said, sipping from her own mug. “This whole thing about tryin’ to see Lee Ung’s kin, seems to have you worked up in a powerful way.”

“It does, Granny,” Luna said, leaning back and washing down another bitter sugary mouthful of beans with the cider. “They brought comfort to my Tantabus in its last moments and to me, the Tantabus was more than family. It was a part of me and I, a part of it. I sent it on the mission which brought about its end, and so it is my responsibility to ensure that it is honoured as it should be. That it was the descendents of the pony you helped makes it even more important to me.”

“Heh, you remind me of Applejack’s friend, Fluttershy,” Granny Smith said, sneaking some of the candy coated beans from the bag for herself.

“Fluttershy?” Luna asked, in confusion, her mind thinking of the timid yellow mare. “Why her?”

“Most folks don’t know it,” Granny said, taking another pull from her mug, “but that mare has a powerful strong sense of responsibility. Even if she does wear her heart on her wing, she’s got a will to get things done that I ain’t seen anypony slow down.”

“You may be right on that. Twilight has written to my sister more than once about the… “ Luna’s voice trailed off as the sugar and caffeine jump-started Luna’s mind and the conversation triggered the memory she’d been after. “That’s it!”

“Don’t wake the castle, Luna,” Granny said, shushing the alicorn, who looked embarrassed by her outburst. “What’s it?”

“Fluttershy wrote my sister a friendship report a while back,” Luna said, her mind now bringing the memory fully to the fore. “There was an incident with the breezies. Twilight changed herself and her friends into breezies so they could fit through the small opening to the cavern where the creatures live. The opening wasn’t much bigger than the hoof mirror. Twilight can do the same for me!”

“Hang on a second there,” Granny Smith said, trying to slow Luna down.

“I can be there in a few minutes,” Luna said, crossing the floor toward Twilight. “She can cast the spell and I can urk.” Luna’s flow of speech was halted as quickly as her forward motion as Granny Smith grabbed onto her tail.

“You ain’t thinking this through yer… Luna,” Granny said, around a mouthful of magical hair. “Now come back, sit down and drink yer cider. Let poor Twilight sleep and I’ll tell you why I cain’t let you go.”

Luna rocked herself back a bit, releasing the tension on her hindquarters and looked back at the old mare archly. There were at least a dozen ways that Luna could break free or remove her tail from Granny’s mouth in an instant, and she knew Granny Smith knew it. That meant that Granny Smith was trying to help her, in her own obstinate way.

The ‘direct approach.’ So very much like her grand-daughter, Luna thought. Aloud she said, “Your reasoning had best be sound, Granny Smith. Elder or not, there is always a warm cot in the dungeon for those who lay hooves on royalty.”

“Sit on back down and lemme say my piece,” Granny said, opening her mouth and letting the starry mass fall free. “Afterwards you can decide if you wanna give me a change of scenery.”

“Fair enough,” Luna said, walking back to the table she had just left. “Tell me why I should stay my hooves from fulfilling my obligation at once.”

“Princess, you ever been a miner?” Granny Smith asked, sliding a fresh mug of cider toward the princess.

“No, but I have visited the dreams of many of them,” Luna said, frowning a bit as she dredged up the memories. “It is a hard life for many, often filled with peril.”

“Darn tootin’,” Granny said, blowing out a sigh. “An’ not to take away anything from ya, but you cain’t really understand what it’s like to be a miner until yer actually in a mine.”

“I see,” Luna said, rubbing her chin in thought and realizing Granny was indeed making a very good point. “Please then, enlighten me.”

“Enlighten,” Granny said, laughing. “That’s a good choice of words to use with the ‘Princess of the Night’.”

“Granny Smith, please?” Luna asked, leaning forward to touch her forehooves to that of the old Earth Pony. “Tell me why I cannot just go through the portal now as a breezie.”

“Sorry, that was jest too funny,” Granny said, apologizing to the the Princess. “Okay, let’s say Twilight makes with the zippity-zap and you go through the portal. What are ya going to find on the other side?”

“Why, the mine, of course,” Luna said, puzzlement in her voice.

“You don’t know that,” Granny Smith said, looking Luna straight in the eye. “That mine’s likely been abandoned fer a long time now. It was a coal mine if memory serves. Coal mines tend to fill up with water, or they fill with gas that goes ‘kaboom.’ You could even pop out right into rock from a cave-in and go ‘splat’ the second you get through.”

“Oh!” Luna exclaimed, her ears going back in surprise. “So you’re saying—”

“I’m sayin’,” Granny said, interrupting Luna, “that if you ain’t careful you could be dead the second you go through. Alicorn or no.”

“That’s what I was afraid you were saying,” Luna said, and her whole demeanor seemed to collapse in on itself. “Granny, I don’t think you have to worry about spending time in the dungeons.”

“Dang,” Granny Smith said, causing one of Luna’s ears to pop back up in surprise, “and here I was hoping for some nice quiet time to catch up on mah knitting.”

“Not this time, Granny,” Luna said, sighing. “Thank you though, for your advice. It seems my trip through is not to be.”

“Oh, don’t go selling yerself short there, Princess,” Granny said, getting off the chair with a popping of her old joints. “It takes four shoes to get a pony shod, after all. You’ve solved one problem, now you move onto the next one.”

“I think perhaps,” Luna said, her mouth yawning wide despite the caffeine infused sugar in her system, “that the next problem can wait until I’ve gotten some sleep.”

“Always knew you alicorns were smart ones,” Granny said, with a small cackle. “C’mon Princess, lets go rest our tired bones.”

With the quiet grace of a stalking panther, Jean Pederson crept into the bedroom her daughters shared. It was a few minutes before the dawn was scheduled to come up and she didn’t want to miss the transformation of her girls back into their human selves. Not that both of them weren’t the epitome of weaponized cuteness, but she wanted to feel her girls arms around her and not pony hooves. The sky brightened outside and the mother of two held her breath in anticipation. As the sun crossed the line of the horizon Jean swore she could feel those first few rays as they stuck the roof of her house.

The sunlight slid down and came in through the window at long last. There was a slight light, a blurring of form and where Seeker had been a moment before, there now lay Romy Pederson. Jean leaned down and lightly touched the forehead of her youngest, smiling. She looked over to where Rowan was sleeping and had to stifle a gasp.

Under the covers Rowan was still the yellow and black form of Shield Maiden, and as Jean watched her daughter breathe over the next minute she realized that for whatever reason, Rowan was remaining a pony. Sighing, she softly ran her fingers over her daughter’s mane, accepting the reality that she had a daughter, that at least for now, was staying as she was. A pony.

Bowing her head, Jean murmured a quick invocation to Epona and The Lady, got up and left her daughters’ bedroom as silently as she entered. She ghosted her way into her kitchen, picked up her phone and swiftly dialed a number. After a long moment she put the landline phone back down, shaking her head. The power was still out and the phones with it, at least until tomorrow when the Hydro crews got to work.
With barely a sound, Jean slipped on her shoes and coat, stepping out into the brisk mid-spring morning. There was still a biting chill, but the clear sky overhead promised that the day would be warm and Jean moved with purpose from her home, across the street and into Arnold’s yard.

“Who the bloody blue blazes,” Arnold muttered, as he woke to the sound of someone pounding on his back door. “I’m sure I’ve got everyone’s jobs done.” With a groan he levered his large frame out of his bed, and putting his feet in slippers he threw on his old housecoat and made his way to his back door.

“Jean, what are you doing here?” he asked, opening the door to see the lithesome frame of his neighbor. “Not that you aren’t welcome, but it’s barely morning.”

“Romy’s a girl again,” Jean said, without preamble, “but Rowan’s still a pony. I was going to call but the phones…”

“Right,” Arnold said, his mind still spinning up to speed. “Come on in.”

Arnold held open the door for Jean and they walked in to his kitchen together. With the motions of long habit he slapped the power switch for his coffee machine, opened up his fridge for a jug of milk and got out a carton of eggs. Jean smiled as she sat down, not bothering to remind Arnold about the power. He’d figure it out sooner than later, and she recognized the habits of someone who was definitely not a morning person.

“I never would have taken you for a bunny slipper person, Arn,” Jean said, leaning back in the comfortable, yet solid kitchen chair.

“Hmm?” Arnold said, and another level of sentience was gained as more of his brain woke up. “Oh, ya. Well, they’re warm and comfortable so, why not?” He frowned for a moment at the unresponsive coffee machine on his counter.

“The power is still out,” Jean said, unable to resist the urge any longer. “You’ve got a gas stove, right?”

“Ya,” Arnold said, his mind at last reaching full wakefulness. “I’ve got an old camp coffee pot too.”

“Tell you what,” Jean said, touching Arnold’s arm. “You go check on Billy and I’ll get the coffee started. Deal?”

“Thanks Jean,” Arnold said, padding through the house toward his son’s bedroom.

He opened the door, went in to the bedroom and came back into the kitchen a few minutes later. Jean had already the gotten the gas stove fired up and running. On one burner, a cast iron frying pan was beginning to heat up, on a second stood the old camp percolator, blue flame blazing merrily beneath it.

“My god,” Arnold said, reverence in his voice as he watched Jean whisk a set of eggs into a bowl, adding some spices with a quick flick of her wrist. “You never did say what kind of witch you were, but I swear it must be ‘Kitchen Witch’.” Jean laughed at the comment, setting the bowl down to get out some coffee mugs in anticipation of the percolator finishing its job.

“There aren’t any particular kinds of us,” Jean said, continuing to put together breakfast. “One of the nice things about being pagan is that there is no set ‘way’ to do it. Just the way that feels right to you. Besides, getting breakfast going for you isn’t anything special. Just me making up for waking you early. How’s Billy?”

“A sleeping angel,” Arnold began, “with hooves. I thought the kids were going to change back.”

“Romy did,” Jean said, reminding him. “I’ve got no clue why she’s been the only one to go back to being a child again.”

“Been over to the Harding’s yet?” Arnold asked, as Jean held her hand over the frying pan to see if it was hot enough.

“Not yet,” Jean said, a roguish smile crossing her face. “I came over here first for some reason.”

“You awake?” Romy asked her sister, nudging a furry shoulder. “You up?”

“I am now,” Rowan said, yawning and looking up at her sister. “What’s the big deal?”

“I’m back to being just a kid again,” Romy said, disappointment clear in her voice. “You’re still a pony.”

“I am?” Rowan asked, holding a hoof up in front of her to confirm that she was indeed, still equine. “Hey, I am! How come?”

“I dunno, wanna go outside and play a bit before Mom makes you stay inside again?” Romy asked.

“Ya, sure,” Rowan said, scrambling her legs to get out of her bed. “Where is Mom anyway?”

“Saw her going across the road to Mr. Kye’s place,” Romy said, as she went to head downstairs. “I bet she was going over to see if Billy was still a pony too.”

“Maybe,” Rowan said, as she descended the stairs at a slower rate than her sister. “I think they might be starting to date or something.”

“Mom and Billy?” Romy asked, incredulous as the sisters headed to the back door.

“No,” Rowan said, rolling her eyes in annoyance. “Mom and Mr. Kye.”

“Huh,” Romy said, slipping on her shoes. “Hey, you don’t need to put on shoes when you’re a pony.”

“Nope, guess not,” Rowan said, heading into the back yard. “Mmm, the sun feels good.”

“It’s nice,” Romy said, then threw a ball to her sister. “Catch!” Rowan didn’t seem to notice, her eyes had become closed with her face turned to the rising sun like a flower. The ball, unstopped by horn or hoof smacked straight into Rowan’s face.

“Ow!” Rowan said, opening her eyes in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Didn’t mean to,” Romy said, apologizing. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Yah, I guess I kinda did,” Rowan said, and she closed her eyes again to face the sun. “Guess I missed being outside after being stuck in the house all day yesterday.”

“You’re acting weird,” Romy said, eyeing her sister suspiciously. “I’m gonna go find Mom.” A short while later, Romy came back with her mother, Arnold in tow behind her.

“It was tho weird, Mom,” Romy was saying as she came around the side of the house to the back yard. “She was just staring up at the sun, and… “

“Hi Mom,” Rowan said, idly kicking a soccer type ball against one of her shields. She looked in confusion at her sister, her mother and Mr. Kye. “Um, what’s up?”

“She looks fine,” Jean said, looking at her older daughter and seeing nothing unusual, or nothing that was new and unusual, in any case. “Arn, you see anything?”

“Looks normal to me. Well, as normal as things get nowadays,” Arnold said, then he looked around behind him. “Hey! Where’s Billy? He was right behind me.” Everyone went over to Arnold, heads swiveling as they peered about looking for Billy.

“There he is!” Romy shouted, pointing to the road. As the two parents followed the line of the pointing hand, they could see the brown furred form of Iron Hoof standing in the middle of the street, his eyes closed and facing the early morning sun with a blissful smile on his face.

“How long until we reach Brightly Harbour?” Shaushka asked the captain of the large flat vessel they were on.

“Figure about seven hours once we get moving,” the man said, peering out across the flat deck of the self-propelled barge. “Longer if the weather doesn’t hold.”

“Is the weather going to be a problem?” Shaushka asked, hugging herself as her imagination painted her a terrifying picture of the vessel she was on trying to weather a storm.

“Shouldn’t be,” the man said, the very epitome of a grizzled sea captain with his hat, greying beard and heavy coat, “but you never assume anything, and you always make allowances for what the sea throws your way.”

“Okay,” Shaushka said, putting her hands back in her pockets. “Anything else I should let my people know?”

“Your lot has been with me before, so they know to stay out of the way of my crew,” the captain said, checking some gauges. “Your first time out?”

“Ya, first time on something other than a ferry, and the first time in charge of a crew like this,” Shaushka said, feeling safe to open up to the captain as it was just the two of them in the wheelhouse.

“Let me give you a couple of words of advice then, if you’ll take them from someone who’s been managing a ship’s crew for a few years now,” the captain said, to which Shaushka gave a nervous nod. “Ride them hard, reward them well, don’t sweat the small stuff, and if someone comes after one of your crew, you back them up all the way. Do that and you’ll have a crew that will follow you into hell and back again.”

“Well, I don’t intend to have them running power lines into hell, but I get your meaning,” Shaushka said, a smile ghosting across her lips. “Anything else?”

“Not really, but if you could do something to get all these float planes out of the way I’d be grateful,” the barge captain said, gesturing to a small air show’s worth of float planes nearby. All of whom seemed to be either getting ready to take flight or loading passengers and cargo.

“Not something I can really do anything about, sorry,” Shaushka said, apologizing. “Is it normal for them all to be clustered around like this?”

“There’s maybe one or two, this time of year,” the captain said, frowning. “There’s at least a dozen out there right now, all waiting to take off.”

“Waiting?” Shaushka asked, puzzled. “For what?”

“Clearance,” the captain said, chuckling at Shaushka’s ignorance of the local area. “‘ZEL’ may not be a big airport, but they are close enough to control seaplanes. So they all have to file flight plans, request take offs, and generally wait until they’re allowed to leave.”

“Huh,” Shaushka said. “Any idea why there are so many planes out there?”

“I’ve got an idea, but why don’t you grab my binoculars there and check the planes out,” the captain said, nodding toward a pair hanging on a hook nearby. “See if I’m right.”

“Okay,” Shaushka said, grabbing the binoculars and focusing on the planes loading cargo and people one at time. Her eyes were filled with the sight of cases and jackets with logos like “BCTV,” “CBC” and “Global News.”

“Those are all news crews,” Shaushka said, and the old captain nodded. “They’re all headed for Brightly.”

“Likely,” the captain said. “Although there is going to be one really funny thing when they all get there that I’m betting none of them planned on.”

“What’s that?” Shaushka asked.

“The only place you can put a float plane down around there is the harbour or Carmanah Lake,” the captain said, smiling broadly now. “Brightly Harbour is five miles from the town itself, and Carmanah Lake is three. I sure hope those folks are up to a nice spring walk with all their gear.”

The laughter of Shaushka and the captain filled the wheelhouse, rivaling the roar of the first plane to get clearance and snarling its way skyward.

Author's Note

You didn't think I was going to make it easy for Luna to get to Brightly, did you?

All hail my undead editors: Sandstorm94 and Coyotethetrickster. I know they are undead, because I had to have killed them with my terrible phrasing at least a few times by now.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
and
Machara.

Chapter 22: Do you Believe in Magic?

The man waved goodbye to the floatplane as it took off from the glass smooth surface of the lake. The pilot cleared the water, gained some altitude and turned around to fly over his former passenger, wagging his wings as he went. The man on the ground was well dressed for the climate in hiking boots, jeans and a medium weight jacket, all of which bore the look of comfortable use. He watched the plane until it disappeared behind the trees and bent down to the two pieces of gear he’d offloaded from the plane.

The first item was a bicycle that looked squished in a strange manner and seemed a little undersized for its otherwise heavy duty construction. The second item was a large, well-stuffed duffel bag that was almost as long as the man was tall. With the confident motions of long practice the man moved parts of the bicycle that had been set on hinges and unfolded it into a proper bicycle’s configuration. A few twists of some levered bolts later and the folding bike was ready for use.

The man shouldered his heavy bag, and instead of riding the bike he instead walked with it away from the lakeshore and towards a small concrete dam. He approached the dam, noting the open gate to its walkways, as well as the muddied surface of the small nearby hill on which stood a metal tower from which a classic radio receiving dish hung from a thick cable.

He paused at the gravel parking lot, considering his options. The dam held his interest, but the hill also promised to have mysteries that needed solving. There was also the paved road, that led to the nearby town. Sooner or later he would have to ride his bike there, for supplies if nothing else, but now was not the time.

The man instead took the fourth option, heading over to a flat area roughly a hundred meters away with a couple of wooden picnic tables and an iron fire pit. A wooden sign read, “Province of British Columbia, Carmanah Lake Provincial Campsite.” Beneath it was a small metal plate that advised passersby that campsite reservations could be made through a government website.

Smiling, the man carried his load to one of the two marked campsites and dropped his bag heavily onto the damp grass. Leaning the bicycle to one side, he dug out a large, bulky satellite phone with the letters “CKNW” stamped on the back from his jacket pocket, powered it up and dialed a number.

“Hey boss, I’m onsite at the dam,” he said into the device, from which could be heard some answering babble. “Trust me, everyone is going to be swarming over the town, trying to interview the fire department. They’ve all forgotten about what started this mess in the first place. I’m going to have a ringside seat when the Hydro crews get here to start work, and I’ll be able to watch and record everything that goes in and out of that dam.”

“I’m just setting up camp now, and legally this counts as my duly rented home for the next two weeks, so they can’t kick me out even if they try,” the man said, after a long burst of questioning babble from the phone. ”Well… it’s close enough that the station’s lawyers can tie it up for weeks in the courts if we need to. Anyway, there’s no one here. Not a surprise considering the Hydro crews aren’t even supposed to make it to town for another six hours or so. Once I’m all set up I’m going to have a look around, see what I can find before anyone has a chance to cover anything up.”

“Kya and Zak are back to being completely normal kids,” Ernie said, over lunch at the current meeting of the Pony Parents Society. “You would never know they had been anything other than kids.”

“Same with Romy,” Jean chimed in from the side, looking a little harried. “She’s back to being my perfectly normal little girl. Rowan’s still a unicorn though. I thought we had this figured out.” The mature woman hung her head, sighing heavily.

“It’s not your fault Jean,” Arnold said, rubbing his hand up and down Jean’s back. “It’s like a new engine without a manual. You aren’t going to know everything at once.”

“But I’m supposed to know these things!” the long-haired woman exclaimed. “I’m the witch here. I’m supposed to be in touch with the Goddess so that she can reveal these things to me.”

“You’re supposed to know how kids turn into adorable ponies and back again?” Lynn asked, gentle sarcasm in her voice. “I didn’t know being a witch made you know everything.”

“I… kids… ARGH!” Jean sputtered out in frustration, before falling back onto the couch she was sitting on, putting her hands over her face. The other three adults in the room shared a good natured chuckle over Jean’s obvious problems with her lack of ability to predict that two of their children had remained as ponies.

“It’s nice to see you can be as perplexed about this as the rest of us,” Ernie said, sipping a cup of coffee. “Does anyone have any idea why Billy and Rowan kinda zoned out for a bit in the sunshine?”

“No,” Arnold said, frowning a bit. “Both he and Rowan were like that for about twenty minutes. They weren’t completely out of it, but they both really wanted to stay in the sun. I asked Billy about it afterward, and all he could say was that the sun ‘felt good’.”

“Huh,” Ernie grunted out, his own brow furrowing as he worked out the implications. “I actually might have an idea what’s going on.”

“What is it?” Jean asked, her head shooting up to look at the farmer opposite her, a note of desperation in her voice. “Tell me.”

“Nope,” Ernie said, shaking his head. “If I’m wrong you’ll just be more disappointed. If I’m right then things should be fine tomorrow.”

“Dear,” Lynn said, putting her hand on her husband’s knee as she noticed Jean’s eyes turn to agates, “are you sure you want to torture our friend, our neighbor, the one who can do honest-to-God magic, like that?”

“Don’t want to raise any false hopes,” Ernie said, before looking toward the afore-mentioned witch. “Besides, I’m confident Jean won’t turn me into a toad just for making her wait to see if I’m right.”

“Fine, you win,” Jean said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “But either way, you tell me tomorrow what you’re thinking is the reason, okay?”

“Deal,” Ernie said, just managing to suppress a laugh. “Other than that though, everyone seems to be doing okay.”

“Yeah, I’m just wondering how much we’re going to have to hide the kids,” Arnold said. “Thanks for letting them goof around in your addition.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lynn said, waving a hand. “It was initially meant as an oversized rec room anyway, and besides, it’s our turn to have you all over for dinner.”

“Thanks Lynn,” Jean said. “I’d been wondering how creative I was going to have to be to sneak Rowan back home. What with the reporters all on their way here. When were they expected to show up?” Everyone in town had heard planes going by for the past hour or so.

“Sometime today,” Arnold said, just as a knock echoed throughout the room from the front door. Everyone stopped and froze for a moment, looking at each other.

“You don’t think?” Jean asked, looking at Arnold with a raised eyebrow.

“Can’t be,” Lynn said, shaking her head. “Ernie, do you mind?”

“On it, dear,” Ernie said, getting out of his recliner and making his way to the front door. Opening it he saw the lean figure of Jessica Harkins dressed casually in jeans and denim jacket standing in front of him.

“Hey Ernie,” Jessica said, and Ernie could pick up a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Chief sent me by. He asked if we could all be at the station in an hour.”

“Come on in for a few,” Ernie said, opening the door wide and stepping a bit aside to make room through the doorway.

“You sure?” Jessica asked, clearly torn between going in and being cautious. “I don’t want to push or anything.”

“Jessica,” Ernie began, smiling, “we’re fine. We’ve worked together for years and that little revelation of yours just took me by surprise a bit. Don’t expect me to start using all those weird pronouns though.”

“Oh?” Jessica replied, stepping inside and seeing the other three in the living room.

“Yup,” Ernie said, and he could see the others paying careful attention while trying to look like they weren’t paying attention. “I’ve always known you as Miss Jessica Harkins, and that’s the way I’m gonna keep thinking of you.”

“Thank you,” Jessica said, “that means a lot to me.”

“No problem,” Ernie said, leading Jessica into the living room. “Did you want to go say hi to the kids? Billy and Rowan never changed back.”

“Who?” Jessica asked, confused for a moment.

“Iron Hoof and Shield Maiden,” Arnold supplied, putting aside his drink.

“Oh!” Jessica said, linking the names to the faces she knew. “Any idea why all of them didn’t change back?”

“We’ve just spent the past hour going around the room trying to figure it out,” Arnold said, as Jean pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Any ideas?” Jessica asked, looking over at Jean.

“No, I don’t know, I have no idea, and the only person who maybe has an idea won’t tell me until tomorrow,” Jean said, almost growling the words out.

“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong,” Ernie said, spreading his hands wide. “Anyway, apparently Montcalm wants us at the station in an hour, guess the reporters finally made it into town. I’ve got to grab a couple of things. Arn, can you take Jessica to see the kids?”

“I’m bored,” Zak said, drawing out the word until it was a siren’s wail. He and his friends had been cooped up in the long extension off the main house since early morning. “I wanna go outside and do something.”

“Go ahead, Zak,” Billy said, lying down on the floor while Zak’s sister Kya braided his mane. “At least you can go outside. Me and Rowan are stuck here, at least until the sun goes down anyway.”

“Sorry about that,” Zak said, deflating a bit. “Not fair for me to complain is it?”

“It’s okay,” Billy said, nodding and almost pulling his partly braided mane out of Kya’s hands.

“Sit still,” Kya admonished, weaving a green ribbon into the braid she had created with the orange streak in her friend’s otherwise yellow mane.

“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” Billy said, wincing at the occasional tug Kya gave his mane as she worked.

“You agreed to do this so Romy and Kya would have something to do,” Rowan said, as she lay a few feet away while her sister worked on the third braid she was making in Rowan’s tail.

“I know,” Billy said, doing his best to keep his head and neck still. “I still wish we knew why you and me didn’t change back.”

“Have you tried turning the magic off and on again?” Romy asked, securing the braid she was working on with an elastic. “That works with a lot of stuff.”

“This isn’t my dad’s computer,” Zak said, rolling his eyes. “This is magic we’re talking about. How would we turn it off and on anyway?”

“We could always try redoing the spell?” Kya offered, her voice just above a quiet whisper.

“What?” Rowan asked, her head coming up fast. “Redo the spell? Like cast it again?”

“Hey, ya!” Billy said, trying to move only his eyes as Kya worked on finishing off the tight braid. “Cast the spell again. Worst thing is nothing happens.”

“But we don’t have the book,” Rowan said, in protest and giving her now fully braided tail a flick. “Mom went and locked it in the cupboard after the other night.”

“Besides, I'm a moron,” Billy said, holding his head against the pull on his braid. “I forgot we already tried that back when we first became ponies, remember?”

“That was before,” Romy said, warming to the idea. “Rowey’s way better with magic now, and that was before the Night Horse too.”

“And you remember the words, right?” Zak asked, leaning forward, “And hey, if it turns the rest of us into ponies again at least we’ll be ponies together.”

“Like we’re supposed to be,” Kya said, a gentle smile on her face as she placed the final knot in the securing ribbon.

“I guess I could try… “ Rowan hedged, looking to the others. One by one each of her friends nodded their assent. “I mean, if you’re all sure.”

“We are,” came the agreement from her four friends, gathering close.

“Okay then,” Rowan said, drawing on the power around her and focusing her vision and mind on her amethyst pendant. “In nomine Sol…”

“So, did Darrell actually send you or did you volunteer?” Arnold asked Jessica, as they left the living room to go down the long hallway to the addition.

“Bit of both,” Jessica said, following the much larger man. “I needed a break for an hour or two from the clinic.”

“Been busy?” Arnold asked, concern in his voice.

“Not really,” Jessica replied, as they neared the end of the hallway. “But when you’re the closest thing… do you hear something?”

“FACTI SUNT NOBIS!”, Rowan’s voice thundered, from the room ahead in a voice far beyond the volume of what someone her age should be able to manage.

“Crap,” was all Arnold had time to say, as an iridescent wall swept toward, over and through him, and he felt himself going down in a tangle of legs.

“ROWAN AMELIA PEDERSEN! What have you done?” Jean’s voice came from the living room and Arnold could hear steps running toward him.

He tried to get up, but his legs weren’t working right for some reason. Whatever it was coming towards them was getting closer, he had to get up. He HAD to. Arnold tried to get up again, his legs flailing. His vision was filled with a confusing blur of light and dark, hair from somewhere got in his eyes and he tried tossing his head to clear it. His misguided neck muscles drove his head into the nearby wall, and the world seemed to slide away as a roaring filled his ears.

Distant shouts came to him and something landed on his side. Panic lent strength to Arnold’s legs and he tried surging upwards through the confusion and fog filling his mind, only to be betrayed by his lack of coordination. His legs, too many legs, tangled in each other and Arnold fell heavily to his side again despite his barely having gotten off the floor. Something was grabbing at his legs trying to trap him, and he blindly kicked out.

“Stay down, Arn!” Ernie said, trying to stay atop the equine form of his panicking friend. “Someone grab his legs before he puts another hole in the wall.” Ernie and Lynn had dealt with panicking animals before, but never in such close quarters and a shot of fear for his friend went through him even as he saw Lynn drag the ponied shape of Jessica clear of the melee.

Arnold Kye didn’t hear any of this. The confusion of suddenly being a pony, combined with the blow to his head had reduced him to a simple state of raw power and determination. He could hear someone telling him that he was okay, but that voice was distant and unimportant compared to the driving need he had to accomplish his goal of standing up.

Then something covered his head, and everything disappeared into a soothing blackness. He took a panicked breath and inhaled the familiar scent of herbs, flowers and pine needles. He knew that scent, he knew who it belonged to and as the image of that person came to his mind he heard a voice in his ear working its way through his mental fog.

“Arnold, it’s okay,” Jean said, into the ear of the night black equine against her as she held her jacket over his face. “I’m here, you’re safe.” She kept repeating it like a mantra, and slowly she felt the muscular form against her relax and stop its frenzied struggles. She risked a glance upward and saw the horrified looks of Rowan and the kids, all five of them ponies again. Rowan looked like she was either about to throw up or burst into tears, maybe both.

“Is my dad gonna be okay?” Billy said, his face stricken.

“Billy?” Arnold said, his voice muffled by Jean’s jacket and coming back to his senses.

“You with us again?” Jean asked, peeking into the jacket and seeing an equine eye looking back at her.

“I’m good, you can let me up,” Arnold said, twitching his legs, “and maybe let go of my legs at least?”

“Sorry Arn,” Ernie said, letting go of his friend’s legs that he had folded up against his body to rob those strong legs of much of their power. “You’ve got quite the kick on you.”

“You aren’t getting up yet, Arnold,” Jean said, taking the jacket off Arnold’s head with slow care. It was obvious she was ready to slap the improvised blindfold back on in an instant if she had to. “You aren’t ready yet.”

“Yes Ma’am, I’ll be good,” Arnold said, twisting his head to look over at Billy. “I’m okay, son. How’s Jessica?”

“I’m okay,” Jessica said, from back up the hall. “I see what you meant about not being able to control things right away.” For some reason Arnold couldn’t fathom, Jessica sounded happy, even giddy.

“I’m really, really sorry, Mr. Kye,” Rowan said, and the tears were flowing now at the chaos she had accidentally caused. “We just wanted to see if doing the spell again would make us kids again. We didn’t mean... “

“Is everybody okay?” Lynn asked, interrupting Rowan’s confession of guilt. In turn, everyone spoke up that they were a bit bruised, but otherwise in good health.

“It was an accident,” Arnold said, looking Rowan directly in the eye and feeling more control come over his motions now. “Everyone’s reasonably okay.”

“My wall took some hits though,” Ernie said, rubbing his belly. “So did my gut. One thing is for sure Arnold. We are never putting shoes on your pony form. I’d hate to see what you could do with a steel shod hoof.” Rowan visibly gulped and looked ready to burst into tears again, despite her friends trying to comfort her.

“Ernie, I think we should move this discussion to your addition?” Jean asked, still keeping a hand against Arnold’s side as she took a moment to take in his equine form. His fur was a rich glossy black that seemed to drink in the light, while glistening with brilliant highlights at the same time. Long strong legs with unshorn fetlocks held up a body covered with well-defined muscle and a deep powerful chest. His tail and mane were ebon waterfalls, long and rippling, and Jean had to resist the urge to start running her hands through them.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Ernie said, bending over to scoop Jessica off the floor with a grunt of effort.

“Rowan, would you please lift and carry Mr. Kye over to where you and your friends were sitting,” Jean said, and Romy’s eyes went wide at her mother’s tone of voice. Jean’s voice was as polite and calm as anyone could have wished, but it was also as inflexible and hard as a mountain range.

“Yes, Mom,” Rowan said, in complete obedience and an orange glow covered her small horn as a glowing platform appeared below Arnold lifting him smoothly upward.

“Jean?” Lynn asked, touching her friend’s arm in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lynn,” Jean said, not noticing her friend flinch away from that same polite, hard tone. “I just need to reacquaint my daughter with the Three-fold Law.”

“Three-fold Law?” Ernie asked, carrying Jessica, whose own transformation had changed her into a cream coloured pegasus with half white and half red feathered wings, with a red and blue tail.

“I’ll explain once we’re all settled,” Jean said, following the kids and Arnold back into the addition. It took only a minute or so for everyone to find a spot to sit in the large room, and either by coincidence or intention Rowan wound up in sitting a couple of feet in front of her mother. For her part Jean sat cross-legged on the floor, the black form of Arnold lying against her and as she propped him up her hands idly ran through his mane.

“Mom, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Rowan said, looking up at her mother with hurt in her eyes. “We were just trying to make all of us to be either kids or ponies again.”

“I understand that,” Jean said, and her voice began to return to the warmth everyone normally associated with it. “For the sake of everyone else here, what is the Three-fold Law?”

“That whatever you send out, comes back to you three times over,” Rowan recited with the cadence of long held memory. “If you send out good, good comes back to you and yours. If you send out bad, bad comes back.”

“So, karma?” Arnold asked at her side, and Ernie took the moment to lean Jessica up against Jean’s other side so that she had a pony on either side of her.

“Karma is one way to put it,” Jean said, taking a deep cleansing breath. “Rowan, you’ve done the spell three times now. The first time was by accident, the second was with the intent to do good, this time though… Your intent was to help yourself, wasn’t it?”

“Y-yes,” Rowan stammered, feeling very much on trial. “I just wanted us all to be together. I didn’t mean Mr. Kye or Miss Harkins to get caught up in it.”

“Three-fold Law, Rowan,” Jean reminded her. “You put your will out into the world with an intent for everyone around you to be ponies, and the universe answered you with ponies.”

“Oh,” Rowan said, crestfallen and looking back and forth at the furred forms of Jessica and Arnold added, “I’m sorry.”

“Intent shapes magic,” Jean said, and she held out the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Arnold. “Come here.” Rowan needed no further urging and leapt into her mother’s hug.

“I’ll make it up, Mom,” Rowan said, burying her face in her mother’s chest. “What can I do to make it better?”

“Two things,” Jean said, smiling down to let her little unicorn girl know she was forgiven. “First, I want your promise that you won’t cast that spell again without my direct approval. Second, you will help Miss Harkins learn how to walk and move while she’s a pony.”

“We’ll help too!” Zak chimed in, wearing the pegasus form of Darter. “We convinced Rowan to do the spell, we should help too.”

“Lynn, Ernie, is that okay with you?” Jean asked, tilting her head to look behind her.

“Sounds good to me,” Lynn said. “Ernie, what about you?”

“I think it's appropriate,” the farmer said, and then everyone heard a chuckle come from him. “You realize of course, that I have to go to the firehall, by myself and explain that two members of the fire crew are now feeling a little hoarse.” Pillows and cushions flew, and Ernie wisely fled back to the kitchen.

“Were you really that mad at Rowan?” Arnold said, under his breath so that only Jean could hear him. All eyes were currently focused on the middle of the room, where Darter and Skylark were holding up Jessica’s wings from either side and showing the new pegasus how to move her wings, one at a time.

“Not really,” Jean murmured back, her left hand running constantly through Arnold’s mane. It was just as soft and silky as she imagined it would be. “But I had to impress on her how seriously she has to take her… our new abilities. She doesn’t know the danger she’s in now.”

“Danger?” Arnold asked, lifting his head which he now had under full control. “How is Rowan in danger?”

“When Lynn was pulling Jessica clear, I got a good look at her underside,” Jean said, emphasizing the pronoun.

“Her?” Arnold asked, catching the emphasis. “But she’s post-op, didn’t they give her a… um, parts?“

“She hadn’t gotten that far yet,” Jean said, leaning close to whisper in Arnold’s ear. “But she has one now.”

“But that would mean—” Arnold began, his eyes wide in astonishment.

“Ya,” Jean said, nodding. “Now you know why I said what I did, about intent shaping magic and why Rowan is in danger.”

“But Rowan isn’t old enough to really understand those concepts,” Arnold protested. “There’s no way she could have intentionally done what the magic did.”

“Intent shapes magic,” Jean said. “I’ve got a feeling that the spell reaches out to a person’s hopes and dreams to shape them in the way that they think they should be. Zak and Kya can fly like they’ve always wanted to. I became a unicorn. Romy can see things a different way than everyone else does, while still remaining grounded. You’ve become powerful and strong. Intent, hopes, dreams.”

“And Rowan’s magic affects the world around her, as opposed to just herself. She can make shields, she can transform people,” Arnold said, nodding. “She has the power to do a lot of good, you know.”

“And the power to do a lot of harm, especially by accident,” Jean said, the feel of dark fur under her hand giving her a sense of calm. “I have to admit that when I felt the magic fire up and saw it coming toward me, I panicked a little bit. Fun as being a pony is, I was glad the spell stopped short of the rest of us.”

“And some folks might do more than feel a little fear. They might get down right terrified,” Arnold said, a smile crossing his equine muzzle. “So, that’s why you made her promise you not to cast the spell again, and why you hammered down the Peter Parker Principle to her.”

“The what?” Jean asked, her eyes narrowing as her hand glided over the black silk covering Arnold’s side. “That I have to make sure that Rowan respects me as much as Peter respected his Aunt May?”

“No, come on. You know what I mean,” Arnold said, something like a snicker coming from him. “Say the words.”

“Fine, ‘With great power comes great responsibility’,” Jean said, rolling her eyes. “Happy now?”

“Yup, but I have one other question though,” Arnold said, and Jean could hear an odd cross of humour and confusion in his voice. “Jean, are you… petting me?” Jean’s hand froze in place, deep in the midnight tresses of Arnold’s mane.

“Maybe.”

Author's Note

Upping the tension a bit here as some of the potential dangers of being able to transform people into ponies are realized. You can bet the adults are going to be having a lot of talks about this.

All hail my editors of evil: Sandstorm94 and Coyotethetrickster. Theirs is the strength of ten, for their hearts are pure... something.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
and
Machara.

Chapter 23: 9 to 5

“So after we made our way past the fallen trees, all we had to do was just get the tower back up and then the folks at Hydro were good enough to get the dam running again,” Montcalm said, trying not to grit his teeth. So many reporters had shown up, he had been forced to turn the simple interview into a full blown press conference and move the whole thing into the vehicle bay.

“It was a lot more than that, wasn’t it?” one reporter asked, his mike thrust outward. “What about the fight with the manager at BC Hydro?”

“There were some difficulties, yes,” Montcalm admitted, trying not to let his frustration show. He had to work with BC Hydro, and he wasn’t about to throw them all under the bus just because of one idiot. “We managed to resolve the situation, that’s the important thing.”

“Do you have any comment about the state of repair of the Carmanah Dam?” asked another reporter.

Oh, you people are just waiting for me to blow my temper, aren’t you? Montcalm thought to himself, aloud all he said was, “Well, there are a few disadvantages in living in one of the last great coastal rain forests. Among which is that sometimes things don’t get maintained as much as we would like them to be. BC Hydro has a repair team on the way, and I’m sure they’ll get everything squared away.”

Brian Cummins studied the mayor intently. So far, for someone who was the mayor of a town at the end of nowhere he was playing the game like a seasoned pro, giving responses that seemed like substantive answers without actually giving him and his fellow reporters anything to work with. Brian had broken the original story about the radio transcript and that bit of work had won him the lead spot here. It was time to show Global that they had sent the right person for the job.

“Brian Cummins, Global News,” he said, when Montcalm pointed to him. “Who’s Seeker?”

“What?” Montcalm asked, blinking at the non-sequitur as the other reporters turned to look at Brian or start checking their notes.

“On the leaked radio transcript you can be heard saying, ‘C’mon kid. One more miracle, that’s all I ask’ and a moment later someone else yells out ‘Come on, Seeker. You can do it.’ A minute or so after that the connection with the dam was made, telling me this Seeker individual 'did it',” Cummins paused for a moment. “So, I’d like to know who ‘Seeker’ is and if we could ask them some questions?”

Montcalm froze and his sudden “deer in the headlights” look was everything that Cummins could have wanted. He knew that there was some sort of story there, and a deeply personal one to the mayor at that.

“It’s a callsign,” said another man leaning in across Montcalm to speak. “We used to use them all the time but then we switched to just using our names. Sometimes when things get stressful we slip back into old habits. That’s all.”

“The question stands, sir,” Cummins said, recognizing the man speaking from his background documents as Ernest Harding, who was listed as the fire department’s entry specialist. “Who is Seeker? I’m sure everyone would like to talk to the po… person who saved the dam.”

“Um, they are… that is...” Harding said, searching for the right words to say.

“They aren’t here today,” Montcalm said, motioning Ernie to step back beside Kevin. “A few members of our team are feeling a little under the weather and are home resting. Next question please.”

“Could we at least get their name, for our articles?” Brian asked, every news instinct screaming at him even while a part of his mind mocked him for almost saying “pony” for some reason, in place of the word “person.”

“Their name?” Montcalm asked, eyes narrowing as he looked at the nosy reporter. “I told you, they are home resting. When they are up to taking questions, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with their details. Until then, I’ll thank you to not bother my people until they are feeling better.”

It was at that moment that the special phone in Darrell Montcalm’s office chose to ring again. The reporters looked at each other in surprise as the odd double ring carried throughout the building and was echoed by a the buzz of a pager at Montcalm’s waist.

“Sorry folks, I have to get that,” Montcalm said, silently thanking all the gods for the timely interruption. “That’s the direct line from Emergency Management BC, and I’m sure they have some important information for me.” He, and the other four members of the department that were present turned and walked away towards Montcalm’s office, leaving the reporters in their wake.

“That was some quick thinking, Ernie,” Ben said, closing the door of Darrell’s office behind him and shutting the reporters out. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack when that one guy started asking about Seeker.”

“Hold up, people,” Montcalm said, holding up a hand for silence. “I really do have to get this.” The other men in the room quieted as their chief picked up the emergency phone from its charging cradle, and hit the “Accept” button.

“Brightly VFD, Chief Montcalm speaking,” Darrell said, into the phone.

“Mr. Montcalm, it’s good to hear your voice. I’m not sure if you recognize mine though,” a pleasant sounding man said from the other end.

“Mr. Premier,” Montcalm replied, and the rest of the men in the room all stood up straighter as they realized who was on the line. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You and your team demonstrated some of the best qualities of British Columbians recently,” Premier Horgan said. “I know that in the past, Victoria has seemed to ignore the great efforts and sacrifices you and yours make for those around you. So, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for your service. Both as Mayor and as Fire Chief for Brightly.”

“Well, thank you very much, sir,” Montcalm said, pleased in spite of himself. “I’ve got a good team of people backing me up. I couldn’t have done it without them.”

“That sort of lifting others up is why I nominated you and your team for the British Columbia Medal of Good Citizenship,” Horgan said, and Montcalm could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve been told by the Lieutenant Governor that the award has been approved for you and your team. I’d like to come up on Sunday, and present you folks with the recognition you deserve for your actions.”

“Sunday should be fine, Sir,” Montcalm said, and as his eyes landed on Ernie Harding he thought back to those desperate moments on the hill at the dam, and of Ernie’s two children in the skies above. “Sir, can I ask you a favor?”

“Depends what it is,” Horgan said, intrigued. It wasn’t often that someone asked for a favour so directly. Usually there was a lot more give and take about this sort of thing, but mutual benefit was often how the best and most enduring political alliances were formed.

“Sir… we weren’t alone out there,” Darrell said, and he saw Ernie’s eyes go wide. “We had some civilian auxiliaries with us and to be honest, we couldn’t have done what we did without them.”

“Okay, I’m assuming that there is some sort of complication with them,” Horgan said. “Otherwise you would have already given me their names to add to the list for the medal.”

“They’re underage,” Montcalm said. “We deputized them properly into the fire department after they pretty much made sure we had to take them with us, but they’re all kids.”

“I’m fine with adding them to the list of recipients, but there’s more to it, isn’t there?” Horgan said, pressing.

“Yes sir, there is,” Montcalm said, wondering what this was going to cost him. “For one thing, their names can’t be in the public record. At least not yet.” Montcalm could almost see the premier’s eyebrow go up over the phone.

“Secret heroes, eh?” Horgan asked, then chuckled briefly. “The Lieutenant-Governor isn’t going to be terribly pleased about that, but I think I can find a way to convince him to sign off on it. Was there anything else?”

“Yes, Mr. Premier, there is,” Montcalm said, taking a steadying breathe, “but that will have to wait until you get here… and have a private meeting with the five young people in question.”

“Five is it? And a secret meeting on top of it,” Horgan said, musing. “You know, I’ve been needing someone to spearhead a proposal at the next meeting of the UBCM.” Which was the premier’s way of letting Montcalm know what the price would be for what he was asking for.

“Sounds interesting, Mr. Premier,” Montcalm said, swallowing as he realized how deep the waters he was in were. “I would be happy to go over the proposal with you while you were here and offer some feedback.” Which was Montcalm’s way of telling Horgan that he would be willing to pay that price for his people.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of work to do Mr. Mayor, so I’ll let you get to it,” Horgan said, both intrigued and pleased at how the phone call had gone. “I’ll see you on Sunday then. Peter from my staff will contact you later with the details. Oh, one last thing. Make sure you have Jessica Harkins at the award ceremony, we’d like to give them some extra recognition from their community.”

“Yes, Mr. Premier,” Montcalm said, realizing what Horgan’s other agenda had been. “I’ll make sure they are present. Goodbye.” A split second after he pressed the “End” button on the phone, Ernie exploded at him.

“What do you think you are doing?” Ernie shouted, causing Ben to peek out the door to make sure all the reporters actually had gone. “How dare you play politics with my kids!”

“Calm down for a minute and listen,” Montcalm said, to the angered father of two. “We have to tell Horgan about the kids.”

“What?” Ernie asked, barely keeping his voice under control. “In God’s name, why?”

“This oughta be good,” Kevin murmured.

“Not helping, Kevin,” Montcalm said, before looking back over at Ernie. “Seriously, I didn’t have a choice. I’m not happy with it, but it had to be done.”

“Darrell, I’m giving you one chance to explain yourself,” Ernie said, with the voice of a man holding a dozen demons on the end of a fraying leash. “And you better make it a good one.”

“Allright, Ernie. Hear me out at least, before you do something you regret,” Montcalm said. “The pony thing is spreading. If it was just the kids, we might be able to contain it and keep it hidden. At least enough so that those kids can live somewhat normal lives.”

“Okay, I’m with you so far,” Ernie said, calming and considering his mayor’s words.

“Like I said, the pony thing is spreading.” Montcalm said, leaning back in his chair. “First the kids, then Mrs. Pedersen and your wife, then the Adamscheks, and now Jessica and Arnold. On top of that, there seems to be a tendency starting up for people, once they become ponies, to stay as ponies.”

“But they’re still people,” Ernie said, stabbing a finger towards the ground. “Good, decent people.”

“That they are,” Montcalm said, nodding in agreement. “But not everyone is going to take things as calmly as we are. To be honest, I’m wondering if some of whatever is enabling these transformations is also helping us mentally adapt to all this.”

“This is Brightly. We take care of our own here,” Ernie said, defiance in his voice.

“Damn straight,” Ben said, moving to stand beside Ernie. “If I thought, even for a moment, that someone wanted to hurt Seeker. They wouldn’t be a problem for long.”

“Easy there, Tex,” Kevin said, as he leaned against the wall. “I think what the mayor is driving at is that folks outside of Brightly might not react like we have. They might get worried, they might get scared, and scared people do stupid things.”

“And scared governments can do even worse things,” Montcalm said, nodding. “We’ve all seen the politics down south over the past few years. Can you imagine what would happen if this had happened in America?”

“Area 51,” John Vatten said, and heads turned toward the quiet man who had dared Death to just try to take Iron Hoof. “Men in Black, cover ups, and those kids would disappear, never to be seen again. Unless of course they didn’t get gunned down by someone first.”

“Right,” Montcalm said. “The big difference between Canada and the US, is that we tend to talk things to death before we do anything. If we can get the Premier on our side now, working with us… If we can make him understand that those kids, and anyone else who, ‘ponifies’ I guess the word would be; if we can make him understand that ponies can be a valuable part of the province and not something to be feared we have a real good shot at making this all normal.”

“What guarantee is there that he won’t push the panic button, and have the RCMP and the army here as fast as he can?” Ernie asked.

“Horgan won the election only just,” Montcalm said, smiling. “And that only because the Green Party formed a coalition with him, and the Green Party are—”

“Environmentalists,” Ben said, loudly as he smacked a fist into a palm. “There’s no way they would let cute little ponies be harmed or exploited.”

“Bingo,” Montcalm said. “He needs the Greens, which means even if he wanted to he has no choice but to play nice. On top of that, my getting into a quid pro quo with him makes sure that we don’t have to worry about him deciding to take chances.”

“Sorry, Darrell,” Ernie said. “You knew what you were doing, again.”

“Don’t be sorry, Ernie,” Montcalm said, getting up and clapping the man on the shoulder. “Those are your kids. I don’t blame you one bit for worrying about what’s going to be happening with them. Anyway, I’m headed down to the docks in a couple of hours. The BC Hydro teams are due to land about then and I want to give them some directions.”

Shaushka stood on the deck of the large flat vessel, holding onto the railing as the ship bounced up and down over the waves. The old captain had told her that the seas were actually pretty mild for this time of year, but that hadn’t stopped her from hanging onto a railing anytime she had gone anywhere. Her two crews had taken it the waves in stride, some of them even napping in their vehicles.

Technically, they were all on shift and sleeping on the job was a big “No-no” but it wasn’t like there was anything else to do, except recheck their equipment for a fourth time. Besides, once they landed the linemen were going to be working around the clock to get Brightly’s power grid up and running again. So, on the advice of the captain to not “sweat the small stuff” she’d let the men sleep undisturbed.

Which brought Shaushka’s thoughts to her other crew. She had an entire team of people whose job was to go over the Carmanah Dam with a fine toothed comb, looking for any problems. Of course, there already were the problems of a broken microwave relay and a floodgate stuck in the up position, but they could be dealt with. The overall plan had her scheduled for three days, plus a one day overlap just in case there were any unexpected problems.

Sahota had messaged her just before they had left Bella Bella, letting her know that all hell was breaking loose back in the Lower Mainland. Three managers, including Hemphill, had already been placed on suspension pending investigation, with likely more to come. Higher ups, knowing their jobs were on the line, were scrambling to find maintenance records for the Carmanah Dam, and finding none, were panicking.

Much as I hate to admit it, she did me a big favour putting me on this job, Shaushka thought to herself as the vessel turned around a headland and into a small inlet. There, a couple of kilometers ahead, she could see a set of docks and what looked like a large concrete ramp extending into the water from the shore. She made her way to the wheelhouse.

“I was just about to call you,” the captain said, smiling at her. “We’re about fifteen minutes out. You might want to start waking up your crew before we land.”

“Where are we docking?” Shaushka asked, mentally trying to fit the big watercraft in amongst the small boats and float planes that were tied up to the floating docks.

“Docking?” the man laughed. “We aren’t docking, we’re landing. See that concrete ramp? Well, we’re going to pull right up onto it and then I’ll extend the ramp and you folks can just drive right off. You better get moving.”

Thirty minutes later, Shaushka was watching her crew offload from the barge. Four line trucks, a truck carrying nothing but replacement power poles, a truck that was a combination workshop and small parts storage, and two general use trucks rolled off one at a time and pulled over to the side waiting for the rest of the crew to offload. The last truck was just coming up when a white pickup truck with “Village of Brightly BC” on the side pulled up and a tall, well built man in his fifties got out and approached her.

“Hi there, I’m looking for whoever is in charge of all this,” the man said.

“That would be me,” Shaushka said, sticking out her hand. “Shaushka, BC Hydro, and you are?”

“Mayor Montcalm, Village of Brightly,” Montcalm said, taking Shaushka’s hand and then cocking his head. “Wait a minute. Shaushka? As in ‘Tech Shaushka’?”

“Chief Montcalm!” Shaushka exclaimed, recognizing the voice as she smiled up at the older man, who grinned back with true pleasure. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You too,” Montcalm said, releasing the tech’s hand. “Got yourself a promotion, did you?”

“Wasn’t really my idea,” Shaushka said. “I’ll tell you about it later, but in the meantime i think you’ve got a power grid that needs fixing.”

“Indeed we do,” Montcalm said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a folded map of the town and area. “We’ve marked all the known locations where there’s a line down.”

“Thanks,” Shaushka said, taking the map and the two walked over to the lead truck with linemen in it.

“We’ve also got a place set up for your crew to stay,” Montcalm said, and saw ears all around perk up at that. “There’s a set of buildings, a camp really, that is set up as a command post and temporary lodging for forest firefighters during fire season. It’s got everything you could want. Beds, heat, water, a kitchen and dining hall, as well as an office with radios.”

“How does a town your size manage…” Shaushka trailed off as she realized her question might not be the most polite, but Montcalm simply laughed.

“We get paid to maintain it by Emergency Management,” Montcalm said. “Any idea on how long to get the lights back on?”

“This is my first time running an operation like this. So I have no idea,” Shaushka admitted, twirling a piece of green hair in her hand. “But my crew is going to be on the job constantly until we do. I’ve promised them a bonus if we can get the lights back on inside of 72 hours.”

“Sounds good to me,” Montcalm said. “Let me hop back in my truck and I’ll escort you folks into town and show you where the camp is. There’s a lot of people that are going to be awfully happy to see you folks.”

The man stood near the base of the muddy hill near the dam, and squatted down to take a closer look at what he had found. There was a small depression in the drying ground, with a matching one about five metres or so away. Bits of discarded wrappers from various bits of medical supplies were scattered around both of the dents in the ground. The man pulled up one of the wrappers, which turned out to be much larger than it appeared to be, being partly covered with a thin layer of mud. Underneath was a single feather and the man picked it up to examine. Sitting down on a nearby log he pulled out a digital voice recorder and began speaking.

“John Wilcox CKNW. It’s about four p.m. and I’m on the hill near the Carmanah Lake dam,” he said into the recorder. “Found a pair of spots where some small animals were treated. Something about the size of a large dog, but with hooves. Their tracks are all over the site including on the dam itself, and someone cared enough about them to use medical—” He broke off speaking as a sound came to his ears, he paused for a moment then began walking back toward his campsite.

“Sounds like the Hydro crew is getting here,” Wilcox said into the mike, as he strode quickly across the gravel parking lot. “It looks like these animals, miniature horses maybe, were part of what happened. Odd that there is no mention of them. Also, found unusual black feather with a silver tip. Not white, not silver coloured, but actual reflective silver. I’ll take a picture and upload it with this audio file. I’d like to know what kind of bird it came from.”

He got back to his encampment, and had just fired up his old Coleman stove when the first truck came out of the forest to pull up into the gravel parking lot. By the time a second truck had joined the first, and a man in a safety vest and hard hat started walking toward him, he had some coffee started on an old camp percolator.

“Hey there,” the workman said, when he had drawn close enough to talk. “How’s it going?”

“Not too bad,” Wilcox replied genially. There was no sense starting things off on the wrong foot. “Coffee should be about another five or ten minutes if you want some.”

“I should be good for now,” the man said. “I just wanted to ask you to leave, if you wouldn’t mind. We're going to be doing a lot of loud, noisy work over the next few days, which probably won't be that good for camping. We’d be willing to drive you to another camping area, if you like.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Wilcox said, keeping his voice pleasant and his words polite. “I like this spot. It's a good place to watch… nature.” The workman’s eyes narrowed and they flitted across the campsite quickly. His breath caught as he saw the logo of the radio station Wilcox worked for, emblazoned on the backpack near the laid out, but not yet lit, campfire.

“You’re a reporter,” the man said, jaw working.

“I am,” Wilcox admitted. “John Wilcox. I’m with CKNW, and you are?”

“No comment,” the man said, his shoulders tensing. “All questions from the media are supposed to go through the BC Hydro Media Center.”

“Understood,” Wilcox said. “But I want to let you guys know two things.”

“And those are?” the man growled back.

“First, you guys are always welcome at my camp for a cup of coffee or whatever,” Wilcox said. “I won’t push, but I will ask questions. You don’t want to answer them, that’s fine. I can live with that. Second, I am a reporter and I am going to do my job. But I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t get in the way of your job. You tell me to get out of your way, and I’ll back off. You tell me safety regs, and I’ll follow them.”

“That’s actually… pretty reasonable,” the man said, his brows unfurling and the tension going out of his body.

“Well, I figured we could either have a couple of weeks of us trying to be asses to each other, or we could be adults about things,” Wilcox said, pausing before he baited the hook. “I’ve got a supply run coming in a couple of days. You guys want anything?”

Author's Note

And so, a busy day draws to a close in Brightly as we check in on several of our secondary characters. What do you think? Did Montcalm do a good thing or has he made a mistake?

A side note about politics:

Canada's head of state is technically Queen Elizabeth the Second, ruling Canada through her Governor General at the federal level and Lieutenant Governors at the provincial. These days they are figureheads only, whose main job is to sign off on the decisions made by the actual government.

The UBCM is the Union of British Columbia Municipalities. It's a political organization that all mayors in BC automatically become a part of. It lets them deal with the provincial government as a single power block and it has been very effective in the past. Most premiers tread carefully around them due to the immense influence the UBCM has with how government policies actually get implemented.

Not too mention that most premiers were mayors, and thus members of the UBCM themselves.

All hail my editors: Sandstorm94 and Coyotethetrickster. They hear me say, "D'oh" so often that they are half baker by now.

If you want to give me a bit of a boost without a regular commitment, consider buying me a coffee on Ko-Fi. Coffee is gooooood.

Support me if you can on Patreon for as little as a dollar a month. Patreon is probably one of the best things ever for keeping word Sherpas like me in keyboards. Some months you folks really make the difference.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
and
Machara.

Chapter 24: These Dreams

A bright moon peeked out shyly from behind one of a large number of clouds that dotted the night sky. Its silver light shone down through the cool, clean night air onto the darkened town far below. Here and there a light shone, but otherwise the sky and the land below could have formed a scene from hundreds of years ago with ease. Across this skyscape of light and shadows flew a creature out of legend, a pegasus.

She had always felt trapped at home. Hemmed in by the mountains, anchored by the trees, always having to crouch down and hide from people that were too big, or too loud, or just too mean. Now, she was no longer that little girl who had to hide from life and who could only dream of flying away from it all. As Skylark, the dream of flight had become a reality.

A smile crossed the face of the young girl as a sense of great peace and happiness filled her. Silver light glinted from her argent wingtips as they kissed the edges of pearl coloured clouds. She tipped her wings a bit, twisted, and made an instinctive Immelman turn so that now her hooves skimmed along the upper surface of the cloud. A bubbling laugh of pure joy escaped the lips of the young pegasus.

“Flying at night has always been a great joy of mine as well, young one,” Princess Luna said, to the black furred pegasus as she side-slipped in alongside.

“Oh, hi there,” Skylark said, to the dark blue creature that flew beside her. “I didn’t see you, sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Luna said, to the filly flying at her side. “You’re quite the young flyer.”

“Thanks!” Skylark chirped happily, “I haven’t been doing it long, but I love it.”

“I can tell,” Luna said, smiling as the two skimmed along the edges of another bank of clouds. “You can always tell the ones who love what they do. May I ask your name, young one?”

“I’m Ky… um, Skylark,” Skylark said, remembering at the last moment to use her Power Pony name.

“Hello, Skylark,” Luna said, beginning to feel the strain of her spell. “My name is Luna. Would it be all right with you if we sat for a bit?”

“I guess so, where did you want to land?” Skylark asked, trying to spot a good place far below.

“That cloud should do nicely,” Luna said, wondering if the young filly alongside her realized how impressive her flying actually was, for one of her obviously few years.

“We can’t land on clouds!” Skylark said, laughing. “We’ll fall right though.”

“Let me take care of that,” Luna said, touching a cloud with her power. “There, I’ve made that cloud solid enough for us to sit on.” The effort of power, slight as it was, doubled the strain Luna was feeling. She had minutes only left to her, but she let none of the effort touch her face as she settled down on the cloud and furled her wings.

“Wow, you can do magic, just like Ro… er, like Shield Maiden and her mom,” Skylark said, stepping onto the cloud with exaggerated care. When she didn’t fall through as expected her wide grin became almost impossibly large.

“I’m guessing that you are trying to protect the identities of you and your friends,” Luna said, to which Skylark gave an emphatic nod. “That’s fine. You can tell me as little or as much as you like about your friends.”

“Yah, Shield Maiden says that when we’re ponies, we need to use our pony names,” Skylark said, settling down beside the alicorn. “How come you can do magic and fly?”

“I’m an alicorn, which means I possess traits of all three kinds of ponies,” Luna said, before steering the conversation back to the pony. “Are there many ponies where you are?”

“Originally, it was just us Power Ponies, but now my Mom and Shield Maiden’s mom have been ponies too. Oh, and Mr. Kye as well. He’s a big pony right now,” Skylark said, chattering happily. “And Father Addison, he… hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Skylark,” Luna said, wiping a brow that was soaked in sweat. “You were saying about other ponies?”

“Oh, yah,” Skylark said, accepting the answer for now. “Well, everyone is either a regular pony, or a pegasus, or a unicorn. Except for Father Addison and his wife, they became bat ponies.”

“Did you say, ‘Bat Ponies’?” Luna asked, her head whipping around, her gaze intent and she felt her spell begin to fray and unravel. “Please, do you mean ponies, but with wings like a bat?”

“Yup, they looked really neat too!” Skylark said, practically bouncing in place. “And they were super fluffy!”

Tia’s spell was only meant to transform others into the three main tribes. Bat ponies must be due to the influence of my Tantabus! Luna thought, and her excitement made her spell begin to crack wide. “Please tell me, have you seen a pony that looked to be made of the night sky?”

“Yes!” Skylark exclaimed. “The night we helped save the dam. The Night Horse came down from the sky and saved Iron Hoof. He kicked a tree so hard… are you sure you’re okay?”

“I will be fine,” Luna said, gritting her teeth and trying to pull the spell she had been maintaining back together, but she could tell it was a failed effort. “Tell your friends I—”

A moment later, Skylark was alone on the cloud. She took a minute or two to look around, hoping to see the other pony, but there was no sign of her. Shrugging her shoulders, Skylark dove off the cloud and danced through the night sky, until her brother shook her awake.

“Hey, you wanna go for a night flight?” Darter asked her, a smile on his face. “Mom and Dad are asleep and with the street lights still out no one can see us.”

“Sounds good,” Skylark said, pushing aside her covers. “I had a really neat dream and I wanna try something from it…”

“Princess Luna!” Twilight Sparkle shouted, seeing the lunar alicorn collapsed over a table. “Are you alright?” When the dark mare failed to respond, Twilight checked her fellow princess’s vital signs. Luna was unconscious and covered in sweat. Twilight pried Luna’s forelegs apart to check her heart, and when she did she saw the glint of the portal mirror clutched in a death grip in Luna’s hooves.

“Twilight, what’s wrong?” Spike yelled, coming through the far door of the room. “I heard you call. What’s wrong with Princess Luna?”

“I’m not sure Spike,” Twilight said, hearing the strong beat of Luna's heart and switching her attentions to Luna’s brow and horn. “But if I had to make a guess I’d say she pushed herself too hard with a spell. What kind of spell it would take to exhaust the Princess in the half-hour we were gone, I’ve got no idea.” Twilight peeled back an eyelid to check the fallen princess, and Luna gave an involuntary flinch followed by a groan.

“Princess Luna, are you alright?” Twilight asked again, shaking the alicorn lying on her table.

“I will be as soon as you stop doing that,” Luna half-said, half-groaned out. “Please, just give me a moment, Twilight.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright,” Twilight said, taking a step back to give Luna some air. “What happened? I went to get a couple more of Starswirl’s journals and found you like this.”

“I tried something that I should not have,” Luna said, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position. “I pushed past a border that is there for a reason, and the universe reminded me that I am not yet its mistress.”

“Is there anything I can get you, Princess?” Spike asked, from Luna’s other side. His face worried and determined in his concern for Luna.

“Thank you, Spike,” Luna said, smiling wearily down at the drake. “A pot of coffee please. Black as night, and sweet as Cadance.”

“One ‘Exam Cram Special’ coming up!” Spike said, and he turned and jogged from the room, excited that he could be of help.

“Truly, he is a number one assistant,” Luna said, sending a fond look at the way Spike had gone. “Thou art greatly fortunate to have one such as he in your life.”

“I know what you mean,” Twilight said, pulling up a chair beside Luna and passing over a cloth. “Sometimes I think Spike should have been the Element of Loyalty and not Rainbow Dash.”

“He would have made a fine Element Bearer,” Luna said, wiping some of the sweat off of her with the provided cloth and beginning to feel a little better. “But I think in many ways it is better that he is not, particularly in that he has been of great comfort and support to all of you.”

“That, and Rainbow Dash would never have lived it down,” Twilight said with a laugh. Sobering, she asked, “Princess Luna, what happened?”

“Twilight, after all that we have been through, I would say that you have more than earned the right to call me by name,” Luna said, putting the cloth to one side. “After all, are you not a fellow princess as well?”

“Well, I… um, that is,” Twilight stammered, before taking a breath to steady herself. “Fine. Luna, what happened?” Luna opened her mouth to speak, just as Spike returned with a pot of coffee and a tray of biscuits.

“Here we go,” Spike said, placing the pot on the table, along with a pair of coffee cups and a tray with a small pile of biscuits. “I brought some shortbread to go with the coffee, in case you wanted a snack as well, Princess Luna.”

“Thank you very much, Spike,” Luna said, giving the dragon a quick hug. “Now, I have to ask that you give Twilight and I the room. You came in as I was about to impart some knowledge to her and I’m afraid only her love for you is keeping her from exploding.” Spike looked over to where Twilight was biting her upper lip to keep herself in check.

“Heh, I’ve seen that look before,” Spike said to Luna in a stage whisper. “I’m going back to my bed, but you can wake me if you need something.”

“See you in the morning, Spike,” Twilight said, waiting until Spike closed the door behind him. “Luna, before we get interrupted again. What happened?”

“I attempted to use the hoof mirror and my dream magic in conjunction,” Luna said, sipping at the strong and sweet brew. “I wanted to reach out to one of the creatures on the other side of the portal, or even one of the changed.”

“Luna, with all due respect, are you crazy?,” Twilight asked, gesturing wildly. “You’re telling me that you used a magic artifact to project your dream self into another dimension? Your spirit could have been separated from your body forever. You didn’t even let anyone where you were going!”

“It worked,” Luna said, simply.

“And another thing — Wait, what?” Twilight said, breaking off her tirade.

“It worked,” Luna said, taking another sip of coffee. “I was able to connect with the dream of one of those who were transformed by the spell. Their dreams of flying were particularly coherent and strong. I was only able to stay in the dream with them for a short period, but it was long enough for me to learn a few things.”

“What? What are they like?” Twilight said, her natural curiosity overcoming her earlier frustration with ease.

“I only met one of them,” Luna said, smiling as she remembered her meeting with Skylark. “She was a young pegasus filly, but such a love of flight and the sky I have rarely seen in all my life.”

“She was dreaming, and she was a pegasus in her dream?” Twilight asked, materializing a scroll and quill so she could take notes. “I wonder if that means she was a pegasus just then, or whatever her normal form is.”

“I know not, Twilight. However, the strength of her dream is what allowed me to make contact,” Luna said. “I spoke with her for some minutes, and from what she said, it seems my Tantabus saved a life and then went on to facilitate the transformation of somepony there into a thestral.”

“Bat ponies?” Twilight asked, frowning. “How? Bat ponies don’t exist naturally.”

“They do, Twilight,” Luna said, with a wry smile. “They are ponies who dedicated their lives to myself and to the night. As such, they were given a special blessing of my power and changed from their original tribe, into that of thestrals. Before my… fall, I had a great number of ponies who looked to me personally. As a herd they were known as the ‘Soldiers of the Night’ and were greatly loved by me.”

“Why aren’t they around now?” Twilight asked. “Wait, I have seen them. Once.”

“Quite correct, Twilight. You saw a pair pulling my chariot when I came to the Nightmare Night celebration in Ponyville,” Luna said, nodding and pouring herself another cup of coffee. “There are very few left, but they are loyal still. I wonder how they will react at hearing they have brethren on the other side of the portal.”

“What else did you find out?” Twilight asked, scribbling notes as fast as she could.

“That those who have used my sister’s spell are using it in the manner she intended. They are using the forms given them to help their fellows,” Luna said, draining off her second cup with an air of determination. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a task to begin.”

“Whoa, hold on Luna,” Twilight said, holding out a hoof to try to stop the dark alicorn. “You’re just recovering from spell exhaustion. You’re in no shape to do anything except rest. What did you want to try to do anyway?”

“We know that the portal comes out in an old mine that Lee Ung once worked in,” Luna said, explaining things with what patience she could muster. “That mine may be collapsed, but I can create a pocket on the other side so that I have a place to work.”

“What are you going to do on the other side once you get there?” Twilight asked, frowning and wondering if she was going to have to try to stop Luna from hurting herself with overwork.

“Is it not obvious?” Luna asked. “Magic works on the other side of the portal. I am going to travel there and bore a hole to the surface so that I may meet the thestrals and other ponies myself, and not just in dreams.”

Author's Note

Okay, a short chapter for the start of the month, but there will be more chapters to come. I've just finished the first draft of Chapter 25, and after a round or two of editing it will be ready to go. My goal for August is to put out a total of four chapters of Brightly Lit. There will be difficulties, but my course is set and the stars are in my favour.

Oh, and the phrase "Soldiers of the Night" is a reference to one of my favorite pieces of Brony music.

Make merry for my editors: Sandstorm94 and Coyotethetrickster. They soothe the troubled author's brow.

If you want to give me a bit of a boost without a regular commitment, consider buying me a coffee on Ko-Fi. Coffee is gooooood.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
and
Machara.

Chapter 26: 57 Channels (And Nothin' On)

“Hello the house! Is there anyone home, I’d like to speak to Seeker, please.”

Zak, Kylara and their mother froze, their eyes going wide as they looked toward an equally shocked and surprised Rowan and Romy. Lynn Harding shot a glance toward the front yard, hidden by the bulk of the house and then looked over to Arnold’s place. A tall, hedge covered fence blocked both a direct view of the other house and as well as whoever it was that was calling out for Seeker.

Thinking quickly, Lynn took three quick steps and scooped up the furry form of Romy Pedersen in her arms. Romy gave a small squeak of surprise as she was carried back into the house, the rest of the ponies following closely behind. Just as Lynn slid open the sliding door leading into the extension they heard the strange voice call out again.

“Coming on in. I’m John Cummins, with Global TV,” Cummins said, as he opened the fence gate and stepped into a large yard. Straight ahead of him, a hand poured cement sidewalk led toward the back door of the house. A branching of the sidewalk led toward a large garage, whose large doors opened up into a grassy laneway behind the house. Even as Cummins debated which way to go, the sound of a hammer on metal in a steady rhythm told him that the garage was were he was going to find people.

“Hello,” Cummins said, in a loud voice yet again, as he knocked on the door. “Anyone there?”

Arnold paused, his hammer raised at the top of its stroke. Undaunted that men had shod horses for centuries he was determined to find something that had eluded all those metalworkers of times past. If his son was going to be a pony, then by Vulcan, Hephaestus and Eitri, his son was going to have the best damn horseshoes he could make.

To that end, he and Billy had spent the past few hours working on potential shoes for him to wear. Some had been interesting, some were complete failures and some, like the set that had retractable spikes, had wound up being just plain comical. Billy had put up with the various prototypes with good humour, and was now looking through an old farming magazine Ernie had left lying around one day, in the hope that inspiration would strike.

Another loud knock sounded on the door, just as Arnold had decided to start hammering again. Setting down his hammer he frowned and called out, “Who is it?”

“John Cummins. I’m with Global TV,” Cummins said, through the door and cocking his head toward the neighboring house as he heard a sliding door open and close. “I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes.”

“Uh, just hang on a second,” Arnold said, as his mind shifted into high gear, and he looked from where his son was looking up in surprise to the shop around them.

The garage was a large, open, rectangular space with various pieces of equipment, parts, and workbenches arrayed around the walls. The center was intentionally kept empty so that cars could be driven, or more often pushed into the garage. Arnold was also a firm believer that a messy shop was a dangerous shop, so there was a minimum of clutter and chaos. Which meant that there nowhere for his son to hide his pony form from the reporter.

“Just tell him to go away, Dad,” Billy whispered to his father, as he also looked around for a place to hide. Without power, the garage was instead lit by an overhead skylight through which brilliant sunlight poured. That same sunlight had been the cause earlier of what Billy had called a “sun coma,” but now all it did was highlight the colours in his tail.

“Can’t,” Arnold whispered back. “He’ll know something’s up. Damn. Damn. Wait. I’ve got an idea, lie down behind me. Curl up, keep your head down and your hooves in close to your body.”

“Okay,” Billy said, lying down on the shop floor and curling into a half ball. His father then grabbed his jacket off a hook and draped it over Billy. As Arnold had expected the jacket covered most but not all of his son, and it was obvious that there was some sort of four legged creature underneath the old windbreaker.

“Let your tail stay sticking out,” Arnold whispered, before he called out to the door. “Come on in.”

“Hello,” Cummins said, entering the garage. He blinked for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light and shadows in the building, before focusing his vision on the powerfully built man in front of him.

“What can I do for you?” Arnold asked, setting down his hammer on the workbench, and doing his best not to look down at his jacket covered son. He took his first good look at the reporter. Cummins was an older man, well into late middle age with a pointed nose and eyes that seemed to flit about, taking in everything around him in seconds.

“I’m looking for Seeker,” Cummins said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve already interviewed most of your department’s members and I’d like to speak with them and get their viewpoint on what happened at the dam. Is she around?” The “she” was a shot in the dark that had a fifty-fifty chance of being right and Cummins watched Arnold’s face carefully for any reaction.

“There’s no one by that name here,” Arnold said, after a pause.

Gotcha! Cummins thought, his ready senses having picked up on the big man’s quick inhale of breath and the slight widening of the eyes. To anyone else, those tiny expressions would have been insignificant, but for someone who had made a living out of dragging information out of reluctant professional liars, they screamed “I’ve got a secret!”

“Where would I find her?” Cummins pushed, also noting that Arnold had not corrected him on the mystery woman’s gender. His mind also ran down the list of the members of the local fire department and there was only one female name to be found. An instinct told him though, that the fire department's members would have been acting very differently if Seeker was Jessica Harkins.

“Look, I really don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Arnold said, his protective instincts rising to the fore, “And if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

“I promise that I will be respectful and only use what she gives me permission to,” Cummins said, holding up a hand in placation before he frowned and noticed something a little off. “Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Arnold asked, as he followed the line of Cummin’s gaze to where Billy’s tail was sticking out from under his jacket. “Oh, that’s just my dog. He likes to sleep like that.”

“That’s a strange colour for a dog,” Cummins said, tilting his head at the large yellow tail with its broad orange streak. “I mean really strange.”

“Well, he’s pretty strange himself,” Arnold said, a smile touching his lips, “but I love him anyway.” The tail wagged a few times and Cummins pulled himself back to what was truly important.

“So, where did you say I could find Seeker again?” Cummins asked, trying to prompt Arnold into revealing something else. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. But I think I should hear that from her directly.”

“I don’t think so,” Arnold fired back, smile evaporating like mountain mist before a noonday sun. “I think you need to leave. Now.”

“Last I heard there was a free press,” Cummins said back, just as fast. “I’m allowed to ask questions. It’s my duty to ask questions, and as a public servant, you need to answer them.”

“I’m an employee of the Village of Brightly,” Arnold said, putting down the hammer whose grip was becoming all too pleasant to hold. “When my boss tells me I have to answer questions from a pushy reporter, I will. Not before.”

“The public has a right to know,” Cummins said, indignant. “All of you are hiding who this Seeker is for some reason. Wait, is Seeker in some sort of relationship with your chief? Who just happens to be the mayor? Is that it? Are they someone who wasn’t supposed to be there, and that’s why you’re all covering it up?”

Arnold’s mind had gone blank for a moment or two under the verbal assault from Cummins, but only for a moment as he found his mental footing again and yelled back, “You need to leave right damn NOW! This is private property. MY private property. Now get out before I throw you out.”

“Fine, I’m leaving,” Cummins said, taking a step back towards the door. “But I’m on the right track. I know I am. You people think you can hide your little back alley relationships in your little backwoods town, but mark my words. The truth will always come out, and it’s my job to make sure it does.”

“GET OUT!” Arnold roared, taking a step forward. Cummins needed no more urging, and turning he walked out the door with quick steps. He didn’t stop his moving until he made it back to the waiting truck at the top of the block.

“How’d it go?” the driver asked, as Cummins slammed the door of the beat up pickup behind him.

“Good, really good,” Cummins said, a sly smile on his face. “I found some answers to my questions. Let’s just sit here for a couple minutes more, and I just might get another question answered.”

“No problem,” the driver said, chuckling as he leaned back in his seat. “You’re paying the bills after all.” The two sat in silence until not five minutes later, when the bulky form of Arnold Kye could be clearly seen jogging across the street to another house.

“Gotcha,” Cummins said, pointing toward the house whose yard Kye had just entered. “Whose house is that?”

“Told ya already,” the driver said, his smile that of someone demonstrating his local superiority. “That’s where the witch lives. Jean Pedersen.”

“Okay, I’ve seen enough,” Cummins said, letting out a breath of deep satisfaction. “Let’s swing over to the hotel. Hopefully the power is back on by now.”

As the driver started the truck and they began to drive over the pot-holed old pavement, two things twigged at Cummins mind, even through the satisfaction of knowing he was hot on the tail of some local corruption. First, why had Kye been working on horseshoes? There had been at least a dozen scattered over the workbench. Kye was an auto mechanic and sometimes machinist, not a farrier. Second, why was the dog quote from “The Adventure of Silver Blaze” running through his head?

Deep underground, Luna looked around herself in satisfaction. She’d only been on this side of the mirror for less than a day, but already she had managed to carve herself a decent work area. True, the initial going had been hard. Twilight’s suggestion of sending through an enchanted gem to blast open a small hole in anything that might be blocking the portal had been prudent.

Transforming into a breezie had been both necessary and serendipitous. Her small size had been just small enough to safely emerge from the portal and begin her work. Her first challenge had been to clear the actual boulder that she had emerged into the middle of. Her second challenge had been to get Twilight to heal her after Luna’s magic had touched off an explosion of flammable gas that had seeped into the pocket where she was.

“Luna, are you crazy?” Twilight had protested when Luna insisted on going back. “I just finished bandaging you up and you want to go back? What is Celestia going to say?”

“Nothing,” Luna said, readying herself to go back through the portal. “Not if you don’t tell her. No, it is not fair of me to ask you to hide something from my sister. I leave it to your discretion what, and what not, to tell my sister. I will face whatever she has to say upon my return.”

“Fine,” Twilight grumbled, as she levitated over a tiny, breezie-sized necklace over to Luna. “At least wear this.”

“What is it?” Luna asked, looking at the bauble. “I can feel your magic on it Twilight, but not what it does.”

“It will keep good air around all the time,” Twilight said, lowering the necklace carefully past Luna’s antenna. “It will also put up a shield if you touch off another gas pocket.”

“Thank you, dear Twilight,” Luna said, hugging the purple alicorn. “This will be of immense help.”

“Oh…” Twilight said, returning the hug before taking a step back. “I… I won’t tell Celestia anything for now. But if she asks me what’s going on, or if you come back exploded twice, all bets are off.”

“I can ask nothing more of you,” Luna said, turning to the portal again. “You are a good friend, thank you.”

Author's Note

A short chapter here, because first off, I'm still rebuilding my life. I've been working on getting a new home, car and job all in one go. Second, and more importantly, this was where I wanted to stop the previous chapter when life intervened. So, instead of a long chapter you get a normal sized one and a short one.

My Patreon will re-open October 1st. Which is when.... I will remember to finish my afterwords BEFORE I hit the "Publish" button.

Chapter 27: Once in a Lifetime

“I tell you Madison, there’s a hell of a lot of corruption going on up here,” Cummins said, into the phone, cigarette smoke wafting up from the ashtray on his nightstand. “The fire chief, who also happens to be the mayor, is making time with a local woman who just happens to be… get this, the town witch.”

“Hang on, did you say ‘witch’?” asked Madison Chou, Cummins’ producer back at Global TV. “That’s a twist.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Cummins said, pausing to take a drag on what he swore would be his first and last cigarette of the day. “I’m about 80% sure she was at the dam, and that she had something to do with what happened there. That’s why they’re all clamming up about what happened.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Brian,” protested Chou. “Everything worked out. If this witch, as you call her, had something to do with it you would think they would be praising her, not hiding her. Besides, I want you to put that aside for now.”

“Are you crazy?” Cummins asked, stabbing out the cigarette. “This is corruption. Misuse of political power for personal gain. We could get a Webster Award out of this.”

“John, you need to get some perspective here. You aren’t in the Lower Mainland,” Chou said, cutting off her reporter. “You’re grasping at straws and besides, Brightly’s entire operating budget last year was barely four million dollars. No matter how big anything is there on the local scale, in the larger market no one is going to care. Besides, I have something else for you to work on while you’re up there.”

“What?” Cummins said, trying not to grumble at Chou’s well made point.

“We got a press release after dinner last night,” Chou said, and Cummins could hear her working a keyboard. “Horgan is going to be in Brightly on Sunday. Seems someone fast-tracked awarding the fire crew the Citizenship medal, and he’s going to be awarding it in person.”

“Okay, you want me to keep getting background on the crew then?” Cummins asked, thinking of how he could combine that with what he really wanted to dig into, namely the obvious local shenanigans.

“Yes,” Chou said. “Oh, one other thing. Our Ottawa bureau picked up a juicy rumour that Trudeau might show up as well.”

“Wait,” Cummins said, sitting bolt upright in surprise. “The Prime Minister? The PM is coming here?”

“The federal election isn’t that far away,” Chou said, chuckling. “and no matter what the opposition parties may think of his leadership style, Justin’s a master of social media and ‘feel good’ photo-ops. This has all the hallmarks of an intentional leak to make sure the press is there to record him doing just that. I need a good point man up there to try to slide him some tough questions, and you’re one of my best. Think you can handle it?”

“Oh, I am all over it,” Cummins said, feeling a familiar fire in his veins. “The power came back on last night, and Hydro is just fixing the last outages now. I shouldn’t have any problem calling in and keeping you up to date.”

“Good man,” Chou said, and Cummins could hear her tapping away on her computer again. “Drop the local corruption bit, and keep working up background for me. I’ll have a camera crew up there on Saturday. Good luck.”

“Bye,” Cummins said, hanging up the phone and rising off his hotel bed. The Prime Minister, here. It all made sense now. Montcalm was probably some old friend of Pierre Trudeau, Justin’s famous father. Or perhaps even of Justin himself. The younger Trudeau had spent a few years in BC and was an outdoorsman, just like his father and brother. Cummins left his room, heading for breakfast with purpose in his stride.

In the Global offices far to the south in Burnaby, Chou set down her phone with a sigh.

“Why do you even use that guy?” asked her assistant, who had heard every word of the conversation. “There’s nothing up there, and even if there is, it’s small potatoes.”

“I use him because he’s a blunt instrument and he does have a good nose for news,” Chou said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “He pounds away at things and almost always something story worthy does fall out. Besides, worst case scenario is we have a reporter on site for a mid-level political story. Now, go get me some coffee.”

“That’s going to be your third cup and it’s barely six,” her assistant objected. “Let me get you some nice soothing chai tea.”

“Coffee, now,” Chou said, half teasing-half ordering. “Chou needs caffeine.”

Ernest Harding stepped with purposeful, but quiet, steps through the sleeping house. The power had come on in the past hour, waking him and he had spent the predawn hours going through the house, and turning various switches back off or on as need be. Now, with the sun up he paused outside his son’s bedroom door as an uncharacteristic nervousness gripped him.

Chiding himself at his delay, he gripped the doorknob and opened the door with as much care as he could, so as not to wake his sleeping son. There, hair mussed, covers askew, lay the peacefully sleeping body of his son. Ernie smiled and nodded in satisfaction as he took in Zak’s human arms and legs, and he closed the door as softly as he had opened it.

After a quick peek into Kylara’s room to confirm that she too had reverted to being his little girl again, Ernie went into the kitchen to make breakfast. About five minutes into bacon sizzling in the pan, his wife came downstairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Ernie wordlessly passed Lynn a cup of Jean’s special breakfast tea. Lynn took a sip and her eyes popped open at the potency of the brew and the excessive amount of honey her husband had put in.

“You always make it too sweet,” Lynn complained, even as she gave her husband a peck on the cheek. She noticed his happy expression as he moved the bacon around in the pan. “What’s got you so pleased with yourself this morning?”

“The kids are human again,” Ernie said, and Lynn’s eyes went wide again. “I’ll have to check with Jean and Arnie, but I’m pretty sure I was right how their changes are running.”

“And that would be...?” Lynn asked, hugging her husband to keep herself from looking in on her children herself.

“If the other kids are back to being kids as well, it means that their humanity is solar powered now,” Ernie said, shrugging his shoulders. “For lack of a better word.”

“Solar powered,” Lynn said, frowning for a moment then brightening as she realized what her husband meant. “You mean how they reacted to being out in the sun yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Ernie said, scooping out the bacon onto some paper towel and beginning to crack some eggs into the hot cast iron pan. “There’s something in sunlight that they need now. It was that reaction of theirs the other day that gave me the clue.”

“What about Jean and Arnold, or even Jessica for that matter?” Lynn asked, passing Ernie some sour cream to mix with the scrambled eggs he was making to go with the bacon. “What about me?”

“None of you have reacted to the sun the way the kids have,” Ernie said, stirring in a heaping spoonful of the dairy product. “I figure it’s because they’re kids and you’re adults. Their bodies are still changing and growing as they get older. For you and the others, your bodies are set in place.”

“Makes sense,” Lynn said, watching her husband laying out portions onto breakfast plates. “Kids! Time for breakfast!”

“I’ll go give Arnold and Jean a call,” Ernie said, setting his utensils down. “Save some for me, eh?”

It was a cool morning, just the way John Wilcox liked it. He’d rolled out of his cot five minutes before his alarm went off, dressed quickly in the cold air by the lake, and fired up his old folding Coleman stove. While coffee began to burble a happy tune in a camp percolator, he covered a frying pan in eggs, slices of ham, some local wild mushrooms he’d picked up at the town store, and even some sausages from the Harding Farm.

Buying the sausages in town had let him ask a few discreet questions about the farm and the Harding family, who owned and operated it. Turned out, the Harding farm was a local employer with five regular hands and Ernie Harding was popular for hiring a lot of extra help when things got busy. Interesting side information was that apparently the Hardings had been neglecting their farm lately, in favour of staying home with their kids who seemed to be sick a lot.

He’d also found out that the Harding farm had exactly one horse. An old gelding who was happily living out his older years being cared for and taken on the occasional gentle ride. Asking around, he learned that despite the ruralness of the area, there were only a handful of horses locally. None of which were colts or ponies, which made the identity of the hooved animals that had been on the hill all the more curious.

Scooping himself out a hearty portion from the frying pan he opened up his laptop, and after securing his connection to an overhead satellite, checked his email. There were several messages from his bosses back at the station, but nothing that looked like it couldn’t wait. What did catch his eye was an email from his contact at UBC, marked “Urgent”.

To: John Wilcox, CKNW
From: Heather Burgess, Zoology Department, UBC

John, those samples you had couriered out to me… Where did you get those hairs and feathers from? I couldn’t ID them and when I showed my professor it all hit the fan here. First, he accused me of trying to pull a fast one on him. Then, he said it was a hoax and was threatening to report an honour code violation. So, I told him you had sent them to me and why. Then he went and put the samples under the electron microscope we’ve got here. Came back about a half hour later in a frenzy.

He called up your bosses trying to get them to tell him where you are and they would only tell him that you were on assignment. That’s when he told me not only could he see no signs of fakery from the samples, but that they belonged to “unknown equine and avian species.”

Anyway, get back to me as fast as you can. The whole department is going nuts here. You’ve GOT to tell me where you got those samples.

Heather

Wilcox was just starting to frame a cheeky reply along the lines of, “I can’t tell you. Ha ha ha” when the slamming of truck doors interrupted his train of thought. It was the dam repair crew and it looked like they had brought some of the linemen with them, along with the truck used for replacing power poles. Probably to start getting the new microwave tower put together, seeing as the old one was definitely good for nothing more than scrap.

He was making notes and snapping pictures from his camp stool, when he noticed a long, lean woman walking towards him from the dam. She had a grim look on her face as she approached, looking decidedly uncomfortable in a mismatched outfit of office wear, that was overlaid by a somewhat tattered fleece vest and a pair of old, but obviously comfortable sneakers.

“Hey,” said the woman, whose face was a cross between nervous and angry. “Look, I don’t like playing the heavy here, but I need you to stop bothering my people.”

“Your people?” Wilcox asked, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. “You are…?”

“Shaushka, Te—Manager Shaushka,” the woman said, and the search engine in Wilcox’s head scrambled to connect the name to a memory.

“Sorry if I’ve been a bother,” Wilcox said, putting genuine apology in his voice. “I thought I was staying out of the way and following the guidelines.”

“The guidelines are that we shouldn’t even be talking, mate,” Shaushka said, the British slang sliding into her speech. “We aren’t exactly around the Media Center though, are we?”

“No, we aren’t,” Wilcox agreed, realizing that the source of the manager’s stress wasn’t over him, but worry over what her bosses were going to think. “Like some coffee? No strings attached.”

“I’d kill for a cuppa,” Shaushka said, and Wilcox kept the smile from his face as he poured a second cup for the crew manager and passed it over. Shaushka took a deep sip of the hot brew and sighed in appreciation.

“It is by caffeine alone I set my mind in motion,” Shaushka began to recite reverently.

“It is by the beans of Java that thoughts acquire speed,” Wilcox added, no stranger to the eldritch power of coffee himself.

“... the hands acquire shakes,” Shaushka said, continuing the mantra.

“... the shakes become a warning,” Wilcox chanted back, no longer hiding his smile.

“It is by caffeine alone I set my mind in motion,” Shaushka said, concluding the ritual and taking another swallow of the ebon elixir. “That love, is some fine coffee.”

“My father served on HMCS Halifax,” Wilcox said, smiling at the happy memories. “He taught me how to make ‘Navy coffee’. Stuff will keep you going halfway to forever.”

“More?” Shaushka asked, holding out her drained cup and Wilcox raised an eyebrow, but refilled the stained enamel cup anyway.

“As I was saying, I’m sorry if I’ve been a bother,” Wilcox said, doubling down and passing the manager the leftovers from breakfast on a plate. “Is there anything I can do to make things easier on you?”

“Love,” Shaushka said, between bites as she wolfed down the offered food. “As far as I care you’re invisible to me from now on. Just let me have some of that coffee in the mornings and you’ll keep being invisible.”

“Like I said to your crew,” Wilcox said, with a laugh, “my camp is always open. And, I will try to stay under the radar.”

“Appreciate it,” Shaushka said, setting down the plate and turning to leave. “Just keep everyone’s names out of things, okay?”

“Not a problem,” Wilcox said to the manager’s retreating back, and his mind finally made the connection.

Not “Manager” Shaushka, but “Tech” Shaushka. As in the tech who had been in direct contact with the Brightly Fire Department. The tech who no one had been able to find to get an interview with. Wilcox’s mind went blank for a moment as he realized the incredible chance he had for an exclusive look at a side of the dam crisis that no one had uncovered yet. He started to clear down his camp from breakfast and get ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do.

“So, what are we gonna do today?” Billy asked the others as they stood around in his yard. He was struck by a sense of having been in this spot before. There was some word for it, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

“I dunno, what do you want to do?” Zak said, looking over toward Rowan.

“Me?” Rowan asked, and realized the other four were all looking at her for direction. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re in charge,” Romy told her sister, smiling. “Power Ponies forever.”

“Seriously guys,” Rowan said, “I’ve got no ideas, and mom says with the power back on, school is going to be back open tomorrow.”

“Dad says there’s going to be a big party at the Rec Centre for the Hydro workers tonight,” Zak said. “The whole town is invited, so everyone is getting ready.”

“Guys,” Billy said, snapping his fingers. “We’ve forgotten something. Something huge, and we should go fix it, right now.”

“What?” Kya asked, her eyes going wide.

“Remember what we were doing when we first found the book?” Billy asked, and he saw the realization hit each of his friends in turn. “Ya, we left all the tools, plus all the stuff we dug up, back there.”

“We need to go get it all back,” Rowan said, stepping into the leadership role held out for her. “We’ve got a mission, Power Ponies. Let’s go!”

The group charged out of the yard with the instant energy and enthusiasm of youth as they headed off for the old townsite. As they ran out the gate, Jean watched them through the window of Arnold’s living room. The big man came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle hug.

“They’ll be fine,” Arnold said. “Short of an emergency, I’m pretty sure Rowan won’t do any magic again.”

“Probably not,” Jean said, sinking back into Arnold’s warmth. “It’s just, all this. Magic, transformations, powers. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“What do you mean?” Arnold asked, resting his chin on the top of her head gently.

“The magic,” Jean said, stepping out of Arnold’s embrace to turn and look at him. “It’s getting stronger.”

“It is?” Arnold asked, looking at Jean anew. They hadn’t been close for more than a few days, but as he studied her now he could see the lines of tension in her body.

“I can feel it in me now. It’s like I’ve grabbed onto a high voltage line with one hand,” Jean said, sharing her worries. “Only, all the time, and I keep hearing that chant in my head, getting louder every day.”

“Chant? You mean the transforming spell?” Arnold asked. “Maybe you should cast it, get it out of your system. I wouldn’t mind spending a little time horsing around with you.”

“You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I’d see if I could turn you into a toad,” Jean said, rolling her eyes. “Much as I’d like to though, it’s probably not a good idea. What if that reporter comes snooping around again?”

“He seems really focused on finding out who Seeker is,” Arnold said, sighing. “I can understand it. It’s a part of what happened that no one has any explanation for and for a guy whose job is finding things out, not knowing must be driving him nuts.”

“Let it,” Jean said, smiling and sliding back into Arnold’s arms. “Right now, I have other things I’d like to talk about…”

He’s late, Wilcox thought, as he sat at the picnic table near the dam, a picnic lunch spread out on its surface. Nearly two. He did say to meet him for—

Wilcox’s thoughts broke off as the door to the dam’s inner workings opened and a group of very grubby individuals emerged. He barely recognized Scotty, as the power engineer emerged from the group busy collapsing against work trucks breaking out box lunches and cigarettes. Scotty dropped onto the bench seat opposite Wilcox like a sack of potatoes, and wordlessly grabbed a sandwich, eating it in the manner of someone who is truly hungry.

“You guys o—” Wilcox stopped speaking as Scotty held up a hand.

“Let me get my blood sugar back up first,” the man said. “It’s been a hell of a morning.”

Wilcox nodded, taking in the utterly filthy condition of the man across from him. Scotty’s coveralls were smeared in a mixture of grease and sand. His hair was in wild disarray and his face nearly completely blackened with dirt. Wilcox watched the man inhale his second sandwich with three quick bites, barely chewing. An opened bottle of coke was grabbed by a hand ingrained with filth with barely a nod of thanks, then found itself upended and emptied in a single, long pull.

“Oh, dear God, that hit the spot,” Scotty said, punctuating his remark with a thunderous belch and letting his shoulders slump into a relaxed pose. Wilcox shot a glance over to Scotty’s coworkers, who seemed in as much a daze as the engineer across from him had been.

“What happened?” Wilcox asked, genuinely concerned. “You guys look like you’ve been dragged over ten miles of bad road.”

“The dam,” Scotty began, shaking his head. “It’s screwed. Completely, totally bunged up.”

“Why?” Wilcox asked, discreetly turning on the recorder in his pocket. “I know you said yesterday it was bad, but not like this.”

“That was before we opened up one of the turbines and did an inspection,” Scotty said, pulling out a dirty cloth and wiping his face with it. “All the turbine blades are showing significant wear, half of them are actually cracked, the main bearings are worn and their seals are contaminated. Remember what I told you about the last time the dam had a maintenance cycle?”

“Yah,” Wilcox said, nodding and passing over a cloth that might actually do some good.

“We found out why,” Scotty said. “Y2K.”

“Y2K?” Wilcox asked, repeating the phrase. “You mean that end of the millenium computer glitch that everyone was freaking out over?”

“That’s the one,” Scotty confirmed. “I still remember the panic during the Nineties. All that wound up happening were a few glitches in some databases.”

“Database, like maintenance records,” Wilcox said, making the connection.

“Bingo,” Scotty said. “I’m not a computer guy, at least not like our new boss is, but I know enough that I was able to find that the glitch changed the date of the last maintenance to the year 3001.”

“So, it never came up that it was time for a maintenance cycle, and with the dam ticking away just fine no one thought anything of it,” Wilcox said, nodding in thought. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Exactly,” Scotty said, rising. “Sorry to eat and run, but we’ve got to get back to it. We’re going to try to do some spot repairs and get the turbine back together before the party in town tonight.”

“I’d heard about that,” Wilcox said, frowning slightly. “I’d go but I don’t really like the idea of riding my bike back here at night.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Scotty said, after a moment’s thought. “You’ve got another supply run coming in tonight, right?”

“Every evening,” Wilcox said, smiling at the thought of a big party with several important people happy and relaxed from good food and drink. He might even be able to get an interview with Shaushka during it. “Thanks for the offer, appreciate it.”

“You’re a decent guy, for a reporter,” Scotty said, smiling.

Author's Note

So things continue to build, and we get some insight into a few things. Plus, we learn how bad off the dam really is. Next chapter is going to have some action... I promise.

My Patreon is back up and running. My kind and wonderful Patrons have made the difference. They are:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Machara,

and my newest Patron,
Drazhan.

Chapter 28: All Night Long

Brightly had itself a party. All day, the meat of two entire moose had been slowly roasting in a pair of large pits. Carved into individual roasts, the meat had been carefully wrapped with spices, garlic, local herbs and edible fungi. The slow steady heat penetrated the sealed packs of meaty goodness, causing them to baste in their own juices. Juices which leached out of the meat to merge with the flavourings and then becoming reabsorbed, bringing the new flavours back in with them.

As the packages came out from their fiery resting place, each one was split open with care. Wonderful, mouth-watering smells spread across the grounds of the local school, the only field large enough to hold everyone coming for the feast. While the mass of the town began to die of starvation and mass salivation, the mayor got up on a set of bleachers to make a speech.

“Okay folks, I know we’re all hungry,” Montcalm said, his own stomach giving a rumble that the microphone caught and broadcast, getting a laugh from the waiting throng. “But I think it would be wrong of us not to thank Manager Shaushka of BC Hydro and her crews for getting the lights back on. Thank you, for taking time away from your homes and families to help us.”

“Just doing our job, Mr. Mayor,” Shaushka said, smoothly giving the corporate line. “That’s what we do, bringing power to the people. I have to say though, it’s nice to get a ‘thank you’ like this. My people tend to miss a lot of home-cooked meals, and the smells are making me wish we have to come back here… a lot.” There was general laughter as Shaushka stepped back from the mike.

“Okay, with that said, just one more thing,” Montcalm said, slipping back in front of the mike as the crowd groaned in desperate hunger while they watched tables being piled high with side dishes of all sorts. “Please make an orderly line for the buffet when I’m done. The Hydro crews get first dibs and dinner will go until six. Afterwards we’ll clear out some space for some music, dancing and the beer garden to go up. Okay, let’s eat!”

With that, the crowd attacked the fortress of food with all the vigour of a starving wolf going for a caribou. There weren’t that many people in the combined Hydro crews, and as such serving them first wasn’t much of an imposition on others. Shaushka had just taken her first mouthful of mashed potatoes covered in gravy when her satellite phone went off.

“Shaushka here,” the tech turned manager said into the device as the steam from her plate tickled her nose. “This had better be good, I just sat down to eat.”

“And hello to you too,” the cool voice of Tara Sahota said, “I’ve been going over your report about the Carmanah Dam and I thought you would like to know what the Capital Infrastructure group has decided in light of your findings. I report directly to them now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Shaushka said, instinctively standing up. The CIG was a full seven levels of bureaucracy above her, and reported directly to the Board itself. Sahota had used the Brightly crisis to launch herself to near the top of the corporate ladder.

“That’s better,” Sahota said, and there was a smugness in her voice. “Refurbishing the Carmanah Dam is going to be a major infrastructure project, and as such it’s going to require an onsite team.”

“Okay, I can see that,” Shaushka said, wondering why Sahota felt the need to tell her. All Shaushka wanted to do was go back home to Vancouver and get back to her old routine.

“Well, as it turns out there already happens to be a manager at the Carmanah Dam, along with a crew of power engineers and power linemen,” Sahota said, and a horrible light went on inside Shaushka’s head.

“You don’t mean?” Shaushka asked, dreading the answer.

“Yes. With my recommendation, you’ve been named Operations Manager, Carmanah Dam,” Sahota said, unable to see the horror on Shauska’s face. “Welcome to the big leagues.”

“The big leagues in the back end of beyond,” Shaushka said, meal forgotten now. “This is what I get for listening to you? Exile and a dead-ended career?”

“In case you haven’t forgotten,” Sahota said, steel replacing smug in her voice, “I’m the reason why you haven’t been fired and blacklisted from the industry, ending said career. I can still make that happen. Is that what you want?”

“No Ma’am,” Shaushka said, gritting her teeth. “Do I at least get to come back and get my stuff?”

“I’m afraid not,” Sahota said, her voice pleasant again but retaining a hard edge. “CIG needs you in place immediately. You’ll get a stipend for a hotel room until you can find a place, and I’ll have Corporate Services pack up your belongings and get them shipped to you. Don’t forget, you’re also getting a substantial bump in pay, as well.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Shaushka said, sighing in defeat and looking around at what was to be her place of exile.

“Good girl,” Sahota said, smug again. "The CIG will be in touch with you tomorrow. Good night.” The phone clicked with the sound of a closed connection

Shaushka just stared at the device for a long moment, and then began to curse under her breath. The quiet tirade went on for more than a couple of minutes as the new Operations Manager worked through her English vocabulary, followed by Scots, then her mother’s native Welsh and her father’s Gaelic. As she was finishing off her low volume diatribe she felt someone nudge her elbow. She spun in place to see the lean form of the ‘NW reporter that had been hanging out at the dam.

“Hey, good food these folks put out, eh?” Wilcox asked, striking up a conversation.

“I’m not in the mood right now,” Shaushka said, face working as she tried to control her emotions.

“You want to talk?” Wilcox asked, holding up a hand. “Off the record. You look like you could use a friend right now.”

“Don’t give me that,” Shaushka said, walking toward the school parking lot. “You’ve probably been aching for a chance to get me alone for an interview.”

“Guilty as charged,” Wilcox said, working a bit to keep up with Shaushka’s long legs. “But some things are more important than a story, like being a human being. Like I said, off the record.”

“Strewth, I could use a pint of something decent,” Shaushka said, spotting her truck.

“I’ve got some at my camp,” Wilcox said, a wry smile on his face. “It might not be Guinness, but it is cold.”

“God save me from cold beer,” Shaushka said, remembering the fight that she’d started over how “proper” beer should be served in one of Burnaby’s rougher bars. “Fine. We can pick up the beers at your camp and drink in my new office.”

After dinner, the local children had been sent home and it was time for the adults to play. A small sound system played a variety of music, and after a brief hesitation couples began to filter into a square area that had been cleared of tables. Not long after, a slight murmur stole through the crowd as a dark haired, heavy set man led a lean, long haired woman into the dancing area.

“I think we’ve been noticed,” Jean said, looking up to see a soft smile on Arnold’s face. “The old biddies will have a field day.”

“Let them,” Arnold said, moving the light weight in his arms with surety and strength. “I let a lot of time go to waste, and I’m not going to let some old chinwaggers slow me down now.”

“I’m glad,” Jean said, moving as her partner guided her through the motions of a basic waltz step. “You’ve mourned long enough. You deserve to be happy again, and while I was happy just being your friend and neighbor, I’m glad we can try being something more. And since when did you know how to dance?”

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,” Arnold said, swinging Jean around in the pattern of motion he knew well. “I’ve got layers on layers, and I’m looking forward to revealing them to you, one at a time.”

“Is that so, Mr. Kye,” Jean said, with a throaty chuckle. “I should mention that Billy and the girls are over at the Hardings tonight.”

“Oh really?” Arnold asked, the corners of his mouth rising in a smile. “Some private time away from the kids, eh? Well, I hope Ernie and Lynn are ready for ponies in the morning.”

“Why?” Jean asked, slowing down and leaning in against the big man, feeling the controlled power lying just under the surface of his skin. “Wait, it was cloudy today wasn’t it?”

“Yup,” Arnold said, smelling the scent of flowers in Jean’s hair. “If Ernie’s right, tomorrow we get to hear the pitter patter of little hooves.”

“Have I mentioned how cute you looked as my own little black stallion?” Jean asked, teasing.

“Not as elegant as you did as a snow white unicorn,” Arnold said, teasing right back. “All you needed was a little tiara and you would have made a perfect little pony princess.”

“Ha!” Jean laughed, throwing her head back. “That long flowing mane of yours. I could have spent all day braiding it and weaving some ribbon in and out.”

“Oh really?” Arnold asked, stepping away from Jean and holding out his elbow. “I think we need to continue this discussion in a more private setting. What do you say, Mrs. Pedersen?”

“Delighted, Mr. Kye,” Jean said, slipping her arm through his elbow, and together the two walked out of the dancing square, watched by more than one smiling face.

Two hours later things were starting to wind down and Senior Powerline Technician Kielops looked around a little sadly as people began to put things away. He worked hard, sometimes putting in 18 hour shifts during emergencies, but it was good, solid, respectable work that people could rely on. Working that hard made him burn calories by the truckload, which is why a party like this was so welcome.

He’d been eating since the buffet started and drinking free beer since the beer garden opened. When he had tried to pay for his beers he had been told his money wasn’t good in town, which wasn’t a problem for him. What was a problem was that this fine meal had come to an end. With a sigh, he pushed away from the remnants of his food and walked over to the closing beer garden with a gait far steadier than it should have been.

“Hey, any chance of getting one of those to go?” Tim asked, pointing to a six pack sitting in a cool bath.

“For one of you guys?” said the fellow, closing down the beer garden. “No problem. Take two. It will save me having to load them back into the truck.”

“Thanks!” Tim exclaimed, gratefully accepting the drinks. “You guys really know how to make folks feel welcome.”

“We try,” said the man, smiling. “Have yourself a good night now.”

Tim smiled and began to head to the parking lot, looking for his truck. A staggered step while trying to step around someone made him realize that while he might not be inebriated by his standards, he definitely was not fit to drive right then. He went around to the back side of the school while he pondered his options.

He could drive anyway, but if he got caught, or worse got into an accident, it could cost him his job. He liked his job too much to risk it just for an easy drive back to the bunkhouses. Tim leaned against the wall while he thought, cracking open and drinking a beer to help his thinking processes. It took a second beer before his brain swam up to catch hold of an idea.

There was an old gravel service road that ran around the south side of the town. He’d driven along it a few times over the past couple of days. If soggy memory served, the far end of it came out pretty close to the bunkhouses. It was almost a tailor made walking highway. All he had to do was get on it and start walking. As long as he kept to the gravel he couldn’t get lost. It was perfect.

Pushing himself off the wall of the school, Tim “Tummy” Kielops made his way across the back side of the school grounds toward the gravel road. As his feet crunched their first few steps on gravel he couldn’t help but say, “I am such a genius.”

Brian Cummins was not a merry man as he entered his hotel room. Apparently the word was out, and no one was willing to talk to him, about anything. Plus, as near as he could tell, Trudeau Senior had never been within a hundred miles of Brightly. Either the locals were hiding their scheme of kickbacks and influence peddling way better than they should have, or he was wrong.

He sat down on his bed and turned on the light with a sigh. It was time to admit he’d made a mistake and stop wasting both time and effort on a lead turned sour. He hated being wrong, passionately. The desire, that need of his, to get things right was one of the things that made him a good reporter. The problem was that every news instinct he had screamed at him that the identity of “Seeker” was important. That there was something earth shaking hiding behind that name, just waiting to be revealed.

The questions haunted him, even though he was almost certain this was one of those times he just wasn't going to find the answers. It was clear it was time to put "Seeker," and the hows and whys around her onto the back burner, much as he hated to do so. He dug through his bag to find an old friend of his. A portable and expensive radio frequency scanner. Sometimes, when sleep eluded him back home, he would fire it up and just listen to the pulse of the city through the various radio transmissions. It was something that always seemed to comfort him.

Plugging it in to charge and putting on the Bluetooth earpiece, he was surprised to hear nothing but silence at first. Cursing, he remembered where he was. Brightly was far, far away from the lights and sounds of the Lower Mainland. He was just about to disconnect everything and put it away, when a transmission from a passing jetliner crackled in his ear. Content, he switched off his light and leaned back in his bed to listen.

Tim had been walking for what felt like hours, and he was down to his last couple of beers. He hadn’t remembered there being a rise to the old road, and he wasn’t really sure when the last time he had heard gravel was, but he knew that as long as he kept walking he would be just fine. He kept thinking that, right up to the point where he tripped over something and went hurtling down a slope.

Over and over the power lineman tumbled, as he fell down a steep incline, crashing through thickets, brambles and the occasional fresh sapling. Luckily, Tim’s well lubricated condition allowed his body to soak up most of the impacts, that and the heavy lineman’s coat he habitually wore protected his skin. Nothing however, could have protected him from the impact with the wide tree trunk near the bottom of the hill, which sent him into sudden unconsciousness.

Author's Note

Yes, I know I promised action this chapter, but life intervened in a big way and when I hit this natural break point in the chapter I decided to pause things here instead of going longer and making you all wait even more for the chapter.

As some of you may know I have a more than full time job now (50+ hrs per week) which cuts into my writing time rather severely. Brightly and Mail Troubles have become my flagship stories so for the next few months at least I'll be alternating between the two in my writing.

This should net you a couple of Brightly chapters a month, I hope.

Chapter 29: Talking in your sleep

The day dawned clear and bright over the small hamlet nestled in its spot in the forests of British Columbia. As day began to move forward, clouds began to move in, while the inhabitants and their working visitors greeted the new day with various levels of enthusiasm, expressions of wonder, and dark curses in the case of those who had over imbibed at last night’s celebration.

Among the last group was the newly appointed manager of the Carmanah Dam. She’d fallen asleep in her chair and now she had a crick in her neck to go with the thunder in her head. Muttering vile curses at the swill Wilcox called “beer,” Shaushka made her way over to the greatest gift her crew had given her, a coffee machine.

She was just sitting down at her desk with a cup of dark ambrosia when her phone rang. Not her useless mobile phone, but an actual plug into the wall, rotary dial phone that was sitting on a corner of the desk. The artifact rang again, demanding attention and driving an icepick into Shaushka’s skull. She picked up the phone, more to save her brain than anything else.

“Hello,” she said into the device.

“Manager Shaushka,” replied a voice that was far too cheery for the hour. “This is Richard Smothers, I work with the Capital Investment Group. I know it’s early, but I need a few minutes of your time.”

“Of course,” Shaushka said, putting as much fake energy into the reply as she could, while she added an extra helping of sugar to her coffee. “What can I do for you?”

“Yay! We’re ponies again! Ponies! Ponies! Ponies!” came the happy chant from the big bedroom the two Harding children had shared overnight with their three friends. In the kitchen, Lynn and Ernie rolled their eyes to each other at the kids’ antics, smiles on their faces. Ernie got up from the kitchen table and poured out a measure of reddish pellets into five bowls sitting in readiness.

“Kids!” Lynn called out, and the chorus dimmed somewhat in enthusiasm. “Breakfast!”

There was a sound of furniture being moved across a floor followed by the bedroom door opening and a short lived stampede to the kitchen. Within seconds a group of five colourful little ponies were sitting at the table, questioning looks on their faces as they saw what was sitting in front of each of them.

“Dad, what’s this stuff?” Zak asked, pushing some of the hard pellets around with a hoof.

“Smells like licorice,” Billy said, his nostrils flaring as he drank in the scent of the food.

“Those are cria pellets,” Ernie said, pouring himself a bowl of bran cereal that looked remarkably similar to what the kids had in front of them.

“Um, what are cria pellets?” Romy asked, also sniffing at the food. “They do kinda smell good.”

“Baby alpaca food,” Ernie said, pouring in some milk and crunching down on some of his cereal.

“Alpaca food!” came the united complaint of five voices. “Yuck!” Lynn turned toward the counter so the kids couldn’t see her wide smile.

“If you kids are going to be quadrupeds at least part of the time,” Ernie said, deliberately holding up a spoonful of his bran cereal. “You are going to need nutrition aimed at quadrupeds. I know it’s not actual horse food, but it’s the best thing I could find that seemed a little appetizing as well.”

“But we’re magical ponies,” Rowan countered. “We’ve been doing just fine on regular people food.”

“So far,” Ernie said, pausing in his own meal. “We don’t know if you kids need any special trace elements, or protein requirements or amount of roughage. It’s not like there’s anyone we can just ask about this sort of thing. Besides, I checked this stuff over and even if you should just be having regular food this stuff won’t hurt.”

“It’s not bad,” Kylara said, crunching away on some of the pellets. “Tastes like granola with sugar on it.”

“That would be the molasses they use as a binding agent to hold it all together,” Ernie said. “So eat up kids, and even though school is open, you five are staying home today.”

“‘Cause we’re ponies?” Zak asked, around a mouthful of the pellets.

“Just for now,” Lynn said, turning back to the conversation. “We’re hoping something can get worked out over the weekend. We’ll redo some of your homework in a bit so you don’t start falling behind, after that I could use your help making some more pony harnesses.”

“Already?” Ernie asked, surprise in his voice. “The kids ones are fine, aren’t they?”

“Not theirs,” Lynn said, as a bit of a blush came over her cheeks. “I’m making one for me, Arnold, Jean and Jessica.”

“For you and…” Ernie began, his voice trailing off as he wisely decided not to get in the way of what had obviously become something of a major new project for his wife.

“Also, be a dear and when you come home today, bring me any spare tack from the farm,” Lynn said, and Ernie just nodded and went back to his bran. Which probably tasted a lot worse than what the kids were eating.

“...So that’s the long and the short it,” Shaushka said, addressing the combined dam and powerline teams later that morning. “The Carmanah Dam, at least for the next five years, is going to be a manned operation. Hydro is offering all of you first pick of positions. For those of you who choose to stay on, it will mean moving up a full pay grade, plus a generous moving allowance and a remote site bonus. HR needs to know by the end of next week if you want to make the jump. Okay, that’s it. Get back to packing up. Our ride back to Bella Bella will be here noon tomorrow.”

“How many of them do you think will take the offer?” Wilcox asked, as he walked up through the rapidly thinning crowd. Shaushka had let the reporter sit in on the meeting as something of a pay back. Despite the revolting qualities of his so-called “beer,” he had made for a fine person to just sit and talk with. He’d let her vent without judgement, and filled in his side of the conversation with interesting stories about his job.

“Not sure,” Shaushka said, walking back to her office that overlooked the turbines. “I’ve only been in charge of this crew for a couple of weeks. Some of them will sign on, I think. The rest seem to like the challenges and the big overtime pay cheques of being part of a troubleshooting team.”

“Okay, got it,” Wilcox said, nodding. “And thanks for letting me sit in.”

“I owed you a bit, mate,” the tech turned manager said, waving a hand dismissively. “Plus the formal announcement will be in a few hours anyway, so it’s not like it’s a huge revelation.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Wilcox said, flipping his notebook closed. “I’ve got to call this in. Beer later?”

“Lord no,” Shaushka said, laughing. “I wouldn’t touch that swill again if you paid me to.”

Wilcox was about to reply when Shaushka’s phone told her that 40 year old technology still worked just fine. The reporter made a “bye” gesture and walked away at a brisk pace while Shaushka picked up the plastic handset.

“Shaushka here,” she said, speaking into the phone as she picked it up while leaning against her desk.

“It’s Weitz,” said the voice of the head of the powerline crews. Weitz was a huge man of German descent who managed his people by getting into the dirt and wet right alongside them and outworking all of them into the ground.

“What’s up?” Shaushka asked, curious. Weitz wasn’t one for wasted conversation, either in the office or the field. He wouldn’t be calling her unless he needed to.

“Got a man missing,” Weitz said, without preamble. “Didn’t sleep in his bed, didn’t show up for work, not like him.”

“Well it was a big party last night,” Shaushka said, walking around her desk and looking for the personnel list of the crew under her. “Who is it?”

“Tim Kielops,” Weitz said, not enlightening Shaushka at all. “Good worker. Big eater.”

“Oh, him!” Shaushka said, her mind flashing to an individual she’d seen eat a burger in two or three bites. “Well, he might have had too much to drink and been taken in by some locals for the night. I heard that happened with a couple of your crew?”

“Ya,” Weitz said, the word Teutonically tinged. “They were back in time for work though.”

“Kielops usually on time?” Shaushka asked.

“Ya,” Weitz replied, “Never missed a shift before.” Shaushka got it now. Weitz was worried about his man, not angry at him.

“Okay, give it until after lunch,” Shaushka said, thinking. “If he hasn’t shown up by then I’ll go talk to the mayor and see if he can make some calls to find our lost lamb.”

“Big lamb,” Weitz grunted out. “If he shows up, I will call. I don’t call, you go see mayor.”

“Right,” Shauska said, realizing that Weitz just wasn’t worried, he was very worried. “I don’t hear from you by 1pm sharp, I’ll be on the phone to Montcalm.”

“Thanks,” Weitz said, and hung up the line. Shaushka hung up her phone and sighed. LIfe had been so straightforward before Brightly. She knew her job and she knew those around her. Now, it just felt like like she was flailing around blindly and waiting for someone to notice she didn’t have a clue. Pulling up her day planner app she added “Call Mayor” at 1pm, and saw that the next thing on her list was to check the status of the barge that was returning to pick them up.

Tim Kielops woke with a groan. His head was killing him and the rest of his body didn’t feel so good either. He tried opening his eyes but something seemed to have glued his eyelids shut. Rubbing at his eyes and face instinctively he absently noted that his face was covered in a slightly gooey, drying crumbly substance.

It was the work of a few moments to remove the offending material and Tim blinked a few extra times in surprise as his vision cleared and he realized he was sitting in the middle of the woods at the base of a very large tree. Looking down at his hand, he saw that it was covered in dried and not quite dried blood.

“Oh, Tim,” he said aloud to himself, wincing as a probing hand found a very sore spot on the crown of his head. “Where have we gotten ourselves into now?”

Weaving slightly the big man levered himself upright, leaning himself up against the trunk of the big tree to steady himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up in a strange place after a bacchanal, but it was the first time he’d woken up in the woods after one. He rested against the solid giant behind him, slowly taking deep breaths and gentle exhales to clear his mind of the fog.

Head clearing, Tim looked back up the slope down which he had tumbled. It was steep, tree covered and Tim wasn’t sure if he could climb back up it. He circled around the tree to see what was on the downslope and realized that the tree he had smashed into had probably saved his life.

On the other side of the tree was a vertical drop off of some ten meters down to a rocky stream that had cut its way deep into the ground over the eons. Tim realized that if the tree hadn’t stopped him, he would have gone over the edge and smashed into the rocks below. Tim whistled in appreciation and took a step forward to get a better look down into the narrow, but deep ravine.

Tim was a big man and carrying the impressive amount of muscle he had made for an equally impressive number showing up on any scale he stepped on. So when he stepped onto the undercut lip of soil and roots that had been loosened by some of the heaviest rain in the past fifty years it gave way beneath him. With reflexes that a cat would envy, the man tried to spin around to grab the edge of the embankment even as he fell, but time, space and gravity conspired against him.

His reaching fingers only grabbed the thinnest of roots, enough to slow his fall but not stop him completely, and he fell heavily to the stream below. Tim landed in a thigh high pool of water with a tremendous splash, pain lancing up his left leg as it landed on a large rock on the bottom. The big man tried to stand up with both legs, but Tim quickly found that his left leg would only just take his weight.

“I think I might be in trouble,” Tim said, half hobbling, half swimming his way out of the pooled water.

With the recent rains the stream came up almost to the very side of the deep, narrow channel but he managed to find a good size rock to sit on while he examined his left leg. Nothing seemed broken, and while he had several scrapes, cuts and bruises he wasn’t bleeding. That was the extent of the good news though. His left ankle throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he was thoroughly soaked and chilled.

He looked up the embankment he had just fallen down and whistled at the vertical slope. These was no way he could climb back the way he had come. If he had some of his climbing gear with him, it might be possible, but with a hurt ankle and no gear it wasn’t going to happen. Standing up, Tim began to make his way downstream ignoring the pain in his left ankle as much as he was able.

“Do it like ‘Survivorman’ does. Follow the stream to a bigger stream,” Tim said aloud, hoping to scare off any wildlife that might think of him as tasty. “Follow that to a river, then to a lake or the ocean. People can see you there. Ya, that’s a plan.”

Still talking to himself, the power lineman made his painful way along the streambank, unaware that his plan was doomed from the start. During the night Tim had unknowingly crested the ridge that divided Brightly from the rest of the Great Bear Rainforest. By following the stream and heading downhill he was now heading deeper into the ancient range of the Spirit Bear and further away from civilization and rescue.

Brian Cummins sat in the pub that was one of the two watering holes in Brightly, while pushing a fry aimlessly around his plate. It was barely half past one, and there was nothing left for him to do here. No one would say more than a few words to him, and even those few were almost always said with a frown of displeasure of having to be in his presence. He had been, as someone had once said, ostracized with a dull ostracizer.

In hindsight, what he had done to so monumentally mess things up was clear. In the Lower Mainland, people would have been clamouring for his attention. Begging to be “the” source, to be the breathless person on camera going, “I saw the incident…” Everyone in the big city wanted their five minutes of fame so they could stand out from the faceless masses.

Brightly didn’t work that way though. There were no faceless masses here, and no crowd to stand out from. Just living here was to stand out against the trees that crowded in from all around. No one wanted recognition here, because everyone already knew everyone else, and that didn’t count the many people who had come here for a place where they could just be themselves. Without the prying eyes of a pushy reporter poking his nose into everything.

By trying to force the locals to react to him the way people did in the cities, he’d pushed them away, and become the quintessential “city slicker” in their eyes. Barring a miracle, there was no coming back from that. Unless he wanted to take up permanent residence here and spend a couple of years trying to mend fences.

Cummins frowned at that thought. There was no way he had that kind of time. What’s more, there was no way he needed these people to like… The TV reporter’s thoughts were cut off in mid-flow as the incredibly loud sound of an air-raid siren, of all things, sounded nearby.

Looking around Cummins could see that every person in the pub was sitting bolt upright in their chairs and looking around. A few making quick comments to their tablemates, questioning looks on their faces. Wood scraped along the floor, and the reporter saw two people quickly rise from their seats and reach for their wallets.

“Don’t bother,” said the waitress over the siren’s wail to the pair, who Cummins now recognized as Brightly’s pair of paramedics. “I’ll send the bill to your boss.”

Nodding in thanks, the pair bolted out of the pub and into a pickup parked out front. A squeal of tires could be heard over the dying notes of the siren and conversations began to pick up again as quiet returned. Curiosity afire, Cummins got up from his table and went over to the waitress who was now cleaning up the abandoned lunch.

“What’s with the siren?” Cummins asked the older woman. “What’s going on?”

“Stuff,” the woman said, frowning as she recognized Cummins. Then smoothed her face before continuing, “Fire department got a call, is all.”

“Thanks,” Cummins said, handing the woman a twenty. “Keep the change.” He quickly turned and headed for his hotel room, which was in the building attached to the pub, fire in his veins. There was a story to be had, and ostracized or not, he might have a way to get the scoop on nearly everyone.

“Keep the change he says,” the woman muttered as Cummins left the room. “On an eighteen dollar meal. Gee, thanks.”

Cummins knew he was causing a scene as he bolted through the small lobby of the hotel part of the building and pounded up the stairs to his room. He didn’t care. These people didn’t like him? Fine. There were still stories to cover and news to be had, and in Murrow’s name he would be the one to cover them.

Reaching his room, he quickly dove his hands into his end table, coming up with the small, but powerful radio scanner he had used the night before to listen to passing airliners. It took only a few moments after Cummins turned it on for it to find and lock onto a powerful signal.

“This is Fire Three,” crackled a voice in Cummins’ ear. “I’m on my way in. Do we have to use these silly call signs?”

“Yes we do, Ernie,” a voice Cummins recognized as Montcalm’s said. “You were the one who came up with the whole call sign idea in the first place, so we might as well use them.”

“Hoser Two here,” a young male voice said, who Cummins thought he recognized as Ben Thompson, the young man who had climbed the tower to align the dish at the dam. “I kind of like them.”

“Fire Two,” a deeper man’s voice said. “I regret showing you my old copies of SCTV now. I really do.”

“Cut the chatter people, and get in as quick as you can,” Montcalm said. “We’ve got a SAR situation. A guy on one of the Hydro crews went missing overnight. They’ve been looking in town all morning, no luck.”

“Fire One, Fire Three,” the fireman said. “ETA is about five minutes. You know, we could get some help on this.”

“The hydro crews are already offering half their people,” Montcalm said. “Just get your ass in here, Fire Three. You’re the furthest out.”

“Seeker and her friends could be a big help,” Fire Three said, pressuring his boss, and Cummins still listening through the scanner, felt as if a bolt of lightning had gone through him. Seeker, the mysterious unknown Seeker, who everyone in town seemed intent on covering for might be a part of what was going on. Cummins had just been given the miracle he had given up on. If he could learn Seeker’s identity he could prove to his boss that he was right. If he did it in the right way, he might even get back some of the respect he’d lost.

“I’ll think about it,” Montcalm said. “We’ll talk about it when you get in. Fire One, out.”

There was a click as the frequency stopped being used and the scanner began to hunt up and down its range for more things to lock on to. As it did, Cummins sat back on his bed, absorbing what he had just heard, wondering if it could have been some sort of trick or set up to make him look bad. After all, he shouldn’t have been able to listen in to the conversation. Emergency service channels were usually encrypted or otherwise unable to be detected by his little scanner.

This is Brightly, he remembered, in realization. The little town was probably using radio technology from the 1990s, at best. They wouldn’t, couldn’t be on a trunk system that would be hopping frequencies, and on top of that, any sort of encryption from twenty years ago would have been broken long ago and pre-programmed into his scanner. The fire department didn’t know he could listen in.

Cummins spent the next ten minutes getting ready for what might be a long session. His room had been furnished as a working bedroom, so it had a writing desk and chair. He’d gone and ordered up a large coffee pot and pre-ordered a couple of meals, to be delivered at intervals over the course of the day. So when his scanner locked onto the frequency used by the fire department again, he was ready.

“Rescue One and Two, are you set up at the park?” Montcalm asked over the radio.

“Yes, sir,” said the female voice of Rescue One, who Cummins had identified as Jessica Harkins. “The first search teams are fanning out now. Everyone has maps and CB radios set to channel 19.”

“Okay, we’ll use the school’s park as our base of operations for coordinating searchers and any needed medical response,” Montcalm said. “Shaushka, the boss at the dam, tells me that she’s closing down operations there for the day and sending her crews to search to the north and west.”

“Boss, I really think we’re missing an opportunity,” said the voice of Rescue Three, Ernie Harding. “You know what Seeker can do, not to mention how helpful Darter and Skylark could be.” Cummins made a note of the message and time of the comment.

“Fine,” Montcalm said, huffing out a sigh. “I suppose that they just so happen to somehow have radios?”

“Um, well, me and Arn— Fire Two, did have several spare sets lying around our places,” Ernie said, and Cummins could almost see the grin on the firefighter’s face.

“I know when I’m beat,” Montcalm said. “But, we keep them as hidden as possible. We don’t want that damn nosy reporter catching sight of them, or having someone spotting them and telling him.”

“No worries on that,” said Fire Two, Arnold Kye. “After word got out about him harassing me and trying to bother Jean no one is willing to say more than two words to that ass.” Cummins’ hand whitened for a moment as he gripped his pen with excessive strength but forced himself to calmly wait for the next development. Fifteen minutes later, he got what he was waiting for as his world was turned upside down.

“Hello, Fire One,” a happy young girl’s voice chirped on the radio. “Mrs. Ped… um ‘Q’ tells me you might have a mission for the Power Ponies?” Cummins shook his head. “Q” and “Power Ponies” sounded like something from a cheesy kids show, and that was a child’s voice. What was a child doing on the fire department’s radio frequency?

“Everyone is getting call signs, eh?” asked Montcalm. “Never mind. Yes, Shield Maiden. I may have a ‘mission’ for your team. What’s their status?”

“Power Ponies are ready to go,” replied the young voice enthusiastically, who Cummins mentally tagged with the name Montcalm had given her.

“Has um, ‘Q’ explained what’s going on?” Montcalm asked.

“No sir, just that you needed us,” Shield Maiden said. “Right now, Q is just outfitting us with some new gear, but we’re ready whenever you say.”

“Okay, here’s what’s going on and what I would like,” Montcalm said, and Cummins noticed unusual hesitation in the mayor’s voice. “One of the men from the Hydro crews is missing after the party last night. We think he tried to take a shortcut, got lost and wandered off into the woods during the night.”

“We’ll help any way we can,” Shield Maiden said, and Cummins could hear several young voices in the background. All agreeing with equal enthusiasm at the prospect of helping in the search.

“Seeker might be especially helpful,” Montcalm said, in a firm voice as he tried to exercise some discipline over the radio. “Can her way of seeing things be of use? Maybe see the heat from his footprints or something? I’d also like to have Darter and Skylark doing an aerial search. But only if they can do that and keep from being seen.”

Since when does Brightly have airborne search assets? Darter/Skylark, local drone enthusiasts, maybe? Cummins wrote in his notebook. Four ‘Power Ponies’ so far. Seeker seems to be one of them. Why ‘Power Ponies?’ Young voices. How old are they? Have Research do an internet search for name or similar.

“Darter here, sir,” a young boy’s voice said, a moment later over the radio. “Skylark and I can keep low, or really high. Whichever you think is best.”

“I’d rather the two of you go high to avoid running into a surprise,” Montcalm said. “I’d like Iron Hoof, Shield Maiden and Seeker to stick together on the ground. I’ll send Fire Three to you with maps of where I want you to start your searches. Once you are on scene, work with Rescue One. She’s coordinating the search teams and will do her best to make sure you don’t run into anyone. Use your call signs at all times, keep out of sight, use your radios, got it?”

“Yes sir!” said the voice of Shield Maiden, and Cummins’ earbuds were nearly exploded out of his ears by a joyous shout of, “POWER PONIES ARE GO!”

Author's Note

Uh oh, looks like things are about to get interesting for the Furred Five. And their friends. Will they be able to find the Timmy before he falls down a well? What is Cummins going to do with what he's hearing? Where is Luna?

And will I be able to write another chapter this month?

Only time will tell, dear readers.

Oh, feel free to hunt for errors this chapter. I decided to try an automatic tool for the final edit process instead of my usual method of having Fimfiction itself read the story back to me.

My Patreon is up and running if you want to send a small pledge my way. My kind and wonderful Patrons have made the difference in keeping me up and writing. They are:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Machara,
and
Drazhan.

Chapter 31: Holding out for a hero

“Hey Jean,” Lynn Harding said, as she entered the back door of her home. “Jessica is airborne and on her way. Jean?” Lynn froze as some sixth sense pricked the skin of her forearms, warning her of danger. Looking up the hall, she saw flickering purple light being reflected off its walls.

“Jean,” Lynn called again, moving forward cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“S-stay away. I c-can’t control it,” Foxfire called back, in a voice that scared Lynn clear down to her bones.

Lynn had heard all kinds of emotions from her neighbor over the years, but this was a new sound. This was terror. Mind-numbing, soul-deep terror, for herself and others. Hearing that sound from her friend gave Lynn’s feet wings, and she hurled herself around the corner and into the main room of her home.

“I’m—” Lynn began, words cutting off as she looked at her friend mere feet away.

Jean Pedersen, now Foxfire, was wreathed in a smokey indigo mantle of power. Her mane and tail were flowing parallel to the ground in an unfelt wind, and filled with twinkling fairy lights that bobbed and weaved. Glowing white eyes turned toward Lynn and locked onto her human form.

“Get away,” Foxfire said, her voice becoming preternatural. “RUN! I can’t hold it back much longer!”

Lynn ran into her kitchen, desperate to find something to help her friend with. While she was doing that, the out of control power coursing through Foxfire attracted someone else's attention.

That sudden current in the aether, Luna thought to herself, pausing in her interminable drilling for the surface. That is a unicorn, coming into their own. But such strength! Never have I felt a foal surge with such raw power. Unless… This is no foal at all, but a unicorn grown. I must aid her as best I can.

For Foxfire, everything was in flames, as wild, out of control, purple fire seared her insides. She could feel the magic that had bound itself to her using her mind and soul as kindling, threatening to burst forth to destroy everything and everyone she loved. It was all she could do to keep that raging storm bound inside of her, and with luck it would burn her up before it ran wild.

Peace child, said a calm voice, spreading a soothing blue coolness over Foxfire’s fiery mind. It will be well.

Please, Foxfire said. I need help.

You can control this, the voice said, its coolness spreading. Breathe, focus thy mind on thy family and friends. Anchor your mind to harness your strength.

Foxfire listened to the voice. It was ancient and wise, seemingly everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She filled her thoughts with images of her Rowan and Romy. Of the strong new presence in her life that was Arnold. The firm support of her friends and neighbors. As Foxfire’s mind calmed, so too did the roaring blaze within her. The fire dwindled and dropped, changing from a terrible inferno into something that warmed and comforted.

“Goddess?” Foxfire asked, wonderingly at the presence she felt in her mind. “Are you one of the goddesses?”

Others have called me such in the past, the voice said, and Foxfire could hear amusement in those cool tones. But you may call—

“OMNI VINCI AMOR!” Lynn Harding yelled, hammering down the lever on her kitchen fire extinguisher and hosing down her friend with a spray of cold white powder in an effort to save her.

With the link between them shattered by the sudden well-meant physical assault, both Luna and Foxfire were knocked unconscious by the psychic backlash of their sundered joining. Foxfire collapsed to the floor of the living room in a powder coated heap. Luna however, had been holding herself in mid-air at the top of the shaft she had been drilling. When she fell unconscious she also physically fell over a hundred feet, ricocheting off the rocky sides of the shaft and passing back through the portal to Equestria.

Medevac was doing quite well for it being her first true flight. Her previous experience with the air had been limited to hovering a few feet off the ground. Now, a full thousand feet up, the pegasus bulled her way through the air. Not for her the speed and grace of Darter, nor did she have Skylark’s power of flight. What she did have though was a need to get where she needed to be, to where she was needed to save a life. It was enough.

“I’m here,” Medevac said, folding her red and white wings as she landed on a beach of pea gravel. Both Darter and Skylark looked at her with undisguised relief and Medevac was reminded that she was working with children. Brave children with incredible abilities, but children nonetheless.

“I can’t wake up the woman,” Skylark said, one of her wings touching a middle-aged woman who had obviously taken some kind of blow to the head.

“She’s breathing, right?” Medevac asked, in a calm voice. “No major wounds?”

“N-no,” the young mare said, with a tremor in her voice. “Just her head is banged up.”

“Triage,” Medevac said, taking a breath. “Leave her be for the moment, while we deal with the bad injury first.” She turned to where Skylark’s brother was still holding a belt tightly against a man’s thigh.

“He hasn’t woken up either,” Darter said, anticipating Medevac’s question. “But there’s all kinds of blood.”

“Right, I’ve got this,” Medevac said, her amazingly prehensile wings opening up the saddlebags of her harness. “Darter, keep holding that belt in place. Skylark, keep monitoring your patient and let me know if anything changes.”

“Okay,” both young pegasi responded, almost as one, their voices growing more confident now that an adult was in charge.

In the meantime, Medevac got out a pair of scissors and began cutting away the pilot’s pant leg to expose the wound. The man had a deep long gash in his lower leg, and as the pegasus turned to get a better look at the damage she laid her open wing over the man’s torso and gasped in shock.

Through her wings she could feel everything. Feathers that were sensitive to the slightest breeze gave a tactile image of the body they lay on, and the structures beneath. Medevac saw wondrous beauty there. The ebb and flow of air, the slow movement of secondary fluids, the gentle function of liver, kidneys and spleen, and through it all there echoed the drumbeat of life.

It was not a steady, calm beat however. It was an urgent pounding, a call to battle as a fortress under siege rallied its troops in defence. Medevac twisted her wing slightly, sliding it lower down along the pilot’s body, and she felt it. The functioning beauty of the body under her feathers was marred. There was an ugliness that had forced its way into the perfection of life and threatened to end it.

The body under attack called to her for aid, and Medevac felt her soul respond in answer. She would answer the cry for help, she would mend the wound, tend to the sick. She would act to preserve and protect life. This is why she was here, in this place, in this form. So that she could save this life, and all the other lives that would come to her in all the years to come.

“What’s she doing?” Skylark asked, in a very quiet voice.

All she could tell was that Jessica, now Medevac, had laid her wing over the man her brother had pulled from the plane and then had stopped talking. The bigger pony still hadn’t said a single word, but her wings were in constant motion over the wound while her forehooves kept the area clear.

“She’s not thinking,” Darter said, in understanding. “She’s doing. Like with the sandwiches.”

“Keep an eye on the woman,” Medevac said, absently. “Darter, keep watching for Kevin.”

Medevac’s wings kept moving with an ease and skill that impressed the two more experienced pegasi. Despite both their orders and the ick factor at what Medevac was doing, Darter and Skylark were both fascinated at what was happening. They had never dreamed that feathers could be used almost like individual fingers as the older pony cleaned and then carefully began to suture the wound closed.

So, it was with some surprise that they heard the crunch of gravel from the rescue truck’s inflatable boat land on the shore near them. Kevin Banta jumped out of the boat and walked over to the trio of ponies with quick strides while carrying a pair of large boxes filled with medical supplies.

“How are they?” he asked, setting the boxes down and moving to check on the still unconscious older woman.

“I haven’t checked on the woman,” Medevac said, her concentration on what she was doing. “I’m almost done with this wound. We’re going to need an airlift to get them out of here.”

“Right, I’ll call it in,” Banta said, checking the woman’s pulse and breathing. “She seems okay, just out cold. No way to check for brain trauma though. We’ll airlift them both just to be on the safe side.”

“Sounds good, and done,” Medevac said, stepping back. “This will hold for now, but he needs a proper hospital. Good work kids, you saved lives today.” Skylark hid her face behind a wing at the praise while Darter puffed up a bit and smiled.

“Okay, chopper is about twenty minutes out,” Banta said, as he finished talking with Chief Montcalm a minute later. “You three need to get going and HOLY SH-”

A pillar of rainbow coloured light seemed to erupt from the ground beneath Medevac, lifting her up and enveloping her. The power of Equestrian magic wrapped itself around the new pegasus, welcoming her in its chromatic embrace. Medevac felt nothing but joy and deep satisfaction as something within her seem to lock into place at long last. Words, storied and powerful, rolled out from her as she said the ancient oath:

“I stand in the cause of Life. I will heal the sick, mend the wounded and comfort the dying. I will not judge, lest I be judged, and I will give my service to any who call on me for aid. I will pass my knowledge to others, as it was passed to me, doing honor to those in whose shadow I walk. This I swear by Apollo, the Physician and Asclepius, the Healer.”

“Huh, whazzat?” Dr. Carlson said, the fading light show and the wash of healing magic over the area reviving her to fuzzy awareness.

“Just a light,” Banta said, making sure his body blocked the woman’s view of the ponies on the beach. He turned his head away from the groaning woman and hissed, “Get out of here, you three. Chopper’s on the way.” Darter, Skylark and Medevac needed no further urging and took to the air, climbing up and away.

“Hey! You got your ‘Mark of Power’,” Darter said to Medevac, who looked back on her flank. There, standing out in stark contrast to her cream coloured fur, was a scarlet rod with a pair of wings and a single snake twined around it.

“Wow,” Medevac said, and a feeling of fresh joy washed through her, until she turned her head back forward and looked down.

“Fire One,” Medevac said, keying her mic as she looked down at the man in the campsite who was looking back up at them as they flew past. “We have a problem.”

“We’ve got a couple of problems,” Darrell Montcalm said over the phone a few minutes later. ”There’s a reporter who’s been camped out at the dam. We’re pretty sure he saw the whole thing.”

“How sure?” Lynn asked.

She had spent the past half hour cleaning fire extinguisher dust from her living room, and was nowhere near done yet. She had carried her sleeping unicorn friend upstairs to rest, and Jean’s steady breathing hadn’t changed a whit when Lynn had literally vacuumed her friend clean.

“Almost 100 percent. On the plus side, this Wilcox fellow is pretty reasonable from what everyone has said about him and I’ve got a feeling we can have a discreet chat with him,” Montcalm said, before continuing. “We’ve got a bigger problem though.”

“What’s that?” Lynn asked, a feeling of dread coming over her.

“I can’t raise Rowan, Romy or Billy on the radio,” Montcalm said, and Lynn could hear the worry in his voice. “Last I heard from them they were on one of the old logging roads following a trail of prints they had found.”

“Oh hell,” Lynn swore, glancing upstairs. If there was any single thing in all the world that was guaranteed to push Jean Pedersen into a rage, it was something happening to her kids. A couple of years ago a forest firefighter had made the mistake of mocking Romy’s lisp within Jean’s hearing.

Her calm and cool neighbor had changed from friendly neighborhood witch to “Momma bear locked on kill” in about half a second. To this day, residents of Brightly swore they saw crackling electricity wreathing Jean in a halo as she had backed the big strong man into a corner through the sheer power of her protective fury.

That alone would have been enough on its own to cement her legend in local folklore, but it was what happened next that had marked her as someone you did not cross. She didn’t threaten the man, didn’t shout at him, didn’t grab a weapon. She just leaned forward and whispered a few words in his ear.

The fellow had gone pale as snow, dropped to his knees in front of everyone and started begging Jean’s forgiveness. She had just looked down at him with grim satisfaction, before turning around and walking away. And that was before Jean had become a power packed unicorn.

“Don’t worry about, Mr. Mayor,” Lynn said, with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “I’ll tell her about it.”

“Okay,” Montcalm said, only the tiniest bit of relief in his voice. “Tell her, I’m sorry, and we’ll keep at it until we hear from them.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Lynn said. “With their fur they’re probably well equipped to handle the temperature. I’ll talk to you after I wake Jean and let her know.”

Darkness was beginning to come on swiftly to the little pond on the side of the mountain, and Tim Kielops was not looking forward to what was going to happen over the next twelve hours or so. He’d been able to make himself a crude lean-to with the materials on hand, but try as he might he just could not get a fire to start.

Part of it was due to a lack of proper fire starting tools. Like a blowtorch. It was about what he’d need to start a fire around here. There was a distinct lack of anything like dry wood in the area. Tim had wandered as far as he’d dared to in his search, looking under logs and on the supposed dry side of trees. He’d even tried whittling his way into a few branches. Even there he found soaking wet, or at least damp, wood.

He was just about to settle down to try to make the best of it, when he heard large splashing sounds coming in his direction from the steep little canyon that held the stream that fed the pond. Expecting something large, annoyed and with big teeth, he snatched up an improvised spear he had made while whittling away for some dry wood to burn.

“There he is!” shouted the lead attacking figure as it emerged from the canyon, splashes highlighting its hoof falls. Outnumbered three to one, Tim prepared to sell his life dearly to the onslaught of wild, savage... cute, colourful, little ponies?

“What the hell?” Tim asked, standing up from his crouch. “What the hell are you? No wait, you can’t be real. I’ve gone hypothermic and never noticed. Can you even do that?”

“Hey! You shouldn’t swear around kids,” Shield Maiden said to Kielops, who was holding a big pointed stick and wearing the expression of someone who was very much in doubt of their sanity at that moment.

“Oh great,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. “A hallucination is giving me a lecture about bad language. Maybe I ate a magic mushroom or something, or rubbed up against some.”

“We’re real,” Iron Hoof said, as the trio came around the pond to the rock shelf Tim had been setting up his little camp on. “We’re the Power Ponies, from Brightly. We’re here to rescue you.”

“Okay, now I know I’ve lost it,” Tim said, dropping his stick and sitting heavily down on the rocks. “Cute pony kids, come to rescue me. Well, if this is how I’m going, at least it’s nice.”

“We are too real, Mister,” Seeker said, coming right up to the incredulous power lineman. “Touch me. I’m real.”

“What the hell,” Tim said, noting the glare he got from the bossy pony of the batch. “Fine, what the heck. Better?

Gingerly, he reached out and laid his hand on Seeker’s back. He touched it, and jerked his hand away, having expected not to encounter anything. Tim looked at Seeker, who smiled and gave him a nod of encouragement. Once again, a tough calloused hand stretched out and touched soft fur.

“Ho-ly Crap,” Tim said, his face splitting into a massive grin and he swept Seeker into his arms for an equally massive hug. “YOU’RE REAL!”

“Duh! We told you that already,” Shield Maiden said, laughing a bit at the big man who was holding onto her sister like she was the most important thing in the world.

“Fire One, this is Iron Hoof,” Iron Hoof said into his radio. “We’ve found him. We found him.” Only static greeted the announcement.

“Fire One?” Iron Hoof said, repeating the radio call. “Are you there?” There was still no reply.

“Mr. Mayor?” Shield Maiden said, trying her own radio. “Are you there? Can anyone hear me?”

“I think I know why you can’t get through,” Tim said. He’d stopped hugging Seeker, but hadn’t let go of her entirely. “I’ve had a few hours to think about why going downhill didn’t get me back to town. I think we’re on the far side of the hills and they’re blocking the signal.”

“You mean nobody knows where we are?” Seeker said, eyes widening and a little fear creeping into her voice.

“You kids, uh ponies. You’ve got radios, right? When was the last time you checked in with whoever you’re working with?” Tim asked, pulling Seeker back into his arms for a comforting hug because dammit, good men hugged scared little kids and told them it’s gonna be okay. Ponies or not.

“A couple of hours ago,” Shield Maiden said. “We told the fire chief we’d found your tracks and were following them up a road.”

“Okay, so they know which way you guys were going,” Tim said, petting the pony in his arms in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. “When you don’t check in with the other searchers, they’ll know something was wrong and backtrack.”

“Tho they are gonna find us?” Seeker asked, snuggling into Tim’s lap like a very oversized cat.

“Definitely,” Tim said, in his most reassuring voice, while he rested a hand on her back. “But they probably won’t get here until tomorrow. You guys wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat on you would you? Or maybe something to start a fire with?”

“Check my saddlebags,” Seeker said. “I haven’t really checked what we have.”

“Good idea,” Shield Maiden said, reaching around to open up her bags. “Iron Hoof...”

“On it,” said the strong pony of the three, and in the next few minutes a small pile of items was created beside Tim so that Seeker didn’t have to move from her spot in order to see everything.

“Okay,” Tim said, assessing the revealed supplies. “Three identical sets of stuff, which means we have threes of everything. So, a dozen granola bars, three bottles of water, three small medical kits, three of those dinky foil emergency blankets, three sets of extra radio batteries and best of all, three chemical lights and three road flares.”

He grabbed one of the lights and cracked it to life. The dim green light spilling out was already brighter than the fading daylight. Tim could feel the warmth beginning to leech out of him except where Seeker’s warm furry body covered his own. Things were looking up even so.

“Any of you kids been in a survival situation?” Tim asked the ponies, who had all gathered around him instinctively so that they could be closer to the light.

“We’ve all been camping before,” Iron Hoof said, speaking up. “And Seeker and Shield Maiden’s mom has taught me a lot about the woods, but nothing past that.”

“Okay, I’ve probably got more experience than you kids, is it okay if I call you ‘kids?’ Or do I call you ‘ponies,’ or what?” Tim asked.

“Either is fine,” Shield Maiden said, having snuggled up beside the big man so that her nose was nearly touching her sister’s.

“Alright. Anyway, I’ve got more experience, so I probably know what to do in this situation better than you three do,” Tim said, his left arm over both Shield Maiden and Iron Hoof’s backs while his right was over Seeker. “Problem is, I’m banged up a bit and can’t move that well. Truth is, my leg is pretty seized up now. So I need you guys to be my hands and legs so that we can get through this night together.”

“What do you need us to do?” Iron Hoof asked, and the eager expression all three ponies wore warmed Tim in a way that a mere fire never could.

Princess Luna regained consciousness seeing the concerned face of her sister staring down at her.

“Luna,” Celestia said, relief in her voice. “Thank goodness you’re awake. Twilight won’t tell me what’s going on, but I’ve managed to piece together some of it. You’ve been through the portal haven’t you?”

“Not so loud,” Luna said, touching a hoof to her aching head and was startled as she felt something metallic around her horn. “Sister, why am I wearing a horn sheath?”

“The doctor says you’ve got one of the worst cases of magical backlash and thaumic overwork he’s ever seen,” Celestia said, her expression firming up. “That sheath stays on until the doctor says you can channel magic again.”

“I have to get back,” Luna said, trying to get up. “There was a unicorn. She was surging. An adult unicorn, Celestia. I have to be sure she was able to bring herself under control.”

“No,” Celestia said, pinning her sister back onto the bed with trivial effort. “You’re staying here until you’ve rested and explained everything to me. You channel so much as a spark and I’ll... I’ll glue that sheath to your horn, or even mount it to a bridle and strap it on you.”

“You would never—“ Luna began, then stopped as she recognized the resolve on Celestia’s face. “You would. To protect me, you would. Wouldn’t you?”

“I love you, Luna,” Celestia said, leaning close. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. Please, tell me what you’ve been doing on the other side of the portal.”

“I’ve been to the other side,” Luna began, then paused for a moment in thought. “Do we even know the name of that other world?”

“If memory serves, Lee Ung called it, ‘Canada’,” Celestia said. “So, my sister, whom I love. Tell me, what have you been doing in the world of Canada?”

Author's Note

Oh, things are getting twisty now, aren't they.

"Holding out for a Hero" has long been one of my favorite songs and seemed appropriate for this chapter as we had two situations where heroes were needed. You don't have to be particularly brave, or strong, or be a pony to be a hero. Sometimes you just have to be willing to stand up and do what needs doing to be a hero to someone.

If you like this and other stories of mine, you can support me on Patreon for as little as a dollar a month. Patreon is probably one of the best things ever for keeping content creators like me in keyboards, coffee and chairs. Some months you folks really make the difference.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Drazhan,
Machara,
and my newest Patron,
A.P.O.N.I.

Chapter 32: The Bunny, and the Duck

“HE WHAT?” Foxfire roared, and instantly regretted her outburst as pain stabbed through her head like a needle.

“During all the confusion with the plane crash, Darter and Skylark doing emergency first aid, and Medevac’s arrival,” Lynn said, keeping her voice calm and soothing, “Montcalm lost track of the girls and Iron Hoof. He was concentrating on saving lives, and knew your girls are responsible kids, ponies… whatever.”

“It’s dark, It’s getting cold, and my daughters are out in the middle of the woods by themselves,” Foxfire said, her aspect becoming as bestial as her form. “Everything inside me wants to go charging out into the forest after them. But if I can’t do that, I’ll settle for running down Montcalm and trampling him under my hooves.” Lynn’s eyebrow rose as Foxfire actually growled to punctuate her comment.

“Foxfire, be reasonable,” Lynn said, caught between concern at her friend’s anger and at how adorable an angry unicorn looked. “You’re maybe three feet tall and cute. You aren’t going to do more than bruise his shins.” It was the wrong thing to say.

“Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do!” Foxfire said, flaring her magic and immediately collapsing in pain. “Ow.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have made fun,” Lynn said, contrite. “I just wanted you to see the silly side. The girls will be okay, and you’ve been teaching Billy, I mean Iron Hoof, about how to handle himself in the woods.”

“I know, I know,” Foxfire said, calming herself with a brief meditation. “And I shouldn’t be lashing out, but…”

“But It’s your kids,” Lynn said, deciding to jump in with the other problem while Foxfire was recovering from her first outburst. “You know how Medevac and my two went to help with the plane crash?”

“Yesss,” Foxfire said, drawing out the word as the last echoes of lightning faded from her head. “Are they okay?”

“They’re fine. In fact Medevac even got her ‘Mark.’ I’ve never seen anyone as happy as she is right now,” Lynn said, smiling at the memory of the ecstatic joy on the face of the transformed paramedic. “The problem is that one of those reporters has been camped out at the lake all along. He saw the whole thing. Ernie and the fellows are trying to decide what to do.”

“Take me down to the lake,” Foxfire said, resolve entering her voice. “Maybe if I talk to him I can convince him not to publish the story.”

“You sure you want to do that Jean?” Lynn asked, brows knitting in worry. “You’re barely mobile.”

“I’ve got to do something, anything about what’s going on,” Foxfire said, getting out of Skylark’s bed with exaggerated care. “If I don’t, I’ll just wind myself up even more than I am already.” A hand touching her hip made her wheel suddenly in place.

“Sorry,” Lynn said, in quick apology. “I just wanted to know what it felt like.”

“What what felt like?” Foxfire said, suddenly realizing where Lynn’s hand had been. “You mean…”

“Take a look,” Lynn said, smiling.

There, standing in proud contrast to her pure white fur, was the emblem of Foxfire's calling. A five pointed star made of braided vines surrounded by a fiery indigo circle, and Jean, aka Foxfire, breathed out a sigh of relief at seeing it.

“Thank you, Rhea and Herne, for your gifts,” Foxfire said, closing her wide eyes for a moment. “Thank you for your confidence and trust.” Lynn’s smile faded a bit as she heard the profound relief in Foxfire’s voice.

“You don’t seem as happy as the others who got a ‘Mark’,” Lynn said, putting a comforting hand on her pony friend’s back. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just relieved, is all,” Foxfire said, then continued to explain as she saw the continued question in her friend’s eyes. “The points of the pentagram being inside the circle tell me that I’m being trusted with the power I’ve been given.”

“And if they were outside the star?” Lynn asked.

The two of them had never really discussed their respective faiths. Oh, they had certainly mentioned bits here and there, and neither of them had ever hidden anything from the other, but a great deal had gone unsaid. In an isolated community like Brightly, you accepted what a person was willing to share and you didn’t push a someone’s boundaries unless you absolutely had to.

“A pentagram’s five lines and points symbolize the five ancient elements,” Foxfire said, still gazing at the star on her flank. “Earth, air, fire, water and spirit. When the points of the star are like this, inside a circle, it means those elements and their powers are contained and controlled. A symbol of law and order.”

Lynn made a “go on” motion as Foxfire paused for breath.

“But if the points lie outside the circle,” Foxfire said, her voice becoming grim. “It becomes the opposite, symbolizing powers and magics running wild and out of control. A symbol of chaos and disorder.”

“Jean… Foxfire,” Lynn corrected, as the corner of her friend’s mouth quirked upwards. “You will be fine. Even when things were a little nuts earlier, your first instinct was to protect those around you. I know you’ll keep things under control.”

“Well, She did tell me to focus on my family and friends to keep myself grounded,” Foxfire said nodding absently, before shaking her head. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go talk to that reporter.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Lynn asked, looking over her friend with a horsewoman’s eye. “You’ve only just gotten back on your hooves.”

“If I don’t do something, I’ll just keep going in circles until I explode,” Foxfire said, and then sighed wistfully. “I just wish there was some way I could be sure the girls were okay.” Lynn and her pony friend hugged briefly before going to Lynn’s car to head to the lake.

“You okay, Mister?” Shield Maiden asked the big man beside her.

It had been dark for a couple of hours now, and the four of them were huddled together in Tim’s lean-to. They had managed to start a fire using a road flare and what not completely soaked wood they had been able to gather, but it had been a fitful thing that sputtered out nearly half an hour ago.

They still had two other flares, but there was nothing worth using them on, at least not that they could find while stumbling around in the darkness. As the night deepened, Tim could feel the chill air trying to make inroads into him, despite his warm lineman’s coat and the three furry bodies nestled up against him.

“You okay, Mister?” Iron Hoof asked, as he pressed up against the big man’s right side.

“F-f-fine,” Tim answered, unable to keep a shudder out of his voice.

“Mom says that people shouldn’t lie,” Seeker said from Tim’s lap, having refused to surrender her prized spot. “I can feel it when you shiver.”

“Sorry kid,” the big man said, adjusting a bit. “Didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“We came all this way to find you,” Iron Hoof said, leaning his head on Tim’s knee. “‘Course we’re worried about you. Everyone is.”

“Thanks kid,” Tim said, ruffling Iron Hoof’s ears. Despite the fact that his little rescuers were all kinds of intelligent, it was hard not to treat them like oversized cats. “Just wish I could get warmed up.”

“I could try making you one of us,” Shield Maiden suggested, then quickly added as Tim’s eyes went very wide. “I mean, make you a pony. It would only last until morning, an’ you would have fur like we do.”

“You promised Mom!” Seeker shot back instantly. “No transp… no making other people ponies without her permission. You promised.”

“Besides, I don’t think you can,” Iron Hoof chimed in. “My pony powers aren’t as strong as they were.”

“What?” Shield Maiden asked, as Tim shifted his head from side to side, not knowing whether to be amused or worried.

“I noticed earlier when I tried to break up some wood for the fire,” Iron Hoof said. “Go ahead, try making a shield.”

Shield Maiden raised a skeptical eyebrow but furrowed her brow in concentration. Tim’s own eyebrows climbed into his hairline as a glow appeared around the horn of the cute yellow unicorn on his right side. Shield Maiden grunted and scrunched her face in concentration, and overhead appeared a pale, flickering dome of force. For nearly a minute the dome sputtered and flickered as the unicorn tried to stabilize it before finally collapsing in a heap.

“Can’t…” Shield Maiden panted out. “Can’t hold the shield. What’s going on?”

“Maybe it’s sort of like the radio signal,” Tim said, by way of suggestion. “The further you are from town, the less you have.”

“I guess,” Shield Maiden said, recovering from her effort. “Sorry, Mister.”

“It’s okay,” Tim said, using a big arm to pull the little unicorn back up against him. “It was worth thinking about. A fur coat, or even another coat would have been a good idea. Ha!” A sudden laugh burst out from the power lineman.

“What’s so funny?” Iron Hoof asked, trying to pull the outer edge of Tim’s coat against his far side.

“I just had an idea how how to keep warm,” Tim said. Then the big man took a deep breath, opened his mouth and began to sing into the darkness.

(to the tune of “Harlech Men”)

What's the use of wearing braces,
Hats, or spats, or shoes with laces,
Vests and pants you buy in places,
Down on Broughampton Road?

What's the use of shirts of cotton,
Studs that always get forgotten,
These affairs are simply rotten!
Better far is woad!

Woad's the stuff to show men,
Woad to scare your foemen!
Boil it to a brilliant blue
And rub it on your legs and your abdomen!

Ancient Britons never hit on
Anything as good as woad to fit on
Necks or knees or where you sit on,
Tailors, you'd be blowed!

Romans came across the Channel
All dressed up in tin and flannel;
Half a pint of woad per man-o
Clothed us more than these!

Saxons, you may save your stitches
Building beds for bugs in britches.
We have woad to clothe us which is
Not a nest for fleas.

“That was awesome!” Iron Hoof exclaimed, when the last deep echoes faded away. “I’ve never heard that song before. “Where’s it from?”

“When I’m not helping to turn people’s lights back on I play with a bunch of friends who do a thing called the S.C.A.,” Tim said, smiling at several memories that came to him. “We redo Middle Ages stuff. During the day time we fight in armor and during the nights we par… uh, we do lots of singing and tell stories.”

“That thounds awesome,” Seeker said, snuggling back down into Tim’s lap. “You know any other songs?”

“Sure do,” Tim said, with a smile. “This one is the anthem of the Kingdom of An Tir. It’s called, ‘The Brave and Bonny Host’.”

With that, the big man launched into another song, followed by several others. He didn’t have the best singing voice. Often he would miss words, or lose the melody. Sometimes his voice would waver up and down in pitch, but they were all sung with enthusiasm and vigor. The ponies with him would often join in during a chorus, and together they pushed back both the encroaching darkness and the chill that had been trying to seep into Tim’s bones.

“Darter to Shield Maiden,” crackled from one of the radios, as Tim tried to think of another song. “Darter to Seeker. Darter to any Power Pony.”

“Darter! This is Iron Hoof,” said the young pony, toggling his mic. “Be careful. Our powers aren’t working well far away from town.”

“So that’s why I can’t do anything with the clouds,” Darter said, the wind whistling in his mic. “It’s a little harder to fly too, but I’m okay. Where abouts are you guys?”

“We’re down by a pond, along a creek near one of the old logging roads,” Iron Hoof said. “Our light is almost out, can you still see us?”

“No, but the mayor should be able to find you on a map,” Darter said. “He sent me to make radio contact with you and then head back. You guys all okay?”

“A little cold,” Iron Hoof said. “But we should be okay ‘til morning.”

“You guys want me to try to get you some supplies?” Darter asked. “I’m pretty sure I can still carry some stuff.”

“Better not. You might hit branches trying to get through the trees,” Iron Hoof replied, noticing Tim shaking his head at the idea of Darter flying through trees at night. “We’ll be fine until morning.”

“Okay, if you guys are sure. I’ll tell everyone you’re all okay,” Darter said, sounding noticeably relieved. “Have a good one.”

“Talk to you in the morning,” Iron Hoof said, shutting down his radio. “Know any more songs, Mister Tim?”

“I’m all out of songs, but I could tell you a story,” Tim said, and all three ponies were surprised to hear the big man’s voice roughen. “Once upon a time, there was a bunny and a duck.”

“Mister Tim, why are you crying?” Seeker said, looking up at Tim’s abruptly wet eyes. “Is it a sad story?”

“No. Sorry kids,” Tim said, sniffling and wiping away the wetness. “You see, the Bunny and the Duck were nicknames for a couple that me and a whole lot of other folks loved a lot.”

“Were they nice people?” Shield Maiden asked, trying and failing to hug Tim’s massive torso.

“They were the best,” Tim said, sniffling a bit more. “They taught me a lot about how to be something besides a big goon that was angry all the time. They taught me responsibility, and chivalry, and honor. That it’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak, not to use or abuse them.”

“Wow,” Iron Hoof said, looking up at the power lineman with new eyes. “Are you like a knight or something?”

“No, I’m a Sergeant,” Tim said, his smile banishing the last of his tears. “In the Current Middle Ages, I’m Sergeant Timothy the Vast, sworn vassal to the Baroness of Lions Gate.” All three ponies made appreciative noises at that.

“Tho why are you sad?” Seeker asked, finding herself wrapped in a quick hug by the large lineman.

“Because they’ve both died,” Tim said, and for a moment there was nothing but one big hug on the rock shelf. “They both had long and full lives and both passed away peacefully with family beside them. But I and a lot of other people miss them.”

“Anyway, the story,” Tim said, clearing his throat and grinning slightly as he noticed that all three ponies were still hugging him as best they could. “Once upon a time, there was a bunny, and a duck…”

John Wilcox sipped his coffee and waited. On the outside, he knew he looked calm, cool and collected. The very epitome of control and professional demeanor. Inside however, the former member of the Canadian Armed Forces and active reporter was a bundle of nerves and keyed up for action.

Ever since those three impossible creatures had flown overhead John had known his world would never be the same. No larger than a Great Dane, the winged little ponies had shown power, strength and ability far beyond what their small frames should have been capable of.

When the first dark coloured little pegasus had grabbed onto the sinking plane, Wilcox had scoffed. What could such a small thing do against the weight of a fully loaded bush plane? But then the creature had begun to glow and as their wingbeats echoed off the hills the reporter realized he had solved the mystery of who and what had helped the fire department during the storm crisis.

The first pony had been joined by a second, and then a third had flown by. Wilcox had watched it all through his binoculars, even as he cursed the camera on his phone for not being able to zoom in enough to get a clean shot of the rescue of the plane’s passengers. Then afterward, he had watched in awe and wonder as the last pony to arrive, a red and white pegasus, had been wrapped in a pillar of rainbow light as they were preparing to leave.

It was as if God Himself had reached down and touched the pony with his finger saying, “Well done, little pony.” The warmth that had filled Wilcox as he had witnessed the spectacle turned chill, when he and the creature had locked gazes for a moment as she and her two dark companions had flown past, just dodging the arrival of a rescue helicopter.

On top of the fact that the creatures knew that he knew about them, was the fact that the locals knew about them as well. Knew about them and were working with them. Questions filled Wilcox. How long had these ponies been here, doing this? Had they always been here, and if so, how had the secret been kept for so long? And now that they knew that he knew, what were they going to do about it.

Headlights from a smallish car appeared on the road that connected the dam area and Brightly, and Wilcox re-checked the scabbarded hunting knife that was hooked to his belt at the small of his back. As a veteran with a clean record he probably could have applied for and gotten a Restricted firearms permit, but after Afghanistan he never wanted to hold a gun again.

Besides Wilcox thought, as the car came to a stop in the nearby parking area. For some things, knives are still the best. I hope to God it doesn’t—

“Hello there,” said a red haired woman of medium build, as she walked toward John’s encampment. “Mind if I come over and have a chat?”

“Please, have a seat,” John said, standing up and gesturing toward a camp chair opposite the fire. “I’ve been expecting someone for awhile now.”

“My name is Lynn Harding,” the woman said, coming to stand with one hand on the back of the chair. “It was my children and a friend that you saw today.”

“Your children?” Wilcox asked, disbelief plain in his voice. “What I saw wasn’t human, wasn’t even bipedal. Try a better lie… Ma’am.”

“A better lie?” Foxfire said through a clenched jaw, as she stepped out from the cloaking darkness and into the light of the campfire. “Are you calling my friend a liar?”

“My god, an actual unicorn,” Wilcox said, eyes wide and mind completely oblivious to Foxfire’s steaming fury. “Can I touch you? Just to make sure you’re really real?”

“I don’t think so,” Foxfire said, trying to keep her anger tamped down, even as her throbbing headache ate at her resolve. “What are your intentions?”

“Intentions?” Wilcox asked, snorting as Foxfire’s refusal seemed to kickstart his brain back into motion. “This is the story of a lifetime, of the millenium even. Actual alien life, here on Earth. Not just alien, but helpful and living in secret. Wait, Miss Harding was it? You said they were your kids? How does that work? Are you an alien, too?”

“It’s Mrs. Har—,” Lynn began, only to be interrupted.

“You can’t report this,” Foxfire said, stepping forward and igniting her horn with indigo fire. “You’ll be putting our children in danger.”

“I’ll be careful to not say anything that would put your… um, children, foals, at risk,” John said. He didn’t know what the dark purple glow around the unicorn’s horn meant, but he was willing to lay odds it wasn’t good.

“Is that why you’ve got that knife stuck in your belt?” Foxfire asked, raising her voice and her power, summoning a ball of fire into being between her and the reporter. “Was that your plan? Reassure us and then jump us when our backs were turned? Well, was it?!”

“Jean, I really don’t—” Lynn said, only to get cut off again.

“Look lady,” Wilcox fired back, his own voice raising. “I could have phoned the whole thing in already. Hell, I SHOULD have, but I wanted to talk to you people and get the whole story before I did anything. Yeah, I’ve got a knife, but I’ll bet almost everyone around here has one too. If I really wanted to threaten you, I’d use a gun, much as I hate them.”

“You just try using a gun,” Foxfire snarled, and the flaming ball of power began to drift closer to the reporter. “Maybe it’s time for you to see that real power doesn’t come from a barrel.”

“That’s the way you want to play this?” Wilcox said, fear and anger overriding sense as he dropped into a fighter’s crouch and drew the sharp hunting knife from its leather sheath. “Fine. Cold steel is supposed to be a match for magic. Bring it, lady.”

“BURN!” Foxfire roared, flames coming from her eyes as her sphere of blazing fury moved forward as her vanguard into battle.

“THAT WILL BE QUITE ENOUGH, YOU TWO!” Lynn shouted, stepping between the combatants. “All of us are adults here, let’s act like it.” Both Foxfire and Wilcox abruptly blinked and seemed to realize what they were doing.

“I… I… Oh, Goddess,” Foxfire said, rage, power and flame dissipating like smoke on the wind. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll, I’ll go wait in the car.”

“I’m sorry too,” Wilcox said, dropping his blade to the dirt. “I should have realized how important and life changing this is to both of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox,” Lynn said, watching her friend slowly walk back to the car, head and tail both hanging low. “Please forgive my friend. She’s under a lot of stress and isn’t feeling well.”

“My fault. I should have listened to what you both were saying. Is she going to be okay?” Wilcox queried, shaking a bit as the adrenaline drained off.

“Her girls are missing, and likely alone in the woods,” Lynn said, biting her lip. “She’s always been protective of them, but all of this, plus coming into her power. It’s all a bit much.”

“Look, I get that, and I take some of the blame here as well,” Wilcox remarked, his hands trembling badly now. “Damn, I thought I had this under control.”

“What’s wrong?” Lynn asked, concerned. She took the man’s hands in her own, feeling the involuntary shaking.

“PTSD,” Wilcox replied, trying to force his breathing into a calming routine. “Combat reaction. I was in Afghanistan.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Lynn said, and a sudden idea came to her. “Foxfire! We need you!” The white unicorn was there so quickly she practically teleported back from the car to the encampment.

“What’s wrong?” Foxfire asked, and Lynn quickly explained the situation.

“Okay, I think I have something that can help in the car,” Foxfire said, seeing Wilcox’s skepticism even as the trembling in his hands began to involve his entire arms. “Let me help. Let me make things right between us.”

“O-okay,” Wilcox replied slowly, both worried and glad for the offer. “Go ahead.”

“Right,” Foxfire stated, her horn igniting with power again as she looked toward the car, whose door opened with a dark purple nimbus forming around it. “I’m getting my calming tea blend from the car. Lynn, can you heat up some water for me?”

“On it,” Lynn said, and together the two women had a steaming cup of tea ready in under ten minutes. By this time, Wilcox had managed to stop the spread of his tremors, but his hands still couldn’t hold a cup, so Lynn held it for him as he took the first sips.

“Thanks,” Wilcox said, his hands shaking only a bit after half the cup was gone. “What was in that tea?”

“Nothing terribly strange,” Foxfire said, pleased she had been able to help. “Lemon, lavender and chamomile. Plus a little magic, of course.”

“Of course,” Wilcox said flippantly, with a small laugh. “Look, about what happened earlier...”

“Why don’t we start over,” Foxfire said, holding out a hoof. “When I look like this, I’m Foxfire. Unicorn and mother to two girls. My friend here is Lynn, she’s the mother of a pair of cute little pegasi. Can we talk, maybe come to some sort of arrangement?”

“All right,” Wilcox said, draining the last of the tea. “Tell you what, I’m willing to hold off on the story for a bit. But on two conditions.”

“And they are?” Lynn asked, very pleased that the situation had been salvaged.

“One, you tell me the whole story,” Wilcox stipulated, looking from one female to the other. “Second, when the time comes to go public, I’m your personal media contact. No one else. This is a CKNW, John Wilcox exclusive. Deal?” Lynn and Foxfire looked at each for a moment and made an almost imperceptible nod to each other.

“It all started a few weeks ago when our kids found an old book,” Lynn began.

Brightly was burning. Jean had tried to stop it, tried to stop the soldiers, tried to stop the government. Wilcox had even tried to stop them, realizing what a terrible mistake he had made in revealing the secret of Brightly’s ponies to the world. He had been brushed aside and thrown into prison right alongside Arnold.

The soldiers had hunted down and dragged off Lynn, Ernie and Jessica as well. When they came for Jean and her girls though they were in for a surprise. Jean had taken her fear and her rage and built it into a fire. She sent that wall of angry flame at the soldiers, sending them running. Which is when she realized that another soldier had snuck up from behind her and was even now stuffing her girls into a cage.

Rage filled Foxfire’s vision and her fire ran wild, burning everything and everyone in sight. Brightly and everyone in it would be a cinder before this night was out as the flames spread from the unicorn...

Asleep in Jean Pedersen’s bed, Foxfire whimpered and twitched her hooves as the nightmare filled her with images of fear, rage and terror. Sweat covered her brow as she struggled to deal with fears and worries made manifest and given shape by her dreaming subconsciousness. While the nightmare wracked Jean, moving her in quick succession through fear to terror and rage, something in a deep corner of her mind reached out, tasted the nightmare and found it good.

Author's Note

This chapter is dedicated to the fond memory of two of the finest human beings it has been my honour to cross paths with in this life. To the world at large they were Gerry and Nancy Stevens, but to several thousand people they had another name. Gerhard and Amanda Kendal, founding Baron and Baroness of Lions Gate and far too many more earned titles to mention.

They helped found, create and set on course a place where people who loved the concepts of the Middle Ages could play, learn and recreate the skills of centuries long past. It was in these personas that I came to know and learn from them.

Gerhard was a true warrior bard. Doughty warrior by day, both giving and taking great blows in combat. For fighting in the SCA doesn't involve hit points or armor classes or foam swords. SCA combat is taking a stick, wrapping it in duct tape and trying to clobber the other guy (or gal) with it, while they try to do the same to you.

Come the evening Gerhard would sing, play games, and tell stories. A great many stories.

Amanda, on the other hand was small and delicate. The very epitome of grace, wisdom and calmness under pressure. Not once did I ever hear her voice raised in anger, and the sternest chastisement she was ever known to deliver was, "I'm very disappointed with you." to a poor soul who had mucked up something fierce.

Amanda was the mistress of a dozen medieval skills and helped create the University of Ithra where people could teach and learn the ancient skills, alongside modern skills to make the current, look medieval.

The years passed and after over two decades running and guiding the Barony of Lions Gate, they at last stepped down to allow younger blood to take the reins. By then they had become living legends having earned nearly every award and title that could be obtained.

Of Amanda it was said that all she would ever have to do was say the word, and over a thousand swords would leap to her cause. Not from duty, but from the love they bore for her. Of Gerhard, though he could no longer fight, he inspired, he coached, he taught. Right up until the day before cancer took his life.

Amanda followed him some years later into what lies beyond this life, and if there is indeed a heaven, surely those two earned their passage to it. This chapter is dedicated with fond tears to their memory.

You see, I had to think of a way for Tim and the ponies to pass the time where they were, and I was reminded of something Gerhard was infamous for. You see, the SCA recreates the Middle Ages, which include holding Court with the local Peers. Often due to the presence of Lord Murphy things would go wrong, get lost, or just plain foul up. Which would cause a long boring delay.

Into each of the delays, Gerhard would interject himself. Standing up before the crowd he would tell a story. A long, rambling, but entertaining story that would help the time pass until whatever problem was fixed and Court could continue. The story would always be a little different and would always seem to get cut short right before things got really interesting, but it would always begin the same way.

"Once upon a time. There was a Bunny, and a Duck..."

Gerhard Kendal of Westmoreland
Amanda Kendal of Westmoreland

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Drazhan,
and
Machara.

Chapter 33: Dreamweaver

Darrell Montcalm was not a drinking man. In his youth he had spent many a night with a bottle or glass in hand as he caroused with friends, strangers and occasionally, enemies. Those nights, and the mornings of misery afterward, were now a distant memory of a fondly remembered youth.

And yet, in front of him in his darkened office, as the clock crossed into what some called “the witching hour,” there sat a single, neat shot glass nearly full to the brim with a golden amber fluid. He picked up the glass and raised it to his nose, smelling the rich, sweet, smokey odour of the liqueur as he did so. Montcalm lowered the glass, looking over it toward the far wall; the shadowed portraits of Brightly’s former mayors looking down at him.

“Is this what it was like for any of you?” he asked the air. “Waiting to see what was going to go ‘bump’ in the night next? How many sleepless nights did any of you have, wondering if Leung’s gift had finally borne fruit? How many times did you think he was a crackpot, only to have some strange thing happen, and make you re-read his letter again?” Silence answered him.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Montcalm said, draining the shot of Yukon Jack in a single swallow, and relishing the nearly forgotten burn down his throat.

Montcalm considered the bottle for a moment, then slowly resealed it before replacing it in the padded spot in his drawer. He knew he was going to get in trouble from both his wife and his doctor, but a little bit every so often wasn’t going to kill him. Besides, life without the occasional indulgence isn’t life, it’s just living. He was about to ease himself out of his chair, when a knock sounded on his door.

“Come in,” Montcalm said, puzzled at who would come knocking this late at night.

“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” said Brian Cummins, impeccably groomed despite the hour.

“What in the bloody blue blazes are you doing here?” Montcalm asked, a frown knitting his brows.

“I’d like to talk to you about Seeker,” Cummins said, pausing for a beat, “and about Iron Hoof, Shield Maiden, Darter and Skylark.”

The last time Cummins had confronted Montcalm with a surprise revelation, the mayor had been taken completely by surprise and it had showed. This time however, Darrell Montcalm knew who and what he was up against, and his face might as well have been carved from the bones of Vvardenfell itself.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Mayor?” Cummins continued, attempting to provoke the older man into another outburst.

For his part, Montcalm said nothing. He didn’t move from his chair, didn’t shout, didn’t yell. He just sat there staring at the reporter with an expression that uncomfortably reminded Cummins of one of his schoolteachers when he’d done something wrong. The silence continued for long seconds, and the uneasy quiet was over a minute long before Montcalm finally spoke.

“Just what exactly is it that you think you know?” the mayor asked, in an even voice.

It was Cummins’ turn to be rocked back and taken by surprise. The last time he’d confronted Montcalm, the mayor had been a man clearly out of his element. This time though, the older man had the poise and ease of a long-term politician, and forcibly reminded himself that the biggest danger in an ambush interview was if the target knew you were coming.

“A-all five of them are young, probably minors,” Cummins said, after a moment’s hesitation. Montcalm said nothing, his icy eyes boring into the reporter.

“They were somehow instrumental in the Carmanah Dam Crisis,” he continued, finding his mental footing. “You’re going to have them recognized for their efforts at the ceremony on Sunday.”

“So far,” Montcalm replied, drawing out the sentence, “you’re close enough to be called correct. Go on.”

“They’ve invented something. Some new piece of gear, something that lets rescue personnel fly,” Cummins continued in a rush, emboldened. “You and the fire department are concealing the names of the kids, and what they’ve invented. I’m not sure why, maybe you folks are trying to make sure the patent application goes through for the kids. Either way, you plan on revealing the technology to the world on Sunday as part of the ceremony.”

“I know everyone involved in this,” Montcalm said, and Cummins’ nerves sung as the mayor’s words seemed to confirm his suppositions. “Not one of them talked to you, so I have to ask how you came by this information?”

“I, um, I have a radio scanner,” Cummins admitted, trying not to look embarrassed. “I was using it to listen to passing airliners and it picked up the radio transmissions from your fire department. It’s not my fault if you have out of date equipment.”

“We have the best equipment we can get for a community our size,” Montcalm said, inwardly seething but outwardly as still as a pond. “And you do know that’s a PIPEDA violation, right?”

Cummins blanched. PIPEDA was the federal government’s package of laws regarding the privacy of electronic communications. Violations at the corporate level could see fines as high as $100,000 per violation. Individuals could also see fines or even jail time depending on how egregious the breach was. For a reporter to knowingly violate those laws was dicey at best. It all depended on how newsworthy the story was.

“It was unintentional and I’ve revealed it to you before showing the information to others,” Cummins responded, thinking fast as his mind traced the labyrinthian laws to find the loophole he sought. “I think I, and the tax paying public, deserve to know what’s going on.”

“Tax-paying public?” Montcalm snorted, turning Cummins’ face to an angry mask. “Super rescue inventions? No. You’re wrong there. Completely and utterly wrong.”

“Then tell me,” Cummins demanded, leaning on Montcalm’s desk. “Prove to me you aren’t engaged in some kind of ripoff of public funds.”

“I don’t have to prove diddly to you,” Montcalm replied, getting out of his chair and leaning forward so that the two were bare inches from each other. “But I will tell you this. What’s going on here is something you would never, could never understand. You’ve lost your sense of wonder, your belief in the magic all around us.”

“Magic?” Cummins snorted in derision. “In all my years of reporting, the only magic I’ve seen is how the rich and powerful put the screws to the little guy every time. That’s the only magic in this world.”

“You poor, sad, little man,” Montcalm said, easing back down into his chair and now only feeling pity for the reporter. “What’s going on in Brightly is magic. The magic of the last legacy of a truly good man bearing fruit years after his passing. The magic of friends and community embracing that magic and making it their own. The true magic, the magic of the heart. But you wouldn’t know anything like that, would you?”

Cummins didn’t know how to react. He wanted to lash out at the older man. Accuse him of fraud, of lying, of trying to take advantage of his position like so many others Cummins had pulled the mask off of in the past. This time, the reporter could tell there was no mask. Montcalm was being completely serious with him and that candor had cut the conversational knees out from under Cummins.

“So now what?” Cummins asked, after a long pause. “You tell me to get out of town by sundown?”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn what you do,” Montcalm spat, deciding that he would have that second drink after all. “Leave, stay, I don’t really care. But, if you publish anything that could get back to the kids involved, I will personally see to it that your personal and professional life goes down in flames. Now, it’s late. Get out of my office, and close the door on your way out.”

Cummins looked at Montcalm pouring out a shot of golden liquor into a shot glass and felt empty inside. He hadn’t just been incorrect, he’d been wrong again and the knowledge ate at him. He had always seen himself as one of the good guys, a crusader, a member of the Fifth Estate. Montcalm’s words had been the last pieces of a mirror that showed Cummins that somewhere along the way, he’d become as much an abuser of his power as any politician.

“I won’t put out anything without your approval,” Cummins said, and turned to go. “I’ll see you around I guess.”

“Get out,” Montcalm replied, finding calm in the amber depths of the shot glass. The reporter closed the door behind him as asked, and it was a long time before Montcalm ended his meditation and sought his own bed.

Addison walked through the Eternal Forest. His body was moving with the easy skill of one who had been born and raised in this place. He knew where to place each hoof, when to spread his leathery wings for just a little more distance as he jumped off a fallen log, or when to sidestep a particular pile of leaves. He paused for a moment by the stump of a long fallen giant of the forest to marvel at his body.

He was a little pony, dark blue in colour, with slate grey wings that resembled those of a bat coming out from his back about halfway along his body. He had a mane and tail of silver-shot black, and the small hooves at the bottom of his feet were black as well. It was a good body, swift and sleek, and the smile on his face grew wide as he saw the brand on his hip.

There, standing out proudly in black and white, was the emblem of his calling. The symbol of the life he had chosen for himself. The Canterbury cross’ rounded arms spread out from their central square to cover his hip on either side, and Addison breathed deeply in satisfaction at the rightness of it.

The air filling his lungs carried with them a scent, something familiar and comforting. A scent he knew and he cocked his head as he tried to place where he knew it from. There was a rustling from some bushes ahead, and a moment later another bat pony emerged from the undergrowth. Addison’s breath caught as he beheld the sheer presence and beauty of the mare just a few yards away.

Like him, her body was dark blue in colour, with similar wings to his own. The hard planes of his body were complimented by her smooth curves. Her mane was long, rich and full, with dark green highlights tinting her otherwise ebon hair. The mare’s golden, slit-pupiled eyes looked up at him from above a sly grin as she stepped toward him.

A moment later the two were nuzzling each other’s shoulders, and the taste of the mare was the last clue he needed to realize the identity of the pony who instantly felt so right against his side.

“Nat?” he asked, raising his head from the mare’s shoulder to look along her flank. Visible there was her own brand, her own mark of a life chosen. Lothlorien’s silver-veined leaf glowed with soft verdant fire to symbolize that this mare was one with the green. She knew the secrets of the wood, and it whispered it’s ancient rhythms to her ears.

“Hello, my stallion,” Natasha said, smiling. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a dream like this. Not that I’m complaining at having one now.”

“Is it really you, Nat?” Addison asked, in wonder. “I have to be dreaming, but this feels like more than just a dream.”

“Of course it’s more than a dream,” his wife said, as she nuzzled the spot where Addison’s neck met his body. “It’s… wait. Is this really you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” the priest said, as he hugged his wife close. “I don’t know how, but somehow we seem to be sharing the same dream.”

“That’s impossible,” Natasha replied, returning the hug with equal fervor. “People don’t share dreams.”

“The possible and impossible have been a little more interchangeable as of late, mare of my life,” Addison said, extending a wing in demonstration.

“Point taken,” Natasha remarked, then stiffened as she saw something behind them. “Oh, of course.”

“What?” Addison said, turning around so he could see what his wife was looking at.

There, standing on a small knoll a short distance away amongst the trees was another pony, but it wasn’t a pony. Instead it was as if someone had taken the outline of a pony and filled it with a section of starscape that swirled and moved. Addison and Natasha immediately recognized it as the creature that they had given succor to in its last moments.

“You survived!” Natasha said, stepping forward with joy in her voice, only to be stopped by an upraised hoof.

“You didn’t survive?” Addison asked, stepping forward to stand beside his wife. The Night Horse shook its head sadly. “Well if you didn’t survive, are you a spirit then?”

The Night Horse said nothing, instead moving forward to place a cool appendage against first Addison and then Natasha’s breast.

“You’re inside of us?” Natasha asked, and her eyes widened as the Night Horse nodded in the affirmative. “What are you doing there?”

To the surprise of the husband and wife bat pony the Night Horse shrugged its shoulders. It was the last thing they expected.

“You don’t know what you’re doing inside of us? At all?” Addison asked, with a snort of surprised laughter. “Now I know you aren’t an evil being. The last thing corrupting forces are short on is a plan. So why are you here in this dream?”

The Night Horse extended its hoof in a gesture that went past the night pair and, as they turned they saw a swirling field of colour come into being behind them. Images formed in the void and they resolved into the familiar houses and streets of their hometown, only as seen from above.

“Is this why you’re here?” Natasha asked, daring to touch the smooth cool surface of the Night Horse. “You need to do something to Brightly.” The creature shook its head and the image took on the appearance of a rain swept night.

“I think it’s showing us the past,” Father Addison said, after a thoughtful pause. “This is the night we found it in the church.”

The creature nodded and as the couple watched they saw a golden glow appear in the small park area not too far behind the fire hall. A small image of the Night Horse emerged out of the ground from where the glow was. That light swiftly faded as the image of the sky spirit rose into the heavens.

“So that’s how you got here,” Natasha Adamschek said, trying to sense muscles, bone or anything from the creature beside her. “Where are you from? What are you?”

The void swirled again and blanked itself before showing two crowns, one of bright silver and the other of shining gold. The spirit pointed toward the silver crown as the two began to swirl around each other in an intricate dance.

“Rulers, two kings,” Addison posited, then noticed the Night Horse shaking its star filled head and pointing toward his wife. “Oh, two queens. Enemies?”

Another shake of the head.

“Allies? Friends?” Addison asked, and the spirit made a “go on” gesture with its hooves. “Family? Brothers? Sisters?” Finally, a nod of agreement.

“So, two sisters, who are rulers,” Natasha said, thinking out loud. “The silver crowned one sent you here. Why?”

The image before them swirled again, and as it did Addison idly noted that the birdsong in the trees had come to an end. Refocusing his attention on the impromptu screen, Addison saw the image of Miner’s Memorial Park again. This time though, as the tiny version of the Night Horse flew upwards, the bat ponies could see the creature’s golden power extending from it, into the gathered storm clouds.

The rain itself seemed to take on a yellowish tinge, that gilded the town and a wide swath of the lands around it. In particular there came to be five points of gleaming lights that were traveling towards Carmanah Lake.

“That must be the kids, the Power Ponies,” Addison said, thinking out loud. “The Night Horse spread its power around and they collected some of it. That must be why they can do some of those incredible things... Uh oh.”

Addison said the last as he looked up, and saw that the forest around them had been swallowed up by an encroaching fog. The Night Horse as well had grown pale and insubstantial, and the scene it had been showing faded to nothingness.

“You don’t have much time,” Natasha stated, concern in her yellow eyes. “What do you need us to do?”

The imagery changed one last time, shifting to show the park and zooming in on the concrete cap covering the old mine entrance. Golden power was flowing out of it still, but a slow ooze now. The flow was very pale as well, a mere fraction of the vibrant strength the Night Horse had given out, but it was there. More, husband and wife could both tell that flow was gradually increasing in rate and depth of colour.

“Something to do with the mine entrance,” Addison said, thinking quickly and his eyes grew wide as he was struck by a sudden realization. “It’s a well spring. It’s your well spring. You need us to open it up and get you there.”

Almost translucent now, the Night Horse had just enough time to grab both bat ponies in a hug. The creature faded into nothingness, and again there was felt the sensation of something flowing into them. Everything began to melt into the grey mist and the couple looked into each other’s eyes as the shared dream dissolved into wakefulness.

“Hey,” Addison said, looking into his wife’s open eyes.

“Hey,” Natasha replied, reaching up to touch her husband’s human face. “Did that actually happen?”

“You mean the Night Horse, and you being a cute little bat pony?” Addison said, noting his wife’s blush with pleasure. “I think it did.”

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep after that,” Natasha said, propping herself up on an elbow. “It’s only 3 AM, but we could make an early start to the day.”

“I don’t think I can sleep either,” Addison replied, sliding out from under the covers. “I’ll get the woodstove fired up while you start breakfast.”

“Sounds good, my stallion,” Natasha said, a wicked smile crossing her face as she managed to draw a blush from her husband. “Hey, is it just me, or do you have a craving for fruit too?

“Mango,” Addison confirmed, glad for the diversion from his blush.

The married couple got up to begin their day, and though it was still fully night, neither felt the need to turn on a light. The lack of ambient light didn’t affect either of them in the slightest as they moved smoothly around their home, housecoats flowing behind them. Which is probably why neither of them noticed the change that had happened to the skin on the outside of their hips.

“Let’s move people!” yelled Captain Barney “Blarney” Johnson. “I want to be wheels up in five minutes.”

The ground crew at Canadian Forces Base Comox was practiced, skilled and efficient. They also knew that the captain of the old Buffalo SAR aircraft was something of a shouter who knew full well how long it would take to finish fueling the plane and ready it for its flight north. Even if the plane was ready to go this instant, it would still take five minutes for the aircraft to taxi out to the runway and begin its takeoff roll down the runway that was long enough to take the Space Shuttle.

Two hundred meters away a Cormorant helicopter, resplendent in the oranges and reds of an SAR aircraft, lifted up and away from its own designated spot on the tarmac. The helo would race northward in advance of the Buffalo, but would still be passed by the faster fixed-wing aircraft. Standard procedure called for the Buffalo to reach the area first in order to do the searching, with the Cormorant following closely behind to do the rescuing part of SAR.

442 Squadron was the busiest squadron of its type in Canada, with an area of responsibility covering nearly three quarters of a million square miles. Their skill, experience and professionalism saved lives nearly every time they took to the skies. That professionalism did not however prevent some personality quirks from emerging when the public wasn’t around to watch, however.

“C’mon, C’mon,” urged Captain Johnson. “I don’t want that oversized blender to beat us there.” The ground and flight crew just smiled and rolled their eyes at each other while completing their final checks for takeoff. Another day, another bit of daring do.

Dawn came to a cold, shivering quartet, huddled together on a rock shelf overlooking a small marshy pond on a nameless mountain stream. It had not been an easy night for the big power lineman or the trio of small ponies with him, but the emergency blankets and the heat of four bodies under them had kept all involved out of hypothermia.

“I’m hungry,” Shield Maiden said, poking her nose out from under the left side of Tim’s big coat, her breath fogging the air in front of her. “Can we eat?”

“You kids should have something,” Tim said, handing out three of the remaining granola bars, and watching in amazement as hooves deftly stripped wrappers off the small calorie packed bars.

“Aren’t you having any Mr. Tim?” asked Iron Hoof, looking up with a bit of a guilty look on his face as he realized Tim wasn’t eating and that he had already inhaled most of the bar.

“I can hear your tummy rumbling,” Seeker said. She’d only left Tim’s lap once to answer nature’s call, since the Power Ponies had found the big man. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Mom says tho.”

“I’m a big guy,” Tim said, leaning down a bit to give Seeker a combined hug and rub over her fur. “I can miss a few meals without a problem. You guys are pretty little, so you can’t afford to lose weight. I’ve got some fat I should work off anyway. I will take one of those water bottles though.” Shield Maiden was about to argue when her radio crackled to life.

“442 Squadron Buffalo to Brightly VFD,” said a professional, male voice. “Be advised that we are in the area and are commencing search operations. Please advise as to the areas you would like us to concentrate on.”

Tim almost pulled Shield Maiden off the ground in his haste to grab the radio.

“Hey!” Tim shouted into the mic, as he hammered down the talk button. “Hey! I’m here! I’m over here.” The drone of a large prop plane could be heard.

“Hello, sir,” said the professional voice. “This is Captain Johnson. To whom am I speaking?”

“I’m Tim Kielops,” Tim said, trying to flex his legs from under Seeker, who grudgingly made her way off his lap. “I’ve been stuck out here all night. I couldn’t hear anyone before now.”

“We’re here now sir,” replied the captain. “Can you describe the area you’re in, or do you have some way of marking your position?”

“I’m by a pond near a stream,” Tim said, pausing as one of the ponies handed him one of their two remaining road flares. “I’ve got a road flare. Will that work to show you guys where I am?”

“That would be excellent, sir,” said the captain, maintaining a calm reassurance in his voice. “Go ahead and fire up that flare. We’ll be watching for it.”

“Okay,” Tim replied, a broad smile on his face as he ignited the device.

“Got it on the FLIR,” called out a crew member on the plane, a moment later. “Forty degrees left, about three kilometers out.”

“Okay sir,” Johnson transmitted. “We’ve got your location now. There’s a helicopter coming to get you out, but if you don’t mind we’d just like to hang around up here until that happens.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Tim replied, before turning to his three companions. “Looks like everything’s gonna be okay. Man, I can’t wait to tell the crew about you kids. You really saved my bacon.”

“You can’t,” Shield Maiden said, looking embarrassed. “At least not yet. We’re a secret.”

“Ohhh,” Tim said, ruffling Shield Maiden’s mane. “Well, I certainly don’t want to wreck the secret. Besides, I owe you. As far as anyone is concerned, I made it through the night with stuff I had in my pockets.”

“Thanks, Mr. Tim,” Seeker said, giving the big man’s good leg one last hug, as the big Buffalo plane roared overhead to drop a smoke marker on Tim’s location.

“You kids better get going before that helicopter gets here,” Tim said, sweeping the kids into one last hug of his own. “I’ll never forget you.”

A minute later, as his little equine rescuers disappeared back into the forest, Tim Kielops made a decision. He would take the offered transfer to join the staff at the Carmanah Dam. Brightly was a place of hidden magic and mystery, it turned out. Any place that had creatures as magical and as friendly as the Power Ponies was a place he wanted to be.

Author's Note

A little of everything this chapter. My apologies for not getting this chapter out sooner. I'm embroiled in legal issues with the ex, and as you might imagine it preys heavily on my mind, making it hard to shift into the world of Brightly.

To compensate I will start writing another chapter immediately .

Addison's cutie mark

Natasha's

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Drazhan,
Machara,
and,
A.P.O.N.I.

Chapter 34: Morning has Broken

Tim Kielops whooped with joy as he rose up toward the belly of the Cormorant helicopter. The rising sun tinged the world golden as he clasped hands with the SAR tech who reached out to him from the aircraft. A moment later he was onboard and being wrapped in a blanket as the line descended to pick up the crew member who had rode the sling down to help Tim up. Two minutes later the Cormorant dipped its nose as it turned towards the hospital in Bella Bella.

The sun continued to rise, slowly illuminating the Carmanah Valley and the small village it contained. Sunlight poured in through windows, and in one house in particular that light was viewed with fear and loathing by its occupant.

The pegasus who had taken the name Medevac for herself viewed the advancing sunbeam with ill-disguised contempt. The past half day had been one filled with happiness and fulfillment, a sense of purpose found and a mistake in the universe corrected. Ever since yesterday evening everything had been right with the world, and Jessica Harkins was loathe to see things go back to the status quo.

“May as well get it over with,” the pegasus said softly, spreading out her wings and ruffling them one last time. “I’m gonna miss these wings. I’m gonna miss being the right sex.”

Screwing up her courage, Medevac stepped into the sunlight. The dawn tinged her cream coloured body with reddish highlights and intensified the colour of her red feathers and crimson streaks in her otherwise blue mane. The brightness of the light forced her to shut her eyes even as its warmth filled her mind and heart.

She stood there for several minutes, just letting the dawning heat fill her up and melt away her cares and worries. Finally, she let her awareness come back to her and opened her eyes, turning toward the kitchen to start her day. Her first step told her that something had gone very right, when instead of the soft tread of a foot there was instead the loud “clop” of a hoof.

“What the…” Medevac sputtered, looking down at her body.

Cream coloured forelegs, ending in cute but sturdy hooves looked back at her. Twisting her head to look behind her, Medevac saw that her pony body was intact, complete with feathered wings and flowing tail. She had thought that nothing would ever compare to the joy she had felt when the column of rainbow light had marked her and helped her realize her purpose in life.

The Rod of Asclepius looking back at her from her flank told her that she had been wrong. Staying in this body was and would continue to be the greatest joy in her life, along with being able to help others with its wonderful abilities.

“Thank you, Foxfire,” Medevac fervently said. Then, with a roguish smile in on her face, she cantered out of her home and took to the air. It was only a few blocks to Jean Pedersen aka Foxfire’s home, and no one would be up and about this time of morning. Even if it was a Friday, people would only be just getting out of their beds, or rolling over for a few more minutes of sleep.

Keeping her height to only a few feet above ground, the pegasus zipped along with only the sound of her wingbeats to mark her passing. A quick left and a right, followed by a brief rise to wing over a back fence and Medevac was at the home of the friend who had made her joy possible. As she knocked on the wooden back door, Medevac idly wondered whether she would be stuck here for the rest of the day in order to help keep the secret of Brightly’s ponies.

“Hello?” Foxfire asked, wincing at the brightness of the sun as she opened the door.

Medevac was stunned at how her friend looked. Foxfire might not have been the neatest of people or ponies, but she was always organized and tidy; as befit someone who worked with herbal agents that could both cure or kill depending on how they were used. The unicorn looking out at Medevac, however, looked like she had been through a hurricane, then dragged down ten miles of bad road.

“Foxfire,” Medevac gasped in shock. “Jean. What’s wrong? Did something bad happen to the kids?”

“No,” Foxfire said, turning away from the door and leaving it open as she walked back into her kitchen. “Kids should be home soon. Montcalm called. The girls radioed him from the top of the ridge. They should be home soon.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Medevac asked, going inside and closing the door behind her. “Sorry for saying it, but you’re a mess.”

“Nightmares,” Foxfire said, stumbling as her hoof caught the edge of the throw rug under the kitchen table. “Visions. Terrible things.”

“Woah, easy there,” Medevac said, rushing up to give her fellow mare a wing of support. As her feathers rested against the unicorn’s snow white body they relayed a wealth of information about Foxfire’s physical state to Medevac. None of it was good.

“‘M fine,” Foxfire mumbled, nodding her head and trying to shuck off Medevac’s wing. “Just need to close my eyes for a few minutes. You can go home. Just need a few minutes without seeing everything on fire.”

“Foxfire, I’m not going anywhere,” Medevac said, keeping her wing over Foxfire and using it and her body to guide Foxfire toward the living room and a couch. “We’re both still ponies.”

Foxfire let herself be guided and that worried Medevac more than anything else. If there was one thing that had carried over to the unicorn from Jean Pedersen’s personality, it was her strong independent nature. To simply allow herself to moved and guided by someone else without question or attempt to put her own stamp on things was unheard of.

“Here, sit on your couch,” Medevac said, almost having to move Foxfire’s body for her, so without volition was she. “I’ll make some tea.”

“Okay,” Foxfire said, unmoving. Her eyes seemed to be tracking something only she could see. Medevac spoke up again as that thousand-yard gaze began to flick about, as if looking for something.

“Is there a particular blend I should use?” Medevac prompted, hoping to draw a response from Foxfire. Jean never let anyone use her kitchen without her direct supervision.

“The breakfast tea is in a labelled tin by the stove,” Foxfire said, head lowered. “The kettle is by the sink.” Medevac was very worried now. Foxfire was definitely in an altered mental state.

“Foxfire,” Medevac said, dialing up her “doctor” voice. “I want you to stay right where you are and not move until I return. I’m just going to get someone and be right back.”

“Okay,” Foxfire said, nodding. The defeated tone in Foxfire’s voice had Medevac charging for the door before the second syllable was absorbed by the wooden walls. A bare handful of breaths later had the pegasus pounding on Arnold Kye’s door.

“Arn! Arnie! Open up,” Medevac yelled at the unresponsive door. “C’mon, c’mon.”

After a seeming eternity Arnold’s door opened to reveal the disheveled big man. His hair was askew in every direction and he was wearing boxer shorts under a hastily thrown on housecoat. Bleary eyed, he blinked at the pegasus bouncing up and down in front of him, his brain trying to process what his eyes were seeing.

“Jessica?” he mumbled more than asked. “Is that you? Why are you still a pony?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” the paramedic pegasus zipped out, at an appreciable fraction of lightspeed. “Get your shoes on. I need you.”

“Why Jessica,” Arnold said with a tired smile, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“And people wonder why I wanted out of being male,” Medevac replied, rolling her eyes. “Not me, you idiot. Jean needs you. I just came from her place, something's not right with her.”

That jump started Arnold’s brain in an instant.

“What?” he demanded, his eyes darting around to look for his shoes. “What’s wrong?”

“Not sure,” Jessica admitted, bouncing up and down. “But she’s definitely not thinking clearly or acting normally. Could she have messed up one of her preparations?”

“Not a chance,” Arnold said, finally finding a pair shoes to jam his feet in. “You know Jean, she’s as precise as a machinist when it comes to her blends. Let’s go.”

Together, the pair rushed back across the street; their concern for Jean blinding them to the fact that their entire exchange had been witnessed by two seperate groups. One, was Jean’s elderly neighbors who were always early risers and fans of both Jean’s teas and cooking. The other however, was Brian Cummins, who had spent the past few hours walking about and doing some soul searching.

After his encounter with the Mayor, Cummins had walked the town, thinking all the while. He’d only stopped at his hotel room to pick up his arctic parka, which was a far warmer garment than what was needed for the weather. Then he had picked his way along the town’s cracked and potholed pavement, past spots where streetlights barely worked until the sun rose and began to warm the world. As it did Brian Cummins had come to a decision.

He would make amends as best he could here, report on the story he’d been told to cover and then leave. Either luck or blind chance had found him near a street he remembered and he turned toward Arnold Kye’s house. He’d apologize to the big man. It might not be accepted, but at least it would be a start. He stopped along the backside of Arnold’s garage to vent the heat from his parka and marshall his thoughts and courage..

As such Cummins had been well positioned to hear the exchange between Arnold and Medevac, and at the words, “Why are you still a pony?” he had snuck a peek around the corner and had seen Medevac bouncing up and down at Arnold’s back door. Cummins did what any sensible person would have done. Ducked back around the corner, and rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things before taking another look.

His second look confirmed what his first had seen. A small cream coloured horse with a blue and red tail was there. Was there and talking. Arnold Kye raised his head at something the little pony said, and Cummins whipped his own head back behind the sheltering cover of the big structure to avoid being seen.

A thunderbolt of realization struck Brian Cummins at that moment. Montcalm had spoken of magic. True Magic, and as Cummins replayed that heart aching conversation back in his head it was now obvious the mayor hadn’t been speaking in metaphor. Montcalm had meant what he had said. He had also meant his threat as well. If Cummins reported anything that Montcalm thought would harm the children, no… the ponies, at the heart of this, Montcalm would destroy him.

In television news five seconds was a long time, ten was an eternity, and Cummins hadn’t earned his stripes as a television news reporter without being able to think fast and act almost faster. Despite how long he had been up, despite the aches and pains of his body, despite discovering information that upended everything he thought he had known about Brightly, he was still able to adjust and realize that there was another option.

He was a reporter and by all the gods, he would report. He wouldn’t report on the kids, but if memory served from his hours at the scanner, Medevac was also “Rescue One” aka Jessica Harkins. Harkins was an adult and Montcalm had said nothing about the rest of the fire department or any adults. Plus, the rules for reporting about minors didn’t apply to adults. Jessica, or Medevac was fair game for any story Cummins cared to report.

Energized, Cummins pushed off the wall of the garage and headed back to his hotel room at a fast walk. He needed a piece of archaic equipment. An item once commonplace but now replaced by the power of internet search engines. He needed a phone book.

As Cummins jogged his aching, middle-aged body back to his hotel Arnold and Medevac bolted back across the street to Jean’s home. Not realizing that Jean’s elderly neighbors had seen Medevac both times she had crossed the street.

“I must have warned Father Addison a dozen times,” John Rosenburg declared, as he watched the mismatched pair rush into Jean’s house. “I told him one day that witch would start changing people into toads or something. We’ve got to put a stop to this. Right now.”

“Sit down and drink your tea,” Mildred, his wife of thirty years scolded, rolling her eyes. “You know, the tea that does a better job with your arthritis than anything the doctors prescribe? The tea our friend and neighbor makes specially for you?”

“But what about…” he trailed off, gesturing toward the home on the other side of the hedge.

“I’m sure there’s a rational explanation,” Mildred said, getting her husband to sit down with a well practiced look.

“And if there isn’t?” John asked, querulous as he applied butter to a slice of toast.

“Then we go over there and have a polite chat,” the old woman responded. “We’ve known Jean and her daughters ever since she moved here, and she’s done a lot of good since then. She wouldn’t be turning people into… what was it again?”

“A little pony,” John said, taking a bite and chewing before he spoke again. “A cute little pony. With wings. Leading Kye over to her place. They looked worried.”

“Jean might be sick, or one of those lovely daughters of hers,” Mildred said, opening up their fridge freezer and peering inside. “We should take over some borscht. You could make some of those baking powder buns you used to make.”

“We’re talking about a woman who is turning people into little horses and you want to take her some soup?” John demanded, thumping an age-seamed fist on the table.

“None of that is any reason for us to be rude to our neighbor,” Mildred chided, pulling out a frozen tub of the rich, red soup.

“Fine, but when she turns us into old nags I get say ‘I told you so’,” he said, throwing up his hands in surrender before adding, “do you think she’d like chives or cheese in those buns?”

“Whichever you think is best, dear,” Mildred said, laying a hand over her husband’s and smiling down at him.

Meanwhile, Arnold and Medevac had returned to find Foxfire still sitting on her couch and staring into space with barely open eyes. The unicorn pony was slowly weaving back and forth in the manner of the truly exhausted.

“Foxfire,” Arnold said, concern in his voice. “Jean?”

“Mmm?” Foxfire mumbled, her weaving becoming wider, and Arnold strode forward in time to catch the pony as she toppled sideways.

Arnold and Foxfire’s motions had combined to result in Arnold sprawled on Jean’s couch with Foxfire draped across his chest. Medevac stepped up a moment later and laid a wing over the recumbent unicorn, covering her from crest to dock.

“What’s wrong with her?” Arnold asked, stroking Foxfire’s neck. The contact seemed to rouse the unicorn slightly and she pushed herself up a bit into the crook of Arnold’s neck.

“It’s like she’s sleep deprived,” Medevac said, trying to make sense of what her sensitive feathers were telling her. “But to be this out of it would take going days without sleep. She’s maybe had one bad night.”

“S’okay,” Foxfire mumbled, nearly poking Arnold in the neck with her horn as she tried to snuggle closer. “Jus’ need some sleep. No nightmares.”

“Just rest,” Arnold said, still stroking the soft fur along Foxfire’s neck. “I’m here now. Just close your eyes.”

“Whatever you say,” Foxfire murmured, eyes closing completely. “You’re a good man… stallion… whatever.”

“What do I do?” Arnold asked Medevac softly, as Foxfire’s breathing dropped into a steady rhythm.

“You need to be anywhere?” Medevac asked, to which Arnold shook his head. “Then you stay there as long as you can. She needs solid REM sleep, and if you being a cushion for her can do that...”

“Then I’ll stay right here,” Arnold finished, keeping his voice low.

Arnold squirmed as much as he dared to find a comfortable spot on the couch. Luckily, the piece of furniture was well-used and Medevac was right there propping him up with some cushions as well. The pair needn’t have bothered as Foxfire barely even stirred as Arnold settled into a comfy spot.

Foxfire’s breathing had settled into a steady restful rhythm and as she did she began to give off the dangerous subatomic snooze particles known as “sleepyions.” Arnold, though he would never admit it, had spent his own restless night of worry over his son and as the sleepyion cascade washed over him he felt his own eyelids begin to get heavy again.

“Sleep, I’ll handle everything,” Medevac whispered, and made her way to the kitchen.

She was just beginning to open the fridge to see if there was anything she could sneak for breakfast when she heard a clomping and clattering coming up Jean’s back steps. Moving quickly she zipped across the kitchen and opened the back door to quiet the noisy group.

“Shhh,” Medevac said, putting a wing over her lips as she opened the back door to reveal Ernie leading three dirty, damp, but happy little ponies up the steps. All of them were surprised to see Medevac still in her pony form.

“You’re still a—” Ernie began, in a normal voice.

“Shh,” Medevac interrupted, “Foxfire just got to sleep on top of Arn.”

“Is thomething wrong?” Seeker said, worry on her face and in her voice. “Is Mom okay?”

“She didn’t have a good night,” Medevac said, and all three ponies looked stricken. “I think she’s gonna be okay, she just needs to get some good sleep.”

“Can I see my Dad?” Iron Hoof asked, also looking worried.

“He’s just falling asleep too,” Medevac said, then smiled as a thought crossed her mind. “How well did you kids sleep out in the woods?”

“We’re kinda tired,” Iron Hoof admitted. “Mister Tim tried to keep us warm but trying to sleep on rock wasn’t easy.”

“Well, there is plenty of room on the couch,” Medevac said, keeping her voice quiet. “I can’t think of any better way for your parents to get some good sleep than with their kids beside them.” Shield Maiden’s eyes lit up as she realized what the bigger pony was driving at.

“Power Ponies,” she whispered intently, once again taking on the mantle of leadership of the ponies of Brightly. “Prepare for ‘Operation Snuggles’.”

Iron Hoof and Seeker immediately broke into huge smiles while Ernie did his best not to laugh as he watched the interplay of the three younger ponies. Both nodded their readiness to the leader of their team.

“Medevac,” Shield Maiden said, drawing herself up. “Power Ponies are go.”

“Copy,” Medevac replied, heart warming. “Initiate ‘Operation Snuggles’ at your discretion.”

“Let’s go Power Ponies,” Shield Maiden said, and the three youngsters ghosted past Medevac and into Jean’s home.

“Well, I can see things are well in hand,” Ernie said, biting his lip to keep laughter at bay. “You hold down the fort here, and we’ll talk later.”

“No problem, Ernie,” Medevac said, as she began to close the door. “Let Kevin know I won’t be in to run the clinic today, okay?”

“Can do,” Ernie answered, before adding,. “I’ll let him know that you’re a little hoarse today.”

Medevac gave a very equine snort at that and closed the door. She turned off the kettle, set some tea to steep and got back to the living room in time to see three young ponies snuggling up against their parents. Arnold had half-roused and had draped an arm over his son, while Jean was beginning to stir uncomfortably at the contact with the cool, damp bodies of her girls. As luck would have it Medevac knew where Jean stored her extra blankets and soon had everyone tucked in under expanses of soft, warm fabric.

Within five minutes Arnold and Foxfire were both back to being soundly asleep and the three Power Ponies were nodding as well. After ten minutes even they were out cold and the living room echoed with the sounds of restful slumber. Medevac drew the living room drapes to keep the out the brightening light of day and the rising noise of the waking town, though Brightly could never be said to be a noisy place even at the busiest of times.

With the soft touch of a healer, Medevac placed a wing over what little of Foxfire was still exposed and smiled as she was able to sense the beneficial effect restful sleep was already having on her fellow equine. A few checks of the others and she retreated to the kitchen to sip at her now fully steeped tea.

Halfway through the hot herbal drink, the sound of footsteps was again heard on the wooden stairs leading up to Jean’s back porch. Sighing, Medevac put down the tea and made her way back to the door again.

“They’re all sleeping,” the pegasus said, in a low voice as she opened the door. “Come back oh—” Medevac broke off as she realized she was muzzle to face with Jean’s elderly neighbors, both of whom she recognized from her clinic work.

“Jessica Harkins, is that you?” asked Mrs. Rosenburg, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Y-yeah, it’s me,” Jessica replied, controlled fear going through her as she realized that two more people had discovered the truth. “Hi, Mr. Rosenburg. How’s the arthritis today? Taken your metroprolol?

“What in the name of—” John Rosenburg began to say hotly before Medevac interrupted him.

“Shhh!” Medevac said, crossly. “Jean had a rough night while her girls were out in the woods taking care of that lost power lineman. They all just got to sleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” the older man apologized, flinching a bit and dropping the volume of his voice. “Didn't’ know. But I will be damned if I let that woman go around changing people into ponies.”

“Are you okay, dear?” Mildred asked, reaching out to touch the back of her hand to Medevac’s cheek. “Did it hurt?”

“No, it didn’t hurt at all,” Medevac replied, keeping her voice low. “And Jean didn’t do this to me. I asked her to, so I could help at the plane crash yesterday.”

“People don’t just go changing into animals,” John said, gesturing around with a large covered bowl. “It’s unnatural. It’s evil.”

“We brought some borscht and baking powder buns,” Mildred explained, rolling her eyes at her husband’s histrionics. “Can we bring them in?”

“Sure, as long as you are quiet,” Medevac said, bringing up her doctor persona. “I’m serious, they need their sleep and I won’t have you waking them, but some food ready for when they wake up would be a good idea. So, thank you.”

John Rosenburg grumbled a bit under his breath but nodded his agreement and Medevac stepped aside to let the elderly couple in. Mildred put down her container of reheated soup and snuck a peek around the corner and into the living room. A contented look came over her face as she beheld Arnold Kye covered and surrounded by blankets and four sleeping ponies.

“John, come here,” she whispered, grabbing her husband’s arm and pulling him close so that he could look in on the scene on the couch. “If you can look at that and tell me there’s anything unnatural or evil going on there, then you aren’t the man I married.”

“Fine,” John said, keeping his voice very quiet. “But I want to know what’s going on here.”

“Fair enough,” Medevac said, and drawing the old couple back into the kitchen she began to relate the story in hushed tones.

As she did so, the thing that had taken residence in Jean’s mind silently cursed as warmth and comfort flowed into Foxfire, undoing its work of the past night. It calmed itself after a few minutes as it reminded itself that it could afford to be patient. It would simply bide its time until another opportunity arose for it to fulfill the plan it had for this strong young host it had found.

Author's Note

Things are moving along, and to be honest I'm actually having trouble deciding who to focus on each chapter. My primary focus needs to be on the Furred Five, of course, but now I have so many interesting secondary characters and issues I find myself running into Robert Jordan's problem from his Wheel of Time series.

Hopefully I won't fall into the same trap he did.

Also, as we begin to near the end of the story, or at least the end of the primary arc, I've decided to start including some sketches of my visualizations of important places around Brightly. Here is a rough sketch of the main floor of Jean Pedersen's house.

https://imgur.com/1ZQ8NHl

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Drazhan,
Machara,
A.P.O.N.I.,
and
Kareko.

Chapter 35: Don't Stop (Thinking about Tomorrow)

As the morning wore on, Friday became a day of quiet contemplation. Jessica Harkins said a quiet goodbye to her humanity that morning, over a steaming cup of fragrant tea. What had being a human ever gotten her except misery, derision and constant fights with people who kept trying to chain her to their expectations of who and what she should be?

She extended her left wing, stretching it and the feathers attached to it as wide as they could go. She held the pose, examining each and every detail that she could see with the precision of an anatomist. A pony’s body was not what she would have asked for, when she had made the choice to change what birth had given her.

But this equine form had one advantage to it that even the body she had come to call “hers” had never had. It felt right. Its movements were natural and graceful, its reflexes and abilities felt true to her nature, and her need to help others. Jessica Harkins had been bits and pieces of male and female, stitched together with drugs and hormones into something the doctors had hoped would do the job.

Medevac, however, was all mare; and she loved it that way.

She was also a mare with responsibilities, as a chorus of soft snores from the darkened living room reminded her. On silent hooves she ghosted into the living room, smiling for a moment as she saw that the pile of ponies on the couch had morphed into something best described as a “sprawl.”

Arnold now lay stretched along the length of the couch, one arm flopped down to his side, the other draped around Foxfire. The unicorn still lay on Arnold’s chest, and her head was still pillowed in the corner of his neck. Iron Hoof, Arnold’s son, was curled up in a tight ball between his father’s knees. The strong horse of the Power Ponies looked as though nothing short of an earthquake would wake him.

Foxfire’s daughters, Shield Maiden and Seeker, had moved to odd positions for a pair of sleeping ponies. Shield Maiden was now stretched out along the top of the couch, while Seeker lay over her mother’s hindquarters. Seeker was having some sort of dream, if her twitching hooves and muzzle were any indication.

A careful brush with her primaries told Medevac all she needed to know about Foxfire’s condition. Balances were restoring themselves and fatigue poisons were being washed away. Foxfire’s hormone levels were…

Medevac’s breath hitched for a moment as her mind interpreted what her magic-infused wings were telling her. With the care a surgeon would have envied, the paramedic pony laid her wing over Foxfire’s midsection to get confirmation, and the results caused a bubbling joy to rise up inside of her.

“Is momma gonna be okay?” Shield Maiden murmured from her perch, a single eye cracked open and looking at Medevac.

“You can go back to sleep. Your mother is going to be wonderful,” Medevac said, smiling. “Absolutely wonderful.”

It was a day of quiet repose for a frenzied mind. Brian Cummins had jogged the distance back to his hotel room, and had found an old style phone book sitting there. A few moments later he had the information he sought and was about to get up when he realized how soft his bed was. He also was reminded that he had been up all day yesterday and all night.

“Fifteen minutes won’t make a difference,” he muttered to himself, setting the alarm on his relatively useless phone for a short nap. Brian Cummins was sound asleep within sixty seconds of laying his head on the pillow.

It was still on the pillow forty minutes later when Julie, the room cleaner, let herself in with her passkey and turned off Cummins’ phone. People had been complaining about the racket, and despite her annoyance she found herself having some sympathy for the fully clothed man sound asleep on the bed.

“Wow, you’re out cold, aren’t you?” she softly asked the sleeping man, who didn’t reply for obvious reasons.

Deciding that the man on the bed was deeply unconscious, she took the time to draw the room’s curtains shut and briefly straighten up a few things on the desk. Normally, she wouldn’t even notice papers left open in a room, but these ones drew her eyes with its boldly printed list of the names of the members of the fire department, as well as that of the town witch.

“What in the world…?” she asked softly as she quickly read through the Cummins handwritten account of radio intercepts, suppositions, revelations and the final, fully capitalized epiphany of, “MY GOD, MEDEVAC IS AN ACTUAL TALKING PEGASUS. ALL THE POWER PONIES ARE ACTUALLY PONIES.”

“Oh, I’ve got to tell Dora about this,” Julie breathed, thinking of the reaction the town gossip would have to this earth shaking revelation.

Either the man on the bed had completely lost it, or something incredible was happening in town. Either way, these were the best rumours to be had in a generation. The middle-aged room cleaner took an extra moment to scan the pages and fix their contents in their mind before ghosting out of the room and locking the door behind her. She felt an early and long lunch coming on with the town gossip.

It’s was a day of quiet contemplation, as Ernie Harding towed a load of hay onto his pasture. It was a sunny day and his mixed herd of cattle, sheep, and milk cows preferred to eat outside whenever possible. Truth be told, he preferred it as well. His animals had a barn and shelters for when the weather was bad, but they tended to be dark, closed in, and smelly, no matter how often he or his two hands cleaned things out.

His body busied itself with the task of getting out off the tractor and beginning the laborious job of lifting thirty kilo bales of fragrant hay into the bunker. The animals in the pasture came ambling over to rip great mouthfuls out of the bales, in enjoyment of the served meal. The fresh grass of the field was green, rich and succulent, but the hay was in easy to access quantities. Ease of access won over taste.

Ernie stood back as the animals jostled for position, and he allowed himself a moment of rest. As he did so he tilted his head back, and stared directly at the sun with his eyes firmly closed, just letting the light and heat of the celestial orb fill up his vision and awareness. He let his mind drift and as it did, questions he had been holding back came sneaking into his consciousness.

Why did the Brightly ponies seem to flip back and forth between human and pony at seemingly random? Why did some ponies seem affected while others were “one and done”? When was he going to give into his wife’s requests that he too change into a pony, at least once? Maybe if he could figure out what seemed to trigger the changes, he would be more comfortable with asking Jean to work her literal magic on him. Maybe…

“Hey Dad!” said a voice behind him, causing Ernie Harding to nearly jump out of his skin. He whirled in place, to find his two young children looking at him from the bed of the hay wagon. Skylark was tasting one of the two remaining bales with care and an obvious lack of enjoyment, while Darter stood looking at him with furled wings.

“What in…” Ernie began, trailing off to let his pulse and blood pressure come down. “Does your mother know you two are here?”

“Um,” Darter previcated, while Skylark’s guilty face came with a mouthful of hay.

“You two know you need to stay under wraps until at least Sunday,” Ernie said, mainly just to pronounce his parental authority. He had a pretty fair idea what his son was about to say.

“But Dad,” came the expected plaintive cry, “We were booored. We just wanna fly and have fun. We won’t hurt anyone and we’ll be careful not to be seen by—”

“Hey Ern,” said Maysan “May” Harb, one half of the Syrian refugee couple that worked as farm hands for Ernie, as she came around the back side of the wagon. “I’ve finished walking the fence line and it looks…”

Everyone froze in place for a long, long moment. The only sound came from the cattle and sheep still munching on their hay, until the young Arabic woman shook off her surprise and began to slowly approach Darter with a single outstretched hand.

“Hello, little one,” May said, keeping her voice even and gentle, even though Ernie could see the tremor in her hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re real. By the Prophet, please be real and not some fever dream.”

Darter held stil, flicking a quick glance at his father, who gave the smallest of nods. Better that this play out here and now, and not in some panicked situation. In the four years since their escape from the Syrian civil war, May, and her husband Wayab, had managed to keep their minds and their dignity despite the vast changes in their lives. Ernie just hoped they would be up to one more.

“Hello, little jinn,” May said, her voice still calm as her hand came within a few inches of Darter’s muzzle. “I’m going to touch you now, if that’s okay?”

Darter wasn’t one to sit back and let someone else be daring when he could do the job just as well. He leaned his head forward into May’s outstretched hand and then lifted up so that her hand slid down his neck.

“So soft,” May murmured, gasping a bit as Skylark came over to join her brother. “Two little jinns. I’m dreaming, this is a dream.”

“Sorry May,” Ernie said, sighing deeply with regret and relief both. “But you aren’t dreaming. You’ve met my kids, say hello to Kya and Zak.”

“Hi Mrs. Harb,” Kya chirped, extending a black and silver wing. “It’s nice to see you again.”

To say that the woman was in a state of shock would be like saying the sea was a little salty. “What? How?” May asked, in both shock and wonder. “How is this possible?”

“It’s not, May,” Ernie replied, in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s magic, pure and simple. Have a seat and I’ll explain. You see, a few weeks back the kids and their friends found this book…”

It was a day of quiet contemplation, and John Wilcox was making the most of it. He’d uncovered a huge story here in Brightly, and he’d done it in his own way. By making friends with people and forging connections the story of a lifetime had fallen into his lap, and he was being rewarded with being CKNW’s point man for the awards ceremony that was due to take place here in two days.

The award ceremony promised to be a national news piece as well with the expected announcement from the PMO that Justin Trudeau would be coming out for the ceremony as well. Combined, the stories would take John from being barely known to a front-line reporter. After this he could almost write his own ticket and do whatever he wanted as a journalist.

And absolutely none of that took into account the story he was sitting on. The earth shattering, ground breaking story that promised to destroy every paradigm there had ever been about other forms of intelligent life in the universe. Once that story got out, the world would never be the same, and he would be the one to break it.

“You ready to order, or you just want to stare at that cup of coffee some more?” asked the waitress, looking down at the meditating reporter with more than a little amusement.

“Oh, sorry,” Wilcox replied, smiling back up at the patient woman. “Guess I wasn’t really concentrating on my surroundings.”

“Don’t feel bad,” the waitress remarked with a snort of amusement. “Everyone seems to be the same way today. Stupid rumor mill.”

“Rumors? What rumors?” Wilcox asked, glancing around the nearly full eatery. Nearly every booth was full of people engaged in intent conversations with occasional furtive glances to see if anyone was listening in. One woman spotted Wilcox looking around and gave him a glare that could fry a chicken at ten paces.

“Oh, it's just some weird local gossip,” the waitress answered, topping up Wilcox’s cup without being asked. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“I’ve spent a week here, and if there’s anything I’ve learned it’s that everything here is pretty special,” Wilcox replied, flashing a winning smile up at the waitress who rolled her eyes slightly at the obvious flattery. “Besides, I’m a reporter and some local rumors might take my mind off the fact there was a friend of mine who went down in that plane yesterday.”

“That was a friend of yours?” the waitress asked, with a gasp. “Are they going to be alright?”

“From what I hear they’re bruised up pretty good, but otherwise a lot better off than the pilot,” Wilcox replied, taking a deep breath and barely noticing that the waitress had slid into the booth seat opposite him. “If help hadn’t shown up when it had, he would have died. When that plane hit the water, it hit hard.”

“You were there? You saw it crash?” the waitress asked, neither of them noticing that conversations around them were starting to die as others began to listen in. “Wait, I’ve heard about you. You’re the radio fellow who’s been camped out by the lake.”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Wilcox said, outward vision fading as he replayed the scene in his mind’s eye. “I’m not exactly sure what happened, but it looked like one of the pontoons hit a log or something just as they touched down. It ripped off and the plane slammed nose first into the water.”

“Ouch,” the waitress said, wincing in sympathy, also not noticing that the cafe was nearly silent now as every ear present strained to hear an eye-witness account of the crash. “What happened next?”

“A miracle,” John replied, eyes watering as he remembered the transcendent joy that had filled his heart when the rainbow column of light had enveloped one of the ponies.

“Tell us,” the waitress half whispered, feeling a bit of awe herself as she saw the reporter’s face go from frowned in concentration to radiant happiness. “What did you see?”

“I saw… angels,” Wilcox said, in a reverent tone. Then he remembered his conversation with Foxfire a few hours later. “Angels with a bit of an attitude—”

“Angels?” asked a derisive voice from a booth. “You mean flying ponies right? Little servants of the Devil. Cooked up by that Pedersen witch over on Kerwick street, right? I told you we should have run her out of town when she first showed up. If she hadn't’ve cast some sort of spell on Father Adam—”

“Dora Godwinson,” interrupted the brittle steel voice of an elderly woman, sitting with her husband in another booth. “That’s the biggest load of moose droppings to come out of your mouth in twenty years. Jean Pedersen has done nothing but be a good neighbor and a good mother to her children.”

“Of course, you’d say that, Millie,” pronounced the first woman, a heavy-set, late middle aged woman with dark hair liberally peppered with strands of steel grey. “You’re just as much under her spell as the anyone else whose had one of her preparations.” The woman’s voice oozed sarcasm and derision, and to John’s horror he saw several people in the eatery nodding in agreement with her.

“That woman and her children have done nothing but good,” declared Millie’s husband, a man of equal elderly years, with only the shadow of a once vigorous frame. “They are innocents, and I won’t stand by and let you whip up a mob against good people.”

“Says the man who used to complain about her at my prayer meetings,” Dora retorted, still pouring venom into her words. “How many doses of her teas did it take for you to change your mind… or have it changed for you?”

John Wilcox hated crowds, hated the feeling of being surrounded by people and most of all, hated when he felt a crowd turn into a mob that could lash out and destroy anything or anyone in its path. It scared him. The possibility of a crowd shifting from being benign to hostile was a fear he hadn’t been able to shake since he had been buried under that dry brick wall in a far off land.

So, when Wilcox rose to his feet to confront the rabble rouser who was trying to incite the crowd to riot, he was surprised to find himself shaking with anger, not fear.

“I don’t know who you are,” Wilcox said slowly, levelling a deadly stare directly into the older woman’s grey flecked green eyes, “and you don’t know who I am. I’ve only been here a few days, so I have no stake in your local politics or your little killer coffee klatsch clan.”

Dora flinched visibly at the mention of the word “clan” even as John pressed on, “I don’t care who or what you are here. I find things out, and report on them. It’s my job. So, I’m going to do my job, and break my given word, which I don’t do lightly. I’m going to report the facts to you people. I’m going to tell you what things looked and sounded like, and I’m going to tell you how I felt while I watched those events so you can feel them too.”

“And, Ms. Godwinson,” Wilcox continued, taking a step forward as the woman tried to break into his tirade, “you will kindly keep your mouth shut until I am finished talking, or I will take great pleasure in using some duct tape to close it for you.”

“Well, I never—” Godwinson began, only to close her mouth with a snap as the eatery’s cook lobbed a wide roll of silver grey tape to the reporter, who caught it with one upraised hand.

John Wilcox didn’t make a single move toward the woman. All he did was focus his targeted gaze on Dora’s mouth and her eyes went wide as she understood that Wilcox wasn’t threatening her. He was measuring how much tape he was going to need. Godwinson settled back into her seat with all the grace she could muster, and Wilcox waited for another few heartbeats before nodding in acceptance of the woman’s acquiescence.

“It was near sunset when the plane turned and lined itself up for a landing on the far side of the lake,” Wilcox began then. “I didn’t know it at the time, but my old zoology professor was onboard as a passenger…”

It had been a day of quiet contemplation. Mainly contemplation of why, oh why, had he had that second shot of booze. Darrell Montcalm’s head and gut had been giving him grief all day about his late night choice. That was on top of the subtle punishment his wife had given him with a breakfast of runny eggs and limp bacon, seasoned by more than a few disappointed looks.

Even the staff of the village office had given him grief. Supposedly the coffee machine was broken. In a pig’s eye it was. At least they hadn’t begrudged him some Pepto for his stomach and brought him a steady supply of Tylenol, milk, and plain crackers. He was going over a contractor’s proposal for getting some road work done when the old intercom on his desk buzzed.

“Yes?” he asked, punching the button with desperate speed to quell the icepick-like agony of the buzzer.

“Sir,” said Sonya, one of his two receptionists, “I think you need to come out here.”

“I’m sure it’s not anything that needs taking care of right now,” Montcalm replied, pushing past his headache through force of will.

“Sir,” Sonya insisted. “I really think it is. There’s a group of ‘concerned citizens’ out here and they say they aren’t leaving until they talk to you about… ponies?”

All thoughts of his own misery vanished in an instant as Montcalm moved through his door and behind the counter of the reception area within half a dozen heartbeats. There was a group of twenty or so packing the waiting area of the village office, arguing amongst themselves and with the other receptionist. It was hard to make out anything through the cacophony of voices, but the words “Power Ponies” came through.

“QUIET!” roared Montcalm, half exploding his own head in the process, but the shout had the desired effect of silencing the crowd. The mayor briefly studied the crowd and was un-surprised to see Dora Godwinson front and center. He was surprised to see the well built form of John Wilcox though.

He’d met the reporter in passing once or twice, and seemed like a decent sort. At least decent enough that he’d let Foxfire and Arnold handle things last night. The reporter noticed Montcalm’s gaze on him and returned it with the look of a man who had made a tough decision and was at peace with it.

“She trusted you,” was all Montcalm said, letting his displeasure show.

“They already knew enough for this woman,” Wilcox replied, jerking his chin toward Godwinson, “to try to fire up a lynch mob down at the cafe.”

“People have a right to deal with dangerous creatures in their community,” Godwinson shot back. “I was only trying to muster some concerned citizens to help get rid of them.”

“Dangerous creatures?” Montcalm queried, his voice calm and quiet. Wilcox felt a chill settle over him when he heard that voice. Dangerous people were often noisy people. Very dangerous people tended to get quieter as they became more dangerous.

“You mean dangerous creatures that call upon the gift of one of the best men who has ever lived here?” Montcalm asked, and everyone else fell silent. “You mean dangerous creatures who in the course of using their new gifts, wind up laying dying in their father’s arms?”

No one saw Montcalm move but suddenly he was directly in front of Dora Godwinson, towering over her and her allies like a wrathful titan. “You mean dangerous creatures who inspired a firefighter to bar the path of the apparent Angel of Death with nothing but a fire axe in his hands?”

“You mean dangerous creatures, who give succor to a dying angel from beyond the stars after that holy being gave its own essence to save one of our own?” Montcalm demanded, his voice roaring again, his rage stalking the reception area as if it was a physical thing with teeth and claws.

“Or, maybe you mean the dangerous creatures who saved you, and me, and our whole community, from a dam ready to burst?” Montcalm growled, visibly pulling back his fury toward the woman who would dare threaten children. “Or maybe you mean the dangerous creatures who just yesterday, saved three more lives.”

The entire room was silent and still in the wake of Montcalm’s titanic diatribe. No one moved, no one stirred. No one dared to, and for a long, long, eternity Montcalm’s eyes bored into those of his opponent. Outrage sputtered, indignation fled, confidence wilted and Dora Godwinson lowered her eyes and looked away.

“Get out of here,” Montcalm growled, in a low voice. “And be glad I don’t tell you to get out of town like you wanted to do with some of the finest young people it has been my honour to know.”

The group began to shuffle out, shamefaced and cowed. As they did, Montcalm raised his voice once more.

“Wilcox, my office,” Montcalm ordered, jerking a thumb down the corridor. “Lynn, call the inn. Tell them to tell Cummins that I want him here now. Sonya, fire up the phone tree. Tell everyone there’s a town meeting at seven, in the Community Centre.”

“What are you going to do, sir?” Wilcox asked, fighting an urge to salute.

“What I should have done in the first place,” Montcalm said, taking a deep breath and feeling his blood pressure start to climb down from its dizzying height. “Stop hiding things, let people know what’s going on in their town, and do everything in the light. Start making those calls, ladies.”

Author's Note

So a few notes:

First off, my profound apologies for the inexcusable delay in the getting this chapter out. May kicked my ass six ways to Sunday, and you can read my last two blog posts if you want the details,

Second. I was going over my notes and I realized that things had passed the critical threshold for the knowledge of the ponies to become known. Those involved have done well to keep things under wraps but their luck just plain old ran out.

Third. Yes, she really is, and only just. Careful readers with good memories should be able to pinpoint the when. Sometimes the 'E' rating limits me, but sometimes it's a joy being subtle.

Fourth, we are heading into the home stretch and I have a question for my readers here. Anything in particular you would like to see happen with any of the characters, Brightly itself or the story in general?

Fifth. A quick note about Dora Godwinson. She is the personification of that one person who is in almost every large group. The one that lives on gossip, creating drama and feeling that they know more and are intrinsically better than everyone around them.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Drazhan,
Machara,
A.P.O.N.I.,
and
Kareko.

Chapter 36: Princes of the Universe

A shadow moved through the corridors of the Castle of Friendship. Unseen and unheard, the cloaked figure of midnight blue and obsidian wove its way undetected past guards, staff and sightseers. Only once, when darting through an unavoidable late afternoon sunbeam, could anypony have discerned that the shadow was indeed equine in nature.

After what seemed an eternity, the shadow reached the locked and barred chamber that was its goal. A brief flare of magic took care of the final barrier, and the shadow slipped into the room on silent hooves. Briefly, the intruder looked around, scanning for guards or alarms. Satisfied, Princess Luna, Mistress of the Night, released the cloaking spell she had been using to cover her tracks and walked the last few steps toward her goal.

There, held in a secure framework, was an old hoof mirror and floating in mid-air just in front of it was a glowing portal roughly the size of a basket. The midnight blue alicorn summoned her magic with an effort and in a flash Luna was gone, and a tiny blue breezie floated in the air where she had stood.

“Sorry sister,” the little breezie squeaked, “but this is something I have to do.”

Luna surged forward towards the portal, only to bounce off a clear barrier that appeared in her path with lightning suddenness. She turned to the side in order to go around, only to find the barrier curved around and surrounded her. Looking up she saw the barrier there as well, and Luna realized that for all intents and purposes she was inside a very large glass that someone had dropped over top of her.

“Starswirl’s Transformation Tumbler Trap worked!” exclaimed Twilight, dropping her own magic cloak of invisibility. “Um, sorry Princess Luna, but Princess Celestia asked me to do this.”

“And you did well to obey my request,” said Princess Celestia, appearing in the room with a golden flash of light. “I’m very disappointed with you, sister.”

“Please Celestia, let me go to the other side,” Luna begged, eyes going wide as she saw her sister bring out a horn sheathe and a pot of glue. “You have to let me try to rescue the Tantabus.”

“Rescue…” Celestia replied, her voice trailing off for a moment. “But the Tantabus is dead. You said you felt it die.”

“I did,” Luna responded, trying to transform to her larger self for a moment and discovering that avenue of escape was blocked as well. “But for the past few days I’ve been getting visions, impressions, hearing bits of conversations when there is no pony around. I think somehow the Tantabus managed to survive, gravely weakened yes, but still a coherent magical entity.”

“Hmm,” Celestia murmured, scratching her chin as she thought. “How do you know it’s the Tantabus?”

“Because among the images I have seen are those of strange buildings, clearly not made for a pony,” Luna said, landing on the floor. “As well, the words I have heard are not in Equish, but a completely unknown tongue.”

“Then it can’t be the Tantabus,” Celestia sighed. “The translation matrix on the hoof mirror would change any communication into understandable language. What will it be, Luna? Glue or bridle?”

“You don’t understand!” Luna shouted back, as best a three inch tall creature can. “If what I was seeing came through the mirror you would be correct, but if it was coming to me directly from the Tantabus, via our magical connection, it would bypass the mirror entirely!”

“Oh!” Twilight exclaimed. “An ansible effect. Instantaneous communication via magical entanglement. Also known as ‘Thaumic Resonance’.”

“Yes! Yes!” Luna yelled. “Exactly. Thank you, Twilight. See, Tia, even thy student ‘gets it.’ If even the possibility of the Tantabus being intact exists, I have to go to it. I sent it there. I am responsible.”

“Fine, but on one condition,” Celestia said, levitating the enchanted glass off of her sister.

“Name it,” Luna demanded, giving her sister a very tiny hug.

“I’m going with you,” Celestia replied, and with a flash there was a solar breezie beside the lunar one.

“I’m glad for the company, but you do not have to come with me if you do not want to,” Luna squeaked.

“This situation is as much my doing as is yours, Luna,” Celestia replied. “I’ve been avoiding it, but I owe it to Lee Ung to check on his descendants and make sure they are doing well. Twilight, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

“What?” demanded Twilight, panicking as the two breezies zipped through the portal. “Wait!” The sisters were already gone.

Foxfire began the cleansing ritual she had done in the past whenever she needed to calm herself or find her mental focus again. The days rest in Arnold’s arms and surrounded by their children had worked a minor miracle in helping the witch find her balance again.

However, the news that the secret of the ponies had been revealed and was going to be the focus of a town meeting had nearly thrown Foxfire back into the frenzied animal she’d been the previous night. Thus, her calming ritual while Arnold kept their children entertained.

Setting the large silver bowl on her bedroom table, she filled it carefully with blessed water. Water that had never felt the sun’s light and had only ever been touched by moonlight. Water that had been seen by each of the three goddesses who looked down from its face, and hopefully had placed a spark of their wisdom within.

“Artemis, Selene, Hecate,” the witch said, beginning the chant. “Maiden, mother, crone. Show me the path I should make my own.”

Foxfire took a deep breath and looked into the bowl’s depths, expecting to see the calm silvery surface she had seen in times past. Sometimes, when the light was right, she would catch a glimpse of herself in the water, surrounded by gleaming argent.

She cast her vision and mind into the bowl. Once again she saw her own reflection in a pool of silver on silver. Foxfire’s eyes widened as she looked into the reflection of Jean Pedersen.

It was her, but at the same time it wasn’t. Her human reflection’s face was looking back at her with a cool, powerful confidence, as if nothing and no one could stand in her path. As if nothing should dare to stand in her path. The vision pulled back to show that her doppelganger wore her long hair up in a complicated weave of multiple braids supporting a royal coronet in its dark coils.

That shining silver emblem of royalty was studded with opals and moonstones, one of them carved into a blazing crescent moon. At her throat was a matching and close fitting silver torc. It too was emblazoned with the crescent moon sigil, and both symbols of power were enameled with a light blue coating that made them look as if the Moon itself had crowned her with its own light made solid.

That beautiful, royal version of Jean looked back out from the reflection, and locked its gaze onto Foxfire’s. Two pairs of brown eyes met, their verdant cores forming a bridge from one woman to the other, and Foxfire/Jean heard a voice, that was everywhere and nowhere at the same time:

“Your destiny lies in your own hooves, but this advice I will offer to you, child of two worlds. Once you have chosen a course, hold true to it and though others may plead and threaten, you must stand your ground.”

The vision faded, and Foxfire fell back to the floor, stunned by what she had seen and heard. All she had hoped for was a moment of calm, some insight at best. To be granted a full-on vision was unheard of. Which begged another question: Why had the vision Jean been garbed as a royal?

Foxfire shook her head. Those were questions for another time. She’d been given the answers and balance she had sought, albeit in an unexpected way. It was up to her to accept what she had been granted and to start getting ready for the town hall in a few hours.

Foxfire also made a mental note to ask Medevac why she smiled every time she looked in Foxfire’s direction.

In all of space and time there is only one thing that is known to be faster than the speed of light, and that is the speed of propagation of juicy gossip. So it wasn’t long at all before the entire community had heard the story of how a group of the town’s children had somehow acquired the ability to change into power packed ponies.

Some scoffed, some laughed, others listened with sober concern, and more than a few decided they needed to find out what the truth was for themselves. To the consternation of the seven ponies that were currently in Brightly they found themselves besieged. Right up until Ernie decided enough was enough, and packed everyone off to his farm while his wife distracted everyone who decided to “stop by for a chat.”

“We need to go to the meeting, Mom,” Shield Maiden said, with as much dignity and authority as an eleven year old could muster. “It’s our fault this is happening. If we had listened and stayed home like you wanted us to none of this would have happened. We need to be there.”

Even at Ernie’s farm, people had shown up wanting to talk, but Wayan and Harb were doing yeoman’s work in turning people politely away, telling them they should be at the meeting in the community hall that evening if they wanted to see or meet the ponies.

Foxfire looked at the five younger ponies gathered around her with a mixture of pride and sadness. Pride that her daughter was acting so responsibly at such a young age, and sadness that circumstances had forced it to happen so soon. Her daughter Shield Maiden, was a leader of heroes now, and Foxfire had to live up to her daughter’s example.

“If you had listened to me, people would have died,” Foxfire said, comforting the young unicorn and letting her gaze take in the other Power Ponies. “If any of you had listened to me, or your parents, people would have died, or our town would have been flooded, or a man who helped everyone might have never found his way home.”

“As one of your parents I hate to admit it, but Foxfire is right,” Arnold agreed, passing out some juice boxes as the group sat in the barn of Ernie’s farm. “All of us are proud of you kids, and things would have come out eventually anyway.”

“But what about tonight?” Iron Hoof asked, slurping some juice. “We gotta be there, right?”

“No, you don’t,” Jean said, looking at Arnold for confirmation and she continued at seeing the big man’s nod. “A pony should be there, but not you kids. You’ve done and risked enough. I’ll go.”

“Not without me you aren’t,” Medevac interjected, from where she was perched on a roof beam of the barn. “That ass Cummins is going to be there, and I want a word with him.”

“Oh, why?” Arnold asked, looking puzzled at the vehemence in the voice of the pegasus pony. “What did he do to you? Other than accidentally uncover everything.”

“I’m not sure, but he blew up my voicemail,” Medevac half growled. “Must have been a dozen messages from him asking to meet me. Said I could pick the place, and bring anyone I felt safe around.”

“Weird,” Arnold replied. “You going to meet with him?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Medevac wavered. “Either way, I’m going with Foxfire to the town hall meeting. I’ve got to keep an eye on my patient, after all.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me anymore, is there?” Foxfire asked, eyes widening.

“Not a thing,” Medevac replied, a widening smile on her muzzle. “I’ll tell you after all the excitement tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Foxfire confirmed, looking suspiciously at the medical pony. “After the meeting.”

“I don’t care what you say,” Godwinson declared. “It’s not natural. People don’t just go changing into animals. How do we know they are even people anymore? How do we know they aren’t aliens? Or demons? Or alien demons?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Montcalm commented, trying to keep things under control. The town hall meeting was stretching into its second hour, and now that the initial shock had worn off people were getting testy.

The real surprise was how readily people had adjusted to the fact that the rumored ponies were actually real and were in fact, their friends and neighbors. True, the initial declaration had been met with disbelief and a few mocking jeers. Brightly was however, smack in the middle of the Great Bear Rainforest, a place of myth and legend. Home to the Kermode bear, also known as the Spirit Bear.

So when Foxfire and Medevac clopped out and demonstrated some of what they could do, it hadn’t taken all that much convincing to get people to realize that what they were seeing was real. Medevac had flown a couple of laps around the inside of the very large auditorium, while Foxfire had levitated several items. The piece de resistance had occurred when one skeptic asked Foxfire to lift him up, which she had promptly done.

Then had followed an abbreviated retelling of the events during the big storm, the plane crash in Carmanah Lake, and the overnight adventure with the power lineman from BC Hydro. Brian Cummins and John Wilcox also joined in, telling the crowd what they knew and how they had been sworn to silence until the meeting with Horgan on Sunday.

All eyes had then turned toward a certain room cleaner who had suddenly become very unemployed for violating a guest’s privacy. At which point Godwinson had jumped in to defend her cohort. Things had devolved from there as the gossipmonger fired verbal broadsides left and right.

What really worried Montcalm was that the woman’s words were igniting a storm of worry and anger in the crowd of residents. Worry that could easily turn to fear, and from there it was just a pitchfork and a torch away from being a mob. Godwinson was just the kind of person to make that happen as a distraction from her part in the mayhem.

“Short of a sign from above, I say there’s no way for us to be sure that this… woman and her freakish creations don’t intend some horrible fate for all of us,” Godwinson declared with an outthrust chin. “I say the best thing for the town is to call the authorities and let them deal with this.”

On the small stage Foxfire and Medevac glanced at each other in worry. This was Jean’s nightmare scenario coming to life. All that was left was the soldiers and the fire. Then the words of her Goddess self came back to her, “You must stand your ground.”

“I don’t know what I can say that will convince you that we ponies want to help,” Foxfire loudly declared. “But if words won’t sway you, maybe actions will. I’ll sacrifice myself to whatever authorities you want to call in, but only if you promise to keep the rest of the ponies secret.”

The creature inside of Foxfire screamed in sudden terror. If the unicorn gave itself up, it could be discovered and exorcised from this powerful host. It tried to protest, but it was still only weakly bonded to Foxfire and its power was at a low ebb after having given the motivating vision earlier. If Foxfire had any inkling of the creature’s protest, the unicorn gave no sign.

“Sacrifice?” scoffed Godwinson. “You don’t know what sacrifice is. In fact, all I see is a woman who has violated the laws of nature to create a group of inhuman creatures for who knows what foul purpose.” Foxfire shrank back, suddenly afraid until John Vatten stood up with fire in his eyes.

“You want to know what kind of sacrifices the ponies have made?” the big man snarled, spitting Godwinson on his gaze and closing her mouth with the sheer malevolence of it. “I know the mayor didn’t go into much detail, so let me tell you about the sort of sacrifice these people, these ponies are capable of.”

“When Iron Hoof hit Shield Maiden’s wedge against that tree, it was like Thor's hammer,” John Vatten continued, his voice hard. “There was a crack like thunder, a flash of light, and the trunk split in half with both ends burning. Even in that driving rain, the tree was set on fire. Iron Hoof cleared our way to the dam, but at the cost of his own life.”

The large room was utterly silent now, even breathing seemed to have stopped as the tough and wiry man recounted those desperate minutes.

“Iron Hoof is just a kid, so he didn’t know how to control how much power he used,” Vatten recounted, fumbling in his coat for something. “He didn’t know better, so he hit with everything he had, and when he did he shattered his leg bones.”

Gasps of “No” came from various listeners, and even Godwinson’s face twisted in shared agony.

“That brave pony, that child of Brightly, gave his all, gave everything he had for all of US!” Vatten’s voice roared out. “For you, for me, for his family and friends, he lay dying on the cold wet pavement of that dark night!”

“Greater love hath no one than this, that they lay down their life for their friends,” Father Addison interrupted, quoting scripture in a voice pitched to carry.

“You’re damn right, Father,” Vatten growled, with ironic blasphemy. “So, when a literal pony angel came down from the heavens and healed him, like something out of the old stories, I made a promise.”

Vatten pulled out a large cloth, about the size of a large dish towel, soaked through and through with Iron Hoof’s dried blood. He held the scarlet brown banner high, so that the entire crowd could see it.

“For he today that sheds his blood with me, shall be as my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition,” John Vatten declared, in a voice of thunder and defiance. “Iron Hoof is my brother, and I will defend him to the death against anything and anyone. Who’s with me?”

“I am!” yelled out John’s hose partner, Ben. “I don’t care if it’s Victoria or Ottawa or anyone else. Those kids are our kids, our ponies. They all are!”

“I’m with you!” yelled out Kevin Banta, jumping to his feet and as he did Darrell Montcalm noticed that the two men were now surrounded by a faint orange glow.

“We stand with little jinn,” Wayan Harb stated in his rough english, as hand in hand he and his wife got to their feet. “We have run for so long. This is a good place to stand up again. Stand for friends.” The orange glow now enveloped them as well, and grew in strength.

“Don’t you worry Jean, Foxfire, whatever you want to call yourself,” John Rosenberg said, getting to his feet with slow dignity. “No one is taking you or the kids anywhere. This old warhorse has a fight or two left in him. Our town, our kids. That’s a cause worth fighting for.”

It was the tipping point. In one, twos, and whole families people got to their feet, declaring that the Ponies of Brightly were their ponies, and no one and nothing was going to take them away. Light in different colours bloomed around each person as they shouted out their determination until the room looked to be lit by a rainbow that came from within the people themselves.

“You asked for a sign from God, Ms. Godwinson,” Father Addison shouted in Dora’s ear so he could be heard over the din. “I’d say He delivered.”

“Brightly, BRIGHTLY, BRIGHTLY,” thundered the chant until it seemed fit to burst the building.

Deep down in the earth, a pair of breezies in a slowly rising shaft heard a rumbling sound behind them. Looking down toward the sound a bright light could be seen rushing upwards.

“Brace yourself!” Celestia yelled, creating a pocket for her full alicorn size from sheer instinct. Luna followed suit a breath later as the sisters were enveloped by the rushing tide of magic blazing upwards from the portal. The magic swept past the sisters and into the rock face above them, leaving every surface it had touched glowing with rainbow highlights.

“What was that?” Luna asked, once things had stabilized. “Stabilized” being a relative term as the air around them was filled with glowing motes.

“This is more than the magic of Friendship, Luna,” Celestia replied, eyes wide. “This is Harmony. This is the core magic of Equestria and I think that Lee Ung, or his descendants, have somehow managed to call it to them.”

“We have to hurry then,” Luna urged, staying in her alicorn form and widening the shaft back down to the portal. “That much magic in untutored hooves, with no pony to guide them…”

“Agreed, sister,” Celestia said, continuing to bore upwards. “We can tunnel faster as ourselves rather than breezies. You widen the shaft downwards first, then help me.” Luna nodded, carving pieces of rock off the shaft and letting them fall down into the portal.

As the two sisters worked and the townsfolk of Brightly declared themselves united on behalf of their ponies, the amplified magic continued to filter its way up through the rock and soil. The magic oozed through the surface into the town, and into a long-forgotten apple seed planted by a hopeful miner long ago. Warmed by the touch of its homeland, the seed awoke and sprouted.

Author's Note

Ah Freddie, you sing for the angels now.

So, the secret is out. And the secret is hidden as well. Embraced by their town, the ponies of Brightly now have friends and allies standing beside them. Will it be enough though? Brightly has held fast through the physical tempest and now the emotional one. Can they continue to stand their ground in the face of the oncoming political firestorm?

And what of the power that the townsfolk themselves have unwittingly summoned to their town. Will they have to learn to wield the power of Harmony on their own, or will the Diarchs be able to finish their borehole in time?

The entity within Jean, what is its purpose and plan for the witch unicorn? And will this effect the growing life within her?

So many questions as we approach the conclusion. Many but all of them will be answered soon.

If you want to drop me a line I can often be found hanging out on the Discord server run by Damaged. Here is a invite link to it. Just be aware, the entire server is considered NSFW and is very much restricted to 18 years of age or older

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Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
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and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 37: Monster

It had been a town meeting like none other in Brightly history, and had stretched out to nearly three hours. After the thunderous declaration of solidarity, people had spent a good bit of time marvelling at the light show that had risen up among them, and had taken its appearance as a sign that they had made the right decision.

The only person in the room who still had any objection to what was being called, “The Pony Plan,” was Godwinson. Despite everything, the woman still maintained her objection on the grounds that the ponies were unnatural abominations that needed to be locked up for everyone’s safety.

At that point, even the most devoted members of her clique abandoned her and she was bluntly told to keep her mouth shut about the ponies until Monday. At which point she could scream her head off to the heavens if she wished. Realizing her support had melted away, the middle-aged woman had left the gathering, muttering under her breath.

“I’d say that went pretty well,” Montcalm declared, to the small group gathered around him as people milled around in the aftermath. “Everyone clear on the plan? The first reporters are due here tomorrow morning, right Cummins?”

“Yes, I said effective immediately,” the older reporter was saying into a satellite phone he had borrowed from Wilcox, and catching Montcalm’s eye he held up a hand to hold off the mayor for a moment. “Yes, I’m aware of the non-compete clause in my contract, and by immediately I mean, as of this moment. What? Oh, just send any paperwork to my lawyer. Goodbye.”

“How’d they take it?” Wilcox asked his older colleague, accepting back the bulky, but powerful phone.

“Mad as hell, and they tried to threaten me with the various exit clauses in my contract,” Cummins snorted derisively. “But all of that’s aimed at stopping me from working for a competitor, not going to work for a public relations firm.”

“What’s going on?” Foxfire asked, stepping out of the crowd of people. “And do you mind if Medevac and I hide out here for a while? I’ve never been touched by so many people at once in my life.”

“That include me?” Arnold asked by way of reply, kneeling down so he could look his unicorn in the eye. Foxfire didn’t say anything in return, just laid her head in the crook of the big man’s neck and hummed in contentment while Medevac looked on with a huge grin.

“Ahem,” Montcalm interjected, after a too short interval. “AS I was saying before I was interrupted, the first reporters should be here tomorrow, right?”

“Right,” Cummins answered, smiling as well. It was an odd smile, almost as if the man was using long-forgotten muscles. “The PMO issued a media alert that the Prime Minister is going to be in BC on Sunday. Everyone is assuming he’s going to show up here, so by this time tomorrow we should be up to our ears in reporters.”

“We?” asked Arnold from his hug with Foxfire. “What’s this ‘we’ all of a sudden?”

“Brian and I just quit our jobs and signed up with a new company,” Wilcox supplied from the side. “The Brightly Media Consortium.”

“The what?” Foxfire asked, lifting her head to look at both media men.

“It was the mayor’s idea,” Ben explained, coming up to stand with the others. “We set up our own media outlet to manage everything to do with the Power Ponies and any other Brightly pony. Where are they by the way? I was kinda hoping I could say ‘hi’ to Seeker again.”

“She’s over at the Hardings, with the rest of the kids,” Arnold replied. “Glad you’re still using her Power Pony name. The ponies can use all the privacy they can get.”

“Well, you all seem to have picked up pony names for when you’re all… hoovey,” Ben said with a grin. “So, it seems like the thing to do.”

“This way we still get to be in on the ground floor, and get our exclusives,” Wilcox commented, rolling his eyes at the younger man and trying to keep the conversation focused.

“Not too mention doing something decent for a change with the power of the media,” Cummins chimed in and Medevac could hear the harsh edge return to his voice, but this time it sounded like it was directed inward as opposed to those around him.

“Trudeau is up for re-election soon,” Montcalm stated, trying to take back direction of the scattered conversation. “The Prime Minister is a master of photo-ops and feel-good moments. With how… well, adorable, all of you are in pony form, he’s bound to recognize the optics of being seen with you in a positive light. With our own media people ready to manage those optics we can make sure he treats you right.”

“It will also make sure you don’t get ‘disappeared at some point,” John Vatten growled, looking very much like a bodyguard as he shielded the two ponies present from who people wanted to touch, or worse, pet them.

“Hey, it isn’t like this is the States,” Ben protested. “Canada would never do that.”

“Don’t kid yourself son,” Cummins sighed, that odd smile dropping from his face at last. “Our country has its fair share of dark secrets and goings on. Plus, we’re a country with a whole lot of room to be ‘disappeared’ into.”

“Do we need to be worried?” Medevac asked, seeing the nervous look in Foxfire’s eyes.

“No,” Cummins answered, his voice carrying the calm demeanor of a professional speaker. “Before maybe, but with John and I ready to manage things and spread the knowledge of you to the world, there’s no way the ‘Ponies of Brightly’ are going to just be swept under a rug somewhere.”

“Good, because I might be needing a little medical help for my patient,” Medevac commented. “My wings can tell me just about anything about anyone, but they can’t tell me what to do with what they tell me.”

“I may know—” Wilcox began, before he got cut off.

“Okay, that is enough!” Foxfire declared, eyes flaring as she rounded on the paramedic pony. “You’ve been dropping cryptic hints all day about me and my health. Out with it. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” Medevac backpedaled, bumping into Vatten. “You just have a bit of a condition. Given time it will resolve itself.”

“What. Condition?” Foxfire growled, taking deliberate steps forward until she was nose to nose with Medevac. “Tell me. Now.” Tendrils of indigo flame were beginning to leak out of the corners of her eyes.

“You’re pregnant,” Medevac blurted out, unable to stand against the menacing promise in those dark, dark eyes. “Only just, but you’re pregnant.”

“I’m what?” Foxfire asked, her eyes blinking and rapidly shifting back to normal as the unicorn fell back on her haunches. “How?”

“When a Daddy Pony and a Mommy Pony love each other very much,” Ben joked, “and they hug and kiss in a certain way—”

“Ben!” yelled Montcalm. “Not the time.”

“Pregnant?” Arnold asked, with that look of fear and wonder almost all men get in that moment. “Are you sure?”

“The feathers never lie,” Medevac replied, splaying out her wings. “I’m 100% sure, but I don’t think even a blood test could pick it up yet. Chalk up another one to pony magic.”

“Wow,” Arnold said, the only reply he could think of. Until he saw the look of worry and deep concern on Foxfire’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I… I’m sterile,” Foxfire whispered, in a voice pitched so that only Arnold could hear. “I had surgery, I’m not supposed to be able to have kids anymore. Um, can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Arnold said, before straightening up to address the sea of smiling faces around him. “Me and Foxfire. We want to just have a private talk about this. It’s something we really hadn’t expected.”

“Sure,” Vatten replied, and the tone of the group sobered quickly as they noticed the couple weren’t as joyful at the news as expected. “See you soon?”

“Yup,” Arnold answered, as he and the unicorn began to turn to leave; Arnold with a protective hand over Foxfire’s shoulder. “Talk to you in the morning.”

“Take care of yourselves,” Montcalm ordered more than said. “You’ve a lot of people counting on you for that.”

“Yes sir,” mare and man both replied at the same time. The two locked eyes for a moment and their faces were both touched by smiles that went all the way down to their bones, momentarily banishing the gloom around Foxfire.

“Anything I should know about, Medevac?” Montcalm questioned the medical mare, as the group watched the departing pair make their way out of the nearly empty hall.

“Nothing that I know about, sir,” Medevac responded, her brow furled in worry by how her fellow pony had taken the news. “As far as I can tell, Foxfire is in perfect health.”

“Okay, the rest of you know what you need to do,” Montcalm stated, taking charge of the situation. “Cummins and Wilcox, you’re with me. The rest of you head home, and I’ll be in touch in the morning.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Mayor,” Cummins interjected, gaining a raised eyebrow. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a few minutes to speak with Medevac here and then join you?”

“You work for me now,” Montcalm said, levelly. “So you call me ‘Sir.’ I wasn’t keen on bringing you in on this but I’m willing to give second chances, even third ones. Don’t make me regret my choice.”

“It’s okay, sir,” Medevac huffed, fluffing her wings as she folded them back along her sides. “May as well get this over with now.”

“Thank you,” Cummins said, looking around. “Is there someplace private we can go and talk?”

“What?” Medevac asked, with a derisive snort. “So you can knock me over the head, throw me in a dog cage and parade me in front of your morning news? I don’t think so.”

“No! Dear God, no,” Cummins protested, throwing up his hands placatingly, sensing that Medevac’s co-workers were more than ready to pound the stuffing out of him if he had any sort of dark intentions toward the red and white pegasus. “I just want someplace private to talk. Bring any of your friends if you want.”

Cummins turned to gesture toward the men behind him, and sure enough, each and every one of them looked ready to tear him limb from limb if he even sneezed the wrong way in Medevac’s presence. The paramedic waved them all of them off however.

“We’ll go over to the kitchen and chat, fair enough?” Medevac asked, to which Cummins, still looking at the firefighters a few steps away, gave a jerky nod. “Guys, if I yell, come running.”

“No problem,” John growled, with a smile of anticipation. “This guy gives you any trouble at all and he might not live to regret it.”

“C’mon,” commanded the small pony, leading the grateful reporter out of the main room of the hall and into the small, attached, commercial kitchen that was used for wedding receptions and similar functions.

“Look—” the reporter began, before he was cut off with a swipe of Medevac’s wing as she wheeled to face the man.

“No, you look,” Medevac shot back, her eyes blazing. “You’ve been blowing up my phone with messages. You’ve hounded my friends, you were trying to lay bare a secret that helped a lot of people do a lot of good. Yeah, someone in town did you dirty, and my boss is giving you a fresh shake because of it. You know what? My boss is an idiot.”

“But I—” Cummins began again, only to be cut off once more.

“Shut. Up. At least until I say you can speak,” Medevac ordered, giving a satisfied nod as Cummins shut his mouth with an almost audible “clop” sound. “The Montcalms have always been ‘gentlemen,’ done the gentlemanly thing, and always followed their own hearts. No matter what anyone else says. Darrell Montcalm, my boss, thinks you should be in on this. He thinks he— we need you, along with Wilcox. Who I would rather have ten times over than you.”

Medevac paused, more for breath than anything else and her glare dared the older man to try to say a word, just one word. But Brian Cummins was smart enough to know when it was time to stay quiet, and so he kept his mouth closed.

“So yeah, you get to run interference with the other TV reporters. You get to know the secrets, and my idiot boss is trusting you with enough information to destroy the lives of at least fifty people,” Medevac snarled, ears laid back against her head, tail low and her wings arched up and forward. “So because my boss is idiot enough to give you a chance just like he gave me once, I want to know what makes you worth trusting that much.”

Silence echoed off the stainless steel of the restaurant grade equipment in the room, and Cummins slowly reached into his back pocket. Medevac tensed, wings ready to lash out with deadly accuracy should the older man pull out anything that even remotely looked like a weapon. Cummins’ left hand found his pocket and with that same slow movement drew out his wallet and brought it forward.

Medevac’s ears lifted and her wings lowered as she realized the reporter wasn’t about to pull out a weapon at all. Using only the thumb and forefinger of his right hand he reached into the wallet, pulled free a piece of laminated plastic and placed it face up on the prep table beside the duo.

Still tensed, Medevac shot a glance at the laminated square and saw the faded image of a dark haired, pretty girl, maybe a year or two older than the Power Ponies looking back at her from the photo. Shifting her gaze back up, she just caught a look of tortured pain on Cummins’ face before he slid a mask of dispassionate professionalism back over his emotions.

“Who is that?” the mare demanded. “Who is she?”

“She is… she was, my daughter,” Cummins replied, his voice carrying the tones of a professional broadcaster. “She would be around your age by now.”

“What happened?” Medevac asked, dropping her aggressive posture, realizing this is why Cummins had asked for privacy.

“When she was fourteen,” Cummins began, pausing for a moment to steady himself. “When she was fourteen she told her mother and I that she was actually a boy. That she had been accidentally born into the wrong body and that she needed our permission to get a sex-change operation.”

“Oh, you did not do what I think you did, did you?” Medevac demanded, horror and rage rising within her.

“Not quite,” Cummins answered, ignoring Medevac’s return to her previous hostile posture. “We argued, we yelled at each other. She tried to make me understand, but I was too convinced that I knew what was right. That as her father I knew better and that she should obey me. A year later, when she saw that I was researching conversion therapy, she ran away from home.”

“You stupid, stupid, bastard,” Medevac breathed. It was a tale she’d heard far too often in the LGBT+ community. Of a child realizing their nature, of parents who couldn’t understand, and how a family broke under the strain.

“We searched for weeks,” Cummins continued, his voice still in that professional tone that showed nothing of the agony Medevac could see in the man’s eyes. “For two years we never gave up, we never stopped looking. Until we got the phone call that every parent hears in their nightmares.”

“How?” Medevac asked, hanging her head low in sympathy for a troubled soul, now passed.

“I don’t know,” Cummins said, eyes unfocusing as they lost track of the here and now. “The officer said the words, but I never heard them. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I had betrayed the trust my child had placed in me. I had abused the power I had over them. I had become a monster, and because of that, my… son, was dead.”

“My god,” Medevac said, her voice heartfelt.

“I’ve spent the past decade since then hunting down monsters like myself. People who abuse their position and their power over others,” Cummins continued a moment later, directing his gaze at the pony in front of him. “I rip their masks off and expose them to the world, and until I came to Brightly, I was very good at it.”

“This is a different sort of place,” Medevac riposted, her emotions a whirl of anger and pity. “There are no monsters here.”

“No, there aren’t,” Cummins agreed, nodding as his voice and face at last shed the mask he wore like armour. “But we both know that there are monsters out there. People who won’t see you or the other ponies as people, but as things to be used and exploited. Your mayor has hired me, a monster, to stop the other monsters.”

“What do you want from me?” Medevac gasped, realizing the tortuously skewed viewpoint and soul deep pain of the man in front of her.

“I want to use you,” the reporter said, and Medevac gulped as the man’s eyes on her grew bright. “I want to hold you up as an example.”

“What?” the paramedic asked, ears going straight up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I want to tell your story to the world,” Cummins explained, kneeling down to look the pony in the eyes. “I want to tell the world how you went from man to woman to mare. All over the world, people struggling with their gender have a very limited number of options to try to deal with it. I want you to help me show people that there’s a new option.”

“You can’t be expecting some sort of redemption out of this, can you?” Medevac stated, more than asked.

“No,” Cummins confirmed, closing his eyes for a moment as he continued. “For monsters like me, there can be no redemption. Not in this world anyway.”

“Okay then,” Medevac decided, drawing herself up. “I vowed to stand for and protect Life. If helping you keeps even one child from going through what yours did, it will be worth it.”

“I’m boooored,” Darter complained, as he lay on his back in the Harding rec room with his silver tipped wings splayed out to either side. The pegasus and his friends were surrounded by the remains of hours worth of snacks, board games and other activities. “Can’t we fire up the Xbox again or something?”

The assembled Power Ponies shared a look around the room that spoke volumes. Anytime Darter got bored, the universe flipped onto its side, Murphy stalked the land and the impossible became the probable.

“Zack,” Lynn responded, “you know full well that Romy and Billy’s hooves aren’t as good as your wings for working the controllers. It isn’t fair to them.”

“But Mooooom,” whined the pegasus, tilting his head back to look at his mother. “I’ll go easy on them. Honest.”

“Did I hear someone say that they were bored?” Ernie asked from where he was cleaning up the remains of a pizza. “You know, I have ways to fix boredom.”

“I knew he shouldn’t have said that,” Skylark half-whispered to the ponies, who giggled behind their hooves.

“That’s fine, Dad,” Darter interjected at high speed, flipping his body right-side up so fast he made some sheets of paper near him take wing. “I’m not bored, honest!”

“I’m pretty sure I heard the ‘B’ word come out of your mouth,” Ernie continued, doing his best not to grin. “There’s all kinds of things that need putting away.”

“Um…” Darter prevaricated, looking frantically around for something to distract his father with before he was assigned multiple chores. His eyes lit up as he spotted his leader. “Shield Maiden! Weren’t you and my dad looking up the words of that spell?”

The unicorn’s head swiveled over and she almost dropped the piece of pizza she was levitating. She managed to recover smoothly just before it could splat onto the Tsuro game board and ruin it with tomato sauce.

“We were, but I can’t say all the words or the spell will go off,” Shield Maiden replied, with a bit of an embarrassed look. “Sorry Mr. Harding.”

“It’s fine Ro— Shield Maiden,” Ernie replied, waving off the unicorn’s apology. “I’m still getting used to using your pony names when you are in pony form. I just wish I could make heads or tails of the words you and your mother quoted.”

“I thought you said it was in Latin, dear?” Lynn asked, holding up the paper on which she had written out the spell as she had heard it spoken by Jean Pedersen. “Why are you so interested in it?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” the lean farmer answered, with a trace of a growl in his voice. “Understanding the spell could help us understand the who and where it was produced. Plus, this spell. It makes no sense. It’s Latin, but it’s not. It’s like someone ran some latin through Google Translate.”

“But what about the book?” Iron Hoof and Seeker chimed in, with one voice from where they lay side by side on the carpeted floor.

“That’s a pretty good help, but it’s when you translate something that you really see the intent behind the original words,” Ernie explained, moderating his tone. “This is going from whatever this ‘Kanthaka’ speaks, to some sort of pseudo Latin, for lack of a better term.”

“That sounds familiar,” Lynn said, frowning in concentration as the five ponies in the room looked up at the adults in curiosity.

“Pseudo-Latin!” Ernie exclaimed, sharing a look across the room with his wife. “Fliccum Biccus!”

“Dresden! Ha!” Lynn responded, her tone equally joyous and her words just as confusing to the ponies.

“I’ll be right back,” Ernie said, charging off to his study. There were the sounds of drawers opening and closing, frantic movements of things across a floor, followed by the man’s return barely a minute later. Sitting himself back at the table in the rec room, Ernie opened up a large book titled, “Latin: For Correspondence Courses.”

“Correspondence Latin,” Lynn chuckled. “Who would have thought ponies from another world would use that.”

“It’s the intent that shaped the words. Just like Jean said about magic,” Ernie stated, as he pointed to his wife. “Okay Lynn, I need you to read out the words from the book, and I need you to do like we’ve heard Jean do it.”

“Why does Mrs. Harding have to sound like my mom?” Seeker asked, tilting her head and looking up toward Ernie. “You aren’t making fun of my mom are you?”

“Oh no, not even a tiny bit,” Ernie said, getting down and smiling to the small pony as he put a hand on her shoulder. “A lot of understanding Latin is how it’s said. So I need Mrs. Harding to sound like your mom so I can try to really understand the words.”

“Oh, okay,” Seeker replied, ducking her head and looking embarrassed. “Thorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Ernie reassured the small red and purple pony. “You were making sure I wasn’t being mean about your mother. Ready Lynn?”

“Just about,” Lynn Harding responded, taking a deep cleansing breath and a firm grip on the small crucifix on her necklace, in an echo how she had seen her friend prepare to do magic. “Ready.”

“Same here,” Ernie confirmed, the book beside him open to a list of words and conjugations. “Start whenever you’re ready.”

“In Nomine Sol,” Lynn began, her voice sounding more resonant and alive than ever before as the words flowed from her with a liquid grace.

“In Nomine Equus,” Lynn continued to chant, and Seeker’s head lifted up and focused on the woman as the pony’s senses detected a gathering of power around their host.

“Mannulus Terrae,” Lynn’s voice carried on, not becoming louder but growing with intensity instead.

Those words seemed to almost vibrate around the room. Ernie, his eyes and concentration fixed to his textbook, didn’t see the tongues of scarlet flame that began to lick their way up and down his wife’s red hair. The ponies did, but found themselves unable to move or say anything to interrupt the impossibility of what they were seeing.

“Mannulus Magi! Facti Sunt Nobis!” Lynn all but shouted the final words, her hair alive with flaming power and golden light spilling from the fist she held her cross in. Every pony’s vision whited out for a moment as a wave of chromatic energy burst forth to fill the room. When the ponies blinked the spots from their eyes a few moments later, they saw that they had been joined by a sixth pony.

Lynn Harding was gone, and in her place stood a graceful female pegasus, her shining silver wings a stark contrast to the gleaming metallic black of her body, mane and tail.

“You did it,” Shield Maiden breathed. “You cast the spell. You did magic Mrs. Harding.”

“I did?” Lynn asked, surprised for a moment until she took in the return of the body she had found herself in during the night of the dam crisis. “I guess I did. But how?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” came Ernie’s voice from within a large shifting pile of clothes. “People? A little help please?”

All six ponies rushed to Ernie’s aid, and within minutes the new pony was pulled free of his confining clothes. Ernie Harding had been transformed into a strongly muscled pegasus, and Lynn took in her husband’s slate grey body with appreciation. She noted with approval the savage air the small fangs of his muzzle lent him, and how like her, his wings were of a shining silver, with blood red tips on his pinions that only added to his warrior look.

The phone rang a minute later as Ernie made his first couple of attempts to stand, and Lynn went off to answer it, coming back a minute later. “That was Arnold. He and Foxfire are on their way back from the meeting and apparently have some news.”

“Good, because I have questions,” Ernie replied, flopping to the ground yet again.

“Just work on moving your legs first, Dad,” Darter advised. “Hey, what’s your pony name going to be?”

“Pony name?” Ernie asked, taking his son’s advice and concentrating on controlling his legs before he tried to use them to stand.

“It is traditional, my love,” Lynn said, drawing a blush from her husband as she nuzzled him affectionately. “So, what should we call ourselves?”

Author's Note

So, this afterword is going to be a little long...

Brian Cummins has made for a good antagonist and a decent foil in the story, but we probably will only see him in passing from now on. His reasoning and motives grew organically as I've written him and the concept for him has always been that there is a reason he is the way he is.

Essentially, Cummins made a mistake. That being that he believed he knew what was best for his child, no matter what. Then he compounded that mistake with pride, and an unwillingness to even consider that he might be wrong. One mistake led to another, and another, and so on; and people suffered because of it.

It's a scenario I've seen played out numerous times over the course of my life, and I can understand Cummins, because I could have been him.

I was raised in a very intolerant, homophobic, religious cult and as such I *knew* that anything other than 'a man is a man' and 'a woman is a woman' was wrong, diseased and evil. Even after turning my back on that "faith" in my early 20s, I still carried a lot of those attitudes with me.

It took spending time with LGBTQ people as friends, fellow gamers, people at potlucks and camping events for me to fully understand that, in the words of Malcolm Reynolds, "We're all just folk."

We all have similar hopes, fears and dreams. We all want someone beside us in the dark and cold. We all want to find, to quote Freddy Mercury, "Somebody to love." And as long as that somebody gives you their informed consent, no one should be allowed to give you any grief about it.

It's a shame Brian Cummins couldn't have learned that in time...

One another note, I could use some name suggestions for Lynn and Ernie Harding's pony forms. Leave your suggestions, if you have any in the comments. Spoiler, regarding their future abilities: Lynn will be a windshaper with elemental control over small to medium strength winds and Ernie will be able to summon and control lightning.

Also, this chapter marks three years of writing from me. On July 20th, 2016, just after my 50th birthday, I published the first chapter of "The Bridle Path." Seventeen chapters later and I had a completed story, along with new friends, a new community and a new passion. Thank you all for walking this journey with me, and may the road continue to stretch on into the future.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
Shaushka
Machara
and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 38: Moondance

“...and just like that, we were ponies,” Lynn finished saying, about an hour later as her husband finally managed to start walking around the rec room with some confidence.

“I have to admit, I’m a bit in shock,” Foxfire replied, perched half on Arnold’s lap as he sat cross-legged beside her on the floor. “Up until now the only ones who could cast spells were either unicorns or people of faith.”

“I always knew you were destined for heaven, Dear,” Ernie interjected, drawing a smiling blush from his wife. “You’re my angel.”

“How are you feeling, Ernie?” Arnold asked with naked curiosity. “I know that once I got used to being a pony I felt stronger, more powerful. You?”

“Lighter,” Ernie answered, after a moment of introspection. “Cleaner, and it feels like there is something just waiting for me to reach out and touch it.”

“That’s your pegasus magic, Dad!” called Darter from his bedroom, which he was sharing with Iron Hoof for the night. “You and Mom should go for a night flight and see what you can do.”

“Bed!” Lynn called back. “You two are supposed to be in bed and asleep.”

“Sorry Mom,” Darter yelled back. “Goodnight Mom, and you should really take Dad out flying.”

“Good night,” Lynn repeated, rolling her eyes.

“You know,” Arnold said, with a wide grin, “if you two do want to go stretch those wings of yours, me and Foxfire can hold down the fort for a bit.”

“You sure?” Ernie asked, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to one side. “We might be awhile.”

“Go,” Foxfire answered, waving a hoof with a shoo’ing motion. “Lynn’s never had a chance to really fly either. You two deserve some time. Go.”

“Yes, your Royal Unicorn-ness,” Lynn giggled, dropping an equine curtsy as light glinted off her glossy black fur. “Far be it for us to disobey the command of the Witch-Queen of Brightly.”

“Get out of here you two,” Foxfire mock ordered with a true smile, even as a part of her thrilled at the pretend obeisance. “Or I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons. We have dungeons, do we not, my stallion?”

“Of course, my Queen,” Arnold replied, barely holding his laughter back and not noticing the brief, predatory glint in Foxfire’s eyes. “If not, we shall have your glorious legions make them for you.”

Laughing, both darkly coloured pegasi made their way out of the house and into the backyard. The skies had remained clear, and the moon shone down from a sky alive with stars with barely a breath of wind.

“Right, so how do we do this?” Ernie queried his wife, shaking out his wings and looking along their feathered lengths.

“I haven’t flown before,” Lynn admitted, stretching out her own pinions. “It’s not like it’s sewing. Then I’d just plow right in.”

“That you would,” Ernie replied, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. “How did the kids put it? ‘Don’t think about it. Just do it’ they said.”

“Don’t think. Do,” Lynn repeated, and still holding her wings outwards she simply said, “Up.”

Her husband watched in amazement as a hundred little wind vortices appeared beneath his wife to lift her a dozen feet into the air. Lynn hovered there, suspended between ground and sky with her face alive with wonder and joy.

“It is sewing,” Lynn breathed, looking down at her husband. “Just with wind and air instead of thread and fabric.”

“Up,” Ernie commanded, frowning as nothing happened, nothing at all.

“Try flapping your wings next time, dear,” Lynn said, flapping her own wings up and down now even though Ernie could still see the little bits of wind coming off of her.

“Fine. Up!” Ernie commanded, again to no effect. Growing frustrated, he growled it out once more. “UP.”

This time Ernie’s frustration let him stop thinking about how to fly and instead let his new instincts take over. His wings moved in a powerful downstroke at the same time he also tapped into his own particular brand of pegasus empowerment. The result being the surprised, newly minted pegasus finding himself launched a full twenty meters into the air as a sudden blast of wind and lightning ignited from his feathers.

“Whoa,” Ernie gasped, pumping his wings in a somewhat steady rhythm while he took in the abrupt marvel of being airborne under his own power.

“I knew you could do it,” Lynn said, flexing her own wings to rise up beside her husband. “Shall we try some actual flying?”

“Ready when you are,” Ernie answered, his confidence growing with every beat of his wings.

Together, wingtips barely inches apart, husband and wife moved forward. At first they traveled at a speed scarcely faster than walking, but within five minutes they were moving as fast as a man could run. In ten, their speed was as fast as cars on Brightly’s roads. After twenty minutes, they were moving as fast as all but the swiftest birds.

That is when what had started out as a basic flight to learn their new bodies, became something else for the two ponies. Ernie started off by doing a slow barrel roll around his wife, little sparklers streaming off his wings as he smiled his way through the maneuver. Lynn reciprocated, only during her roll she kept one wingtip in constant contact with her husband’s body, tracing a slow circle around it.

Ernie countered with a sideslip across his wife’s underside, his mane grazing across her and leaving a tickling charge of electricity in its wake. From that point on the journey of the two pegasi stopped being a flight and became a dance. Every move was done with a gentle touch on the other. Every touch was greeted with a look of affection and the soul deep connection that comes from days, and weeks, and years, spent in the company of another.

Two adults, still deeply in love after over a decade of marriage, reaffirmed their love and bond with each other as they soared across the heavens. Lit by the moon, they soared together in a ballet of flight, dancing from one bit of light cloud to the next. Their eyes, thoughts and minds only on each other, as if they were the only two people in all the wide world.

“For this, shall a man leave his father and his mother and cleave to his wife; and so they will no longer be two, but one flesh,” quoted Father Adamschek, as he looked up into the dark sky, his adapted eyes easily making out the skyborne pair, far above.

“They do look like they’re enjoying themselves,” said his wife Natasha, coming out of the rectory to stand beside her own husband. “Any idea who it is?”

“Not a clue,” Addison replied, drawing an arm around his wife, and absently noting how there almost seemed to be stars glinting in her flowing hair. “They’re too far away for me to tell, but they have given me an idea for Sunday’s sermon though.”

“Oh, what are you going to go with?” Natasha asked, leaning into the embrace. She knew that with two dignitaries in town, her husband had been having trouble coming up with a sermon worthy of the events of the coming Sunday.

“That God accepts all,” Addison pronounced, his voice firm. “No matter who we are, where we come from, or even what we are, God accepts all.”

“What made you decide on that?” Natasha asked. She always enjoyed hearing her husband’s thought processes.

“God is love,” Addison answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That, up there. That’s love, and yet another sign that what’s happening here isn’t due to some evil force out to destroy us.”

“You had better tell Godwinson that,” Natasha snorted. “She’s still convinced that this is some kind of alien or demonic invasion. Or better yet, a demonic alien invasion from beyond the stars.”

“I don't know why she is so resistant to this,” Addison commented, as he enjoyed the warmth and closeness of his wife. “I actually don’t know all that much about her, except that she came here about nine years ago, and was one of those who whipped up sentiment against Jean Pedersen.”

“And she never really came into the picture until Jean’s name started getting mentioned around town in connection with all of this, “ Natasha mused, idly wondering why she wasn’t feeling the night’s chill. “Couldn’t it be something in their past? Something Jean said or did early on to annoy that harridan?

“No idea,” Addison replied, shrugging. “Let’s go in. It’s late and I’ve got to get working on that sermon.”

“You go ahead,” Natasha demurred, looking upwards. “I’m going to watch them for a little longer.”

“I’ll put the kettle on for some tea,” the Anglican priest said, heading back inside with a last look upwards.

As it turned out, Dora Godwinson was also looking skyward and watching the two ponies frolic overhead. In her case however, instead of shared joy and wonderment, she felt nothing but anger and contempt toward the ponies. Muttering darkly, she stomped back into her home, only just keeping herself from slamming the door shut. Once in her kitchen, she grabbed up a copy of Brightly’s hard copy phone book and flipping to the blue pages, found what she sought.

“Good evening, Canadian Security Intelligence Service,” came a professional sounding voice a moment later. “How may I direct your call?”

“Oh, thank goodness you people are still open,” Godwinson said, with a touch of excitement and nervousness.

“Yes Ma’am, we’re a 24/7 operation,” replied the same professional voice, without a hint of condescension. “How may I direct your call?”

“Yes. I need to report a threat to the Prime Minister,” Godwinson answered, trying to keep a breathless excitement from her voice.

“And is this a threat you personally are making, or are you making it on behalf of someone else?” the voice asked, still professional but with a slight hard edge to it.

“Oh, no no no,” Godwinson gasped, the shock of being accused herself completely removing her excitement at calling Canada’s spy agency. “There are some people… some things here, that want to do terrible things to the Prime Minister. I had to call and warn you.”

“One moment, Ma’am,” said the voice. “Let me transfer you to the right people.”

“Threat Desk,” a cool sounding female voice declared, a moment after Godwinson heard a series of clicks through her old phone. “I understand you need to report a threat?”

“Yes! Yes I do,” Godwinson exclaimed into the phone. “My name is Dora Godwinson. I live in Brightly, BC. There are, people, here, who want to do something terrible to Trudeau.”

“Can you give me any details, Ma’am?” the woman asked, not mentioning that the call had been traced almost instantly and the watch officer already had the location and registered name of the calling number.

“Yes. I’m sure that the witch here wants to change the Prime Minister into a pony,” Godwinson stated, feeling a rush as she finally was able to tell an outside authority of the horror Brightly was becoming. “I’m almost positive they want to attack him with the spell when he comes here on Sunday.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” the CSIS watch officer replied, trying to maintain her composure. Wackos could be harmless but they could also be very, very, dangerous. “There is a witch, in Brightly. She wants to attack Prime Minister Trudeau with a spell, to turn him into a small horse. Is that correct?”

“No, not a little horse,” Godwinson shot back, anger surging as the idiot on the other end of the phone seemed unable to understand basic English. “A pony. A magical little horse, about a meter high. They have powers. Terrible powers.”

“Little magical horse with terrible powers,” the Watch Officer repeated, even as she placed the call firmly into the low-threat queue. However, it never hurt to be thorough. “Okay Ma’am, I think I’ve got that down. Any details you can provide me? Any names of those involved? Ma’am? Ma’am?”

Silence echoed in the Watch Officer’s headset. A quick glance at the call status section of her screen showed the words, “Disconnected at Source.” The woman gave an amused snort and began to fill in the various data fields of the reporting form on her screen. Once this was done any names would be run through CPIC, then the FBI and INTERPOL databases respectively.

The officer was just about to hit “send” on the form, when memory triggered. Watch officers were selected for their ability to remain calm, sound calm and remember trivial bits of information and apply them at appropriate times. The Premier of BC was also going to be in Brightly at the same time as the PM. A left of center federal leader and a very left-wing provincial leader in the same place, at the same time, a little over twenty-four hours from now.

With the rise of right-wing political terrorism in North America, a two-fer like that could be a tempting target for an extremist or an extremist group. Although the disconnect on the other end was almost definitely someone realizing how insane they sounded, it also could be an addled mind that could only convey a serious situation in fantastical terms. People in British Columbia were weird, after all.

Frowning, the watch officer flipped the priority from “Low” to “Urgent.” It probably was nothing. The woman was probably on something, but there were enough red flags to warrant the increase in priority. The officer sent the form and hoped she hadn’t just earned herself a down check in her next evaluation for wasting resources on low-grade threats.

“Hello? Hello?” Godwinson called into her silent phone meanwhile, staring at it in disbelief. “They… they hung up on me! Those idiots! Those complete and utter—”

“Ahem,” said a quiet male voice from nearby.

“AH!” the older woman yelled in surprise and whirled around to face the direction the voice had come from.

“Good evening,” Brian Cummins said, from where he stood in Godwinson’s open kitchen doorway. “May I come in?”

“You!” Godwinson snarled, eyes flaring. “What are you doing here? How dare you enter my home.”

“I haven’t entered yet,” Cummins replied, his eyes hard. “However, I must insist that we have a chat.”

“W-what do you intend to do?” Godwinson asked, her mood shifting from anger to fear as she realized her usual bluster wasn’t going to stop Cummins, and her free hand plunged into a kitchen drawer as she hunted for a weapon.

“Calm down, I have no intention of hurting you,” Cummins answered the woman, and taking a step into the house he held up a pair of shears. “I’m afraid your phone line has suffered mortal damage however.”

“You did that?” Godwinson angrily demanded, whipsawing from fear back to anger. “You’re too late. I already told them what’s going on here. Now the government knows all about those unnatural freaks.”

“No,” Cummins replied, a humourless smile creasing his face. “The government knows there’s a crackpot in a small town spouting off about impossible things.”

“They’ll believe me,” Godwinson declared, drawing herself up to her full, less than impressive height. “They have to.”

“Ms. Godwinson, think about it,” Cummins advised, still with that same knife-narrow smile. “A year ago, if someone had told you one of your neighbors was casting magic spells and turning people into little superhero horses, would you have believed them?”

“If that woman is involved,” Godwinson growled, “I would believe it and more. She’s dangerous. A monster who should have been locked up.”

“Should have been?” Cummins asked, curiosity sparked. “Past tense. There’s a history between you two, isn’t there? What happened? Why do you hate Jean Pedersen?”

“That’s her maiden name,” Godwinson said, festering anger almost making her spit the words out. “Her married name was Jean Krasnichuk.”

“Krasnichuk?” Cummins repeated, mind racing until his eyes lit up with recognition of the name. “Krasnichuk! The case in Abbotsford, about ten years ago.”

“Ten years, four months and twelve days ago,” Godwinson supplied, her voice almost as hard as Cummins’ had been. “The day when she… when she…” The older woman fell silent, jaw working as emotion closed her throat.

“I remember that case,” Cummins told the woman, nodding in understanding. “I was working at Surrey PreTrial and it was the talk of the place. The man who died, he was a relative of yours?”

“My nephew,” Godwinson choked out. “She should be rotting in a cell for the rest of her life for what she did to my sister’s son.”

“I saw a lot of the evidence from that case,” Cummins commented, now understanding the bone deep hatred Godwinson felt. “I spoke to several of the officers involved. Your nephew deserved what happened to him. He was a monster and Jean did what she had to do. What any mother would have done to protect her babies.”

“No one deserves what she did to him!” Godwinson yelled back, tears of rage and sorrow coming to her eyes now. “I changed my name so she wouldn’t recognize me. I followed her here. I’ve been watching her all this time, waiting for her to do something that I can get her for. Some way to get back at her for what she did to my family. By the time I’m through with her, she’ll be lucky if all that happens to her is spending the rest of her life in a cage.”

“It seems Medevac was wrong,” Cummins sighed, making Godwinson blink at the non-sequitur. “It looks like there are monsters in Brightly after all.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Godwinson replied, nodding as Cummins appeared to agree with her. “Jean Pedersen is a monster.”

“Yes, she is,” Cummins agreed, before fixing Godwinson with a gimlet eye, “and so are you.”

“How dare you!” Godwinson sneered back. “She’s a poisoner. A murderess. She deserves to pay for what she did. I’m nothing like that.”

“You’ve murdered ten years of your own life, trying to poison hers,” Cummins said, taking a step forward. “She’s spent the past ten years trying to become a better person, and doing a better job of it than I have. You’ve just spent that time eating yourself hollow. There’s almost nothing left of you except a bitter, angry, old shell of a woman. And it’s my job to stop you.”

“Stay back!” the fat woman commanded, brandishing a large kitchen knife her hand had found in the drawer. “Don’t make me use this!”

“Please,” Cummins replied calmly, rolling his eyes. “I said I had no intention of bringing you physical harm and I’m not going to, unless you try to come at me with that bread slicer.”

“What are you going to do then?” Godwinson asked, clutching her chest with one hand and the knife with the other.

“Make sure you understand that if you try anything that I consider even remotely hostile to Jean or any of the ponies, particularly over the next two days, I’m going to stop you,” Cummins said, bedrock determination in his eyes. “Bella Bella has a psychiatric ward. I’m a respected member of the press, and the mayor is a civil authority. Together, we can contact Northern Health Authority and have you placed on an involuntary psychiatric hold.”

“What?” the woman asked, unable to believe her ears. “You can’t!”

“Ms. Godwinson is suffering from psychotic breaks, delusions and visual hallucinations,” Cummins recited, from something obviously pre-prepared. “She is a danger to herself and others, so we request she be placed under a seventy-two hour psychiatric hold order for assessment and evaluation.”

“You. You can’t!” Godwinson sputtered, aghast. “No one would believe you that I’m crazy.”

“Respected members of the community,” Cummins reminded Godwinson, allowing himself just a small smirk of satisfaction. “Once you are in the system it wouldn’t be hard at all for your records to be ‘lost’ or for your evaluation to say that you need substantial, long-term therapy.”

“You’re bluffing,” the would-be avenger replied, trying to bluff her way back to a position of strength.

“The truth is, you do need therapy,” Cummins tossed back, letting his smirk grow into a smile. “You are obsessive, vengeful, and malignant. Any member of the mental health community would see it a mile off. Combine it with your ‘delusion’ of ponies, and I guarantee you won’t see the outside of a rubber room for a long, long time.”

“But ponies are real,” Godwinson riposted, desperately. “Once you tell everyone about them, people will know I’m telling the truth.”

“If you’re already in a straightjacket and pumped full of thorazine,” Cummins chuckled, “no one is really going to care, or check, if what you said before was right or not. All they’ll care about is that they have another patient to deal with.”

“So you’re going to protect her,” Godwinson replied, deflating and defeated. “She gets away with it, again.”

“If by ‘it’ you mean doing a reasonable thing in an unreasonable situation, then yes,” Cummins confirmed. “However, if she does become a true monster. A monster like me, or you. If she acts on that, then I’ll be there to stop her too. Like I have with you, if I can. In other ways, if I can’t.”

“Get out of my home,” the woman ordered, in a small and tired voice. “Just get out.”

“Of course,” Cummins said with a nod, as he backed out of the kitchen door. “Have a pleasant evening.”

Godwinson spent the next twenty minutes after locking her door sitting at her kitchen table, and cursing Jean Pedersen, her children, and every pony in Brightly with a continuous stream of invective. She poured out her impotent rage and hunger for vengeance in a torrent of vitriol that would have burned a path clear to Tartarus, if such a thing were at all possible.

That powerful anger merged with the ever growing degree of magic in and around Brightly. Empowered, it reached outward, bright as a flare to beings of spirit and magic. That baneful beacon attracted the notice of an ancient spirit of hunger and fury who had dwelled in these lands for millennia.

Born of the time when the great glaciers had covered all this land except for the one small island where men had stood their ground against Eternal Winter. That ancient spirit of cruel and greedy hunger of a hundered myths and legends had found its waning strength rekindled. Dzunukwa, Wechuge, and Windigo were some of the names it had been known as by those who had fought against its terrible power to sever the bonds within a community.

That spirit moved toward Godwinson’s beacon of need, of a hunger for vengeance and an outrage that could never be satisfied. It looked at the woman at her kitchen table and found her soul to be a match for its own. Satisfied with what it saw, the insubstantial being moved forward to meet with a kindred spirit.

Author's Note

Well, now. I know I said we weren't going to see more of Cummins, but the truth is he's just too good of a dark force not bring in on this. Also, I am writing nothing but Brightly from now until the end of the primary arc. This should, should, bring you more chapters, quicker.

Also, the state of the author is improving as well. Mental health is still a day to day fight, but one I feel I'm winning. Physical health is getting much better, thanks in part to my Russian doctor, and my losing 70 pounds over the past 12 months.

Also, yes I have been vague as to the exact events of Jean's past that has cause Godwinson to hate her so. But I think I've managed to hint at them sufficiently both here and in a couple of previous chapters.

I am currently mentally sketching out the next chapter, and my target date for finishing is August 15. I hope to see you all then.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
Shaushka
Machara
and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 39: All the strange, strange creatures

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear over the small BC town. Over the course of the night decisions had been made, plans had been laid out, and forces had begun to gather. The sun cleared its path over the Kitimat Ranges to shine down upon the town, and as it did several changes happened in the world it began to brighten and warm.

The first change was the blurring and shifting of several small equine forms back into those of five young children, and two adults. Only Lynn Harding and Foxfire remained as ponies, but no one noticed at the time as everyone had spent a busy night and sleep held tight in the face of the growing day.

The second change would only have been seen by someone standing in the woods near the town. If they happened to be standing in amongst the trees, near the outline of an old building where there was a partially filled in hole that had been dug several weeks ago. If they were standing in just the right spot they would have seen a small sapling, barely a meter in height, greet the sun by bursting into leaf.

The observer would have been shocked to see the tree follow that display by beginning to rapidly grow. Not in a single massive thrust upwards, but in a slow but steady rate. Gradual enough so as not to disrupt the life around it, but still quick enough to be preternaturally fast. Fast enough however that our anonymous observer would be able to watch the tree thicken and grow at roughly the rate of one centimeter every minute.

As the tree grew, the sun continued to rise until its light shone directly into the face of Foxfire, waking the pony up from a sound sleep. The pony opened her eyes and lifted her head up from where it had spent the night pillowed on a large male chest. Foxfire reached out with her magic and twitched the drapes of her bedroom closed, blocking out the rising sun.

“Not feeling like getting up?” Arnold asked, with a murmur from deep within his chest.

“It’s just… I’m still a pony, Arnold,” Foxfire said, laying her head back down with a depressed sigh. “Am I stuck like this now? Forever?”

“Would that be so bad?” Arnold replied, running his hand down Foxfire’s neck in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “You have magic, speed, and you’re damn cute like this.”

“Arnold,” Foxfire huffed. “I’m carrying a child. Our child. I have to ask myself if I’m going to give birth to a baby or to a foal. When the time comes, will I be a mare or a mother?”

“Yes,” Arnold said. “The answer is ‘yes’.”

“It’s not that simple,” Foxfire argued back, stretching out her neck a bit to give Arnold easier access. “I can’t be both.”

“Yes, you can,” Arnold answered, his smile a thing of gentle love. “You can be both mare and mother. With what’s been happening here, our child can be both foal and baby. You won’t be alone through any of it.”

“Arn?” Foxfire asked, a universe of worry held in a single syllable.

“I know what you told me last night,” the big man replied, his voice calm and steady although Foxfire could feel the tension in the hand touching her. “What you had to do, why you had to do it. The prices you paid. I swear, you will never have to stand alone against the world like you did back then.”

“Easy for you to say,” Foxfire huffed back, knowing she wasn’t being reasonable but unable to help herself. “I’m a meter high unicorn who’s most devastating weapon is cuteness. You’re twice my height, five times my weight and can pick up engine blocks with your bare hands.”

“Good point,” Arnold admitted, pausing for a long moment as he came to a decision about something he’d been thinking about since last night. “Let’s balance the scales a bit. Change me.”

“Wait? What?” Foxfire sputtered, lifting her head up to look the big man in the eye. “Change you? You mean into a pony? Right now?”

“Right here, right now,” Arnold confirmed, nodding. “Considering what Lynn did last night, I can probably do it myself. But I’m asking you to do it, because I trust you… and I love you.”

“You, you don’t have to,” Foxfire said, eyes welling up with emotion and unintentionally increasing her cuteness to near astronomical levels. “I love you too. You don’t have to be a pony for me to love you.”

“I know,” Arnold said, with a warm smile. “But how can I say I’m willing to share your life if I’m not willing to share your species. Do it. Make me into a little pony.”

“There is absolutely nothing ‘little’ about you,” Foxfire replied back, humour at the old joke cheering her a bit. “But okay then. Brace yourself.”

Less than a minute later, the now familiar chant was done and a second pony now lay on Jean Pedersen’s bed. Foxfire took a moment to admire the form of the deep chested stallion who now lay beside her. His blacker than black coat, which seemed to drink in the light. The incredibly deep and soft fur layering his chest, the dark streamers of his mane that flowed from the back of his neck in a cascading wave of night.

“Foxfire,” Arnold’s pony form rumbled, amused. “My eyes are up here.”

“Sorry,” Foxfire murmured, tearing her eyes away from the soft depths she wanted nothing more than to snuggle up against. “You make for a pretty impressive pony.”

“Which is why for as long as you’re a pony,” Arnold rumbled again, leaning down to rub the bottom of his head on the top of Foxfire’s. “I’m going to be a pony.”

“You can’t know that,” Foxfire gasped, shaking off the pleasant warmth that being in contact with Arnold gave her. “We still don’t know how a person does or doesn’t stay a pony.”

“I’m like a piece of iron about this,” Arnold said. Confidence, love and support for Foxfire radiating from him like heat. “Magic and love has shaped me like a piece of metal. Metal that can endure whatever it needs to. Iron strong. All we need to do is cast the spell again each day to make me a pony. Besides, do you think it's a coincidence you look at me the way you do whenever I’m like this?”

“Intent, desires and emotion,” Foxfire said, eyes growing wide as she remembered her own description of how the magic worked. “I made you into this. Into what I thought a perfect stallion should look like. Oh Goddess, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Arnold replied, giving Foxfire another reassuring nuzzle. “I shaped the magic you cast just as much as the others did when their forms manifested. I’ve chosen this. To be with you. Now, and forever.”

“So mote it be,” Foxfire declared, feeling a burst of magic well up in the room as she spoke the ritual words of agreement. “I am yours, my Iron Heart.”

“Iron Heart,” the black stallion repeated, smiling. “I like that. Iron Heart and Foxfire. Fire and Iron, together.”

Iron Heart bent down, intent on kissing his lady to seal the pact. He had only just touched his lips to hers, when the universe decided to interrupt.

“Mom! Mom!” Rowan shouted, bursting into the room. “We’re kids again! Oh… oops.”

“It’s okay,” Foxfire laughed, breaking the kiss as love, joy and above all, confidence filled her whole being. What needed to happen would happen. There would be trials, tests and even tribulations, but with her Iron Heart beside her, she would weather the storm. No matter what its form. “Iron Heart and I were just talking. I need to tell you and your sister something important. Get her for me, will you?”

“Sure thing, Mom,” Rowan turned, and without stepping an inch away bellowed out, “ROMY! GET UP HERE! MOM WANTS TO TALK TO US!”

“Could you get Billy too?” Iron Heart asked, chuckling as he knew what was about to happen. He was not disappointed as the young girl again demonstrated an impressive lung capacity, and within a minute the bedroom was occupied by two ponies and three children.

“Hey dad,” Billy said, greeting his father. “Wow, you look awesome as a pony. What did you want?”

“Well, I think Foxfire should go first,” Iron Heart replied, inclining his head to his lady.

“Thank you, Iron Heart,” Foxfire responded, noticing the three children each mouthing the name she had dubbed her stallion with. “Girls, there isn’t any slow way to say this so I’ll just tell you. I’m going to have a baby.”

The eyes of both girls went as wide and round as saucers as the news hit them. Rowan recovered first, as was typical of the two.

“I… I thought you said you couldn’t have kids anymore,” Rowan said, her expression a cross between troubled and astounded. “That we were your special girls because we were your only girls.”

“You and your sister will never be anything less than the most precious and special gifts the Goddesses could have given me,” Foxfire answered, reassuring her brave and bold daughter. “But you won’t be alone anymore. Magic, and Iron Heart here have seen to that.” Two sets of young female eyes tracked to Iron Heart’s face.

“I know I can’t replace your actual father, girls. But I hope one day—” was as far as Iron Heart got before his well-muscled frame went down under the powerful embraces of Rowan and Romana. Both girls wrapping their arms around the pony in hugs that would have done an anaconda proud.

“Um,” Billy commented, biting his lip as he looked over at Foxfire. “Does this mean I have to call you ‘Mom’?”

“Not unless you want to,” Foxfire responded, doing her best not to giggle at the look on Iron Heart’s face as her girls began to list off all the things they wanted to do to Iron Heart’s mane. “You’ve been a fine apprentice to me when it comes to learning the ways of the forest, and I hope you and I keep growing closer. But you never have to call me by any name you don’t feel comfortable using.”

“But, we’re gonna be a family now, right? Like Thunder and Windweaver, and their kids?” Billy asked, looking a little reassured.

“Thunder and Windweaver?” Iron Heart asked, finally being allowed to sit back up by the two girls who still each had an arm looped around him.

“Mister and Missus Harding picked their pony names,” Romy supplied, still holding onto Iron Heart’s neck as she stretched her other arm out toward a large brush on her mother’s nightstand.

“Uh, you don’t have to brush my mane,” Iron Heart reassured the girl, a little bit of nervousness in his voice. “The pony magic makes it come out all straight.”

“Only when you first change,” Foxfire commented, smirking a bit. “Your mane and coat will need daily brushings to keep them at their best. Trust me on this.”

“But… but,” Iron Heart sputtered, head tilting to one side as Romy began drawing the brush through his mane in the first of what promised to be a great many strokes.

“Did you not just swear yourself to me? O, stallion mine?” Foxfire asked rhetorically, her smile showing teeth now. “Did you not promise to share my life and my form?”

“I just didn’t realize that this was part of it,” Iron Heart replied, smiling a bit himself as it began to sink in what it meant to have women as part of his family again. “Fine girls. Go nuts, but no painting my hooves. I’m a work horse, not a prancer.”

“YAY!” both girls burst out as they began looking around for supplies.

“There’s another brush in the bathroom, girls,” Foxfire told the girls with a giggle. “Windweaver probably has some ribbons you can borrow.”

“Oh! And bells, too!” Rowan exclaimed. “C’mon Romy, let’s go! You’re gonna have the best mane ever, Iron Heart!” Both girls hurtled out of the room and down the stairs, their footsteps almost dopplering in their wake.

“Anyway son,” Iron Heart said, a few moments later as things quieted in the room. “I know this is all kind of sudden, but I hope you’re okay with it.”

“Dad,” Billy replied, reaching out to put a hand on his father’s hoof. “I’ve known Mrs Pedersen for years. The girls too. We’ve actually been kinda wondering if this was gonna happen for awhile now.”

“With your father’s permission, I would like to give you something,” Foxfire interjected, waiting until Iron Heart’s face showed understanding and he gave her a nod of permission.

“You don’t have to,” Billy stated, words warring with curiosity as Foxfire’s magic opened her closet door and took a box down from the top shelf. “It’s okay.”

“Your father and I made this for you,” the unicorn continued, as she floated a well crafted wooden box onto the bed. “It was going to be your birthday present, but with current events I’d like to give it to you now. As a thank you for becoming part of my family, and letting me into yours.”

“What is it?” Billy asked, hand hovering over the lid.

“Go ahead, open it up,” Iron Heart told the boy, edging a bit closer himself.

Billy Kye opened the lid of the box. Resting on a bed of purple fabric was a small knife. Stag-horn handle shaped to fit a growing hand, provided a home for the tang of a metal blade that held a rippling black and white pattern in its forged depths. The boy reached in with all the care he was capable of and drew out the seven inch length of blade and bone.

“The blade is silver, mostly,” Foxfire supplied. “The apprentice of a witch should have a blade that can be blessed, after all.”

“It wasn’t easy to make a decent knife out of silver,” Iron Heart added in. “I had to use a Japanese method called ‘Mokume Gane’ to layer silver with nickel without melting either so that they would stay separate. Foxfire supplied the handle from some antlers she found in the woods. I hope you like it.”

“It’s awesome,” Billy breathed. “It’s the best thing ever.”

“There’s a belt sheath underneath the fabric too,” Foxfire added, very pleased at her son’s obvious joy at the gift. “If you take care of it, that knife should serve you well for a long, long time.”

“Thank you!” the boy exclaimed, hugging both adult ponies. “You two are the best!”

“We’re back!” yelled Rowan, kitchen door downstairs slamming behind her and her sister. “We got ribbons, and bells, and beads, and a curry comb, and all kinds of stuff.”

“I’m doomed,” Iron Heart declared, dropping his head theatrically. “Doomed.”

“Be strong, my stallion,” Foxfire commanded with a laugh. “The consort of a queen must look his best, after all.”

“The things I do for my lady,” Iron Heart responded, as his doom approached with armfuls of things for his mane, tail and coat.

In the woods, not too far away, the tree continued to grow.

“We’ll get them all. Pay them all back,” Godwinson muttered, as she chewed on a piece of roast venison she had pulled up from her freezer and cooked. “Make Jean pay, make her children suffer like we suffered…”

“Feed on them, eat their strength, drain their warmth,” added a voice only the woman could hear. “Take away their town, isolate them, make them fear us and only then, only then do we eat the meat and crack the bone for the sweet marrow.”

“Yes, split them apart. All of them,” Dora crooned, before gulping down another slice of deer meat. “Smash their town apart, like they smashed my family.”

“We will break them, and feed on their strength,” the spirit of the wendigo sighed in chorus with the woman. “You and I, we are the only ones that matter. The only ones to be warm and well-fed.”

Silence, unbroken except for the sound of chewing, filled the frost covered room for several minutes as the woman demolished the remains of the roast. It was her third full meal of the day and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“What are you?” Godwinson asked, bringing herself from pleasant dreams of vengeance to cold lucidity. “What are you doing to me?”

“I am a spirit of rage, hunger and vengeance,” the wendigo answered. “I have dwelled in these lands since man first came here, and I am eternal.”

“You’re from here?” Godwinson responded, seizing on the words the spirit had spoken. “You’re a native? You aren’t from some weird other dimension like the ponies?”

“I am of this world and this place,” the wendigo replied with an icy breath. “These ponies. You have spoken of them before. Tell me about them.”

“Why should I?” Godwinson demanded, her tone a frosty match for that of the immaterial spirit. “I’m not your servant. You came to me.”

“No, you are not my servant. You are my partner,” the wendigo assured, savoring the cold core of hatred and loathing the woman had for others. “My physical shell. I will give you power and strength beyond what you can imagine, and in return you will provide me with direction and guidance in this reborn world. Does becoming my equal and sharing in my power satisfy you?”

“No,” Godwinson snarled. “Nothing is ever enough. Not until I see that woman lying at my feet and begging me for mercy.”

“And when they beg for mercy,” said the spirit, very pleased indeed with Godwinson, “will you give it to them?”

“No,” Godwinson growled back, the sound like two icebergs rubbing against each other. “No mercy for her, no mercy for the ponies, and no mercy for the town that sided with them and against me.”

“A good hunter knows their prey,” breathed the wendigo, as it felt itself and Godwinson becoming more and more a part of each other. “Tell me about our prey. About these ponies we shall hunt.”

For the next half hour, as woman and spirit became one, Godwinson told the wendigo all she knew or suspected about the ponies. Who they were, what powers they had, where those powers came from. When the explanation was over, the creature snarled in frustration.

“They are too strong,” the spirit growled. “Even merged as we are now, they are too bright and too warm for us to be able to bring down.”

“No,” Godwinson snarled in a bestial tone. “I won’t let her get away again. Can we get stronger? Can you give me magic like theirs?”

“My powers are already yours,” the Cold part of Godwindigo answered. “The only way for us to become stronger would be take power from others and make it our own.”

“Then let’s do that!” the Warm part declared. “Hunt them down, one by one, and take their power.”

“Other than the ponies, they are all too weak to be of any use,” responded the Cold side, who began casting around, looking for another option. “We would need… oh, OH, By the North Winds that spawned me!”

“What?!” demanded the Warm part, frustrated. “Tell me what!”

“Use the senses we now share,” Cold hunger said, with a smile like a razor. “Look to the soil near where the traitor who calls himself ‘Mayor’ works.”

“W-what is that?” Warm asked, astonished. “I can see heat and warmth pushing up from the ground. It’s like a volcano, pushing up from the old mine entrance.”

“Power,” crooned Cold, greedy hunger in each syllable. “Power, and warmth, rising up through the earth like gophers climbing up a burrow.”

“I thought you said we weren’t strong enough,” accused Warm. “These ones are even stronger. How do you expect us to get them?”

“They do not, and cannot know we are here,” Cold responded, frost licking away Warm’s anger. “We can ambush them as they emerge. Like a fox going after mice when they come up for food.”

“Yesssss,” Warm hissed. “Ambush them, take them down, take their power. And then… and then…”

“And then we take down the ponies and make them beg,” Cold declared. “Make them beg like you want them to.”

“And when we have made them beg,” Warm sighed, “We will end their miserable existence. Except for maybe the woman. We might keep her as a pet. Just so we can make her suffer even more, later on.”

“As you wish, my host,” Cold commented, very satisfied with its choices.

“No,” Warm corrected. “As we wish.”

The creature that had been Dora Godwinson continued to lay its plans and eat as the day continued. It was unconcerned by the goings on in the rest of the town, except for the concrete cap over the long abandoned mine entrance.

Which is why it failed to notice that the tree continued to grow...

Author's Note

I couldn't think of any better piece of music to frame this chapter with than Murray Gold's epic score for the 10th Doctor. Things are certainly building now. Powers are rising. The debut of the diarchs draws closer. But will Luna and Celestia emerge into triumph or tragedy?

And around our ponies continues to grow the most powerful magic of all. The Magic of Friendship, and of Family. Cherish your family, whether they be the family you were born with or the family you chose to be with. Hold special every moment you have with them, because when it's gone, it's gone, and no magic can bring it back.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
Shaushka
Machara
and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 40: Bad Moon Rising

Saturday evening had come to the Carmanah Valley and the shadows were growing long. In a certain forested glen near the small town, there now stood a fully mature apple tree, complete with blossoms bearing the promise of future fruit. A careful observer would have noted that it was still a little early in the season for apple blossoms and that these particular blooms were in all shades of the rainbow.

Looking around, that same person would have noticed how everything seemed to be just a little bit better in that glen by the ruins of the old building. The foliage was just a little greener, the birdsong was a little sweeter, the play of sun and shadow just a little more lovely. Even the bugs seemed to be less inclined to make a meal out of a passing person. It was all very harmonious. As if some benevolent sun goddess had placed her blessing on the tree and its surroundings.

But not everything in the Carmanah Valley was harmonious as day began to turn toward evening.

“John, what in the name of the nine thousand fleas of Perdition is going on?” asked the balding man, leaning over his burger and fries.

“I can’t tell you that,” John Wilcox replied, while trying and failing to keep a bit of the smug out of his voice. He’d been worried that CKNW would send this particular man to find out why he’d suddenly quit the station, so he was glad for any cheering moment he could get.

“Oh don’t give me that piece of rotting sheep shank,” replied the man, sucking down a steak fry before continuing. “I got you the job with the station, I vouched for you. I put my name on the line for you when no one wanted to touch a vet with PTSD and severe agoraphobia. I want an explanation. I deserve an explanation.”

“You do, you do,” John admitted, looking back at his former lieutenant in the PPCLI. When the RPG had buried him under a wall of rubble, it had been Lieutenant MacCrae who had been the one to dig him out. Later, after John had been honorably discharged from the Forces, it had been then civilian Martin MacCrae who had gotten him the job with the radio station.

“So talk to me man,” pressed MacCrae, dipping another fry in mayonnaise before inhaling it. “What’s got you clammed up tighter than a quartermaster’s purse strings?”

“You always did have a way with words, Marty,” John replied, and sighing pushed away his own meal of burger and coleslaw. When he was stressed, meat just didn’t smell right. “I signed an NDA, you want me to go against my word?”

“Don’t give me that,” MacCrae shot back, using yet another fry as a tool to point with. “We both know it’s nothing more than a bunch of lawyer crap to hide behind. C’mon, it’s me. We fought and bled together. What if I gave you my word that whatever you tell me will go no further?”

“What are you going to tell the big-wigs at Chorus?” John asked, referring to the parent company that owned CKNW. “Suppose I do tell you, what are you going to do when they say it won’t go any further if you tell them?”

“You think I’d say anything to Satan’s solicitors?” Martin snorted derisively. “I’d sooner give them a steaming load of five-five-six as tell them anything anyone told me in confidence.”

"Have I mentioned you have a way with words?” John asked, finally taking up a forkful of slaw. “How come you never use normal swear words?”

“When I was a kid, my teacher told me that swear words were the sign of a lazy mind,” MacCrae commented, putting down the remaining bit of his burger that he had wolfed down inside of ten seconds. “So, I started coming up with my own to prove her wrong, and I just never stopped.”

“You’ve got some unique ones, I’ll say that,” John admitted, sighing as he slid his untouched burger aside. “Look, what do you want me to do?”

“You don’t have to tell me everything, John,” MacCrae admitted, sliding his generous portion of remaining steak fries toward his former corporal while pulling the remaining burger over to himself. “Just tell me what you can. I’ll make something up to fill in the gaps.”

Wilcox nodded in thanks as he picked up a steak fry and chewed it slowly to give himself a chance to think. He did owe the man in front of him a lot, and an explanation was the least he could do, but there were five furry faces looking back at him in his mind’s eye. Five faces that trusted him to protect their secret and guard their privacy for as long as he could.

“John, are you in some kind of trouble?” MacCrae asked, his voice low. “I know that look. You're protecting someone.”

“Trouble? No,” Wilcox replied, still chewing away thoughtfully. “Just trying to figure out how much I can tell you that you’ll believe and not go running for the brain docs again.”

“No witch doctors or headshrinkers, I promise,” MacCrae said, dumping Worcestershire sauce onto the second burger patty. “Just tell me why you quit a good job, turned your back on civilization, and worried a lot of people who care about you.”

“Don’t give me that,” John replied, rolling his eyes before quoting, “And when they build their statues, they will build none for me.”

“I really regret lending you my copy of Asimov back in the Sandbox,” Marty commented, shaking his head. “Look, a lot of people give a damn about you and they’re damn worried. Talk to me, please.”

“Fine,” Wilcox said. It was the “please” that had broken his last bit of resolve. “But only if you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Just spit it out man,” the older man ordered, before taking a big bite of the second burger.

“SETI,” Wilcox tossed back. “You know SETI?”

“Whoa, wait,” MacCrae replied, tilting his head and setting down the burger. “You mean aliens?”

“Yeah, ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ stuff,” Wilcox replied, pausing to see what sort of reaction he was about to get.

“Well, I know the States had a lot of listening…” the former lieutenant of the Princess Patricia Light Infantry stopped speaking as his mind slipped into high gear, and Wilcox again saw the working of a mind that saved his unit and his company more than once on the battlefield.

“Are we talking contact?” MacCrae asked, almost a full minute later. “And are you talking you personally, or someone else?”

“More than contact. We’re talking integration,” Wilcox commented, enjoying the bug eyes his former superior was displaying. “And not just me, most of the town, to one degree or another.”

“John, are you sure?” MacCrae asked, a few heartbeats later that involved a quick scan of the rest of the diners in the small restaurant. “And is this something our oaths cover?”

“‘I will resist Her Majesty's enemies and cause Her Majesty's peace to be kept and maintained.’ You mean that part of the oath?” Wilcox asked, to which he got a small nod. “No, near as I can tell everyone involved are peaceful, law-abiding citizens who just want to be good Canadians.”

“Thank the hoary horns of Haggaroth for small favors,” MacCrae sighed, leaning back. “Can you tell me anything else?”

“Just that tomorrow it’s going to be out in the open. I’m helping handle the publicity after they tell Horgan,” John replied, feeling a weight come off his chest as he was at last able to tell someone about the secret. “You going to tell anyone?”

“Hey, I promised,” Marty reminded him, picking the remaining half of the second burger back up. “As long as there’s no threat to Canada, I’ve got no reason to blab. Can you give me any details before the announcement?”

“Nothing that you wouldn’t think was full on crazy before tomorrow,” Wilcox chuckled. “So, now that the big thing is out of the way. What’s new with you?”

“Oh, just general work stuff,” MacCrae commented, and the rest of the meal was spent discussing the mundane and ordinary. After the bill was paid and the two friends parted ways until morning, Wilcox felt assured nothing untoward would happen due to his revelation. He would have felt significantly less assured had he been able to read the letter in MacCrae’s hotel room.

To: Lieutenant Martin MacCrae
From: Captain J. Boyd, CFB Esquimalt

Sir,

Congratulations on your reactivation with the Canadian Armed Forces. Upon receipt of this letter you are ordered and directed to travel to Bella Coola, British Columbia. Upon arrival you will take command of the Bella Coola Patrol, 4th Canadian Ranger Patrol Group (4CRPG). There you will conduct such activities as are consistent with the mission of the Canadian Rangers. Fail not in this trust.

Vigilans

Something else that would have probably made both former reporters jump out of their seats and run was the conversation between Brian Cummins and Darrell Montcalm. The two were sitting in the mayor’s small office that was part of the Village Hall and attached to Brightly’s Fire Hall via a short corridor. The whole of it overlooking the depression in earth where Miner’s Memorial Park was.

“So, how is everyone?” Montcalm asked, debating if his body could handle a shot of whiskey again tonight.

“Getting a little tired of keeping secrets,” John Cummins replied, the former reporter, now publicity agent/guardian of secrets looking smug. “But overall everyone is doing fine. Proud of their people.”

“No anger, no resentment?” Montcalm pressed, as the gurgling in his belly forcibly reminding him that alcohol was something he wasn’t supposed to have anymore.

“Just from Godwinson,” Cummins replied, shield of smugness unmarred by the mayor’s questioning. “I got her sorted out. She won’t be any trouble at all.”

“Just like that?” Montcalm shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had one chat with her, found out her ‘big secret’ and now she’s just going to sit and do nothing?”

“You would be amazed how much pressure you can put on someone if you know their secrets,” Cummins answered, self confidence beginning to wilt a bit under the continuous pressure from the older man. “Why are you so worried about her? She’s just a bitter woman who has been trying and failing for years to get back at someone who had the nerve to fight her way out of hell.”

“A hell created and engineered by a relative of hers,” Montcalm pointed out. “A relative who turned out to be a Grade-A sociopath. Someone who presented one face to the world and a very different one behind closed doors.”

“Yeah, Albert Krasnichuk was a piece of work,” Cummins reflected, his mind’s eye seeing an RCMP file from a decade in the past. “No one blamed Jean for what she had to do to get herself and her girls clear of him.”

“No one except his family and kin,” Montcalm pointed out. “You ever consider the possibility that Albert was just one fruit from a poisoned tree?”

“Even if the rest of the family was like him, it's not like they can do anything about it,” Cummins commented, smugness returning to a degree.

“Nothing like have one of their clan follow the woman that killed one of them?” Montcalm said, voice hardening. “Follow her, try to ruin her life, destroy her attempts to rebuild, and maybe just maybe, wreak revenge on behalf of the rest of them?”

“You knew,” Cummins replied, his trained and practiced mind making connections like it always did. “You’ve always known… You’ve been protecting Jean Pedersen for years!”

“Damn right I have,” Montcalm confirmed, the growl of an old warhorse in his words now. “The parole board notified me and gave me the whole story before Jean even finished moving here. Godwinson showed up two years later and immediately started stirring people up. It wasn’t hard to figure out who she was.”

“So, you are corrupt,” Cummins said, mouth quirking in a small grin. “You have been using your power for something other than serving your town.”

“All I did was drop a word or two in a few people’s ears that someone could use a friend,” Montcalm protested, his tone daring Cummins to make an accusation again. “My job is to protect and grow my community and I did just that. Much as I threatened it, I don’t have the power to say who can or can’t live in Brightly, but I can make someone’s life better by connecting them with others.”

“Okay, okay,” Cummins replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender, sarcasm in his words. “You want me to rough her up like some sort of cheap hood?”

“I want you to do the job you said that you would do for me,” Montcalm fired back, his ire clear to Cummins. “If there is one person in this town that could screw things up, it’s Godwinson. I want you to go back there and make absolutely sure she isn’t going to say ‘boo’ to anyone until after the meeting with Horgan tomorrow.”

“And Trudeau,” Cummins added, relishing the realization on the mayor’s face. “My contacts with the Prime Minister’s entourage confirmed to me that he is definitely planning on crashing the award ceremony.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually come,” Montcalm said, rocked back by the news. “I mean, I knew the news said he might, but Brightly is just a little town in the middle of the wilderness.”

“The Trudeaus have always been big on the wild places of Canada,” Cummins replied, nodding. “Pierre made his biggest moves in politics after a month in the Arctic. Justin’s always been a hiker and outdoorsman. His brother Michel died in an avalanche in the Interior while cross-country skiing. Trust me, the PM is going to love this place.”

“All the more reason for you to check back in on Godwinson,” Montcalm ordered. “Let me know if she’s going to be a problem tomorrow, okay?”

“Yes sir,” Cummins answered, his stance and tone saying that he didn’t think there would be a problem and that Montcalm was over-reacting. “I’ll head over there in the morning and make sure she won’t do anything stupid.”

“You’ll go over there right now,” Montcalm said, his voice that of a superior to a subordinate. “It’s not that late, and I want you to make sure she hasn’t grabbed one of the other reporters in town and started talking their ear off.”

“Understood,” Cummins acquiesced, finally respecting the old steel in the mayor’s voice. “If there’s any problems, I’ll let you know.”

With a final nod from Montcalm, Cummins left the room and the building. Brightly wasn’t very big and it wasn’t even a ten minute drive to Godwinson’s home. Cummins spent a moment after he turned off the ignition of his borrowed vehicle to look at the small home he had left earlier that same day.

The ticking sound from the engine as heat bled off was the only noise to be heard. Godwinson’s house was one of the original miner’s homes, and had been rebuilt and refurbished at least a dozen times over its very long life. It wasn’t big, but it was sturdy and at the moment the only light came from the kitchen at the back of the house.

Rolling his eyes as he remembered Montcalm’s worries, Cummins got out of his vehicle to once again confront the foul woman, in what was sure to be a wonderful conversation. The metal of the gate felt oddly freezing under his hand as he opened it, but he pushed the thought aside as unimportant.

Knocking on Godwinson’s door he thought the door felt oddly slick compared to how a piece of painted wood should feel. Not only that, the sound of his knuckles on the wood seemed to echo in a strange way. Sharper and tighter than it seemed to be from before. Dismissing the details as unimportant for now, Cummins knocked again. Harder than before.

“Who could that be, at my door on this cold, cold night?” Godwinson’s voice called, from inside the home.

“It’s Brian Cummins, I’d like to talk to you again,” Cummins declared, wondering if the woman inside might be on something. Her voice sounded… odd.

“What could you possibly want with a poor, defenseless, woman?” asked the voice from inside, and Cummins noticed that there was a pair of shoes by the door. A pair of slim woman’s shoes that certainly weren’t the kind of sort a harridan like Godwinson would wear.

“Is there someone there with you?” Cummins called back through the door.

“There is. But don’t worry, they won’t say anything,” Godwinson replied. “Come in, and we’ll talk.”

“Huh, that was a quick u-turn. Guess having someone with her makes her feel safe,” Cummins muttered to himself as he pulled open the door. “Coming in now.”

“Come in through the kitchen,” Cummins heard Godwinson say, as he closed the back door behind him. “We’re in the living room.”

Brian Cummins walked through the cold kitchen and was surprised to see his breath fog the air. A few more steps brought him into a dimly lit living room. Godwinson sat in an easy chair, beside a small lamp on an end table which was the only light in the room. The woman gestured Cummins toward a chair near her own, and as he sat the reported noted the presence of another person in the room.

“Who’s this?” Cummins asked, waving a hand toward the figure whose upper body was hidden in the shadows of the room. He could tell that it was a woman, and a younger one by the look of her jeans.

“One of my good friends,” Dora Godwinson replied, in a voice laden with contempt. “Don’t worry, she’s already said that she won’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t aware you had any actual friends,” Cummins stated, picking up the verbal gauge and flinging it back. “Just hangers-on, most of whom have let you hang.”

“Yesss,” hissed the overweight woman. “That’s a trait we share, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Brian asked, directly his attention fully to Godwinson now.

“Friends. You don’t have any, do you?” Godwinson asked, her voice a hungry purr that sent a shiver along Brian’s neck. “Or community. Or any real connections with anyone, do you?”

“I have my work, I have my connections with my colleagues,” Cummins shot back, wondering where Godwinson was going with this. “People know I’m here, if you’re thinking of doing something stupid.”

“Stupid? Not at all,” the harridan replied, and Cummins noticed for the first time how pale she was compared to others he’d seen locally. Nearly everyone here almost lived in the outdoors and had some degree of tan year round. “When was the last time you spoke with your wife?”

“How did you know…” Cummins began to say, his train of thought disrupted. “That’s none of your business.”

“Been quite awhile now,” Godwinson commented, half closing her eyes and inhaling through her nose like someone inhaling the scent of a tasty meal. “Hasn’t it?”

“Almost a year,” Cummins admitted, before trying to bring the conversation back under control. “But we were talking about you. Now then—”

“No real friends, no real family. At least not anymore,” interrupted the woman, almost cooing. “You aren’t connected to any real community either, are you?”

“Reporters don’t have homes,” answered Cummins, feeling an icy line slide down his back as he tried to understand what the woman was angling at. “We have places to hang our hats before heading out for the next story.”

“That’s what I thought,” Godwinson said, smiling. “You’re exactly what I need. I just didn’t have the right kind of eyes to see it before, but now I do. Tell me, do you know of the legend of the windigo?”

“Ancient native spirit,” Cummins replied, feeling the cold sensation creep around his feet. He’d never gotten cold feet like this before, even during the harshest interviews. “Eternally hungry, eternally cold.”

“Yesss,” hissed Godwinson, stirring in her chair. “Capable of possessing those who are greedy or cannibalistic. They prefer to prey on those who are alone or otherwise separated from their community.”

Cummins still had no idea what this woman was playing it, but enough alarm bells were going off in his head for him to decide he had to get out of there. Only to discover that he couldn’t move. It was as if something was holding him in place from the waist down. Something cold.

“Wanting to leave so soon?” the heavy-set woman asked mockingly, standing up herself. “Having a little trouble are we? Maybe you shouldn’t have been so arrogant in thinking that you knew everything. That people had to listen to you because—you—knew—best.”

The words stunned Cummins as they reminded him of how he had failed his long dead child. A paralysis that lasted long enough for Godwinson to finish getting up and flick the switch for the overhead light. The sudden switch from dim to bright caught the reporter by surprise, but after a few seconds of blinking he was able to see why he hadn’t been able to get up.

There was a sheath of what looked like ice coating the lower half of his body, and for a few moments he threw himself against it. Then, a gleam from elsewhere in the room caught his eye. Looking up, he saw the third person in the room, who had been silent all this time.

Brian Cummins looked in horror at the body of the woman who had been the cleaner for his hotel room. The one who had been fired for snooping in his things and giving what she had found to Godwinson.

“Yes, my little spy,” Godwinson purred, sliding a hand over the ice that coated the other woman’s head. Ice that was a good inch thick. “My own little Judas, who betrayed me the moment things got a little difficult.”

“You killed her?” Cummins asked, reaching into his pocket to try to turn on his phone. “Just because she stopped listening to you?”

“Silly man,” Godwinson laughed, as Cummins noticed how sharp the woman’s canine teeth had become. “She’s not dead. Not yet anyway. I’ve just put her on ice for awhile so I could feed off the sour tang in her soul.”

“What are you talking about?” Brian asked, beginning to panic now and fumbling in his coat pocket even harder.

“You, are just what I need,” Godwinson said, stepping over and numbing Cummin’s arm into immobility with a touch. “I’ve certain prey in mind, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to bring it down, even from ambush. Then you showed up, and I remembered the bitterness in your soul. How you don’t trust anyone but yourself, how alone you make yourself, and how determined you are to show everyone else how terrible they are.”

“Let me go, you crazy lady!” shouted Cummins, trying to strike out at Godwinson, who simply stepped out of his reach as her body seemed to stretch upwards, growing leaner and taller in front of his very eyes.

“Yes, feeding on you will make me strong. Strong enough to take down those two little mice climbing out of their burrow,” the Godwinson thing purred, and the smile of a predator was blatant now, “Not in pitched battle, of course. But a smart predator lays traps and strikes from behind. Which is exactly what I’m going to do.”

“What… are you?” Cummins begged, realizing it might be the last question he ever had a chance to ask.

“You already know,” the thing replied, nearly seven feet tall now with arms that stretched almost to the ground. “Say my name, mortal.”

“Godwindigo,” Cummins whispered, and he had a final searing moment of cold to realize how badly his arrogance and self-righteousness had caused him to again fail those who depended on him.

Author's Note

The Canadian Rangers are a real Canadian military unit. Do some reading about them if you would like some possible spoilers for future events. The Bella Coola Patrol is an actual unit, as is the 4CRPG. The Rangers are currently being issued with a very interesting rifle.

Also, went about as dark as we are going to get in this story, but I had to underline how powerful Godwindigo is, as well as giving Cummins one last chance to screw things up. As for Wilcox and aliens. He was trying to relate things to a former superior without sounding completely crazy. Aliens, people could believe. Cute ponies with amazing abilities? Not so much. It was the best he could do on the spot.

We are moving strongly into the final act now, and my planning is intensifying for the finale.

I've promised to do two chapters of other stories when I get back from my week off. My first actual vacation in over 12 years. During which I will be throwing the ring from my ended marriage into an actual volcano. Maybe some giant eagles will show up afterwards. Anyway, once that is done, I am going to be writing at least 500 words a day until this part of Brightly Lit is completely done.

My target date, which is excessively optimistic is to be done by the Canadian Federal Election. October 20th. Wish me luck.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
Shaushka
Machara
and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 41: We are Family

Late into the night a chill breeze blew over the tiny town nestled deep into the forests of the Pacific Northwest. Spring had yet to fully take hold and the nearly clear skies did little to retain the heat of the ground far below. Despite this, in one dark and still home, all was snug and warm. All was still and quiet in the house that played host to two adults and three children. At least all was supposed to be still and quiet…

“You awake?” a small voice asked softly, toward the lump beneath the blankets.

“Yeah,” came the equally soft reply. “Can’t sleep.”

“Me either,” the first girl added. “Can I hop in?”

“Better,” the lump answered. “Don’t wanna wake up Mom and… dad?”

The last word ended on a questioning note, which didn’t stop the first girl in the slightest from moving down from the top bunk and sliding under the covers beside her sister.

“Everything’s changing,” Romy Pedersen whispered to her sister, once she had settled in. “It’s all going different. I’m kinda scared.”

“About what?” Rowan, the older sister, replied.

“We’ve been pony kids for a bit now and it’s been fun. Being Seeker it’s like something… I dunno,” Romy offered, unable to explain herself further.

“Like something out of a story, like its not real,” Rowan filled in, then continued after thinking for a few moments. “Romy, remember how we became the Power Ponies in the first place?”

“Yeah, you cast a spell. You did real magic for like the first time ever,” Romy answered, raising her voice a little.

“Shhh,” warned Rowan, and the two paused for a moment to listen. The silence stretched out for several long moments before Rowan continued. “Keep it down, you don’t want to wake up Mom and… Mr. Kye.”

“Should we call him ‘Dad’ or ‘Mr. Kye’ or what?” Romy asked, lowering her voice to almost inaudible levels. “I’m glad Mom and him are happy, but that’s one of the things I don’t get.”

“Are you kidding?” Rowan asked, with a tiny giggle. “How often has Mr. Kye been over for dinner? Or fixed Mom’s car? How often has she taken Billy out into the woods when she’s gone looking for salal and stuff? We’ve been kinda almost family for a couple of years now. Him and Mom are just making it official.”

“If you say tho,” Romy replied, her lisp intruding on the one syllable she could never seem to get right. “It’s weird to think Billy is our brother now.”

“Step-brother,” Rowan corrected, making sure of the details, as was her habit. “That’s what you call a brother by marriage.”

“But Mom and Mr. Kye aren’t married yet,” protested Romy, voice raising a touch. “Tho he can’t be our step-brother yet.”

“You really think those two are gonna break up?” Rowan replied, jerking her head toward the bedroom where the two adults were sleeping. “No way.”

“I’m not sharing the bedroom,” Romy declared, deciding on the important things right away. “Or my dresser. I might let him have some closet room though.”

“Well, he can’t keep sleeping on the couch. That’s for sure,” Rowan added, after a moment’s consideration. “Maybe we’ll have to move into his place. You think of that?”

“WHAT?” Romy burst out, followed by frantic shushing by her sister.

“Keep it down,” Rowan added. “Don’t freak, but I heard them talking about it. We both have two bedroom houses, but Mr. Kye’s place has a bigger yard, so he could build us a whole new bedroom. Maybe even two.”

“You mean I’d get my own bedroom?” Romy whispered, eyes wide. “For myself?”

“Yeah, sounds good, eh?” Rowan asked her sister, who nodded in agreement. “See that’s kinda what I was meaning when I brought up how we first became ponies.”

“I don’t get it,” Romy replied, moving a bit to shift some blankets off of her.

“It was something new. Really new. Like the first time ever in all the world,” Rowan explained, tasting again the wonder of that moment. “But it wasn’t scary, or bad. A lot of people would have been scared, but we weren’t.”

“Well, yeah,” Romy responded, jutting out a chin. “We got super powers. That wasn’t scary at all, just different.”

“That’s what I mean,” Rowan said, driving the point home. “It was just different, and a fun kind of different too. Maybe having Billy as a brother will be the same way. Different, but a fun kind.”

“Huh,” Romana answered, chewing her lip for a moment. “I’m still not sharing the closet with him though.”

“I don’t think you have to worry,” Rowan assured her sister. “Hey, wanna see something neat?”

“Sure,” Romy replied instantly, wondering what her sister was going to show her by the dim glow of the nightlight.

“Okay, I’ve only done this a couple of times, so I hope it works,” Rowan said, drawing out her amethyst pendant on its leather cord.

“I thought you lost that when you first turned into Shield Maiden,” Romy commented, with a bit of surprise.

“I thought I had too the first time,” Rowan confirmed, letting the small gem-like crystal dangle between her and her sister. “But it was there when we changed back. I think it might have changed with me. I dunno.”

“Well, that’s pretty cool. Thanks for showing me,” Romy said, and was about to say something else when Rowan interrupted her.

“That isn’t what I was going to show you,” the young witch interjected.

She took a single, sharp breath in and breathed it out slowly. She did it a second time. Then furrowed her brow in concentration and uttered a single word. A word laced with all the force of personality a twelve year old could muster, “Twilight.”

Hesitantly at first, but then with growing strength the amethyst began to glow with a purple light. It was never terribly bright, and shifted from a deep purple all the way to pale violet and back again in a slow cycle. Rowan’s face split into a huge grin and her sister’s face shone in the mulberry radiance with wonder and amazement.

“That is tho cool!” Romy whispered intently, remembering to keep her voice low this time. “How are you doing that? You aren’t a pony right now.”

“Dunno,” Rowan replied, which let her concentration slip and as it did, the amethyst faded back into dark quiessence. “I said the word ‘twilight’ just after the sun went down and the crystal kinda flashed that purple light. Tried it again just before bedtime in the bathroom and it lit up like that.”

“So you can do magic even when you’re not a pony now?” Romy asked, reaching out and touching the pendant. “Cool.”

“Yah,” Rowan replied, before tucking the amethyst back into her pajama top. “Wonder if the rest of us can do pony things when we’re kids now?”

“Lemme try,” Romy said, and Rowan thought she saw a light pass behind her sister’s eyes as she flipped her perceptions beyond what most people saw.

“Oh,” Romy breathed, the power of Seeker coming to the fore. “Oh wow.”

“What?” the older girl asked. “What do you see?”

“Your crystal, it’s like a little star. And you’ve got a kinda orange glow inside of you,” Romy replied, wonder in her voice. “It’s beautiful.”

“Look around, what else?” Rowan asked, urging her sister on. Who obligingly turned and looked around.

“Mom,” Romy added, “I can see Mom. She’s glowing too. Super bright, and purple like your crystal with smoke all around her. Mr. Kye too. His glow is all silvery, but it’s not as big as Mom’s.”

“Can you see Billy?” Rowan asked, impressed by Romy’s abilities.

“Just,” the younger girl answered, brow scrunching up as she concentrated to focus her newly found ability. “His is kinda funny. He’s got four little glows insteada one big one.”

“Maybe cause his power is in his hoo— I mean, hands and feet,” Rowan suggested, deciding not to pull her pendant back out to look at it. “Anything else?” Romy obliged her sister by sitting up in bed and looking around.

“Kinda sorta,” Romy said, unsure of what she was seeing.

“Just say it,” Rowan asked her sister, her voice reassuring. “I won’t laugh or anything.”

“It’s sorta weird,” Romy replied, after nearly a minute of looking and trying to decide what to say. “There’s this bright yellow glow out toward the village hall. You know, by the Mayor’s office? Anyway, it’s kinda like how the sky looks when the sun comes up. But there’s another colour beside it.”

“What colour?” Rowan asked, frustrated a little with her sister’s holding back. “C’mon, what colour?”

“Can’t really describe it,” Romy commented, dropping her gaze and rubbing her eyes. “Remember the Night Horse? That colour.”

“Oh!” Rowan exclaimed, excited. “I remember that. You think it might be another Night Horse? That would be cool.”

“Yeah,” Romy replied, still rubbing at her eyes. “Ugh, my eyes are thore now.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t push a new thing too hard,” a mature female voice interjected from the unnoticed open bedroom doorway. “Shouldn’t you two be asleep?”

“Mom!” both girls exclaimed at once, spinning around to see a snow white unicorn standing in the doorway, her horn alight with a dark purple radiance.

“Unless I’m incredibly wrong, it’s night out,” Foxfire commented, a wry smile on her muzzle, “and nighttime means my little ponies should be sleeping. Or is it daytime right now?”

“Sorry Mom,” both girls said in chorus.

“Didn’t mean to wake you up,” Rowan added, chagrined. “We were just talking.”

“Mmhmm,” replied their mother, not entirely amused but not upset either. “More like shouting a couple of times. It’s a big day tomorrow, you need your sleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Romy interjected, thankful that the lighting in the room was so dim. “Me an’ Rowy were talking, and one thing kinda led to another and…” She trailed off, waving a hand into the distance.

“I figured that out myself, girls,” Foxfire replied, and heaved a sigh as she continued. “I’d make us all some sleepy time tea, but Billy is actually asleep on the couch.”

“We’ll be quiet,” Rowan offered. “We should be fine now.”

“You girls are worried about things changing aren’t you?” the unicorn asked, stepping into the bedroom and easing the door closed with her magic. “Worried that you might not be as important to me as you used to.”

“No way,” Romy replied, bouncing out of bed to wrap her arms around her mother’s long equine neck in a powerful hug. “We know you love us more than anything in the whole world.”

“So it doesn’t upset or worry you that I love Mr. Kye too?” Foxfire asked, taking up the strain of her daughter’s weight with surprising ease. “You aren’t worried that I might not have enough love to go around?”

“Everybody has enough love to go around for the people they love,” Rowan declared, suddenly very sure of herself. “Mr. Kye will just have to share you with us, is all. But he doesn’t get to use the kitchen. Billy says he’s a terrible cook.”

“And Billy gets his own closet and dresser,” Romy added, her priorities already set. “I like him, but I’m not sharing my space with his stuff.”

Foxfire desperately tried and failed to avoid giggling. “Oh, my dear sweet girls. When did you both become so wise and practical?”

“When we were born,” Romy answered. “You’re our mom, after all.”

“Indeed I am, and if I haven’t said it before, I am very proud to be your mother,” Foxfire affirmed, blinking away proud tears.

“Awww,” both girls said together, and Rowan joined the hug. For several long moments, there was no sound but that of three hearts beating as one.

“Well,” Foxfire said at last, her smile now a happy one indeed. “Much as I do love this, we all need our sleep.”

“Could we, um, could we sleep with you tonight?” Romy shyly asked, neither girl having yet let go of their mother.

“I don’t think Mr. Kye is quite ready for that stage in our relationship,” Foxfire replied, almost giggling again. “I could climb in with the two of you though.”

“Yay!” both girls cheered, again with one voice, and Foxfire rolled her eyes at the exuberance and noise of her beloved offspring.

“Keep it down,” she told the girls, who finally let go of her as they gave her repentant looks about their cheer. “Let me just go check on Billy, and let Arnold know where I’ll be. Make me a spot, okay?”

“Sure thing Mom,” Rowan chirped, and as Foxfire descended the stairs with all the stealth she was capable of, the two girls grabbed extra bedding from the top bank. Combining the two sets of blankets and pillows into a comfy nest for all three of them was quick work and by the time the unicorn mother of two snuck back upstairs her daughters were ready for her.

“All set, Mom,” Romy said, patting the comforter beside her. “You can lay down here. Oh, I forgot to ask. Do you need a blanket? I sort of assumed you didn’t because you’ve got fur now.”

“Have you needed a blanket?” Foxfire asked, stepping onto the bed with dainty care.

“Um, sometimes?” Romy ventured, a little nervously, but easing as her mother settled her equine body between her girls.

“Me too,” Foxfire replied, giving her youngest a comforting nuzzle, and drawing a small giggle. “Sometimes I like being wrapped in a blanket, sometimes I don’t.”

“How about now? Rowan asked, her nervousness hidden better, but just as obvious to her mother.

“As long as I’m with my best girls, your hugs will always keep me warm,” Foxfire answered, drawing smiles and “aww’s” from both youngsters.

“Anyway, tomorrow is going to be a big day,” Foxfire continued, as a light blanket was drawn over her withers and back. “We really do need our sleep.”

“Okay,” Rowan said, snuggling down into her own covers and putting an arm across her mother. Romy, not to be outdone, did the same from her side. Soon, all was again at peace in the small home save for the restful breathing of a newly minted family.

Across the street from the Kye/Pederesen household, a light was burning late into the night in the study of Ernie Harding. The middle aged man had spent the past few hours typing away at an oddly configured Excel spreadsheet. The usual use of the software was to keep track of his farm animals, their daily consumption of feed, and other details about their lives.

This time however, Ernie’s data entry had been punctuated by visits to his small, but wide ranging personal library, plus various texts he had borrowed from the local library. It was almost two in the morning when the ghost of a satisfied smile crossed his face.

“In Nomine Sol,” he muttered, hitting the save option on his work. “Damn, it really is that simple.”

“What’s that simple?” a soft, but steady female voice asked from the study’s doorway.

“Hey hon,” Ernie replied, recognizing the much loved voice of his wife. “I think I’ve finally figured out the pattern of how people turn back into ponies.”

“Oh?” Lynn asked, stepping into the study and closing the door behind her. “Is that what’s been keeping you up so late?”

“Mhmm,” Ernie replied, face growing serious as he took in the human form of his wife. “By the way, did you get out in the sun today?”

“I did, as a matter of fact,” Lynn replied, sweeping her crimson hair back in an automatic gesture. “Is there a problem?”

“Notice anything… different?” her husband prompted, and Lynn saw that the spreadsheet was open to a column with her name on it.

“Warmth,” Lynn replied, casting her mind to that moment during the day when the full rays of the sun had hit her. “Comfort. A feeling of peace. Like being wrapped up in a big soft blanket.”

“You guessed it,” Ernie said, nodding and pointing to the screen and the columns on the spreadsheet. “I’ve done my best to record when people became ponies for the first time, and more importantly, when they became ponies afterwards.”

“You aren’t making any sense, dear,” Lynn said, a bit of annoyance showing on her face. “What have I guessed?”

“In Nomine Sol,” Ernie replied, causing his wife to frown in confusion. “It’s latin. ‘In the name of the Sun.’ It’s the first line in the chant in the book, and it gave me the clue I needed to crack this.”

“You aren’t making any sense, dear,” Lynn repeated, annoyance turning into a touch of frustration with her husband. “I love you, but if you don’t come out and say what you mean I may just give you a good thump.”

“In the name of the Sun,” Ernie repeated, then continued as his wife gave him an arch look from beneath a crimson brow. “The sun is the source of all life, and all magic. It’s the power of the sun that’s affecting when people return to being ponies.”

“But Rowan and Jean are both casting spells,” Lynn argued. “They have magic.”

“That’s just it, it’s not their magic,” Ernie replied, waving a hand toward the screen. “Rowan and Jean aren’t really casting spells. They’re just shaping magic that’s already here.”

“But their abilities?” Lynn argued. “They have powers.”

“I didn’t say they didn’t have powers,” Ernie replied. “What I meant to say is that they are shaping forces that are already here. That’s their power. Everything else started with the book.”

“No, no it didn’t,” Lynn responded. “It started with a trapped miner.”

“Who was given the book,” Ernie added, voice firm with conviction. “With the chant in it. Which let him use magic and change his shape. He didn’t create magic, he used what was there.”

“I don’t know,” Lynn replied thoughtfully, propping up her hip on the edge of the study’s desk. “Seems to me you’re missing something. And what does that have to do with how people return to being… Oh, oh wait. It’s lack of sun, isn’t it?”

“Bingo,” Ernie confirmed. “The chant invokes the power of the sun. The first time you change, it’s without consequence. But the second time? After someone’s second change the only thing that keeps them from being a pony again is time in the sun. It sort of renews their humanity, in its role as the source of life.”

“Dear, there are two problems with that,” Lynn said, cupping her husband’s cheek. “First off. I’ve changed twice now, and I’m still a woman.”

“You spent time in the sun today,” Ernie pointed out. “That warm feeling you had? That was the power of the sun renewing itself in you and keeping you human.”

“Oh,” Lynn replied, looking at herself for a long moment. “Well, at least things should be fine as long as I get some sun everyday.”

“Love,” Ernie said, gathering his wife into his lap. “Other than summer, we don’t get a lot of days with direct sun around here.”

He felt a small shudder go through his wife as she realized the implications, and he spent a long minute just holding the woman he loved. Lynn didn’t say anything during that time, merely staring out into an uncertain future. Ernie kept whispering reassurances that he would always be there for her. Be she mare or mother she was, and always would be, his beloved.

“You going to be okay with this?” he asked Lynn, when she blinked and came back to the here and now.

“Well, Wind Weaver is just someone I’ll have to get used to being, and it isn’t like Thunder didn’t appreciate her,” Lynn replied, drawing a blush of memory from her usually staid and stolid husband.

“Ahem, yes,” Ernie said, recovering his composure and smiling with the knowledge that his wife had been able to accept the news that she wasn’t entirely human anymore. “You said there were two things I got wrong?”

“Oh right,” Lynn responded, snuggling a little deeper into her husband’s arms. “The first line of the chant is, ‘In Nomine Sol’ but the second line is ‘In Nomine Luna.’ My high school astronomy class reminds me that ‘Luna’ is the latin name for the Moon. If we have sun ponies, where are the lunar ones?”

“Uh…” Ernie began before trailing off, realizing he didn’t have the answer for that very basic question.

“Luna, you need to rest,” Celestia declared, looking over at her sister.

“I am fine,” Luna shot back, in a grumpy tone that she regretted in an instant. “Sorry, sister. I am… frustrated with the slowness of our progress upwards.”

“And the explosion we touched off when we hit that gas pocket a couple of hours ago couldn’t have helped either,” Celestia replied, taking no offense at her sister’s tone. “How is your horn doing?”

“It seems to be still attached,” Luna answered with deadpan humour. “Let us take a small break, eat the lovely meal Twilight ferried to us, and then press onwards.”

“Your head is killing you, your stomach is trying to eat at your spine, every muscle in your body is screaming at you to lie down, and you feel like you could sleep for a week,” Celestia said, as Luna looked at her in shocked surprise with an open mouth.

“How.. how did you know?” the dark alicorn asked, amazed that Celestia had read Luna’s physical condition so accurately. In truth, Luna had long since passed the point where she should have rested, driving forward through force of will alone.

“Because you look exactly how I feel,” Celestia responded, gesturing a wing to her own filthy and aching body. “We should have done this in shifts, or gotten help.”

“Only we are strong enough to do this, Celestia,” Luna assured the white alicorn. “Only we could push forward as swiftly as we have. Even if that pace is far slower than I would have preferred.”

“There was no real rush,” Celestia said, her own exhaustion causing her to miss seeing her sister’s eyes flash in outrage.

“No rush? No rush!” Luna shouted, finding an outlet for her frustration. “Somewhere, up there, the spirit of my Tantabus lies. I sent it out, only to have it perish. Either through some power or quirk of fate, it has survived and managed to reach out to me. Only I can complete the rescue of that brave spirit. The burden lies upon me, and I feel it keenly.”

“Easy, dear sister,” Celestia replied, speaking in calming tones. “You are a brave pony who has always lived up to her responsibilities, no matter what the personal cost. But, you don’t always have to do it all on your own. Let me share in some of the burden.”

“My apologies, for you are correct,” Luna said, blowing out her anger with a huff of air. “I do need your help, and I am thankful you are here. Even if I don’t always show it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Celestia smiled, drawing her sister into a hug. “I know you love me, and I’m not always the best at telling you how much your support and strength mean to me. Maybe we should call it a night though, and get some rest.”

“That might be for the best,” Luna added with a nod. “We cannot be far from the surface now, and I would like to try to dreamwalk again.”

“Do I have to get out the horn sheathe?” Celestia half-teased. “Remember what happened the last time you dreamwalked into this realm.”

“Now that I am here, dreamwalking seems no real issue,” Luna informed Celestia, even as she cleared a ledge of rubble to begin setting up the meager things they had brought forward with them. “I have been staying out of any specific dreams, merely getting an overall view of the general population. Two things are disturbing me, however.”

“I am not exactly happy that you’ve been dreamwalking again, especially after your collapse,” Celestia said, spreading out blankets and pulling out one of the meals Twilight had brought through to them. “But I have to admit I’ve been wondering what the ponies here are like and you’ve been the first to actually have a look at them.”

“Ponies can be any shape they want in a dream. So, I do not have a true idea of how they look,” Luna explained, lying down on a spread blanket. “What I do have is a fair knowledge of their minds and hearts.”

“Tell me,” Celestia gently commanded, settling down herself and uncorking a water flask. “I only have my old memories of Lee Ung to guide me. What are they like?”

“Lee seems to have been typical of the ponies there,” Luna replied, dividing an apple-themed meal into halves. “With very few exceptions, they are large of heart towards friends, family and neighbors. Determined to find their own paths in the world. Proud of their unique character in what apparently is a large, and in places very wild and untamed, nation.”

“You said two things worried you though,” Celestia prodded, before digging into her half.

“Indeed,” Luna replied, the smell of Apple family cooking beginning to make her mouth water. “Firstly, I have been unable to contact the spirit of the Tantabus again. Although I can sense the mystic pattern of its spirit, so I know that it is not yet lost to me.”

“And the other?” Celestia asked, from around a mouthful of apple brown betty. Even cold, its flavour was a wonder.

“I also cannot sense the unicorn I felt before,” Luna said, barely holding back from eating so she could finish her explanation. “The one who was surging. I can detect her workings, so I do know she survived, but I am unable to touch her directly. It is as if she is cloaked in shadow and hidden from my direct gaze.”

“That sounds familiar,” Celestia commented, frowning in concentration before giving out an exasperated snort. “I’m too tired to remember where I’ve heard of that before though. Let’s eat and get some sleep. Maybe we’ll remember in the morning.”

“Yeth,” Luna replied, spraying her sister with crumbs from her portion. “Tomorrow ith a big day.”

Author's Note

No huge note this time. Just that I am punching out words at a steady pace and while I am likely not going to make my target date of the 21st for the conclusion of the story, I will not stop until it is done. The next chapter is already 25% done. Busy days ahead for me!

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
Shaushka
Machara
and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 42: Instruments of Destruction

It was Sunday morning in the Carmanah Valley, and people were starting their day with the knowledge that it was going to be a special day. In spite of the clouds beginning to move in, most of those living in the town looked forward to the hours ahead with a cheery glow in their hearts and hearty smiles on their faces. It wasn’t every day that the premier of the province came by to visit someplace as tiny as Brightly.

Nor was it every day that the Prime Minister of Canada himself showed up in such a place. There had been no official announcement, but the rumour mills had been working overtime, and everyone thought it was only a question of when and how he would show up during the day.

For Jessica Harkins, the day started with a bowl of granola in milk, with toast and a cup of very light roast coffee. She’d heard once that the lighter roasts had more caffeine in them and to date it seemed to be true. After eating and a quick shower she started getting her dress uniform ready.

Naked, but for her scars, Jessica looked at the uniform. It was something that she had worked hard to obtain. It had represented freedom and the ability to make her own life apart from those who tried to chain her in a prison of flesh. Somehow though, at that moment as it sat on her bed, the uniform seemed lessened. As if a vital part of it were missing.

The paramedic sat and stared for several minutes, trying to puzzle out what was wrong. It took awhile but she realized that her uniform didn’t show something else that had become an important part of her. Padding over to her dresser on bare feet, she opened up a narrow wooden box to reveal a pair of long feathers, one red and one white.

They were a pair of Medevac’s feathers that she had deliberately plucked out to make sure she had a remembrance of the pony who was the person—ponification of her soul itself. If her uniform was meant to reflect who she was, then these feathers needed to be a part of it.

Smiling, the young woman plucked up both feathers and carried them over to her kitchen table. Some surgical thread, and a few strategic knots would serve to attach the feathers to an epaulet and let her show the world something that she was very proud of.

However, something odd happened as she was walking. The breeze of her motion carried the feathers out of Jessica’s hand. Spinning in place, she placed her hands under the falling feathers only to see them begin to float back upwards in an unseen breeze.

Gasping in surprise, Jessica lifted her hands upwards and snatched the feathers in her fingers before they could float further away. She held them for a moment until a thought crossed her mind that caused a corner of her mouth to twitch upwards. With gentle care she held out her hands, palms up with both feathers lying across them.

Jessica pictured winds in her head, and nothing happened. She shouted, “Up!” and nothing happened. Nothing kept happening for a handful of minutes as she tried a variety of magic words from every book and TV show she had ever heard of.

Letting out a sigh, she was about to close her hands back around the feathers when her mind flashed to those moments just after Jean had transformed her back into Medevac. Of flashing through the skies to rescue the survivors of the plane crash, and of the incredible joy that she had become part of when the magic had granted her the Mark of her calling.

A moment later, Jessica felt something twitch in her hands and her remembered joy doubled and tripled as the feathers across her palms began to shift, twitch and finally take flight. Around and around, the feathers danced together in a circle over her outstretched palms and Jessica laughed from pure happiness at the sight.

The small ballet carried on, right up until the moment Jessica’s phone rang. Thought patterns shattered, the feathers fluttered to the floor in a gentle drift. Jessica snatched up her phone and growled, “This had better be good.”

“This had better be good Sir,” replied the voice of Darrell Montcalm, her boss. “I know it’s a little early but can you come down to the station now? I’ve already got reporters crawling all over the place and I could really use some help.”

“Be there in fifteen,” Jessica said, humour restored as she recognized the call for aid. “Sorry about that, Sir.”

“Meh, don’t worry about it,” Montcalm tossed back, with more than a trace of amusement to his voice. “It’s going to be a big day. A little stress is to be expected.”

Montcalm hung up the old style landline phone and looked up at the other person in his office. “Where in the bloody blue blazes is Cummins?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Sir,” replied John Wilcox, snapping to an attentive stance almost by reflex as he replied to a cranky superior. “He wasn’t at breakfast, and I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

“Sorry, I get a little grumpy when people up and disappear on me,” Montcalm said, waving an apology toward the younger man. “We’ll look into it later. Right now, give me an update.”

“Things are a little crazy out there,” Wilcox admitted. “The original plan had been to hold the award ceremony over at the dam, but for some reason it got changed to here, at the town hall.”

“My doing, I’m afraid,” Montcalm replied, and Wilcox’s tilted head was eloquent with inquiry. “It’ll be easier to sneak Iron Heart and Foxfire into there, plus it gives a lot more room to work in.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Wilcox said, with a nod. “Any reason why you didn’t mention it to me?”

“With everything else going on, I straight up forgot,” Montcalm sighed. “Sorry about that. Hope it isn’t going to be a problem.”

“For me, not much,” Wilcox replied, with a small snort of amusement. “Shaushka however, has been on the phone twice now, asking when we were going to be showing up.”

“Damn,” Montcalm cursed, while Wilcox rolled his eyes at the unintentional pun. “I forgot to tell her too. I’ll call her myself and apologize. You had better get back to it. Jessica is on her way to help with reporter wrangling and she should be here pretty soon. Anything else?”

“Just this,” the lean reporter answered, pulling a cloth bag out of his pocket and dropping it on the mayor’s desk. “My friend ‘Scotty’ with the dam crew said this was found inside the workings of the turbine they’ve been dismantling.”

Montcalm pulled open the drawstring of the bag only to rapidly close it as a bright scarlet light erupted from the bag. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“If you think it’s a big ass ruby that’s been exposed to several million kilowatts of electricity that shines as bright as a flashlight, then yes,” Wilcox replied, turning to go. “Scotty told me that if they had been just junking the turbine, they never would have found that. Sort of makes you wonder what other surprises are just lying around, waiting to be discovered. Oh, one other thing.”

“What?” Montcalm asked, stashing the bag into a desk drawer.

“Horgan’s press secretary called me,” Wilcox said, from the doorway. “The premier wants to meet with you a half hour before the ceremony. Said he wants to go over things in advance.”

“Tell him that’s fine,” Montcalm replied, waiting until after Wilcox had closed the door and left to continue. “That should be a fine time to introduce him to Foxfire and Iron Heart.”

Neither man at this point would have been terribly surprised at the apple tree in the small clearing in the woods near town. The nearby trees seemed to have spread apart a bit, to give the newcomer room, and it was now a fully mature specimen nearly ten meters tall. Luscious fruit hung from several points on the tree, and more than a few birds had feasted on the unexpected bounty.

The birds cared only for the rich, sweet flesh of the apple and not one whit for the fact that the apples themselves were in all colours of the rainbow. The feathered gourmands sang out their joy and the cheerful birdsong only added to the already significant beauty of the clearing.

A beauty and joy that was shattered by a being who cared not one whit for any of those things. A being whose heart was as cold as ice and as hard as stone. A being for whom light, love and hope were nothing more than meat and drink it wanted to consume. A being that had taken the name, “Godwindigo.”

“That tree,” the creature seemed to say to itself. “It’s warm. Like the rats climbing in their burrow. Let’s eat it.”

“No!” the creature shouted, to no one in particular, in a slightly different voice. “If we kill the tree there will be no more fruit. We need that fruit.”

“We don’t need fruit,” came the response. “There are always things to eat. Like the isolation and guilt of that man we left back home.”

“Taste one fruit,” argued the second voice. “Just one, and you will see why.”

“Fine,” grumbled the first voice, and the three meter tall being of ice and shadow glided forward. The birds in the tree felt the approach of a killing frost, and wisely fled in an explosion of feathers. Within seconds Godwindigo was alone in the clearing, save for insects, and those of them that could flee, were doing so.

The tree seemed to recoil as the creature reached up a taloned hand, and twisted off a purple apple. The apple rimed over in instants, making the crunch of the fanged maw taking a bite into a much more brittle sound than it should have been. The taste of the fruit drew an immediate reaction from the creature.

“So much power!” the creature shouted, devouring the remainder of the apple in a couple of quick bites. “It’s like eating a battery soaked in honey. How did you know?”

“After we feasted last night on the man’s spirit,” the fused spirit of the windigo explained, “our senses expanded along with our power. We were able to feel this place. It smells like the power coming from the rats in their hole.”

“Then we need to eat the entire tree,” reasoned out what remained of Dora Godwinson. “Gain all the power at once, and that should be enough so we can have our revenge.”

“But only once,” cautioned the cold spirit. “After that, with our strength used up, we would be easy meat for any that wanted to take us in turn. We must plan, not just for our vengeance, but for what comes after.”

“After…” the warmth replied, thoughtful. “We had not thought about what comes after we drive the witch to despair, and feed upon the fear and self-loathing we will make in her.”

“This is why you need me,” the cold said. “We know planning, we know to lay supplies for winters to come. This is why we do not kill the flesh unless we need to. Far better to let the mewling insects live so that they can continue to feed us.”

“Which is why we do not eat the tree,” the warm half replied in understanding, the creature’s shoulders slumping. “Can we at least have more of the apples?”

“So long as we do not kill the tree, we can have as much of the fruit as we want,” cold answered with approval. “We will allow it to live, so that it can make us strong when it grows new fruits.”

With that, the Godwindigo gathered up almost thirty apples, doing it’s best to not touch the tree itself. The one time it did so, the touched branch froze solid in an instant then shattered and destroyed at least six of the precious fruits. The being of ice and hate cared not at all for the damage it had done, but the loss of the precious energizing food forced it to leave the highest apples untouched until such time as it no longer needed the tree at all.

Harvest done, the creature feasted, taking only a handful of minutes to gobble down apples of all colours. When Godwindigo rose back up from the frosted ground it had grown almost another full meter, and was wreathed in frost smoke as the cold of its body battled against the warmth of the mid-spring morning.

“Now we are powerful,” stated the coldness of the icy being. “Now we have the strength to ambush the mice with ease.”

“How are we going to get close enough?” asked the warmth, if warmth could be said to exist in such a creature. “We will get spotted for sure, and all it would take is one person giving the alarm and our attack on the mice would fail.”

“You are learning the caution of a true predator. This is good,” the creature said to itself as it began to move out of the clearing. “I will show us a trick of the light I know. How to use our ice to bend light and shadow around us like a cloak. Allowing us to move unseen.”

“Good,” the warm voice growled, rage warming the creature’s heart for an eternity of milliseconds. “I want Pedersen and her unnatural get lying at my feet in terror as soon as possible.”

Minutes later, the last of the ice melted away and the birds began to return to the warming glen.

“Sister, wake up,” a voice said, intruding into a pleasant dream.

“Twilight, twelve friendship reports a day is…” Celestia’s words trailed off as she drifted back into slumber.

“‘Tia, I need you to wake up now,” the voice said again, determination in its voice.

“Five more minutes,” the alicorn mumbled in her sleep. “No, Pinkie Pie. I can’t turn you into a cake. Mmm, cake.”

“CELESTIA!” yelled the voice, right into the ear of the Princess. “I need you!”

“What?” demanded Celestia, sitting bolt upright and nearly bashing her head on the rock above the small ledge she and Luna shared.

“Sorry to wake you, but you have to see this!” Luna enthused, grabbing her sister by the shoulders.

“Ugh, I didn’t get enough sleep to deal with this much enthusiasm,” Celestia grumbled, pushing away her sister for the moment. “How much sleep did you get?”

“Enough,” Luna replied, maintaining her exuberance. “But look what I’ve found!”

“If my head is any indication, sister,” Celestia continued to grouse, rubbing her head with a hoof. “Neither of us got even remotely enough sleep.”

“I know, but I woke up to answer Nature. When I was done I was filled with the need to try to learn how close we are to the surface,” Luna replied, nearly bouncing in mid-air. “And I did find out. ‘Tia, we are very close.”

“Really?” Celestia asked, headache abating a bit with the news. “How close?”

“Very close, come see,” Luna urged, and Celestia let herself be led off the rock shelf and up to a spot near the top of the shaft.

Soon Luna was pointing to a long squarish mass that was only a little less dark than the surrounding rock. It was long, thick, and it seemed to have a regular texture.

“Luna,” Celestia said, tilting her head back and forth to try to get a better look at the thing. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s a support timber, sister,” Luna replied, tracing the lines of the ancient timber. “A support timber for a mineshaft.”

“Luna, I didn’t get enough sleep and I haven’t had tea yet,” Celestia replied, feeling an ache behind her eyes. It was going to be one of those days. “You’ve known we were in an old mine all along.”

“Yes, but this is the first actual proof we have had. Also, do you realize what else this means?” Luna asked.

“No,” Celestia said, briefly wondering if banishment to the moon was an acceptable punishment for excessive cheerfulness.

“It means we are close!” Luna enthused, grabbing Celestia again and hugging her. “If we push, we can be through very soon!”

“Fine,” Celestia declared, in a voice she usually used when dispensing justice to her little ponies. “Breakfast first, then we make a last push upwards.”

“But—” Luna began, looking at her sister in surprise.

“If I didn’t get enough sleep, you certainly did not,” Celestia said, chopping off her sister’s objection. “We eat first. If we don’t, I might just keel over and you certainly will. And after today, if we don’t break through, we take a full day off. Meals, a day in the spa, the works.”

“But… but,” Luna sputtered, waving her hooves upwards. “The shaft?”

“Will still be here,” Celestia replied, her voice a little less firm. “I agree, we are close. But we will not make a good impression on Lee Ung’s descendants if we emerge only to collapse at their feet.”

“I suppose you are right,” Luna said, and it was almost painful to see her enthusiasm give way to cold reality. “I will confess to feeling a little worn out.”

“Some food, some tea, and we can spend the rest of the day trying to reach the surface,” Celestia replied, settling the two of them back on the ledge and getting out the things for breakfast.

“Food would be welcome,” Luna admitted, getting out a piece of travelbread. “I wonder how my unicorn is doing?”

“That was the mayor,” Iron Heart said, hanging up the phone. Pony hooves had a surprising degree of dexterity once you stopped trying to figure out how you were able to do things and just did them instead. “The Premier wants to meet with him early and he figured that might be a good time to introduce him to ponies.”

“I thought the agreement was to demonstrate the transformation with the kids after the ceremony?” Foxfire asked, as she sat on the floor in her living room. The three children in the room stopped what they were doing so they could pay attention to the adults.

“It was, but Montcalm figures that once Trudeau shows up Horgan knows he’s going to be busy and wants to take care of the small stuff first. Oh, and one other thing,” Iron Heart paused in his speech to look his mate in the eyes. “He wants it to be you and I.”

“Us?” Foxfire asked, looking up at her stallion in surprise. “But why?”

“Not entirely sure,” Iron Heart admitted, nodding to his son who had come up to put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I think he wants just introduce the Premier to the concept of ponies in general first. Get him used to the idea in a private setting. Plus, Montcalm didn’t say it, but I know there’s another reason.” He glanced significantly at the children in the room.

“Dad?” Billy asked, hand on the furred shoulder beside him tensing.

“Us,” Rowan replied, before her mother could explain. “They’re protecting us. The whole town is.”

“I think you’re right, Rowan,” Foxfire said, in confirmation. “Iron Heart and I are adults. We can take an adult chance on this. If it goes well, then everything works out for the better. But you three, Kylara and Zak are still children.”

“But—” all three started to say, in protest.

“Brave children,” Foxfire continued, overriding the protest with a mother’s voice. “Whom I… who all of us are very proud of. You’ve thrown yourself into dangerous situations best suited for adults, and done well. Give us a chance to follow in your footsteps.”

“But what if it doesn’t go okay?” Romy asked, looking very much the young pre-teen girl that she was, in that moment. “What if they put you in jail or worse?”

“Then that is the chance we take,” Foxfire answered, her voice serious. “If anyone but me or Iron Heart comes and knocks, asking for you kids, give them the challenge. Do you remember it?”

“What is UNIT?” asked Romy, looking for confirmation from her mother, who nodded approvingly.

“And the correct answer is?” Foxfire prompted, looking at her other daughter.

“United Nations Intelligence Taskforce,” Rowan responded, in an instant. “Unified is for retcon losers.”

Iron Heart snorted in amusement, but then asked in a serious voice, “What are those from, and why do you even have them?”

“Something from my bad, old days,” Foxfire answered, leaning over to take in the rich and familiar scent of warmth and iron that came from her stallion. “I needed a way for the girls to be able to tell if someone claiming to be from me, actually was. It’s from the original Dr. Who series, before the modern reboot.”

“Only you,” Iron Hoof responded with a smile. “I’ve heard of ‘techno-pagans’ but not ‘nerd-pagans. Heaven help me, I’m doomed to watch endless episodes of the show now, aren’t I?”

“And you shall lie at my feet while I braid your mane and explain all the details,” Foxfire declared, a teasing smile on her face. “And while you are in that form, you might want to say, ‘Epona, help me’.”

“I think Father Adamschek would have an objection to that,” Iron Hoof commented, as the children moved on their own to put away the things in the living room. “I wonder how he’s doing today, anyway? He had mentioned giving a pretty important sermon on love and tolerance...”

Author's Note

I'll be putting these out as I get them done!

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
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and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 43: Stand by Me

Near the center of Brightly was a small church. It had been built almost a hundred years ago in the classical style of such buildings. Tall front entrance with a steeple, long main body holding large stained glass windows, and a small rectory connected at the rear of the main building.

The lot the church stood on had no fence to keep others out. There had been one, when the current priest had taken up his post, but he had asked it be torn down and replaced with some bushes saying, “The house of God should never be set apart from His creations. Any and all who seek the peace of God’s love are welcome.”

Father Addison Adamschek felt those words coming back to him as he stood in the entrance to the Anglican church he called home, greeting his parishioners as they made their way in for the regularly scheduled Sunday sermon. Beside him, his wife Natasha was also saying “good morning” to the steady stream of people coming in to find seats in what was really more a chapel than a full church.

He took a moment between welcoming members of his congregation, to drink in anew the glory that was the woman who had chosen to join her life to his own. The two of them had walked life’s path together for several years now, and he never failed to marvel at the miracle of her love for him. He was as unworthy of it, as he was of God’s mercy, but that would never stop him from trying to measure up to either.

Even now, with the strange changes coming to their lives and their town, he felt as close to his wife as the day they had married. Only someone who was as close to her as he was, would have noticed the overt changes that being merged with an angel of the Lord had made to her. As it was, he noticed the extra few inches of hair, how it had begun to shift from a rich auburn to an even richer black. How those depths had green highlights, as opposed the dark blue that was normal.

And, of course, no one present other than himself knew of the trefoil leaf image that she bore on the outer planes of either hip. Nor did anyone but her know of the Canterbury Cross that he bore in turn. They were the images of their respective callings, of choices made and roads traveled. It was a further confirmation that the two of them had made the right choices during the night of that terrible storm, not so long ago.

“What are you looking at?” Natasha asked, noticing her husband’s deep regard.

“You,” he simply replied. To her it would never be about what he said, but how the kindness and goodness of the truly giving man she had married carried through in every syllable that he spoke.

“Don’t you have a sermon to give, Father?” asked a very elderly lady who had just wobbled up while leaning heavily on a cane. Adamschek could see the old dame was smiling at the love she could see between husband and wife, and that her question was more a bit of humour than a true question.

“Sermon?” Father Addison asked, tilting his head as he addressed the parishioner. “There was supposed to be a sermon today?”

“Just don’t keep us waiting too long, eh?” replied the old lady with warmth in her voice, as she slowly turned to head inside, being aided by a middle-aged woman that Father Addison recognized as the elderly lady’s grown daughter.

“I think you have a sermon to give, stallion mine,” declared Natasha, as the last of the congregants filed in to take their seats.

“I think you might be right, mare o’ mine,” Addison answered, using the equine turn of phrase to match that of his wife. “What brings on the pony talk all of a sudden?”

“Because of what is happening today,” Natasha answered, her voice a little low. “And because ever since the dream I’ve been thinking more and more in horse terms.”

“Interesting,” the priest replied, and together the two made their way inside.

A few minutes later the opening hymn had been sung and Father Addison stood up at the pulpit in front of his congregation. His little chapel usually saw around thirty to forty people on any given Sunday and today was no exception. He knew that not everyone looking up at him was an Anglican, but his was the only Christian church around, and for their sake he tended to keep his sermons free of the specific doctrines of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

“My friends, welcome,” Father Addison began. “I would like to speak to you this morning on the themes of love and tolerance. When our Lord was asked what the most important commandment was, his response was love of God and of our neighbor. The bible says that there is no greater love than that of one sacrificing themselves for their fellow man…”

“Premier Horgan,” Darrell Montcalm said, stepping forward to greet the tall balding man entering the room.

The head of the Government of British Columbia was a tall, strongly built man. A receding hairline was in keeping with his age of sixty, but the energy coming off him was that of a man of far fewer years. Striding forward, he met Brightly’s mayor in the middle of the room, clasping his hand in a strong, but not crushing grip.

“It’s good to meet you Mr. Mayor,” Horgan replied, his face engraved with a politician’s smile. One that was warm on the outside, but showed nothing of the true feelings below. “When you agreed to meet before the ceremony, I was a little surprised when my aide said you wanted to meet here, instead of in your office.”

“Well, the kitchen here is just off the main auditorium of the hall,” Montcalm explained, waving his now released hand around the room. “It’s private, but has easy access to where they are setting up for the award ceremony. I’ve had a couple of chairs and a table brought in so we have somewhere to sit as well.”

“You expect this to take awhile?” Horgan asked, raising a greying eyebrow. “You did mention on the phone that you had something to ask me. By the way, any coffee?”

“Plenty,” Montcalm answered his premier. “Have a seat and I’ll get us each a cup. Cream? Sugar?”

“Both, but make it a small cup,” the sixty year old replied, moving over to a wooden table and taking a seat. “I’m not really supposed to have coffee, but I like it too much not to enjoy a cup now and then.”

“Same here,” Montcalm admitted, pouring two cups from a drip machine and bringing them over after adding in the requested sugar and cream. “I need a favor. A big one. Something only a provincial or federal leader can provide.”

“That sounds like a pretty significant favor,” Horgan said, taking the offered mug and giving it an appreciative sniff. “Mind providing a few specifics on that?”

“I need protection for some of the residents here in town,” the Mayor answered, taking a sip of the brew. “I need to make sure their rights are going to be protected.”

“Sounds like a job for the Human Rights Commission,” Horgan replied, then added, “I’ll do what I can to help, but I can’t be seen interfering in anything they handle. Now, as for what I need you to help me with—”

“Sir, with respect,” Montcalm interrupted, holding up a hand. “It’s much more complicated with that. How much do you know about the history of this town?”

“Not much,” Horgan admitted, accepting the interruption and noting that the mayor was not letting himself be pulled off topic. “I’ve read a bit to get ready for the award ceremony. Founded in the late 1800s by John Dunsmuir, along with a few other small communities along the coast, as a coal mining town and port. Experienced a downturn in the 60s when the last of the coal mines closed. Has reinvented itself over the past couple of generations as a jumping off point for eco-tourism into the Great Bear Rainforest.”

“That’s the known history,” Montcalm responded, with a nod and a sip at his coffee. “You could get that off of Wikipedia or any other source. What do you know of Brightly’s secrets?”

“Secrets?” Horgan echoed, eyebrows climbing. “You mean like the Carmanah Dam? I know all about it, and considering most of my life has been spent dealing with hydro-electric power, I owe you a bit of an apology for not learning about that mess sooner. With me as Premier I promise I will do my best to make sure Brightly never has to rely on coal again.”

“No Mr. Premier,” Montcalm replied. “I don’t mean that. I mean about Brightly’s contact with other worlds.”

Horgan froze for a split second at that, coffee cup just a fraction away from his lips. He set the cup back down and spent a long second looking at Darrell Montcalm, who returned that questioning gaze with a steady regard. Montcalm didn’t look insane, he looked like a man who was laying his cards on the table. It didn’t mean Brightly’s mayor wasn’t crazy, but it did mean he was serious.

“Other worlds?” Horgan asked, at last. “Please don’t take offense at this, but are you currently in the care of a mental health professional?”

“You think I’m crazy,” Montcalm stated, with a deep sigh. “I can’t say I blame you. But, before you go, let me just show you one thing. If it doesn’t convince you that something strange is going on in Brightly then I’ll shut up about it and never mention it again. Deal?”

“I came up all this way,” Horgan replied, making sure to put his hand into his coat pocket where his emergency beeper was, just in case. “It would be a shame to just turn around and leave. You’ve got five minutes to convince me.”

“I’ll only need one,” Montcalm said, and getting up with an audible creak in his knees he made his way over to the back door of the room. “Mr. Premier, I’d like to present to you two of Brightly’s best. Iron Heart and Foxfire.”

Horgan leaned back in his chair as Montcalm opened the door, ready for almost anything to come through the doorway. From empty air, to an unholy alliance of his former political opponents, to a stranger in a costume pretending to be from another planet. Among the very last things he expected to see was a pair of small ponies, one jet black and one pure white, come slowly clip-clopping into the room.

“Um, those are horses,” Horgan told Montcalm, now absolutely sure the mayor was off his rocker. “Rather nice looking ones, if a bit small.”

“That’s because we aren’t horses,” the white horse replied. Horgan’s eyes went as wide as they could go as his ears informed him the voice actually was coming from the animal. “We’re ponies.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Horgan quickly replied, trying to recover from the shock of hearing animals talk and looking up at Montcalm. “You really had me going there for a moment with that hidden Bluetooth speaker. These are really quite the cute animals, though. Is there some problem with ensuring the breeder is being protected under law?”

Horgan winced internally even as he said the words. He knew he was off-topic and off-point, but he had to say something to fill the gap as he tried to figure out what was going on. His mind spun ideas in and out of the framework of the reality he was experiencing, but nothing was sliding into place to form a complete picture.

“Breeder?!” the white pony snarled, taking a step forward that looked like it would smash its way through the floor. “I am a person not an an—”

“Please Foxfire,” Montcalm interjected, putting a hand in front of the angry equine. “Give the man a chance to come to grips with a change to his entire universe. Premier Horgan, take a close look at Foxfire, the white pony's head.”

“What are you… wait, is that a horn?” Horgan asked, then paused as his mind shifted its paradigm without a clutch. “Is that an honest-to-God unicorn?”

“Yes, I am!” declared Foxfire, giving a very equine snort of anger and visibly seething. “Stop referring to me as some sort of thing, or I swear by the Goddess I’ll—”

“Give the man a chance,” interrupted the night black stallion, long mane glinting as he nuzzled the unicorn. “He’s only human.”

“When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,” Horgan quoted in a soft voice, the byplay between the two little horses making them seem more real, not less. “But what do you do when it’s the improbable that’s eliminated first?”

“Sorry, Mr. Premier,” apologized Foxfire, the loving contact of her beloved banishing her anger. “My single biggest fear has been that you would treat us like animals and throw us in cages, or worse. So, when I heard you refer to me as a thing and talk about me having a ‘breeder’ it pushed my buttons a bit.”

“The apology should be mine,” Horgan replied smoothly, political instincts sliding to the fore. Identity politics were something he knew. Something he could work with and understand. Not impossible talking horses.

“Would it help if I let you touch me?” Foxfire asked, stepping past her mate until she was just outside the older man’s reach. “So that you know I’m real, and not some sort of delusion or fantasy.”

“If you are willing, then yes,” the premier decided. “I’ve seen a lot that this province has to offer over my years serving it, but this is a new experience for me.”

“Just be careful of the horn,” Foxfire said, moving up until she was within the circle of the man’s arms, the tip of her muzzle pointing at his chest. “It’s sensitive.”

“Please let me know if I do something wrong,” Horgan murmured, and reaching flesh contacted white fur.

The sense of touch is humanity’s most acute sense. Our skin, the primary sensory organ for touch, covers our entire body and is sensitive enough to pick up as little as one molecule of thickness difference in a surface. Touch is also a primary psychological need. Humans are social animals, just as equines are, and we share a deep need to both touch and be touched by others.

So, when the politician’s fingers touched the fur of the witch turned unicorn in front of him, his sense of touch told him that she was real. He felt the softness of her fur, followed by the firmness and weight of her body as his hand cupped her jaw. Living warmth bloomed in his palm and the beat of her pulse danced across his fingers.

Living eyes met living eyes as Foxfire looked up at him with fragile hope, and in that moment John Horgan’s universe accepted the fact that unicorns were real.

“You are real. Actual flesh and blood. And you’re scared, aren’t you?” Horgan asked, years of public life letting him read the emotions of the creature leaning against his hand. ”You seemed furious before. But that wasn’t rage, it was fear, wasn’t it? Fear of what men in power like myself might do, or ordered done to you.”

“Yes,” Foxfire whispered. “I’m terrified, and not just for myself, but for my children and the other ponies of Brightly.”

“You have children? Foals?” Horgan asked, his voice filled with the empathy of a fellow parent.

“We do,” Iron Heart answered, moving to stand beside his love. “Brave children who discovered how to turn person to pony. Being a pony gives you powers that people can only dream about. Our children used those powers to save this town and the lives of others.”

“The other medals you wanted!” Horgan realized, looking up at Montcalm, who was still leaning against the wall by the doorway. “That’s why you wanted them. You were going to introduce me to the children then. Wait, you said ‘turn person to pony.’ Are you a unicorn or a human?”

“We’re both,” Iron Heart explained. “We still don’t quite understand how it works, but after a certain point you start changing back and forth whether you want to or not. The best we’ve been able to determine, the changes are linked to the sun.”

“Can you change anyone into a little hor— er, pony?” Horgan asked, before adding, “and what’s changed that’s got you so scared and has you meeting me instead of your young heroes?”

“Too many people know about ponies now to keep it a secret any longer,” Montcalm answered, pushing off from the wall. “They worried about saving lives first and keeping things quiet second. Today is the last chance to show Brightly’s pony population to the world in a controlled manner, instead of it leaking out and someone reacting badly.”

“And to answer your second question. Yes, my daughter and I can turn anyone in a small area into a pony,” Foxfire said, then quickly added as she saw a slight frown wrinkle Horgan’s brow. “But we would never intentionally transform someone without their consent. People have a right to decide what happens to their own bodies.”

“Indeed they do,” Horgan replied with a nod. “And it’s good to hear that you intend to uphold B.C. and Canadian law when it comes to that. I can guess what it is you would like me to do for you, but I’d like to hear it from you, just in case I’m wrong.”

“Brightly’s ponies need your protection,” Montcalm stated, as he stood behind Foxfire and Iron Heart. “They need you to ensure their rights and freedoms as Canadian citizens are upheld. We need you to make sure they can stay with their loved ones, and most of all, we need you to protect them against people who will want to exploit them.”

“That’s what I thought, and it’s going to be a problem,” Horgan answered, and in response Foxfire backed away from him with fear and a purple glow forming in her eyes and around her horn. “Wait! Let me explain.”

“Make it fast,” Iron Heart growled, moving between Horgan and Foxfire to shield her with his own body, Montcalm stepping up to flank him, “because we’re about ten seconds from running for the hills.”

“Canadian law specifically defines a person as a human being that has issued from their mother. But,” Horgan said, stressing the conjunction, “that wouldn’t stop me from requesting the Lieutenant-Governor issue an Order in Council declaring all ponies as persons.”

“You can do that?” Foxfire breathed, heart in her throat as she allowed her drawn power to fade.

“As Premier of British Columbia I can,” Horgan stated, drawing himself up straight. “And as the representative of the Queen, a pronouncement by the L.G. has the force of law, and it would be effective immediately.”

“I’m sensing a downside here,” Montcalm said with a frown. “What is it?”

“It would only affect British Columbia, and Orders in Council can be challenged in the courts,” Horgan replied. “However, even then you would be under the protection of law until the matter was settled.”

Silence settled over the small gathering, and Foxfire felt the need to run, and run, and run, grip her. She looked at the door, and began to shift her hooves in preparation to bolt, but the voice of that regal version of herself echoed in her mind once more.

“Though others plead and threaten, you must stand your ground,” came the remembered words of Foxfire, Queen of Brightly and the Lands Beyond. With those words came the confidence, poise and power of that majestic vision. Foxfire realized that now was the moment that vision had been preparing her for, and she allowed the regal power of that other self to guide her next words and actions.

“Swear to me,” Foxfire commanded, stepping past the males in front of her and wreathing herself in an aura of smoky, dark purple magic. “Swear to me, John Horgan, that you will do everything in your power to protect me and mine.”

“I swear it,” Horgan replied, sliding out of his chair and dropping to one knee as he offered his hand to the unicorn. “As both premier and parent, I will do everything I can to protect and safeguard every citizen of Brightly. Pony or person.”

“So mote it be,” Foxfire declared, as she placed her hoof in Horgan’s hand. “We shall stand with thee for as long as thou doth stand with Us. Thus, is Our compact made.”

Author's Note

I'm taking a couple of days off to play a bunch of Conan Exiles and to recharge the mental batteries. Next chapter will be out around the 1st.

Next chapter's music..

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
Shaushka
Machara
and
Jamin P Rose

Chapter 45: Snuff Out The Light

“What’s that?” asked the Cormorant pilot, confused as he looked into the distance. The helicopter’s eventual destination lay about five to ten miles ahead of them, and they had begun to consider their choices of landing spots.

“Some sort of... shockwave?” asked the co-pilot, as the rainbow-hued hemisphere expanded rapidly toward the flight of aircraft.

“Shockwave?” repeated the pilot, his eyes going wide as his mind calculated time and distance to the expanding bubble coming at them. “Brace, brace, BRACE!”

A moment after he gave his warning, the twenty year veteran threw the craft onto its side, while pulling its nose up as hard as he could. At the same time he also firewalled the throttles of both his engines. The combined effect was that in the space of a few heartbeats the helicopter went from flying towards Brightly, to leaping away from it with the full power of its main rotor in a massive sideways motion.

A secondary, and at the time much less important effect, was that the aircraft lost all lift and began to fall rapidly toward the ground. Less important because the aircraft was due to be struck by the rainbow blast coming from the town far before it was going to hit the ground.

“What’s going on?” Trudeau yelled out, from underneath the engineer who had thrown himself over his Prime Minister to protect him from unknown danger. “What’s happening?”

“Don’t know, Sir,” the engineer replied, over the howl of the turboshaft engines running at full military power. “Stay down, and I’ll try to find out.”

“Okay,” replied the politician, as the flight engineer got off of him and made his way through the leveling aircraft just as the pilot rolled the craft back into its proper orientation to put his tail to the now fading detonation.

“What happened?” the engineer yelled at the pilot, when he reached the flight compartment.

“Not sure,” called back the co-pilot and letting his partner fly the craft. “Some sort of shock wave or blast wave from Brightly. Oh gods, look at our escorts.”

The man pointed through the cockpit, and the engineer squinted as he saw a pair of twinkling metallic shapes. Both CF-18 jets had been unable to turn as quickly as the helicopter had. Both of them had been enveloped by the rainbow light and were now clearly out of control. The aircrew breathed a collective sigh of relief as one jet and then the other emitted a flare of fire from their cockpits, signaling the triggering of their pilot ejection seats.

“Prince Rupert MCTS,” called the pilot over his radio. “This is Blue Jay Flight, VIP flight out of Victoria. Blue Jay One and Two have crashed near the town of Brightly BC. I can see two parachutes heading to the bush, please dispatch SAR. We are proceeding to Bella Bella with our VIP.”

“Cancel that!” ordered Justin Trudeau, and the intercom carrying his words clearly to the helicopter crew.

“What?” the pilot asked, turning to look back down the compartment to where Trudeau stood, braced against the frame of the aircraft. “No sir, absolutely not. We are getting you to safety.”

“We have to go back. We have to go to Brightly,” Trudeau pleaded with the pilot, using every ounce of his considerable charm. “Please.”

“No Sir,” the pilot repeated, settling the helicopter onto its new bearing. “You can fire me once we land, but I’m not going to be the pilot who lost his Prime Minister.”

“If we don’t go back and help the people down there, I will be lost,” Trudeau rebutted, before shifting his gaze to the flight engineer he had spoken with earlier. “It’s perception.”

“What?” asked the engineer, a second before his mind made the connection. “Oh! Perception! People will perceive—”

“That I’m a coward,” Trudeau filled in, nodding as he saw realization dawn in the eyes of the flight crew. “If I run for safety now, no matter how justified it may be, I will always be thought of as ‘Prime Minister Runaway.’ The Opposition will address me as ‘Prime Minister Runaway.’ Kids trick or treating will go to ‘PM Runaway’s house.’ I’d never be able to live it down.”

“So you would rather risk your life and ours to save your career?” the co-pilot shot back.

“A calculated risk, but yes,” Trudeau answered, without flinching at the man’s harsh tone. “Besides, we can help. I know we can.”

“Fine,” replied the pilot, banking the helicopter toward the sea. “We’ll go back, but I want you to understand something, Sir.”

“And that is?” Trudeau queried.

“I’m the commander of this aircraft,” the man stated, firmly. “If we do this, you become part of my aircrew and as such, you fall under my command. You do what I tell you, when I tell you. No more, no less. If you can’t accept that... Well, I guess you’ll just have to fire me.”

“How can I refuse an offer like that?” Trudeau replied, grinning and leaning back in his seat. “Aye aye, sir. Airman Justin Trudeau standing by for orders.”

“Is everyone okay?” Shield Maiden called out, shocked to her core. The spell which should have just changed her and her friends had instead transformed everyone she could see, and maybe more. The town hall was filled with writhing ponies who moments ago had been townspeople, reporters and dignitaries.

“What happened?” Medevac asked, as she trotted over the short distance from where she had been standing. “Why am I a pony again?”

“I.. I… “ Shield Maiden stuttered, mind reeling. “It was like something filled me up and then pushed out of me. What do I do?”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got this,” Foxfire said, as she stepped up to the microphone with Iron Heart close by her side.

“No Mom,” Seeker interrupted, just as Foxfire was about to speak. “We did this, we have to fix it.”

For a fraction of a second, fury burned in Foxfire’s eyes, but it was just as quickly replaced with love and affection for her daughter.

“You sure?” Foxfire questioned, looking from her daughters to the struggling new ponies and back again. Some part of her was screaming at her to take command of the situation, but as a mother she knew she needed to let her girls take the lead, or they would never be able to stand on their own. So she stepped back and asked, “okay, how can we help?”

“You and the other ponies who know how to do stuff, help the new ones, okay?” Shield Maiden asked. To which Foxfire gave a nod, and headed down into the crowd, Iron Hoof and the others at her heels.

“Everyone,” Shield Maiden called into the mic, a moment later, “don’t be scared. It’s okay. People are coming to help you. Just take it easy until we get to you.”

To the townspeople, who already had an idea about what had happened, Shield Maiden’s words made sense. To those from out of town, such as the reporters who were there to cover what they thought was a standard fluff piece, the day had turned into a confusing struggle.

“What’s going on?” MacCrae demanded, pausing in his struggles to get out of his suddenly too large clothes. “Why can’t I move right? John, what just happened?”

“Not sure,” Wilcox answered, from beside him, “but I think we all just became ponies.”

“We’re WHAT?” MacCrae shot back, eyes widening as he took a look at what had been his right hand and arm. “Oh, my God. That’s a hoof. Why do I have a hoof? You said we weren’t going to be harmed.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Foxfire said, to the pegasus furiously squirming in a tangle of clothing. “Just hold still for a minute and give me a chance to get you out of those clothes.”

“Hey! Leave my pants alone,” MacCrae shouted, feeling his slacks being untangled from around his rear legs.

“Look, there’s a lot of people here who need help,” Foxfire snapped, horn glowing with dark purple power. “You want to be able to start moving around on your own, or not?”

“Fine,” MacCrae grumbled. “You’ve taken my humanity, what’s a pair of pants compared to that?”

“Big city whiner,” Foxfire snarked, yanking off MacCrae and Wilcox’s pants with her magic. “There, you’ll be fine now.”

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Wilcox pleaded, trying to make his old commander understand. “The kids were going to show how they saved the dam. It was just supposed to be the kids turning into ponies.”

“Don’t be afraid,” Shield Maiden was saying from the podium. “It’ll take about a half hour to an hour to start moving around okay. Go slow and careful.”

“Slow and careful, my fuzzy ass,” cursed MacCrae, as he managed to get a single leg to move once in a direction he wanted. “Wait, did I just say, ‘my fuzzy ass’? That’s it, I’m getting out of here, John. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” Wilcox replied, managing to roll his body into a proper orientation. “Where are we going?”

“My hotel room,” MacCrae said, his ice-blue mane flipping around as he rolled his entire body over the floor, wings flopping awkwardly to either side. “I’ve got a military radio in there, as well as my Ranger gear.”

“What are you going to do?” Wilcox asked, trying to push his new body forward and almost succeeding. “You aren’t going to open fire on them, are you?”

“Not unless I have to,” MacCrae replied, pausing in his struggles as he realized he had wings. “These things work?”

“Fly like a bird,” Wilcox answered with a smile. “Seen it myself.”

“Huh, maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” MacCrae commented, chewing a lip in thought. “Still, we gotta tell people about this.” Wilcox repeated his agreement, and together the new pegasus and earth pony laboriously made their way toward the door.

“Should we stop them?” Darter asked, wincing as he watched the white and blue pegasus bend his wing at what had to be a painful angle.

“We’ve got our hooves full here,” Shield Maiden told him, gesturing to the new ponies that filled the huge room. As she did her gaze fell on her younger sister, whose eyes had that faraway, unfocused look she had come to recognize. “What is it? What do you see?”

“The magic,” Seeker whispered in awe, as her sight reached into preternatural realms, “it's everywhere. Your spell went everywhere.”

“It did? Oh crap.”

“‘Tia! Are you okay?” Luna asked, as she limped her way over toward where her sister lay, barely moving.

“I… I’m bruised but okay,” Celestia replied, opening her eyes and looking up from the tangle of gaily painted metal pipes she lay among. “What happened?”

“I do not know,” Luna replied, pulling a pipe off Celestia by main force. “We broke through, there was a roaring sound and the next thing I knew I was flying through the air until a soft tree stopped me.”

“Trees aren’t soft, Luna,” Celestia commented, as she kicked away another fallen pipe with some sort of chain attached to it.

“They are compared to what you hit,” Luna said, with a sympathetic grin. “I think this is some sort of playground for foals.”

“This is my fault,” Celestia groaned. “Decades of magic, boiling up from Equestria. Then I had to go and pull even more in to fuel our tunneling. I made that whole chamber into a massive vessel of pressurized magic.”

“So when we broke through—” Luna began, as she started to pull her sister free of the tangle of pipes.

“All that magic burst out in a single mass— LOOK OUT!” Celestia shouted, as she suddenly saw the danger coming at them both.

Godwindigo had indeed been lying in wait for the sisters, but even that preternatural predator had been caught by surprise as both alicorns shot from the tunnel entrance at speeds a stooping hawk would have envied. However, as the dust settled and it became clear that the speed of its prey had been accidental and not intended, Godwindigo had moved back into position and held its strike until the perfect moment.

That moment came as Luna bent forward to pull Celestia upwards, their two bodies in line and close together. Godwindigo let loose with its power, and a spectral spear of ice leaped forward on silent wings toward targets unaware and unprepared. Only the spring sun, shining off the solid shaft of sleet, gave the briefest warning of the onrushing doom.

Celestia is not a warrior. Hers are the arts of governing, of negotiation and compromise. So when she glimpsed the spear, hurtling toward her sister’s back, her immediate thought was not that of a fighter. She did not manifest a shield, or summon a solar sword in an effort to defend or strike back. In that critical moment, Celestia acted as a sister, pulling Luna behind her and placing her own body in the path of the sudden attack.

“‘TIA!” Luna screamed, turning back as a shaft of ice punched through the solar alicorn with a “chock” sound. A distant part of her mind noted that there was no blood coming from her sister, none at all.

“It’s okay Luna,” Celestia murmured, sinking to her knees and seeing ice spread across her chest. “Run. Get help. Find Lee…”

“‘TIA!” Luna screamed again, as the ice encased her sister completely, silencing the rest of her sentence. Rage filled the lunar alicorn as she turned to deal with who or whatever it was that had hurt her sister.

“Hello, little mouse,” Godwindigo said, with a mocking smile as it fully revealed itself.

“You fiend,” Luna growled as she sunk into a fighting crouch, utterly unintimidated by the ten meter tall creature that now loomed over her. “Prepare to feel my wrath.”

“By all means,” Godwindigo mocked. “Let me taste what you have to offer.”

Luna leaped into the air with a snarl of challenge, horn and eyes flashing, only to crash to the ground a moment later. Pain filled both appendages, and as she lay gasping for breath Luna realized the awful truth. Her impact with the tree had badly wrenched her wings, and her magic, which she had pushed beyond its limits, had finally failed her.

“That was terrifying, mouse,” laughed the icy creature of hate and despair, as it looked at the alicorn gasping for breath at its feet. “My turn.”

Luna’s rage turned to fear as the creature, who looked very much like the wendigos of legend, crafted another icy spear of power which it then hurled straight towards her chest. The dark alicorn threw herself aside at the last second, and while she evaded a direct hit, the spectral shaft pierced her right wing and pinned her to the ground.

“I am not… easy… prey,” Luna gasped, severing and shattering the spear with a supreme effort. Even so, Luna’s wing was encased in ice within a few heartbeats by the remnants of the icy sorcery, thoroughly grounding her, and the alicorn could see her own vital warmth and energy being drawn off.

“Submit to my touch, surrender to your despair,” Godwindigo crooned, feeling its form swell and grow even larger. “Already the other’s strength becomes mine. Yield, and I will make it painless for you.”

“No,” Luna cried, as misery filled her. She had caused this to happen. It was her fault. Grief and self-loathing filled her, and the Godwindigo’s smile became even wider as Luna’s anguish gave it what it truly wanted.

A plan came to the creature then. A way to leverage Luna’s internal agony into a means to make all of Brightly feed it with the despair, self-loathing, and the severing of the bonds of family and community that were it’s true food. It swung down what was in the process of changing from a massive claw to a hoof of equal proportions, and struck Luna full on. Luna was launched up and away like a golf ball, until she crashed through the roof and wall of the nearby Town Hall.

“What now?” Shield Maiden was asking the universe, when something exploded through one side of the auditorium.

Bits of wood and metal flew everywhere, causing every pony present to cover their eyes and faces as best they could. The sun streamed in through the rent in the fabric of the building, and its light shone full on the battered and bruised body of a dark blue winged unicorn, who had been the cobalt cannonball at the center of the catastrophic crash.

“Fear me, Brightly,” called a voice like thunder from outside the building. “Run. Run like your miserable lives depended on it. If you run hard enough, I’ll take you last.”

Screams of panic started to be heard through the damaged side of the building. Fear began to grip those inside as they realized that on top of the mass transformation of everyone present, something terrible was going on outside as well. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, Princess Luna reached out to touch a silver shod hoof against that of the unicorn filly she had fallen near.

“Please,” Luna croaked, blackness crowding the edges of her vision. “Help.”

Author's Note

And here we go. This is the first installment of the finale of Brightly Lit. The next installment will be here tomorrow.

If you want to drop me a line I can often be found hanging out on Discord as Penalt#8263. As a night shift worker my hours are weird so it might take me a bit to reply.

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Canary in the Coal Mine
Damaged
Airar
Drazhan
Kereko
A.P.O.N.I
Shaushka
Machara
Jamin P Rose
and
Raging Mouse

Chapter 46: Oh, Death.

Shield Maiden looked into the cyan eyes of the huge pony who lay at her hooves, and in that moment she felt something leap from the fallen equine to her. Whether it was magic, power, trust or even just her imagination Shield Maiden would never be able to tell. What she did know was that in that instant all of her fears and worries vanished as her purpose manifested itself. A call for help had been made, and the Shield Maiden was there to defend and protect.

“Darter, Skylark,” the unicorn snapped out, words now quick and business-like. “Get out there, see what we’re dealing with. Iron Hoof and Seeker, help Foxfire and Iron Heart get everyone out. This building could collapse at any minute. Medevac, help this pony here and tend to anyone else injured.”

The other four Power Ponies reacted to their leader’s commands without a moment of thought. Their coordination born of crises past that they had dealt with as a team and as friends. The other three named ponies, took a moment or two to react before they too leaped to obey.

The two pegasi zoomed through out the hole in the wall, Darter in the lead, as Shield Maiden reinforced the building’s groaning timbers with walls of orange magic. Seeker and her parents began dragging ponies toward the exit, Foxfire using her magic to grab several at once. In the meantime, Medevac drew her sensitive wings across the body of the pony lying on the floor.

“Shield Maiden, I don’t recognize her,” Medevac commented, moving with professional speed to check for hidden injuries, “and I haven’t seen gear like this on any other pony.”

“Might be ‘cause of whatever super sized the spell,” Shield Maiden replied, bending over the barely conscious pony. “Hey lady? What’s your name, lady?”

“L-Luna,” the princess managed to groan out, “from ‘Questria.”

“Questria?” Medevac asked, checking Luna’s head again. “There are signs of a concussion, so she might not be thinking straight.”

“Okay, well we better get her someplace sa—” Shield Maiden began before Skylark’s rapid return interrupted her.

“We gotta go,” Skylark burst out, hovering a few feet above the slowly evacuating crowd.

“What’s wrong?” her leader asked, only to be answered by Darter’s even faster arrival.

“Quick, put your shield up over everybody!” the grey pegasus shouted, and Shield Maiden complied just as something huge and white stripped the roof and the rest of the far wall off of the town hall.

“All the little mice in one place,” gloated the huge form of the Godwindigo, looming over the combined assemblage. “Hello witch. I wonder, should I eat you in front of your daughters, or them in front of you.”

“Dora Godwinson?” Foxfire asked, eyes wide, as she recognized the voice. “Oh Lord and Lady, what have you done to yourself?”

“Nothing more than you did,” the huge creature snarled. “I’ll give you more mercy than you gave my nephew though. Give yourself to me, and I’ll keep you safe at my breast with the other one. I’ll even let your children live. It’s you I want more than anyone else.”

Rearing up to its full three story height, the now vaguely equine creature of ice and spirit, gestured toward its chest. There, encased in ice, was the glowing form of another winged unicorn, similar to the one that was laying on the floor by Medevac and Shield Maiden.

“Don’t,” Iron Heart said, stopping his lady as she took a step toward the creature. “Even if you do what it asks, there’s nothing to stop it from just wrecking the town anyway.”

Foxfire didn’t hear him. She didn’t register his words, or his hoof against her front leg. What she heard instead was the voice of someone she had heard once before. The voice of her vision, the voice of Foxfire, Queen of Brightly and the Lands Beyond. This time though, the voice was not giving a warning, or advice.

“Do not yield to this thing of ice and hate. It is beneath you. It is beneath Us. Take my gift of power and show no mercy,” demanded her vision self. It’s voice was her own, but with a hard edge that had never passed her lips. “The power, the power, the never-ending call to power. Open to the darkness, little unicorn. Open yourself to the true power of magic and receive my majesty.”

“Who ARE you?” Foxfire asked just as Iron Heart shook her body, and with it, the vision out from her mind’s eye.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get everyone out of here,” Iron Heart yelled, breaking the strange inner communion Foxfire had experienced as she came back to the here and now.

At that moment the sound of a distant helicopter began to be heard, and everyone paused for a moment. Even the huge form of Godwindigo turned toward the approaching craft, then began to move off towards it.

“Holy!” yelled out the Cormorant’s co-pilot, seeing a huge white thing come towards them as they neared the school where they had originally intended to land. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” replied the pilot, as he pulled on his controls to bring the helicopter into a climbing bank. “But we are outta here.”

“Not so fast, little bird,” called the Godwindigo, as it hurled another spear of hypothermic hate at the fleeing craft. “Not when you have who I think you might have onboard.”

The pilot almost pulled off another feat of aerial legerdemain, almost. He saw the frozen missile as it hurlted towards them, and threw the helicopter into a corkscrew-like motion, trying to roll the aircraft around the axis of the incoming threat. The pilot had almost no time to react, but even so he managed to avoid a direct hit. Sadly, the grazing strike that did occur was more than enough to freeze the Cormorant’s engines solid.

“What hit us?” the flight engineer shouted, as alarms blared and hooted at him. “Both engines out. Zero engine temp, zero oil temp. ZERO!”

“Autorotate!” commanded the pilot, “Everyone hang on, we’re going down.”

Autorotation is a procedure that every helicopter pilot is trained in, but hopes to never use in earnest. By throwing the aircraft’s main rotor into neutral, a skilled pilot can use the air travelling over the free spinning blades as lift and bring the craft down safely. It is however, the last gasp of a helicopter’s airworthiness, and the only way to get a broken ship down mostly in one piece.

“Quick, everypony,” commanded Shield Maiden, back in the wreck of the town hall. “Let’s get everyone out of here while it’s looking the other way.”

“Right!” Darter replied, snapping a salute as every able-bodied pony helped evacuate the ruins of the building.

“We aren’t going to make it, are we?” Seeker whispered to her sister about half a minute later, as she looked around them. “There’s still a lot of ponies here.”

Shield Maiden tried not to let her despair show. The Godwindigo had moved away to finish off the helicopter, but the unicorn knew it was only a matter of time until the monster returned. By her count, there were still over a hundred ponies still in the building, most of whom could barely sit up yet.

“We’ll do our best,” she replied, smiling a sad smile at her sister. “That’s all we can—”

“Need a hand?” called a voice from above, and the sisters looked up to see where the call had come from.

Hovering several meters up, a pair of bat ponies beat their leathery wings to keep in place. A shadowy form floated behind the two, its shape roughly equine, but not quite solid. Golden eyes met blue and green, and recognition bloomed alongside of hope.

“Father Addison?” Shield Maiden asked. “Is that you?”

“It sure is,” the bat-winged pony said, his smile wide, “and I brought my congregation with me. Could you use about forty able-bodied ponies?”

“We sure could!” Iron Hoof shouted, just coming back in to drag out another barely moving pony.

“You heard the kids, folks!” Addison shouted, and a veritable flood of leathery wings surged past him and his wife.

“How?” Shield Maiden asked, eyes wide. “How are they all able to move? My spell doesn’t do that.”

“The spell from your book might not,” Natasha Adamschek said, as she landed and gave Shield Maiden a hug. “But when my A.A. finished his prayer there was a burst of rainbow light from him and all of a sudden we were cute little bat ponies again.”

“Yeah, you two’ve already been ponies,” Darter butted in, as he came back to help someone else out of the building. “You already know how to do pony stuff, but what about everyone else?”

“I think that’s because of our friend,” Addison replied, landing and flicking his chin toward the amorphous equine shape behind him. “Recognize them?”

“Is that—” Shield Maiden began to ask before her sister broke in.

“It’s the good fairy!” Seeker shouted, running over to, and then through the not quite there form of the Tantabus.

“Careful there,” Natasha Addison cautioned, while the greatly accelerated evacuation continued around them. “The Night Horse isn’t really all the way back yet.”

“What?” Iron Hoof asked, as he shyly extended a hoof in greeting towards the being that had saved his life.

“It took us awhile, but we finally figured out what happened,” Father Addison commented, watching his parishioners with pride as they worked. “The Night Horse didn’t really die, at least not all the way. It sort of melted itself into Mrs. Adamschek and myself. That’s what changed us in the first place.”

“Duh, we know,” Darter replied, rolling his eyes. “Hurry it up, we don’t have much time.”

“Well, the Night Horse has been living inside of us ever since,” Father Addison said, quirking an eyebrow a bit at Darter’s usual speaking before thinking. “When that… whatever it was hit, she saw a chance to step back out into the real world. Problem is, that in doing so it spread the power of being a bat pony to everyone who happened to be in the church at the time.”

“That still doesn’t explain how they can all move around like normal already,” Skylark complained, finally speaking up out of frustration.

“Shared magic used to pay a debt,” Foxfire answered, as she and Iron Heart hoisted the huge dark blue pony up between them. “The Night Horse was living off of the Adamschek’s life force, so it shared the magic and its abilities with them to repay them for their gift. I hope you weren’t doing anything in particular at the time, Father.”

“Just the Lord’s Prayer,” Natasha replied, as she came back for a second load of evacuees. “Why?”

“Oh dear. Father, you better be careful with that prayer from now on,” Foxfire answered, turning for the street door. “A prayer is an invocation to a higher power, just like a spell is.”

“You mean, the Lord’s Prayer is now a spell??” Addison asked, incredulous. “A spell to do what?”

“To make bat ponies!” Shield Maiden laughed, and all her friends were laughing with her. “You can make bat ponies, like Mom and me can make the other kinds.”

“Oh, oh my,” Natasha said, about to add something else before the sound of an arctic gale followed by a chilling laugh refocused everyone’s attention.

“It just did something over by the school,” Skylark called down, having popped up to take a look. “I think it’s starting to come back!”

“This is the last load,” Foxfire called back, just as she got her burden out of what was left of the building. “I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.”

“Dshark… “ the big blue pony against Foxfire garbled. “Somber mews, dun liss.”

“What’s she saying?” Foxfire asked Iron Heart, who was actually supporting most of the winged unicorn’s weight. “I can’t make it out.”

“No idea,” Iron Heart replied, as they made their way out into the street. The thirty or forty bat ponies of Father Addison’s congregation seemed to be everywhere, helping other new ponies off the street and getting them into the cafe. “How far do you think Shield Maiden’s spell spread?”

“No way to tell. She covered the town at least,” Foxfire said, just as Luna again tried to bring her reeling mind and voice under control.

“Cha-dow,” Luna managed to say, head throbbing as she tried to focus her whirling vision on the unicorn supporting her. “In you. Lice. Puh… power. Keep fam’lee.” It was too much and Luna’s mind simply gave up the fight and shut down.

“Oof,” Iron Heart grunted, as he managed to carry the big pony the rest of the way to the cafe that was serving as the drop off point for every pony who had been brought out from the town hall. “What do you think she was trying to say?”

“No idea,” Foxfire said with a shrug as she helped lay the big pony down, “but she seemed really worried about something.”

Looking around, she could see other new ponies who were in various states of being able to work their new bodies. Some were doing quite well, as evidenced by a pegasus and regular pony slowly working their way up the stairs. For the most part though, the vast majority of the transformed townsfolk had barely learned to use one limb at a time. Never mind all four at once, or even both wings, in the case of the pegasi.

“Look, there’s the kids,” Iron Heart stated, as the furred five who had started it all left the town hall at long last. “Just in time too.”

“WELL, THAT TAKES CARE OF THE PRIME MINISTER,” came the thunderous sound from Godwindigo, as it began to make its way up from the school grounds at the far end of town. “He’ll keep in cold storage until I’m ready for him.”

The creature was easily the height of a five story building now, and had become the pale blue-white of arctic snows. Its head was fully horse-like in shape, but instead of hooves, its legs ended in clawed hands and legs. Godwindigo took slow, easy, upright steps along Brightly’s main road back toward the Power Ponies. With every confident stride it would stop and throw out a handful of those spears of terrible cold, freezing four or five helpless ponies and reveling in their fear and despair.

“What are we gonna do?” Seeker asked, as the five gathered together to face their huge foe. “That thing’s huge!”

“We hit it with everything we’ve got,” Darter replied, taking to the air. “C’mon Skylark. I’ll distract it, you drop something big on it.”

“Wait!” cried Shield Maiden, but it was too late. Darter had lived up to his name, darting ahead with lightning speed. Skylark was slower, but just as deaf to her leader as her brother was. Her wings smote the air as she clawed her way upwards, a fallen roof beam clutched in her hooves.

“What do we do?” Iron Hoof asked, confused.

“We set up a place for them to run back to,” Shield Maiden replied, looking around for ideas. “You and Seeker start getting together a barricade and maybe some stuff to kick at that thing. Let’s set up closer to it and away from all the pe-ponies, in the cafe.”

“What do you want us to do?” Medevac asked, from the open doorway to the eatery. “I’m not much in a fight, but I can help.”

“We need you, Iron Hoof and Foxfire to be our backup if we can’t hold it off,” the young unicorn commanded. “Keep every pony there safe.”

“Got it,” Medevac acknowledged, ducking back inside.

“INSECTS!” roared Godwindigo, as Darter made a spiraling attack run that ended with his hoof punching an icy eye.

The stinging impact blinded the hateful creature from the greater danger that was Skylark lining up what amounted to a bombing run. As Godwindigo turned and blew a freezing wind toward Darter, Skylark released her spear-like bomb from almost a hundred meters in the air. A few seconds later, twenty-eight jagged feet of four by four hit the side of the creature with the kinetic impact of a small tank.

“I FELT THAT!” Godwindigo shouted, more surprised than hurt. The spear hadn’t penetrated its permafrost pelt, but the blow had stung the creature and its pride. “Maybe this will teach you!”

Winds colder than the deepest regions of the far north blasted out from Godwindigo’s mouth, even as it hurled another cluster of snowy slivers up at Skylark. The pegasus dodged the ice speeding towards her, only to curve into the cone of deadly cold. With a cry of frozen shock Skylark tried to veer away, but the blast had frozen her entire left wing into immobility and she plummeted from the sky.

“Skylark!” cried Darter, and the air around him shrieked in outrage as he curved around and rocketed toward his falling sister. The being of hate and cold might not possess familial love, but it understood the emotion, and had another set of missiles ready to go. It hurled them with all its might at the retreating form of the charcoal-grey pony. Darter was so fast that he nearly out flew the second clawful of ice spears that were hurled in his wake.

Even his incredible speed wasn’t enough though, and just as he managed to reach Skylark, one of the ice spears clipped his rear hoof and sent him tumbling through the air. Only the enhanced reflexes of his pegasus form enabled him to grab onto and hold his sister. As luck would have it, the combined momentum of the two out of control fliers hurled them in a ballistic arc back toward their ground bound friends.

“We’ve got you!” Shield Maiden cried, and setting actions to words formed an orange curving slide to catch her friends. The curved shield did its work to protect Darter and Skylark from the cruel kiss of the earth, and the last portion of their momentum was eaten up by the waiting backs and hooves of Iron Hoof and Seeker.

“You guys okay?” Seeker asked, her voice full of worry for the brother and sister. One of Darter’s rear legs was entirely coated in an inch thick sheath of immovable ice, as was Skylark’s left wing.

“Just a little f-frozen,” Darter gasped out, trying to free his limb from its cold prison. “Help a pony out will ya?”

Seeker and Iron Hoof both started pounding at the ice, and they had made good progress before a cold shadow eclipsed the sun.

“Time to put you all on ice!” laughed Godwindigo, blowing a twenty meter long stream of directed hyperborean wind at the five ponies who defied it.

“No way!” Shield Maiden roared back, creating an angled shield that directed the cold off and away toward the ruined town hall.

Long seconds passed, while the river of frozen air continued to hurtle down on the brave quintet. The yellow unicorn was doing her best, and while her best was better than most, it wasn’t enough. Inch by inch her shield was forced further and further back, the sub-arctic chill leaking through until Shield Maiden and her four companions were buried up to the fetlocks in a layer of ice that coated them and the street around them.

“Now,” Godwindigo declared, with a satisfied smile as it stopped its numbing gale, “you’re mine. No one can save you. Your town won’t help you. Your parents can’t help you.”

“We’ll never surrender!” Iron Hoof yelled. He alone of the five was able to break a hoof free of the chilling shackles that gripped him and his friends. “You can’t freeze the whole town!”

“Can’t I?” gloated the algid entity. “Just wa—”

The 7.62mm rifle bullet hit the side of Godwindigo’s head, chipping off a piece of ice and all eyes turned toward the roof of the hotel that lay behind and to the left of the Power Ponies’ position. There, poking out over the roof of the building was the long barrel of a military rifle, and holding that rifle was a pegasus with an ice blue mane with a regular pony at his side.

“How the hell did you manage to pull the trigger?” Wilcox asked MacCrae, as the latter worked the bolt action of the Colt C19 and dropped in another NATO standard round. “Or hold a bullet?”

“It’s like you told me,” MacCrae said, as he lined up another shot. “Don’t think about what you’re doing, just do it. Muscle memory works.”

It had taken the pair all this time to make their way across the street, through the cafe, and up to MacCrae’s room to retrieve his service rifle. More time was taken to make it up the last flight of stairs, and for Wilcox to learn that wooden doors stood little chance against hooves. The door to the roof surrendering after a brief struggle.

The duo had just managed to limp and crawl their way the last few body lengths into a good firing position in time for MacCrae’s first shot to make the monster in the street pause on the cusp of its ultimate triumph.

“Try for an eye this time,” Wilcox advised. “I don’t think your last shot did more than get its attention.”

“Right,” MacCrae said, and lining up the rifle’s iron sights he squeezed off his second shot.

A second 147 grain bullet struck Godwindigo, but lack of familiarity with his new body had MacCrae again missing a vital spot, striking the ridge over her right eye this time and breaking off another bit of ice. The frozen fiend hadn’t been harmed at all by the shots, but it was outraged that anything would even try to defy it at this point.

“Impudent little ponies,” it snarled, lifting its gaze from the five ponies it had trapped in fifteen centimeters of ice, to the two up on the roof. “Feel the bite of winter.”

The being of ice and hatred unleashed another blast of arctic breath, this time at the rooftop of the hotel. As the Power Ponies watched in shock, they saw a solid meter of ice and snow coat the impromptu sniper nest, burying their new allies in frigid fallout.

“Back whence you came, spawn of the pit,” called out yet another voice, drawing Godwindigo’s attention in a third direction.

Rising from the right of the Power Ponies, from the ruins of the town hall came twenty or so dark-furred bat ponies. Their leathery wings smiting the air as they spread out in a V-formation to face the enemy of their home, and in their lead was Father Addison and his wife.

“I’ve put down dozens of ponies today,” Godwindigo boasted, turning away from the frosty devastation it had wrought. “They are mine now. Their power, their despair, their everything. What can you do that they couldn’t?”

“We can do this!” Natasha shouted, rearing vertically in the air to spread her wings wide. “LUX SUM MUNDI!”

“ARRGH!” wordlessly bellowed Godwindigo, as a brilliant shaft of light lanced outward from Natasha and her husband. The golden beam struck the frozen fiend full in the face, blinding it. A pale blue-white limb arced out trying to smite down the good father and his flock, but they easily back winged out of reach.

“There is nothing to fear in the night,” Father Addison declared, as Godwindigo blinked furiously to clear its vision. “NOCTE!”

This time, the shaft emanating from the bat ponies wasn’t one of brilliant light, but of impenetrable darkness. Night came forth from the bat ponies to flow around their enemy, and blind the creature with its darkness. Frustrated and confused, Godwindigo began to flail around, doing terrific damage to the buildings along Brightly’s main street.

“Did we do it right?” Addison asked over his shoulder, to where the spectral form of the Night Horse hovered.

The being whose essence had merged with the priest and his partner nodded its assent and Addison felt a flow of warm affection and congratulations from the Tantabus. Turning his attention back to his now literal flock he called out, “Everyone, spread out and hit it from all sides. If we keep it off balance, we might be able to push it out of town.”

“Food! You are all food!” Godwindigo yelled, as the bat pony swarm unleashed pulses of light and darkness. Bright flares alternated with blankets of fog. The music of phantom lullabies attempted to lull the being into unwariness and jarring alarm calls made the creature flinch away from those it had sought to consume.

“We need to leave,” part of Godwindigo’s mind said, to the other part. “We have what we came for. We have food for months to come.”

“No!” the other part screeched angrily. “Why run now when we can have it all? I’ll show you what we can do!”

“It’s leaving!” Shield Maiden shouted, as the giant ice thing staggered out of the flashing cloud around it. “The bat ponies are kicking it out!”

“Yay!” cheered Seeker, as Iron Hoof broke her out. “Kick it in the butt.”

The celebration was premature. A creature the size of Godwindigo should not have been able to move with the speed of the wind, but move it did. It bounced up and spun like an animate tornado, spreading its talons wide and spraying freezing sleet out in wide arcs. Caught by surprise, over half of the bat ponies found themselves as little more than falling ice cubes when the spraying sleet froze them in mid-air.

Clutching onto the night fliers sudden fear and despair, the ancient force of cruel hunger and shattered friendships drew the falling bats into itself, fueling it to even greater power, strength and size. The Power Ponies felt their spirits drop as their wintery foe turned back toward them.

“What are we gonna do?” Skylark asked, voice trembling.

“We stand and fight,” Shield Maiden declared. Her confident voice bolstering her friends flagging spirits. “Seeker, we need a target. Does it have a weak spot?”

“Not really,” the younger pony replied. “But there is a big pony with lots of power stuck inside of it, right near its heart. If we could get that pony out…”

“Right,” Shield Maiden interrupted, as the enemy drew itself up and prepared to attack once more. “You heard my sister, guys. Let’s carve a hole into that thing and get that pony out.”

“I... am Godwindigo,” the creature announced, from the far side of Miner’s Memorial Park. “Give me the little witch and her daughters. The rest of you can go.”

“Combo shot!” Shield Maiden called out, and in response the Power Ponies moved as an instinctive team and pushed their abilities to their limits. Skylark lifted up another roof beam from the fallen town hall and then let it fall. As the body thick piece of wood fell, Darter called forth weather in the form of lightning to strike the timber.

“Now!” Seeker commanded, at just the right moment for Iron Hoof to buck the massive flaming missile forward. Outward it arced, and Godwindigo grunted in pain as the improvised arrow struck home against its chest.

“Just lay down and die already!” Godwindigo screamed, its outrage powering its riposte of a dozen ice spears. Shield Maiden had learned from her first experience defending against the lances of ice, so instead of simply blocking the incoming glacial shafts, she instead batted them away in the same way a fencer will knock aside an incoming lunge.

“Let’s hit it again,” Shield Maiden ordered, and the four fired another shot that combined all of their abilities into a single blast. Still smarting from the first blow that had truly hurt it this day, Godwindigo swung an arm around to block the second massive flaming arrow. It succeeded, but only by sacrificing a good sized chunk of its arm.

Wounded a second time, both halves of the Godwindigo gave up any pretense of mercy or being merciful. Clawed hands swung back and forth, releasing several of the frozen spears it had been using to great effect that day with each swing. Shield Maiden was up to the task of defence however, and split her single large shield into three whirling bucklers of force that parried shot after shot after shot.

While Shield Maiden was busy with defence, the rest of the Power Ponies unleashed a hefty offense with a flurry of smaller missiles made up of bits of wood, stone and metal. None of the smaller projectiles had anywhere near the sheer force of impact of the first pair of bolts, but the Power Ponies were unleashing them at a rate of fire that made their sub-zero enemy hesitate to close the distance.

Sensing that they were beginning to get the upper hand, the ponies doubled and then tripled their rate of fire. Increasingly large numbers of chunks of ice were being broken off of the creature, but then it happened.

Flesh, blood, magic, and will can only go so far, however. You can only push your limits so much before the universe says, “Hold, enough.” So it was with the Power Ponies. Even with their heartfelt abilities, pushed to the outmost in the best of causes, they began to tire and paused for breath.

It was in that breath that the Godwindigo struck back in earnest.

Stepping a gargantuan pace forward, the combined entity again fired a large salvo of the freezing spears that it favored. Shield Maiden saw them coming and managed to deflect every single bit of ice in the salvo. But what she didn’t see was the second volley that the Power Ponies enemy had lobbed in a high, nearly invisible arc. Using the first attack as cover for the second.

“Is that the best you—” Darter started to taunt, when one of the high flung missiles slammed down to earth beside him.

Before any of the ponies could react, other similar spears of frozen power landed all around them. In the twinkling of an eye the frozen power of Godwindigo was unleashed in a torrent of ultimate cold. Freezing the five furry friends into blocks of ice that encased them from the necks down. In the space of a few breaths they had gone from driving the creature back, to being captured by it.

“Now you are mine!” Godwindigo gloated. “One last chance, witch. Come out or I will pull your little defenders into myself and make them part of me, like all the others who have fed my hunger this day.”

Author's Note

And thus, part two comes to a close. The next installment will be here tomorrow.

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Chapter 47: Dare

“We got everyone out to Medevac’s clinic,” Thunder said, as he and his wife floated through the open back door of the cafe. “What’s going—”

“Come out to me Jean, or Foxfire, or whatever you call yourself these days,” Godwindigo called out, triumph in its voice. “Let me have my revenge on you. Kneel in front of me and I’ll even let your little spawn go free.”

“My son!” Thunder exclaimed, eyes wide in shock and he bolted for the front door, only to be stopped at the last second by an aura of dark purple magic that enveloped him. “Let me GO!”

“It wants me,” Foxfire told the raging pegasus. “Not you, not Windweaver, not Iron Heart, not any of our children. Me. And I’m going to let it take me.”

“No,” the other three adult ponies declared as one, but it was Iron Heart who continued. “It’s lying, you know it is.”

“Besides,” Thunder added, as Foxfire released him from her arcane grip, “with Medevac there are five of us. Five adult ponies. We can take this… this Godwindigo thing.”

“No, we can’t,” Windweaver said, softly. “We might be bigger, but we aren’t stronger. Out of all of us only Jean’s learned how to unlock her full potential like the kids have. The rest of us wouldn’t last ten seconds.”

“We can’t just let that thing take her,” Iron Heart replied, his heart in his throat. “We can’t.”

“I have to do this, for our kids,” Foxfire sighed, leaning against her mate’s neck. “You would do it if it wanted you. Any of us would do it. For the kids.”

“Yeah, I know,” Iron Heart said, leaning his head against Foxfire’s. “Fine, but you aren’t going out there alone.”

“It just wants me,” Foxfire answered, a sad smile on her face. “None of you have to come.”

“None of us have to,” Medevac chimed in, having made sure the last of her patients were stable. “We want to. We’re in this together, as a community, and as a family. We’re with you all the way on this.”

“What she said,” Thunder added, his own wife tucking under his wing and nodding her agreement. “We’re more than friends. We’re family, and family sticks together.”

“Sorry dear,” Iron Heart apologized with a smile both fierce and proud, “but it looks like you’re outvoted on this.”

“I.. I.. “ Foxfire stuttered, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support from her friends and husband. In the end, all she could manage was to duck her head in acquiescence, proud tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Well, well, well,” the Godwindigo chuckled, a few moments later, as all five came outside. “Not one, but five pretty ponies for me to add to my collection. Maybe I’ll connect you all with a chain and wear you like a necklace. Would you like that?”

“Oh, just shut it Dora,” Medevac snapped back, refusing the combined entity its chosen name. “You know, for someone who was all about God and mercy and all that stuff, you sure jumped onto the evil bandwagon in a hurry.”

“God doesn’t always follow through, I do,” came the annoyed rumbled reply. “Now just hush, and I’ll get to you later.”

“I thought I was the one you wanted,” Foxfire declared. “Or has that thing that’s possessed you made you forget already?”

“I forget nothing,” growled the fiend of despair. “Especially not what you did to my nephew.”

“He was a monster,” Foxfire countered, goading the creature into focusing on her. “And so are you. Two of a kind, I’d say.”

“I’ve had enough of hearing you jabber,” Godwindigo howled. “Time to make you into an icy bau—”

The world around the ponies turned scarlet as a massive carmine beam of energy lanced out from the snow-covered rooftop above and behind them. The thunderous crack of air being peeled away from that lance of destruction was so loud, it gut punched every pony nearby with a solid impact.

What it did to the Godwindigo however, had everyone freeze in their tracks for a moment and simply stare in awe. The ravaging shaft of mayhem, fired by the still unknown sniper on the rooftop, had cleanly blown off Godwindigo’s arm at the left shoulder.

“Now’s your chance!” yelled a voice from above. “Hit it now! I don’t have any more shots like that, so make it count.”

“Go! Go! Go!” Foxfire yelled, taking command of the situation. “Iron Heart, help me break the kids out. Windweaver, you and Thunder buy us some time.”

“I’ll check on whoever it is that fired those shots,” Medevac said, getting a nod of approval from Foxfire.

The husband and wife pegasi threw themselves forward, Thunder opening with a series of small lighting strikes from his wings. Windweaver followed up by hitting the thing with bits of debris carried aloft by her winds. For its part, Godwindigo just stood there, seemingly stunned into immobility by the massive hit it had taken.

In the meantime, Foxfire and Iron Hoof began breaking the Power Ponies out of their ice block prisons, and while they were doing so Foxfire again heard that commanding, demanding voice.

Excellent, Foxfire,” the voice purred, and as it praised her Foxfire couldn’t help but feel a warmth suffuse her being. “Take command, take charge. Rule with the power that is your right. Listen to my counsel, and I will help you to become more powerful still.”

“What or who are you?” Foxfire asked with her thoughts, as she carefully drilled her way into another piece of ice. She was drilling holes at intervals while Iron Heart would crack open the space joining the drill holes. “Don’t even try to say you’re the Goddess, or just a part of my mind.”

“But I am part of your mind, Foxfire,” the thing that had taken up residence inside of Jean Pedersen replied. “At least I am now. We are joined, inseparable. You are my host, and I will do all I can to make sure that you are strong enough to ensure nothing can ever harm either of us.”

Foxfire paused for a moment to hug Seeker as she was broken free. The unicorn’s mind went back to the cryptic words of the big winged unicorn, and she realized what the big mare had been trying to say to her.

“Shadow,” Foxfire interpreted, using the voice’s earlier words as a filter. “In you. Power. Lies. Don’t listen. Keep family. That’s what she was saying.”

“What was that?” Iron Hoof asked, snapping the last of the Power Ponies out of an ice block.

“You have a battle to win,” the voice inside of Foxfire said, clearly annoyed. “Deal with that first, my host. Then we will talk.”

“Fine,” Foxfire growled, returning her focus to the world around her.

In the meantime Medevac was dealing with a pair of ponies on the rooftop. One was a nearly comatose regular pony, the other was a hale and hearty pegasus leaning over a long barreled rifle.

“Get John out of here, will you?” asked the pegasus, who appeared to be looking around for something. “When that cold hit us, it pretty much took my spotter out.”

“Who are you?” Medevac asked. “And what did you shoot? That was amazing.”

“Name’s Martin MacCrae, Canadian Rangers,” the pegasus replied, by way of introduction. “But seeing as everyone else is using a nom de geurre you can call me, ‘Polaris’.”

“Like the star?” Medevac asked, gathering John Wilcox up in her hooves.

“Like the missile,” Polaris replied, with the most savage smile Medevac had ever seen on a pony’s face. “You don’t happen to have any more of those glowing rubies around, do you?”

“Glowing what’s now?” Medevac asked, perplexed.

“A desk smashed down on the backside of the roof,” Polaris explained, with a jerk of his head. “This big ass glowing ruby fell out and —”

“YOU TOOK OFF MY ARM!” echoed the scream across the entire town as the Godwindigo shook off its stunned paralysis. “You are all going to PAY for that!”

The combined force of both adults and Power Ponies had been striking at the hateful horror’s chest, to the point where the white and gold pony trapped there had begun to shift and move. Only a few more blows would have been needed to break out what looked to be the strongest source of Godwindigo’s power.

However, it had been this very shifting within it that had snapped the creature of ice, snow and despair out of its trance and back to full rage. With the power and genius borne of desperate madness, Godwindigo drew fully on the power of the captured alicorn, and that of the nearly two hundred transformed townsfolk that it had seized and drawn into itself.

As the eleven fighting ponies and onlookers watched in horror, Godwindigo shifted and transformed again. Rising up, it became a translucent icy blue horse-like creature of cold wind, cruel spirit and crushing despair, as tall and wide as a Canadian football field. Its imprisoned ponies moved within its insubstantial body and became a crown of sparkling lights, with the now dimming glow of Celestia as its brightest gem.

“Oh shit,” Darter said, and for once, Shield Maiden didn’t have the heart to correct his language.

“You first,” Godwindigo declared, with a voice like a calving glacier, as it hurled a typhoon of ice and snow at Polaris.

Shield Maiden saw the strike incoming, and along with the others watched in shock as it passed cleanly through her best shield. Polaris was instantly frozen into a block of ice. Medevac managing to escape only because she was already in motion with Wilcox. Even so, the edges of Godwindigo’s vengeance were enough to bind her wings in frozen shackles, sending her crashing to the pavement. Only Windweaver’s last second intervention saved the medical pony from a splattering impact.

“That’s one, “ the fiend stated, with cold satisfaction. “You’re all mine now. Hold still, and it will be quick.”

“Oh Goddess,” Foxfire prayed, fast and fervently. “If this is my hour to journey with you, so be it. But let my children escape this. That’s all I ask.”

“There is no need to pray for divine intervention, my host,” came the unbidden voice of the creature of the mind who lived inside of her. “I can give you the power to unmake your enemy. Give me command of your magic and I swear, you will never have anything to fear from anything, ever again.”

“How?” Foxfire begged, clutching to the words in her mind like a drowning woman would grab onto a life preserver. “If you can save the kids, I’m yours for the taking. But I need to know how you plan to do it.”

“There is no time, my host,” replied the voice, with an urgent tone. “Quickly now. Let your mind grow still and quiet. Let me in, and you have my word that we will vanquish this foe, and you will become a unicorn of such grace, majesty and power, that none will ever think of harming you or your foals again.”

“I… “ Foxfire hesitated, and she began to clear her mind as she had been asked to. “If it’s the only way.”

“NAY!” shouted a new voice. One Foxfire thought she recognized, and she realized with shock that all movement around her had ground to a halt. Even the unfolding battle around her seemed frozen in time.

“You are too late, Luna,” snarled the voice. “I am already bonded with her. The power of dark magic shall be hers to command, and I shall make her into such a Queen as this world has never seen before!”

“Who? What?” babbled Firefox, seeing the large winged unicorn she had helped earlier come into her vision. “Okay, just what is going on here?”

“The umbral is correct about one thing,” Princess Luna replied, wreathed in her power. “We do not have much time. I have shifted our consciousness to the dream realm, where time has little meaning. But this is not a true dream, so I cannot hold us here long.”

“Okay, then. I need answers and I need them now,” Foxfire growled, annoyance at being ignorant of facts she needed stoking a growing coal of anger within her. “You, Big Blue. Who are you?”

“I am Princess Luna of Equestria,” Luna said, by way of introduction. “I am a guardian of the dream realm and a protector of ponies. I came to this world to retrieve my lost Tantabus, who I sent to aid the new ponies of this world.”

“And I,” the voice declared, coalescing into a body that looked exactly like Foxfire’s, only endowed with the emblems of authority that Foxfire had seen before in her visions, “am an Umbral. We are drawn to unicorns and other mages of potential. We offer them power and knowledge, and in exchange we grow strong along with them.”

“And you never once tell them that the accumulation and wielding of dark magic will slowly drive them mad,” Luna shot back. “Until they care nothing for those they once loved. Not their nation, not their mates, not their young. All falls to the side, in the quest for more power!”

“We do not lie, Princess,” the Umbral replied, and Foxfire had the feeling she was witnessing an old, old, argument. “We did not lie to Sombra, or to Trixie Lulamoon, or to Starlight Glimmer, or even to you. We gave what was promised.”

“Sombra enslaved an entire empire,” Luna growled, fury writ large in her stance. “Trixie was nearly driven mad by the amulet your kind helped her find. Starlight Glimmer destroyed Equestria in multiple timelines. And I… Yes, you gave me what I wanted. A way to make ponies love and respect me. All it cost me was my soul and a thousand years in solitary banishment.”

“So… you’re like… the dark side of the Force? Only sentient?” Foxfire asked, both puzzled and taken aback by what she had just heard. “Princess… Luna, is it? Do these Umbral ever lie?”

“T’would be easier if they did, but they do not,” Luna responded, adding, “they will however, not say the full truth if it will help them. They will leave things out, or let you make assumptions. They seek power, and the increase of power. It is their bread and butter, so to speak.”

“We are living creatures. Creatures of magic who live within the warp and woof of the fabric of reality,” Umbral Foxfire kicked in. “We need hosts to live and prosper, but we are not parasites. We give power and knowledge when asked, so that our hosts become mighty. What they do with that power is not something we concern ourselves with. Not unless asked to by our host.”

“Wait,” Foxfire asked, thinking for a moment. “Ever since I came into my power, I’ve noticed that my temper is shorter. I get angrier faster, and I keep on having these urges to take over in situations. Is that your doing?”

“The Darkness does not suffer fools,” the Umbral replied, and Foxfire’s dark reflection wore a superior smirk that chilled the unicorn. “We ‘encourage’ our hosts toward the proper attitude of a ruler. Pay it no mind. A ruler must be strong, both in mind and heart and you have the potential to be glorious.”

“My mind, and my emotions are mine,” Foxfire snarled back. “You will stop playing with my feelings and get the hell out of my mind. Right now!”

“If you truly wish to retain the weakness of personal feelings, then I will honor that,” the Umbral replied, tipping its head in acquiescence. “But I cannot leave your mind. As I said earlier, we are bonded now. Only death can separate us.”

“Foxfire... Jean,” Luna interrupted, and the body of the princess looked faded. “My body lies unconscious and I cannot hold us here much longer, but I feel I have shown you the truth of what lives within you. Remember, the Umbral will not lie to you, but it will leave things out, as it has now. Choose wise—” The princess faded out of Foxfire’s vision and the unicorn could sense the waning magic.

“Okay, so you’re a faerie,” Foxfire stated, looking her doppelganger in the eyes. “I know how to deal with faeries.”

Foxfire closed the distance to her double and had the pleasure of seeing it lose the superior smile it had worn since almost the very beginning.

“From this point on you will never lie to me, and you will never, ever interfere with or alter my emotions,” Foxfire stated. “If I ask for your assistance with something, you will give me all possible alternatives that go with it. Whether or not they benefit either of us.”

“And if I refuse, what will you do? Spank me?” asked the Umbral, somewhat recovering its amused and haughty demeanor.

“You say death is the only way to separate us?” Foxfire asked, to which the Umbral nodded with a raised eyebrow. “Then I’ll do just that. Rather than becoming ‘Darth Foxfire’ or some such silly thing, I’ll just take my life.”

“What?” asked the dark unicorn, shocked. “You would never— No Equestrian would take their own life!”

“Well buckle up, lady,” Foxfire laughed. “Because there’s something you really should know by now. I’m not Equestrian. I’ll end my life the second I think I’m going to become something that will hurt my kids. You’re in my mind. Have a look if you don’t believe me.”

“Yes, I believe you. You would do it. You have killed before to protect them,” the Umbral replied after a moment's pause. “Very well then, you have a bargain. On the condition that you willingly wield the powers I open up to you.”

“So mote it be,” Foxfire replied, and in that moment she felt the torc that her dark reflection was wearing, settle into place around her own neck. “First off, is there a way to deal with this thing without using what the princess would call, ‘Dark Magic’?”

“Yes, there is,” sighed the Umbral, who proceeded to explain to Foxfire what she needed to do.

“Wait, that’s it?” Foxfire asked, stunned at the simplicity of what she had just heard. Time was beginning to flow around her again. “That’s all I have to do to stop Godwindigo?”

“It’s a windigo,” laughed Foxfire’s dark half. “They live to create despair. Their favorite prey are those who have been broken from the bonds of family and community. Now, my host. Take what I have given you, and show your enemy what it means to face ‘Nytefyre’.”

“My name is Foxfire,” the unicorn replied, as time returned to its full pace.

“For now, for now,” whispered the fading voice of the Umbral.

“FACE ME, FIEND!” Foxfire roared out in challenge, dark purple magic sheathing her horn and trumpeting out her words.

“Oh, this is too funny,” laughed Godwindigo, as the other ponies made a series of attacks that went cleanly through the creature without harming it in the slightest. “You and your little herd of ponies can’t even touch me. What do you think you’re going to do?”

“What am I going to do?” Foxfire asked, pushing all the magic at her command toward her feelings for her town, her friends, her mate and her children. She felt the power inside of her double and redouble, until she felt like her heart was ready to burst. “I’m going to sing!”

One of the greatest forms of magic in Equestria is known simply as “heartsong.” When the feelings of the heart merge with a pony’s magic and spill out into the world around it. Shared feelings allow a heartsong to grow into its listeners, and every new singer gives the song more power, more heart and greater effect.

What the Umbral had done was to teach Foxfire how direct her magic into her true feelings and how to share them through a heartsong. Nothing more, but as Godwindigo snorted in derisive amusement, Foxfire’s song echoed in the ears of every transformed person who had not yet been drawn into the ice demon.

(To the tune of: "The Storm" by Blackmore's Night)

Our timeless and forgotten place,
With the moon and sun in endless chase
Each in quiet surrender
as the other reigns the sky…

The cold spirit begins to laugh
She thinks it’s our epitaph
Godwinson’s gotten crazy
But the Maid begins to rise
But the Maid begins to rise...

Wild were the winds that came
In the thunder and the rain
Nothing ever could contain
The rising of our storm....

With the wing of ebony
Night Horse magic from the trees
Wild winds heartwarming
Friendship fills the air...

Follow the Maiden, she’ll get you out of here...
Follow the Maiden, as you take to the sky...
Follow the Maiden, she’ll keep you safe from fear,
Follow the Maiden, as you begin to rise.

Heartless cold wants to freeze our homes so fair
Make our town her dragon's lair
I say we all take that dare.
Help stop her this very day...

In all of evil’s sorcery
The most destructive entity
Cold can have no fury
Like the rising of our storm...

Follow the Maiden, she’ll get us right out of here...
Follow the Maiden, as we take to the sky...
Follow the Maiden, she’ll keep us safe from fear,
Follow the Maiden, as we all begin to rise.

As the song continued, every pony in Brightly began to glow and rise up into the air. Swiftly through the air they flashed, until they met with the Power Ponies who were also rising up on the power of the song. Glowing ever brighter, their bodies began to expand and merge, with old friends and neighbors smiling and nodding to each other as they got to know each other far better than they ever had before.

“Mom?” Shield Maiden asked, realizing from the song that Foxfire meant for her to be in control of the mighty being they were becoming. “You should be in charge.”

“This is your time, your battle. You and the Power Ponies. We’re all with you,” Foxfire replied, before whispering to herself. “Because I can never be trusted with power, not ever again.”

“You were supposed to take command, to rule, with the strength I gave you,” the Umbral growled. “How dare you break your promise.”

“I used the power, which is what I said I would do,” Foxfire replied, feeling herself merging with her friends and family. “I never said I would rule. You just assumed I would.”

“Ha! So you did,” laughed the creature of dark power and sorcery. “I can tell that you and I are going to have a wonderful time as the years go by.”

Godwindigo finally realized the danger it had invited to itself when a pair of massive wings emerged from the shining ball of energy that had become the physical form of the ponies of Brightly. As a horn and equine body also emerged, the cold creature breathed yet another blast of sub-arctic cold. Only to watch in horror as the blast was deflected and changed in that act of deflection.

The alicorn made of pure light transmuted Godwindigo’s blast and echoed it across Brightly. Instead of freezing anyone it touched, it instead freed everyone whom the icy being had frozen. Brian Cummins fell forward onto the rug of an abandoned living room, the young woman who had spied on his room clutching him, as she too found herself freed.

Medevac, Polaris and John Wilcox stared in shock at the massive creatures almost literally within touching distance, the ice around them had kept them from joining the others, but the now had a ringside seat for what was about to happen. Medevac threw herself back up to the rooftop and the three ponies huddled behind the icy ramparts that had been Polaris’ prison a short while ago.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau staggered back, regaining his balance, as he and the aircrew of the downed Cormorant gasped for breath. Pieces of the ice blocks they had been held in lay scattered around them, and their eyes were drawn to the spectacle at the far end of town.

The massive equines of might and magic battled with hooves of light and fire in the skies over Brightly, and for the first time it was a battle of equals. No single sudden victory for either of them. They battered, thrust and fought over the ground and across the skies of the Carmanah Valley. But where the Godwindigo fought only for itself and its hunger, the ponies of Brightly battled for all their friends and neighbors.

It was the power of Iron Hoof that strengthened their blows. Darter's dexterity that let them twist aside from the enemy's counterstrikes. Seeker showed them where to aim their own force. Thunder lent ferocity, with Windweaver and Skylark twisting the winds to support them and hamper their foe.

Foxfire's mind and knowledge gave them strategies to use, and Iron Heart gave them the resilience to bear up when all else failed.

Through it all, focusing the power of the people of Brightly like a lens, was Shield Maiden. Guiding the whole, making them more than just parts of what they had become. They were no longer separate ponies, people or parts. No longer were they merely friends and neighbors, linked by simple geography.

They were one, and the fire of their friendship and community was a brightly lit fire that burned with the power of a thousand stars.

“We need to run!” the ancient spirit demanded of its much younger half. “They are as strong as we are, we need to go now!”

“NO!” howled the part that had been Dora Godwinson. “We can WIN! They can’t stop us—”

Sensing its moment, the Alicorn of Light drove a blazing hoof straight through the distracted creature, cleanly pushing Celestia out of the Godwindigo and depriving the being of the linchpin of its power. The massive loss of strength caused the icy fiend to shrink rapidly and as it did so it lost its hold on more and more of the transformed and frozen townsfolk it had drawn into itself.

“We’re done,” the windigo growled, as it lost the last of its captives and looking at Godwinson in anger, it split itself from the hateful harridan. “You got too greedy. Just count yourself lucky I’m not like those of my brethren that eat flesh, or I would take it out on you.”

“GIVE UP?” the Alicorn’s question echoed across the valley.

“Okay, you were right, get us out of here,” Dora begged, trying to clutch at the spirit of the being who had been her partner.

“Us?” mocked the wendigo. “I don’t think so. Goodbye, and thank you for the last meal.”

“No!” Godwinson cried, collapsing to the ground as the windigo flashed off northward, abandoning the woman to her fate.

“I never wanted to hurt your nephew,” Foxfire's voice said, her voice sad and gentle. No longer needed, the great Alicorn of Light began to split back up into its component parts.

Godwinson looked up, and saw that she was surrounded by hundreds of ponies of all shapes, sizes and colours. Most were barely able to stand, but all of them had their eyes fixed on the woman who had brought havoc and mayhem to their town. Dora Godwinson felt despair fill her heart, and with an icy chill realized what the windigo’s final words had meant.

She was the windigo’s last meal. Her despair at their failure and her abandonment had been its snack for the road.

“You killed him,” Godwinson replied to Foxfire, feeling all the fight leave her as she surrendered to her fate. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Your nephew left me no choice,” Foxfire told the woman, letting the faintest blush of power come to her horn. “Please Dora, give me a choice this time. Let me choose life.”

“I—” Dora began, then stopped, lowered her head again simply said, “I’m sorry.”

“She will face justice,” came the voice of Mayor Montcalm, from a steel grey pony, muzzle grizzled, but hooves gleaming silver. “Everyone is entitled to their day in court. You, Dora Godwinson, are under arrest.”

“Okay,” Godwinson replied, all the fight and fire gone from her.

“Power Ponies, can you take her to the RCMP office down the road?,” Montcalm asked, hooking his head down the road and then following it down to the ground. “Oof. The rest of us still need some time to get used to this.”

“I can handle it,” Thunder volunteered, shaking out his feathers with St. Elmo’s fire dancing along the pinions. “I’m practically a living taser if she tries anything.”

“Is ev—everyone well?” asked a strange voice, a minute after Thunder and Godwinson had begun the two block walk down to the small office the RCMP used when they were in town. All eyes turned to see the large, dark blue winged unicorn from before. She was leaning heavily against the door frame.

“Luna!” Foxfire exclaimed, rushing over and easing the bruised alicorn to a resting position on the ground. “Are you okay?”

“She will be,” Father Addison declared, as he and his wife landed. The nearly solid form of the Tantabus only a few body lengths away. “As soon as she and the Night Horse are reunited.”

“Hey! It’s the Night Horse!” Iron Hoof exclaimed, then looking to the woozy form of Princess Luna. “Who’s the pretty lady pony?”

“She’s the one who sent the Night Horse to us in the first place,” Addison said, smiling. “Natasha and I finally managed to figure out what our friend here was trying to tell us all this time.”

“You needed the help,” Luna added, with a small groan. Her head was finally settling down into a dull ache. “I sent my dear Tantabus to provide the last push you needed. I thought it was gone forever, save only a small remnant. One that I came to save.”

“So did we,” Natasha replied, putting a comforting wing on Luna’s shoulder. “But your Night Horse found a way to survive, inside me and my husband.”

“Yes, I can see the connection,” Luna said, wincing a bit as she tried to nod as well. “When the magic in the tunnel burst out, the Tantabus must have used it to manifest itself into the waking world once more. It also gave you its knowledge of how to be a batpony with that wave of magic.”

“Indeed it did,” Father Addison confirmed, and he looked down for a moment. “Much as I have enjoyed sharing my body with a heavenly being, I think it’s time for it to go home.”

“I’m no creature of the heavens,” Luna replied, her countenance grim. “I have done terrible things. Things I have paid a heavy, and deserved penance for. Let the Tantabus stay with you, for yours is a far better heart than my own.”

“You made true repentance for what you did in the past, and have been forgiven for those wrongs,” Addison said, as a statement not a question. Luna’s surprised eyes asked the question her mouth did not. “I’ve been a priest long enough to know the words and actions of someone who has sinned and been forgiven. It’s time for you to be reunited with the Night Horse.”

“No,” Luna declared, holding up a hoof to stop the Tantabus in its tracks. “I dearly want you back with me, my Tantabus. But if you come to me now, these night ponies will be stuck as they are now. They will never be able to improve beyond what they are now. Their skills with the powers of the night will never improve and they might never attain to cutie marks.”

“Will we be like this forever?” asked Natasha Adamschek. “It wouldn’t be a bad life, but it would be a different one.”

“I don’t dare use magic at the moment to find out,” Luna replied, closing her eyes for a moment to concentrate before wincing in pain. “No, that is definitely a bad idea. But my guess would be that your batpony form will be tied to the night. As the moon rises, so too will your magic as ponies of the night rise up, granting you your current form again. But unlike my sister's spell this one will be static, unchanging.”

“So you’re gonna be like… were-ponies?” Darter asked, grinning widely. “COOL!”

“Indeed,” Addison said, a smile on his muzzle. “It’s not a bad way to live. Just mastering what we have will be more than enough growth for most of my flock. And as you sacrificed for us… As our Lord sacrificed for us, so too do we now sacrifice for you.”

Luna made one last attempt to protest but the Tantabus simply ignored her and flowed itself into the pony from whence it had come. As the two became one again, Luna’s mind was filled with images of everything that the Tantabus had done and seen since it had left the princess.

“Oh… “ was all Luna could say, hoof to her breast as she tried to absorb the torrent of information and emotions. “Oh, well done, my Tantabus.”

“Anyone know who this is?” Medevac asked loudly, as she and a trio of older batponies carried in the still form of Princess Celestia.

“Sister!” Luna cried out, and was about to charge over when her body reminded her that sitting still was best. “How is she?”

“Several sprains, a cracked rib, and severe exhaustion,” Medevac replied, her voice neutral. “Her energy reserves are nearly gone as well. She needs rest, food, and more rest. Given that… she should be fine.”

“Hello there,” chimed in a new voice, but one that was instantly recognized by every citizen of Brightly.

“Prime Minister!” Montcalm shouted, surprised as anyone else.

“I seem to have arrived in the middle of something,” the lean, handsome politician replied, his voice full of guarded charm. “May I ask who you all are?”

“Darrell Montcalm, sir,” the pony replied. “Mayor of Brightly. Sorry about the mess.”

“You’re Mayor Montcalm?” Trudeau asked, a roguish smile tilting the corner of his lips. “I assume the people of Brightly didn’t elect a small horse to office. Assuming that the people of Brightly aren’t actually small horses.”

“Everyone in town is,” John Horgan interjected, staggering up in a sea-green pony body. “There was something of an accident, and then a fight. But everyone here is a bonafide citizen. Taxpayers all. I was going to talk to you about it before things got—”

“Interesting? Yes, I was here for some of it,” Trudeau added, eyebrows creasing as his mind quickly did the political calculus of the events he had witnessed and then tossed it through the sifter of realpolitik that his family knew well. “And you are all Canadians?”

“Most of us are,” Medevac answered, indicating her two patients. “These two are visitors from another world. Sir, they’re not hostile and all they’ve ever done is to try to help people.”

“Sir,” the helicopter flight engineer interrupted. “Radio call for you.”

“One moment,” the prime minister said to Medevac. As he took the radio from the flight engineer, his eyes roamed over the bodies of Celestia and Luna, taking in their condition. “This is Trudeau, go ahead.”

“Sir, this is Captain Millard,” a serious male voice said from the speaker. “What is your condition, over.”

“Captain Millard,” Trudeau began, pausing as he looked around and seeing nothing but hopeful faces around him. Some with more fear than others, especially a small snow white unicorn, who was huddling against a much bigger pony whose coat was as dark as hers was light. “My status is Tatooine. Repeat. Status Tatooine.”

“What?” he asked, as an aside to the surprised crowd around him. “I still have the Rebel Snow Trooper outfit from Halloween a few years back.”

“Roger that, sir,” Captain Millard replied. “Understand that you are safe and well. I am three minutes out with two security squads from JTF2, courtesy of the pencil pushers at CSIS.”

“Understood Captain,” Trudeau replied, feeling the tension ramp up again at the mention of the imminent arrival of Canada’s elite and secretive special ops force. “Good to have them, but they won’t be needed.”

“Are you sure, Sir?” Millard asked. “Confirm that the… individuals on the ground are friendlies please.”

“Friendlies and citizens,” Trudeau confirmed, and the collective release of breath around him was explosive.

“Do you mean that?” Horgan asked, as Trudeau handed the radio back to the engineer. “You’re going to maintain their rights as citizens, in spite of what the Charter says?”

“John, during the election I won to become PM I said a line about citizenship that was quoted very often afterwards,” Trudeau said, getting down so that he could be at eye level with everyone around him. “Do you remember what that was?”

“I most definitely do,” Horgan laughed. “I take it, that's your answer?”

“You are an elected official?” Luna asked, curious. “What did you say during this election to become leader of your world?”

Trudeau allowed himself a smile at that comment before answering. “Ma’am, during the election I said that, ‘A Canadian, is a Canadian, is a Canadian.’ As far as I’m concerned everyone here holds the same citizenship they had when the sun came up this morning.”

“So, no arrests, no medical tests, no shipping us off to see what makes us tick?” Foxfire asked, having finally worked up the courage to ask. Even the Umbral had been quiet and listening to everything that had been going on.

“I refuse to send Canada down that dark path,” Trudeau declared, and his voice shifted as the words of one of the first men to bear his title came to him. “I choose sunny ways. I choose to be generous and ask others to be generous in kind. I choose sunny ways, and those ways will always be brightly lit.”

Author's Note

And so, the tale is spun, the story done.

Of a community and a place. Of people. Good, bad, and in-between. Of friends and family, and how the cope with they incredible and the unknown while holding true to those they love.

This will be a long afterword....

When Canary in the Coal Mine seized on my just activated Patreon option for a commissioned story, I was apprehensive to say the least. I'd never written a story for money before, and my biggest fear was that I would disappoint.

The two of us spent the better part of a month spitballing ideas before I finally came up with the concept of what would become Brightly Lit. My patron was taken with how vividly I'd painted the picture of that small town. How it almost seemed to be a character in itself.

He gave me the go ahead, and then other than a few nudges over the next two and a half years did the best possible thing. He stayed out of the way and let me write. And write I did. Slowly and hesitantly at first, but with growing and greater confidence. Thank you, Canary. You have been the best possible patron a humble writer could ask for. I hope I have served your purpose well.

Secondly, I'd like to thank Coyotethetrickster. Good lady, you mean more to me than words can express. You have been my editor and my friend. When my own personal Godwindigo struck me down, and I staggered off into the night, you vowed to stay with me until I told you to leave. In those dark hours, that vow kept me putting one foot in front of the other.

You warm my spirit and my heart. You helped me find worth in myself when I saw only ashes and ruin. You are my guiding star and one of the reasons I keep walking toward a brighter future with every passing day. If there truly is a reward in what comes after this life, than surely, you have earned a place there.

Third, to Sandstorm who has rolled through various roles. You, my friend, are just beginning this life. In some ways I envy you, because for you the adventure is just beginning. You have so much potential in so many ways. I hope I'm around to see you reach the heights I know you will attain to one day.

Boldly go, mon ami. Boldly go.

Next, my thanks to Damaged and all the wonderful folks on his Discord server. HiddenMaster, Belle, Lab, and all the rest. Your support, jokes, ideas and all around decentness have been a privilege to be a part of. May all of you find a way to make your dreams come true.

Finally, I would like to thank the town of Brightly, British Columbia. For nearly three years I've been able to walk your streets, talk to your people, play in the nearby woods, and live again as I did as a child.

It has been an honour and a privilege to have been able to come home again, after so very long away. I've missed you all.

So, a few final comments about the last chapter, and Brightly Lit in general.

The choice to name chapters for songs that I love and have some relevance to the story was deliberate from the beginning. With that focus on music it should be no surprise to anyone that the key to victory was a song.

If Brightly Lit can be said to have a theme song, it would indeed be "The Storm" by Blackmore's Night. I recommend this, shorter version without the long but epic intro.

From the *very* beginning I knew how the story would end, and for two and half years I've been writing my way toward that ending.

I drew a lot of inspiration for the final battle from the ending of "Rainbow Rocks" and from the Power Rangers TV series. The MOTW would always go super-sized and the heroes would combine into a giant Mega Zord to save the day. What, you think it coincidence the kids called themselves, "The Power Ponies?" Nope.

Where possible, I've incorporated real world elements as much as I could. For example, Sir Wilfred Laurier is known to be a personal hero of Canada's current PM, who quoted "Sunny Ways, sunny ways" at his speech when he won his first election.

The Colt C19 rifle has just been issued to the Canadian Rangers and is specially engineered to operate in arctic conditions.

Brightly itself, and the terrain around is is modeled after a real community in BC. As such I have a vivid mental map of where everything in town is.

And so forth, and so on. Some things I wanted to include, but just straight up ran out of time and writing space...

I will be taking the next couple of weeks off. During that time I will be talking to the commissioner of Brightly Lit about the directions they would like to go for the sequel. I've deliberately left a lot of things unanswered. These are questions you will have to look to my words or yourself to answer, at least until I cover them in the sequel.

Although, I am considering answering the most upvoted question in the comments that are sure to come.

Until then, my friends, I wish each and every one of you all of the best. May your futures be Brightly Lit...

Chapter 6: We've only just Begun

Ernie had taken a little longer than he had planned, inspiration having slowed him down at the farm. The sun was setting when he got back to his neighbor’s house with a duffel bag full of items, and Jean greeted him at her door, quirking her eyebrow in surprise at the obvious bulk in the bag he carried.

“That looks to be a little more than just a couple of grooming tools,” Jean said, a small smile on her lips. Her neighbor seemed to have benefited from the ride to the farm and back, having a much happier expression than when he had left.

“Well, once I grabbed the hoof picks, I figured I may as well grab a couple of rasps,” the lean man said. “Plus, I had to grab the crack epoxy, and I spotted the brushes there and...”

“Never mind,” Jean laughed, waving him in. “No wonder Lynn is your wife. She must have half her sewing room in my living room. She’s measuring the kids right now to within an inch of their lives.”

“Thanks, I brought some...uh,” Ernie paused. “Some horse food. A little hay, some oats, and some pellets.”

“Sausages are coming out,” said Billy’s dad, Arnold, as he pulled out a baking sheet of cooked sausages from the oven. “Hey, Ernie.”

“The kids seemed to do just fine with cookies earlier,” Jean said, easily pivoting around Arnold’s bulk as she grabbed a stack of plates. “Don’t ask me how they’re picking things up with hooves, but they are.” Ernie paused for a moment in his path to the living room to look at his two neighbors. Arn and Jean were moving around each other as comfortably and smoothly as he and Lynn did in their kitchen.

“You know,” he said, just before he stepped through toward the living room, “I don’t know if Lynn’s ever said anything, but the two of you look good together.” Bulky engine rebuilder and lean witch both froze at that comment, shooting a look at the empty air where their neighbor had just been, then looking at each other.

“He’s got a point, Arnold,” Jean said, setting down the plates. “You and Billy are over here at least a couple times a week. Our kids get along, and we work well together.” She touched his bicep, “Isn’t it time you let Annie’s memory rest?”

“It’s been six years, five months and twenty days since she died,” Arnold said, a quickly mastered touch of pain crossing his face, and he set down the tray of sausages. “You’re a good friend and a good neighbor, Jean, and I’m comfortable with what we have between us right now. Besides, do we really want to give all the biddies in town the satisfaction of thinking they’ve finally pushed us together?”

Jean grimaced slightly at that. When Arnold had first come to town, just after his wife had died, every tongue wagger in town was going on about how “The Witch and The Widower” just seemed to be perfect for each other. It didn’t help that Arnold was everything her ex hadn’t been. Patient, slow to anger, and careful with his great strength. He was the Friesian to her Arabian, but he hadn't been ready to let go of his beloved wife’s memory then, and he still might not be.

“Everything needs to grow,” Jean said, scooping cabbage rolls and slices of pot roast onto plates. ”But now probably isn’t the best time to talk about this.” Arnold moved up beside her, adding sausages and roast potatoes to the plates and Jean appreciated anew how hands as large as his could make such precise, deft motions.

“If you two are finished canoodling in the kitchen I’d like to show you a few things,” Ernie’s voice came from the living room.

“Be there in a minute,” Arnold called back. “We’re just getting the food onto plates now. How about we all eat first then concentrate on the kids?” He looked at Jean, who shrugged.

“Can you two manage?” Lynn asked from the living room. “We’ve got our hands full at the moment.”

“No worries,” Jean said, loudly. “We’ll bring the food there.” The two adults grabbed plates and took them into the living room where they were greeted with hungry enthusiasm, and over the next hour the five children and four adults ate, talked, and learned. Ernie Harding gave an impromptu class in hoof care and cleaning while fixing the small crack in Billy’s hoof. Pauses were taken for bites of food, which the children impressed all the parents with their ability to hold.

“I still can’t get over how you kids are able to hold things with your hooves,” Jean said to her younger daughter, who was messily finishing her cabbage roll. None of the children had expressed any real interest in the horse fodder, preferring to stick to human food.

“It’s kinda weird Mom,” Romy replied, licking a bit of tomato sauce off her hoof. “If I think about it, it doesn’t work. But if I just let it happen, it goes just fine. Oh, and Mom, I think you need to have the floor under the couch checked. It feels funny.”

“Is that another one of these ‘powers’ you kids have?” Jean asked, stroking a brush through Rowan’s fur. “Like Billy being able to kick a small tree in half?”

“It sure is!” Zak said, with a large smile. “We all got a super power. Billy’s really strong, Romy can feel things, Kya is a really strong flier, Rowey can make shields and I’m fast, really fast.”

“Really?” Ernie said, looking at his son with a grin. “Is that gonna translate into you cleaning your room faster?”

“Daaad,” Zak replied, smiling, but then his face became a little serious. “Ms. Pedersen, can I use the bathroom?”

“Sure thing Zak,” Jean said to the winged pony. “You know where it is.”

“Thank you,” Zak said, trotting off to the downstairs bathroom off the kitchen.

“You know,” Arnold said, giving his son’s hooves another check, “when Zachary gets back from the bathroom I’m thinking maybe we should all head over to my garage.”

“Why?” Lynn Harding asked, putting away a notebook with all of the children’s new measurements.

“Well, whatever has done this to our kids seems to have also given them some interesting abilities,” he said, setting down the hoof he was checking. “Let’s see what they can do.”

“You know, that’s not a half bad idea,” Ernie said. “It’s dark now and almost no one will notice us as long as we aren’t too loud.” A grunt of frustration came from the bathroom.

“Um...Dad?” Zak called from the bathroom. Everyone's ears perked up, in the kids case, literally. “Could you come here for a minute?”

“What’s wrong?” Ernie asked, packing away his grooming tools.

“Just...come here, okay?” Zak asked, from the bathroom. His father got up and made his way to the next room where his son was.

“What’s the problem, Zak?” Ernie asked, at the closed door. “Do you need me to come in?”

“Um yah, please Dad, just you?” Zak asked, and everyone could hear the embarrassment in his voice.

“What seems to be the--” Ernie began as he opened up the door and saw the predicament his son was in. “Oh, okay, I see the problem. You want me to do that for you?”

“Please,” the boy said. “God, this is so embarrassing.” Some sounds could be heard from the bathroom and a minute or two later Ernie came back into the living room.

“What was wrong dear?” Lynn asked her husband, brow slightly furrowed in worry.

“He, um. He...” Ernie trailed off as he thought on how to phrase his son’s problem. “Oh, screw it. The rest of you are going to run into this soon. He couldn't reach around to wipe his butt after taking a dump.” Billy snickered at his friend’s predicament.

“Don’t laugh son,” Arnold said to him,. “You’re going to have to go to the bathroom too.” Everyone laughed, as Billy’s face fell in realization of that universal truth: Everyone poops.

A minute or two later, Zak joined the others and his blush was visible even through his charcoal grey fur. He moved quickly through the living room and seated himself in the sheltered corner between the two couches,

“You know, if we are going to do a little testing, all the kids should use the bathroom beforehand,” Jean said to the room in general. “Ernie, is Billy’s hoof up to it?”

“It should be fine,” Ernie said, gathering the rest of his things up. “So long as he doesn’t go punching through trees for awhile.”

“What did I miss?” Zak asked, his embarrassment quickly evaporating under curiosity.

“We’re thinking of heading over to my garage so we can check out what you kids can do,” Arnold said, beginning to get up. “All you kids are going to go to the bathroom, so you don’t have to feel embarrassed, Zak.”

Once all the children had used, and been helped at the bathroom, the group headed over to Arnold’s shop. Night had fully fallen by now, and the streets of Brightly were ironically not very bright, as the village had not been able to afford more than a streetlight at each intersection in town. As such, the group was easily able to make their way to the large garage Arnold used as his machine shop.

“Okay, Ernie, give me a hand here,” Arnold said, and together the two men spent the next ten minutes pushing heavy items aside to clear a large area.

“So who wants to go first?” Lynn asked the children. Four of whom immediately volunteered, jumping up and down excited to show off their new powers. Lynn noticed that as usual, her shy daughter was trying to hide in the back. “Kylara, sweetie. What can you do, again?”

“Um,” the black furred pegasus began, nervously, “I can fly, and, um, I can carry a lot of weight when I do.”

“Okay then,” Arnold said, smiling. “We’ve got a lot of heavy things around, let’s see what you can lift.” Ernie pulled out a safety harness he had taken from the farm and buckled it onto his transformed daughter as well as he could.

“If this becomes a regular thing, your Mom and I will make you something that fits better,” Ernie said to his daughter, who rubbed her cheek against his.

“Thanks Dad,” she whispered to him, and then extended her wings in their full silver-tipped glory. Over the next five minutes everyone was amazed as Kylara lifted an entire engine block into the air, and held it there for a full minute. That was only the beginning. As Kya tired and lowered the block, Rowan manifested a plane of force underneath the weight of descending metal and held it in place as her friend disconnected herself from the harness.

Rowan’s sister Romy, not to be outdone, put a hoof against the assembled engine block and told Arnold that the third cylinder had a very weak spot along it. Billy offered to break the engine block open, but no one would let him. In the end, he had to settle for being harnessed to the abused mass of metal and dragging it across the concrete floor, almost strutting with pride as he did so.

Last, but by no means least, Zak did a speed slalom run through the garage. At one point he flew in one door and out the other, passing by a chronograph as he did so. Zak came back in through the open garage door, landed and folded his wings against his sides. “So, how fast was that?” he asked.

“About a hundred feet per second,” Arnold said. Ernie punched the number into a calculator and whistled.

“That’s around a hundred and ten kay,” Ernie said. “Highway speeds. Not bad son, not bad at all.”

“I had to slow down a lot to make the turns in and out of the garage,” Zak complained. “I could have gone a lot faster.”

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” Ernie said to his son. “Maybe head out to the lake and do a straight out speed run.” Father and son began to discuss the best places along the local lake shore where they could do the test and still be unobserved.

“Mom,” Kylara said, nuzzling her mother’s side, “are we gonna be ponies forever?” Lynn looked over at Jean, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head in obvious question.

“I...I don’t know, Kya,” Jean said, both of her daughters looking to their mother with the same question on their faces, and conversations stopped as every eye in the room fell on her. “There are stories of transformations like what you kids have gone through, but most of them were either punishments or to teach a lesson.”

“But we didn’t do anything wrong, did we?” Rowey asked, a small quaver of fear in her voice.

“Not as far as I can tell,” her mother assured her, kneeling to draw the pony close, “and this doesn’t feel like a punishment. If anything, you five have gained, not lost.”

“Jean, is there anything you can do?” Arnold asked. “I know this is outside your usual area of expertise, but...” He trailed off, spreading his hands wide.

“Assuming this isn’t a curse or something, there should be three ways the change can reverse,” Jean said, and everyone leaned a little closer. “First, it could be an enchantment, and when it runs out of power or hits its limit, the kids will change back on their own. Second, I could try to find a counter-spell or something. Or, third, it’s a permanent change of some sort.”

“Any way to find out which?” Lynn asked. “And any chance we could maybe just get Father Addison to do something about it?”

“The Church has always been a bane to most magic, so if this is a curse, then Father Hills might be able to break it” Jean said. The kind Anglican priest was a true example of “love thy neighbor” and had been one of Jean’s earliest friends when she had first come to Brightly. “Something I can do right now is to try to recast the spell that changed the kids.”

“Woah,” Ernie said, “isn’t that a little dangerous. What if you succeed and we all turn into little horses?”

“From what Rowan describes, the spell takes some time to cast and it’s rather obvious that something is going on when it does,” Jean said, looking around at everyone. “I’ll be counting on one of you to stop me from finishing it, if it does start to work.”

“And if it does work, I mean start to work, what does that mean?” Arnold asked, resting a hand on his son’s flank.

“It means that it isn’t a curse, but an enchantment instead,” Jean said, frowning. “I think. All of this is way beyond anything anyone has run into for a long time. I’m running off of legends and fables here.”

“Well, it’s better than anything else we’ve got at the moment,” Ernie said. “Go for it.”

“Alright then,” Jean said, taking a breath. “Rowan, pass me the book.” Wordlessly, her daughter placed the ornate tome in front of her kneeling mother. Jean nodded her thanks and steeling herself, she reached out, and for the first time physically touched the book, giving a gasp as she felt a flow of energy from the artifact in front of her.

“Jean, are you okay?” Arnold asked, concern in his voice.

“I’m okay,” Jean assured him, her voice hollow and her eyes locked on the book. “It’s like when you first get into a hot tub. The same feeling of heat and warmth all around you. I’m going to try the words now...” She opened the book and the others immediately heard her take a deep breath in, followed by a long, slow exhalation. Ernie made to speak but his wife shushed him. Twice more, Jean repeated the cycle of breathing, focusing herself on mastering the warm strength within her. Opening her eyes, she focused on the pseudo-Latin words in front of her and began to chant them in a steady cadence.

In nomine Sol

In nomine Luna

In nomine Equus

On the third line, an unseen wind seemed to spring up, focused solely on the woman reading the book. Jean’s waist length hair came undone from its braid of its own accord, and streamed out behind her parallel to the floor.

“Arn, you better stop her,” Lynn said, but the large man didn’t move, mesmerized by the scene in front of him.

Orbis Terrarum Equorum

Twinkling lights appeared in Jean's hair, turning it a shade of black so dark that it began to have blue highlights and a dark lavender glow began to appear over her skin.

“Ernie?” Lynn asked her husband, but he too seemed frozen in place.

Mannulus Terrae

Ma--

Jean’s voice broke off as Lynn slammed the book closed, cutting off Jean’s view of the words. At the same time her hair returned to normal, falling to lie flat against her back again. Cut off from the power flowing into her from the artifact, Jean collapsed to her hands and knees.

“Is everyone alright?” Lynn asked the room in general, as she checked to make sure Jean was okay. Both men blinked and shook themselves.

“Yah,” Arnold said, turning toward where Romy and Rowey were busy shaking their mother.

“Mom?...Mom?” both girls asked. To their relief, a moment or two later Jean also blinked and looked around, pushing herself back to a kneeling sit.

“Hey girls,” she said, and both her daughters cuddled next to her. “I’m okay, just...a little weak. Thanks for closing the book, Lynn. I couldn’t stop.”

“I noticed,” Lynn said, smiling. “I may not know magic but I can close a book, eh?” Everyone had a bit of a chuckle at that.

“Ha!” Jean exclaimed, slowly getting herself back to her feet. “Seriously though, thank you, and I think I learned something too.”

“I hope it’s something good,” Ernie said, Zak and Kya both snuggling up against him, “because whatever you did had me riding along with it.”

“Same here,” Arnold interjected.

“Whatever it is, it felt like it wants to be helpful, not harmful,” Jean said, fumbling a bit for the words. “I felt like something was trying to protect me, and that I was being offered...a kinship or the friendship of something or someone.”

“So, not evil, then?” Billy asked, speaking up into the group.

“Not evil,” Jean said, confirming. “Like you kids could ever be evil, no matter what.” Everyone laughed a bit at that, and tension flowed out of the garage.

“So, are we gonna be ponies forever?” Kya asked, looking up to her father.

“Maybe, maybe not,” her father said, smiling down gently at his daughter. “But if you are, it’s because something or someone thinks you need to be a pony, at least for now.”

“Plus, you’re adorable,” Jean said. “All of you.” A chorus of denials erupted from all five children.

“Okay, I move that we bring this meeting of the Pony Parents to a close,” Arnold said, hugging his son. “It’s been one heck of a day and I think all of us could use some rest.”

Chapter 25: To Be Named Later

As inexorable as the turning of the seasons, the clockwork mechanism ground on toward its appointment with the destiny that had been set for it. Gears turned and whirled as mechanical energy bound in a tightened spring slowly released its stored energy as motion that moved from one part of the clockwork to another through a series of gears. Hours passed, and the mechanism ground on until at long last one gear moved to a point where it allowed a pin to move and the device performed its function.

“Stupid alarm clock,” Jessica said, reaching over a hand to smack the button on her old-fashioned wind up alarm clock. With the Hydro crews still working out the snarls in Brightly’s power grid, it was the only way to make sure she would be up in time for work. She paused for a moment, staring at her hand.

“Damn,” she said, to no one in particular. Getting up and out of her bed, she made her way to her shower, which required no electricity to run. The water heater however, did, and her whoop of surprise at the cold water rattled her windows. After an absolutely as short as possible shower, Jessica sat on her bed wrapped in a couple of towels. She looked out at the rising sun, toying with a feather that had come off her wings overnight, deep in thought.

Unheeded by the musings of the young mortal, the sun continued on its eternal course, rising over the small town. Bereft of the modern guides of artificial light, electric clock and driving cell phone, the people of the town began their daily routines as ancient circadian rhythms and ingrained habits both conspired to wake people in the town. People and ponies both.

“Hey, wake up,” Rowan said, shoving her hooves against her sleeping sister. “We gotta get up, time for school.”

“Mrph… go away,” Romy replied, never having been a morning person. Unfortunately for her, Rowan was used to her sister’s attempts to imitate a log first thing in the morning and knew what to do. Moving to the upstairs bathroom, Rowan scooped up a damp washcloth and came back to the bedroom.

“C’mon, get up or I’m gonna lick your feet,” Rowan said, hiding the washcloth below the level of the bed.

“5 more minutes…” Romy mumbled, turning over and her purple mane with its grey highlights flopped to the other side of the pillow.

“I warned you,” Rowan said, and lifting the covers she wiped the damp cloth against the sensitive frog of one of her sister’s rear hooves in a “licking” motion. The effect was immediate and explosive.

“Eww!” Romy shouted, sitting bolt upright and pulling her hooves into herself. “Tell me you didn’t do that!”

“Nope,” Rowan said, smiling and holding up the washcloth.

“I’m gonna get you for that!” Romy declared and sweeping a hoof, flung her pillow at her sister with considerable force. The soft missile struck its target and bowled Rowan over, knocking her to the floor with a “thump.”

“Oh yah?” Rowan declared, and she grabbed the fallen pillow with her magic and tossed it right back at her sister, who intercepted it with an upraised hoof.

“Hey!” their mother yelled up from below. “Do I have a couple of girls up there or a herd of stampeding wildebeests? Time for breakfast kids.”

“I’ll deal with you later,” Rowan said, turning and flipping her black mane dismissively at her sister.

“Oh yah?” Romy asked, bounding out of bed to follow her sister, hooves clomping on the wood floor.

“Yah,” Rowan said, pausing so her sister could catch up, and the two shared a quick hug. “Morning, sis.”

“Morning. Looks like another pony day,” Rom said, smiling.

“Oatmeal’s getting cold, kids,” Jean called up to her slow moving daughters.

“Oatmeal, again?” Rowan groaned. “I hate oatmeal.”

Across the street, another pair of pony siblings were not as quick to wake, despite their mother calling up for them a number of times. Their father had left an hour earlier in the pre-dawn gloom to take care of tasks that had been backing up at the farm for days. Ernie Harding had good hands helping him, but they needed someone to coordinate all their jobs and that someone was him.

“Kylara and Zak,” Lynn Harding said, in her best “Mom” voice as she stood in the upstairs hallway. “It is way past time to get up. With the power still out there’s no school today, but that’s no reason for us to break our regular routine. Up you get.” The definitive declaration was greeted with silence from the bedrooms on either side of her.

Puzzled by the unusual lack of response, Lynn opened the door to her daughter’s room. It was scattered with the usual mess, compounded by Kylara’s learning to move around as a pony. What was unusual though was the muddy smear on the window sill, along with a pair of muddy hoofprints on the floor. Frowning in thought, Lynn walked over to her son’s room, where her equally unconscious son had slept on through her rousing calls. There was no smear on his bedroom window, but there were a couple of dirty hoof outlines.

“You two are grounded when you get up,” Lynn said, shaking her head and smiling as she thought of how hard it must have been for them not to want to leap into the sky at a moment’s notice. “Well, maybe not grounded, but you two are helping me around the house for the rest of the day. I’ll let you sleep for another hour, then I’m coming back up with a bucket of water.”

Near the town along the road to Carmanah Lake, the line crews had been busy all night long. The first goal was to simply get service restored to the town, after that niceties like replacing the actual poles could be entertained. To that end, the three line crews had spent the night leapfrogging over each other, just to reconnect the lines that led from the dam to the town proper.

“Okay, last one guys,” Tim “Tummy” Kielops declared in satisfaction. He was a self-described “BFI” or “Big Fracking Indian.” He stood six foot five inches, weighing in at over 340 pounds of beer gut overlaying massive amounts of muscle. He could lift an entire power pole by himself and swarm up it like a chipmunk once it was up and steady. He worked hard, played harder, and loved his job.

Connecting the breaker on the transformer he looked toward the nearby town, and saw lights coming on in some of the homes. With weary pride he started to attach his tools back to his belt and began to make his way back down the pole. Only twenty-six more known breaks in the lines to fix, and after that came replacing the six broken poles they had come across. He and the other crews had a long, hard job still ahead of them, but the end was in sight. Not too mention that remote pay, plus hazard pay, plus overtime was going to buy him a lot of beer and nice steaks when he got back home.

“You called?” Shaushka asked, getting out of the borrowed truck and squinting at the mid-morning sun. The mayor of Brightly had been more than willing to lend her the vehicle as long as it helped her and her crews get the power on faster.

“Yah,” said the power engineer. She was a woman of medium height, wearing a heavily smudged coverall with “Frye” on the front, but “Kaylee” written on the back. “We’ve just finished our initial assessment of the dam, and it’s not good.”

“Bloody hell, how bad is it?” Shaushka asked, biting her lip. She did not need any massive complications for her first job as a supervisor.

“About as bad as I’ve ever seen,” Frye said, opening the door to the interior of the dam so they could step inside.

As they entered Shaushka could feel the temperature around her drop immediately, and she could see several other power engineers moving around and checking on things. The engineer led her to the small, dusty office in the dam that doubled as a control station. The office had a truly ancient desk in it, on which were laid out a series of folders. Reading the headers, Shaushka noticed that they were maintenance logs. She also noticed the date on what appeared to be the newest one and frowned.

“March 1999?” Shaushka said, puzzled. “Is that the last time there was a maintenance crew out here? That would mean the dam has…”

“Gone nearly twenty years without any maintenance,” Frye said, clapping a hand against some of the metal-clad monitors. “They don’t make them like they used to. A more modern power generating system would have packed it in years ago. As it is, we probably got here just in time.”

“Wait, how does a dam, a major piece of infrastructure, go without seeing a maintenance crew for twenty years?” Shaushka asked, picking up a folder at random and leafing through it.

“I’ve got a couple of suspicions, but I won’t know for sure until I dig into the records in the database,” Frye said, then sighed. “As for the manual floodgate controls, all I did was confirm what everyone had already guessed. The weather seals are gone and water simply rusted the entire mechanism into uselessness.”

“Can they be fixed?” Shaushka asked, feeling her hope of a simple repair and heading back to Vancouver evaporating.

“Not a chance,” Frye said, shaking her head. “We’re looking at a full replacement here, just of the manual systems though. But that isn’t the worst of it though.”

“What is?” Shaushka asked, knowing that her hope of going home anytime soon had just gone completely.

“Fred, get up here with that bucket!” Frye yelled out the door, before turning back to Shaushka. “We pulled something out of the inspection port for the Number One turbine that made our hairs stand on end.”

“What?” Shaushka asked. “I’m not a power engineer, I’m just a jumped up tech. You’re going to have to use small words to explain it to me.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re actually listening to me, and that’s more than most managers or supervisors do,” Frye paused, as another power engineer, also in a pair of dirty, soggy overalls came in and plopped a five gallon bucket onto the desk. Something like an oversized dryer filter was sticking out of it.

“What is that?” Shaushka asked, as the other engineer left.

“It’s the final filter from where water from the penstock reaches the turbine,” Frye said, lifting the soggy frame out of the bucket a bit.

“Is it supposed to have big holes in it?” Shaushka said, then turning red as she realized the obvious answer.

“No, it’s not,” Frye said, choosing to ignore her supervisor’s embarrassment. “It’s supposed to be a single sheet of filter material to catch debris before it hits the turbine blades.”

“Well, the turbines are working, aren’t they?” Shaushka asked, double checking the gauges and noting the steady output of power.

“They are… for now,” Frye said, frowning. “But who knows what twenty years has done to those turbine blades, especially with holes in the filters.”

“Is there anything I can do about it?” Shaushka asked, sensing this is why Frye had asked her here in the first place.

“Yes, I need your permission to shut down Number One turbine so I can do a complete inspection,” Frye said, looking Shaushka in the eye. “When that’s done, I want to spin it back up to speed and do the same for Number Two.”

“What will that do for the town’s power?” Shaushka asked, mentally thinking of the explosion this information was going to cause back in Vancouver.

“The dam has two generators,” Frye said, putting the dead filter back into the bucket. “I can take either one offline, and still have more than enough to power Brightly and anything else in the area. I just need your okay to get started.”

“How long?” Shaushka asked, having already decided to okay the engineer’s request, but she knew she was going to be asked questions and needed to have some ready answers.

“For a quick inspection of the turbine, I can have a report for you by this time tomorrow,” Frye said. “To be honest though, what I really want to do is tear the turbine and generator apart and check absolutely everything.”

“Okay, go ahead. Do it, at least the first part,” Shaushka said, nodding. “I’ll let head office know. Anything else I need to know right now?”

“Ya, tell them to get a big purchase order ready,” Frye said, gathering up the folders as a batch. “If even half the things need replacing that I think do, this could wind up costing a couple of million, easily.”

John Wilcox launched another cast of his fishing lure into the ruffled surface of the lake waters near the dam. Fishing had been good and a couple of fat trout were already in the small cooler beside him. As he slowly reeled the line back in, he saw the tall lean woman who his background information said was the team supervisor heading out of the dam and heading to her truck. He could tell what she was saying from her posture, waving arms and rapidly moving lips were definitely not those of a happy person.

He took his time reeling his line back in, noting the spray of gravel from the truck as it left the parking lot. He packed up his gear, and returned it to his campsite before grabbing his camera, ever present audio recorder and a wet bag that clinked as he lifted it. He then walked toward the dam’s door, clipping his press badge to his shirt as he did. He was just getting to the door when one of the engineer’s came out carrying an old school lunchbox.

“No questions, please,” the man said, his overalls having the name “Scotty” stenciled on the front.

“I wasn’t going to ask about the dam, but I’m hoping I could get some background information about what the firefighters managed to do here,” Wilcox said, smiling his best reporter smile. “They pulled off a bit of a miracle and I’d just like to get a little in-depth information.”

“Oh,” said Scotty, taken by surprise. “Um, I guess that would probably be okay. I’m just about to have lunch though.”

“No worries,” Wilcox laughed. “I can ask questions while you eat. I’ve got cold cokes that have been sitting in the lake all morning.” He held up the wet bag and the clink of glass inside made the engineer’s eyes widen.

“You’ve got coke in glass bottles?” Scotty asked, his voice holding a mix of wonder and desire.

“Sure do,” Wilcox said, gesturing over to the picnic tables in the dam’s public rest area. “Glass bottles do a better job with the flavour, don’t they?”

“Damn right they do,” Scotty said, as the two walked over and sat down at the table. “So, what did you want to know?”

“First off, Scotty. Is that you real name?” Wilcox asked, quirking an eyebrow. “And if it is, have you ever said, ‘Captain, she cannae take no more’?”

“It’s a team joke,” Scotty said, with a chuckle. “We all have the names of famous fictional engineers on our coveralls. I got ‘Scotty,’ and we have a ‘Kaylee Frye’, a ‘Don Channing’, and a ‘Lucas Wolneczak’ too.”

“Nice,” Wilcox said, pulling out a notepad and a pen. “Anyway, I got took around the area before you folks got here, and one odd thing was that ran across a whole bunch of small hoofprints.”

“Well, we are pretty much out in the wilds,” the engineer said, waving his hand around to take in the nearby evergreens. “I’d expect animal tracks.”

“Oh, I get that, but these were definitely the tracks of small horses, and considering where I found them I’m guessing that Montcalm and his team supplement their lack of manpower with some service animals,” Wilcox said, studying the engineer’s face for any reaction. “That would make a great side story. Just a thing about the little horses they use to help in critical situations.”

“I can see that,” Scotty said, pulling out a pair of sandwiches and passing one over to the reporter. “Okay, how can I help with that?”

“WelI, I haven’t seen them anywhere, and fire hall apparently has no facilities for animals,” Wilcox said, accepting the sandwich and passing over a cold glass bottle. “Have you seen any little horses anywhere?”

“Not even a bit,” Scotty said, frowning in thought before pausing to take a bite of his sandwich. “You know, there is a farm near town though. I remember seeing a sign for it as we drove in. I think there was a someone’s name on the sign too. ‘Harding’ I think it was.”

“That actually makes sense,” Wilcox said, taking out an old bottle opener and popping the caps off both bottles of coke. “The logical place to keep horses would be on a farm, and there is an ‘Ernest Harding’ in the fire department.”

“Glad I could help,” Scotty said, taking a deep swig of the dark liquid and sighing with pleasure at the taste. “You know, you’re not what I expected from a reporter.”

“I find I do better at my job by being a decent guy,” Wilcox said, smiling. “Would it be okay if I went along the outside of the dam taking some background shots? I won’t try to go into the dam itself, and I’ll stay on guided walkways.”

“Ya, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Scotty told him, taking another thoughtful swig of coke, and Wilcox did his best not to hold his breath as he recognized the expression. “If I told you something, can you keep my name out of it?”

“Of course,” Wilcox said, cheering inside. “I can refer to you as a deep background source.”

“Okay, that works,” Scotty said, nodding. “Short form, the insides of the dam are screwed up something fierce. Near as we can tell it’s been almost twenty years since the last time the dam saw a maintenance cycle.”

“What?!” Wilcox said, almost managing to keep himself under control. “How does something like that happen?”

“We’ve got a couple of ideas, but nothing firm yet,” Scotty said, before chugging back the last of the cold soda and giving an explosive belch. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to it. Tell you what, meet me here for lunch tomorrow and I’ll let you know if we’ve figured anything out.”

“Appreciate it,” Wilcox said, gathering up his things and not pushing the engineer harder for information. “I’m going to do that walk around now, and maybe bike to town in a bit if I get the chance.”

The two shook hands briefly and Wilcox walked along the dam’s structure, snapping pictures as he went. Of particular note was the twisted off stub of the shaft that had held the wheel to close the floodgate manually. He was careful not to remove a flat protective cap that someone had put over the shaft to prevent accidental impalements.

“Research note,” Wilcox said, into his voice recorder as he bent down to look closely at the shaft. “Check on how much twisting force a three centimeter thick steel bar can handle before shearing off. Could be a good key to how hard the VFD had to work to get things done.”

From his position he spotted some long hairs that had been caught in a crack in the concrete. Pulling them free, he tucked them into a ziploc bag and spent a minute studying the long brown and red hairs in the sun’s light. A thought occurred to him and he began to slowly go over the rest of the dam, looking for more of the long strands. After several minutes of searching, he found another snagged clump, these ones being black and light grey.

“There we go,” Wilcox declared to the lake, as he tucked his latest find away. “Shouldn’t be too hard to track down horses with these kinds of colours.”

Brian Cummins was not having a good day. The fire chief/mayor of this one horse town wouldn’t talk to him after yesterday’s press conference, and he knew that meant there had to be some sort of secret behind whoever “Seeker” was. No one reacted like Montcalm from something that was minor. Seeker was a story, and Cummins would eat his press card if he was wrong about that.

The problem was that Brightly was way out on the edge of nowhere. With little to no internet access, barely anyone in town was on social media, which was almost always a great place to get information or leads, at the least. Without that vital, modern tool, he felt like he’d been thrown back to the dark ages of report. He may as well be pounding out a story on an old manual typewriter for all the good his laptop and cell phone were doing him.

Brightly was so small in fact that there was no place to rent a car, and no one had wanted to let him borrow one. There were exactly three taxis in town, but all of them had been snapped up by reporters who had thrown obscene amounts of cash at their drivers. It had taken him all morning, he’d finally managed to get a local to drive him around a bit. He might be out in the sticks, but money still talked here.

“Okay, pull over here,” he said, to the driver of the beaten-up pickup truck. “This should be the place.” The driver obediently pulled over at the top of a street that descended down from the intersection.

“You’re not gonna mess with these people are you?” the driver, a local pottery artisan, asked. “Because if you are, this is the wrong street to do it on.”

“I’m just going to ask some questions, that’s all,” Cummins said, pausing as he was about to open the truck door. “Wait, there isn’t some gang or something down here is there?”

“No, but on that side of the street,” the man said, gesturing a clay stained arm toward a pair of houses about halfway down the block, “there’s the Harding place. Everyone knows you don’t push Ernie Harding into a corner. His next door neighbor is the town mechanic. He could break you in half… after he bench presses you.”

“I just want to find out who this Seeker person is,” Cummins said, hand raised placatingly. “What else should I know?”

“Well, across the street from the Hardings lives the town witch,” the potter said, with a completely straight face.

“What?” Cummins asked, incredulous. “Did you say, ‘witch’?”

“Yup, I sure did,” the man said, waving toward a house that looked almost like an oversized log cabin. “The Pedersen woman is a bona-fide wood witch. Does spells, potions, you name it. Buys a lot of small jars from me. Makes some damn good teas.”

“Would you say she knows a lot of people?” Cummins asked, sensing a lead on the elusive Seeker.

“Definitely,” the potter said, nodding. “Either knows them or knows of them.”

“Okay, thanks,” Cummins said, passing over a brown hundred dollar bill over to the potter. “That’s for your time and the information.”

“Well, in that case, I’ve got something else you might want to know,” the man said, pocketing the bill. “Pedersen and the mechanic are supposed to be an item. If you can’t find one of them at home, try the other place.”

“Thank you,” Cummins said, passing over another bill, and getting out of the truck. Paying informants promptly usually paid off in the long run. If nothing else, they would try to get you more information for more money. “Stick around for a bit if you can. I’d like a lift back to the hotel when I’m done.”

“Okay kids, let’s get you outside,” Lynn Harding said, to the four pony children in the rec room with her. “But no going airborne, no magic and no funny stuff. Got it?”

“Aww, Mom,” Zak said, pleading. “We just went for a little flight last night.”

“You two are lucky that I don’t put your wings in little pockets until you learn to use them responsibly,” Lynn said, giving an evil grin to her son as a thought came to her. “You know, it’s actually sort of nice that I can use the word ‘grounded’ literally, with you two now.” Zack and Kylara both visibly gulped, their wings and ears both drooping. Rowan and Romy both wisely said nothing, being more than familiar with their own mother laying down the law.

“Sorry, mom,” Kylara said, her voice small. “I just wanted to…”

“I know,” Lynn said, letting her usual smile break out once more. “Now, out you go. Your parents want to see if you react to the sun the same way you did the other day.”

The four ponies walked out into the backyard and into the rays of the early afternoon sun. The effect was immediate and profound. All four young ponies stopped almost as soon as they were all the way into the sunshine, and stood there, faces upraised to the sky with their eyes closed and faces peaceful.

“Kids?” Lynn asked, bending low. “You okay?”

“Doin’ good, mom,” Zak said, his voice carrying an odd tone of wonder to it. “Sun feels good.” Lynn checked the other three pony children, getting equally semi-absent responses. All four children seemed perfectly happy to just stand there in the sun absorbing the heat and light coming from it.

“I hope Arnold remembered that he was supposed to do this with Billy as well,” Lynn said, watching the children and making sure no one disturbed them. The children were just beginning to blink and move around again in a normal manner when she heard someone knock loudly on her neighbor’s door.

“Hello the house,” Lynn could hear a strange voice call out from Arnold’s place. “Is there anyone home, I’d like to speak to Seeker, please.”

Author's Note

Due to life circumstances (check my blog for details), it may be sometime before I can continue this story. So, I am giving to you, my readers, what I have. It is, sadly, without my usual triple edit pass, but Sandstorm has really given a yeoman effort trying to substitute for 2 other editors.

The story of Brightly Lit will not end here, this I vow. But it might be awhile before Chapter 26 comes out.

Chapter 30: Emergency!

A brief note regarding some abbreviations in this chapter:

CAJ - Canadian Association of Journalists
CFB - Canadian Forces Base
PPCLI - Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry
MCTS - Marine Communications and Traffic Services

Tim Kielops was in trouble and he knew it. He’d been stumbling along the ancient stream for hours now, unable to find a place to shelter. The tall and narrow walls of the small canyon that the stream had cut into the earth, were unassailable by a man with a hurt leg and no climbing gear. Combined with the high water levels from last week’s storm, it meant that Tim had been wading through ice cold water almost non-stop.

He’d managed to get a few breaks, mostly when he’d stopped to rest by sitting on a rock or a fallen tree limb. For the most part, though, he slogged on through the water, iron determination and the stamina of far too many double and triple overtime shifts pushing him on.

At some point he found a fallen and peeled tree branch of roughly the right size, and his multi-tool served him well in trimming the branch down to a manageable size. The improvised walking staff took some of the pressure off Tim’s injured foot and things started to look up. Right up until the moment the end of the staff slipped while Tim leaned on it, and he fell heavily into one of the many pools comprising the stream.

Tim emerged from the pool completely soaked from head to toe, swearing a blue streak. He spent a full two minutes cursing the stream, the forest, and water in general, before he calmed himself and took stock of the situation. He was wet, he was cold, night had to be coming on soon and he had no shelter and no means of starting a fire.

Hypothermia had killed a hundred thousand men bigger and tougher than him, and his time in the outdoors told him that unless he changed his game plan, Tim Kielops would soon be among their number.

Feeling some desperation at the realization the big man slogged on, looking for a bank, or a rock shelf, or even a large enough tree for him to get away from the cold, wet water. He pushed on, climbing over rocks and ducking under trees. He was about to give up hope, when the walls of the ravine he was in fell away to each side and the stream emptied out into a small lake.

“Oh, thank God,” Tim said, under his breath as he looked around. The small lake would be better described as a large pond roughly thirty meters across, its edges bordered with shallow stands of tall grass and similar plants. Miracle of miracles, there was even a high rock shelf overlooking the stream where it resumed its course after leaving the pond.

Moving along the soggy fringe of the pond, Tim made his way to the rock shelf, where another lucky break awaited him. The recent storm had brought down a tree over the shelf, and its trunk now lay on its side held up by several of its branches. It was an almost made to order lean-to.

Tim sat heavily down on the rock shelf, looking around. When the tree had come down, several of its branches had snapped off, and might make for good firewood. If he had some way to start a fire that is. Taking off his work boots for the first time in nearly a day, Tim drained them before taking off his socks. Wringing them out, he hung them on one of the branches from the trunk, alternating his gaze between the clouded sky and his wrinkled feet.

Neither were going to dry anytime soon, but at least he was out of the wet water and he now had a spot where he could take shelter. It had to be at least mid-afternoon, which meant he had two or three hours of daylight left. During that time he had to make a shelter, create some sort of bedding, try to start a fire, and maybe look for food while he did all that.

At least he had plenty of water. That, combined with the big meal he’d had last night meant that as long as he could keep warm he would be okay for a couple of days, at least. He decided to check his survival assets. He had his heavy linemans coat, which wet or dry would help him retain heat. He had a pair of heavy work boots, wool socks, rugged trousers and a checked shirt.

For pocket contents he had his multi-tool, which included a sharp knife, a saw blade, several driver bits, and a wire cutter. Which also reminded him that there were also several feet of wire in his coat pockets, that had been trimmed off various bits he’d been working on over the past few days. They could be used to secure various bits of things together. Like branches for a lean-to.

Grimacing as he pulled his waterlogged boots back on, Tim started looking around for things to start making his shelter with. Walking hadn’t been the right thing to do, so now he was going to stay put and make a stand here. If that Primitive Technology guy on youtube could make a hut out of sticks and mud, he should be able to make a shelter at least. Maybe he could even get a fire going like that guy did. If only he could find some dry wood.

Brian Cummins leaned back in his chair and stretched, his mind awhirl as he tried to process what he’d heard over the past few hours. He hadn’t bothered trying to record things on his phone using his ear buds, instead choosing to write it all down. He looked at the words on the pages and shook his head.

“Just not possible,” he murmured, taking a sip of cold coffee. “It’s fake, it’s got to be some sort of hoax the town is running on me. I went too hard, and now they’re trying to put some insane scenario past me. Just to make me look like an idiot when I report this..”

Grimacing as his third sip actually tasted the bitter brew, he was reminded of the words of his journalism professor back in college, when the only coffee he could afford was just as terrible. The cautionary words, “Always stand outside the story. You are an observer, a reporter. Never merge with and become the story,” came to his mind.

“Okay, without making any guess or inferences, what do we know?” Cummins asked the empty air, as he got up to get himself a fresh cup from the heated pot.

First off, that there were a group of individuals actively helping the local VFD. Second, they called themselves “The Power Ponies” and all sounded as if they were pre-teen or early teens. Third, two of them, this “Darter” and “Skylark” were airborne in some manner. Fourth, “Seeker” had the ability to detect wavelengths outside of normal human vision. Fi—

“Seeker to Fire One,” came the radio call, breaking Cummins out of his reverie. “We’re thorry, but we haven’t found anything. Thorry.” The young voice sounded like it was on the verge of tears

Interesting, Cummins thought, keeping his mind analytical and making a note. Seeker has a lisp. A very specific lisp.

“Fire One here,” Montcalm said through the radio, a moment later. “It’s not your fault. Searches are like this. A lot of times you don’t find anything at all. You three have done a fine job, you and the rest can head for home if you like.”

“—found something!” Seeker squealed back, her transmission blocked out by Montcalm’s in her haste. “Iron Hoof says he found something!”

“What?” Montcalm asked, his voice calm and steady but Cummins could hear the restrained excitement in the older man’s voice..

“Iron Hoof says he’s found boot tracks going up one of the old logging roads,” Seeker said, in an excited voice. “My mom taught him all about tracking things.”

“Okay,” Montcalm said, and Cummins could hear the controlled interest in the mayor’s voice. “Follow the tracks and see where they lead, but stay in touch.”

“Yes sir,” Seeker replied. “Seeker out.”

Cummins looked over his new set of notes. The Power Ponies seemed to be blessed with either luck, skill or abilities beyond what was normal. Almost as if they actually could fly and do the other…

“Oh my God,” Cummins said reverently, as his mind made connections that hadn’t been there before.

Seeing how apparently unrelated events and people actually linked to each other, was one of the things that separated okay reporters from good ones, and Brian Cummins was a good reporter. His ability to make connections had brought down more than one politician, and now his mind burned with that same fire as realization struck.

In a very few days, this little community in the middle of nowhere, was going to be playing host to both the Premier and the Prime Minister. One or the other was easily explainable, but both? That could only be caused by something extraordinary. Something like a group of Canadian youngsters who had come up with ways to be of extraordinary help in emergency situations. Something that could make Canada a world leader in rescue technology.

It hung together. The kids were probably related to people on the VFD, which gave them regular access to equipment. Arnold Kye, on the VFD as their pump technician, was the local mechanic and machinist. Ernest Harding, the entry specialist, owned and ran the larger of the two local farms. “My Mom” could easily be Jean Pedersen, who was linked romantically to Kye. Cummins could almost feel the pieces snapping into place.

He could report this. This was a solid story, but it had two huge problems. One, he had no confirmation of any of this, which his editors would insist on. Second, there were minors involved. Confirmation he could get, especially if he confronted Montcalm with what he had now. Like any politician, Montcalm would cave in order to save his own skin.

Minors being involved though, that was a bigger problem. The CAJ was murder on journalists that didn’t take special care when children were involved. Especially on journalists that didn’t get parental consent before involving kids in interviews or reports. Cummins might not have been the most ethical reporter, but he’d be damned if he would put a child in danger, even accidentally.

Getting consent from Kye, Harding and Pedersen would be a pain, especially after he had practically shoved a camera down Kye’s throat, but he would find a way to get it. If not, he would have to find a workaround. Providing that it was their children involved in this, of course. Finding out which of the local children had Seeker’s distinctive lisp would go along way to determining the identities of “The Power Ponies.” Once he knew that, he could approach their parents for consent from a position of strength. Cummins couldn't shake the feeling he was missing something, though.

“Aircraft over Brightly, please respond,” Montcalm’s voice said over the radio. “Aircraft over Brightly, this is Brightly Fire Department, please respond.”

“Brightly Fire Department, this is Alpine Air Charter,” a chipper male voice responded. “What can I do for you?”

“You look like a light plane,” Montcalm said, “We’ve got a SAR situation down here with a man missing in the local wood. Would you be able to spend some time and join the search?”

“Alpine Air has a standard policy of helping out SAR whenever possible,” the pilot said. “I’m in a De Havilland Beaver and I can give you about two hours of search time before I have to land at Carmanah Lake and drop my cargo.”

“Roger that,” Montcalm said. “If you can sweep to the south and east, we’d appreciate it.”

“On it,” the pilot said, before turning to look at his passenger. “Dr. Carlson, I hope you don’t mind—”

“I heard,” said the red haired woman sitting beside him, pulling out a pair of binoculars from a canvas bag. “Meeting up with my old zoology student will just have to wait a bit.”

“Look, more tracks!” Iron Hoof called out to his friends. “See!”

“Wow, great work,” Shield Maiden said, coming up alongside her fellow Power Pony. There, clear as day, was another bootprint sunk deep into the mud of a dried up puddle. She looked over to where her sister, Seeker, was intently staring further up the tree shrouded and nearly overgrown road.

“I wish I could see thomething,” Seeker said, and the other two ponies could almost see Seeker’s eyes glow as she concentrated on her ability to see things beyond the norm. “Anything at all.”

“It’s okay, we all can’t have things to do all the time,” Iron Hoof said, and the three ponies moved to stand in line abreast. “With all the stuff your mom taught me, we should find that guy in no time.”

“Let’s get going,” Shield Maiden said, urging them on. “We don’t want to be out in the woods after dark.”

The three ponies set off again at a cross between a walk and a trot, eager to cover ground but also not wanting to miss anything. Iron Hoof had received a great deal of instruction about how to move in the forest, as well as the basics of tracking. However, while Jean had taught him much while she minded him for his father, Iron Hoof simply didn’t have the breadth of experience to notice small things.

Small things such as when the old road he and his friends were on crested the ridge, and began to move in a general downhill direction. Excited to be closing in on the missing man, the trio of ponies didn’t realize that they were putting more earth and stone between them and Brightly every second. Unknowingly, they soon passed the point beyond which their radios would be able to reach back into town.

“Something happened here,” Seeker said, some twenty minutes later as the old road was beginning to fully succumb to the forest around it. “Look at all those broken branches.”

“Wait, where?” Iron Hoof asked, looking up from the moss covered track. “Oh wow, it’s like a bear went crashing through here.”

“Do you think maybe the guy went down here?” Shield Maiden asked, looking down the sharp slope. “It’s really steep and look, the ground’s all torn up.”

“Gimme a minute,” Iron Hoof said, continuing up what was left of the road a short ways. “Yah, I think you’re right. If he had kept going down the road we’d be seeing lots of broken branches with the way it gets overgrown past here. Let’s go.”

“We need to check in,” Shield Maiden said, keying her radio. “Shield Maiden to Fire One, come in.” Silence.

“Shield Maiden to Fire One, please come in,” she repeated, before turning to the others. “Am I doing this right?”

“I think tho,” Seeker said, eyeing the downslope. “Maybe they’re busy?”

“We should get going,” Iron Hoof said, trying to peer through the thick trees. “Either home or to the power guy. We don’t have all that much daylight left.”

“The Power Ponies have never failed in a mission,” Shield Maiden said, standing a little taller, and glossing over the fact that the Power Ponies had a grand total of two missions under their hooves. “We go forward. We can always try the radios again later.”

“Right,” the other two ponies replied, and as one all three ponies headed down the embankment in controlled slides.

“Brightly Fire Department, this is Alpine Air,” called the pilot. “No joy on spotting anyone down there, and I’ve got to land to drop my cargo and then head to Bella Bella for fuel. Sorry.”

“Understood, Alpine Air,” Montcalm replied through his VHF radio. “Thanks for what you could give us.”

“I’d come back after refueling but it’ll be dark by then,” said the pilot. “If you still need me tomorrow, I can give you a couple more hours search time before I head back to the home office.”

“We should have the folks from CFB Comox out here tomorrow,” Montcalm said, “but any extra eyes are welcome.”

“Roger that,” the pilot said, turning toward the lake. “Best of luck, Alpine Air, out.”

“Can we head to the north for a bit before we land,” his passenger asked, scanning the sky now. “There’s some unusual birds in that direction.”

“Sorry Professor, but Carmanah Lake is a roughly and east to west lake,” said the pilot as he mentally picked a spot in the air to begin his approach from. “I need to line up my approach and please, I need to concentrate on this. Landing with the sun so low can be a bit tricky and I’d like to avoid any surprises.”

Professor Carlson made no response, except to continue to try to get a better image of the two large birds she had seen toward the northwest. She’d noticed the oddly shaped avians a few times before, and while the search for a missing person was important, unknown, unidentified and undiscovered animals were what she lived for. Particularly as she was the University of British Columbia’s resident cryptozoologist.

As the engine of the old aircraft slowed, and the plane began it’s slide toward the shining lake below, Pearl Carlson wondered if her old student was going to be surprised to see her. Wilcox had always been an indifferent zoology student, but he’d always loved a mystery, and that distinctly made him “one of hers.” He had to have known the storm he would have set off in her little office back on campus, with samples he had sent in oh, so innocently.

The plane descended past the last of the trees by the lake shore, and Carlson’s sharp vision picked out the smoke of a small encampment to one side of the dam on the far shore. Wilcox had tried to keep himself hidden, but he had to have known his old professor was more than capable of tracking him down. In fact, he may have planned it that way to make sure it was she who found him, and his samples of “unknown equine and avian origin.”

“OH SH—” the pilot yelled out, and even before Pearl could swivel her head forward again there was a sudden sound of impact, followed by a sickening wrenching sensation as she was spun violently forward.

John Wilcox had been standing by his camp, watching the plane that brought in his regular supplies, come in for its landing. He’d ordered a few special things to help further ingratiate himself with the locals, and especially with the new dam manager. There were a lot more stories to be had here, and he didn’t intend to leave before he had them all. Or, at least until he was ordered to come back home.

Wilcox hated the city. Hated how closed in everything was, how close people were to him, and how close danger was at all times. He’d been with the PPCLI during Operation Mountain Thrust, when a Taliban RPG had collapsed a wall on top of him. It had been a long and terrifying thirty minutes before his fellow soldiers had been able to dig him out.

While Wilcox emerged physically unscathed, his time trapped in crushing darkness had left its scars on his mind in the form of a moderate case of PTSD, and moderate to severe claustrophobia. He managed the PTSD by trying to befriend everyone he met, and managed the claustrophobia by taking as many out of town assignments as he could.

So, when one of the floats of his supply plane hit something with a terrible crunch and tore free, Wilcox was in motion even before the plane finished cartwheeling into the water. Without a second of panic or hesitation Wilcox took the few steps into his camp, grabbed his satellite phone and toggled the “Emergency” setting.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday,” Wilcox said, speaking clearly, but with urgent speed. “Any station receiving, please respond. Mayday, mayday, mayday.”

“Station calling mayday, this is Prince Rupert MCTS responding,” came a calm, professional voice. “Station calling mayday, please respond.”

“My name is John Wilcox, I am on the south shore of Carmanah Lake near Brightly BC,” Wilcox paused for breath, before continuing. “A light plane has just crashed into the lake near its north shore. I say again, a light plane has crashed into the lake near its north shore.”

“I’m relaying this to the closest assistance,” said the coast guard operator. “Are you able to see anyone emerging from the aircraft.”

“Negative, Prince Rupert,” Wilcox said back, squinting his eyes. “The aircraft is on its side and beginning to sink. Request you expedite, Prince Rupert.”

“Already done, sir,” the woman on the other said, keeping her voice calm. “Brightly Fire Department is dispatching emergency services now.”

“Darter, Skylark, there’s an emergency at the lake,” Montcalm said, switching to the fire department’s radios. “A plane has crashed. Get there, and get anyone you can clear of the wreck. I’ll send Rescue One and Two to follow you as fast as I can.”

“Yes Sir,” Darter said, and Cummins could hear the wind rushing past the mic as he listened in. “What if someone spots us?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Montcalm replied. “Get to the crash, if everyone is clear of the wreck then just stay high and report. If not, get them out and we’ll talk to them after. Now get going!”

“Yessir!” snapped a pair of young voices.

“Shield Maiden, did you catch all that?” Montcalm asked, and repeated himself when he didn’t get a response. “Shield Maiden, did you hear that?”

“This is Rescue Two, what’s going on?” Kevin Banta said, into the frequency. “We got part of it.”

Montcalm resolved to call Shield Maiden later, even as he began telling his two paramedics what was going on at Carmanah Lake so that they could join the response to the crash. While he was doing that, the brother and sister pegasus team were already closing in on the sinking floatplane.

Darter, being the faster of the two, arrived first to find both the passenger and pilot unconscious, in a plane already half filled with water and sinking fast. Frantic, Darter wrenched at the door on the passenger side, only to find that the twisting of the airframe had welded it shut.

“What’s wrong?” Skylark asked, arriving overhead and hovering. The cockpit was nearly full of water now and tipped toward the pilot’s side of the plane.

“Door’s stuck, I can’t get it open,” Darter replied, trying to find a way to brace himself. “Do something! The plane’s going under.” Skylark quickly looked at her options. The other doors were either under water or weren’t going to be fast enough. Which to her mind left only one choice.

Moving to the front of the plane, Skylark grabbed onto the engine as tightly as she could and began to pump her wings. The silver tips of her wings began to glow as instinct channelled her particular magic into them, and power in flight was hers again. Skylark’s hooves and the engine became a fulcrum around which the plane rotated, until it was pointing straight up and down, its tail pointing directly at the bottom of the lake.

“Can you lift it any higher?” Darter asked, bracing his rear hooves against the side of the plane.

“Too… heavy,” Skylark grunted out, her wing beats echoing like thunderclaps, as she held up not only the mass of the fallen aircraft, but the weight of all the water within its fuselage as well. The pegasus pony was at her limit, but it was enough, and she held the cockpit area just above the surface of the water.

“I’ll be quick,” Darter said, heaving with all four hooves and ripping the passenger door completely off of the plane. Looking inside, he found both people inside unconscious, but breathing. It took him only a few panicked seconds to figure out how the seat belt worked, before he was able to slide the woman in the passenger seat out into the lake.

There was a gravel beach a few dozen meters away, and lacking the wingpower of his sister, Darter had to tow the woman through the water. He deposited her on the beach and flew back to get the pilot, his sister continuing to pound the air to keep the plane from sinking the whole time.

Darter repeated his feat of strength on the pilot’s door, noticing as he did that the float on this side of the plane had torn away, leaving a large gash in the side of the aircraft. He had some trouble pulling the pilot free, who was up to his chest in water, but he finally managed to get the man out and start dragging him through the water was well.

“I’m out!” Darter called up to his sister, whose eyes were screwed shut in concentration. “You can let go!”

Skylark opened her eyes, momentarily confused, then released the plane. Several tons of plane and water sank downwards, then turned turtle before finally stabilizing upside down just under the surface of the water. Skylark for her part, didn’t watch the ballet of buoyancy, preferring instead to glide the distance to shore, arriving just behind her brother. So it was her who spotted the growing red smear on the gravel.

“Darter, look,” she said, pointing her wingtip at the pilot’s leg. Darter swung his head around and saw the sliced open pant leg of the pilot almost immediately.

“Oh crap,” the young pegasus gasped. “This is bad, really bad. He’s really hurt.”

“Skylark to Rescue One,” Skylark said, keeping her voice calm and steady in a way that Kylara Harding never could. “Skylark to Rescue One, we have a problem.”

“Rescue One here,” Jessica said, in a breathless voice. “We’ve just about got everything cleared away and are about to head your way. What’s the problem?”

“We got the people out of the plane,” Skylark said, as her brother tried putting pressure on the pilot’s wound without success. “But one of them has a really bad cut on his lower leg. He’s bleeding a lot.”

“What colour is the blood?” Jessica asked, jumping into the truck as her partner started the vehicle. “And is it oozing out or spurting?”

“It’s bright red!” Darter yelled, fear in his voice. “And it’s kinda pulsing!”

Kevin and Jessica shared a quick look as they started moving forward. That kind of bleeding meant a deep, life threatening wound that could kill in minutes. The ponies needed the help of a skilled medical technician and they needed it fast.

“Okay, if the man is wearing a belt, I want you to take it off of him,” Jessica began, as Kevin started the lights and siren to get the crowd of returning searchers out of the way. “Put it around his leg about five centimeters above the top of the wound and cinch it down as tight as you can. Got it?”

There was a long pause from the radio that gave Jessica time to calculate time and distances. By the time the radio crackled again, she had made a decision that she knew would affect her life for a very long time to come.

“It’s working!” Darter shouted, over Skylark’s radio. “He’s barely bleeding at all. Should I let go of the belt?”

“No!” Jessica shouted back. “Whatever you do, hold that belt tight. We’ll be there as fast as we can.”

“Okay,” Darter said, sounding a little uncertain. “But hurry up, okay?”

“Kevin, get me to the Pedersen place,” Jessica ordered, and her partner shot a quick look of surprise at her.

“The Pedersen’s?” he asked, turning his eyes back to the road as the last of the crowd melted away from in front of them. “Why?”

“Because it’s going to take us about thirty minutes to reach Darter and Skylark,” Jessica said. “I can make it there in five, if I fly.”

“Fly? What are you—” Kevin began, before his eyes went wide in realization at what Jessica was planning to do. “Oh no. No, you don’t. You can’t.”

“You know how long it’s going to take us to get to the lake, unload the inflatable, and get across to the far side,” Jessica said, noting that even as he argued with her, Kevin was taking them where she wanted to go. “We load me down with the suture tray, I fly there and close the wound. You follow behind and take care of the aftermath.”

“I don’t like it. Too much can go wrong,” Kevin said, screeching to a halt in front of Jean Pedersen’s home. “But I can do the numbers too, come on.”

The two paramedics jumped out of the truck. Kevin opened a compartment on the side and quickly drew out a pair of flat trays sealed in plastic. Turning to find Jessica beside him, he shoved them both into her hands.

“Take both of them in case something goes wrong with the first, good luck,” he said, pausing only long enough to give her quick squeeze on the shoulder before jumping back into the truck, and peeling out just as fast as he’d come. Jessica was heading through the gate to Jean’s place when she heard someone behind her.

“I’m over here,” Jean Pedersen called out, from the Harding’s front door. “What’s going on?”

“Not time to explain,” Jessica said, sprinting over to the tall witch. “I need you to change me back into a pegasus, right now.”

“Whoa, wait. Why?” Jean said, holding up a hand. “Hang on, let’s get inside.” Jessica dashed into the Harding’s house to see a startled Lynn Harding looking up at her with a mass of straps in her hands.

“Plane crash at the lake,” Jessica blurted out. “There’s a man bleeding out. If I can get there in time I can save him, but I need to fly there to get there in time. Change me, please.”

“Only because it’s to save a life,” Jean said, nodding. “Lynn, you better get clear. No sense all three of us turning into ponies.”

“No problem. I’ll be in the backyard, and I’ve got your work harness right here, Jessica,” Lynn said, picking up another batch of straps and stepping in a lively fashion toward the back of the house as Jessica started to throw off her clothes.

"Why are you-" Jean asked before realization hit her. "Oh right, ponies." She got out of her own clothes and in very short order the two women were standing nude in front of each other.

"Okay, I'm ready," Jessica said to the tall witch. "Make with the magic."

"For life," Jean said, reaching inside herself with an effort of focus and will to touch the power inside of her.

The power of magic responded by flowing into Jean like a raging torrent. Warmer than any fire, sweeter than any child, more potent than any drink, the power entered Jean's being, becoming one with her. To Jessica, looking from outside, the joining of woman and magic was just as profound. Jean's hair shook loose of its braid and began to flow in an ethereal wind. That flowing mane began to glow with a purple light so dark in hue that it turned the hair around it almost black in color, save for twinkling fey lights that moved and swirled about.

"J-Jean?" Jessica asked, holding back an urge to drop to her knees.

“Call me Foxfire,” Jean said, opening eyes alight with indigo flame. With a gesture, the chant blurred out as almost a single word, and where two women had once stood, there were now a pair of mares. One unicorn, horn, mane and tail, aglow with a rich, smokey dark purple and one pegasus, who shook out her red and white feathered wings.

“Get going,” Foxfire said, trying to bring the power inside of her under control. “Fly, you fool.”

“Thanks, Jean. I mean, Foxfire,” Jessica said, galloping out into the backyard where Lynn waited for her, her joy in the transformation overriding her worry about Jean. Lynn Harding knew her craft, and in less than a minute the cream coloured pegasus was fully harnessed and watching the seamstress secure the precious suture trays into the panniers on either side.

“Go save some lives,” Lynn said, giving the transformed paramedic a hug. As Jessica exploded upwards into the air, inspiration from a movie she had seen seized her mind, and she toggled her microphone.

“Fire One, be advised,” Jessica said, exultation in her voice as she climbed at a steep angle. “Rescue One is changing call signs. Rescue One is now ‘Medevac’.”

Author's Note

Growing up, one of my favorite shows went by the simple name of "Emergency!" and starred a guy with what to me, was the manliest name of all time, "Randolph Mantooth." I mean the guy even has "Man" in his name. How awesome is that?

Also, I had written a different, more over the top sequence with Jean and Jessica, but it just far too over the top. So I toned things down a bit, and after some convincing, did not delete the scene but stored it away for future days.

Also, Gab0o0 has come through for me again and done up some new art for this story. When I get a chance I will likely replace the cover image with it. Here is the Furred Five, having a sit in the woods.

A big shout out to the ongoing support through Patreon by:

Canary in the Coal Mine,
Damaged,
Shaushka,
Airar,
Pseudosapien,
Drazhan,
and
Machara.

Chapter 44: Thus Spake Zarathustra

“Tia! Look!” Luna exclaimed, frantically waving a hoof as she paused in blasting her magic at the ceiling of the shaft.

“What is it?” Celestia asked, side-slipping over in her hover to see what her sister was pointing at. “Is that… metal?”

“It’s half of a rail line,” Luna replied, before firing a judicious blast of power a bit to one side of the heavily rusted shaft of metal. “Look! There’s the other rail. We must be very close indeed.”

“I think you’re right, sister,” Celestia said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “You know, if this is a mine tunnel we might make faster progress by following it instead of continuing to bore straight upwards.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” the dark alicorn enthused. “And if we follow a tunnel we can walk and give our wings a break.”

“I’m feeling the strain as well, Luna,” Celestia admitted, her golden power starting to cut their shaft into a ninety degree horizontal bend. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve been drawing magic from home to bolster our reserves.”

“Will that harm the Apples?” Luna asked, settling onto the small ledge her sister had just made. “It is the collected power of their family line that holds open the portal, is it not?”

“Unless I try to force the portal wider, it shouldn’t be a problem,” Celestia responded, before carving herself her own landing niche. “Hmm, perhaps a note to Twilight is in order.”

“Thy former student is not the Element of Magic for nothing, dear Sister,” Luna said, a fond smile on her face. “Not to mention a dear friend.”

“She truly deserves the title of ‘Princess of Friendship’,” Celestia commented, a trifle absently as she penned a message and teleported it away.

Dear Twilight,

Could you please check on Granny Smith and Applejack? Luna and I are drawing a lot of power here from Equestria and I would like to make sure that it isn’t affecting either of them or their family in any way.

With Affection,

Celestia.

The reply came almost immediately in a swirl of green dragonfire, and Luna hunched to read over Celestia’s shoulder.

Dear Princess Celestia,

Applejack and Granny Smith are fine. I noticed yesterday that something on your side of the portal seems to have established a thaumic link with the Tree of Harmony here. The link seems to have taken up the strain of holding the portal open. Granny Smith says she is ‘feeling as spry as a square dancer on their second cup of cider.’ I think that’s a good thing, but I’m never sure with countryisms.

On a personal note: WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK??

I’ve only been a minute or two late raising the sun and the moon and I’ve already got the Royal Astronomers and Timekeepers pretty mad at me. Plus, I have six different petitions from various nobles calling for my immediate abdication in favor of a “Council of Nobles” and two demanding that I seal the portal behind you and take over myself.

On top of everything else, Cadance wants me to take an afternoon off to introduce me to something called “shipping.” Considering the glee in her eyes when she talks about it, I don’t think it has anything to do with transporting goods.

Your somewhat desperate former student,

Twilight Sparkle

“She does sound a trifle desperate,” Luna commented, wincing a bit in sympathy.

“One day that mare is going to lead Equestria,” Celestia stated, a smile ghosting her lips. “This is good practice for that day.”

“I think she will do well,” Luna added, before turning to the rubble-filled passageway before them. “Onward?”

“Onward,” Celestia confirmed, her horn wreathing in golden power once more and the joy of magic banishing her aches and pains. “It’s going to be very interesting to meet the leaders of a whole new world.”

The CH-149 Cormorant helicopter winged its way through the clear skies over the north coast. Although the helicopter was moving at high speed, the nearby CF-18 fighter jets escorting the rotary-wing aircraft were hard pressed to slow down enough to perform their mission of escort and protection.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” called the helicopter’s flight engineer. “We’re just about to cross back over land. We should be over Brightly in about ten minutes.”

“Not yet,” Justin Trudeau replied, shaking his head. “Take me around the area a bit first. Show me a few of the sights to see around here.”

“Sir?” asked the engineer, not sure if he had heard correctly. “You want us to fly around a bit? But we can have you on the ground any minute now.”

“And once I am on the ground everyone’s focus will be on me,” Trudeau replied, leaning forward to generate a sense of closeness with the engineer. “The focus will be on me, and not on the people in the town down there.”

“So? They should be happy to see you,” the engineer replied, still confused. “You’re the Prime Minister.”

“Yes, but today is their day,” Trudeau explained, trying to make the man understand. “If I land now, I take that away from them. It becomes my day in the spotlight, and I’ve been lucky enough to have a lot of those.”

“Okay,” the CAF veteran answered, chewing on his lip in thought. “I think I get what you’re driving at.”

“One of the larger parts of politics is timing,” Trudeau said, continuing the explanation. “If I time my arrival until just after the awards ceremony, then I add to it. I make this day something even bigger in their lives than it would be otherwise, and they will remember me alongside of those events.”

“That’s a little… “ the engineer trailed off, not sure how much leeway he had in the conversation.

“Cold-blooded? Calculating?” responded the Prime Minister of Canada, with a gallic shrug. “When you’re in public life, you have to measure each of your actions in the spotlight with how they will be perceived. Otherwise, you won’t be in public life long because perception is politics. Besides, the election was a lot closer than I liked, and this gives me a chance to try to do something about western alienation.”

“I voted NDP,” the engineer said under his breath before turning to lean toward the flight crew to relay the instructions of the leader of their nation. Together, the three aircraft in the skies turned away from a direct heading to the small community that was their destination and instead, began to follow the coastline for awhile.

“British Columbia is a wide and varied place,” John Horgan said, from his place on the podium. “We have deserts, high plains, vast mountain ranges, river valleys and one of the most incredible coastlines in the world. But for all of that natural splendor, what truly sets BC apart is her people...”

“What was with that formal ‘compact’ speech earlier?” Iron Heart asked his love, whispering as the two ponies watched from an equipment nook that was hidden off to one side of the stage. “You didn’t really sound like… you.”

“Not sure what it was,” Foxfire murmured back, her white head leaning against Iron Heart’s deeply furred chest. “Some part of me wanted it to sound like that, and it felt right, so I just went with it.”

“Okay,” Iron Heart replied, accepting the response as they continued to listen to the speech. “Wow, he’s really talking us up, isn’t he? Are the kids ready to do the big reveal?”

“Romy and Zak are both chewing at the bit and ready to go,” answered the ivory unicorn, a half-smile on her muzzle. “Kylara is more than willing to try to keep hiding in the background, but she’ll follow the lead of the others, and as for Billy and Rowan—”

“The future Mister and Misses Kye,” Iron Heart interrupted with a smirk.

“As for our two pre-teen children,” Foxfire continued, rolling her eyes at her stallion’s attempt at humour. “They’re ready, but cautious. If things go badly Iron Hoof intends to kick out a wall while Shield Maiden holds the crowd off.”

“Damn, they’re that scared?” Iron Heart asked, frowning as the Premier droned on. “Maybe we should call the whole thing off.”

“It’s too late for that, and you know it,” Foxfire reminded the big black pony. “They’re just being smart. Planning for the worst, but hoping for the best. Oh look, they’re calling up Ernie and the others.”

“Yeah,” Iron Heart replied, suppressing the urge to step forward as he heard his human name called. “Kind of surprised Father Addison isn’t here. This is a big day for Brightly.”

“He’s delivering his usual Sunday morning thing,” Foxfire replied, leaning back against Iron Heart in unspoken understanding of the pull between two worlds she knew he felt just then. “It’s due to end right when the kids reveal the Power Ponies.”

“...and let us not forget the example of the Apostle Peter. Who noted that God is not partial, and that any who follow his commandments are acceptable to him. And what are the greatest commandments?” Father Addison asked his congregation, who were fully enthralled by the priest’s passionate and profound preaching. “Love God with your whole heart, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

“My friends, my neighbors, we have been witness lately to some truly good and faithful examples of this love,” Addison declared forcefully. “Neighbors who may not look like us, who may not be of our faith, or of our colour, or even of our species. But who have demonstrated their love for us through the goodness of their hearts and their deeds.”

“To reject them, simply because they are different, is to reject God.” Addison pontificated, thumping the lectern for emphasis. “We must always look beyond what we see with our eyes, and be like God, who sees hearts. No matter how strange someone may appear to us, it is the content of their character that should be our guide. Never the form they wear on the outside.”

Father Addison paused for a moment to take in the reaction of those listening to his words. All of them were locals and knew about the Power Ponies, but they didn’t know about the changes both he and his wife were experiencing. Their forms were changing as well, and who knew what new and strange things were yet to come. As a spiritual leader of the town, it fell to him to help prepare Brightly for the future.

“What’s this?” Luna asked, as she cleared some rubble away to reveal a stone-like wall of grey material with a pebbled surface. It looked like some vast boulder had been shoved into the passageway her and her sister had been clearing out as they made their way to the surface.

“I think it might be a form of cement,” Celestia replied, pausing to take a deep drink of water from a canteen. “Earth ponies are quite good at forming it into shapes as it sets to make some very lovely things. But this… this is just ugly.”

“Indeed,” Luna commented, sending a hint of her power into the obdurate wall in front of her. “According to my delving not only is there sand and lime here, but a great many small stones as well as an impressive number of iron rods.”

“Reinforcement, I think,” the formerly white, now grungy grey alicorn responded. “I think this might be some sort of deliberately formed barrier to keep ponies from entering the mine.”

“Or exiting,” Luna tossed back, taking a deep drink herself. “Could somepony other than Lee Ung know about the portal?”

“I doubt it,” Celestia replied, as she stepped up to face the grey wall of reinforced concrete. “It’s more likely that this barrier was put in place to keep foals or other innocents from wandering into the mine. It is very old after all.”

“You are most likely right, sister,” Luna said, nodding. “One last effort then?”

“One last push,” Celestia answered, gathering up her magic. “Then, I’m going to sleep for a week.”

“Sleeping while meeting new ponies,” Luna replied, giggling a bit. “I never knew you were so adept at multitasking.”

“Ha ha,” Celestia deadpanned. “Let’s get this done, Luna. We have new ponies to meet.”

It was almost time for them to take the stage, and the five youngsters were feeling the stress of the moment. Floods, storms, bullies and plane crashes were all things they took in stride, but getting up in front of the world to show who and what they were had them sweating. Even Zak’s usual grin was somewhat fixed with a clenched jaw.

“Hey guys, it’ll be okay,” Rowan whispered to her sister, brother and friends. “We just go up there and do it like we planned.”

“But what if people don’t like us?” Kya whispered back, with a distinct tremor in her voice. “What if they freak out?”

“It’ll be okay,” Zak told his sister, putting his own worries aside to console his sister. “We’re awesome, and everyone is gonna know it.”

“You sure?” Romy asked softly, her eyes flicking about until they found the spot where her mother was hiding. “Mom says it’s gonna be okay, but this is kinda scary.”

“It’ll be fine,” Billy chimed in, from the other side. “And if not, there’s always ‘Plan B’.”

“Plan B?” Kya asked, perking up a bit.

“Yeah,” Billy replied. “‘B’ for ‘Blast a hole in the wall and book it’.”

All five children giggled at that for a moment and then sobered as they realized that there was a very real possibility that blasting their way out of the town hall might be their last resort if things did go poorly. The five youngsters looked at each other, on the verge of breaking and running for the door, when Rowan addressed the other four.

“Guys, I just want to say that no matter what happens, I’m proud to call you my friends,” she said, looking each of them in the eye. “I can’t think of any other kids I’d want up there with me.”

“Even me?” Romy asked, eyes a little wide. “I’m your sister, not your friend.”

“You’re my sister and my friend,” Rowan answered, giving her younger sister a sideways hug. “Power Ponies forever, that’s us.”

“Power Ponies forever,” Zak replied, nodding his head, grin cocky once more.

“Power Ponies forever,” Kylara confirmed, the steadiness of Skylark coming to her.

“Power Ponies forever,” Billy said, taking a deep breath that filled out his young chest.

“Power Ponies forever and ever,” Romana finished, her bi-coloured eyes twinkling.

“...Some of you may have noticed that there are five medals still unawarded,” Horgan said, continuing his speech after awarding all but one member of Brightly VFD their medals. “That is because there are five names yet to call. Five brave citizens of this province and this town, who when disaster threatened, gave their all.”

“Is this it?” Martin MacCrae asked John Wilcox, keeping his voice low and even. “Is this where he introduces the aliens?”

“Sort of,” Wilcox replied, and MacCrae shot a look questioning look at his former subordinate. He studied the face beside him and came to a realization.

“You aren’t telling me something,” MacCrae stated, keeping his voice low, even as he calculated how far away his issued Tikka T3X rifle was, and how hard it would be to get to it. “You lied to me, didn’t you?”

“You wouldn’t have believed the truth,” Wilcox said, gesturing toward the stage. “But I promise you, what you’re about to see is something completely alien to anything you ever thought possible.”

“Give it to me straight, John,” MacCrae ordered, realizing the Premier was on the verge of ending his speech. “Are we in danger?”

“No,” the former soldier replied, his voice firm. “No one here is in any danger from what they are about to see. My word on it.”

“When this is over, you and me are going to have a long chat,” MacCrae promised, turning his attention back to the podium.

“And so, my fellow British Columbians,” Horgan said, at long last. “It is with distinct pleasure I call up the five without whom, the miracle at the Carmanah Dam would never have happened. Would Rowan and Romana Pedersen, William Kye, Kylara Harding and Zak Harding, please come join me.”

While the gathered press looked on in surprise, the assembled townsfolk of Brightly clapped and cheered loudly as the children they knew to be the Power Ponies made their way up to the stage. As they reached the Premier, he shook their hands in turn, as camera flashes went off in an array of dazzling flares.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Horgan told the group, holding his hand over the podium mic. “There’s no real need for you to reveal your identities.”

“We kinda promised the town we would, Sir,” Rowan replied, taking point. “It was either promise to show ourselves now or let everyone talk about us when they all found out a few days ago.”

“And you intend to keep your promises,” Horgan finished, nodding in understanding. “Do you need any room for what you’re going to do?”

“Anyone within about six to seven meters will be affected, Sir,” Rowan answered, looking up at the big man. “You might want to back up a bit, unless you want to become a pony too?”

“Not today,” Horgan replied, taking his hand off of the podium mic. “If everyone would clear the stage, my young friends here would like to demonstrate what they did to help prevent a terrible natural disaster. Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, I give you ‘The Power Ponies’.”

“The what?” was the collective response from the assembled reporters. The collective response of the citizenry however, was to snicker and smile at the confusion that was plain to see on the faces of the outsiders to their town. Those city slickers were about to see how a small town took care of itself.

“In Nomine Sol,” Rowan began, the amethyst about her neck coming to life with lavender fire. “In Nomine Luna.”

“And now my friends,” Father Addison said, concluding his sermon. “Let us all rise and bow our heads as I ask for the Lord’s blessing upon us all. In Nomine Patri...”

“Luna!” Celestia called out, excitement in her voice. “It’s giving way! We’re breaking through!”

The spell was cast.

The prayer was finished.

The Sisters broke through.

And in a wave of rainbow coloured light, the world changed forever.

Author's Note

And so ends "Brightly Lit"...

KIDDING!

Not much more to go however, so I hope you all stick around for the conclusion. This chapter was pretty hard to write considering I had to bounce between three different perspectives. I tried to keep things from being too jarring and before anyone asks: Yes, Father Addison's viewpoint is critical because of what happens next.

I'll do my best to have the next chapter out soon.

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