Arc 1 – Long Echoes Chapter 2 – Free

=================================

A crude door in the dark uneven masonry rattled as a young mare fought with the heavy lock. Another stab of the rusty key—and it yielded to Tin Flower, sending her all but tumbling inside. Сarrying sand onto the immaculately clean stone floor, the chilly drafts followed uninvited. They crawled under her dirty overalls, and the smell of sweat mixed with burnt hair joined the gloom of the cave-like room.

She peered back into the thickening dusk and seeing only the Moon keeping her company, slammed the door shut. Her artificial hoof’s hiss was instantly followed by the sonorous death cries of pottery falling from the shelves.

Not letting the pandemonium wind down, Flower dropped her tool belt where she stood. Then the mare drudged across the room, her tail dragging behind her, peppering the oily hoofprints with soot. A flick from her metal hoof brought a derelict lantern to life; it dispelled the darkness, save for a shade in the doorway leading further into the home carved from a natural hollow in stone.

Flower purposely ignored her.

Taking a seat at the rickety table she undid the bundle of her greasy mane, letting the overgrown clotted locks hide her muzzle. With a heavy and trembling sigh, she buried her hooves in the messy mass of her hair as well.

“I… I made you something,” the ghost at the door eventually dared to speak, smiling sheepishly and taking a tentative step into the shivering, as if cringing away, light.

There was no movement from Flower, no sound.

“I know I’m not the best cook, but I grew those greens myself.” Luna ventured closer to the table. “I promise, it’s better than whatever you—”

“Not hungry.”

“But you worked late today again—”

Flower’s metal hoof fell on the table hard enough for the wood to creak plaintively. The only ware on the hoofmade furniture—a clay bowl—jumped, its precious contents threatened to be spilt.

“I’m s-so sorry Flower… I didn’t mean to…”

Luna’s words died on her bitten lips, followed by a gasp as Flower abruptly stood, then just as suddenly doubled up, hunching over the table with a hiss. The alicorn took a wide step forward; like her excuses, it was cut short—the young mare’s head snapped in her direction. Through the curtain of her unwashed and unshorn mane, two fiery eyes glared daggers.

Unable to maintain eye contact, the former Princess backed down, almost returning to the void of her room. Yet, when Flower turned away and began to free herself from the dirty boilersuit, Luna’s cat-like eyes locked on her.

With a wet tearing sound, the crusty fabric slowly came off the blistered skin, leaving threads of semi-coagulated ichor hanging in the air. Finally, the only sounds remaining were Flower’s heavy breathing and tears dripping from her chin onto the table. A heartbeat later another noise disturbed the near silence—the unmistakable hum of magic.

A soft white glow spread over the raw burnt flesh, yet its soothing presence hadn’t lasted for long, replaced by the cold touch of metal clamping the injured shoulder. Flower’s muzzle contorted in agony; yet even as the pain ebbed, the scowl remained.

“Don’t use your fucking magic on me,” she snarled.

Her hoof moved, letting drops of blood roll from the reopened wound across the calloused coat. Only Luna paid attention to the crimson marring the floor—Flower had already buried her muzzle in the crooked shelves looming over the table.

With great difficulty, Luna managed to tear her gaze away from the warm fresh blood.

“But it would help greatly.”

Still captivated by the sight of spilt life, the alicorn nearly jumped when a first aid kit was unceremoniously dropped on the table. The metal box opened from the hard landing, revealing numerous medical supplies inside, mostly powerful tranquillizers.

Flower wasted no time digging through them. When an uncareful motion put too much strain on her hurt limb, she grimaced and without bothering to look at Luna, shot in her general direction:

“It comes from them.”

More than a single pair of eyes looked back at Flower, none bearing expressions of offence—all hollow.

“You are in pain,” Luna commented in a dull tone, not quite addressing the pony intended.

Despite the alicorn’s attention being elsewhere, she didn’t miss Flower barking, “No thanks to you.”

The spell abated for the time being and Luna blinked in confusion.

“But I just offered my assistance—”

“If you wanted to actually help you would fuck off,” Flower snapped, yet her voice was only tired when she added, “and do what I told you to dozens of times.”

Both mares fell silent.

Whilst Luna had no good reason to be, Flower’s jaws were clasping a tube, squeezing out a foul-smelling ointment. Scrunching her muzzle not only from the pain and pungent odour, she spread the remedy on her burn.

“That shit wouldn’t happen if I didn’t have to work overtime to feed you and those things.”

The black silhouettes clinging to Luna’s gaunt form shifted restlessly, their blank gazes focusing and unfocusing on the mare tending to her wounds. Flower paid them little attention—whatever vestiges of equine minds they once had had vanished long ago. They were now nothing but puppets dancing on strings; she only hoped it was the alicorn pulling them.

After a long pause Luna countered, “They don’t require sustenance.”

“You eat for them.”

It took Luna an unjustified amount of time to comprehend that simple fact. If Flower wasn’t busy wrapping her shoulder in the yellowish old bandages, she would watch the struggling alicorn with an expression of profound disappointment and more than just a hint of disgust.

“What do you suggest?” Luna finally spoke in an offended voice. “For me to stop eating?”

“To let go of them, damn it!” Flower roared and tore at the bandage.

Fortunately, her fury coincided with no more need for wrapping. Still, the motion made the band cut into the tender flesh and the pain demanded her immediate attention.

The mare grimaced when the needle pierced her skin, but mere moments later the painkillers took effect and Flower remembered why she needed them in the first place.

“Fuck!”

The empty ampule shattered and the syringe bounced against the floor.

She pointed an accusing hoof at Luna and bellowed, “You don’t deserve the honour to move the Sun and Moon!”

The former Princess jerked—the words finally reached her mind. Yet she had no answer; with her lips pursed, she stared at the floor; moisture welling up in her eyes.

The outburst tapped into the almost depleted well of Flowers’s energy—the rage faded away. Yet there was no mercy in her voice when she spoke, slumping against the table:

“At least I deserve to be stuck with a wretch like you.”

Luna sniffed. However, the next moment her expression slightly brightened.

“I’m getting better, you should know.” There even was the suggestion of a proud smile on her black lips. “It takes longer for me to lose myself and I regain lucidity faster now.”

Flower tore away the lid of the first-aid kit and threw it at Luna’s hooves. A wave of mirror shards washed over the tarnished ancient regalia.

“Have you looked at yourself?”

There was a nightmarish visage looking back at Luna from the silver-coated slivers—a decaying thing of the past, a taint over and over failed to be banished from this world.

“It’s just an appearance!” She took a hasty step from the images of two broken mares staring at her. “It doesn’t reflect who I am.”

Trying to look somewhere else, Luna met Flower’s gaze, averse and overweary. Not for the first time she demanded an answer.

“Then why don’t you change it?”

The alicorn instantly averted her eyes.

“I’m trying to be helpful if only you’d let me…”

Flower’s scorn cut off Luna’s mumbling like a slap. Heavily leaning on the table, with her head hanging, she barked from behind the curtain of her filthy mane:

“You’re just a useless lunatic. Rainbow was right back then. Not letting it kill you was just another of my mistakes.”

Luna reared back, tears rolling down her bony cheeks. Like a fish, she gasped for air, her mouth opening and closing until she was able to form a coherent answer.

“I saved you!” she cried in desperation.

Flower only glared from under her brows at Luna and replied, her tone as disdainful as before, “Should have let me die while I was so blissfully ignorant of what I brought upon this world. And now I also have to babysit your pathetic insane ass.”

Agony and wrath twisted Luna’s muzzle into that of a feral beast. Her horn flared with otherworldly energies and a blade materialized in the middle of the room, driven into the stone of the floor.

Frost wisped away from the razor-sharp edge—a straight fading line like a comet tail; the air crackled with cold around the faintly ringing star metal—it sang a lullaby of madness; the moonstone of the hilt softly glowed—save for a dark spot serving as a futile reminder.

It wasn’t a weapon forged in Equestria, not even in this world.

Yet neither the appearance of the eldritch sword nor the change in Luna’s mood had any effect on Tin Flower. She knew no harm would come upon her, and if it did… it was over anyway. Her expression was only becoming increasingly irritated.

Luna gulped and whispered, her voice shaking:

“Then end this now.”

Flower slowly approached the sword, though didn’t dare touch it. Circling around it, she sneered in the alicorn’s face, “Oh, how I wish I could. But who is going to rise the Sun in the morning? Or do you still want the night that will never end?”

More tears dropped on the floor from the black muzzle, but Luna’s voice was hard, barely trembling. “The changeling queen did that instead of me for half a millennia; she would be able to do it again. And I’m sure the Machine God—”

Metal clinked against metal and in one sudden and violent motion Luna’s sword was brought to her throat.

Almost pressing her muzzle into the alicorn’s ear, Flower hissed, “I’m not allowing that murderer to have more power than it already has!”

The blade dug into the ancient hide drawing black blood, but a moment later it was diluted into crimson by tears.

“This world already has too much monstrosity in it.”

Luna’s mane billowed behind her, the haunted eyes in the swirling storm of shadows mirroring the malevolent stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. The alicorn paid attention to none of them as she climbed the rocky slope.

When she reached the top of the crag, its only occupant barely paid her approach any attention. Finding a flat rock a respectable distance from her, Luna took a seat. She let herself bask in the warmth still radiated by the stone, yet that comfort wouldn’t last for long—not for her. At least, rubbing her neck she found no wound—absent for the same reason vestiges of sunlight fled her presence. That wasn’t something that delighted her, not with Flower’s words still ringing in her ears.

The tension in the air kept growing and Luna could defer no more.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke softly. “I shouldn’t have brought her—”

“It.” Though Flower cut Luna off, there was no anger in her voice. “What I created is a machine with no heart.”

The alicorn opened and closed her mouth. A decade ago she would have readily agreed—now she wasn’t sure it was her place.

Far in the distance, Kludgetown’s jagged silhouette stood black against the pink-red of the setting Sun. Luna gazed at it longingly—the craving for the embrace of civilization was overwhelming. What teased her even more was the knowledge of this desert city bustling with life in the moonlight no less than under the Sun.

Finally, after centuries, the night was shunned no longer.

No matter how much she wanted to barge into Kludgetown’s dusty streets and dance with both their dwellers and moonbeams, she could not.

And not just because Flower wouldn’t let her.

Each sunset and each dawn Luna grasped the celestial bodies in her magic, and it always felt like a chore—penance.

What was the point of planting her flag amidst the stars if none would see it for what it was? There was nobody else to claim that domain, to dispute its borders. And if there was something none other than her could have, could she say whether it truly belonged to her… or whether she belonged to it?

The responsibility was still hers, the night—not anymore.

No wind blew, yet her mane moved of its own volition. The touch of what once used to be the Lunar Guard standing eternal vigil by her side was like that of smoke—barely registrable and foreboding.

A reminder she wasn’t alone.

For once her presence wasn’t abhorred, at least not openly. Tin Flower’s eyes were on Kludgetown, half-lidded and unfocused. The young mare might be considering spending the night here, upon those stones, believing they would retain the echo of sunrays until they touch the cliff again.

They wouldn’t.

Someone would have to bring a blanket to ward off the chill of open skies, someone would have to clean the shards so recklessly strewn across the floor.

Luna’s horn became a beacon guiding the Sun and Moon across the deep sky; the once azure firmament succumbing to the inky darkness. When she opened her eyes and looked upon the nocturnal tapestry, she was met with the rueful Moon and indifferent stars.

“You done?”

“Yes. I’m done.”

“Go to the cellar.”

Luna snapped her head so fast, she thought the motion would tear her mane out. Either that or her heart clenching disturbed the undead soldiers. Surrounded by the tumultuous cloud of darkness, she stepped closer to Flower, hoping it was only her imagination.

“You are not going to..?”

The young mare met Luna’s teary eyes with a mask of indifference, saying in a just as cold voice, ”I don’t trust you.”

“Please, not the chains!” Luna fell on her knees. “It’s going to make things worse.”

“Don’t fool yourself—there was never any hope for you. For either of us.”

When Tin Flower breathed in full lungs of smoke she didn’t even cough—one had to get used to the toxic atmosphere of Kludgetown; though, she never ceased to wonder: for a city in the heart of the desert, there was a lot of burning down going on. These fumes had a solid chemical aftertaste— courtesy of the Alchemy Guild.

The once again rebuilt building was diametrically opposite to Flower’s destination and soon its influence abated from the acrid air, ceding to the enticing smell of freshly cooked food. However, the young mare gave the bazaar wide berth, choosing instead the desolate alleyways as she was in no mood or state to shoulder her path through the crowds.

The protest of unoiled hinges heralded Flower’s arrival to the alehouse, the name of which she never bothered to remember. The half-empty tavern greeted her with the dusty interior and complete lack of any attention paid to her entrance; at this hour the patrons usually weren’t in a state to. Only the bartender slightly lowered his black minotaur horns in silent recognition of his regular.

Without a word, Flower took a free stool and patiently waited for her drink.

Instead of the imposing half-bull, she was approached by a no less impressive in size lizardfolk. The foul-smelling reptile seemed to materialize from nowhere and, licking his lips, he poked Flower’s limb just below the bandages.

“What’s did a lil’ horsey forgots ‘ere?” he slurred with a thick hissing accent, revealing a mouth full of sharp crooked teeth.

Flower answered with a hiss of her own, coming from her metal hoof. As she turned to decide what part of the bloated scaly face she should hit to inflict the most harm, the bartender finally made his appearance.

“Hey, pal,” the minotaur rumbled, “if you came here to bother the patrons, you better look for that somewhere else.”

Ebonhorn had the physique of an average minotaur, reinforced by hauling around barrels full of drinks on a regular basis. His steel muscles visibly bulged under his clothes even without him trying to look imposing.

However, many of the reptiles lurking in the dark alleys of Kludgetown were known for having a poisonous bite. Nor were they fastidious about using any weaponry in a fight.

The lizardfolk squinted at the bartender.

“The cow woulds risk it hide for a horsey-friend?”

There was a gun under the counter, yet Ebonhorn didn’t even bother to move closer to it. Crossing his arms on his chest, he spoke the way he would address the youngest of calves—almost spelling out his words:

“If you don’t leave now, she’s going to smear your brains, or whatever you have in your skull, all over the place and I don’t want to clean that up.”

The reptile cast one more calculating glance at both of his potential opponents and finally decided to retreat, hissing as he slithered away, “Vers pathétiques.”

Ebonhorn eyed Flower from head to hoof, his perpetually sullen gaze pausing on the bandages.

“You shouldn’t go around like that,” he somberly commented. “They can smell blood, you know.”

Tin Flower met his dark eyes with a glare.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“I’ve noticed. Would be wonderful, though, if you didn’t start a fight today. I just cleaned the place.” Ebonhorn disappeared under the counter only to produce a glass of kirsch a moment later. “Speaking of which, I found a couple of coins under the counter.” With a practised motion, the half-bull sent it sliding across the polished wood to the frowning mare. “So here’s one on the house. Maybe it’ll lighten up your mood.”

“Hold onto your generosity until I have nothing to pay with.”

Flower’s hoof moved and a glimmer sailed through the air until it ended up as a gem pinched betwixt minotaur’s fingers.

“Seems like I won’t have to wait long.”

“Not with almost all the tech coming from Hope. I can’t fix the metal itself,” Flower grumbled with a grimace. She then tossed the contents of the glass down her throat. When her hoof found its way back to the counter, there was a slight smile on her lips. “Anyway, I appreciate the offer, so I’ll try not to kick all of that scalie’s fangs in.”

“Guy’s already gone, but it’s not him I’m bothered about now.”

Flower eyebrow rose.

Leaning to refill her glass, Ebonhorn lowered his voice and subtly pointed behind her back, “The equine fella in the corner’s been paying a lot of attention to you.”

Tin Flower’s guess proved correct—as soon as she left the pothouse, faking the uneven gait of a drunkard, the mysterious hooded pony became her shadow.

A foalhood spent in the rotting maze of sharp metal developed in Flower considerable navigation skills and agility, which very well translated into the convoluted mess of Kludgetown’s districts. So, the stalking lasted only as long as it took her to get on the most familiar ground of Tinsmiths’.

The prey became the hunter.

Though, now that Flower was able to take a proper look at her pursuer glancing around in confusion, there was very little in their appearance suggesting anything of a menacing nature.

It must have been a mare no older than Flower herself, or a lanky colt. Whilst the sparse lighting of the pub served the stranger well, the moonlight revealed their ominous concealing clothing was just a collection of coarse and grimy tatters; not unusual for locals in its sordid quality, it still stood out with how warm it was—one had to be either desperate or beyond caring.

Still, Flower refused to commit to overconfidence—for any good hunter patience was a virtue of utmost importance.

Frantic and furtive, the outlander futilely attempted to resume their stalking, oblivious to at least one pair of eyes secretly watching them from a safe distance, one set of hooves insidiously following them step in step.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves at one of the numerous dead-end alleys, a hooded head swivelling in search for any exit other than the one they just entered—only to discover the way out was already blocked.

“Looking for someone?” Flower called the painfully blithe pony.

The sharp turn took the stranger’s hood off, revealing to the moonlight a metal skull.

“Thank goodness, it’s you!” The equinoid’s muzzle dissolved into a relieved smile and she took a step forward only to falter as her approach was met with a frown. “You’re Tin Flower, right?”

“And you’re the Machine Goddess’s spy,” the words came out in a snarl.

“I’m the wha—”

The question was cut short by Flower all but slamming into the metal mare, pressing her against the nearest wall.

“Wait, wait!” The equinoid writhed in the grasp of her artificial hoof. When it proved stronger than her, she pleaded in panic, “There must be some misunderstanding! I’m nobody’s spy!”

“There are two kinds of equinoids: the zealots and the dead.” A hiss came from Flower’s prosthetic, the metal body betwixt it and the wall screeching. “And I hate the Machine Goddess’s zealots.”

The equinoid mare tried to pry off the hoof pulverizing her neck, but to no avail—her own limbs just fumbled against the unyielding metal, so she tried to call to reason again:

“Listen, I don’t know what you are talking about. The only Machine Goddess I know has no followers—she just kills anyone!”

A hoarse laugh drowned out the sounds of rusted metal continuing to give up, though the pressure did lessen up somewhat.

“And you came to me for help? Hope can burn! That city deserves its fate.”

For a moment confusion held reign on the equinoid’s face.

“You mean the one at the Badlands?” Comprehension dawned on her and she grasped for a chance. “No-no, the Machine Goddess is in Canterlot!”

The tactic succeeded to a degree as the force threatening to behead her hadn’t become stronger—neither did it ebb, however.

“Canterlot is nothing but a huge fridge full of corpses,” Flower sneered.

“There’re survivors—I’m the one.”

“If it’s so easy then why am I hearing about it for the first time in ten years?” Flower shifted her weight in a way that made it clear—if her question wasn’t answered correctly, the conversation would be over.

“Because it ain’t easy. I’ve spent those ten years gathering crystals for the heating unit and finding the tunnels leading out of the city.” The equinoid moved her rags to the side, revealing copper tubes and wires covering her body and converging at her back where a massive part seemed to be missing. “I had to leave it behind and sell whatever I was able to carry off with me.”

Flower’s hoof was now only holding the equinoid against the wall.

“Maybe you are not lying.” She then squinted and the metal mare’s neck creaked again. “But where did you learn my name?”

“In a fishing town across the desert, they told me there is an earth pony in Kludgetown with a metal hoof who takes care of equinoids.” Seeing no reaction to her explanation, the equinoid mare went on, “Listen, I didn’t want to bother you and I’m sorry if I did. I’ve seen the Machine Goddess you talk about back in the Tunnels and I’m sure she’s just a fake, especially compared to the one in Canterlot. But I’ve heard there’s a community of equinoids. You probably know—it’s impossible to find the spare parts anywhere. I’ll just be on my way, alright?”

Flower gave the equinoid a long unreadable look, then finally let her go. However, she still blocked any escape route.

As the metal mare swivelled her neck (the joints groaned, but complied), Flower commented:

“There is no community—no equinoid who’s joined Unity has ever left it. Either it’s perfect or something isn’t right.” Seeing her words about to be objected to, she added, “And if you think it’s the former, there have been fewer and fewer equinoids seen in Hope. There are almost none these days.”

The equinoid slumped against the wall with a dejected noise.

“Well, I suspected something like that. Guess I’m gonna be stuck here.”

She took in her surroundings once more—her new home for the time being. The only thing of note was the mare who had just tried to decapitate her. She was still the closest thing to an ally she could hope to find.

“Could you help me please?” The metal mare tentatively tried. “Um, I have nothing for trade, but I know a lot about fixing stuff.”

When the equinoid leaned on the wall, the flaps of her improvised robe fell to the sides, revealing an artificial body ravaged by both heat and frost. Flower gave it a long appraising look before replying with a smile:

“Of course.”

Metal screeched.

The equinoid tried to open her mouth, but the only sound that could be heard in the alley was the low hiss of pistons. The sound of dripping oil followed it.

The empty body slid from Flower’s hoof into the puddle of machine blood like a broken doll.

When Tin Flower returned to her remote dwelling, there was a faint smile on her lips.

The mirror shards scrunched under hooves when she approached the table.

The soft movement of her oil-marred hoof sent shadows dancing on the crude stone walls. Soon the lamp was joined by the bundle from Flower’s shoulders; wrapped in coarse cloth the crystals barely made a sound.

Tired eyes fell on the clay bowl still waiting for her. She dipped her healthy hoof into its contents and licked it—the meal wasn’t half-bad, but it would have to wait anyway.

From the niche in the wall an old metal container was pulled out. Blowing dust from its lid, Flower opened it and gazed upon rows of finely cut gems brimming with magic secrets—artificial souls.

Discarding all newly acquired crystals but the one that mattered, she held the shining gem in her hoof before adding it to her collection.

Not exactly a collection—Flower didn’t have a habit of having things just for the sake of possession, everything had to be put in use. Yet, those would have to wait, to be kept safe until they could be free.

Free from the Machine Goddess’s lies.

The accursed name reminded her of the reason she went into the city in the first place and the content smile was gone from her lips, ceding to a frown. It only deepened as she strained her ears—dawn was near, but it still was too quiet.

The crystal forgotten, she bolted into Luna’s room, straight to the heavy trap door leading into the rocky depths. To her horror she found the black abyss gazing at her indifferently.

Disturbing the tomb’s silence with a vile curse, Flower hastily returned for the lantern and with it clasped in her jaws so hard it hurt, she dared to try the void of the cellar.

She knew it was an exercise in futility—the door opened wide already spoke of a disaster, yet she clung to a shred of hope as she descended the uneven stone steps.

It was gone like dew in sunlight when the lantern yanked the chains from the darkness—broken frost-covered metal on the charred floor, mist coming off of it.

Flower’s breath, a shuddering sigh, came out as vapour.

They were free.

Author's Note

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.

Stay awesome.