Pursuit of the Past

A tumbleweed skips past, breezing past the gate to Appleloosa on the wings of a dry, dusty tempest. Like in Ponyville, the shops are appear closed for good, and many of the buildings have been condemned. But there are ponies here, ones who crawl on their bellies through the dirt and whimper as I trot past. They’re ill, tainted by the plague that’s come, but I try to pay them no mind, going out of my way to avoid their yearning touch. It pains me to do so, but I can’t afford anything less.

I’ve ingested a amalgam concocted by Zecora each morning when I woke. Though not foolproof, the disease is repelled by the mystery ingredients, but as Zecora told me before I fled, “This elixir’s prevention will help only so much. You won’t be safe if an infected pony you touch.” I dare not test her claim, and I’ve no reason to doubt her.

In the center of the town rests the Salt Block, batwing doors dancing back and forth as if a spirit is testing the rusted hinges. Hanging by two skimpy threads from the rafters of the sheriff’s office is a wind chime, the notes emitted discordant and arrhythmic. It’s been many years since I’ve visited this town, and never have I seen it in such disarray. Had I any choice, I’d have avoided it at any cost, but Applejack is here. I must find her and leave swiftly at any cost.

In the dead of winter, Applejack was summoned to Appleloosa; Braeburn was deathly ill, and without him, the town would have faltered. She stepped up to the challenge and took on his role as sheriff; with Apple Blossom old enough to buck the apples with Big Macintosh, the family farm was in good hooves. Every now and then, Applejack would send a basket of apples or other treats and a single page that recounted her troubles. I never replied, at her request, but it was nice to hear how she was faring every now and again.

At the moment, she’s nowhere to be found. I fear she’s left this decaying town, seeking a thriving one instead. I wouldn’t blame her. That’s what everypony’s done.

But Applejack is different. She wouldn’t flee when the times got tough. I know it.

The again, I’ve been wrong before.

I near the sheriff’s office, the only building whose windows aren’t criss-crossed with wood, and hear a single, soft cough. I freeze.

“Braeburn, listen here.” The voice—familiar but as if from a dream long ago—is gentle yet firm. “You can’t be gettin’ up already. You’re sick.”

As if in defiance, a hoof weakly thumps the floor. “Nonsense, I’m fi—” But a coughing fit, one thick with phlegm that I’d imagine could break a few ribs, interrupts his words. He continues once it passes. “I’m the only one who can run this town since Silverstar,” he pauses, “left. You know that, Applejack.” My heart skips a beat. I knew she wouldn’t have abandoned this place. Not wanting to interrupt, I remain outside, going only so far as to creep onto the porch.

She sighs. “I know, sugarcube, but you’re family. I hate to say it, but this town here is as good as dead. There’s no sense in tuckerin’ yourself out for nothin’.”

“If I don’t try, who will? Who’ll be the pony to revive this place? Someone has to, Applejack. You’ve gotta see that.” He’s desperate; the quavering in his voice, that slight vibrato, makes it clear.

I can picture her hanging her head as she trots toward the door. “I’m sorry, Braeburn, but I’m afraid I don’t.” She stops for a moment to say, “Get to rest, Sheriff. You need all the strength you can get.” There’s a sharp tone to her voice, one of finality and command. Braeburn doesn’t respond.

When she steps forth from the shade within the building, I don’t believe it’s her at first. But after getting past the bandages around her front hoof, the taut skin on her face, the shadows stretching far beneath her eyes, and the mangled mass of cropped hair, I recognize the unmistakable glimmer of determination in her stare.

“Applejack.” The word is out of my mouth before I realize it, and not bothering to turn her head, she leaps toward me, plowing her front hooves into my shoulders. She catches me off guard, for I don’t expect her to be so violent, and within a matter of five seconds, I’m pinned beneath her thinning yet still-powerful form.

“Who are ya, and whaddya want? And how do ya know my name?” she demands, mouth set in a snarl. But a transformation soon washes over her, and her eyes go wide. “T-Twilight?”

Chest heaving, I manage a nod. She quickly removes her hooves from me, offering one to help me up, and promptly enveloped me in a back-breaking hug.

“Oh, Twilight, I’m so sorry. It’s been ages since I’ve seen ya, and I hope you forgive me for mistakin’ you for a thief.” Her words, though rushed, are sincere. She steps back to get a better look at me, scanning my form. “You tired? You been travellin’ for long?”

I shrug, stretching my legs. “Half a week now.”

“Where ya headed?” She seems genuinely intrigued, and that doesn’t come as a surprise. Ponies travelling now, in the midst of this near-apocalypse, would be deemed insane. And Applejack always was a considerate pony.

Pausing for the briefest of seconds, I think hard before saying, “I’m really not sure.” Her lips part, but I intercept her words. “Princess Celestia warned me of this disaster. She said I needed to gather my friends when it came. I’m not sure why and I don’t know what I’m to do when we’ve reunited, but it’s all I have to do. It’s all I can do.” I bite my lip. “Ponyville’s been deserted, Applejack. I don’t have a home anymore.”

“Sweet Apple Acres?” she blurts. “What ‘bout Granny Smith? Big Mac?”

I’ve dreaded this. “The farm shut down after the disease spread to the trees. Granny Smith and Big Macintosh were among the first to leave the town.” Trying to avoid the subject of her sister, I stop speaking, hoping she’ll be oblivious but knowing she won’t.

She pauses. “And Apple Bloom. How is my sister, Twilight?” Her voice is hard, monotonous.

“I...” For some masochistic reason, I force myself to look into her unwavering stare. “I’m sorry. She wasn’t strong enough to beat the illness, Applejack.”

Tears bud in her eyes, and she doesn’t bother to blink them away. “How long ago?” I don’t answer right away. “How long, Twilight?”

“A week.”

“Did she... Did she struggle?”

My throat tightens. “No. Hers was the shortest duration. She passed in her sleep.”

Though I half-expected the information to be some sort of comfort to her, Applejack’s reaction is quite the opposite.

Her teeth clench, and with a steady tone, she asks, “You were with her?”

“I was.”

“But ya di’n’t try and save her, did ya?” comes her bitter response.

I don’t expect this. “Applejack, I did try. My magic—”

“You di’n’t try hard enough!” Her words hurt me more than I’d imagine they should.

“Please, just listen to—”

“Get outta here, Twilight.” Like the eye of a storm, she’s grown calm, almost unnervingly so. But it doesn’t last long. When I try to object, she narrows her eyes. “Now!”

I’m not in the position to argue, and she doesn’t seem to be in the mood to deal with it.

So I nod. “Okay,” I say, the word barely audible. “I’m sorry for... for wasting your time.”

She doesn’t move, nor does she speak. With her eyes stapled on me, I trot past her and off the porch, heart emptier than ever before.

My steps are slow and heavy as I head for the front gate. I didn’t expect such a failure already.

I didn’t expect to lose a friend in my journey to rejoin them.

“Please...” The voice is meek and desperate, and I habitually turn toward the source. The filly’s bloodshot eyes, ringed with shadows, are eerily locked on mine. “Can you save me?”

Deep within me, there’s a screaming conscience, a voice that is ordering me to try. But the voice of reason that’s grown stronger than ever before buries it six feet under.

Her hoof, attached to a spidery limb, reaches for me.

I take a hasty step back, averting my eyes. “I’m sorry... I-I can’t.”

She bows her head, sinking to the ground. “Oh. Okay. Thanks anyway.” It’s like she expects this disappointment. And I hate myself for fulfilling her expectations.

But I can’t dwell on it. She’ll die soon; there’s no doubt about that. I’ve seen enough ponies die from this disease already to know.

With a quiet sigh, she rests her head on her hoofs, too tired to do anything but. I’ve half a mind to stay by her side, but the sane part of me urges my legs forward.

This curse has killed too many as it is. I only wish I could stop it.

But I can’t. Celestia knows I’ve tried.

I tried to save Apple Bloom. I tried to save Ponyville.

My efforts weren’t enough. No magic in Equestria—no magic on this planet—could stop it.

Nothing can.

When I reach the boundary between Appleloosa’s limits and the open frontier of the decrepit plains, I halt. Something pins me in place, be it pointless hope or stubborn denial I don’t know. I need to collect myself before I move on, though, that’s for certain. One failure, no matter how early on, can’t make me quit.

I don’t have time to waste. Biting back the bitter emotions swelling within me, I take a step forward.

“Wait!”

Startled, I whip around. Saddlebags tight around her middle, Applejack is racing toward me, head low. “Applejack?”

She slows, breathing heavy, a timid smile on her face. “I’m sorry ‘bout throwin’ a fit back there. You gotta understand. Apple Bloom...” She swallows. “It’s in the past, and it ain’t your fault. I’m sorry for blamin’ you for somethin’ outta your control.” Eyes wide and face slack, she peers at me expectantly, a hint of desperation present. “Can you forgive me?”

It’s as if a carriage has been lifted off my back. I nod and return her smile. “Of course, Applejack.” Curiosity ensnares me. “What made you come find me?”

“I figured you shoul’n’t have to travel alone anymore,” she says, wrapping a foreleg around me. “And I’m not about to part with my friends anymore.”

“What about Braeburn?”

A frown appears, but it disappears shortly, so shortly that I wonder if I’ve imagined it. “He’ll be fine,” she says, voice sharp.

I cock my head. “But I thought you said—”

“Twilight, sometimes ponies have to make tough decisions. I’m choosing friends over family this time. That’s all you need to know, y’ hear?”

Though she’s clearly not lying, I sense she’s hiding something. “Well...” I decide it’s best not to pester her about it now, solely for the sake of preserving our frayed relationship. “Alright, Applejack. Whatever you say.”

Her smile doubles in size as she leads the way out of the town, not sparing a single glance back. “So, Twilight, where exactly are we goin’ now?”

I levitate my map, neatly-rolled and tucked beside my crown, from the largest pocket of my saddlebags. One week ago, I’d plotted my journey in red ink, circling the locations of interest. Once the map is returned to its proper place, I turn to Applejack. “Los Pegasus.”

Though I don't think it possible, Applejack’s face seems to split with cheer. “We could def’nitely use some of Pinkie’s fortune-tellin’, science-defyin’ hullabaloo right about now.”

And I can’t agree more.