Shattered Souls

Shattered Souls
Chapter 1: Burning Souls

Hammerspark's horn glowed as he slammed his hammer into the glowing white form of the helmet he was forging. Sparks flew from his anvil as he struck again. His silver-blue mane glistened with sweat, as he dropped the hammer heavily in its rack .Using the magic of his horn, he quickly moved the nearly formless shape into the broad barrel of water. Steam rose from the barrel with a satisfying hiss. He paused for a moment to pad his brow with a wet cloth. The hammer and anvil permanently marked onto his flank may have meant that he liked forging, but it did not make it any less of an effort.

He set down the cloth, once white as his coat but now soiled with months of sweat, and went back to smithing the helmet.

“What're you working on?” A sweet, almost musical voice came out from behind him.

He sighed, setting the unfinished helmet a wall rack. The armor was only a personal project; nothing he would be getting paid for. There wasn't much need for armor these days, and he always liked talking to Opal.

“I just had some extra iron lying around,” He said, turning around.

She trotted into the room looking around at the various simple ironworks that had been placed on racks.

“So, you finish working, and you decide to work some more?” She plied jokingly, looking at him with her mischievous smile.

Most of the time, he did not have the best sense of humor. Most other ponies usually referred to him as dry or distant for his young age. Opal's glistening violet eyes, however, always seemed to distract him before he could get mad. More often than not, the most he could manage in response was a shy smile.

“I got it, I got it,” He said, in mock discomfort, falling in line next to Opal as they trotted out into the main street.

Splendid Valley was exactly as it was named; splendid. The weather was never too hot or too cold, and all through the year the valley dogs sold their humble wares to the ponies that lived on the surface.

It was much smaller than Canterlot, or at least the town itself was. The breadth of the valleys stretched nearly from horizon to horizon, but the town itself was little more than a single dirt road and a couple of buildings. Not that Hammerspark could remember much of Canterlot; he was only a foal when he and his parents left.

They had walked down almost halfway towards the modest city hall before Opal stopped. Hammerspark followed her gaze to the nearby coffee-shop, the owner just now opening its doors.

“Umm,” She hesitated for a moment, “Do you happen to have any coin I could borrow?”

He laughed; he could never say no to those eyes. She never paid him back, but then again, he had never asked her to.

“Sure,” He said, turning to rummage through his belt for a small pouch of coins.

He couldn't stand coffee. Not that he liked tea much either, but to him coffee seemed more like tar than a drink. He would admit its powers of energy, though.

She gleefully trotted off towards the doors. Hammerspark couldn't help but follow the sway of her hips as she bobbed through the open door of the coffee store. His eyes lingered momentarily on her tall, slender figure before his nature got the better of him, and he trotted in behind her.

Knowing that he did not favor most of the things they sold here, he simply trotted to the table nearest to the entrance and sat down to wait. Hammerspark raised an eyebrow, seeing the size of the cup that Opal was balancing on its plate.

She tilted her head sideways, trying to lower the overlarge cup onto the table without spilling its contents.

“It comes in 'bowl' size now,?” He asked, nearly laughing at just the idea of the beverage.

Not only was it nearly as large as the plate used to hold underneath, but floating on top of it's surface was what seemed to be a small island of cream powdered with chocolate. She lifted her eyes from the cup without bringing her mouth from it, taking her first drink. This time he couldn't stifle any laughter, as when she did sit up straight, a sliver of the white cream had placed itself above her lip; almost like a false mustache against her pale charcoal coat.

Opal's violet eyes crossed momentarily, followed by a quick lick of her lips.

Opal took another small sip, and started their usual morning conversation. She could talk for hours and hours, mostly on the subject of her old home, the Crystal Kingdom. For the most part, Hammerspark would just listen, watching her eyes sparkle with delight as she would recount the towering spires and the busy streets. He couldn't help but imagine what it would look like, the walls and the streets glistening in the sunlight, the sparkling towers of the castle reaching up higher than the clouds could reach.

“Why did you leave?” He asked, genuinely puzzled.

She took another sip of her coffee, and motioned to the image of a quill on her flank.

“In all of its grandeur, the Crystal Kingdom was, well . . . ,” She paused for a moment, thinking of the right word, “Boring.”

Hammerspark was shocked. Never in his life had he thought that someplace as wonderful sounding as the Crystal Kingdom could be described as boring.

“It's not like nothing ever happened there,” She elaborated, “It was just that nothing ever seemed to change. Every day it was the same crystal walls to the same crystal streets to . . . . , well, you get the idea.”

“So, wait,” He said, resting his head on his forehoof thoughtfully, “You left the Crystal Kingdom because it was boring, and you came out to the middle of nowhere?”

“I finished working, and decided to work some more,” She replied with a wink.

Hammerspark shook his head, giving up. She never ceased to amaze him.

* * * * * *

Hammerspark brought his hammer down hard on the iron he was forging. It was not made of the best steel, but it's shape was unique enough to hold up under any stress. Like most heavier helms, the piece followed both along the jaw as well as over the nose. It was built in two parts to allow holes for his eyes. The biggest difference from most heavy bardings was that, instead of having a hole atop the crown to allow his horn to show through, there was instead a sheath. A sheath longer and sharper than his horn could actually be, with a dark sharpened blade running down the length the front.

He took the nearly finished helmet and set it down near the furnace. Usually he kept it open, but over the coals was a short wide vat of tar. He pumped the billows hard and steady with his forehoof, until the coals heated to a blistering white. He needed it to flow as though it was water in order to get an even coating over his helmet. He hoped that one day, he could show off his design to the guard captain, and maybe get a more plentiful source of income. For now he could not afford the expensive galvanizing of the armor of the Cloudsdale soldiers, or the impressive brass finishing of the Canterlot royal guard.

The black tar gave it an ominous, dull black look, as though light itself ran and hid at its intimidating visage given by its almost skeletal shape. Hopefully it would not look quite so frightening in some other kind of coating, but the tar would keep the iron from rusting for now.

The coals started to die, and the warm glow of the forge grew dim as he hovered the tar container into its place. It was then that he noticed just how late it had gotten. So often the light of the forge and his yearning for perfection had led him deep into the night. Fortunately, the night was still fresh, and there was still time to get some sleep.

Hammerspark closed the sheaths over the lanterns in his workroom, and walked up a short stair to his straw cot, where he quickly faded to sleep.

* * * * * *

A distant clash startled Hammerspark. His eyes snapped open. He stood up slowly, trying hard not to make any noise. He stepped towards his slatted window and nosed it open slowly, trying to peek outside.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glow in the distance. He dismissed it thinking that it was just the glow of the sun rising. He stepped back into his bed again, hoping to at least get a few minutes of rest before the sun rose.

He froze for a moment, sudden realization painted across his features. He looked again, not leaving his cot. His window didn't face the east.

A violent crack split the air, this time much closer. He rushed out through his large, barn styled doors.

A subtle crackle to his left down the road grew to fierce roar as a faint glow spread over the thatch roof of the coffee shop.

Screams rent the air as Hammerspark grabbed a bucket and ran full speed for the town well. Dust pounded from his hooves as he thundered down the road. His horn glowed as he thrust the bucket into the wells water and flung the water at the nearest fire.

Thankfully, it was a bucket of his own make meant for his forge, and was large enough to quench the fire above the coffee shop to mere embers.

He turned again to fill the bucket and rush towards the next fire. He worked most of his life near the dangers of fire, and he took no pause, rushing fast with his head lowered, hovering the bucket only inches from the tip of his glowing horn.

The ground shuddered as he stopped in full to throw the water at the fire to halt the spread. He panted in exertion, shoving the water towards the fire.

He paused for just a moment, trying to fill his haggard lungs before shoving himself back towards the well again.

* * * * * *

The smell of smoke abruptly filled Opal's senses. She rolled off of her mattress, coughing. As she hit the floor, she looked up, her eyes stinging from the ash. Keeping to the floor, she inched forward hoof by hoof, trying to get to the staircase.

She pressed the door open with her nose, but recoiled sharply as a blast of heated ash was thrown towards her face. She covered her mouth with her hoof, coughing violently as she tried to slow the hazy cloud.

A startling snap from the beams below her urged her to press herself up from the floor towards her open window. She tentatively stood up, squinting her eyes trying to see the ground below though the ashen haze. The height seemed to pull her down, and she inched nervously away, but her lungs and nostrils cried in pain, and she crawled out onto the shallow ledge beneath her window.

Just across the road, she could see Hammerspark handing the last of his buckets to a group of Valley Dogs, who sprinted off towards the well carrying the buckets in their long, powerful arms. She tried to call out for Hammerspark, but all she could manage was a rasping cough. Two of the shingles beneath her slid off, throwing her off balance, and she struggled to keep her balance.

* * * * * *

The screams had slowed down, but the fires still spread. The town was small, but Hammerspark didn't intend on losing any of it. The Valley Dogs reacted quickly, trying to stamp out fires and douse them with water, but the buckets were not nearly large enough, and the Dogs could carry much more.

As he handed out the last of his smithy buckets, he saw something fall out the corner of his eyes. Opal's house, there was smoke coming out of the widows and she was perched precariously on her wooden-slatted windowsill.

“Jump!” He shouted, “I'll catch you!”

She looked nervously behind her, the glint of the flames brightening her already brilliant eyes, fear painted across her features. She shook her head slightly.

“Jump!” He shouted louder, more urgently this time.

She shut her eyes tight and stepped off of the ledge.

Hammerspark tensed in focus, his horn glowing in exertion.

A field of gray enveloped her as he slowed her fall. A small tuft of dust kicked up as she fell softly onto the ground. Not opening her eyes, she stumbled into Hammerspark, leaning into his mane.

"Thank you," She rasped, her throat still rough with ash.

Hammerspark lingered there, not wanting to move. The fires around the town were being put out one by one, and the ominous gray cloud that had been growing overhead had started to dissipate into the night.

* * * * * *

The sun hung low in the east over the horizon. A cold breeze whispered through the town, buffeting the blankets wrapped around the shoulders of Hammerspark and Opal. Sitting under the awning of the coffee shop, a valley dog placed a large cup of coffee in front of both of them. This morning, Hammerspark had no qualms in drinking it.

Opal offered a small smile in thanks to the drink, quickly leaning in to drink. Hammerspark waited for his to cool.

Hammerspark felt heavy heartened, not at the situation, but the apparent state of Opal. Her usually perfect pale blue mane was in a state of disarray, and scrapes mottled her usually pristine coat. Most disconcerting, though, was the sadness and fear in her eyes. Her usually bright and vibrant purple eyes couldn't take themselves off of the coffee.

“My house,” She said softly, “All of my writings . . . .”

“I'm, sor. . .”

“Don't,” Opal said, cutting off Hammerspark, “Don't be sorry. If it wasn't for you, I. . . . . I”

She hesitated for a moment, looking down again, “I don't want to think about that.”

As Hammerspark stood from the table, Opal looked up fearfully, as though scared that he would leave. He moved around the table to sit down next to her, moving his coffee towards him with his magic. She leaned on his shoulder, and closed her eyes in the silence.