-I-
AQUARIUS
The world I lived in was... how should I put it? Bleak? Miserable? Soul crushing? Those were some of the terms my parents used to describe the life we had. They weren’t exactly the most optimistic of ponies. I, on the other hoof, never did see much use in focusing in on those aspects of our lives.
Myself, my family, and all the other families that lived beside us were under forced labor. We were farmers under the direct supervision of our masters, or “drivers” as we called them. It was all we have ever known and it was all I ever hated with the magnitude that I did. It didn’t take long before I realized that this was not the kind of world I wanted to leave behind when I was dead and forgotten.
There was an evil in the air that took the form of a foul smelling fog which blanketed the sky. As far as anypony could tell, it had always been there and it always would be, and so the idea of the sun had all but vanished from our collective mind. It seemed normal enough, though it often left me dizzy after working in it for hours on end. We were told—or commanded, rather—to never venture into the thicker concentrations of smog beyond our farm. The drivers wore some strange masks when travelling in and out of our farm’s borders.
The smog filtered light so heavily that on some days, it was impossible to distinguish them from nights. It was extremely rare, but every so often the overbearing cloud opened just enough for a patch of sunlight to make its way through. Everypony followed the moving patches of sun whenever they appeared because we never knew when they might show up again. Not once had any of us felt the full serenity of the sun’s warming glow.
There was only one thing in the world beyond that we could see. A mountain sat in the horizon and was visible even through the murky air on the cloudiest of days. It was awe inspiring how it towered over and shined through the smog when nothing else did.
Aside from this, nopony in our community had ever seen anything in the world beyond the borders of the farm. Surely there must be a better place out there, I sometimes thought to myself. My parents did everything in their power to spare me from such pipe dreams, and yet the naive, hopeful nature of my youth still filled my head with such thoughts.
They came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, the drivers, though the prominent body type was big and bulky. Their upper bodies were almost always disproportionately larger than their lower halves, like the product of some fitness regime gone awry. Their lower legs were often tiny, looking to only serve the purpose of balance, so they normally walked using their massive front legs, slamming their bundled-up paws into the ground with their full weight whenever they moved. Their wet, black noses constantly sniffed for disobediance, with deep growls and barks putting anypony that dared to step out of line right back into it.
The most important feature to them, though, was that they were dumb. Most of them looked like they were concentrating on remembering to breath half the time. If you were to be confronted by one, you could simply direct their attention elsewhere and walk away. You could even do it to the same one several times in one day. They would just forget why they were standing there and then continue going about their business.
However, there were also some smaller types, about the same size as a pony, who acted as the commanders. They wore special helmets and directed the big guys with their much shriller yaps and yips, their sharp teeth bared at all times while in the presence of their subordinates, as though to make up for their diminutive stature. What these guys lacked in brawn though, they made up for in brains, if only slightly so. You might be able to fool them once in awhile, but it didn’t end well for anypony when they eventually did piece it together an hour or so later.
The two types of drivers worked together to keep the farm running with an almost impressive efficiency, though they never told us where the barrels of food we filled were sent to. The only thing we ever heard about the world beyond the farm was that it was a deadly and dangerous place and that there existed a prison somewhere in the nearby forest that we’d be sent to if we didn’t continue to obey them.
Sometimes lumber was hauled in from beyond our borders, but this was the only evidence of a world outside that any of us knew of other than the great mountain in the distance and the idle chit chat we overheard amongst the drivers. They spoke of other farms and mines, presumably similar to ours. The lumber was largely used to create tools and other farming equipment. They would sometimes use the wood to fix our houses when they were in need of repair, though this was just about the extent of their decency.
There were three fields in which we worked: one for fruit, one for vegetables, and one for whatever else the drivers were currently in urgent need of. Our farm was small if you only consider the housing, which took up a mere stone’s throw. The fields, however, stretched out forever, and that’s not an exaggeration. The smog prevented us from seeing the world beyond. So from our perspective, the farm really was all there is.
The local population consisted mostly of regular ponies, but there were a few wingers. Sometimes, a pony was born with wings. The drivers didn’t like the idea of their workers flying away, and so they took it upon themselves to clip the wings off of anypony born with this deformity. Needless to say, the screams of a newborn were sometimes louder than others.
I could never make myself believe that things were always like this, no matter how many of those around me said otherwise. There must have been a time when cheer and love flourished instead of this gloom and hatred that runs rampant, unchained and indiscriminate.
My early childhood is a bit of a blur, to be honest, and my parents often told me that it was for the best. I was quite the troublemaker, by the sound of it. Thankfully, the drivers were cruel and demanding, but not entirely merciless. They forgave the innocent mischief of a foal who didn’t really know what he was doing. So although I cannot recall exactly what those times were like anymore, whenever I try to think of them, I can’t help but smile.
When I was finally old enough to start working the fields—and, subsequently, when my memories start to become a bit clearer—I did so under the expectation that I would work just as hard as the adults, who had been doing this for years, if not, decades. The drivers had an exact quota of produce to meet every week and woe to the worker they caught slacking.
I learned quickly how to do the work that was expected of me. Tilling the seeds, fertilizing, and so forth. Complying and cooperating with our benevolent drivers, however, I didn’t learn quite so quickly.
I worked some days, the days they took role. However, on other days, the lazy commander was on duty and he always forgot. This made it possible for me to nestle myself inside a barrel of compost by our house. Hiding inside the house was out of the question because the drivers searched them every day to look for stragglers such as myself. I have seen a couple of other stragglers in my time that were caught. We tried not to talk about them.
Hiding away in the barrels was my life for about two years. There certainly was never a shortage of discarded compost. Once, I had managed to fashion a small blade out of a broken hoe. I cut myself many times while trying to morph the metal into something usable but it was certainly worth the pain. My days in the barrel were made so much more pleasant thanks to this.
I would steal a piece of lumber from the carts coming in from the forest when no one was looking and take it with me into my hiding spot. Then I would just sit in there, carving the chunks into whatever I had on my mind at the time, whether it be a replica of one of the ponies I worked with or one of the drivers. There was not really much else of interest in my life worth carving. I didn’t have much of an imagination, either. I could only carve things I had actually seen before. I would only carve the drivers so that later I might throw them against the walls or set them on fire, pretending they were functioning voodoo dolls. I made it a hobby and I got pretty good at it. It got to the point where I could make two or three sculptures in a day. The chisel in my mouth just felt right.
It meant nothing to my family, though. Silly sculptures wouldn’t get us out of work, and the fear of the drivers discovering that I had been skipping work meant I didn’t get to keep my chisel for long. My mom and pop were good hearted and they tried to make the best out of a bad situation, but sometimes they couldn’t shine that enthusiasm onto me. They were getting old and tired, looking almost dead if you only took a quick glance at them. They were scared, more than anypony. They were scared for me. I would be, too.
Of course, I eventually grew up and couldn’t hide inside the barrel anymore without my mane sticking out the top. I couldn’t just move the compost because it would be found. I tried shaving my mane in a vain attempt to buy me a little more time, which actually bought me a couple more weeks. Eventually, I realized that all this effort was just delaying the inevitable. It was boring, hiding in that barrel, even more so without my chisel. I figured that I had better get used to working regularly. The risk of getting caught was starting to outweigh the reward.
Then, one day not long after I had made that compliant decision, the drivers came for me. One of my fellow farmers must have seen me and ratted me out. I must have caught them in a good mood, though, as I was not simply executed on the spot. They wouldn’t let this go unpunished, however, and so I spent the next day in the pit.
The pit was nothing to be taken lightly. It was a hole in the ground behind our shacks. The dirt was steep and slippery, especially after a long rain. You couldn’t climb out unless a driver tossed in a rope. After you were in, they pushed a large, round boulder over the top, leaving you in complete darkness with but a small opening for air and light. It smelled horrid. Many of the ponies who were confined to this place could not control themselves and emptied their bowels or bladders into the cold dirt.
Then there was Old Monty, a pony from many years before I was born that the drivers had forgotten about in the pit for weeks. His bones were the only place to rest yourself without soaking in excrement. The sliver of light coming from the air hole would shine directly on his corpse, marking the only visible thing down there. I don’t know if the drivers left him there intentionally to try and scare us, or if they simply didn’t care for cleaning it out. Either way, it sent a message.
The day and night felt like a week. I vomited within minutes of being thrown in there, contributing my share to the pool of various liquids. The day was considerably worse than the night because of Old Monty. You either closed your eyes and became disoriented from the smell or you kept them open and fixated on the bones, a bleak reminder of what could very well happen to you.
A wave of relief washed over me when the boulder was finally moved and the rope was tossed down. However, before I could even get used to the regular, distasteful, smog-coated air, I was immediately sent back to work. A new day had just begun.
The only way for us to know the date or time of day was through the drivers, and they were extremely reluctant to give that information away. Our sense of time has decayed ever since the farm was established. I don’t know exactly how long ago it was but from what I’ve gathered, a great number of generations of my family have spent their entire lives working there.
There was one pony who made my time there that much more bearable. Jilly, she was always there for me when I needed her. I never really noticed her during my barrel hiding days. Then again, how could I have? She had the most adorable ruffled-up nose. Her eyes shined brighter than they plausibly should be able to in this sun-ridden environment. Her mane was light pink and it gracefully sifted through the air whenever she turned her head. She always smelled like oranges, too. I suppose that isn’t terribly surprising considering how much time she spent in the orange grove. I really liked that smell.
Looking back on it, I suppose I did have sort of a crush on her, if you could call it that. Her family lived in the shack two over from mine. She always had a story to tell and was never short on things to talk about. Both of our parents worked in a separate field than Jilly and I, so naturally we had plenty of alone time.
One day, after work, on the rare occasion that we had time to relax, Jilly and I were exploiting the free time at my house while our parents were finishing whatever it was the adults did. Jilly told me that she knew exactly what the drivers were. She said that she knew why we were in this situation and even why the air was smoggy. I told her she was full of it. She scoffed at me and left. I thought nothing of it, she always did like to tell far-fetched stories and rumors.
Those were some pretty serious claims she made, ones that could get her or us killed. However, the next day she brought something strange with her to the field. It shined brighter than anything I’d ever seen before. Then again, with this air, anything brighter than dirt might as well have been the sun itself.
“Cool, isn’t it?” she asked. She waved it around a bit and caught the attention of one of the drivers on guard. “Watch this.” She tossed it away from us and the guard went chasing after it with the sort of enthusiasm I could only dream about. I dropped my hoe where I stood, my mouth agape. The guard stuffed the thing into his pocket and yelled at Jilly and I to get back to work.
It was the strangest thing I had seen in my entire life. I had never seen a driver go so crazy over anything like that before. They spent every single day on guard, looming over us with those giant spears of theirs and hardly did anything else. I always thought they were just dull enforcers of industry who had no sorts of deeper desires in life. I always thought they couldn’t be swayed. This changed everything.
“I’m sorry I called you a liar,” I apologized with as sincere a voice as I could muster. “What was that thing?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Jilly giggled. “I just found it in the dirt one day. It was stuck inside a rock.”
“A rock?”
“Yeah. I had to mine it out myself. It was really hard. Look.” She exposed her wounded hooves. “Sometimes... I missed the rock.”
“If it took so much effort, then how come you just tossed it away like that?” I asked with an expression of disapproval.
“I don’t like being called a liar,” she sternly said.
Jilly was very prideful, unlike me. I think that was what I liked about her the most. She never left anypony thinking badly of her. That was her worst fear. She often expressed this to me. “Do you have any more?” I asked.
She looked at me, nodded and smiled. I’ll never forget that smile. It was filled with reassurance, and yet at the same time it was blatantly obvious that she thought I was an idiot. I was fine with that, though. It didn’t really matter what she thought of me as long as she still enjoyed my company.
At the end of that work day, she took me to her home. It was there that I experienced hope for the very first time in my life, hope for getting away from this place. Shortly after, I thought up a really stupid idea. There sat piles and piles of those shiny rock things. Knowing that the drivers were so easily manipulated by them, the stupid idea ran through my mind like it was going to burst through my skull. Never before had the prospect of leaving even occurred to me, but now it seemed like it could actually happen.
I tried explaining my really stupid idea to Jilly. She just laughed. I understand why, though. I would have laughed at this plan too, but this would be our only chance of escape.
“Jilly, there has to be something better out there,” I tried explaining to her. I surprised even myself as I spoke. Just earlier that morning, I had the opposite attitude. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life on this mangy old farm, do you? I mean, you’ve seen the mountain out there, right? We should go there, you and me. We could-”
She hushed me, pulling out my hoof and giving me one of those shiny things. “Keep it safe. You might need it in case you ever make any of them mad. I know you will.”
There was a long pause until I finally mustered up the rest of what I had to say. “I promise you, Jilly. We’re going to go see that mountain someday. Just you and me,” I said.
She giggled. “I’ll hold you to that.” She then directed me out and I returned home, where my parents were already asleep.
I held onto that sparkling rock for another six months, taking it with me everywhere I went but never making it visible. I sometimes got funny looks from the drivers that I had never gotten before. It was like they had some intuitive sixth sense for this thing.
Only once did they act on their suspicions. It was the middle of the rainy season and I had just spent the entire day digging furrows around the crops so they could be watered properly. A commander snuck up on me from behind the rain and pushed me into the trench I had just dug. He imposed himself over me and asked what I was hiding. I said nothing and he became angry. He pulled back his paw and extended his claws for a swipe when another driver pushed him to the side.
“Get back to work, commander,” the mysterious driver said sternly.
“Yes, sir.” the commander replied in a dissatisfied, bitter tone. He stumbled off into the storm.
“You won’t have to worry about him anymore,” said the driver. I was unable to make out the face of my savior, not that it really mattered. They all looked the same, anyway. He extended his paw to help me out of the trench and I took it.
Before I could thank him, he had slipped off behind the thick sheet of rain. The commander who assaulted me never showed up again. I’ll never forget what that driver had done for me. It was the first time I had seen any shred of decency from one of them.
Months later, the farm was a lot quieter without the constant yammering of the living, breathing, tabloid I called my friend. Jilly and her family were sent to work a mine in some undisclosed location. Ponies were rarely relocated but it did happen on occasion, and we were always preparing for it. I hadn’t prepared, though. It was so sudden that it took me a few days to fully grasp the reality of the situation. My tears left a piercing stain on my bed. Jilly was the only real friend I ever had.
I had to forget about her but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Nothing about this situation helped with the ever-present aura of gloom lingering around the farm. At least it was just one of the mines, I thought to myself. If anything, I heard that they had it much better off than us farmers. They worked less and ate more than I could ever dream of. I was happy for her. No. I had to be happy for her.
For months after, I worked the fields every day, alone, with only the pseudo support of my parents to keep me on my hooves. They loved me, I knew that. It was just hard for them to find the energy to show it. All of our effort was put into serving the drivers. Nopony had the energy to do anything for themselves, the drivers made sure of that.
Another six months passed and I had lost all sense of control in my life. I moved mechanically and worked mindlessly. I had run out of little games to play with myself. Games like “Count the Pebbles” had lost their pizazz. My attitude was turning into the sort which I despised more than anything, the sort my parents had. They were as dull as they come, bored beyond redemption and stricken completely of whatever vibrant life might have ever existed in them. I knew it wouldn’t be long before their fate would be mine as well.
The only thing I could feel was the weight of my own spirit sinking towards the floor. The only thing I could think of was Jilly and the promise I had made to her. I promised that we would stand on top of that mysterious mountain together someday. But it was too late, she was gone. The best I could do on that promise was to make it there myself. Who knows? Maybe she’d be waiting there for me.
I had decided. I would leave the farm, my family, and the drivers behind. What did I have to lose? The mountain’s own fog-piercing beauty would guide me there, and I would arrive knowing I had made Jilly proud.
I’ll never forget the last time I saw my parents. They staggered home and went straight to bed without saying a single word to me. It was just like any other evening, but this time it was different. It was the last I would ever see of them. I left them a note saying goodbye and to keep living, even without me. I also left a false promise that I might someday return. I at least owed them that. They did the best they could for me and for that, I was truly grateful.
I took a deep breath and stepped out into the cold, dark, semblance of a day. I packed some stolen vegetables into a bag and swung it around my neck. I also acquired one of the masks the drivers deemed necessary for survival on the outside. The glimmering rock that Jilly had given me rested between my teeth. The day had long started, the drivers had taken role and were sure to come looking for me soon.
I held the rock out in full view for the first time. I made sure that it would not go unnoticed. I waved it around like it was the last thing I’d ever do in my life. Its blinding sheet of light flew in all directions and I had the drivers’ attention.
A group of them started to close in on me, weapons in paw as they reached in on me for the gem. Without a moment's hesitation, I tossed it into the air and buck-kicked it as far away as my strength allowed. They went after it and I ran. My fellow farmers just looked at me with their dull, lifeless eyes as I made my way past them. They had no interest in joining me and I was fine with leaving them there, for now, anyways. I had a greater destiny to find.
I ran until I couldn’t stand, hours, and hours of running. There was no fence, the fear of the poisonous air was enough to keep us from running. The drivers put on a show of wearing those special masks when travelling elsewhere. I never really believed that they were really necessary, but still I wore one if only to err on the side of caution.
I was chased for only a short while, only until the outskirts of the farm. I suppose even the drivers had bought into their own fear tactics. I looked back after my breath was gone. The commune I had spent my entire life in was now but a mere speck on the horizon. I could now see the dense cloud of smog around my farm. The air was much clearer out here, though some thin layer of the cloud remained. I took of the mask, ultimately proving that the drivers were in fact, lying. I could breath just fine.
I could now see into the horizons and the vastness of the open fields for the first time in my life. The forest that housed the supposed prison was to the left of my path. It was a straight shot from here to the mountain, though it looked just as far away as before. I was anxious to continue but I could not. I was tired and had to rest.
As I searched for a safe place to settle down, I noticed the sun setting. The warm orange and red light penetrated every fibre of my being. This was the first sunset I had ever seen. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. My eyes locked in place until the very last sliver of the warming glow had vanished behind the hillside. Cold winds then brushed against me. I needed to find someplace to sleep for the night.
There was a cave sitting on the edge of the forest, almost as if an entrance to it. I limped towards it, thoroughly exhausted. It seemed homey enough, and it certainly had more security and structure than the heap of lumber I used to call a home. I could remember on more than one occasion when the roof crumbled down on us. It would take weeks before the drivers got around to fixing it.
I settled and watched the empty darkness of the open landscape for a while. I took a bite out of a moldy old carrot and tried not to gag. I washed it down with some spit and eventually drifted asleep.
“Have you ever seen the moon, Chariot?” Jilly asked me. I shook my head and continued to stare up at the obscured night sky. “I feel bad for you. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ve seen prettier,” I said, looking at Jilly. She turned her head away and blushed.
“Shut up!” She pushed me to the ground. As I tried to get up, a driver put his foot over me and held me down.
“It’s curfew, get back inside!” he screamed as he pushed his foot down further into my neck. I yelped in pain and Jilly reacted. She jumped and latched herself onto his leg, biting at it. The driver stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. It was only a few seconds before three more of them were surrounding us. They pulled Jilly off and carried her off to the pit.
I awoke with a jump. In my sleep-addled state, my heart racing, I frantically tried to realize the situation, if there even was anything to worry about to begin with. I couldn’t get rid of this feeling. I knew something was wrong yet I just didn’t know what it was. Irrationally, I started to panic. My heart was beating irregularly and harshly. I scanned the darkness of the deeper regions of the cave in which I sat as well as my immediate surroundings but found nothing.
As the sun came up and brightened the landscape, the cave lit up as well. The vastness of the cavern opened up and it revealed itself to be much larger than I had originally thought. Despite the full embrace of the newly risen sun, there was still a region far in the back of the cave left unlit.
The ground started to shake. I saw eyes light up in the darkness and a burst of smoke soon came flying past me and out of the cave. Without a moments notice, a massive beast crawled from the darkness. I ran outside and into some bushes. The beast clambered along the ground with the magnitude of a castle. It lifted its wings and blew air against me with enough force to lift me off the ground. It flew away, neither towards my farm nor the mountain, but off into another horizon where I could see nothing but hills.
Could this be the real reason why the drivers kept us at the farm? I’ve heard stories of entire settlements destroyed by giant, flying creatures but I never thought that they could be true. Jilly was fond of telling such stories, calling them “Dragons”. It turned out that the world beyond our farm’s borders was much more dangerous than I had anticipated. But I wasn’t going to be downtrodden by this. I had a destination to reach. I staggered away from the cave and pressed forward towards the mountain.
I spent days on the grass-riddled plains, staying on the very edge of the forest. I had brought a lot of food, but not any water. I thought for sure by now I would have found a river, a pond, or anything to drink from. I looked into the forest and it seemed that I had no other choice. The dark green haze emanating from within was less than welcoming. But if I needed water, the forest would be the place to get it.
I waded through the immediate bushes. I must have gotten tangled in a hundred of those damned spider webs as I moved closer to the heart of the woodland. I always imagined the forest being a lively place with the sounds of animals coming from all directions. This was not the case. It was as deadly silent as the plains. Only the trees seemed to be alive. This was a mixed blessing. Because of the silence, I could hear the sound of rushing water from a much larger distance.
I made my way towards the noise, plowing through hundreds of meters of thicket. I saw sunlight reflecting off the water in the distance so I slowed down. Pushing one final bush to the side, I saw a cave sitting on the bottom of an enormous ravine, a river running through it. There was something off about the river, however. It ran a bit black, almost... tainted. It reminded me of the smog. Moments after I arrived, a driver stepped out from the cave. I ducked, hiding behind my vantage point above him. The driver stretched his front legs and sat beside the stream to rest. I needed that water. I couldn’t leave without it. I decided to wait him out, wait until he went to sleep and then sneak a drink, maybe take some of his food, too.
Darkness fell over the gloomy forest but my patience was unmatched. The entire day had faded but still, the driver sat by the river, practically asleep. I swore that I would outlast him, and yet he didn’t get up even once. His only movement would be the occasional head scratch. I was starting to get weak, it had been a couple days since my last drink. Still, he sat there all through the night. Time passed more slowly than it ever had for me, even the night I spent in the pit. I was about to collapse once morning came, my eyelids dropped and my head fell to the ground when I heard a scratchy voice just above me...
“Ya gonna get some water, er what?” I lifted my head, everything went black as the blood rushed into it all at once. “Well?” I saw him standing over me when my vision returned. He tried to forcibly pour a cup of water into my mouth. I got up quickly, the cup flew out of his paw and the water spilled everywhere. I tried to run but he held me by the tail. “What’s the rush, pipsqueak?” He snapped my tail and I fell. I tried to crawl away but he was easily keeping up. My head slammed against a rock. He bent over. “Ya look like ya could use some help. Why don’tcha come inside so we can talk?”
Throughout my entire life, I was never given any reason to trust or accept that a driver could be anything but cruel. However, he had water, and I didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. I followed him down a peculiar staircase into the ravine and into the cave he originally emerged from. There were piles of things that looked like food at one end and a makeshift bed right beside it. The cave was empty apart from this. He rumbled through his belongings and fixed me a cup of water as well as his own before sitting us down on the cave floor. I swallowed the entire cup in one gulp and straggled to finish off what little was left in my food bag.
This driver wasn’t like the others, even in his looks. He was less than twice as large as me, which was small for the bulky type. He was covered in scars, shaved in seemingly random areas, and wore a gleeful and uncomforting grin as he stared at me.
“So, how’d ya end up stalkin’ a poor old dog in the middle a’ nowhere? No way this is a coincidence. Yer here fer a reason.” He casually drank his water.
“Well... uh... sir...”
“Don’t call me sir!” He interrupted, standing up and slamming his paws into the ground. “I mean... that’s a name I’d like ta try and forget.” His sudden anger faded.
“Right, sorry. Well uh... Mr. driver...”
“Call me Jackal!” he interrupted again, this time cheerfully. He proceeded to shake my hoof vigorously. “Yer one of them pony things aint’cha?” He sat down.
“Yes... I...”
“That’s amazing!” His interruptions were beginning to irritate me. “I never knew any a’ ya pony folk personally. Better late than never though, right? Why don’t we get started then? What’s yer name?” He stared at me expectantly for an answer. I cleared my throat.
“My name is Chariot. I’m on my way towards the mountain in the distance,” I explained.
“Chariot, huh? That’s a real nice name. Ya know my name right?” he replied, ignoring what I had said about where I was headed.
“Yes, you said it was Jackal.” He suddenly exploded in glee and began to dance around while clapping his paws. “Are you alright?” It was clear now that he wasn’t totally on top of things. He slammed his paws on the ground again in excitement.
“Oh, it’s just been so long since anyone said my name! Or talked to me at all, really...” He saddened, but quickly perked up again.
“Well I’m glad to have cheered you up but...” I started. He became gloomy once more.
“But...?” He raised his shaved eyebrow.
“But I have to ask, why are you being so nice? All the drivers I grew up with were nothing like you. They worked us to death.” There was a long pause before he stood up. He clenched his paws and grunted, throwing his cup against the wall. As it shattered, my heart raced and I immediately started thinking of ways to get away from this nut-job. I had never been so scared. I backed away from him and towards the exit to the cave. He looked straight at me as the water trailed down the cave wall.
“Those damn brothers of mine! They’re always hurting even the good ponies! I told them to only punish the bad ones, but then you come here and tell me they were mean to you!? Yer the nicest and most polite pony I’ve ever met! Why if I was in charge...! They only care about food and gems... food and gems!” I sat still in awe at his rant.
“Excuse me?”
“What!?” He screamed in my face.
“Gems?” I asked for clarification.
“Ya know, the crystals, diamonds, rubies, sapphires! Shiny, sparkly! They always want more! The pigs. Of course I want them but they never stop wanting, and they drive you ponies to the brink of death to get them!”
“Excuse me, Jackal?” I asked. He sighed.
“I’m sorry, it’s just... I haven’t talked to any of my brothers in so long.” His voice became somber.
“It’s alright. I just came here for some water, so thank you for that. I’ll be on my way now.” I threw my empty bag around my neck and stepped outside, eager to leave.
“Yer goin’ to that mountain, right? The one ya can see from all over?” I heard and looked back. Jackal was slouching against the cave wall, staring at the floor. I halted in my tracks and listened to him curiously. “Ya won’t like what ya see. That’s why I’m here in the first place, ya know.”
“What exactly is over there?” I asked.
“Ya have to see fer yerself. Come ‘ere, I wanna show ya somethin’.” Jackal beckoned for me to follow as he went deeper into the cave. My gut was telling me to turn around and run as far away from this lunatic as possible. But there was something strange about him, some glimmer of hope. It was something I thought I’d never see in a driver, and so I followed.
Jackal lit a torch and revealed the rest of the cave to me. Tucked away in the deepest parts of the forest, in an obscure cave under a ravine, was a tree. It wasn’t an ordinary tree, though. It was crystalline in texture. Shining brightly, and at the same time, withering away.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s what the world used ta be,” Jackal explained. I raised an eyebrow. “The air, the water, the mountain... it’s all connected ta this tree, I know it.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” I commented.
“I’ve never been more sure ‘bout anythin’ in my life. My brothers would think I’m crazy. They don’t know ‘bout this place yet. I’ve kept it from ‘em. I’ve been tryin’ ta keep this tree alive fer years now, but it never gets any better.”
“What do you think’s wrong with it?” I asked. Jackal fixated his gaze upwards.
“There’s somethin’ bigger goin’ on here. The world just ain’t right enough ta let this tree get better. I’ve gotta get ta the root of the problem.”
“And what might that be?”
“The mountain, I need to go there again,” he said. He suddenly sprang up in excitement. “Yer goin’ there, I can come with ya!”
“What?!” The word, “no” raced through my mind a hundred times.
“Look kid, I’m an old guy. I wanna do somethin’ good with my last years. I’ve got a lot to atone fer,” he said. “And then you come along, it’s almost like it was supposed to happen, ain’t it?” He ruffled through his things as I kept my distance. He was overly eccentric and it frightened me greatly. He packed some bags of food along with some other miscellaneous travel supplies. “Well, let’s get goin’! No sense in wastin’ daylight!” He tossed me two incredibly heavy jugs filled to the brim with water.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what’s over there first?” I asked, as if expecting to get an answer that made any sense.
“I told ya, kid, ya gotta see fer yerself. There’s no other way.” He grabbed one of the jugs from me along with the food and other supplies. He trotted out of the cave. “You comin’?” he called back, still walking forward. I followed him. I followed Jackal, my new friend.
