//------------------------------// // 1 - Stories // Story: A Cloak With No Dagger // by Rusty Parker //------------------------------// A Cloak with No Dagger Written by: Rusty Parker Edited by: Wanderwing ================================================================================ -Chapter 1- Stories A blur came into focus as heavy lids slowly parted. Through the shimmering liquid, many colors melded together. Still dense and overbearingly heavy, her eyes were forced shut by the grip that the fatigue held over her mind. She wasn’t sure if she was in danger, or if she would wake up again at all. Her whole body was sore, and she was so tired that nothing would move as she wished. Having confirmed that she was no longer in a sea of white, however, her mind drifted off into empty space. She was asleep before she her eyes closed again. … Pain throbbed through her skull as the filly was forced awake by a sudden start. As if she was thrown across the room, she scrambled to get to her hooves. Breathing heavily, she jerked her head from side to side. Even then, her nostrils flared with frustration and eagerness as she made herself ready to give a fight if she needed to. Ears flaring in all directions and turning around as quickly as she could, the filly soon realized she was in no danger at all. The room, save the furniture and a burned out fireplace, was empty. She blinked several times before the pain in her hooves overtook her. A gasp escaped her hanging jaw as she fell back onto her haunches, the pain swiftly shooting up her leg like lightning. “What,” she said before she inhaled deeply and sharply. “Happened?” Calming finally, she allowed herself to get her first real look at her surroundings. The room was plain, and fit with light yellow wallpaper that nearly met her coat in shade. A simple carpet with dark blue and purple stripes overtook most of the floor, though it failed to reach the wall in all but one direction, and there was little furniture in the room beside the couch behind her. The filly clicked her teeth together and let out an exasperated breath. She’d gone and freaked herself out for nothing, she thought. Her velvet eyes traced the couch to the blanket that still twisted its way beneath her fallen rump, and her displeasure at having fallen off the cushiony trap radiated from her like a rancid odor. Looking down at the soft blanket below her, she noticed that her hooves were wrapped in some sort of linen. She lifted the one on the right and rolled neck around to see it fully. There seemed to be some care taken in pulling the fabric smoothly and yet still gently over her pained limb, although she couldn’t imagine who had done it. Probably some local that thought that she was just a lost little foal, she speculated. To some degree, she guessed that it was true! Lightly pushing her wrapped hoof up to her neck, she began to pull the ankle across her hood when it occurred to her that something was drastically wrong. She rubbed her hoof against her crimson, mangled mane, but did not find the fabric she so endearingly clung to. Her breathing quickened as she again reached for it and found that it was still not there. Scrambling to her hooves in a rush, she turned around and looked where she had fallen only to find the circle of blankets she had formed when she twisted on the floor. The filly spun herself around, looking to all corners of the near empty room to search for her beloved hood. Her eyes locked on the fireplace and the very thought of what might have happened forced a gasp from her chest. She backed up several steps before she bumped into a cold, thin pole behind her. About to scream, the filly held her breath and twisted her neck around to see a coat hanger above her, and more prominently, her beloved cloak hanging from it. Fresh air entered her lungs again as she allowed herself a breath, cursing herself for being so silly as to suspect it to have been burned. The thing certainly was ragged, but she’d never give it up for the whole world. With a swift motion, she swept the rag from its place on the curving hook and wrapped it around herself. She fastened the think twine just tight enough to stay put around her neck, but loose enough that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Her velvet eyes darted from side to side before she pulled the hood over her head. In the embrace of such a rag, many had taken her for being of a poor family, and in many ways, it had helped her. She could easily have replaced this blue rag, and truly enough, it would have helped to keep her warm, but she simply could not part with it. Beyond the physical warmth she felt from it, there was also a rising in her chest when she wore it. The cape and hood had been hers since she was little, and it was one of the first decisions she had the privilege to make. She simply couldn’t part from it, even if it caused her more harm than fortune to keep it. With her mane and ears concealed properly, the filly tested her hooves. While they stung from their burns, she was confident that she could manage to walk on for miles and still be fine. A faint smirk crept over her face, before it was sorely interrupted by the growling of a beast. At first she flinched, sure that she was about to be pounced upon. It was the aches, however, that let her know the truth; she was hungry beyond measure. Wobbling from side to side with each step, the filly made her way through the simple house. It was plain to tell that whoever lived here didn’t have much to their name; there was hardly any decoration anywhere. Most families passed down trinkets or heirlooms to their younger members when they moved out. The practice was common, she had found, throughout not just the richer areas, such as Canterlot, but also in all of Equestria. Pondering this and many more things, such as where she even was, the filly stumbled her way into the kitchen. “Oh! You’re awake!” said a voice from across the room as a unmistakable smell was wafted under the young girl’s nostrils. The rich smell of cinnamon mixed with baked apples made her moth practically swelter with saliva. “I guessed you’d be hungry when you woke up. That bowl of apples is a special recipe I’ve been working on. Why don’t you have a bite before y’all start explaining to me who you are?” While there was little reluctance to eat away, she still chewed each bite slowly, mulling over the strange mare’s inquiry. Of course she wanted to know who she was, the filly thought as she bit into one of extra juicy chunk of apple. The taste cleared her mind of worry just as it filled her belly with warmth. As she chewed, the she also was sure to observe the room for all possible exits. She had to have a way out if things got bad. There was no telling what would happen if this local knew who she really was. Before she swallowed the last piece of apple, the cloaked filly smiled to herself. It was fortunate that she had picked up her things right away; nothing was holding her here now. “So then, what might I call you?” asked the mare as she leaned against the counter behind her. Hanging from the wall above was a clock, which ticked away second by second from one forty-eight. Several seconds passed by as the filly simply stared at the mare, looking her over with weary eyes. “I’m… Dreary Cloak,” she choked out after several moments. The soft blue mare lifted an eyebrow, as if in question. “Why the trouble over saying that?” A few seconds passed as she thought and Dreary looked around the room. She knew she had to be ready to bolt as soon as she had the chance. “Oh… I see!” The filly stopped herself from moving as the other pony’s bouncing eyes came to her once again. She silently cursed the old coot of a mare. “You don’t have to be shy with me, Dreary. I had trouble talkin’ to other ponies when I was your age too.” “I don’t have trouble talking!” she protested instantly, blushing. The red in her cheeks faded as she calmed herself. The pressure building in her blood eased as it came to be apparent that her new friend was still completely oblivious. “I just… I don’t like my name is all!” “That’s just silly o’ ya, Dreary.” She smiled warmly, trying to reassure her. “It is a good name, and your parents must be happy to speak it whenever they get the chance.” “Y-…yea. Right,” she stammered, the thought of her parents happily calling her name all too amusing to her. She could barely hold in the chuckle. “My name’s Cider, by the by. Apple Cider,” she announced as she walked around to the door, her blonde main swaying past her shoulder. Tying it in a ponytail was a neat little red bow tie. Cider observed the frosted over window, and took in a deep breath. “Y’all are lucky Dreary… I am surprised you were even able to walk in here with your hooves hurt like they were.” Looking at her bandaged hooves carefully, Dreary could only nod in agreement. She had been running for so long, and her hooves had gotten so numb that she couldn’t stand anymore. Cut as they had been, she couldn’t feel them by the time she collapsed. It took her a second to realize that she’d be dead if it weren’t for this strange mare’s rescue… though what she wanted, the filly could only guess at. She doesn’t seem to know yet, at least. Turning from the window, Cider came to her with an expression more serious than she had shown before. The mare sat across from the bandaged filly, and placed her hooves on her own seat as she stared into her eyes. Dreary’s heart pumped faster as her eyes avoided the older mare’s. “So Dreary… are you okay?” She nodded slowly, looking off to the window to avoid looking at the stabbing stare. A moment passed in silence as she continued to silently contemplate what was happening. “Do you have parents? Grandparents? Guardians of some kind? Somepony must be looking for you,” she asked gently. Dreary tore her eyes away from the window and gave a cold stare to the mare across the wooden table. For a moment they both simply looked into one another’s eyes, and neither spoke a word. “I don’t… Nopony at all,” she finally said, her voice even and solid. The filly sounded utterly indifferent to the very idea of such a thing even existing. “Ah see... I’m sorry,” she replied as her eyes finally broke away from the filly’s. “Do you know what happened to them?” “I was too young… My parents were just there one day, and gone the next. I’ve been looking for them, actually.” The filly’s voice strained and twisted as she spoke, breaking on certain sounds. She knew what she was doing, and as far as she could tell. Again, her blood slowed as she finally calmed down. The situation was under control. Silence passed between the two. Cider looked around the room, a sad look painting her face. In some way, Dreary felt, she must understand. Pain lurched inside her as she empathized with the mare… she could only imagine what memories tortured her. As the mare traced lines in the table’s wood, her expression seemed to soften. “I can’t let you do that on your own, then. We’ll find your parents together, Dreary. I was just heading into town, and I can certainly start asking right away!” “You’d… help me?” Dreary asked, shocked to her hooves. Smiling, she nodded in response. “Of course I would! S’only what’s right, after all!” “Oh… thank you! Thank you so much!” she exclaimed with maybe a bit too much cheer. Inwardly, however, she sulked. Everything was going so well, and all of a sudden, somepony had to get involved. Dreary made a mental note to try and not and be so enthusiastic in the future. One good thing was coming out of this however; the old fool was about to leave. “Alright then,” Cider said as she wrapped a long pink scarf around her neck. Several wool balls hung from each end and swayed as she moved. “Ahm gonna get going into to town to see what everypony knows. You stay here, and get some rest. Anything in the pantry is yours, so long as you leave me one of the cupcakes!” Heading for the door, she paused, and twisted her head toward her once more before she headed out. “Oh, and try to stay off those hooves. I’m no doctor, but they won’t be good to be walking any good distance anytime soon. Stay here till I get back, I shouldn’t be more than a few hours anyhow!” “Right then, Bye-bye Cider… and thanks.” Inwardly, the filly glowed with an itching eagerness. She felt every pump of her little heart pass in its own individual moment as the mare slowly closed the door. With a creak and a thud, the thick piece of wood, which was painted a faded white, closed behind her. Silence emanated for several long moments as the filly sat in place waiting and listening for any sign of her return. It took significant effort to keep her posterior placed firmly in place as she let the seconds pass by. When she was sure that the mare had been long gone from her home, Dreary finally rose to her hooves. Her knee twitched at first from the pain in her right front hoof, causing her to stumble as she hit the floor. Balance thrown off, she tripped over herself and nearly fell face first into the cabinet door that was shaped from the board hung from the counter. Mere inches away, she planted her hoof firmly in front of her, skidding her momentum to a sudden stop. Dreary silently let out a sigh, as she felt the pain shoot back up her leg again from the impact of her hoof. Wincing, she lifted the hoof slowly and took a step toward the door. Cider may have been right about her hooves, she thought, but she couldn’t be here when the coot got back home. She’d surely run into him there, and if Dreary had any luck left in her, it wouldn’t be enough to stop her from finding out who her new filly friend really was. Slowly, the young little draped filly made her way out the door. She was careful not to hurt herself any more than she already had, though it was difficult to avoid now. This wasn't going to be an easy trip, she knew, but it was one she knew she’d have to make if she was to be free. … Dull light poured from the teetering lantern as it swayed from its rope, a single fly buzzing around it with determination. Though the warm glow illuminated the area around it well, it left the rest of the room feeling empty, as if it yearned to bath in light as well. Dark corners seemed to be pits of endless space, the creaking old planks vanishing from sight as they extended into the void. The fine marble surface of the bar gleamed in response to the swinging flame, splashing light in every which direction. “Thanks, Cider, this will do nicely. You’d be surprised how many ponies in this town will still order this stuff ice cold even in these chilling times!” exclaimed the broad chested pony behind the counter. He grinned graciously at the hefty barrel that sat atop his bar, satisfied with the load. “Who wouldn't want some of ma’ family’s old fashion cider? The fizz feels just so light when it’s goin’ down,” Cider replied with pleasure. Her namesake certainly was getting its money’s worth, it seemed. Suddenly, all that hard work she’d done these past few weeks seemed oh so worth it. “Well I won’t be keeping you any longer then, friend. Wouldn't want anyone to go and try to drink you, now, would we?” the old bar tender joked before chuckling slightly at his own joke. Old Mr. Brunal was always really kind to her, and it was plain to tell why his bar was the most popular hub in town. The heavyset stallion had seen a lot in his day, and his crow’s feet weren’t shy about showing it. Cider smiled as he calmed down. “Sorry, sorry!” he announced as his chest heaved. “Can’t keep my mouth shut sometimes. Anyhow, I recon you have some more deliveries to be making? Cider can’t be the only thing an apple farmer puts out.” “Well I do have some more supplies to drop off at the grocer before I pick some things up for ma’ self, but I am in no hurry to…” she dragged off, her eyes locked on a newspaper that lay open and abandoned atop the bar. Inscribed across the top of the page closest to her in big, bold letters was the title, “Lost Foal Still Eludes Rescue.” There was a column of text on the article directly below, but it was the finely printed image that caught and held Cider’s attention. A dark manned filly with a wavy white streak that ran to the bun tied at the neck sat upon an old looking stool that was much taller than she. Her teeth showed in her smile with a gleam, and her eyes stared out of the image as if she was really looking straight at her observer. Notably, also, was the curved notch cut into the filly’s right ear where the fleshy web of her lobe was parted. “Cider?” Mr. Brunal asked from behind the bar. Shaking her head, she finally was able to pull her eyes away. Concern painted her friend’s face with a fresh coat. “Do you know who this is?” she asked after a moment, motioning toward the newspaper. Brunal worked his jaw as he looked at the filly in the picture. Frowning, the stallion shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve not seen a filly like this before. Seems more like the big city type ta’ me, but I wouldn't-“ “That she is,” a voice from farther down the bar cut in. Sitting at the very edge of the marble slab upon the very last stool was a well-dressed and lean pony with parted black hair. The lantern swayed, splashing light onto his face. He wore fine drapes, the likes of which few wear in the countryside unless there is a special event. There was a gleam in his crystal blue eye as he rose from his seat and stepped away from his tall, half emptied glass. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen my dearest niece around, now would you?” “Your niece? Is that who this is?” she asked with interest, though she wasn't sure what to think. She knew that the filly in the picture was undoubtedly Dreary; there was no amount of dirt and grime that could change that face of hers. New suspicions popped into Cider’s head by the second as the well pressed pony smiled at her with confidence. “Indeed she is. We've been looking for our dearest Yulie for weeks now, but every lead we get seems to get us nowhere,” he looked to the paper with distant eyes. “It has been hard on us all. But you seem to recognize her picture, from what I can tell.” He took a step forward, tilting his head slightly. “ You've seen her somewhere here, haven’t you? Oh please, she’s so dear to us!” “I… I don’t rightly know if I have, to be honest. Has she been missing long?” Cider asked with peaking curiosity. She was going to get to the bottom of this, and she had a suspicion that this stallion had all the answers she was suddenly wishing for. Just what was “Dreary,” which she was certain wasn't her real name, up to? He looked to the bartender and then back to her, and then sat on the stool beside her. His cutie mark showed slightly from under his dark overcoat, appearing to be a scroll with long, purple ribbon sealing it. “We have much to discus, my friend. Where do I even begin?” “I guess you’ll have to tell me the full story. I sure as sugar am interested in seein’ just what I could do to help. That is, if ya’ don’t mind, Mister-“ “Moonbeam. Joel Moonbeam,” he answered softly. “Yes, Mister Moonbeam.” “I have all the time in the world, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t explain the whole deal for you,” he turned to Brunel then, and smiled. “I’ll buy the drinks, sir. Just put it all on my tab.” Brunal smiled and winked in reply. “It would be my pleasure to get you anything the two of you might wish for, Mr. Moonbeam.” “Thank you, it is a generosity I am not accustomed to. Most in Canterlot expect you to cake their pockets with so much money to do anything for you, I will not forget your kindness,” he said beaming. Turning back to Cider, his right rear hoof tapping lightly against the wood that held up the countertop, he grinned. “Let me start with a little history behind my family, it takes a bit to understand just why everything has happened as it has.” Cider felt her stomach drop as she sat and prepared herself to absorb a bunch of information. She had an itching feeling that it would be dark by the time she was able to get out of this bar. Her curiosity, however, kept her feeling positive about the situation. Whatever Joel would tell her, she felt she’d need to understand it better than even he would. Brunal dropped two full and sloshing glasses of cider on the counter between the two. As Joel opened his mouth, the allure of the drink took hold of her and Cider drank deeply as she listened. A long afternoon was indeed before her.