Screams began almost immediately after the first explosion. A red hue colored the sky over the orchard as the fire raged. Branches crackled and pops echoed out across the desert as more fireworks exploded. An acrid stench filled the air, and the shadow of smoke billowed up to the size of a mountain.
Braeburn’s heart skipped a beat. His mind blanked.
What’s… happening?
Anger swelled up inside him like the red tide of flame lighting up the night sky. Shaking off his paralysis, Braeburn darted into a gallop. His muscles worked like steam pistons, and his breath came in ragged gasps that swiftly changed to coughing when the first wave of smoke caught him. With eyes watering like somepony had forgotten to turn off the tap, Braeburn leaped over the fence separating him from the festivities.
Inside the fairgrounds, city-folk ran around like cockatrices were chasing them and getting in the way of the few Appleoosans trying to respond to the sudden emergency. Panicked yelling and the sound of sompony crying for their mother were competing with the crackling blaze. One of the city-ponies ran into a barrell and sent it rolling into the crowd.
“Consarn it!” Braeburn said through gritted teeth, his heart pulling him to the orchard. “Ponies first. Outta the way!”
The last he said to the scrambling crowd. Heads turned toward him, and the ponies skipped out of his way like he was some kind of fancy Princess. Remarkably, no pony had run into the barrel, yet.
Braeburn didn’t waste the opportunity. He galloped forward, sight set to head off the runaway barrel. He nearly tripped when he saw where it was heading.
It was rolling toward a crying filly on the other side of the street. She was rubbing her eyes with a hoof and didn’t seem to see the danger barrelling toward her. Smoke formed a massive cloud behind her, dark and menacing.
“Haystacks!” Braeburn cursed. He tried to come up with a way to stop the barrel, but he wasn’t going to get to it in time.
“Gangway! Watch where yer goin’!” Babs’ voice called over the uproar.
Braeburn saw his cousin elbow her way out of the crowd, flanked by Sparkler Rumbleblast. The normally glassy-eyed pony held a determined expression on her face.
Just before the barrel could hit the filly, Sparkler jumped in front of it and whirled around. Her back legs kicked out and slammed into the barrel. It stopped in its tracks. Sparkler stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
Meanwhile, Babs grabbed the filly and helped her onto the mare’s back. With that done, the two rejoined the crowd. They were heading away from the flames even now roaring over the tent they’d just left. ust as they were about to pass him, Babs looked in his direction.
“Braeburn!”
Pushing through the crowd, Braeburn grunted and wove his way around a couple transfixed by the burgeoning flame. They gaped at it, their eyes reflecting orange and red.
They probably didn’t even notice the poor filly nearly crushed, Braeburn thought venomously. Lookin’ out for youngin’s is everypony’s job!
“What’s going on?” Braeburn asked as he turned away from the couple to talk to Babs and Sparkler. He was still itching to get to the source of the fire and put it out.
Babs grimaced. “Something happened with the fireworks. A whole barrel exploded all at once.”
“What? How?” Braeburn yelled.
Babs threw her hooves in the air and almost fell over when somepony bowled into her. “Hey! Watch it!” She turned back to him. “I don’t know! One second I was lookin’ at a list for the display tonight, and the next, everything’s burning!”
Braeburn’s eyebrows drew down darkly. “I thought I told you to look after those two!”
Disbelief was visible in Sparkler’s eye at that. “What? You’re worried about that now? The orchard’s on fire and my sister’s missing! I think she was near one of the fireworks barrels when things started exploding!”
A jolt of fear rushed through him and glanced toward the fire. “And you didn’t help her?”
“I thought she was right behind me!” Sparkler yelled at him, tears in her eyes. “Then Babs saw this filly…”
Braeburn let out a frustrated breath and cursed himself for yelling at her. “I’ll find Flamewheel, then! Y’all get out of here and make sure everypony gets out safely!”
Sparkler shook her head. “I’m coming with you!”
“You need to get that filly out of here first. Babs can’t take her out safely.” He looked down at his cousin. “Get some ponies to form a water brigade. We need to save what we can of the faire! Orchard’ll survive longer, but we need this fire out sooner rather than later!”
“But—!”
“Go!”
Babs yelled after him, “Careful, Brae’.”
“Yeah, I will,” Braeburn replied under his breath as he galloped back into the crowd toward where the Rumbleblast’s fireworks had been quartered.
Something whistled into the air, drawing Braeburn’s attention. A shaft of sparks split the smoke, followed by an explosion of color. The firework crackled and zipped into the form of an apple.
Flamewheel!
Hooves beating against the ground like a high-paced drummer, Braeburn turned a corner with renewed alarm. He grimaced and jumped over a flaming pennant. Through the smoke he went headlong, eyes stinging.
Flames were spreading across the various tents, though the gaps between the structures were slowing it down. Piercing whistles and explosions thundered from the tent where they’d stored the fireworks. Branches of light zipped and spun. A nearby apple tree was aflame, apples shriveling in the heat and falling to the ground.
“Flamewheel!” he called out. He coughed fitfully against the smoke.
“Braeburn?” a weak voice called out.
He squinted, tears forming in his eyes as he tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. His eyes roamed over piles of flaming planks, a steadily burning barrel and charred tents.
The heat was growing almost too much to bear. Despite that, he kept on determinedly. Vision swimming, Braeburn tried to pull in pockets of air trapped in the smoke.
Come on, Flamewheel, where are ya? he asked inwardly. “Flamewheel!”
Only the flickering flames answered him this time. They danced gleefully in the dark air. They were mesmerizing. He couldn’t look away.
Dizziness hit him like a rock and his world tilted. His shoulder impacted the ground. Nothing but smoke entered his lungs. Braeburn choked, blinking his eyes.
I’m gonna die.
The realization came with a rumble through his body. It was like the feeling of hundreds of hoofbeats striking the earth. All sounds, even the crackling of the fire, felt muted.
A sense of annoyance coursed through him.
How come everytime I try to help, it ends up with me making a fool of myself? he thought. His eyes closed against the heat and smoke. Why can’t I just help somepony and do it right?
“Braeburn!”
On the edge of consciousness, Braeburn’s ear flicked. The rumbling was growing stronger, and somepony was calling his name.
Ma? He tried to speak the word, but he couldn’t draw in the breath.
“Braeburn! Hold on!”
Suddenly it felt as if the very earth was shaking beneath his body. Braeburn frowned and winced as a huge crash sounded to his right, followed by dozens more all around him. Bellows deeper than anypony could make thundered around him.
“Braeburn! By the ancestors, wake up!”
The voice was familiar, but Braeburn couldn’t place it. He opened an eye, but it was a colossal effort, like something was gumming his eyelids together.
Above him was a concerned face, brown-furred and with kind, concerned eyes.
“Little… Strongheart?” Braeburn croaked. His mind was reeling, and he could breath again! What the hay is going on?
A smile appeared across the young buffalo’s muzzle and relief danced in her eyes like joyful flames. “Oh, thank the ancestors.”
Concentrating on keeping the darkness at bay, he asked, “Flamewheel?”
She looked at him quizzically, then her face brightened. “Oh! Is that who you were trying to save? We found her under a tarp covered in wood. She’s burned a little bit, but alive.”
Relief spread through Braeburn like cool water and he finally relaxed. He let out a tired sigh. “Good…”
“Just rest now, Braeburn. We’ve got it under control,” Little Strongheart said.
So he did.
*****
Dawn was peeking over the mountainous horizon when Braeburn finally awoke. Light speared through the window and spilled across his sheets. The sound of laughter and conversation filtered in from the outside. Something buzzed in the corner of the room.
Flamewheel!
His body bolted up straight and he fell into a coughing fit. It felt like a dragging sensation every time he drew in a breath. Pain flooded through his head as well and he winced, holding his hooves to his head to keep it from falling apart.
A clatter of hooves came from his right. “Awake, huh?”
Opening an eye to look, Braeburn saw House Call’s stern face. An expression of distaste masked his muzzle, though Braeburn thought he saw a flash of relief in the old stallion’s eye.
Harrumphing, the doctor pushed him back down to the bed and pulled out a stethoscope. The metal was cold against his coat as House Call pressed the instrument to his chest.
“Breathe,” House Call demanded, brooking no argument.
Meekly complying, Braeburn drew in a hesitant breath. The dragging sensation returned and he coughed. With each cough, more pain swelled between his eyes.
Muttering to himself, House Call removed the instrument. He grabbed a chart and placed it on the nightstand next to Braeburn’s bed, then began writing on it. The scratches of the pen accompanied the buzzing sound coming from the water heater on the other side of the room. Another surge of laughter came from outside.
“Doc—”
House Call turned and glared at him.
Okay… no talking, Braeburn thought, suddenly feeling as if he were smaller than an ant.
The elder pony returned to his chart. After a few more notes, House Call sighed and rubbed a hoof against the side of his head, as if trying to stem a migraine.
Finally, he turned to Braeburn. “You’re an idiot. Huh.” When Braeburn didn’t respond, the doctor continued. “Normal, intelligent ponies don’t go running into a fire with smoke all in the air, huh. They wait for it to clear up. Or they grab something to breathe through. Huh. But you? No, you just run in, breathing in enough smoke to kill a Griffon. Huh.”
“Well, I was trying to save somepony—”
House Call threw his hooves into the air. “Oh, well then, excuse me! Saving somepony! Forgive me for disparaging the hero, huh!” The doc eyed him evilly. “Except… who ended up in trouble, too? Oh, that’s right, you did! Some buffalo broad had to come in and rescue your fool hide. Huh! ‘Sides, that somepony’s fine. She was smart enough to cover herself with a tarp.”
Braeburn looked down, shame reddening his face. The Doc’s right… I am an idiot. I couldn’t even save Flamewheel myself.
“Look.” House Call’s mask fell away and a tiredness Braeburn had never seen in the old stallion appeared. “I get it. You’re Braeburn. You do first and think later. But you really need to learn to do the opposite, for you and everypony else! You got lucky, huh. You got lucky because the Buffalo happened to be nearby and decided to help by stampeding through your little festival to put out the fire. But that luck can’t hold out forever, and frankly, we need you in this town, Braeburn. Huh. If something happens to you…” House Call grimaced. “Well, it’ll be a lot harder to cook something up like this festival you put together, I’ll say that.”
After a moment of silence, the old pony sighed. “Well, that’s your lecture for the day. Ya got a few ponies waiting for ya outside, huh. Try not to get yourself in trouble, alright? I’d hate to be the one trying to put you back together all the time. Too much work for an ol’ coot like me.”
When House Call turned to move away, Braeburn cleared his throat. “Thanks, doc. I… get it. Thank you.”
With a snort, the doctor waved his thanks away. “Don’t mention it, huh. Now, I’m gonna let a few ponies in. Try to keep talkin’ to a minimum, if that’s possible for ya. Y’ain’t recovered from everything yet. Walk around as ya please, though, but don’t go runnin’ around anywhere.”
Braeburn nodded and slipped out of the bed. He wobbled unsteadily on his hooves for a second, and then caught himself.
“Y’all can come in!” House Call yelled. “Carefully!”
The door crashed open and ponies spilled into the room.
“Braeburn!” Applebloom yelled, the first to recover. She scrambled to the side of his bed. “Y’all okay?”
Babs was next. “He’s fine, ‘Bloom. Doctor wouldn’ta let us in if he wasn’t.”
Flamewheel and Sparkler strode up behind the two fillies. Flamewheel had some bandages on her leg and side, but seemed none the worse for wear elsewise. They both smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Sheriff Silverstar crowded in behind them. “Well, you sure got yourself in a pickle, pardner.”
Braeburn’s smile fell away and he walked toward the door. “Orchard?”
“A few trees got burnt, but it’ll live,” Silverstar replied. “And—”
“Bloomberg’s okay, too,” Applebloom chimed in.
Silverstar scowled down at the filly.
Applebloom wilted, a sheepish smile on her face. “Sorry.”
“Yes, Bloomberg’s fine and dandy. So’s all our visitors and citizens, more or less. Luckily, your little cousin, here, got a brigade going before I could even shake a tailfeather, so to speak,” the Sheriff grumbled, pointing at Babs. “Saved some of the faire, too, but… well, it ain’t good, plain speaking.”
The hope Braeburn had felt before the fire wilted and died away. What now? That faire was the only thing we had… now it’s all ashes. Just like Appleoosa’s dream.
Somepony cleared their throat at the door. “Funny thing about disaster, though...”
Braeburn looked up to see Flimity leaning against the door. The candy-cane maned stallion was chewing on his cigar with a thoughtful expression on his face.
Behind him, the filly he’d tried to save waved at him. She was sitting on top of what Braeburn assumed to be her mother, who was smiling at him. Beside her, another pony stood and began to cheer. Soon, more ponies started to cackle, whoop and yell, until it sounded like a good ol’ fashioned hootenanny.
Braeburn broke into tears, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What…?”
Flimity grinned and winked. “Brings ponies together.”