Harmony’s power will be enough to close the circle. In just a few hours, the spell will settle into place, bringing with it, at long last, the utopia we have been striving for since the beginning of time.
Imagine a place where even the heights of passion cannot drive one to murder. A place founded on love, where friendship can be more powerful than all the cosmos’s truths. A place where I can sleep at night, no longer tormented by the fires of the world, or my own actions.
Thirty-Four
IF IT WASN’T the harsh sun, it was the biting wind, full of sand and grit that irked Fluttershy the most. The trek out here took much longer, confined to the ground as they were, and for once she regretted the billowing mane that she kept covering part of her face. She was almost looking forward to the Storm: at least that would work all the sand out.
But they were here now. “So, ah,” Fluttershy said, “What do we do now?”
“Distortion fields are complex pieces of weather magic,” Dew Drop said. “And I’ve really no idea how this ‘n’s going to fit in.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Achak said. “The desert doesn’t want this here anymore than we do. It’s on our side.”
Breeze shook his head. “I don’t like this.”
“Achak isn’t here at our invitation, Breeze,” Fluttershy said.
“Hate to say it, boss, but she’s right.” Dust Chaser said. “I don’t understand either, but having ‘er here’s more important than breaking this field up. S’a morale thing.”
Achak watched them offhand, a tolerant grin on her lips, but Fluttershy’s smile slipped. Unbidden, the image of the liquefied bird rose in her mind, and she felt like she should be gagging, should have to close her throat against bile and her eyes against tears. No, Dust Chaser was right—but Fluttershy wanted this field gone.
“Okay, okay,” Breeze said. “Ah, I’ve never run one of these before.”
“We can do it,” Fluttershy said.
Breeze bit his lip, eyes downcast, waving a hoof at her. “Yeah, yeah, just let me think.”
“How long’s the field been here?” Dew Drop asked.
Breeze’s head snapped up. “Brilliant,” he crowed.
“Two weeks?” Achak said. “Longer? Why’s that relevant?”
“Go ahead,” Breeze said. “Your show, Dew.”
“Because it means that the field’s self-sustaining.”
“Ah,” Dust Chaser said. He turned, looked up at the glimmering air. “Of course.”
“It needs power, magic. Thing is, air can’t hold that much, not without it dissipating out until it’s practically useless. Stuff’s like a gas. That’s why unicorns use crystals, gems for everything. Otherwise, you have to hold it together yourself. This thing’s self-sustaining. It’s holding itself together.”
“So we pull it apart,” Achak said.
“And it just goes away,” Breeze finished.
“That simple?” Fluttershy asked.
“We couldn’t make one o’ these,” Dew Drop said. “But it’s usually easier to break something that to build it. Two weeks, though, that’s . . . impressive. We could learn a lot from this, even the specialists in Cloudsdale.”
“It goes,” Fluttershy said.
They all glanced at her, and, one by one, nodded. They could see the death this thing had caused—and not just what had been visited on both communities. The evidence was all around them, and the few creatures only half-buried in sand revealed the other significance of two weeks.
“Alright. I want a box formation, halfway up,” Breeze said. “We’ll each grab a piece, mix it up a bit with some wind, see if we can’t disrupt whatever’s holding it back.”
“Right,” Dew Drop said.
“Sure thing,” Dust Chaser said.
Fluttershy glanced at Achak. “Umm, actually, I, I can’t really . . .”
“What’s the matter?”
“I-I haven’t worked with weather before,” Fluttershy said. “I mean, I can do some wind, maybe, but umm,”
“Are you serious?” Dust Chaser said. “How’s a pegasus get about without-“
Achak cut her off. “I’ll take her.”
“You?” Breeze said. “What’re you going to do?’
“Trust me,” Achak said. “We’ll hold up our end. Just make sure you three can deliver.”
Dust Chaser barked a laugh. “I actually want to see this. I say we give it a shot. Can’t do any harm, right?”
“Alright, yeah. Go on, then,” Breeze said, waving the two weather pegasi off. “Good luck, you two,” he said, casting a doubtful look at Achak before circling around himself.
“Are you sure?” Fluttershy asked Achak. “I mean, I-I don’t know how to . . .”
“Oh, hush,” Achak said. “You really don’t give yourself enough credit, Fluttershy.” Striding forward, the buffalo stopped right next to the glimmer. “As for you,” apparently addressing the field now, “you’ve been tainting my desert for far too long.”
Dust began to stir along the desert floor. Spiralling up around Achak, the air picked up speed quickly, forming a small, contained whirlwind. Almost as fast, it filled with sand, obscuring Fluttershy’s sight.
The Appleloosan pegasi caught on quickly, each of them whipping up a small tornado, slowly bringing it in towards the field. The air currents slipped a little as they passed inside, angled downwards like light refracting in water. But the glimmer didn’t move.
“Fluttershy?” Achak called. “Lend a hoof?”
Fluttershy swallowed, stepped up close to the sandstorm raging around her friend. She extended a wingtip, slowly, trembling, inching it forward until finally, it dipped into the stream.
Ah. She could feel it, the desert under her, focusing, slowly, under Achak’s direction, turning towards the field. There was strength there, strength enough to weather any Storm, but it was slow, so slow, so ponderously, torturously sluggish in bringing that strength to bear.
On the other side she could feel the distortion field. The magic was foreign, unnatural, a stinging force, like tiny electrical sparks, appearing at random. Hesitantly, Fluttershy pulled at it, tried to suck a little of that power in. And as soon as she did, as soon as those sparks touched her, they adhered to her, frenzied, coating her in a building charge. She recoiled, flung herself backwards, severing the connection.
“Fluttershy?” Achak called.
No, no, she could do this. Almost, Fluttershy expected to hear Nephele’s voice, issuing over her shoulder with advice or encouragement, though the Cloud Nymph had elected to remain in the town. So quickly she had gotten used to her presence . . .
Shaking herself, Fluttershy stepped back up to Achak, re-established contact. The field was beginning to react to their efforts, as if viscous, their wind blowing on thick honey. Too slow. Fluttershy held onto Achak’s magic, but left her side, flying upwards towards Dust Chaser, brushed his wing with her own, and adding his whirlwind to her consciousness. He spared her a glance, but, to his credit, he didn’t lose his magic. She repeated the process with Breeze and Dew Drop, before dropping back to Achak.
Now she could feel the whole of the field, from the four points around it. Now she could sense its movements, the way each time power began to drift, naturally or reacting to one of their currents, the field shifted magic around it to push the other way. She could discern a pattern.
But to break it, she would have to reach in. That was the trap, the ingenuity of design. The system was flawed from within, and designed to disintegrate everything that slipped in. Fluttershy took a deep breath, prancing a little on the spot.
“Fluttershy,” Achak called. “What are you thinking?”
“I . . . I . . .” Fluttershy stammered. Could she do it? Even if she was brave enough, strong enough? Coromancy made her tough, able to ride the Storm itself, able to redirect energy around her. That ability would interrupt the self-sustaining properties at play, allow the field to tear itself apart. All she needed to do was make physical contact.
Slowly, she approached. Trembling, she extended a wing. The tips of her feathers grazed the edge, and melted away, dissolving into thin air. Fluttershy paused. She couldn’t.
Except as she rocked back on her hooves, she felt the ground shift under her. Glancing down, she recoiled, the sand shifting to reveal a carcass, desiccated, rotting.
Horror, grief, rage, Fluttershy buckled down, her eyes tearing up, her limbs stiffening. Sucking in great gasps of air, she jumped forward, screaming, drawing a piece of Achak’s magic with her. The desert pulled, swept through the edge of the field, and the field responded.
Fluttershy hit the growing surge hard, rushing in. She felt the others drop their efforts, turn to watch, gasp, reach out towards her. The sparks hit her skin, tingling, running over her, and sank into her. But she didn’t disappear.
Her past experience with rage had done more than nearly kill her friends. Then, her mind blank, she had been utterly out of control. But now, as she felt anger rush through her, she maintained control.
Gathering the field’s chaotic magic that struck her in her wings, Fluttershy roared, sweeping them forward and throwing herself back, back and out. She hit the sand, tumbling backwards, snapping her head up even as she slid away.
She’d blown a hole in the field. As she watched, it collapsed inwards, in onto the hole, rushing in to fill the gap. But there was nothing to stop Achak’s magic, nothing to stop the field from leaking out. The hole grew wider, wider, faster, until there was nothing left, just a spark, white-blue, floating away.
Breeze, Dust Chaser, and Dew Drop fluttered down to where Fluttershy lay. Achak helped her to her hooves, drew her into a quick hug.
“What did you do?” Breeze said. Abruptly, his face changed. “What were ya thinking?!”
Dust Chaser hoofed him in the shoulder. “Whatever it was, it was right.”
“You could have died!”
“It’s okay,” Fluttershy said. She swallowed, gave them a weak grin. “I’m okay.”
“That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dew Drop said.
Fluttershy looked around. They were all smiling, eyes shining, looking at . . . her. And for once, Fluttershy didn’t want to hide, or back away. For once, she didn’t have to fight to stay still. And on the way back, the pegasi joking around, shoving each other and laughing wildly, loudly, Achak at the centre of their group, more than willing to take part in their euphoric relief, even as the insanity of her actions caught up with her, all she felt was pride.
***
Luna saw the last vestiges of magic disappear into the air with a not-insignificant amount of awe. She remembered many of the more incredible feats ponies had achieved in the past, but memory could never live up to the actuality, Rainbow and Rarity just . . . slipping away, dissolving into thin air. Twilight, at her side evidently agreed: eyes sparkling, mouthing words, she stared at the empty sky.
“Rainbow learns fast,” Luna said, nudging Twilight with a wing. “I pushed, but I did not truly expect such an accomplishment.”
Twilight just smiled. “Oh yes, she never fails to impress.” A sudden blush coloured her cheeks. “A-and Rarity has always been observant.”
Luna chuckled. “Quite.” She shook her head, smiling. “Perhaps I should have known.”
They shared a moment, gazing into the sky, before Luna turned away.
“Princess?”
“I’m afraid I must leave now, Twilight. My sister has been woefully lax with regard to your sister.”
“Cadance?” Twilight’s eyes widened, and she took a sharp intake of air. “I-I haven’t thought, I haven’t written . . . oh, oh she must be . . .”
“We’ve had little word, save that she has closed borders with Equestria.”
“I-we have to go.” Twilight lit her horn, charging what appeared to be a familiar teleportation spell.
Luna stopped her with a hoof, lightly pressing on Twilight’s shoulder. “I concur. Cadance needs firm words and a warm shoulder more than she needs space. I will see to her, personally, immediately. But I need you to remain here, Twilight. There are others that require your counsel.”
Twilight slumped backwards. “Trixie,” she said, spitting the name.
“Yes,” Luna said, shaking her head. “Though I was referring to ‘Tia.”
“Princess Celestia?”
“I . . . I do not trust her methods, not anymore.”
Twilight hesitated, biting her lip. Luna noted with some worry Twilight refusing to meet her eyes—though she had not expected to shake Twilight’s faith so easily, the last thing she wanted was to place Twilight between herself and Celestia. “I’m sure Princess Celestia has everything under control,” Twilight said, murmuring her words. “It’s important to trust your friends, Luna. Even if she is your sister.” Twilight looked up as she finished speaking, face practically shimmering with sentiment.
Luna paused, mirroring Twilight’s earlier contrition. Funny, how easy it could be to reflect others—their faces, their mannerism—back at them. Ponies trusted, instinctively, those they felt close to, those that aligned with them. Twilight was experienced, incredibly intelligent, and even somewhat wise. “Yes. You are right, of course.”
Twilight nodded earnestly. “The Princess does everything she does for all of us. She would not lead us astray.”
“Hmph. Quite true. I’m sure my sister has the best of intentions, and she has done well by you.”
There. The seed had been planted. Twilight would watch Celestia, regardless of her beliefs, and, Stars willing, her mind would be a little more open. More, Luna could not do.
With a farewell hug, Luna left Twilight, allowing herself to slip back into the shadows. The journey north was a full day by train, over a week by hoof. Those routes had been closed for days now, and the burgeoning trade between the two nations, abruptly cut off, had created an instant market. Already there were some few wagons making the trip to the border, carting crystals towards Equestria, returning with produce, clothing, and other goods. Luna’s guards had reported several smuggling rings, specializing in crossing the border—including the one Shining Armour had been closing in on. All in all, the situation was rapidly deteriorating.
Fortunately, Luna didn’t have to bother with the border at all. Silvery beams of light carried her ever northward, straight over the heads of those trudging below. Within moments, she appeared in the Crystal Palace, stepping into existence in front of the crier before the doors to Cadance’s court.
He jumped, of course, and Luna allowed herself a quiet chuckle.
“Is my niece available,” she asked, stepping closer to the guard.
“Uh-umm, that is,” he stammered, “Your Highness”—with a bow—“Princess Mi Amore Cadenza is not receiving supplicants at this time.”
Luna leaned in. “I think perhaps she will receive me,” she whispered in his ear.
“O-of course,” he said. “Ah, the Princess is, actually, she’s in her quarters.”
“I see,” Luna said. Troubling still—why post a crier, if not to announce visitors to the court? If Cadance was hiding, even from her own subjects . . . “You will escort me to her.” Her tone brooked no argument.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard said. He bowed again, forelegs only trembling slightly. “Right this way.”
Luna took the time to rehearse her words. Over the last few days, as Cadance had come to dominate her thoughts more and more, she found herself ashamed. Of how she had dismissed Shining Armour’s death for the tragedy it was, in lieu of the larger-scale significance surrounding the event. Of how she had focused her attention on Nightmare Moon’s regalia and warning—on her own problems, neglecting those around her. Of how Cadance had been able to leave Equestria at all, running without a single friend to chase her. It was a failing, and once again, another had paid the price.
But never mind the past.
It wasn’t hard to understand the thought patterns that had led to this. What Luna needed was a way to coax Cadance out of her shell—or, failing that, to get in there with her. Grief would drive her to extremes. If Luna could provide an outlet: a comforting touch to let her know she wasn’t alone anymore, a gentle guide to steer her away from destructive impulses . . .
They stopped outside a pair of huge doors. Luna stared at her impromptu guide for several seconds, her face impassively blank, until he caught her intention.
Rapping on the door, the guard-pony swallowed, called out nervously. “Your Highness, announcing the Diarch of Equestria, the Princess of the Moon, Luna.”
Luna nodded, and then pushed her way forward. From the corner of her eye, she saw the guard scurry away, moving at a full trot. She bit her lip as she opened the door, brow creasing unconsciously.
Cadance caught the expression. “Save it, Luna,” she said, rising from her desk. “I don’t want to hear platitudes, and I don’t need to hear admonishments.”
So. A fight it was, then. “A pleasure to see you as well, Cadance,” Luna replied. “As it is always. I do so enjoy the architecture here.”
“Don’t you dare patronize me.”
Luna just smiled. “Are you so eager to hear me out, then, dear niece? I admit, the modern age’s infatuation with blunt honesty has a certain rustic charm, but there is much value in observing pleasantries.“
“Luna,” Cadance said. The open anger had disappeared from her voice, replaced with a cool, clipped pattern. “Tell me what you want before I throw you out of my palace.”
“You are most welcome to try,” Luna said. She couldn’t stop her tail from swishing, back and forth, arrhythmically, and though she kept her face neutral, calm, it was a battle. She would have preferred to avoid such open conflict, but she couldn’t deny the mounting excitement at the prospect.
The realisation terrified her. This, this was a road she had been down before. But Cadance stood before her, every bit as full of rage and pain as the heights of Luna's passion. And she needed somepony here, somepony who wouldn't back down before her.
Cadance stalked closer, until her muzzle was but inches from Luna’s. “You come here, to my Empire, to my room, with this attitude? I will not allow you to defile his memory like this, Luna. So listen to me, very carefully. You-“
“Ah, yes,” Luna interrupted, “the heart of the matter rears itself. Shining Armour’s death is a traged-“
“Don’t you talk about him!” Cadance lashed out with magic, a telekinetic strike slapping across Luna’s reflexive barrier. Lacking finesse, expertise, it was nothing more than rage, and it was enough to send Luna tumbling backwards, slamming her up against the wall.
Cadance advanced, her horn a bonfire of magic, her eyes—yes, literally—on fire, incandescent pink and purple streaming down her face. She reared, gathering might behind her, slinging it forward.
Luna, however, was ready. Allowing herself to slide to the floor, the blast sailed high, disintegrating the wall behind her. The explosion sent her flying again, colliding with Cadance, the two hitting the floor hard.
Thrashing around, now, striking at Luna with whichever limb was closer: leg, head, horn, Cadance’s excess fury began to melt the ground under her. Luna, defending each blow with skilful shields, just a few square inches to concentrate her power, teleported upright.
“Cadance,” she said, taking a delicate step backwards from Cadance’s flailing limbs.
Unable to hear, fully in the grasp of her anger, Cadance rose shakily, staring daggers at Luna.
“Now, now, Cadance,” Luna said, putting a little lilt on the second word. “We wouldn’t want to do something we might regret.”
Cadance screamed, hurtling forward. Luna disintegrated, smoke billowing as Cadance passed through, reformed in her wake. Twisting, Cadance threw a backwards blast, catching Luna unawares. The magic hit her square in the face, taking her hooves from under her, singing her fur, and, with a distinctive, almost familiar crack, breaking her muzzle. Luna went down—again—with a sharp cry.
The damage was healed a moment later, her annoyance at being caught out trickling into the wound. Luna could run circles around Cadance, but she was rusty, out of practice. She had to be careful, draw this out until Cadance ran out of steam, without letting her get out of check.
So when she came up, she came up swinging. Pellets of magic, far less flashy and far more effective than the huge blasts Cadance had used, swarmed around her, lashing out at Cadance. Each hit did no more than annoy her, pepper her shield, but despite the snarl on her lips every time she tried to attack a pellet would strike her, head, horn, chest, and disrupt the forming spell.
“Cadance,” Luna said, louder, sterner.
Cadance teleported, disappearing from behind her shield to reappear immediately above Luna. She came down hard, magic-enhanced legs striking as she fell.
Except that she struck only air. Luna, ducking sideways, was fast enough to get out of the way, just. Reaching out, she grabbed at Cadance’s horn as she fell past, slipping a sheath of magic over it.
She couldn’t block magic so simply—unicorn horns were used to channel and focus magic, but she would need to cut all the way through to the centre to stop the flow. But then, she didn’t need to block Cadance’s spell-casting, just disrupt it.
So as Cadance started to gather more energy, Luna squeezed.
Cadance hollered, her spell faltering. Luna relaxed her grip, slightly, bending down to help Cadance up. Cadance glanced at her, grinned, and brushed the tip of her wing across Luna’s hoof. With a gasp, Luna jumped, involuntarily, falling back as electricity coursed through her.
As an Alicorn, Cadance had access to other foci.
Before Luna could properly recover, Cadance was above her, punching down with earth pony strength. A desperate shield deflected the strike, which crushed the marble to dust. Luna shoved, hard, magic and muscle, and forced Cadance into the air, then vanished into smoke.
“Luna!” Cadance roared, fluttering down.
Luna didn’t reply—she couldn’t, not without reforming a mouth, lungs, tongue. Instead, she allowed herself to drift, to float around the room, silent. Time was her ally, and she would rather avoid collateral damage. The necessity of this was . . . well, questionable. Luna could see that. Unquestionably, however, it was also the most expedient path.
Charging magic, Luna rematerialized in a corner, zapping Cadance on the back of the head with a tiny jab, and then flashed a grin, hefting the midnight black orb she’d produced. Not waiting, Luna sent it straight at Cadance, the orb moving not fast so much as implacable.
Thankfully, Cadance understood—and accepted. The air before her flashed white then purple then pink, settling on a faint shimmer. The orb hit the barrier slowly, pushing inward. Cadance’s brow furrowed, rage and pride forcing more and more energy into the shield, and the orb slowed.
But it didn’t stop. Luna was more than angry, more than heartbroken. She controlled the Moon, drew the stars in the night sky. Robbed of Shining Armour, Cadance was all but helpless before Luna’s full might, should she choose to use it.
The barrier stretched and stretched and broke. Cadance collapsed, the last of her rage spent.
“Now,” Luna said, panting. “Are you ready to talk?”
***
Applejack watched as buffalo and ponies stream past her. Running towards the town from the orchard, they fled a growing wind, a chill in the air, dark clouds on the horizon.
The last few days had been productive. Fluttershy’s expedition had done wonders to bring the two groups together—the pegasi vouchsafing the buffalo, Achak’s participation eroding whatever mistrust the buffalo had held. It was an example, and Applejack had wielded it like a bludgeon, pushing farmers to take buffalo to the orchard, to help harvest food, sending ponies to construct extensions to the town, building shelters, houses, around the buffalo’s makeshift camp. The busywork—important as it was—kept them side by side, encouraged them to talk, to interact.
Slowly, but surely, trust was forming.
Applejack flicked her ears, back and forth, unconsciously, tail waving in the breeze. Their preparations were solid, thorough, and as complete as they could be. If she had another week, two . . . no. It had to be enough. It would be enough. The Storm was coming now.
The last of the workers streamed past her, and Applejack turned to follow. Fluttershy remembered better than her how destructive the Storm was, and the buffalo better still. They had designed shelters, wood and stone, low walls and slanted roofs, not to stop but to divert the wind and water, deflect it away, the main rooms sunken into the ground. It was to these that they directed everypony, safe-houses with stores of food and water. If the Storm blew over the town, reduced it to all but rubble in its passing, they would survive, with luck, long enough to dig their way out.
“We’re ready,” Applejack said, speaking under her breath.
“Do you really think so?” Fluttershy falling into step alongside her.
Applejack glanced sideways. “We-“ she caught herself, words about to be spoken backing up in her throat, until “yes,” she said instead.
Trust. Beside her, Fluttershy moved with surety, stood up tall. The ponies and buffalo marched side by side, and no matter that they generally didn’t share bunkers. Ahead, Bill stood with Achak, the two deep in conversation.
Applejack had had the Appleloosan pegasi out scouting the last few days. Their efforts had given them all advance warning. They had grumbled about it, spending so much time out in the middle of the desert, but their work had been invaluable. What little Applejack did remember from last time was chiefly concerned with how fast the Storm had moved, how it had gone from a barely-noticeable blur on the horizon to right in from of them in a matter of minutes. The pegasi, extending north in a staggered line, the fastest flier the furthest out, had used the clear skies to signal each other, passing warning back to the town in moments. As a result, by the time Breeze made it back to town, the last of the workers were filtering underground.
“Applejack,” Bill called out as she approached. “Here we go.”
“Kitchi,” Achak said, nodding gravely.
Warden, Nephele said. The cloud hovered at Fluttershy’s side, looking more replete, more solid, since she’d first seen it. He is here.
“Yes,” Applejack said.
He will destroy us.
“No, never,” Fluttershy said, turning to the cloud. “We aren’t going to let that happen, Nephele. That’s what all this is for.”
Celestia, but Applejack still found the sight weird. A talking cloud . . . and it was far from the strangest oddity of the past two weeks.
It isn’t enough.
“I ain’t ever heard of a storm that could knock over this kind o’ preparation,” Bill said. “We’re gonna be jus’ fine.” He punctuated the statement with a sharp nod, slugging Breeze in the shoulder. They had every reason to be proud of their work, and only hearsay to instil fear—and their confidence did little to calm Applejack’s heart.
“Quite,” Achak said. “It caught us unawares before. We were stranded, isolated. Here, with all this—with all of us—we can weather it.”
“No more time,” Applejack whispered. The wind was picking up, blowing faster, stronger, tiny shards of ice, specks of dirt mixed in to create a biting cold. “Get to shelter. You all know what to do.”
They turned in unison, split three ways. The townsfolk, the buffalo tribe, they were as safe as could be. And Applejack hadn’t planned solely for the defensive. If everything went to plan, the Storm wouldn’t make it into the town at all. A shadow swept across the town.
She trotted back towards the edge of town, the outcropping of rock that overlooked the orchard. Already, it was upon them—the same roaring maelstrom, shards of ice metres long, glittering as they spun about, boulders hurtling through the darkness . . . it dominated the sky.
Too late. After all this, too late! Applejack jumped from the ledge, Coromancy filling her legs, landing in a dead sprint, the earth cracking under her, tremors absorbed, dissipated in her bones. She had to . . . if she could just get to . . .
The stormwall hit her like a literal wall, driving her back five paces, ten. Applejack grit her teeth, coat suddenly soaked, nose full of the forest: fresh pine and mud. She reached down, grabbed hold of the earth beneath her, as a tree branch struck her cheek, ripping her head around.
With a snarl, she spun back towards the orchard—the centre of the orchard. Visible only in stark white, every few seconds, lightning lashing the sky, the air, her back, a tree, still standing tall. She broke into a run, drawing strength from the ground, her ground. Resolute, determined, experienced. It was not hard to find the power necessary to accept the Storm’s weight, to shoulder it and haul it backwards.
It fought her every step. Stone, from stinging pebble to crushing rock struck at her legs, air hardened in front her, ice slashed at her flanks. But she was a Warden, and she’d spent a week instilling her will in this ground. There wasn’t a force in Equestria that could budge her.
And then, with a crack that deafened even the tidal roar of the Storm’s fury, lightning struck down, arcing from the sky. Applejack’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened wordlessly. The tree, so tall, so proud, exploded. Splinters of wood were flung outward, apple pulp lashing across Applejack's face, leaves spinning in the wind, leaving nothing but a smoking stump.
“Bloomberg!” Applejack screamed. She fell to her knees, abruptly bereft of strength. The Storm washed over her, picked her up, hurled her bodily backwards. And the instant her hooves left the ground, she lost access to all that she’d stored there. All of her will to resist. She swallowed, choked, swamped in sudden despair, in grief.
Back she tumbled. Back, too wrapped up in sudden loss to notice the hard earth cushion her landings, the gravel refuse to catch against her fur. Back, as the Storm picked up pace once again, forced its way into the heart of the town, wind bringing ice and rock to bear against wooden walls, water laying the perpetual dust to rest.
A hoof touched her side. Applejack glanced up from where she lay to see Fluttershy, eyes shining, wings, raised above her, glowing golden like from stories of old. Applejack clenched her jaw, stood up. She could feel Fluttershy behind her, supporting her, feeding her power.
And behind Fluttershy, there was an entire town. Ponies, led by Achak, buffalo, led by Bill—they had swapped shelters, gone to the others, brought Fluttershy to them—all contributed, all were connected in the Conduit’s web. Applejack felt a surge of pride, grabbed it and didn’t let go. They—she—had done this. Built trust, built a sense of community, built a friendship between the two groups, despite everything, the history of conflict, the years with no contact, no interaction, the insidious poison in the water . . . built it strong enough to bind them together, to channel them towards one goal.
Applejack drove her hooves into the earth, one inch, two. Together, they caught the Storm, and it ground itself to a halt on their backs.