//------------------------------// // Chapter 7: Caravan // Story: Arcana's Wrath // by oop //------------------------------// There is a very good reason that the train to Canterlot is such a heavily frequented commodity. There is a reason why the train tracks are so staggered that arriving at the mountain’s base is only half the journey. There is a reason why most ponies don’t even know that it’s possible to reach Canterlot any other way. The reason being for all this is that the path up the mountain was both exceedingly steep, and old beyond time itself. The only people who now use this path as anything more than a particularly extreme tourist destination are the buffalo tribes. Even they tend to avoid parts of the world heavily populated by the pony folk, but occasionally they use the path out of necessity. Unicorns are snobby, at least those elites of Canterlot, to a clear fault. When pegasi and earth ponies turn up at their stations they turn their noses and offer rebuttal. If a buffalo were to step out of the train there would be awe, shock, possibly even anger. The very rich do not mingle well with the very impoverished, throwing race into the mix only made things worse. It was by this forgotten pat that on that bright December day a small single wagon rolled slowly along, pulled by a tired-looking old stallion. The wagon in question was laden with pies, apple pies specifically, that had come a very long and winding way from Appaloosa on special order for a party at the castle. Even now, far from fresh, the pastries would be considered a delicacy in a craft none of the Canterlot bakers seemed to be able to master. The old pony turned to his cargo, among which sat the pale buffalo boy. His blinking game system had lost power a few hours beforehand and he was now sullen and silent, moodily scratching at the base of the wagon. They hadn’t talked much on the trip, hadn’t talked much beforehand either except to agree on the eventual payment for the ride, but old Bandwagon wasn’t fond of times when folks were downtrodden, and that was the state his passenger seemed to be in. “So tell me child,” he said, the silence of the snowy mountain breaking away at his voice “Why are you so gung-ho on taking my wagon all the way up to Canterlot City? It seemed like kind of a snap decision from where I stand.” Mesa looked over at him, as though about to answer, but stopped. He turned back to the pies with a quiet sigh and fell silent again, clearly not interested in talking. Bandwagon still didn’t like the silence. “Tell ya what young’un,” he said “You can ask me a question, anything you like, but you gotta do me one in return. That sound even?” Mesa shifted again, looking up at the mountain, judging by the distance they still had a long way to go. “What happened to the other wagons?” he asked “We started with a whole caravan but they kept splitting off.” “Well that’s a bit of a doozy there,” said Bandwagon “Let’s see now, because I don’t know what all the drivers are doin’. I know some were headed off to Manehatten, some for Trottingham, and there was one fella I know was taking the long way around to the train station.” “Why did he do that?” asked Mesa, turning now to face the driver. “Hold on now,” said Bandwagon “You got yer’ question already. Tell me what yer headed up to Canterlot for first and y’all get another.” Mesa groaned “Fine,” he said “I was running away alright? Because I’m a damn white buffalo. I don’t belong in a sane world.” Bandwagon was quiet for another moment “You’re not very good at this you know,” he said “You could’ve spared the details and had another question. Now as you were asking earlier-“ “Hold on,” said Mesa, sitting up a little straighter “I’ve got a better question. Why are you not taking the train? Wouldn’t it be faster?” “It certainly would,” said Bandwagon, “But I cannot afford i. Now what exactly do you expect there to be for an outcast buffalo in Canterlot city?” “Something that isn’t Appaloosa,” said Mesa, “Now do you have a wife and kids or-“ “No,” said Bandwagon “Now why do you think things will be better in Canterlot?” “Because they probably couldn’t be worse, I should get an extra question because you wouldn’t let me finish mine.” When Bandwagon just carried on in silence, Mesa sighed “I no family why can’t you afford the train ticket?” “Well,” said Bandwagon “I’d like to say it’s because I get paid just as much even if it’s a little bit late. But I think the real reason’s my salt tab. Have to keep that paid up to be sane you know?” “No,” said Mesa “I’ve never had salt, and I count that as a question.” Bandwagon chuckled “Now yer getting’ it, see that’s how to get information out of a pony who you don’t want to give yer own to. When yer old enough to lick salt that’ll be a useful skill.” “Why do you lick so much salt then?” asked Mesa “What’s so tough about life without it?” “I’m a trail pony,” said Bandwagon “It’s lonely and dry out there, and ya take what ye can…” he trailed off, slowing the cart “What in blazes is that?” Mesa stood up in the cart to get a better look at what Bandwagon was talking about. A little further up the trail was what looked like a black and white pony. It was moving very slowly along the path as though feeing for each step before daring to make it. Bandwagon looked bewildered, but Mesa had seen someone like this before. “It’s a zebra…” he said, jumping off the wagon with a thud “And it looks like… nah, Iris?” the last word was given as half of a shout, prompting a squeak from the zebra filly on the road. She didn’t turn but her ears swiveled around. “That voice…” she said “But it couldn’t be… we left you back in the past didn’t we?” realizing she was talking down an empty path, Iris turned around to face the wagon “Mesa? Black Mesa? Is that you?” Mesa could have laughed “Yeah, it’s me!” he said galloping over “What the Hell are you doing here kid?” Iris squeaked and backed away slightly, surprised by the shout so close “I’m delivering some potions to Canterlot,” she said in a voice too soft to even echo around the cliffs “What about you?” “I hitched a ride with a pie guy,” said Mesa, “Why didn’t you just take the train?” “Oh, but I’m going to,” said Iris, managing a little smile “The sign that pointed the way to Canterlot was carved, so I could read it, and it said that it was this way. How much further is it to the station?” “Oh yeah…” said Mesa, observing her heavily misted purple eyes “You’re… a little bit off course…” “Well I’m going up,” said Iris, gesturing to the path “And the city’s up there at the top, I’ll get there eventually if nothing else. I’m not in the way of the cart am I?” Mesa turned to Bandwagon, who was still looking on in puzzlement “How did you-“ “I heard it coming from forever away,” said Iris, sounding almost frustrated with the question “Wagons aren’t exactly quiet, all sorts of wood creaking and metal squeaking and the hoofsteps of the pony driving it. I’m blind not naïve.” “Right,” said Mesa, feeling foolish “Well how about you tag along with me? I’m taking the wagon up!” “Am I going to be hauling another one?” Bandwagon groaned, already impatient. “Oh, I’m sorry sir,” said Iris, brushing past Mesa to stand in front of Bandwagon, glass clinking as she rummaged in the bag on her flank “I had some bits for the train, but if you wouldn’t mind I could pay for you to take me up?” “Oh, come now,” said Bandwagon, expression softening “A filly lost on the mountain, I can’t charge you for a ride. You’ll be better company than the annoying buffalo anyway.” “Hey!” Mesa shouted. “Oh, I know,” she said “I’m very sorry for him too, maybe I could cover his fare instead? I just don’t feel right accepting such a big favor and not giving anything in return.” “I said no charge, I mean no charge,” said Bandwagon “Some bigwig up in the city’s payin good bits for him to go up apparently. Now climb in, I’ve already got a delivery to make and if we dawdle we won’t get there in time. This is a big shot job or something.” “Thank you, sir,” said Iris, smiling as she felt around the wagon, found purchase, and clambered aboard. Mesa wasn’t a second behind her, barely missing the pies as he vaulted in beside her. And just like that Bandwagon was off again, a little bit faster to accommodate he delay. “So what’s in the bag anyway?” asked Mesa, noticing the glint of glass from Iris’ pack “You said you were carrying something up there too right?” “Just some potions,” said Iris, opening the saddlebag “The dark blue ones are night vision, that’s what I’m taking up to the top. The red ones are in case I get hurt, and the green ones are… experimental…” she procured another full of perfectly clear fluid, tapped it twice, then popped the cork and drank from it. “Well what was that?” Mesa asked. “That was water.” Said Iris. “Oh,” said Mesa, leaning towards the bag “Well then what about-“ He was cut off as he reached towards her luggage as a metallic object fell from the heights right between them. They jerked apart towards opposite sides of the wagon as the thing bounced out and tumbled away down the mountain. “What was that?” Iris exclaimed. Mesa stayed silent for a short while, stunned by pure disbelief. He shook his head slowly and turned to Iris again. “It was a toaster oven.”