Trixie's Shadow

by Paul_Daniel

Chapter 02

2.

Twilight Sparkle was deep in one of the library tomes when a small pink dragon (his name was Spike) popped up beside her. For a moment, Spike stood beside his friend’s study table—just tall enough to peer over it—and waited to see if she would acknowledge his presence.

“Portals to Anywhere,” he finally said, quoting the tome’s title. “Creating magical windows that let in light, air, and unspeakable monstrosities.” Below this was another, slightly smaller line, “The author is not responsible for any unspeakable monstrosities that actually appear after use of this text. Trans-dimensional portals should always be opened with care and extremely large firearms.”

Twilight did not look up and Spike wondered if it would do any good to point out that it had been almost twenty-four hours since she had talked, eaten, or otherwise moved from her current position. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Twilight.

“So… did you want breakfast? Or are you just going to read all day again?”

“Yes,” said Twilight, “that is nice.”

She still had not glanced away from her book. Spike began to feel slightly concerned. When it came to focus, Twilight Sparkle could make a laser jealous. Of course, her voluminous knowledge certainly came in handy, and had saved Ponyville on many occasions. But while it was always possible that studying magical windows might be good for Twilight, collapsing from hunger and dehydration would certainly not be.

So Spike got to work. Popping a balloon behind Twilight had no effect, nor did banging two cymbals, tugging her tail, or dangling a rubber snake in front of the tome. Clearly, it was time to bring out the big guns.

“Would you look at that?” said Spike. “We’re fresh out of checklist parchment.”

He was still turning round when a Twilight-shaped blur (traveling roughly Mach 2) blew straight through him on its way to the supply closet.

“What?! No we aren’t! There’re three hundred twenty-two and one-quarter rolls, exactly like the last time I counted.”

“Good morning, Twilight.”

“Oh! Hi, Spike. Why are you lying on the floor like that?”

“Ugh. Never mind,” said Spike, picking himself up and giving his scales a good dust off. “Happy Saturday.”

“Saturday? It’s not Saturday.”

Spike pointed to a calendar clock on the far side of the room.

“Oh my gosh!” cried Twilight. “It is Saturday! And I’m supposed to meet Applejack so I can show her my new crop-growing spell! Why didn’t you remind me sooner?”

“Hellooooo? You. Reading. Deaf to the world. Ring any bells?”

“Don’t be silly! I’m not that bad.”

A burst of magic from Twilight’s horn snapped her tome shut and floated it back to one of the library’s overflowing bookshelves. In another moment, Twilight was upstairs in her bedroom, where she had a look in her full-body mirror. Not because she was concerned about appearances, but because she wanted to have one more go with the spell she had been practicing before her reading binge.

“Like lightning-speed chameleon skin, make my color change begin!”

A flash of magic brightened the bedroom, after which Twilight stared eagerly into the mirror. So far as she could tell, her tail and mane—both stripped dark blue, violet, and rosy pink—looked just the same as ever, as did her lavender coat and star-sparkle cutie mark.

“Pony feathers,” she said, walking back downstairs. “I can’t seem to get this one.”

“Well,” replied Spike, “if you sat down and had some food, you’d have plenty of time to—”

“Anyway, I’m off! See you later!”

“BREAKFAST!” shouted Spike.

His only response was the slamming front door. This was immediately followed by the growling of a ferocious animal. Greatly alarmed, Spike hurried to help his friend against whatever had ambushed her. But when he opened the door, he found Twilight standing alone, looking rather embarrassed to boot. The growl repeated, and this time Spike recognized exactly where it was coming from.

“You know,” said Twilight, grinning awkwardly at her stomach, “maybe I could use a little food before I head out…”

Twenty minutes later, Twilight had finished a hearty breakfast and promised Spike that no, she wouldn’t stop by the book store again and spend all her money on a cartload of spell tomes… at least, not today. After that, she wished him a pleasant morning and set off to Applejack’s farm. Already it was shaping up to be a beautiful day, and as Twilight cantered through the cobblestone plaza that served as Ponyville’s main thoroughfare, she found that nearly everyone had come out to enjoy the weather. Most of the townsfolk appeared to be shopping; the line at Sugarcube Corner wound halfway around the building and the nearby vendor stalls—selling everything from fruit and vegetables to spices and jewelry—were mobbed. The less active citizens had taken to relaxing with friends at the local cafés, where they could sit outside under parasols and enjoy fresh lemonade or sweet berry cordial. And of course, there were also ponies of a more industrious nature, getting their hooves dirty with house repairs, cleaning, and gardening.

Under normal circumstances, Twilight would gladly have stopped to greet friends and ask if anyone needed help. Today, however, she had important business and kept straight on until she reached a prairie on the outskirts of town. In this location, Ponyville’s widest street merged into a highroad, which gradually curved toward a distant mountain range. Even now, Twilight fancied she could feel a breeze wafting down from the snow-covered peaks. As she paused to savor the coolness, she noticed a yellow gypsy wagon on the highroad. The wagon was much too far away to be recognized, though Twilight could barely make out a powerful black stallion in the harness.

For a moment, she watched him. But when a pair of blue-tailed butterflies twirled up from a dandelion, Twilight turned away, laughing, and cantered along in their wake. By the time the butterflies led her to Sweet Apple Acres, she had completely forgotten about the wagon, and was filled with excitement at the prospect of helping one of Ponyville’s most important—and hardworking—families.

“Now,” said Twilight as she looked around, “where would Applejack be?”

It was an excellent question. Sweet Apple Acres was a humongous property. Most of the land had been devoted to apple trees, naturally, and forests of them grew for miles in every direction. But there were fields too, corn and carrots mainly, though blueberries, grapes, and celery made the odd appearance. Near the front of the property, a winding dirt road led to a bright red barn-house, its window planters filled with lilies and marigolds. The barn’s front door was open and wisps of cooking smoke rose from the chimney.

Twilight could only assume that meant someone was home and decided to see who it was. As she passed between the well and the henhouses, a cheery voice called her name.

“Twilight! Over here!” Applejack’s unmistakable country twang arose from the far side of a large rectangular hay bale. A moment later, Applejack herself popped into view, wearing a tan cowboy hat that complimented her orange coat and light-yellow mane. “Be right with you! Just got a mite more work to finish.”

She gave Twilight a wave and disappeared once more behind the hay. As Twilight watched, a smaller bale was suddenly flung up to land on top of the larger one. Five more bales followed it, after which Applejack reappeared, flicking dirt away from her cutie marks (a trio of scrumptious-looking apples) with sweeps of her top-knotted tail.

“There,” she said. “We’ll be putting a tarp over these in case it rains tonight, but we had to get ’em piled up first. You ready to show me your fancy new spell?”

“Ready!” said Twilight. “Where should we start?”

“Right over here.”

Applejack about-faced and trotted down the length of a cornfield. Beyond it, two smaller fields had been cleared and fenced. Both of them were barren, though the rightmost one had a stunted rosebush growing near its center. Applejack ignored this, and brought Twilight to the field that was completely empty.

“Welp, here we are. I figured on tryin’ pumpkins this year but they just ain’t comin’ up.”

“No problem!” said Twilight.

Taking a small step forward, she raised her head and summoned an aura of magical power around her horn. At the same time, a vine wriggled through the soil in front of her hooves. Another followed it, and another, until they had covered the field. Twilight increased her concentration and the vines began producing—first a jumble of dark-green leaves and then scores of baby pumpkins.

“Yee-haw!” cried Applejack. “Git along little pumpkins!”

Encouraged, Twilight focused more of her magic. The baby pumpkins doubled in size.

“Don’t make ’em too big,” said Applejack. “The small ones taste better.”

Twilight nodded and decreased the potency of her spell, feeling slightly disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to see how far she could take it. Still, Applejack was happy and that was the main thing. Suddenly, Twilight scented the rosebush in the adjacent field and had a brilliant idea.

With a jerk of her head, she renewed and redirected her magic. The scraggly rosebush exploded outwards, fifty years of normal growth taking place in the blink of an eye. The results were even better than Twilight had hoped for; by the time she shut down her spell, the left field was full of mouthwatering mini-pumpkins and right field was brimming with fragrant flowers.

“Ta-da! What do you think of that, Applejack?”

When Applejack didn’t respond, Twilight looked over to see what the matter was. The wild-eyed frown and twitching ears were only the first signs that her friend didn’t appreciate what she had done.

“Twilight Sparkle! Do you have any idea how hard it is to pull up plants with thorns on ’em? They’re some of the worst weeds ever.”

“Weeds? Applejack, those are roses!”

Applejack’s bad mood was already passing. She lowered her head for a moment and then looked calmly at Twilight.

“Oh, honey, a weed can be anythin’! I ain’t sayin’ the roses are ugly, but this is a workin’ field! We left it fallow this year to give it a rest and now those roses’ll wear out the soil. On top of that, their thorns make them darn near impossible to clear. I remember once we had a patch of ’em by the corn crib—”

Applejack cut off abruptly, staring over Twilight’s shoulder. A huge orange pumpkin—taller than a toolshed—had continued to grow and was now lording above its lesser brethren. Even as Applejack watched, the mammoth vegetable began to quiver. The next moment—

BOOM!

Applejack lunged forward and pulled Twilight down as the shockwave passed over them. Chunks of pulpy vegetable rained from the sky, splattering everything in a soggy deluge.

“Ah ha,” said Twilight feebly. “I… er, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Applejack’s face had turned several shades darker, perhaps because it was drenched in pumpkin juice. Slowly, she stood and surveyed the area. There was orange goo spread clear up to the barn. Chickens were squawking in the hen house and a distant farm cat was streaking for cover.

Suddenly, Applejack started to laugh. She laughed so hard that she nearly fell over, and had to support herself by leaning against a fence post. Only when Twilight got to her own hooves and looked about did she understand. It seemed that Applejack’s strapping older brother, Big McIntosh, had been walking by the edge of the cornfield when the giant pumpkin exploded. His light red coat was spattered head to hocks in orange slush, as were his half-apple cutie marks, by far the worst casualty of the vegetable bombing.

Finally, Applejack managed to get words through her laughter.

“Big Mac,” she said, “you look like somethin’ the polecat dragged in!”

“Eeyup,” replied Big McIntosh. He licked the goo off of his face and stood thoughtfully considering. “Mighty good stock. Let’s plant more next year. Just not the a’splodin’ kind.”

“Er, actually,” said Twilight, “that was my fault. I was trying a new spell and—” She paused as Applejack nudged her in the ribs. “I mean, right! No more exploding pumpkins next year.”

Twilight smiled nervously as she waited for Big McIntosh to answer. But he only nodded in his quiet fashion and began trotting away.

“And where do you think you’re goin’?” said Applejack. “Come back here and let me clean you off a mite.”

Big McIntosh reluctantly did as she asked, after which Applejack took hold of an irrigation hose in her mouth and directed its stream to wash him off. In fact, she gave all three of them an impromptu shower under the icy water. When they were clean again, Twilight used a heating spell to dry everyone’s coat. Then Big McIntosh announced that he was going to Fluttershy’s, to see if any of her pets might like to eat up the detonated pumpkin.

“Good idea,” said Applejack. “They’ll get a free meal and clean our mess at the same time.”

“Eeyup,” replied Big McIntosh.

He nodded politely to Twilight and forged off through a cornfield. He was so tall that only the largest stalks could rise above his head, and his powerful shoulders acted like a plow to bend the plants out of his way. As Twilight watched him, she remembered about the black stallion on the highroad. A shiver ran down her back, but she dismissed it and focused on more important matters.

“Applejack, I am so sorry! I can’t believe that I—”

“Now don’t mention it,” said Applejack. “It’s as much my fault as yours. I should’ve suggested that we start with something smaller. Anyway, Big Mac’s right: Fluttershy and her critters’ll have this cleaned up in no time.”

“Yes, but—”

“Plus we got us a bumper new crop to harvest,” she waved a hoof over the field where the remaining pumpkins were still sound and safe. “We wouldn’t have none of that without you. As for the roses, we can always sell ’em. Or maybe Rarity can use ’em for decoratin’. I’ll have to ask next time I see her.”

Twilight began to feel slightly better.

“Thanks, Applejack.”

“My pleasure. And now I tell you what: my cousin, Apple Fritter, is here, and she whips up the finest meals you ever did see! Come on and let’s have lunch. Then we can mosey outside and I can get back to my chores.”

“I’ll give you a hoof,” said Twilight. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, I’d sure appreciate that, Twilight. Thank you kindly.”

With a warm smile, Applejack turned around and led the way to the barn house. Apple Fritter met them at the front door, and once they had explained about the exploding pumpkin, and assured her all was well, she made her cousin and Twilight sit down at the kitchen table and served them a batch of blueberry tarts, fresh from the over. A plate of buttermilk biscuits followed, along with a hay and barley casserole, a sweet potato pie, two green salads, and, of course, fresh apple cider to drink.

Twilight ate with gusto, and it was such a wonderful lunch that she asked if she could take something home for Spike. Whereupon Apple Fritter, in the spirit of her generous family, boxed up enough food for a half a dozen meals, and set the package aside for Twilight to collect later on.

When they had finished lunch and thoroughly thanked Apple Fritter, Twilight and Applejack cleaned their dirty dishes and headed outside through a door in the rear of the kitchen. At once, a lively bark greeted them and a brown-and-white sheepdog began frisking about near their legs.

“Hey there, Winona!” said Applejack. “You’re lookin’ mighty chipper today.”

“And fluffy,” noted Twilight. “I don’t remember her having so much fur.”

“Well, we’re getting into autumn now, so it’s time for Winona to start her winter coat. Ain’t that right, girl?”

Winona wagged her tail and sat up on hind legs.

“Ah ha!” said Twilight. She took a deep breath and raised her horn before reciting, “Like changing season sheepdog fur, give my coat a brand new turn!”

A flash of magic brightened the area. When it had faded, Twilight saw that Applejack was staring at her, and that her friend’s mouth had fallen open.

“Quick, quick!” said Twilight. “What do I look like?”

Applejack dashed into the kitchen and returned with a small mirror. Twilight stared eagerly into it and found a very different reflection than usual. She was now a cherry-colored unicorn with a swirly blue-and-white mane, and a stack of textbooks for her cutie mark.

“Yes!” cried Twilight. “I did it! I finally found the right focus for my color-morph spell!”

Applejack lowered the mirror.

“Twilight, that’s some truly amazin’ magic right there. Why, if we passed on the street, I wouldn’t even recognize you!”

“Exactly. I thought it might come in handy if I ever had to disguise myself.”

“It sure will. Er, how do you change back?”

“I don’t know… I haven’t got that far in the book yet.”

Applejack was about to respond when a loud CRACK! arose behind them. Startled, the two ponies leapt forward and whipped around, just in time to see a huge barrage of fireworks in the distance.

Applejack looked like she’d swallowed a stink bug.

“Twilight, there’s only one pony in the entire world who uses fireworks like that.”

“Trixie?”

“Trixie. And she’s sure got some nerve to come back here!”

“Well,” said Twilight, who wanted to be fair, “it is possible she’s learned her lesson. Maybe Trixie’s sorry for what she did and she wants to apologize. We should at least give her a chance.”

“You’re right,” grumbled Applejack. “Not that I like it, but I suppose even a boastful braggart like Trixie can change her tune.”

No sooner had Applejack finished than another series of fireworks ripped through the sky. This time the lights formed a short sentence: “GREATEST FIREWORKS EVER – STARTING NOW!”

“Then again…” said Twilight.

“Come on,” said Applejack. “Let’s see what she’s up to. If nothing else, I got me a new lasso takedown to show her.”

She reared and galloped away, Twilight hot on her hooves.