All roads must come to an end. But do they all truly lead home?
This is a tale of two world-weary travelers on the run from their past.
They know they cannot run forever. But do all roads truly lead home? ---
Second story... Yay!
So, this is just something I threw together during an assignment. Originally, it was only a few hundred words of reflective mess, but people seemed to like it... So, I ponified it and posted it here...
A letter to Silver Lining and Cherry Darling from the town of Innsmouth
Dear children,
We’re sorry… So sorry.
The things you have seen, the things we have done… They are inexcusable and for that, we are truly sorry.
But the dark lords tell us that your lives are not of consequence to them, so please… Run… Run as far as you can and never come back. It’s hard enough to write this without their influence forcing me to write the horrible things that they would do to you. There is nothing left for you here.
Run. Run and never return.
Please… stay safe.
Praise and power be to Nacon
The letter ended here in deranged rambling, depictions of sacrifice and splashes of blood on the page. It never reached its destination.
-------------
I never had a loving relationship with my parents. Ever since the changeling attacks started, they’d changed. Day by day, it only got worse. Their vicious behaviour seemed to know no bounds.
Our journey started the day I learned the secret of how they'd kept the horrible plague of insectoid beasts at bay.
I’d come home early, hoping to avoid a beating for skipping curfew. But what I came home to was nothing less than a nightmare. My brother, lying in a pool of his own blood. His face covered in bruises, blood dripping from his wounds. A magical circle glowing brightly on the floor and murky green mist flowing from my parent’s eyes. I could feel the power radiating from their bodies, terror striking the very core of my being.
I screamed.
They murdered him. They had sacrificed him. Given his soul and life-blood to a dark god so as to imbue them with unholy strength. They were murderers, monsters… And so I ran. I ran harder than I ever had before, my hooves beating on the cobblestone streets of my small town. I tore through alleys and side-streets, running towards my friend's home, Cherry Darling’s.
Cherry was under similar circumstances to mine. Everyone was. We'd been attacked, year after year, day after day by the nearby changelings. They wanted to feed, to encase us in their cocoons and use us as fuel for their rampant destruction of Equestrian soil. Our parents had... defended us so far, and I say that hesitantly, but their war with the changelings had changed them. No longer were they the kind, caring souls we once knew, rather, they were monsters. Fuelled by their own bloodthirsty desires, the unicorns began practicing dark magics, sacrifices to dark gods even performing acts of vampirism and necromancy, destroying the town we once knew. Their lust for power causing them to sacrifice their own children to powers beyond our realm.
Twisting their minds.
Tearing apart families.
Destroying the town.
Learning what had happened, Cherry urged me to fill a saddlebag, put on a cloak, and walk. Just walk and walk and walk. The destination pointless, the distance irrelevant and the time together priceless. We would walk, just the two of us, until our hooves wore down to stumps and our bodies had withered and grown old, to be given to the rolling plains and the sands of time.
And so we walked. The journey was hard and unforgiving. There were many times we thought of giving up. There were times we resorted to petty theft and begging, days where our friendship was strained and tested, broken and mended, but always we stuck together.
Country roads are rather dull. The rolling plains, the well-worked farmland and the calm, almost silent breeze has a charm to them after a while, even if they do all feel the same. The sad thing is, the plains and hills all seem to blend together when you see them day in and day out. The ponies and buildings and animals dot the hills in the distance, their movements slow and methodical, almost lazy, and watching them going about their daily lives was a welcome sight. For us, however, our business was not so clear.
We had been walking for nearly four months, Cherry and I. Four months of wandering. Of uncertainty. Of lonely silence and the road, which stretched on and on into eternity. We had left to find a new home, a better home, for the both of us.
It was that morning that we’d stumbled upon a road leading next to the Everfree Forest. A place known for its deadly creatures, though its monsters pale in comparison to what we had seen.
But that’s when things went wrong.
The fight had started like many before it. We had no food, no money... Nothing... Celestia's sun was bearing down on us, roasting us alive. The road shimmered, slithering in the heat. Cherry was talking. About what, I had no clue. I was tired, hungry, thirsty and sore; but she just kept talking.
I snapped.
I told her to shut up. To shut her damned mouth.
She took a step back, hoof raised at the insult.
She teared up.
I moved to apologise, to explain that it was all a mistake, an accident. To explain that I was tired and just wanted rest.
She ran. Tears glistening in the bright sunlight as they slid down her face falling to the road in small splashes and disappearing forever into the dirt.
I moved to run after her, but stumbled and tripped, rolling off the road and into a small inclined ditch. I tumbled over jagged rocks and through brambles, being bruised and cut, until I finally came to a stop.
I groaned and rolled over, dirt rubbing into my wounds. But before I could even come to my senses, I came face to face with something that would haunt my dreams for days to come.
A cocatrice.
It’s beady eyes locked on to mine, freezing me in place. They flashed, and I knew the worst had happened.
I could feel it. The cold, sickening sensations as my skin turned to stone, my nerves freezing over, my body unable to move.
I was trapped. Trapped and with nobody coming to help me.
It’s a strange thing, being petrified. They say that until your brain dies, you can still feel everything and hear everything happening around you. You still breathe, but it’s shallow and difficult. They say it’s a lot like being covered in chitin, but you can’t move.
That’s all a lie.
Truth is, it’s agony. Pure, unwavering agony.
You see, turning things to stone is how a cockatrice feeds. It feeds on the life energies trapped in the unmoving stone casing.
And so, there I was. Trapped and alone, my mind screaming in agony.
To say it was a shock when I found myself gasping for air, starbursts in my eyes, curled up on a wooden floor is an understatement. The fact that a zebra was the one who saved me was just as surprising.
----
The cracking of stone filled my hearing almost to the point of being painful as the shell surrounding my form began to crack and fall away. My awareness of the world around me came back slowly, as each chip fell away and crumbled into nothingness, the magic in the stone depleted. I became suddenly acutely aware that I was not alone, as the feeling of the magical field that permeated Equus, our world, returned to me.
As the last pieces of the stone casing crumbled from my body, my pupils shrank down to pinpricks as they attempted to adjust to the sudden flash of light and input that being released gave me. As the plink of the final chip of stone was heard, the blurry shape to my side, whom I could only assume was a zebra due to the odd colouration in comparison to a pony despite their equine shape, began to speak.
“Oh thank goodness you’re awake,” a deep female voice said, her relief evident. “I thought I was too late in administering the treatment.” My body seized up in a coughing fit, the lingering pain causing violent spasms to echo through my very core. “It’s okay young one, you’re safe here.” I stared up at her, bewildered. There was no way this was real… right?
“H-how did I get here? Who are you?” I croaked, as though someone had dumped a bucket of sand down my throat.
The zebra passed me a mug full of what looked like water and in trying to grab it with my magic, all I could manage was a weak sputter of sparks. The zebra tutted disapprovingly, pressing the mug into my hoof so I might grab it manually. “I found your statue out by the path that winds through the Everfree forest,” she stated simply, vaguely indicating the general direction. “When I realised it was new, I brought it back to my home, to see if my remedy would work. As for who I am, my name is Zecora and I’m the humble shamaness that saved your life.” I shivered slightly, the pain in my body subsiding with each sip of the concoction I took. “You should thank your lucky stars that you survived, young one.”
I looked around, my eyes clearing, taking in my surroundings for the first time. Masks lined the upper walls of the room, large, decorative masks which stared down into the room, glaring at its occupants with seeming disdain. Their wooden construction seeming almost unnatural in its visage. They reminded me far too much of some of the sacrificial masks that some of the townsfolk wore to give penance to their heathen god Aza Guilla, The Silent Lady. Made of metal and fashioned in the shape of the face of its wearer, the worship masks were filled with poisoned spikes. The masks were designed to slowly and painfully kill their wearer, but the Silent Lady kept them alive for their sacrifice, granting them a deathless state of limbo and continuous pain. These wooden constructs terrified me to my very core, causing bile to rise in my throat. The zebra seemed to notice this, and shook her head softly.
“It’s okay,” she began, her voice soothing and soft. “Those masks are designed and enchanted to scare off lesser demonic spirits. Unless you have evil in your heart, they shall not harm you.” I nodded slowly, taking another sip from the mug, and took another look around the room.
Potions of various colours and smells lined the cluttered shelves, their weight causing the ever-so-slight bending of the shelf. Ingredients of all shapes and sizes and origins filled row after row of jars, some still seemingly alive in the way they twitched and rippled.
The sound of the cauldron bubbling and boiling grabbed my attention and I stared at its roiling waters, the vibrant colours of whatever concoction was brewing sloshing around on the surface like the liquid rainbow that the cloud factory used. I’m not sure just how long I stared into the cauldron, but when what looked like an eye floated to the surface, I leapt back, staring at Zecora in shock.
Again, she shook her head, this time chuckling quietly. “It is nothing but a glass eye. An ingredient in this mix of mine and nothing more.”
I stared warily at the cauldron, watching as the eye bobbed up and down, never stopping its ceaseless staring. “Well, what’s this potion for, if it requires a glass eye?” “Why, for releasing one of a cocatrice’s hold, of course.” She replied jovially. “The eye acts like a wrecking ball, cracking and chipping the stone casing while the potion weakens it. Unfortunately though, for some odd reason, only glass eyes seem to do the trick, though it makes me wonder if other glass items could work. I’ve never tried using them, and a glass eye was the ingredient called for in the recipe.” The zebra drifted off, seemingly in a daze, thinking of the implications of using other glass items to get the same effect. “So, I was in that pot, while it boiled?” “But of course,” she replied, a humorous tone seeping in to her voice. “How else do you think the remedy would work?” “Not like that, that’s for sure.” I mumbled, thoughts of the cannibalistic townsfolk from home seeping into my mind.
I shook my head, clearing it of the negative emotions rising in me. “Look,” I started. “
“W-when you found me,” I began slowly. “Did you happen to see another pony? An earth pony, with a cherry-red mane?”
The zebra shook her head, but stopped quickly, pondering the question further. “I did not see another pony on that path, no,” she said. “However, I do know that that road leads right into a mid-sized town. Worry not, I’m sure your friend will be safe.”
I looked away, downcast. Right… Friend…
----
It wasn’t long before Zecora had calmed me down enough for me to explain some things and answer a few of my questions, as well as ask a few of her own. She informed me that there was a town named Ponyville at the end of the path that Cherry and I had been walking down, and that even if Cherry wasn’t there, the ponies who inhabited the town would be more than willing to help me find her. I also found out (through a rather embarrassing bit of racial insensitivity) that most zebras of a certain sect of their religion, actually do rhyme, however the zebra had found it a silly practice over time, and had decided to do away with it, occasionally returning to it for various reasons.
Eventually, after a small amount of tea and some jovial talking, I left the home of my new acquaintance and continued along the path that she had described for me, headed to the town of Ponyville to find the one companion that had stuck by me my whole life.
Once Zecroa had put me on the right path, it didn’t take long at all for the small township that we had discussed to be seen and heard in the distance. When I first got a good glimpse, I couldn’t help but stare in awe. Ponyville was nothing like anything I’d ever seen before. Ponies of all kinds bustling jovially about the small town in the distance like it was a busy city.
But all the sights and sounds could wait as for now I had only one goal. To find my friend.
---
It had been about three days since I’d ran away from Silver Linings in tears. Three days waiting for her to catch up. For us to apologise to each other and continue our journey like always.
But this time was different.
Silver didn’t catch up. I never heard her familiar hoofsteps.
In all honesty, it hadn’t taken me very long to reach the town of Ponyville after our spat. I barely even remembered reaching the outskirts of town, my eyes still wet with tears and my heart filled with worry for my friend. By the time I realised where I was, the town’s farm-heavy outskirts had sped by and I found myself wiping away my tears as I took stock of my surroundings.
The first thing I noticed was the buildings or rather, how out of place they looked, considering that every town we’d been to so far had already started taking on a Canterlot or Manehattan styled approach of tall buildings and apartments. Everything in Ponyville looked like something out of a Three-Tribes era reconstruction. Thatched roofing, timber frames and pane windows. It was amazing to me that a place as well known as Ponyville looked like this. It wasn’t long before I noticed the ponies around me. Their stares were offputting enough, and I’m sure my ragged appearance didn’t help any. Covered in small sores, dirt and a filthy travelling robe, my cherry-red mane sticking out like a wild, untamed creature. But it wasn’t their stares that really had me worried. It was the fact that the ones who did notice me were slowly backing away.
As I realised this, I heard a light squeaking behind me. Turning around, I saw what I could only describe as a contraption seemingly comprised of an oven and a series of small tubes turned upwards. Hauling it was a bright, bubblegum-pink mare with a wickedly large grin on her face.
I was terrified, to say the least.
It was at this point that the tubes on the contraption made their use apparent, firing off confetti with loud cannon blasts, terror shooting through me as I made a mad dash for the nearest visible cover, a small arched bridge over a burbling creek.
Shaking, I cowered under the stone arch, ears flat and eyes screwed shut.
“Wowie! Never had anyone react like that before,” Said a voice above me. “maybe I used too much powder?”
I opened up my eyes to find a pink mass mere centimeters from my muzzle. Safe to say I didn’t react well. My hoof shot out as I let out a short shriek, connecting with the pink mare’s chest with an audible thump.
She recoiled in shock and pain, squeaking as she splashed into the creek beneath the bridge.
Frantic, I pulled her out immediately, apologising profusely. “I’m so sorry, y-you just surprised me is all!”
“Ouchie… You’ve got a good arm.” she replied, rubbing the hoof-shaped bruise on her chest, before springing back to an upright position and shaking off the water like a dog, her mane poofing up every which way.
“A-again, I’m really sorry about that,” I managed to stutter out, this pink pony scaring me more and more as time went on. “but I really need to find my friend.”
This apparently took the mare by surprise who suddenly dragged me out from under the bridge, exclaiming incoherently about local taverns, inns and bakeries, dragging me by my forehoof through the town.
---
As I neared the edge of Ponyville, twilight quickly approaching, the path around me became more well used and less surrounded by malicious-looking trees. I was deep in thoughts about the town of Ponyville when small squeak off to my left caught my attention. Turning towards the noise, I spotted a flash of pink ducking into the nearby bush, a small basket covered with a red and white checkered flannel blanket sitting by the shrubbery in question. Pink? I thought, cautiously moving over to it. “Hey there,” I cooed. “don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.”
As I spoke, the source of the pink flash made herself apparent, a small, butter-yellow pegasus. With a small, almost indiscernible exclamation of fright, the pegasus bolted, spreading her wings and fleeing in the direction of the town.
Completely at a loss for words, I just stood there, the thought not occurring to me to call out after her. After a few moments of trying to gather myself, I grasped the pegasus’ basket in my magic and made my way after her, continuing down path towards the town of Ponyville.
