//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Only One Speck of Dust // by TheMareWhoSaysNi //------------------------------// The frozen wind of the North Shore whistled between the structures of wood and bricks. The Grand Place seemed to be deserted. Yet lights from oil-lamps sometimes shone at the windows. Saloons, Company Houses and cabarets all were crowded. As for the streets, they were empty from the daily restlessness. During the Ceaseless Night, the difference between daytime and sleep was tenuous. Maybe one day Equestria would become a land of peace and love. A place safe from all the evils such a huge land could contain. In the adventure stories, there always were a chosen one who saved everypony’s lives. In this space called reality, peace had no official repository. Mothers like her were obliged to do what they had to do. Destitution never cared about morals. They had invented trains that went faster than any of the best stallions of Equestria, they knew how to print newspapers and how to send telegrams as far as the Smokey Mountains, as far as the Macintosh Hills even. Yet no one had found a remedy against disasters. To feed her daughter, to make sure she would not be forced to work in factories led by torturers like too many other foals, she resolved to this ultimate sacrifice. She could as well rid herself of her corporal envelop for a few hours every night, if that meant she would be able to give her little Scootaloo a better future than the one she had to face. The young filly was full of energy, full of dreams. She wanted to conquer Canterlot, to become the first mare to be the Cavalry’s Leader. The Academy was expensive and theoretically out of her reach. But she would make sure her daughter would get the chances she never had. The wind blew hard and it whistled so much into her ears that she feared she would not be able to hear anything else. Mother and daughter sped up. She was not sure about anything because of the fog and the dark wrapped around them completely yet she senses some sort of presence behind her. Streets of Ponyville never were danger free during the Ceaseless Night. It was worse than during the short spring. She could have used her wings, but her cloak was not made for pegasi and Scootaloo could not fly yet. Maybe they were not followed after all. Her hooves buried into the soft snow. All of her money was earned for her daughter who was the only one wearing boots. It was as if a knife sank into her hooves with each steps. Ponyville’s snow had the particularity of creating blisters and burns to any pony unfortunately treading upon it with bare hooves. It was the main reason why many of the poorest workers would eventually end up amputated. What she had hoped for, that the sound of these steps behind her were nothing but her imagination, turned out to be a reality as easy to touch as the cold against her muzzle. A masculine voice just intimated her to slow down. Despite her pain, her heart beating, she grabbed Scootaloo by the neck, like she used to do when she was only a baby and she started to run. “Mommy, I’m scared”, the filly said, with tears in her eyes. The small shack they lived in together was far away. They had to find a shelter. She considered for a few seconds to go back to the saloon where she worked. For this, she would have to turn back or to used one of these shortcuts which were darker than the streets they already trotted on. It would be too much risk-taking. The first place where lights was shining would do the trick. She ran as fast as her painful hooves let her. A little farther on the left, there were an illuminated house with walls made of a lovely varnished wood and where laughs and music could be heard. She dashed without a look behind her back. Without even being sure she was followed. When she finally reached the house, she was out of breath. She let Scootaloo go and between two exhalations, ordered her to wipe her boots and to enter in quickly. The young orange-coated filly obeyed without a question, and sank into the building, pushing the door with her head. The mother followed her daughter almost immediately after her. The street sounded quiet. Maybe they had been able to leave the stranger behind. Or he was nothing but one of those little roughnecks who had fun scaring mares of the night. A hundred of masculine eyes turned to the two ponies at the same time. They all were dressed fancy and the fillies sitting at the tables with them all were wickedly beautiful. They sported stunning outfits made of thick red velvet, black laces, elegant complicated hairstyles and even sophisticated hats for some of them. They were Yaemis, the mares of Company Houses. The place’s Madam came to them, her chin up in her ensemble made of silk and black taffeta. She looked at her from the bottom up, and a half-smile appeared on her gray muzzle which edges were creased. Before she spoke to her, she threw a glance full of self-importance on the young filly standing by her side. “I don’t know what you are looking for”, she intimated her severely. “Yet it seems like you are mistaking. This is a high-quality house… not a grinding shack.” Scootaloo opened her eyes wide, under the shock of the words that had been said. She maybe was only ten yet she knew what some words meant. Her mother did not work in one of those awful shacks exploiting mares, making them old before the age. She put her daughter behind her hind legs in order to protect her. It was useless. The damages had been done. It dug a wound inside her heart like when her classmates insulted her mother. “I only want a shelter for a few minutes. We are followed, and…” “I don’t want to know”, the Madam cried, putting her hooves between them. “Please leave before I throw you out.” Two unicorn and pegasus stallions with impressive builds and threatening eyes were already going their way. She did not want to beg these ponies yet she begged them anyway. For her daughter. Her daughter for whom she fought so hard every day. But they did not want to know. A few seconds later, mother and daughter were put out on the street with such a violence the eldest one’s cloak opened and crushed against the snow. She groped around for it, helped by the weak light that filtered under the wooden door. She barely had slipped it along her shoulders that she heard Scootaloo crying out. She turned around… The pony who had followed them was in front of them. His long black cloak hung down in the snow with the shape of a slimy puddle. His coat might have been green or maybe darker, it was not easy to guess with all the tasks of filth covering it. His expression was hard as nails and he was standing in front of the two fillies with the cruelest of smiles. She gasped in surprise. Then, as fast as she could, she grabbed Scootaloo by the neck and ran in the other direction. However, she barely had made a few steps that another male pony settled himself in front of her. He wore the same filthy black cloak and had the same vicious expression. She tried to go in the opposite direction. There was no way. The second pony had stepped closer. When she turned around to flee, she noticed in fear that the road was blocked by a huge wall. A factory. Trapped. There was no way they could escape. They both stepped back as the two ponies were walking in their direction. Scootaloo, hidden behind her mother, tried to be strong yet could not help her heart from thumping in her chest. She could neither stop the frozen tears blurring her vision. “Let my daughter go… She’s only ten.” “Ten”, one of them replied raising his eyebrows. “That’s not so young.” The second one burst out laughing while still coming closer to her and her daughter. “I beg of you. Let her go.” None of them seemed ready to listen. Scootaloo was small and nimble, if she could leave right now, she could go through the hooves of these two bandits and she would be safe. The problem was that the young filly could not move. Her limbs were rigid. A rush of cold washed over her entirely, more nerve-racking than anything else. All that remained to make sure her daughter would do well was to sacrifice herself. She stopped struggling and let the two enraged ponies throw themselves on her. One of them snatched her cloak away from her with his teeth while the second held her forelegs to stop her from putting up a fight. “Scootaloo, close your eyes!” The young filly obeyed and shut her eyes as hard as she could. Tears kept on rolling over her cheeks. She wanted to help her mother but there was nothing she could do. She could not even fly. If only she had the strength to run away. If only her mother’s screams could stop. If only this could be nothing but a bad dream. Another scream ripped the air. It was more like a shriek. Scootaloo did not want to open her eyes. She opened them anyway. She could not really comprehend what was happening yet she could see the blood. It flew, scarlet red, like a river digging a furrow through the immaculate powder snow, running straight toward herself. So she shut her eyes again, curled against the wall. It was a nightmare. She was in her bed and her mother would come and wake her up in a minute to tell her she only had a bad dream. She suddenly had the sensation that a shadow had just flown above her head. Other roughnecks? A new shriek ran through the air though this time it was one of the male ponies who had screamed. Was it possible that her mother…? Scootaloo opened her eyes and gasped in surprise and fear. The shadow of a pegasus stood out among the others. She needed more seconds to be able to define the outlines of the pony standing close to one of the scoundrels. She had a sword between her teeth, made of solid silver from which dropped a trickle of bright red blood. Her cloak, of the same color than the liquid, was floating in the wind. Her mane was rainbow-colored and tied with a black ribbon. In her magenta eyes shone the flash of determination. Scootaloo then realized that one of the ponies who had assaulted her with her mother was lying on his side, his flank cut from an ugly wound that festered and bled abundantly. “Hey, Rainbow Dash!”, yelled the deep voice of a stallion behind her. The winged mare immediately turned around and saw the second bandit dashing toward her with a small knife between his teeth. Was he seriously thinking he would win over her with that? One more stupid and pretentious good-for-nothing thinking his male characteristics prevailed over her just because she was female. Had he not recognized The Militia’s distinctive features? Without hesitation, she gained momentum and rose into the air, only high enough to be able to avoid the blow of the small blade pointed at her. With a skillful wing knock, she spun around him and planted the end of her blade directly into his flank where appeared a purse-shaped Cutie Mark. The male pony let out a long cry of pain and collapsed into the snow at a few inches of his associate. The latter was crying his eyes out, huddled up like a scared new born baby. Scootaloo saw another pony showing up and her heart started to thump again in fear this might be another accomplice of the two on the ground. He was the tallest stallion she had ever seen and his coat matching his cloak contrasted sharply with the white all around her, just like the blood that kept from running out of the wounded victims. It was this cloak, the same one as worn by the pegasus mare that had just saved her which indicated her it rather was an associate of the latter. She saw him put a sword with a black shaft back into a case tied around his waist with a brown leather belt. “That was close”, he said with a surprisingly relaxed deep tone. “Don’t make me laugh”, she answered from her slightly raspy voice. “As if this type of good-for-nothing ponies were a threat to the great Rainbow Dash.” He shrugged. She was being her usual self. Convinced she was the best and no one would ever beat the hell out of her… Alright, she was. Even so, this was not a reason to pretend everything was always easy for her. Scootaloo was still standing in front of them. Her eyes were shining with admiration. Never again had she saw members of The Militia so closely. She had heard about them, just like everypony else, because everypony knew who they were and what they were doing, yet never again had she got a chance to meet one of them. In her school, the young foals liked to narrate their masterstrokes, often romanticized in the royal newspapers. She only wished this would have been in better circumstances. Her mother had been assaulted. She had seen the blood yet no longer heard her screams. Maybe she was dead… She looked away from the two ponies and ran toward her mother’s immobile body. Another mare was standing next to her. Scootaloo had not heard her, no more that she had heard the big red-coated stallion. She had lifted her cloak on her left flank and a sword was tied at her waist along with a lasso thicker than a sailing rope and a whole set she did not know anything about. She was examining her mother’s body and when Scootaloo stepped closer, she smiled at her reassuringly. The young filly could not help but admire her orange coat, her fair-haired mane tied with a red ribbon. She was an earth pony yet in the little girl’s eyes she had the attitude and presence of a unicorn. “Your mother’s not dead, sugar cube. I’m goin’ to bandage her and she’ll be just fine.” “Are you a physician pony?”, Scootaloo asked innocently. She had been way too impressed by Rainbow Dash and the other stallion to dare speaking to them but the orange mare seemed to be more approachable. She was part of The Militia too; she was sure about it. Applejack had a half-smile, a bit bitter. “No, kiddo. I’m Master of Rituals.” She did not need to say more. Scootaloo knew what it meant. Masters of Rituals were the representatives of the Spider God in Equestria. They escorted the dead, blessed them so they could rise to the Cloth. If her mother was not dead, it meant she only was doing her the first aid techniques. Herself, she deduced that she had just spoke to the one nicknamed as the Angel of Mercy. She had not only been saved by The Militia, just like a lot of Ponyville and Equestria inhabitants. She had been saved by its most distinguished members. “Are you done soon, Applejack?”, Rainbow Dash asked from behind. “A Spotter had just informed us that a bunch of ponies are trying to rob a Company House.” “I’m done. Did ya call the healers?” Her best friend nodded. The unicorns were the only ones gifted with magic who could send messages by another kind of way than telegrams. None of the Members of the Head’s Counsel were unicorns. They had to find another solution. Hooves imitated the knocks of the telegraph against the ground or against the walls of the houses and one of the Spotters sent the message in his turn until it reached its destination. All of Ponyville had learned to make do with the hooves knocks in the middle of the night since the hundredth years of The Militia’s existence. Scootaloo suddenly understood they would leave her here, alone. They would not wait with her until the emergency services arrive to take care of her mother and the two wounded ponies. The Militia did not have the time to stop for a guttersnipe like her. Yet she dared to make a step toward the three ponies who were ready to head toward their new bloody destination. “But I… What if somepony else tried to assault me?” All three turned around as one pony. Rainbow Dash only retraced her steps. She leaned down and smiled to the young filly, putting a hoof on her shoulder. “No pony will bother you, trust me. I’m going to entrust you with a very important task. When the physician ponies will be there, tell them the Sacred Law had been applied. They’ll understand…” Blood by blood. Scootaloo whispered it. She was nothing but a schoolfilly like any other ones but she knew what it was all about when a crime was committed in Equestria. Debts had to be paid, in equal wages. Whoever spilled blood deserved to have his blood spilled in return. “And if you’re still not reassured, you can be sure of something. In reality, ponies do not fear the Sacred Law. I’m the one they fear.” Scootaloo could not help but opening her mouth wide. Never before had she heard something that was so exciting. Yes, she had not been saved by any members of The Militia but by the Members of the Head’s Counsel and their Heads. The Thunder of Revenge in person. She looked at them galloping away in the dark night with her heart beating from excitation. The thrilling sensation vanished away when she went back by her mother’s side, whimpering from pain. The two good-for-nothings had wounded her lower abdomen, they had notched her face and forelegs. She struggled to breath. But she was alive. And very soon, she heard the sounds of the physician ponies’ hurried hooves coming closer to the place where they both were. She was going to be alright. It was the most important thing for Scootaloo. Her mother always told her to see the good even in the tragic. Today she understood the impact of these words. Later, she would a Member of the Militia as well. She promised it to herself.