//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: The Heart of Gaia // by noteperson //------------------------------// It had been an unusually cold spring in Brandingham, and so visitors to the Holly Leaf Inn were grateful to find a merry fire awaiting them one brisk May evening. It was now the time of day when hard-working earth ponies entered the common room in a steady stream. Though many of them were covered in coal dust and all of them were exhausted from a hard day of back-breaking labor, the room radiated warmth and good cheer at another day done. The Holly Leaf was a favorite haunt of the many earth ponies who worked the coal mines of that part of Equestria. Tonight was no exception: the fraternity of miners was in full swing, enjoying food, drink, and, most of all, the company of friends. Gossip and talk of politics flowed freely among the close-knit group, while barmares carefully navigated the minefield of broadly gesturing miners to bring patrons foamy mugs of ale or cider. “I tell ye,” remarked Golden Seed over his ale and ploughpony’s supper, “did ye hear about that fancy pegasus come through last week? Said overcast skies right on through mid-June, sumthing aboot refreshin’ tha aquifers. All I wants to know is, when will they let me wifey’s tomatoes come in?” “Ah, weatherponies, I tell ya Goldie, they’s all gots their heads in tha clouds,” chortled Grassy Knoll. Though they had heard that crack a thousand times before, his friends all laughed along with him, clinking their mugs. “Aye, and is it so different from you rockheads, then?” asked a barmare with a wry grin, to a general groaning of the assembled stallions. “Ah, I thought so!” “Anyway,” broke in Broad Beam, “did ye hear the Tribune’s speech fer the Reform Act yesterday?” “Ah, no, but I don’ need to’ve heard it to know just what he said, the great bag o’ wind,” said Goldie with a roll of his eyes. “Blackie’s ‘eart be in the right place, but that one don’t know his butt from a hole in the ground, and that’s a fact!” “Celestia’ll hear none o’ his nonsense, in any case. Harmony save the Princesses!” Grassy cried, raising his mug in a toast. “Aye, and Princesses save us from Blackie!” laughed Goldie, splashing ale over the tabletop as he met the toast. “’Gint’chook mu dar ‘gin b’ye, lud up fur tuns b’mundsen, heh heh heh” cracked Crag o’ the Moor, the oldest of the miners. Again, the whole room laughed along with him, although some of the younger stallions gave one another searching looks as to what he might have said. “Ah, and how many tons has ye scraped so far this year, young Spoony?” “My crew loaded our twelfth today, beat that old timer!” Goldie cocked a brow at him. “Ha, not good enough, Spoony, just not good enough. My crew’s loaded sixteen tons easy. At this rate t’will be no competition fer the applecart at all. I can already taste those crisp zap apples, b’ye.” “Bu’ whar t’ol goo’, I wunurt,” mused Crag. “Ah, Crag-O, there’s so much call for it from the railways, y’know. They’ve got those new-fangled steam engines running all the way from Grasscow to Baltimare these days.” “I don’t trust it!” declared Grassy. “Magic and horsepower, the old magic locomotives, there’s sumthing a pony can rely on. This boilin’ water and runnin’ a train with a teapot? It’ll not last.” “Ha, don’t tell ‘em that down at the Boilerworks, Grassy. They’ll not like the sound o’ that at all.” “Eh, fie on the whole snooty lot ‘o ‘em! ‘Eingineers’, more like overpuffed potmakers, says I!” “Oh, but it’s a new age, friend,” said a pony no one had noticed up to that point. He stepped forward from the back corner, where he had been sitting far from the welcoming hearth. “An enlightened age of science and progress, when the old foolish ways of the past will be laid aside. Even now, earth ponies need not rely on unicorn magic or pegasus wingpower to move with speed. And Mr. Horse’s ponygraph promises to soon make unicorns unnecessary for communicating at distances.” “Aye, interestin’ times these be,” Goldie nodded slowly, suddenly guarded in the presence of a stranger. “And what brings you ta these parts, friend?” “Oh, I’m merely here to attend to some business,” the cloaked pony murmured distantly. “I couldn’t help but overhear you grumbling about the overcast, as well. Did you know that in the South, there’s a place called the Everfree, where the weather entirely runs itself?” “I heard o’ that. Gives me the willies,” answered Grassy. “Storms and sunshine without the pegs? It ain’t natural!” “No, don’t you see? It’s just the opposite! The Everfree is nature freed! Liberated from the oppressive hoof of our magical masters – and it flourishes, as no other forest in all the land. As we earth ponies could, if only we were free as it!” the stranger cried. “Think of the possibilities! Free weather! No weather assessments – no worries about incompetent bureaucrats scheduling a solid month of cloudy skies! Friends, don’t you see? A world without unicorn lords and pegasus managers! Free of the oppression of magic and the aristocracy it brings, with modern technology in hoof… The earth, the very rocks you mine, they long for the freedom from magic that forest enjoys. And we ponies of the earth, our hearts share that same desire! We now have the power to provide all good pony folk need! Earth ponies – true ponies – need nopony but ourselves and the pure earth under our hooves. “No longer will earth ponies labor under the hooves of unicorns and pegasi! No longer –“ “I think we’ve heard enough o’ that, sir.” Goldie spoke softly, but with an edge to his voice. The room had suddenly grown very quiet. The sounds of conversation and the clatter of flatware had all died away as the strange pony raved. “We don’t need no troublemakers in this neighborhood. Mebbe they go in for that sort ‘o nonsense on the Northside, but we know the unes and pegs is decent folk, and we won’t hear a word against ‘em.” The stranger was brought up short. He looked slightly abashed. “Ah. I see.” And then, more to himself than to those around him, “I know earth ponies – true ponies – will understand when the time comes.” Looking around again, he gave a mirthless smile to the room. “I suppose I should be on my way.” “S’pose ye should.” “Very well, my brothers.” The stranger trotted toward the door, pulling up the hood of his cloak. Reaching the threshold, he paused. “But think on what I’ve said.” And then he was gone. “Psh. Agitators,” scoffed Goldie as normal conversation and the clink of dishes resumed. “Feh!” agreed Crag. “At least he weren’t one of them insuff’rable tract printers…” Grassy mused. “It’s alway ‘workers o’ the world, rise oop!’ and all that with ‘em.” “Still, what of it, Uncle Golden? Do you really think an age is comin’ when we won’t need help from the unes to get by?” asked Soup Spoon. “’Tis a strange thought, lad, that it is,” Goldie mused. “Still an’ all, it’s not like ever ta be. Why wonder about what’s not ta be?” He took a large bite off his block of cheese. “Noo,” he continued around a mouthful of cheddar, “did ya hear aboot the break-in at the Royal Mint tadoy? Lef’ all the coin and made off with some historical doodad. What a nut that ’un must’ve been!” “Ta break inta the vaults and take no coin? Ha, ‘tis a mad world for all that, when a kettle pulls a train and thieves ain’t interested in coin!” guffawed Grassy. The whole common room laughed with him.