//------------------------------// // Chapter One // Story: Codex Ponera - Cliffside Eyrie // by Pepperbrony //------------------------------// The yellow filly blew her bangs out of her eyes. The rest of her red mane was tied back with a fuchsia ribbon tied in an enormous bow. She tilted her head and considered the apple tree before her, taking a few steps around the trunk before stopping. With one last look at the tree, she nodded to herself before turning her back and drawing back to deliver the strongest buck she could. THWACK! The filly turned around just in time to watch a number of apples fall from the tree and into the three waiting baskets. With a satisfied nod she turned to watch the orange mare, bearing a three-apple cutie mark and a wearing a brown stetson, standing before another tree. The filly watched the mare narrow her green eyes and mutter something under her breath at a wood fury in the form of a collie dog, flickering in and out of visibility in the upper branches. One by one, the branches of the tree twisted and bent their way into the airspace above a series of baskets. Once in position, each branch shivered, dropping its apples into the baskets, before making way for the next branch. “I think that’s the last one, Applejack,” said the filly. “Nice work Apple Bloom,” replied Applejack. “Now let’s give Big Mac a hoof and load these baskets.” A slight tremor in the ground heralded the arrival of a large muscle-bound red stallion, hauling a massive wagon already heavily loaded with apple baskets. When he pulled up to a stop the tremors ceased, and the stallion detached the wagon from his horse collar to help the other two load the baskets onto the wagon. “Why are we bringin’ in the harvest this early, anyways?” asked Apple Bloom while they worked. “I reckon most of these apples need another month before they’re properly ripe for eatin’.” “Countess Coloratura put in an order,” replied Applejack. “She said she don’t care if they weren’t quite as good as usual, but she needed ‘em Ay Ess Ay Pea. Somethin’ about the usual food shipments from Jewelport bein’ late.” “I guess starvin’ ponies don’t mind nearly-ripe apples if they don’t got anythin’ else to- wait a minute,” Apple Bloom interrupted herself. “Countess Coloratura? Ain’t she was a duchess?” “Eeyup,” agreed Big Mac. Applejack blinked in confusion. “Huh. You’re right, she is. Dunno what I was thinkin’. Sounded right though.” “Tell that to her next time ya see her,” teased Apple Bloom. Big Mac’s eyes widened at that suggestion. “Nnnope.” The wagon now fully loaded with the apple baskets, the trio made their way toward the barnhouse occasionally visible through the trees of the apple orchard, chatting and teasing as they went. The orange-coated pegasus filly brushed her purple mane out of her eyes and concentrated on the coloured glass orb. It was an ornate thing, blown into the shape of a red apple, complete with brown stem and two green leaves. As the filly twitched a wing, bright light came forth from somewhere inside the apple, illuminating the workshop. With a smile and a nod, the filly twitched her other wing and the light went out. With a minor effort of will, the filly said, “Light on.” Again, the glass apple filled with light. “Light off.” And again, darkness. The filly added the lantern to a pile of them by her side, and reached out for the next one. Hoof moving back and forth in confusion, the filly looked to the pile of glass apples awaiting their fire furies, and found none left. Looking back to the pile of completed lamps, she swiftly counted them. “... nineteen, twenty. All done. Finally.” She stood up on all fours, stretching all six limbs after sitting still for so long, and started packing all but two of the lanterns for transport. Her ears pricked at the sound of voices approaching the workshop. “Mac and Rara, sittin’ in a tree,” chanted two of the voices. “K, I, S, S, I, N, G,” “Nnnope,” responded the third, masculine voice. The owners of the voices entered the workshop, slightly sweaty from a day's work of harvesting apples. “Hey guys,” called the filly. “I’m almost done here. Oh, and Applejack, Big Mac? I kept these two to replace those cracked lights in the living room.” She gestured at the two unpacked lamps sitting aside. “Thanks, Scootaloo,” replied Applejack. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” “You’d probably fumble around in the dark, breaking your legs trying to come down the stairs,” grinned Scootaloo while she sealed up the last lantern, not noticing Apple Bloom glaring at her. “How about you guys? Bring in all those apples?” “Eeyup,” answered Big Mac. “Yep, all done,” agreed Apple Bloom, before turning to Applejack with a hopeful grin. “So can we go now?” “Please?” Scootaloo asked, purple eyes opened wider than should be possible. “Alright you two, go on,” smiled Applejack. “Go find your cutie marks.” “Yeah! Cutie Mark Crusaders go!” cried the two fillies as they rushed outside. “Heh. Remember when we used to be like that?” asked Applejack. Big Mac just looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, remember when I used to be like that?” Big Mac merely chuckled as he packed the boxes of lamps into the wagon alongside the day’s harvest. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo made their way through the rolling terrain of the north-east orchard, throwing ideas back and forth. “How about bowlin’?” “No, we tried that last week. Ooh, beekeeping?” “No thanks, I know how they make honey. What about flower arrangin’?” “Ugh, boring.” The conversation between the pair of fillies slowed when they ran out of ideas, and they slumped down in the shade of the trees at the furthest reaches of the orchard. Just beyond the fenceline that delineated the edge of the farm, the land dropped away in a cliff-face over one hundred ponylengths tall, facing its twin nearly two hundred ponylengths away, across the salty spray of the channel below. This was the Cliffside Canal, the massive earthcrafted passage that connected the Great Northern Ocean to the Dawn Sea. The fillies watched a ship making its way south through the canal, passing well below a narrow rope bridge that spanned the wide gap. “I guess that’s everything then,” said Scootaloo, head down. “We’ve tried everything we can think of. I guess we’ll never get our cutie marks.” She flicked her wing, and a burst of flame shot out from it, forming into the shape of a chicken. The fire fury pecked at the ground here and there, leaving scorch marks in the soil. Apple Bloom watched Scootaloo pet the fury, not bothering to hide the jealousy from her face. “At least you can furycraft. I can’t even call the lights on.” “Come on, AB,” said Scootaloo. “Who ever heard of a pony that couldn’t furycraft? You just have to get your furycraft eventually.” “Easy for you to say,” shot back Apple Bloom. “You’ve been firecraftin’ with Elizabeak there for three years now. And you could get water flowin’ out o’ the taps for years before that! I can’t even do that much! Who ever heard of somepony who can’t even talk to workfuries? I keep tellin’ ya, I’m useless. I’m a furyless freak.” “Don’t say that,” glared Scootaloo. “Maybe you can’t craft yet-” “Maybe I’ll never craft,” muttered Apple Bloom. “Maybe not,” continued Scootaloo, “but you are not useless. Hay, it was your idea for me to make those furylamps, and Applejack said that by selling those Sweet Apple Acres is making bits even through the wìnter, when most farms and orchards would be toughing it out.” “Yeah, fine. I get an idea every now and then,” conceded Apple Bloom, rolling her golden eyes. “A whole lotta good that does me when I ‘fumble around in the dark, breaking my legs coming down the stairs.’” Scootaloo winced at that. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that before.” “It ain’t your fault, Scoots,” sighed Apple Bloom. “I just don’t see how ideas help me when I can’t do anythin’ with ‘em.” “Aw, come on AB, things will get better.” Scootaloo paused, twitching her ears before swivelling them to the south-west. “Hey, can you hear that?” “Hear what?” asked Apple Bloom, before her ears twitched as well. A buzzing sound was just now becoming audible. “Wait, there it is. What is it? Those bees you wanted to keep?” “Sounds too deep to be bees. Almost sounds like a pair of… are those fury engines?” said Scootaloo. “I think they’re headed this way,” said Apple Bloom The fillies exchanged a glance and sprang into action. They quickly climbed the nearest tree and looked around for the source of the sound. Before long, they spotted an airship descend from the clouds to the south-west. The airship was three decks deep, and looked about seventy ponylengths long by about twenty wide. The envelope was slightly larger, and coloured a dark, dark grey. The ship was propelled by two large black and brass fury engines, one held out on each side of the aft end of the cedarwood hull by a pair of thick wooden spars. Visible along the side of the airship were a number of closed hatches, concealing something from view. The ship held a heading of north-east, passing almost directly over the fillies before crossing the canal. The fillies whirled to keep watch, and saw the airship slow to a stop only a mile or so past the far side of the canal. “What are they up to?” wondered Scootaloo. “I don’t know,” replied Apple Bloom. She grinned. “But I’m havin’ one of those ‘ideas’ you were talkin’ about.” The fillies looked at each other, sharing a mischievous grin before descending from the tree and making their way to the rope bridge suspended over the canal.