//------------------------------// // X // Story: Bedrock // by RazedRainbow //------------------------------// X I walk into something. I raise a hoof. Haystack pushes it back down. I blink. Just him. Not a building or guard. I breathe deep. “Ya alright?” he asks. He knows the answer. No, but no point dwelling. Just walk. He pauses, nods, pats my foreleg. We continue towards the train station. Each step seems to take minutes. I am slacking. How many guards had we passed? Focus, Maud. “Sun’s coming out.” I look up. Overcast. Not a ray in sight. Not sure what smoke Farmer had offered him but it must be some good stuff. He nudges me. His gaze is not on the sky, but towards the shops beside us. “Looks like Our New Majesty paid Lower Canterlot a visit.” He is not wrong. Amidst the scaffolds and burnt out buildings and walls painted with pictures of loved ones… ponies are smiling. On one corner a suited stallion clearly in the neighborhood for nothing but pleasure drops bits in a homeless pony’s cup; a baker emerges into a side-alley with bread for a disheveled filly; in the shadows of Canterlot’s fractured walls, guard and worker talk in friendly tones. Hammering and scraping serenades. A miracle. “They love her,” Haystack says as he looks up at the stone. “Even Farmer didn’t sound too disappointed.” I glance at my surroundings. Sorcery. No other explanation. A memorial sits under a fountain in a nearby square. “He follows the bits. We could be in chains, but as long as he and his get their wine...” Haystack frowns but nods. Hammer against rock is the only sound. “Think your sisters had anything to do with this?” he finally says. I shrug. “Maybe the sandstone.” Definitely something they would find around Ponyville. “So that’s what it’s made of.” “It is a mix. Sandstone, granite. Might be some gneiss and basalt in there too. Tough rocks.” “Interesting.” Haystack pulls back his hat and cranes his neck back even further. “Always just ‘rocks’ to me.” “I know.” “All these months, you’d think I’d have pick up on some of these.” “It’s not so hard if you try. And you’re smart.” “That’s not very nice. I tried hard.” I cannot tell if he was going for a pun there. “Just never really thought about it much.” I shrug. “We all take things for granite, sometimes.” He smiles. “I’m gonna miss you, Rock Girl.” Why does he have to make it sound so final? I swallow, nod. He makes the first move. Silence is the day’s conversation. He stops near the memorial, reads the names, shakes his head. I keep walking. For a moment, he will just have to be a sitting duck, but he knows better. I whip around as best I can and keep my eyes on the roofs overlooking the square. Fire flares up in my back. He laughs. Sparks of green. My forelegs falter. I need to rest. “Watch it!” I had chosen to lean against a haydog stand, nearly pushing it into the street. The vendor pushes back. The wheels hit a rock, and I nearly tumble. Haystack catches me. He is out of view but I know it is him. My gaze is focused on the vendor. He glares. Spits. I am nearly blinded by the shine of his crystal coat. Looks like the Princess’ spell was wearing off. Haystack pats my withers and rights my wheels. He is a good pony. Too good. Here I was about to abandon him. With each step closer to the train station, I find myself hoping more and more for something to happen. An explosion, a shot ringing out, a crystal guard hungry for revenge or justice or whatever they could want from us, Celestia herself popping out of thin air. But there is only steam and crowds and the shadow of her. Screams in the valley. Laughter in the shadows. Blood. Sweat. Crystal eyes. Lifeless. Get out! I make sure there’s something solid beside me before I fall over. A wall. I cough. Haystack rests a hoof on mine. I meet his gaze. Nothing to read, yet saying it all. No more hiding. “Promise,” I say, “that the moment something happens, you’ll let me know.” “Nothing—” “Promise.” He smiles. “You’ll know before I even do.” Good enough. Dwelling on this or dwelling on that. Just more running. Haystack was not going to allow that. Either I was getting on that train on my own, or he was going to make me. I could see it in his eyes: he was making me. I ran a hoof over the tile and turned my head. The wheels stared back at me. I like surprising ponies with what I can do. I look at Haystack once more and nod. This was my walk, my decision. “Looks like I’ve got a train to catch.” He smiles. “Better get your ass in gear, then.” “That’d be hard.” He just shakes his head. He has always been more of a pun guy. For the first time that morning, we do not walk in silence. “So, how’s Ponyville?” “You’ve spent more time there than I have. Closest I’ve gotten to there is… well, here.” “Loyalists?” I ask. “Daily showers? Sunny? Humid?” The lingo rolls off my tongue without clicking. I cannot even remember what ‘humid’ is code for. “Couldn’t tell you. No stations.” “So loyalists. Shutting ‘em up.” “Possibly. Look, I told you not to worry about that. The amnesty is strong. No tar, no feathers… well, maybe a few feathers.” He laughs. I do not get it. “Sun’s coming out.” I nod. He frowns. “I swear, Maud, if I pick up the paper and you’ve re-started the damn war...” It is my turn to say, “Trust me.” He nods. An unsure one. I cannot blame him. I was a mare set in stone. Tune-changing only came with time. Months. Years. Not suddenly. Not like now. But I am also a Pie at heart. I wait for the stench, the feel of flames on my back. There’s a hint of smoke in the back of my nostrils, but nothing a snort cannot fix. I adjust the cuff of my dress. And like that, we are there on the platform. Ponies in ratty clothes push by us like waves to a pier. Suitcases fall and clatter, yelling, crying foals. Ponies finally returning home. Fitting. The sea of wings and horn beats against Haystack and I ceaselessly. Soon it will stop. We will have the platform to ourselves. A moment alone to deliver pearls of wisdom, life lessons— “Shit.” Haystack’s voice. I look back. His focus is on the far end of the platform, his brown coat seemingly a shade lighter. I trace his gaze. A guard. Crystal. Spear in hoof, glaring not at the crowd but at us. It was anypony’s guess why: I had punched my fair share of guards over the months, but mostly in Upper Canterlot. Not here. It did not matter. He recognized us, and he was marching over. He checks a mare out of the way and starts our way. I play it out in my head: I would hold my ground. He would raise his spear. I would wait for the air, push back. It would clank to the floor right as I smashed a forehoof against its hilt. Hit it right and the blade would break off into the air. I would try and catch it. Succeed and I would have the upper hoof. Fail and I would dodge long enough to buy time for Haystack to flee. I look over my withers. Haystack has already turned. I think I hear him say, ‘Stay safe’ or ‘good luck.’ The sea of refugees floods around him. So much for a sentimental departure. I duck down as low as the harness will let me and snake through the crowd. The train car has stairs, but the commotion of the platform would cover the noise. Shocks shoot up my spine with each step. I throw the door closed behind me, back into a corner, and wait The guard has already found his target. A zebra clad in shawl. I sigh. Poor guy, but still a relief. “Everything alright, Miss?” I jump. The conductor had managed to sneak up on me in this time. He begins to stutter an apology. “It’s fine,” I say, “I’m fine.” He looks to my back. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the handicap seating is up front.” He forces a laugh. “Though I guess you don’t mind that, seeing as how you climbed up here anyhow. Still, I could help you through to the front cars if you’d like.” “It’s fine.” I push by him as gently as possible and go through the motions: unhook the straps, pull myself up onto the closest bench, pull my legs out of the aisle. I place my saddlebags on the floor and pull Boulder Jr out. He gets to ride on the bench. The conductor cocks a brow, but takes my ticket and puts the harness behind my seat without any more questions. Sometime later the whistle blows and I feel a lurch. The car is empty besides Boulder Jr and I. The gray of the platform and steam is soon replaced with blue and yellow. I push myself up in the bench, sitting as straight as I can without my legs sliding off. For as far as the eye could see there is nothing but valleys, waterfalls, microscopic roofs of distant towns, and above it all, the sun. Haystack had been right all along. I shake my head. He would be fine on his own for a few days so long as he watched the cupboard. No point in worrying—at least not about that. The train hits a bump and I nearly slide off the bench. I reach over and move Boulder Jr to the windowsill. A sight as beautiful as this should be shared with all. I push myself up again and rest my head against the window. The train roars through a tunnel. When we emerge, I catch a glimpse of my eyes’ reflection. They look just like hers.