“HE WHAT?” Foxfire roared, and instantly regretted her outburst as pain stabbed through her head like a needle.
“During all the confusion with the plane crash, Darter and Skylark doing emergency first aid, and Medevac’s arrival,” Lynn said, keeping her voice calm and soothing, “Montcalm lost track of the girls and Iron Hoof. He was concentrating on saving lives, and knew your girls are responsible kids, ponies… whatever.”
“It’s dark, It’s getting cold, and my daughters are out in the middle of the woods by themselves,” Foxfire said, her aspect becoming as bestial as her form. “Everything inside me wants to go charging out into the forest after them. But if I can’t do that, I’ll settle for running down Montcalm and trampling him under my hooves.” Lynn’s eyebrow rose as Foxfire actually growled to punctuate her comment.
“Foxfire, be reasonable,” Lynn said, caught between concern at her friend’s anger and at how adorable an angry unicorn looked. “You’re maybe three feet tall and cute. You aren’t going to do more than bruise his shins.” It was the wrong thing to say.
“Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do!” Foxfire said, flaring her magic and immediately collapsing in pain. “Ow.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have made fun,” Lynn said, contrite. “I just wanted you to see the silly side. The girls will be okay, and you’ve been teaching Billy, I mean Iron Hoof, about how to handle himself in the woods.”
“I know, I know,” Foxfire said, calming herself with a brief meditation. “And I shouldn’t be lashing out, but…”
“But It’s your kids,” Lynn said, deciding to jump in with the other problem while Foxfire was recovering from her first outburst. “You know how Medevac and my two went to help with the plane crash?”
“Yesss,” Foxfire said, drawing out the word as the last echoes of lightning faded from her head. “Are they okay?”
“They’re fine. In fact Medevac even got her ‘Mark.’ I’ve never seen anyone as happy as she is right now,” Lynn said, smiling at the memory of the ecstatic joy on the face of the transformed paramedic. “The problem is that one of those reporters has been camped out at the lake all along. He saw the whole thing. Ernie and the fellows are trying to decide what to do.”
“Take me down to the lake,” Foxfire said, resolve entering her voice. “Maybe if I talk to him I can convince him not to publish the story.”
“You sure you want to do that Jean?” Lynn asked, brows knitting in worry. “You’re barely mobile.”
“I’ve got to do something, anything about what’s going on,” Foxfire said, getting out of Skylark’s bed with exaggerated care. “If I don’t, I’ll just wind myself up even more than I am already.” A hand touching her hip made her wheel suddenly in place.
“Sorry,” Lynn said, in quick apology. “I just wanted to know what it felt like.”
“What what felt like?” Foxfire said, suddenly realizing where Lynn’s hand had been. “You mean…”
“Take a look,” Lynn said, smiling.
There, standing in proud contrast to her pure white fur, was the emblem of Foxfire's calling. A five pointed star made of braided vines surrounded by a fiery indigo circle, and Jean, aka Foxfire, breathed out a sigh of relief at seeing it.
“Thank you, Rhea and Herne, for your gifts,” Foxfire said, closing her wide eyes for a moment. “Thank you for your confidence and trust.” Lynn’s smile faded a bit as she heard the profound relief in Foxfire’s voice.
“You don’t seem as happy as the others who got a ‘Mark’,” Lynn said, putting a comforting hand on her pony friend’s back. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just relieved, is all,” Foxfire said, then continued to explain as she saw the continued question in her friend’s eyes. “The points of the pentagram being inside the circle tell me that I’m being trusted with the power I’ve been given.”
“And if they were outside the star?” Lynn asked.
The two of them had never really discussed their respective faiths. Oh, they had certainly mentioned bits here and there, and neither of them had ever hidden anything from the other, but a great deal had gone unsaid. In an isolated community like Brightly, you accepted what a person was willing to share and you didn’t push a someone’s boundaries unless you absolutely had to.
“A pentagram’s five lines and points symbolize the five ancient elements,” Foxfire said, still gazing at the star on her flank. “Earth, air, fire, water and spirit. When the points of the star are like this, inside a circle, it means those elements and their powers are contained and controlled. A symbol of law and order.”
Lynn made a “go on” motion as Foxfire paused for breath.
“But if the points lie outside the circle,” Foxfire said, her voice becoming grim. “It becomes the opposite, symbolizing powers and magics running wild and out of control. A symbol of chaos and disorder.”
“Jean… Foxfire,” Lynn corrected, as the corner of her friend’s mouth quirked upwards. “You will be fine. Even when things were a little nuts earlier, your first instinct was to protect those around you. I know you’ll keep things under control.”
“Well, She did tell me to focus on my family and friends to keep myself grounded,” Foxfire said nodding absently, before shaking her head. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go talk to that reporter.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Lynn asked, looking over her friend with a horsewoman’s eye. “You’ve only just gotten back on your hooves.”
“If I don’t do something, I’ll just keep going in circles until I explode,” Foxfire said, and then sighed wistfully. “I just wish there was some way I could be sure the girls were okay.” Lynn and her pony friend hugged briefly before going to Lynn’s car to head to the lake.
“You okay, Mister?” Shield Maiden asked the big man beside her.
It had been dark for a couple of hours now, and the four of them were huddled together in Tim’s lean-to. They had managed to start a fire using a road flare and what not completely soaked wood they had been able to gather, but it had been a fitful thing that sputtered out nearly half an hour ago.
They still had two other flares, but there was nothing worth using them on, at least not that they could find while stumbling around in the darkness. As the night deepened, Tim could feel the chill air trying to make inroads into him, despite his warm lineman’s coat and the three furry bodies nestled up against him.
“You okay, Mister?” Iron Hoof asked, as he pressed up against the big man’s right side.
“F-f-fine,” Tim answered, unable to keep a shudder out of his voice.
“Mom says that people shouldn’t lie,” Seeker said from Tim’s lap, having refused to surrender her prized spot. “I can feel it when you shiver.”
“Sorry kid,” the big man said, adjusting a bit. “Didn’t want you to worry about me.”
“We came all this way to find you,” Iron Hoof said, leaning his head on Tim’s knee. “‘Course we’re worried about you. Everyone is.”
“Thanks kid,” Tim said, ruffling Iron Hoof’s ears. Despite the fact that his little rescuers were all kinds of intelligent, it was hard not to treat them like oversized cats. “Just wish I could get warmed up.”
“I could try making you one of us,” Shield Maiden suggested, then quickly added as Tim’s eyes went very wide. “I mean, make you a pony. It would only last until morning, an’ you would have fur like we do.”
“You promised Mom!” Seeker shot back instantly. “No transp… no making other people ponies without her permission. You promised.”
“Besides, I don’t think you can,” Iron Hoof chimed in. “My pony powers aren’t as strong as they were.”
“What?” Shield Maiden asked, as Tim shifted his head from side to side, not knowing whether to be amused or worried.
“I noticed earlier when I tried to break up some wood for the fire,” Iron Hoof said. “Go ahead, try making a shield.”
Shield Maiden raised a skeptical eyebrow but furrowed her brow in concentration. Tim’s own eyebrows climbed into his hairline as a glow appeared around the horn of the cute yellow unicorn on his right side. Shield Maiden grunted and scrunched her face in concentration, and overhead appeared a pale, flickering dome of force. For nearly a minute the dome sputtered and flickered as the unicorn tried to stabilize it before finally collapsing in a heap.
“Can’t…” Shield Maiden panted out. “Can’t hold the shield. What’s going on?”
“Maybe it’s sort of like the radio signal,” Tim said, by way of suggestion. “The further you are from town, the less you have.”
“I guess,” Shield Maiden said, recovering from her effort. “Sorry, Mister.”
“It’s okay,” Tim said, using a big arm to pull the little unicorn back up against him. “It was worth thinking about. A fur coat, or even another coat would have been a good idea. Ha!” A sudden laugh burst out from the power lineman.
“What’s so funny?” Iron Hoof asked, trying to pull the outer edge of Tim’s coat against his far side.
“I just had an idea how how to keep warm,” Tim said. Then the big man took a deep breath, opened his mouth and began to sing into the darkness.
(to the tune of “Harlech Men”)
What's the use of wearing braces,
Hats, or spats, or shoes with laces,
Vests and pants you buy in places,
Down on Broughampton Road?
What's the use of shirts of cotton,
Studs that always get forgotten,
These affairs are simply rotten!
Better far is woad!
Woad's the stuff to show men,
Woad to scare your foemen!
Boil it to a brilliant blue
And rub it on your legs and your abdomen!
Ancient Britons never hit on
Anything as good as woad to fit on
Necks or knees or where you sit on,
Tailors, you'd be blowed!
Romans came across the Channel
All dressed up in tin and flannel;
Half a pint of woad per man-o
Clothed us more than these!
Saxons, you may save your stitches
Building beds for bugs in britches.
We have woad to clothe us which is
Not a nest for fleas.
“That was awesome!” Iron Hoof exclaimed, when the last deep echoes faded away. “I’ve never heard that song before. “Where’s it from?”
“When I’m not helping to turn people’s lights back on I play with a bunch of friends who do a thing called the S.C.A.,” Tim said, smiling at several memories that came to him. “We redo Middle Ages stuff. During the day time we fight in armor and during the nights we par… uh, we do lots of singing and tell stories.”
“That thounds awesome,” Seeker said, snuggling back down into Tim’s lap. “You know any other songs?”
“Sure do,” Tim said, with a smile. “This one is the anthem of the Kingdom of An Tir. It’s called, ‘The Brave and Bonny Host’.”
With that, the big man launched into another song, followed by several others. He didn’t have the best singing voice. Often he would miss words, or lose the melody. Sometimes his voice would waver up and down in pitch, but they were all sung with enthusiasm and vigor. The ponies with him would often join in during a chorus, and together they pushed back both the encroaching darkness and the chill that had been trying to seep into Tim’s bones.
“Darter to Shield Maiden,” crackled from one of the radios, as Tim tried to think of another song. “Darter to Seeker. Darter to any Power Pony.”
“Darter! This is Iron Hoof,” said the young pony, toggling his mic. “Be careful. Our powers aren’t working well far away from town.”
“So that’s why I can’t do anything with the clouds,” Darter said, the wind whistling in his mic. “It’s a little harder to fly too, but I’m okay. Where abouts are you guys?”
“We’re down by a pond, along a creek near one of the old logging roads,” Iron Hoof said. “Our light is almost out, can you still see us?”
“No, but the mayor should be able to find you on a map,” Darter said. “He sent me to make radio contact with you and then head back. You guys all okay?”
“A little cold,” Iron Hoof said. “But we should be okay ‘til morning.”
“You guys want me to try to get you some supplies?” Darter asked. “I’m pretty sure I can still carry some stuff.”
“Better not. You might hit branches trying to get through the trees,” Iron Hoof replied, noticing Tim shaking his head at the idea of Darter flying through trees at night. “We’ll be fine until morning.”
“Okay, if you guys are sure. I’ll tell everyone you’re all okay,” Darter said, sounding noticeably relieved. “Have a good one.”
“Talk to you in the morning,” Iron Hoof said, shutting down his radio. “Know any more songs, Mister Tim?”
“I’m all out of songs, but I could tell you a story,” Tim said, and all three ponies were surprised to hear the big man’s voice roughen. “Once upon a time, there was a bunny and a duck.”
“Mister Tim, why are you crying?” Seeker said, looking up at Tim’s abruptly wet eyes. “Is it a sad story?”
“No. Sorry kids,” Tim said, sniffling and wiping away the wetness. “You see, the Bunny and the Duck were nicknames for a couple that me and a whole lot of other folks loved a lot.”
“Were they nice people?” Shield Maiden asked, trying and failing to hug Tim’s massive torso.
“They were the best,” Tim said, sniffling a bit more. “They taught me a lot about how to be something besides a big goon that was angry all the time. They taught me responsibility, and chivalry, and honor. That it’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak, not to use or abuse them.”
“Wow,” Iron Hoof said, looking up at the power lineman with new eyes. “Are you like a knight or something?”
“No, I’m a Sergeant,” Tim said, his smile banishing the last of his tears. “In the Current Middle Ages, I’m Sergeant Timothy the Vast, sworn vassal to the Baroness of Lions Gate.” All three ponies made appreciative noises at that.
“Tho why are you sad?” Seeker asked, finding herself wrapped in a quick hug by the large lineman.
“Because they’ve both died,” Tim said, and for a moment there was nothing but one big hug on the rock shelf. “They both had long and full lives and both passed away peacefully with family beside them. But I and a lot of other people miss them.”
“Anyway, the story,” Tim said, clearing his throat and grinning slightly as he noticed that all three ponies were still hugging him as best they could. “Once upon a time, there was a bunny, and a duck…”
John Wilcox sipped his coffee and waited. On the outside, he knew he looked calm, cool and collected. The very epitome of control and professional demeanor. Inside however, the former member of the Canadian Armed Forces and active reporter was a bundle of nerves and keyed up for action.
Ever since those three impossible creatures had flown overhead John had known his world would never be the same. No larger than a Great Dane, the winged little ponies had shown power, strength and ability far beyond what their small frames should have been capable of.
When the first dark coloured little pegasus had grabbed onto the sinking plane, Wilcox had scoffed. What could such a small thing do against the weight of a fully loaded bush plane? But then the creature had begun to glow and as their wingbeats echoed off the hills the reporter realized he had solved the mystery of who and what had helped the fire department during the storm crisis.
The first pony had been joined by a second, and then a third had flown by. Wilcox had watched it all through his binoculars, even as he cursed the camera on his phone for not being able to zoom in enough to get a clean shot of the rescue of the plane’s passengers. Then afterward, he had watched in awe and wonder as the last pony to arrive, a red and white pegasus, had been wrapped in a pillar of rainbow light as they were preparing to leave.
It was as if God Himself had reached down and touched the pony with his finger saying, “Well done, little pony.” The warmth that had filled Wilcox as he had witnessed the spectacle turned chill, when he and the creature had locked gazes for a moment as she and her two dark companions had flown past, just dodging the arrival of a rescue helicopter.
On top of the fact that the creatures knew that he knew about them, was the fact that the locals knew about them as well. Knew about them and were working with them. Questions filled Wilcox. How long had these ponies been here, doing this? Had they always been here, and if so, how had the secret been kept for so long? And now that they knew that he knew, what were they going to do about it.
Headlights from a smallish car appeared on the road that connected the dam area and Brightly, and Wilcox re-checked the scabbarded hunting knife that was hooked to his belt at the small of his back. As a veteran with a clean record he probably could have applied for and gotten a Restricted firearms permit, but after Afghanistan he never wanted to hold a gun again.
Besides Wilcox thought, as the car came to a stop in the nearby parking area. For some things, knives are still the best. I hope to God it doesn’t—
“Hello there,” said a red haired woman of medium build, as she walked toward John’s encampment. “Mind if I come over and have a chat?”
“Please, have a seat,” John said, standing up and gesturing toward a camp chair opposite the fire. “I’ve been expecting someone for awhile now.”
“My name is Lynn Harding,” the woman said, coming to stand with one hand on the back of the chair. “It was my children and a friend that you saw today.”
“Your children?” Wilcox asked, disbelief plain in his voice. “What I saw wasn’t human, wasn’t even bipedal. Try a better lie… Ma’am.”
“A better lie?” Foxfire said through a clenched jaw, as she stepped out from the cloaking darkness and into the light of the campfire. “Are you calling my friend a liar?”
“My god, an actual unicorn,” Wilcox said, eyes wide and mind completely oblivious to Foxfire’s steaming fury. “Can I touch you? Just to make sure you’re really real?”
“I don’t think so,” Foxfire said, trying to keep her anger tamped down, even as her throbbing headache ate at her resolve. “What are your intentions?”
“Intentions?” Wilcox asked, snorting as Foxfire’s refusal seemed to kickstart his brain back into motion. “This is the story of a lifetime, of the millenium even. Actual alien life, here on Earth. Not just alien, but helpful and living in secret. Wait, Miss Harding was it? You said they were your kids? How does that work? Are you an alien, too?”
“It’s Mrs. Har—,” Lynn began, only to be interrupted.
“You can’t report this,” Foxfire said, stepping forward and igniting her horn with indigo fire. “You’ll be putting our children in danger.”
“I’ll be careful to not say anything that would put your… um, children, foals, at risk,” John said. He didn’t know what the dark purple glow around the unicorn’s horn meant, but he was willing to lay odds it wasn’t good.
“Is that why you’ve got that knife stuck in your belt?” Foxfire asked, raising her voice and her power, summoning a ball of fire into being between her and the reporter. “Was that your plan? Reassure us and then jump us when our backs were turned? Well, was it?!”
“Jean, I really don’t—” Lynn said, only to get cut off again.
“Look lady,” Wilcox fired back, his own voice raising. “I could have phoned the whole thing in already. Hell, I SHOULD have, but I wanted to talk to you people and get the whole story before I did anything. Yeah, I’ve got a knife, but I’ll bet almost everyone around here has one too. If I really wanted to threaten you, I’d use a gun, much as I hate them.”
“You just try using a gun,” Foxfire snarled, and the flaming ball of power began to drift closer to the reporter. “Maybe it’s time for you to see that real power doesn’t come from a barrel.”
“That’s the way you want to play this?” Wilcox said, fear and anger overriding sense as he dropped into a fighter’s crouch and drew the sharp hunting knife from its leather sheath. “Fine. Cold steel is supposed to be a match for magic. Bring it, lady.”
“BURN!” Foxfire roared, flames coming from her eyes as her sphere of blazing fury moved forward as her vanguard into battle.
“THAT WILL BE QUITE ENOUGH, YOU TWO!” Lynn shouted, stepping between the combatants. “All of us are adults here, let’s act like it.” Both Foxfire and Wilcox abruptly blinked and seemed to realize what they were doing.
“I… I… Oh, Goddess,” Foxfire said, rage, power and flame dissipating like smoke on the wind. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll, I’ll go wait in the car.”
“I’m sorry too,” Wilcox said, dropping his blade to the dirt. “I should have realized how important and life changing this is to both of you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilcox,” Lynn said, watching her friend slowly walk back to the car, head and tail both hanging low. “Please forgive my friend. She’s under a lot of stress and isn’t feeling well.”
“My fault. I should have listened to what you both were saying. Is she going to be okay?” Wilcox queried, shaking a bit as the adrenaline drained off.
“Her girls are missing, and likely alone in the woods,” Lynn said, biting her lip. “She’s always been protective of them, but all of this, plus coming into her power. It’s all a bit much.”
“Look, I get that, and I take some of the blame here as well,” Wilcox remarked, his hands trembling badly now. “Damn, I thought I had this under control.”
“What’s wrong?” Lynn asked, concerned. She took the man’s hands in her own, feeling the involuntary shaking.
“PTSD,” Wilcox replied, trying to force his breathing into a calming routine. “Combat reaction. I was in Afghanistan.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Lynn said, and a sudden idea came to her. “Foxfire! We need you!” The white unicorn was there so quickly she practically teleported back from the car to the encampment.
“What’s wrong?” Foxfire asked, and Lynn quickly explained the situation.
“Okay, I think I have something that can help in the car,” Foxfire said, seeing Wilcox’s skepticism even as the trembling in his hands began to involve his entire arms. “Let me help. Let me make things right between us.”
“O-okay,” Wilcox replied slowly, both worried and glad for the offer. “Go ahead.”
“Right,” Foxfire stated, her horn igniting with power again as she looked toward the car, whose door opened with a dark purple nimbus forming around it. “I’m getting my calming tea blend from the car. Lynn, can you heat up some water for me?”
“On it,” Lynn said, and together the two women had a steaming cup of tea ready in under ten minutes. By this time, Wilcox had managed to stop the spread of his tremors, but his hands still couldn’t hold a cup, so Lynn held it for him as he took the first sips.
“Thanks,” Wilcox said, his hands shaking only a bit after half the cup was gone. “What was in that tea?”
“Nothing terribly strange,” Foxfire said, pleased she had been able to help. “Lemon, lavender and chamomile. Plus a little magic, of course.”
“Of course,” Wilcox said flippantly, with a small laugh. “Look, about what happened earlier...”
“Why don’t we start over,” Foxfire said, holding out a hoof. “When I look like this, I’m Foxfire. Unicorn and mother to two girls. My friend here is Lynn, she’s the mother of a pair of cute little pegasi. Can we talk, maybe come to some sort of arrangement?”
“All right,” Wilcox said, draining the last of the tea. “Tell you what, I’m willing to hold off on the story for a bit. But on two conditions.”
“And they are?” Lynn asked, very pleased that the situation had been salvaged.
“One, you tell me the whole story,” Wilcox stipulated, looking from one female to the other. “Second, when the time comes to go public, I’m your personal media contact. No one else. This is a CKNW, John Wilcox exclusive. Deal?” Lynn and Foxfire looked at each for a moment and made an almost imperceptible nod to each other.
“It all started a few weeks ago when our kids found an old book,” Lynn began.
Brightly was burning. Jean had tried to stop it, tried to stop the soldiers, tried to stop the government. Wilcox had even tried to stop them, realizing what a terrible mistake he had made in revealing the secret of Brightly’s ponies to the world. He had been brushed aside and thrown into prison right alongside Arnold.
The soldiers had hunted down and dragged off Lynn, Ernie and Jessica as well. When they came for Jean and her girls though they were in for a surprise. Jean had taken her fear and her rage and built it into a fire. She sent that wall of angry flame at the soldiers, sending them running. Which is when she realized that another soldier had snuck up from behind her and was even now stuffing her girls into a cage.
Rage filled Foxfire’s vision and her fire ran wild, burning everything and everyone in sight. Brightly and everyone in it would be a cinder before this night was out as the flames spread from the unicorn...
Asleep in Jean Pedersen’s bed, Foxfire whimpered and twitched her hooves as the nightmare filled her with images of fear, rage and terror. Sweat covered her brow as she struggled to deal with fears and worries made manifest and given shape by her dreaming subconsciousness. While the nightmare wracked Jean, moving her in quick succession through fear to terror and rage, something in a deep corner of her mind reached out, tasted the nightmare and found it good.