The hoof-cranked radio with spindly brass legs did not have the best reception. Sundance tried to listen to the news while also blowing on his tea. What little he could hear spoke of war, labour disputes, unrest, shortages, and riots on both coasts. It wasn’t the sort of news he wanted to hear, but he felt it was necessary for a baron to be well-informed.
Prince Blueblood’s voice was buttery smooth, what little that could be heard between the bursts of crackly static. The other voices were ones that Sundance did not recognise. Manehattan had turned into a pressure cooker of sorts; too many immigrants, not enough food and housing. Equestria had a policy where none were turned away, but right now, with the war in full swing, the system was stretched beyond capacity.
The war, simply known as, The War, was a distant thing for Sundance, just as it was for many. He was aware of it, as were so many others, but the details remained sparse. It was fought overseas, in other lands, other places. Grogar and his armies advanced upon the known world, while the armies of Equestria and her allies pushed them back. The front was always moving, never in one place for long—with the exception of Zebrabwe. For whatever reason, Grogar and his minions had a particular fear and hatred of the zebras, who saw the worst of the fighting.
On the radio, the voices began arguing, with one of the hosts suggesting that it was time to turn the immigrants away. Hearing them bicker gave Sundance ideas, vague notions. His was a barony in need of population. Right now, he might not be well suited to taking in large numbers—but he could be. He’d need housing aplenty, a bigger, better communal kitchen, and modern sanitation. All of which were enormous changes that he wasn’t yet sure of how to accomplish.
Several wooden crates bearing Princess Celestia’s royal seal were still unopened, stacked in the corner, but Sundance could not muster the energy to be curious. Some had been opened; such as the one with the radio, while others were left untouched. For now, they were just things, things stacked in the corner, things that might be opened some time.
“You look glum.”
Not bothering to lift his head, Sundance replied to Corduroy, “Not glum. Just thoughtful. In pain. I have all these thoughts that I’m not smart enough to think about. Maybe I am glum. I miss Cucumber. He’s gone, but life goes on. I guess.”
“And you’re grounded right now.” Corduroy rested her paws on the edge of the table. “A pegasus that can’t fly is not a happy pegasus. This is an unnatural state for you. You can’t fly off and do stuff on a whim.”
At a loss for words, Sundance said nothing, but cast his sullen stare down into his teacup. Corduroy’s words held an unpleasant truth that he didn’t want to talk about. The hoof-cranked radio ran out of crank and after one final burst of garbled static, it went silent, leaving the outcome of the conversation unknown.
When Turmeric went to crank up the radio, Sundance told him, “Don’t bother.”
Shrugging, Turmeric offered up no real disagreement. Something about this felt off somehow, and Sundance felt bad. Maybe he could have been a bit nicer? Was it just his own mood that made him think that something was wrong? Turmeric seemed okay, but Sundance couldn’t be sure, and everything just felt wrong.
“Sometimes, grief is sneaky and shows up as something else.”
Flabbergasted, Sundance turned and lifted his head to stare at Corduroy.
“It can take a day or two. Or a week. Sometimes a month. Grief is like that. It’s more than mental and can cause physical symptoms, just like depression. You can feel irritable, out of sorts. Confused. Sometimes it is a vague sort of malaise that doesn’t seem to make much sense, which confounds you, because you’ve convinced yourself that you’re dealing with your grief just fine. As bad as all of this is, it’s probably worse for you. Right now, you’re stuck. Probably bored. You can’t fly away to cope and so you are stuck dealing with your grief on terms not your own.”
“Corduroy,” said Sundance in a low, tremulous voice, “how did I end up with you?”
She shrugged her broad shoulders as she replied, “You hired me.”
For whatever reason, this made him feel worse. “You deserve better.”
Averting her eyes, she drummed her paw-fingers against the table. “I don’t know. So far, I like what I have here. There’s a nice little infirmary that I’ve made with my own two paws. I get to be creative and all of my skills, all of them, each and every one of them is put to the test.” Again she shrugged. “I like my job. Whatever it is.”
When Turmeric spoke, his words were hesitant. “You do seem a little under the weather. I don’t want to say that you were happier yesterday, but you were in a better mood. Corduroy is right though. You do seem a little glum. Out of sorts. A bit broody. Which is fine.”
“You climbed into bed with me last night—”
“It was cold,” the effeminate unicorn replied before Sundance could finish. “I was wrapped up in a blanket and sleeping on the floor. My teeth started chattering. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve gone on expeditions and I’m used to roughing it, but it was cold. The floor was cold. And all my expeditions have been into warm climes. I could see my breath last night!”
Hearing all of this, Sundance deflated. That cold discomfort that he’d experienced was the very reason why he nested in a box. His barony was a miserable place, lacking even the most basic of comforts. That his friend chose to stay here made him feel weirdly uncomfortable and he could feel himself squirming from within. He thought of the smoke-filled hovels, the overall state of the barony, and the worst of thoughts crept into the back of his mind. What was he doing here and more importantly, just what was it that he, a common pony, could do to change all of this?
This, more than anything else, unnerved him.
Daredevil that he was, he knew that doubt was the enemy. It was the hesitation that killed you, that moment where you stopped to reconsider what you were doing as you rapidly approached the stacks of the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen. Thinking was bad, sometimes. It was better to fly without thought, without distractions. Only, he couldn’t fly, and he was stuck thinking. Swift action suited him; cogitation did not.
“Sometimes, grief triggers bouts of aggressive introspection,” Corduroy said while drumming her paw-fingers against the edge of the table. “We try to find meaning to whatever has happened. Some purpose. That’s how we internalise stuff. But sometimes, when we go to think about it, we end up thinking about ourselves and what we do. We think about how we fit into events that took place and if there is meaning in our own lives. Some of us never have a moment of intense introspection in our lives and we just sort of coast along—until something happens that forces us to look within. It comes at a bad time; we’re not used to serious introspection, and we’re dealing with whatever situation that is the cause, and so coping with everything all at once can be quite difficult. Which, all things considered, can trigger an emotional cascade of sorts—”
Corduroy halted mid-sentence as the door opened and Earwig popped her head inside the dining hall. Sundance looked at her, saw that she seemed a bit excited, and for a moment, a dreadful pang of intense worry caused his stomach to knot. She licked her lips, her ears pricked, and then she made a gesture with her hoof.
“We’ve got visitors incoming. It’s like we exist again. I can’t remember ever having this many visitors to the barony. You showed up and everything changed, Milord!”
“Visitors, you say?” Sundance lifted his head, but to actually rise up out of his own funk would be so much harder. “I suppose I should make ready to greet them. How do I look, Earwig?”
“Very Milordy, Milord. It’s nice to have a proper Milord to greet guests.”
In spite of himself, Sundance smiled.
“There’s a strong north wind,” Earwig said as her ears splayed straight out side to side. “We’re sheltered in the canyon, Milord, but the landing might be rough. Those gusts are treacherous.”
“Corduroy, Turmeric, come with me. You might be needed. Let us go and greet our guests.” Sundance rose from the table, feeling a bit more of his usual self once more. “Excuse me while I don my noble bearing…”
The frigid spring wind had the strength of a raging torrential flood. It came from the north, bringing with it a downright unpleasant chill. Sheltered in the embrace of the box canyon, the ponies who lived there went about their day, relatively unconcerned about the brutal gusts. But out in the open, where the airstrip was, the wind played havoc and Sundance found that he had a difficult time standing upright.
Earlier this morning, the weather had been quite pleasant; but the weather here could be described as ‘feral’ at best, fickle and swift to change. Dark clouds could be seen advancing, and not just any dark clouds, but those pregnant with the promise of rain. A gift from the Crystal Empire no doubt, whose weather reflected the mood of its princess protector.
Canterlot would no doubt become a no-fly zone.
“There’ll be rain, later,” said Turmeric, stating the obvious, and being that pony. “I don’t like the cold.”
After licking her paw-finger, Corduroy held it up and faced the wind, her bulk nigh-immovable. Sundance, without knowing why, found her actions amusing, and was distracted from his funk. The wind whipped his mane around his face, caused it to snap around his eyes, and forced him to blink from fearful reflexive response. Her tail wagged and he found it rather incredible that she was utterly immune to the incoming wind.
Too bad her smock wasn’t.
Off to the west, a tiny speck was tossed about in the sky. Sundance could only just barely make it out, and no doubt, Potato’s weird sense had detected it long before it became visible. There was enough turbulence to be fun—well, a daredevil’s sense of fun, anyhow. Given the strength of the wind, the incoming craft was probably getting tossed around.
“Where’s our visitor?” Turmeric asked, while squinting.
Sundance pointed westward.
“I can’t see anything.” Squinting to the point where his eyes appeared closed, Turmeric faced westward and was almost blown right over when the wind hit him broadside. “Must be nice to have pegasus eyes.”
“Those birds are flying backwards,” Corduroy said in the sort of voice that one might use to report boring, bland scientific findings.
“Any wise words about life, Corduroy? Something inspired by all this wind? Birds flying backwards as they go into a headwind seems like a life lesson.”
“Sure, Turmeric… don’t spit in the wind, don’t tug on Mister Teapot’s tail, and never make a Pie angry. How’s that for wise words?”
Hearing his companion’s banter, Sundance felt better. He thought of Cucumber, but that didn’t last long, as his thoughts went elsewhere. In the safe, secure confines of the box canyons, it looked as though the ponies were preparing for the coming storm. Firewood was hauled. Window shutters were shut and secured. Livestock was herded into the cave barn. Floodgate ran about in circles, no doubt giddy about the coming rain.
“You don’t have a weather team,” Turmeric said to Sundance.
With one eye on the storm, Sundance waited for their visitor to arrive.
The golden chariot glinted, a bright mote of brilliance that stood out in sharp contrast to the tumultuous grey thunderheads rolling in from the north. It was getting tossed around pretty good, but the four pegasus ponies wearing golden armor were excellent fliers of strong and no doubt sturdy stock. In the chariot a mare could be seen, and her dazzling mane streamed out behind her, a flowing, billowing mass of all shades of pink and orange.
Even from this distance, Sundance could not help but notice how much the mare looked like his grandmother, Noonfire Shimmer. Just like his grandmother, this mare was an eye-searing shade of ray-of-sunshine-orange. His mother, Sunbeam Shimmer, her mane was more red-orange, rather than pink-orange The family resemblance was obvious, very much so, and Sundance knew that he had to be looking at Paradox Sunflower.
A stream of vomit trickled over the side of the chariot, and Turmeric made a peculiar noise in the base of his throat before saying, “Contrary to popular belief, unicorns don’t actually puke rainbows. But some of us can cum glitter—”
“That’s lewd!” Corduroy waved her paws around, as if she could somehow fan away the sexually-charged words uttered by the mustard-yellow unicorn beside her.
The team of pegasus ponies began their final approach and they were coming in hot, fighting the north wind that was pushing them off course. As for the chariot itself, Sundance wondered about its flight characteristics, especially in comparison to the common sky truck. The chariot was ornate, a bit showy, had high, broad sides, which probably made it fly like a cloud-wallowing pigasus. But, for all of its faults, it could be said that the ceremonial chariots had style.
“I’m pretty sure that a diagnosis of air sickness is accurate,” Corduroy said in a matter-of-fact way as the stricken unicorn once more spewed over the side.
“You know,” Turmeric said in a low voice, “those parade chariots are flimsy. They don’t do hard landings.”
“Is that so?” Corduroy replied.
“I know from experience,” Turmeric said in return. “Canterlot is a windy city.”
“Then why have them?” asked Corduroy.
Turmeric shrugged, but had nothing to say.
As the pegasus team came in hard and fast, Sundance backed away from the airstrip, fearful of the outcome. The wind was not only coming in from the north, but also pushing downward—flight conditions he was all too familiar with when flying through urban canyons. These were the sort of landing conditions that could make one turn a fetlock or do a fantastic faceplant.
But these guards, these four ponies, were amazing. The two in the rear actually folded in their wings, while the two in the front went full steerage. Steering in flight wasn’t a matter of right or left, but also up and down. Just before impact with the runway, the two rear pegasus ponies unfurled their wings, but did not flap. The sudden drag slowed the chariot’s descent at the last minute, and there was a remarkably light touchdown.
It was a teamwork feat that Sundance had never seen.
A distressed unicorn mare stepped from the chariot and when she lifted her head, Sundance noticed her eyes. She had the same eyes as his grandmother, a shade of blue that could almost be called turquoise. The young mare could only be described as gawky, and he wondered if she was sick, because her pelt was patchy, with thin places that were almost bald.
“Baron Sundance—BLARGHARGHBLARGHARGLE!”
The poor mare spewed and Sundance feared that her twiggy, wobbly legs would give way beneath her. She was quick to recover though, wiped her mouth with her foreleg, and acted as though she hadn’t just tossed her cookies. Panting a bit, she took a moment to catch her breath, restore her senses, and with a grimace of plucky determination, she tried again.
“Baron Sundance, I am Paradox Sunflower, your new court wizard. I have a degree in Advanced Theoretical Explosioneering. You and I share a pedigree. I am ready to begin my duties.” She stepped over her own puddle of sick, wobbled a bit more, and offered up a weak, wan smile. “I’m having a Twilight Sparkle moment. A gifted, socially awkward unicorn, sent off to some provincial backwater to offer assistance and better the lives of the locals. Only this place is a whole lot more provincially and backwatery than Ponyville.”
“Socially awkward is certainly the start of an accurate diagnosis,” Corduroy deadpanned.
“What?” Paradox’s ears pricked.
“Oh, nothing,” Corduroy replied in a far more audible voice.
“Welcome to the Sunfire Barony.” Sundance bowed his head, but kept his eyes on his cousin. “I’m Sundance. I’m glad you decided to join us.”
“Oh, I didn’t have much of a choice.” Paradox paused for a moment, thoughtful, and her eyes seemed unfocused, distant. When she spoke, again, she shook her head while doing so. “The Lord Mayor of Canterlot declared me a menace to society and I was put on The List. In order to continue my studies so I can earn my doctorate, I needed a place far, far away from civilisation for reasons of safety. Canterlot frowned upon the frequency of my booms.”
At that moment, Sundance found himself looking up at Corduroy, only to discover that his nurse was looking down at him. She stood with her forearms folded over her girth, and the wind tugged at her stubby triangular ears. After clearing his throat, Sundance returned his attention to Paradox, but he was at a total loss for words. What could possibly be said at a moment like this one?
“Booms?” Turmeric sidled behind Corduroy’s leg.
“That’s my magical talent,” Paradox replied and her voice grew shrill. “I make things explode! KA-BOOM!”
One of the guards rolled his eyes, but the others remained as statues.
“Well, specifically, according to Sunburst, my talent is particle manipulation.” Paradox’s voice was now both shrill and nasal. “But when I slam particles together, stuff explodes. So it’s the same as having a talent for explosions, really. Truth in application.”
“Well, we should unload your stuff and allow your escorts to go before the storm hits.” Sundance, uncertain of how to feel, kept his emotions from showing and maintained a neutral expression.
“Princess Celestia sent some of my lab equipment already. I just have my trunk and Geiger Tiger is in his kitty carrier. I’m a proper wizard, you know, and I have a familiar and everything. Now I just need a tower to live in to satisfy the wizard checklist for successful career wizards. A tower is a must, you know. Dim Dark and Sunburst of the Crystal Empire authored a book together, and it includes a twenty page section that has a checklist for the successful career wizard.”
When did Paradox stop to breathe, Sundance wondered.
For now, Sundance decided it was best to avoid telling his cousin that he had no tower for her to stay in. The guards were antsy, clearly eager to take off as soon as possible, and Sundance hoped that they’d stay safe. It was time to introduce Paradox to the rest of the barony, and he hoped that she wouldn’t run away once she saw the living conditions. With her escorts gone, it would be a long walk back to Canterlot if she decided to leave.
“Paradox Sunflower… welcome home.”