Darrell Montcalm was not a drinking man. In his youth he had spent many a night with a bottle or glass in hand as he caroused with friends, strangers and occasionally, enemies. Those nights, and the mornings of misery afterward, were now a distant memory of a fondly remembered youth.
And yet, in front of him in his darkened office, as the clock crossed into what some called “the witching hour,” there sat a single, neat shot glass nearly full to the brim with a golden amber fluid. He picked up the glass and raised it to his nose, smelling the rich, sweet, smokey odour of the liqueur as he did so. Montcalm lowered the glass, looking over it toward the far wall; the shadowed portraits of Brightly’s former mayors looking down at him.
“Is this what it was like for any of you?” he asked the air. “Waiting to see what was going to go ‘bump’ in the night next? How many sleepless nights did any of you have, wondering if Leung’s gift had finally borne fruit? How many times did you think he was a crackpot, only to have some strange thing happen, and make you re-read his letter again?” Silence answered him.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Montcalm said, draining the shot of Yukon Jack in a single swallow, and relishing the nearly forgotten burn down his throat.
Montcalm considered the bottle for a moment, then slowly resealed it before replacing it in the padded spot in his drawer. He knew he was going to get in trouble from both his wife and his doctor, but a little bit every so often wasn’t going to kill him. Besides, life without the occasional indulgence isn’t life, it’s just living. He was about to ease himself out of his chair, when a knock sounded on his door.
“Come in,” Montcalm said, puzzled at who would come knocking this late at night.
“Hello, Mr. Mayor,” said Brian Cummins, impeccably groomed despite the hour.
“What in the bloody blue blazes are you doing here?” Montcalm asked, a frown knitting his brows.
“I’d like to talk to you about Seeker,” Cummins said, pausing for a beat, “and about Iron Hoof, Shield Maiden, Darter and Skylark.”
The last time Cummins had confronted Montcalm with a surprise revelation, the mayor had been taken completely by surprise and it had showed. This time however, Darrell Montcalm knew who and what he was up against, and his face might as well have been carved from the bones of Vvardenfell itself.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Mayor?” Cummins continued, attempting to provoke the older man into another outburst.
For his part, Montcalm said nothing. He didn’t move from his chair, didn’t shout, didn’t yell. He just sat there staring at the reporter with an expression that uncomfortably reminded Cummins of one of his schoolteachers when he’d done something wrong. The silence continued for long seconds, and the uneasy quiet was over a minute long before Montcalm finally spoke.
“Just what exactly is it that you think you know?” the mayor asked, in an even voice.
It was Cummins’ turn to be rocked back and taken by surprise. The last time he’d confronted Montcalm, the mayor had been a man clearly out of his element. This time though, the older man had the poise and ease of a long-term politician, and forcibly reminded himself that the biggest danger in an ambush interview was if the target knew you were coming.
“A-all five of them are young, probably minors,” Cummins said, after a moment’s hesitation. Montcalm said nothing, his icy eyes boring into the reporter.
“They were somehow instrumental in the Carmanah Dam Crisis,” he continued, finding his mental footing. “You’re going to have them recognized for their efforts at the ceremony on Sunday.”
“So far,” Montcalm replied, drawing out the sentence, “you’re close enough to be called correct. Go on.”
“They’ve invented something. Some new piece of gear, something that lets rescue personnel fly,” Cummins continued in a rush, emboldened. “You and the fire department are concealing the names of the kids, and what they’ve invented. I’m not sure why, maybe you folks are trying to make sure the patent application goes through for the kids. Either way, you plan on revealing the technology to the world on Sunday as part of the ceremony.”
“I know everyone involved in this,” Montcalm said, and Cummins’ nerves sung as the mayor’s words seemed to confirm his suppositions. “Not one of them talked to you, so I have to ask how you came by this information?”
“I, um, I have a radio scanner,” Cummins admitted, trying not to look embarrassed. “I was using it to listen to passing airliners and it picked up the radio transmissions from your fire department. It’s not my fault if you have out of date equipment.”
“We have the best equipment we can get for a community our size,” Montcalm said, inwardly seething but outwardly as still as a pond. “And you do know that’s a PIPEDA violation, right?”
Cummins blanched. PIPEDA was the federal government’s package of laws regarding the privacy of electronic communications. Violations at the corporate level could see fines as high as $100,000 per violation. Individuals could also see fines or even jail time depending on how egregious the breach was. For a reporter to knowingly violate those laws was dicey at best. It all depended on how newsworthy the story was.
“It was unintentional and I’ve revealed it to you before showing the information to others,” Cummins responded, thinking fast as his mind traced the labyrinthian laws to find the loophole he sought. “I think I, and the tax paying public, deserve to know what’s going on.”
“Tax-paying public?” Montcalm snorted, turning Cummins’ face to an angry mask. “Super rescue inventions? No. You’re wrong there. Completely and utterly wrong.”
“Then tell me,” Cummins demanded, leaning on Montcalm’s desk. “Prove to me you aren’t engaged in some kind of ripoff of public funds.”
“I don’t have to prove diddly to you,” Montcalm replied, getting out of his chair and leaning forward so that the two were bare inches from each other. “But I will tell you this. What’s going on here is something you would never, could never understand. You’ve lost your sense of wonder, your belief in the magic all around us.”
“Magic?” Cummins snorted in derision. “In all my years of reporting, the only magic I’ve seen is how the rich and powerful put the screws to the little guy every time. That’s the only magic in this world.”
“You poor, sad, little man,” Montcalm said, easing back down into his chair and now only feeling pity for the reporter. “What’s going on in Brightly is magic. The magic of the last legacy of a truly good man bearing fruit years after his passing. The magic of friends and community embracing that magic and making it their own. The true magic, the magic of the heart. But you wouldn’t know anything like that, would you?”
Cummins didn’t know how to react. He wanted to lash out at the older man. Accuse him of fraud, of lying, of trying to take advantage of his position like so many others Cummins had pulled the mask off of in the past. This time, the reporter could tell there was no mask. Montcalm was being completely serious with him and that candor had cut the conversational knees out from under Cummins.
“So now what?” Cummins asked, after a long pause. “You tell me to get out of town by sundown?”
“Frankly, I don’t give a damn what you do,” Montcalm spat, deciding that he would have that second drink after all. “Leave, stay, I don’t really care. But, if you publish anything that could get back to the kids involved, I will personally see to it that your personal and professional life goes down in flames. Now, it’s late. Get out of my office, and close the door on your way out.”
Cummins looked at Montcalm pouring out a shot of golden liquor into a shot glass and felt empty inside. He hadn’t just been incorrect, he’d been wrong again and the knowledge ate at him. He had always seen himself as one of the good guys, a crusader, a member of the Fifth Estate. Montcalm’s words had been the last pieces of a mirror that showed Cummins that somewhere along the way, he’d become as much an abuser of his power as any politician.
“I won’t put out anything without your approval,” Cummins said, and turned to go. “I’ll see you around I guess.”
“Get out,” Montcalm replied, finding calm in the amber depths of the shot glass. The reporter closed the door behind him as asked, and it was a long time before Montcalm ended his meditation and sought his own bed.
Addison walked through the Eternal Forest. His body was moving with the easy skill of one who had been born and raised in this place. He knew where to place each hoof, when to spread his leathery wings for just a little more distance as he jumped off a fallen log, or when to sidestep a particular pile of leaves. He paused for a moment by the stump of a long fallen giant of the forest to marvel at his body.
He was a little pony, dark blue in colour, with slate grey wings that resembled those of a bat coming out from his back about halfway along his body. He had a mane and tail of silver-shot black, and the small hooves at the bottom of his feet were black as well. It was a good body, swift and sleek, and the smile on his face grew wide as he saw the brand on his hip.
There, standing out proudly in black and white, was the emblem of his calling. The symbol of the life he had chosen for himself. The Canterbury cross’ rounded arms spread out from their central square to cover his hip on either side, and Addison breathed deeply in satisfaction at the rightness of it.
The air filling his lungs carried with them a scent, something familiar and comforting. A scent he knew and he cocked his head as he tried to place where he knew it from. There was a rustling from some bushes ahead, and a moment later another bat pony emerged from the undergrowth. Addison’s breath caught as he beheld the sheer presence and beauty of the mare just a few yards away.
Like him, her body was dark blue in colour, with similar wings to his own. The hard planes of his body were complimented by her smooth curves. Her mane was long, rich and full, with dark green highlights tinting her otherwise ebon hair. The mare’s golden, slit-pupiled eyes looked up at him from above a sly grin as she stepped toward him.
A moment later the two were nuzzling each other’s shoulders, and the taste of the mare was the last clue he needed to realize the identity of the pony who instantly felt so right against his side.
“Nat?” he asked, raising his head from the mare’s shoulder to look along her flank. Visible there was her own brand, her own mark of a life chosen. Lothlorien’s silver-veined leaf glowed with soft verdant fire to symbolize that this mare was one with the green. She knew the secrets of the wood, and it whispered it’s ancient rhythms to her ears.
“Hello, my stallion,” Natasha said, smiling. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a dream like this. Not that I’m complaining at having one now.”
“Is it really you, Nat?” Addison asked, in wonder. “I have to be dreaming, but this feels like more than just a dream.”
“Of course it’s more than a dream,” his wife said, as she nuzzled the spot where Addison’s neck met his body. “It’s… wait. Is this really you?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” the priest said, as he hugged his wife close. “I don’t know how, but somehow we seem to be sharing the same dream.”
“That’s impossible,” Natasha replied, returning the hug with equal fervor. “People don’t share dreams.”
“The possible and impossible have been a little more interchangeable as of late, mare of my life,” Addison said, extending a wing in demonstration.
“Point taken,” Natasha remarked, then stiffened as she saw something behind them. “Oh, of course.”
“What?” Addison said, turning around so he could see what his wife was looking at.
There, standing on a small knoll a short distance away amongst the trees was another pony, but it wasn’t a pony. Instead it was as if someone had taken the outline of a pony and filled it with a section of starscape that swirled and moved. Addison and Natasha immediately recognized it as the creature that they had given succor to in its last moments.
“You survived!” Natasha said, stepping forward with joy in her voice, only to be stopped by an upraised hoof.
“You didn’t survive?” Addison asked, stepping forward to stand beside his wife. The Night Horse shook its head sadly. “Well if you didn’t survive, are you a spirit then?”
The Night Horse said nothing, instead moving forward to place a cool appendage against first Addison and then Natasha’s breast.
“You’re inside of us?” Natasha asked, and her eyes widened as the Night Horse nodded in the affirmative. “What are you doing there?”
To the surprise of the husband and wife bat pony the Night Horse shrugged its shoulders. It was the last thing they expected.
“You don’t know what you’re doing inside of us? At all?” Addison asked, with a snort of surprised laughter. “Now I know you aren’t an evil being. The last thing corrupting forces are short on is a plan. So why are you here in this dream?”
The Night Horse extended its hoof in a gesture that went past the night pair and, as they turned they saw a swirling field of colour come into being behind them. Images formed in the void and they resolved into the familiar houses and streets of their hometown, only as seen from above.
“Is this why you’re here?” Natasha asked, daring to touch the smooth cool surface of the Night Horse. “You need to do something to Brightly.” The creature shook its head and the image took on the appearance of a rain swept night.
“I think it’s showing us the past,” Father Addison said, after a thoughtful pause. “This is the night we found it in the church.”
The creature nodded and as the couple watched they saw a golden glow appear in the small park area not too far behind the fire hall. A small image of the Night Horse emerged out of the ground from where the glow was. That light swiftly faded as the image of the sky spirit rose into the heavens.
“So that’s how you got here,” Natasha Adamschek said, trying to sense muscles, bone or anything from the creature beside her. “Where are you from? What are you?”
The void swirled again and blanked itself before showing two crowns, one of bright silver and the other of shining gold. The spirit pointed toward the silver crown as the two began to swirl around each other in an intricate dance.
“Rulers, two kings,” Addison posited, then noticed the Night Horse shaking its star filled head and pointing toward his wife. “Oh, two queens. Enemies?”
Another shake of the head.
“Allies? Friends?” Addison asked, and the spirit made a “go on” gesture with its hooves. “Family? Brothers? Sisters?” Finally, a nod of agreement.
“So, two sisters, who are rulers,” Natasha said, thinking out loud. “The silver crowned one sent you here. Why?”
The image before them swirled again, and as it did Addison idly noted that the birdsong in the trees had come to an end. Refocusing his attention on the impromptu screen, Addison saw the image of Miner’s Memorial Park again. This time though, as the tiny version of the Night Horse flew upwards, the bat ponies could see the creature’s golden power extending from it, into the gathered storm clouds.
The rain itself seemed to take on a yellowish tinge, that gilded the town and a wide swath of the lands around it. In particular there came to be five points of gleaming lights that were traveling towards Carmanah Lake.
“That must be the kids, the Power Ponies,” Addison said, thinking out loud. “The Night Horse spread its power around and they collected some of it. That must be why they can do some of those incredible things... Uh oh.”
Addison said the last as he looked up, and saw that the forest around them had been swallowed up by an encroaching fog. The Night Horse as well had grown pale and insubstantial, and the scene it had been showing faded to nothingness.
“You don’t have much time,” Natasha stated, concern in her yellow eyes. “What do you need us to do?”
The imagery changed one last time, shifting to show the park and zooming in on the concrete cap covering the old mine entrance. Golden power was flowing out of it still, but a slow ooze now. The flow was very pale as well, a mere fraction of the vibrant strength the Night Horse had given out, but it was there. More, husband and wife could both tell that flow was gradually increasing in rate and depth of colour.
“Something to do with the mine entrance,” Addison said, thinking quickly and his eyes grew wide as he was struck by a sudden realization. “It’s a well spring. It’s your well spring. You need us to open it up and get you there.”
Almost translucent now, the Night Horse had just enough time to grab both bat ponies in a hug. The creature faded into nothingness, and again there was felt the sensation of something flowing into them. Everything began to melt into the grey mist and the couple looked into each other’s eyes as the shared dream dissolved into wakefulness.
“Hey,” Addison said, looking into his wife’s open eyes.
“Hey,” Natasha replied, reaching up to touch her husband’s human face. “Did that actually happen?”
“You mean the Night Horse, and you being a cute little bat pony?” Addison said, noting his wife’s blush with pleasure. “I think it did.”
“I don’t think I can go back to sleep after that,” Natasha said, propping herself up on an elbow. “It’s only 3 AM, but we could make an early start to the day.”
“I don’t think I can sleep either,” Addison replied, sliding out from under the covers. “I’ll get the woodstove fired up while you start breakfast.”
“Sounds good, my stallion,” Natasha said, a wicked smile crossing her face as she managed to draw a blush from her husband. “Hey, is it just me, or do you have a craving for fruit too?
“Mango,” Addison confirmed, glad for the diversion from his blush.
The married couple got up to begin their day, and though it was still fully night, neither felt the need to turn on a light. The lack of ambient light didn’t affect either of them in the slightest as they moved smoothly around their home, housecoats flowing behind them. Which is probably why neither of them noticed the change that had happened to the skin on the outside of their hips.
“Let’s move people!” yelled Captain Barney “Blarney” Johnson. “I want to be wheels up in five minutes.”
The ground crew at Canadian Forces Base Comox was practiced, skilled and efficient. They also knew that the captain of the old Buffalo SAR aircraft was something of a shouter who knew full well how long it would take to finish fueling the plane and ready it for its flight north. Even if the plane was ready to go this instant, it would still take five minutes for the aircraft to taxi out to the runway and begin its takeoff roll down the runway that was long enough to take the Space Shuttle.
Two hundred meters away a Cormorant helicopter, resplendent in the oranges and reds of an SAR aircraft, lifted up and away from its own designated spot on the tarmac. The helo would race northward in advance of the Buffalo, but would still be passed by the faster fixed-wing aircraft. Standard procedure called for the Buffalo to reach the area first in order to do the searching, with the Cormorant following closely behind to do the rescuing part of SAR.
442 Squadron was the busiest squadron of its type in Canada, with an area of responsibility covering nearly three quarters of a million square miles. Their skill, experience and professionalism saved lives nearly every time they took to the skies. That professionalism did not however prevent some personality quirks from emerging when the public wasn’t around to watch, however.
“C’mon, C’mon,” urged Captain Johnson. “I don’t want that oversized blender to beat us there.” The ground and flight crew just smiled and rolled their eyes at each other while completing their final checks for takeoff. Another day, another bit of daring do.
Dawn came to a cold, shivering quartet, huddled together on a rock shelf overlooking a small marshy pond on a nameless mountain stream. It had not been an easy night for the big power lineman or the trio of small ponies with him, but the emergency blankets and the heat of four bodies under them had kept all involved out of hypothermia.
“I’m hungry,” Shield Maiden said, poking her nose out from under the left side of Tim’s big coat, her breath fogging the air in front of her. “Can we eat?”
“You kids should have something,” Tim said, handing out three of the remaining granola bars, and watching in amazement as hooves deftly stripped wrappers off the small calorie packed bars.
“Aren’t you having any Mr. Tim?” asked Iron Hoof, looking up with a bit of a guilty look on his face as he realized Tim wasn’t eating and that he had already inhaled most of the bar.
“I can hear your tummy rumbling,” Seeker said. She’d only left Tim’s lap once to answer nature’s call, since the Power Ponies had found the big man. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Mom says tho.”
“I’m a big guy,” Tim said, leaning down a bit to give Seeker a combined hug and rub over her fur. “I can miss a few meals without a problem. You guys are pretty little, so you can’t afford to lose weight. I’ve got some fat I should work off anyway. I will take one of those water bottles though.” Shield Maiden was about to argue when her radio crackled to life.
“442 Squadron Buffalo to Brightly VFD,” said a professional, male voice. “Be advised that we are in the area and are commencing search operations. Please advise as to the areas you would like us to concentrate on.”
Tim almost pulled Shield Maiden off the ground in his haste to grab the radio.
“Hey!” Tim shouted into the mic, as he hammered down the talk button. “Hey! I’m here! I’m over here.” The drone of a large prop plane could be heard.
“Hello, sir,” said the professional voice. “This is Captain Johnson. To whom am I speaking?”
“I’m Tim Kielops,” Tim said, trying to flex his legs from under Seeker, who grudgingly made her way off his lap. “I’ve been stuck out here all night. I couldn’t hear anyone before now.”
“We’re here now sir,” replied the captain. “Can you describe the area you’re in, or do you have some way of marking your position?”
“I’m by a pond near a stream,” Tim said, pausing as one of the ponies handed him one of their two remaining road flares. “I’ve got a road flare. Will that work to show you guys where I am?”
“That would be excellent, sir,” said the captain, maintaining a calm reassurance in his voice. “Go ahead and fire up that flare. We’ll be watching for it.”
“Okay,” Tim replied, a broad smile on his face as he ignited the device.
“Got it on the FLIR,” called out a crew member on the plane, a moment later. “Forty degrees left, about three kilometers out.”
“Okay sir,” Johnson transmitted. “We’ve got your location now. There’s a helicopter coming to get you out, but if you don’t mind we’d just like to hang around up here until that happens.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Tim replied, before turning to his three companions. “Looks like everything’s gonna be okay. Man, I can’t wait to tell the crew about you kids. You really saved my bacon.”
“You can’t,” Shield Maiden said, looking embarrassed. “At least not yet. We’re a secret.”
“Ohhh,” Tim said, ruffling Shield Maiden’s mane. “Well, I certainly don’t want to wreck the secret. Besides, I owe you. As far as anyone is concerned, I made it through the night with stuff I had in my pockets.”
“Thanks, Mr. Tim,” Seeker said, giving the big man’s good leg one last hug, as the big Buffalo plane roared overhead to drop a smoke marker on Tim’s location.
“You kids better get going before that helicopter gets here,” Tim said, sweeping the kids into one last hug of his own. “I’ll never forget you.”
A minute later, as his little equine rescuers disappeared back into the forest, Tim Kielops made a decision. He would take the offered transfer to join the staff at the Carmanah Dam. Brightly was a place of hidden magic and mystery, it turned out. Any place that had creatures as magical and as friendly as the Power Ponies was a place he wanted to be.