17. Truths in Time
Rarity’s view through the bank’s windows failed to do the day justice. The skies were bright, blue, and clear, with not a cloud above to block out the light and the warmth of the sun, and there was a cool, gentle breeze that was almost constant, the perfect weather for a festival. The songs of birds mingled with the cheers and eager exclamations of the ponies in the streets decorated with colorful streamers and the flowers of wild weeds. Stalls lining the road that led all the way through Horshire were already opened and selling food and trinkets and calling passing ponies over to play games. Large painted images of downtrodden settlers and wealthy traders hung all about town, from the walls of the buildings to the stands to random poles and stakes sticking out of the ground, depicting stories of a struggling settlement process and the establishment of successful trade respectively.
Some ponies stopped to gawk at them as Rarity and the rest of them walked by, but their number was far fewer than Rarity would have expected as most appeared to be more preoccupied with the festivities. Everywhere she looked, Rarity could find groups of ponies huddled around and chatting as they checked out the stalls or admired the decorations. Entire families were about, with elders telling stories as they pointed to the paintings to wide eye youngsters and bored adolescents while children dragging their parents to the stalls to demand gifts. Couples could be found blocking traffic as they leaned against each other and acted as if they were the only ponies in the world and those that were forced to go around them did not exist.
There were some wearing the white robes of Shim’s order, but most were in the typical Horshire attire, though the layer of dust on their vests and hats was notable thinner and many had on accessories like gold string bolo ties and colorful ribbons and beaded necklaces. Many of the mares had on bright dresses that in comparison to the drab outfits Rarity had normally seen them in could be considered fancy, and there were a few stallions in suit jackets and dress shirts walking the streets, with one particular stallion having a top hat.
As they continued their way to a raised platform in the center of town where a crude band consisting of jug flutist, a washboard guitarist, a drummer specializing in pots and pans, and a yodeler tried to entertain, Rarity noticed that there were also several ponies in hardened barding. Some had swords or clubs strapped to their sides while others leaned spears or improvised pole arms over their shoulders. Some stood at guard while others were on patrol, but regardless of what their assignment or equipment were, every single militia member looked miserable as they watched their carefree friends, neighbors, and relatives longingly.
Four of such ponies were waiting for them at the stage along with a small group of ladies and gentlecolts that were all in some of the more lavish attires of today. “Mother Shim,” boomed one bespectacled stallion in a blue waistcoat and matching jacket as he approached and bowed. Shim responded in kind. “Impeccable timing. We were just about to send somepony to go grab you. And here you are.” He had turned to Rarity with a massive grin splitting his face. “Our guest of honor, Princess Shmarity herself. Oh, this is indeed exciting. I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet sooner, but keeping the town without the mayor directing us has been a full time job.”
He let out a loud laugh that started from his belly. “Oh, where are my manners? Forgive me, Your Highness. My name is—“
“There will be time for introductions later, I’m sure,” an old mare in a flowery yellow bonnet cut in coolly. Her lips were pursed as she stared down at Shim and the musician and slowly turned her cold gaze to Rarity. “So, this is the princess, freed from the Squid Wizard’s hold by that Great Protector of yours?” Some of the others behind the old mare scoffed and snickered at this, but she herself made no such dismissive gestures. Instead, a look of confusion and uncertainty lit up her wrinkled features for barely a second, there and gone so quickly Rarity almost missed it, before the mare turned away. “Well, let’s get on with it then.”
“Ah, apologies, Ms. Blossoms—“
“That’s Councilor Blossoms.”
“Of course, my mistake, Councilor,” Shim corrected with a bow. “But we would like to make a few last minute changes.”
Shim stepped aside as the musician brought Burgo up to the front, revealing him before the group. All looks turn to shock as the well dressed ponies let out a collective gasp. The nearby guards, meanwhile, in the presence of the mayor, whispered amongst themselves and looked to each other for directions.
The elderly mare was the first to recover. “What’s going on here?” she demanded. “Where has he been all this time?”
“Since the mayor’s public breakdown, we’ve been taking care of him,” Shim explained calmly. “Treatment of the mind is a delicate procedure, and we could not afford any interference. But you needn’t worry,” she assured. “The mayor has returned to his senses and would even like open the festivities. That is, of course, if you’ll allow it.”
“But of course,” exclaimed the bespectacled stallion who had initially spoken. “I mean, that is, traditional, the mayor’s job after all.” He looked to the others around him, and they slowly began to nod and speak out in affirmation. “If the mayor is up to the task, the stage is his. Only...” The stallion‘s grin flickered. “I was, looking forward to hearing the princess speak today.”
“That was actually going to be our next request,” Shim said. She motioned to Rarity to step forward. “The princess and I have worked quite hard on her speech. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?” She waited for Rarity’s nod before turning back to the group and continuing. “It would be a shame to let all that effort go to waste, and we were hoping that you would permit them both to say a few words before the festival begins in full.”
“Oh, well, that’s—“
“Irregular,” the old mare said, interrupting the eager stallion once more. “We wouldn’t want to hold up the entire festival by extending the opening ceremony.”
“Perhaps, if they were to keep their speeches short,” presented one of the group’s members, a stallion whose large farm hat that was decorated with a silver star that clashed with the rest of his outfit. The others muttered a variety of reactions to the suggestion and either nodded or shook their heads.
“Excuse us for one quick moment,” said another, a mare with red ribbons in her mane, tail, and dress. The group then walked some distance away, keeping the contents of their discussion hidden; all Rarity could hear of it were the sounds of their voices carried by the wind.
Before he had left, the stallion with the glasses and blue waistcoat gave them an apologetic smile. The musician rolled her eyes at his retreating figure. “I hate dealing with those geezers.”
“Well, it should become easier if we can keep the mayor under our control.” Shim sighed. “Her speech takes priority,” she said, pointing toward Rarity, “so make sure whatever you’re planning the mayor to say is short.”
“Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the wordy one here,” the musician said with a chuckle as she pulled Burgo to the side.
With those two gone, Shim turned to Rarity. “If we do have to cut down our speech, cut out some of the details from the middle. As long as you thank the townsfolk for their hospitality and the Great Protector for everything else and keep in the parts about needing to further our message throughout Spiketopia, we should be fine.”
“Very well,” Rarity answered with a nod. “I believe I can manage that.”
“Yes, well, we shall see.” Shim frowned. “Actually, hm. We should just go over the speech and point out all of the less necessary parts, just to make sure everything is clear.”
“I don’t think there’ll be time.” Rarity pointed Shim to the returning dressed up ponies. The musician noticed their approach as well and brought the mayor back right before they arrived.
“We’ve come to a decision,” the old mare on the bonnet declared. “We are willing to extend the opening ceremony by a few minutes but only just those few. If you can fit the, ahem, princess in that time, we will allow her to speak.”
“That is acceptable.” Shim made a show of a bow. “Thank you, Councilor.”
The mare sniffed as she continued to stare with cold, skeptical eyes. She turned to Burgo. “We have much to discuss, Mr. Mayor. I trust you can spare some time after the opener before you run off to enjoy the festival?”
“Ooh.” The musician winced. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
Shim shot a glare at the musician as she lifted up a hoof toward the old mare whose eyes were rapidly narrowing at the musician’s flippant statement. “Apologies, but the mayor is just here to make an appearance. He is still recovering after all and needs his rest. I’m afraid whatever it is you wish to talk about will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Is that right?” the mare asked as her frown deepened into a scowl.
Shim responded with a small, disarming smile, but there was a challenge to be found in her steely stare. “Yes, that it is.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” the stallion in the glasses suddenly said, breaking the silence that had grown between the two mares. “A pity for sure, but what can you do, eh?” He chuckled nervously, and some of the others echoed him. “We’ll have to catch up tomorrow then, but for now—“ The stallion reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a brass pocket watch. “—we should probably get started. Come on, let’s get going.”
The rest of the group voiced their agreements and motioned them along. Rarity, Burgo, Shim, and the musician were quickly moved up to the back to the stage as the well dressed group dispersed, with many leaving to join the crowds. Only three from the group stayed: the bespectacled stallion, the old mare in the yellow bonnet, and another stallion, this one wearing a gray suit with a fake flower in his front pocket and his mustache waxed and properly curled. They signaled to the band, and once the performers had finished their piece, taken a bow, and left the stage to a few isolated smatterings of applause, they brought Burgo up onto the stage and to the front where an old fashioned megaphone was waiting.
From the steps leading up to the raised platform, Rarity watched Burgo clear his throat and lean forward. “Hello? Can everypony hear me?” he called out. The funnel amplified his voice, spreading it throughout the entire town, and soon, even from her vantage, Rarity could tell that everypony had gathered at the base of the stage, their mutterings in such great volume that their surprise could heard even from back there. “Can everypony hear me? Yes? Good, good.”
Burgo Masters looked back at the musician, and at her nod he turned back to the crowd. “Ahem, yes. Good day, Horshire. I guess it’s been a while since you all last saw me. Well first off, I just want everypony to know that I’m doing fine. Second, thank you everypony for showing up today. I know we weren’t exactly sure whether we’d be having a Provenance Festival this year, what with everything going on, but here we are.”
A cheer broke out from the crowd that slowly swelled until it became deafening, and Burgo waited for the hurrahs to subside before he continued. “Now before we begin, I would like to say a few words. First, I’d like to again thank everypony here today, for without you, there wouldn’t be a Provenance Festival and there wouldn’t be a Horshire.”
There was another cheer.
“Second,” Burgo said even as the cheering was still dying down, “I need to apologize for my outburst from before. I understand that because of the horrible, baseless accusations I made at Mother Shim, I have caused some of you to lose faith in the Great Protector. All I can do is ask for your and the Great Protector’s forgiveness.”
As Burgo lowered his head to the floorboards of the stage, the crowd started to whisper. The old mare in the yellow bonnet turned to where Rarity, Shim, and the musician stood waiting.
Burgo raised his head. “Finally, I need to thank Mother Shim and all of you faithful to her teachings for helping me come back to my senses. But above all, I must thank the Great Protector for bringing me back to the light.” He tilted his head up to face the perfect blue skies above and held up his hooves toward the sun. “For by liberating Princess Shmarity and bringing her here to our humble town, I have been shown the Great Protector’s wondrous power and have seen how far their mercy extends.”
The crowd was stirring. Suddenly, Rarity lost her footing and would have stumbled off the stairs had the musician not been there to catch her. Thanking her, Rarity steadied and braced herself, but the tremors had already stopped. She turned to the musician and Shim and saw that neither had much of a reaction. Shim even had a hoof raised and didn’t seem bothered despite only having an uneven number of legs to stand on. Rarity wondered, had it just been her who felt the ground shake?
“Now I’m going to turn the time over to Her Highness and let her say a few words of her own, but before I do, I have one last thing to say,” Burgo announced with his gaze lowering back down to his audience. “A request to all of you gathered here today. Accept the Great Protector as your great protector. Come join us in the truth, and help us spread the good news so that all of Spiketopia may live freely. Donations are always welcomed, and there will be a collections box available today in front of our temple. Thank you and enjoy the festival.”
And with a bow, Burgo left the stage. The applause that followed him sounded uneven and uncoordinated, as if starting in different parts of the crowd at different times. He spared only a couple of words to the three dressed up ponies before making his way to Rarity, Shim, and the musician.
“How was that?” Burgo asked, grinning eagerly as he looked to the musician. “I kept it short just like you said.”
“Eh, not bad, considering,” the musician answered with a smirk. She motioned him out of Rarity’s way just as the mare in the bonnet walked up.
“You’re up. Princess.”
Rarity wondered if the pause before the title had been deliberate, and though the mare was clearly addressing her, her glare was directed at Shim. “Do try to keep it short,” the mare said before turning to Burgo’s retreating figure. “Surely you can at least stick around for the princess’s speech, Mr. Mayor. Perhaps we can discuss a few things in that time.”
“I’m very sorry, Councilor Blossom, but—“
“I was talking to the mayor,” Blossom Interrupted with a stern look that Shim matched with one of her own.
“I have told you already, the mayor needs his rest.”
“He looks healthy enough to me. A little thinner, perhaps, but that can be fixed with a nice brunch over which we can go a couple of thing.” The old mare turned to Burgo. “He is a grown stallion. I believe he can make his own decisions.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t want to waste his time with you right now,” snapped the musician. She turned to Burgo as well. “Isn’t that right? You’d rather go rest now, wouldn’t you?”
“I—“
“Ahem.”
All turned around to find the stallion in the glasses tugging at the collar of his waistcoat. “I, uh, hate to interrupt, but if Your Highness could get started,” he said with a nod in Rarity’s direction, “that would be great.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the megaphone and the gathered ponies behind it and grimaced. “The crowd’s getting restless just waiting around and all, and I don’t think we can keep everypony’s attention for much longer.”
“Ah. Yes, of course.” Rarity brushed past both Shim and the councilor as she stepped up onto the stage. “My apologies, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
“Wait.”
Now all eyes were on Shim. “Yes, Mother Shim?” Rarity prompted with a tilt of her head and a smile.
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Shim waved Rarity away. “Go ahead. Just, go.”
Rarity nodded and continued on as Shim, the musician, and the old mare continued to bicker, their arguments following after her until she had reached the stage’s center and could no longer hear them. They were replaced instead by the combined mutterings of the crowd below, and as she approached the edge of the platform where the megaphone was waiting for her, she stepped into view, and the sea of ponies before her, from foals not yet old enough to walk on their own to mares and stallions whose names have long since gone grey, became silent.
Rarity took a breath to steady herself and to slow the rush of blood as her heart pumped furiously. Such nervousness was unbecoming of mare who lived and thrived in the public spotlight such as herself. This was no different than a fashion display, she told herself, no different than performing in a play or as part of a singing troupe.
She leaned forward. The crowd, as a single unit, held its breath.
“What was just said to you has been a lie. There is no Great Protector. The mayor is currently under the influence of magic and was forced by Shim to say such things.”
Rarity looked down at the crowd. The initial lack of reaction was discouraging, but slowly those faces turned to looks of confusion and concern. The eyes of some narrowed while those of others widened, and many turned to their neighbors and resumed their whisperings.
Rarity took this as a cue to continue. “Those of you who have seen me and have heard me speak in Shim’s support,” she declared, placing a hoof over her chest, “know that I too was put under their spell and used against my will to further Shim’s interests. She has been deceiving you, taking advantage of your fears, stealing—“
The megaphone flew to the side as Rarity was tackled off the stage and into the dirt below. Ponies ran, their screams filling the air as she felt the ground tremble beneath their panicked hooves. Blows rained down upon her, and she pulled her forelegs over her head to protect it. Her back legs kicked out, hitting nothing but air as she shrugged and wiggled to escape from beneath her assailant. Rarity could feel their hot breath against her, and she listened as it grew more haggard with each blow.
The assault slowed, the strikes reducing in number and in forced. Rarity’s eyes flew open, and she pushed back at the with all of her strength. The musician snarling over her remained unmoved, but her hoof had hook around something in the attempt. Rarity swung desperately, and the musician yelped and jumped back as her own lyre raked across her face.
Rarity hurried onto her hooves and made a mad dash down the road, toward the scattering, panicking crowd. She ignored the screams behind her and the demands for her to stop, not even pausing to brush off the dust from her clothes. If she could just reach the crowd, she would be able to hide herself in chaos. After that, well, Rarity had to admit she hadn’t consider her plan much further than this point, but she figured it would only be a matter of time before Shim’s grip on the town crumbled and she and her sister were dealt with accordingly.
The cries behind her were growing louder. There was a thunderous storm of hooves that was getting closer. Rarity took a quick peek over her shoulder, and at the sight of Shim, the musician, and several armed guards coming after her, she forced herself faster.
”Halt!”
Suddenly, her mind went blank. Rarity’s hooves dug into the dirt as they forced her to a stop at Shim’s command, and by the time her thoughts had returned, she had no time to wonder about what had just occurred. She was surrounded, with two militia ponies in front of her and one at each of her sides. She turned around only to see Shim, the musician, and Burgo Masters quickly approaching from behind.
“You, you’re going to pay for that,” growled the musician, her beautiful face now twisted by rage into something unrecognizable. She yanked her dagger out from her vest and took a step toward Rarity as Rarity took a step back.
Shim stopped the musician with a raised hoof. Her lips were pressed so tightly in anger that the rest of her face broke out in wrinkles, and the look in her eyes far exceeded any frustration or impatience that Rarity had seen in them before. Still, it was better than the downright murderous glare the musician was giving, and at least she still looked like she could be reasoned with.
“I—“
“Spare us your excuses,” Shim said, her voice low and dangerous. She turned to the guards. “Capture her.”
Rarity’s body stiffened, readying to be grabbed. The armed ponies around her, however, hesitated. None of them approached any closer, and they instead looked to each other, as if daring to see who would be the first to obey.
“Well, what are you doing?” Rarity’s ears flattened at the musician’s shrill scream. The musician turned to Burgo. “Hurry up and get her!”
“Er, right.” Burgo motioned to the guards, and with a shrug to one another, they slowly circled around her and drew in.
“Easy, miss,” one said while another slowly took out a club. “Just take it easy, and nopony will get hurt.”
Rarity tore through the borrowed robes and pulled out one of her daggers, the more standard one Huntress had given her. The approaching ponies stopped and yelled out, telling her to put the weapon down. Some backed away and held up their hooves, dropping their own weapons, when she turned to face them.
When Rarity’s gaze turned to Shim, the mare scowled, and she let out a tired sigh. “You’re no better than he was,” she said with a quick glance at the mayor. “Struggling so stubbornly even though you know you’ve lost.” She shook her head. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself.”
Shim took a step closer. Rarity held up her blade, and everypony flinched. She looked to Burgo. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Shim. This is your loss.”
Rarity drove the blade through the strings of the lyre. Each string made a sharp twang as it was cut, and when the last one had been sliced through, the ruined instrument was tossed down to the ground. The moment that followed was silent, with nopony making a move or even daring to breathe.
Then, for the second time today, Rarity was tackled to the ground. This body was heavier than the first, and the fact that they weren’t trying to hit her barely outweighed their odor or the feeling of their sweat soaking into her own coat. “Let go of me, you brute,” she cried as she tried to break free, but the body held her down.
“Get her up,” Rarity heard the musician demand, and a moment later she was back on her feet. Her captor had wrapped a leg firmly around the front of her neck, keeping her in place, and she squirmed in their hold as she felt their warm breath so closely against her nape.
The musician approached her, giving Rarity little time to wallow in her discomfort as the mare commanded her attention. The small relief she had from seeing the musician sheath her dagger quickly faded when Rarity saw that the dark glint in the mare’s eyes had not. With each step she drew closer, and with each step Rarity’s heart beat faster. The musician stopped at the curved mess of broken string that had once been her lyre. She bent down and picked it up out of the dirt.
“I’m not sure why you did that, it’s not like that would’ve broken the charm, but you owe me a new lyre.”
The broken instrument was dropped as the musician swung her hoof. The sudden blow forced her head to turn, and she gasped out from the stinging pain. She stumbled back, forcing the pony holding her to back away along with her. “Hold her still,” the musician growled as she stepped forward to swing again.
This time, Rarity saw the hoof rise and come toward her. She ducked her head as far as it could go and winced as she prepared herself for the impact. There was the loud sound of a hoof striking against a face and a pained yelp, but neither came from Rarity. The grasp around her was released, and she fell to the ground.
“Darn it all, I told you to hold her still! Can’t you do anything right?” Rarity looked up to see the musician screaming over her at Burgo. The stallion was holding his cheek and cowering as the musician continued to shout.
Shim placed a hoof on her sister’s shoulder. “Calm down. Right now, if we want any chance of getting through this, we need to come up with a plan. Get them back to the temple, and we’ll sort something out there.”
“Just, argh!” The musician jerked away from Shim’s touch. “Fine. I get it. You,” she said, pointing at Burgo. “You heard Shim. Get her and yourself down to the temple and make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. We’ll deal with the two of you there. Well what are you waiting for? Hurry up!”
Slowly, Burgo lowered his hoof and blinked. His brow furrowed as if in concentration, and his eyes started narrowing. “No.”
The musician stopped and turned back to the mayor. “What did you say?”
“Guards, by order of the mayor, arrest these two at once,” Burgo commanded, putting on an authoritative glare as he pointed at Shim and the musician, and before either of the two could react, they found themselves underneath a pile of ponies in heavy barding.
“Here.” Burgo extended a hoof to Rarity and helped her up. “That was some quick thinking on your end. That was a sure surprise. Didn’t think I’d end up getting charmed.”
“How are you feeling?” Rarity asked.
“S’all right. Could use something to eat.” He chuckled to himself and winced as he brought a hoof to his bruised cheek.
A yell from behind got their attention, and Rarity and Burgo turned around to see the old mare in the yellow bonnet hurrying toward them at a pace that should not have been possible on those old limbs of hers. An escort of guards followed her closely, and behind them, Rarity could just make out the blue of the bespectacled stallion’s vest as he struggled to catch up.
“Mr. Mayor,” the mare greeted the moment she arrived. She coughed and held up a hoof, waving away any offered assistance as she caught her breath. “Mr. Mayor, are you—“ She paused and looked down at the pony pile to her side. Muffled swears and curses could be heard coming from the very bottom. She turned to Rarity, then to Burgo with a raised eyebrow.
“Shim and her sister,” Burgo said with a gesture to the hill of equine bodies, as if that was enough of an explanation. “I’m having them arrested for, uh, magically tampering with the brain of the mayor, and, and trying to take over the town, without a permit. Yeah, that sounds legal. Er, I can do that, right? Making arrests?”
The mare continued to regard Burgo with a quizzical look for a few additional moments. “So she was telling the truth then,” she eventually said, turning to Rarity. “Shim had you under a spell.”
“Yep.”
“And you are?”
“No longer under the spell,” Burgo announced cheerfully. He started to grin only to wince and grab his bruised cheek. “Oh, and assaulting the mayor. That definitely can’t be allowed.”
“Hm.” The mare motioned her guards over. “Take them to the cells in the barracks, and make sure they’re properly gagged and bound. They are to be under the watch of no less than four of you, understand? If they are indeed magic users, I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Yes, ma’am!” exclaimed the guards, and they quickly rushed over to the pile of their colleagues and begun helping them up.
“This isn’t over!” the musician screeched as the militia ponies lifted her up and bound her legs. “You haven’t heard the last of the Shim and Sham sisters! Mark my words, you’ll—“
That’s as far as she got before the guards slipped a strip of cloth over her snout. They were just about to march her and Shim away when the blue vested stallion in the glasses finally arrived, and right behind him was a large menagerie of townsfolk, from militia members to the well dressed ponies of group he and the old mare had been a part of to the worried white robed followers of Shim to the everyday ordinary citizens in plains clothes whose curiosity had outweighed their panic.
“What’s, going on, here?” the stallion gasped, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “Wait, where are you taking Mother Shim? Why is she, are those shackles? What in blazes is happening?”
He and a few of the ponies in robes took a couple of steps toward Shim and the guards pulling her along, but the old mare stood between them and they, stopping them from getting any closer. “It appears that your faith was misplaced,” she said with a frown and a disdainful glance in the direction of the two charlatans.
“I-I don’t understand. What do you mean?” the stallion said as the ponies around him whispered amongst themselves, with the ones in robes being the most vocal as many stepped forward and, like the bespectacled stallion, demanded answers.
When the old mare turned back to Shim’s victims who had gathered around her, Rarity noted that she regarded them with a look of scornful pity. Her eyes were narrowed, and the ends of her lips were dragged down into a scowl. “You were tricked. Their religion was nothing more than a fraud. It’s just as this young lady said.” She nodded toward Rarity.
At this the crowd exploded. Many of those in white robes shouted at the elderly mare, demanding that she take her words back while others turned to their fellow worshipers nervously. The ponies of the more traditional clothes continued their mutterings but kept them exclusively to those of similar garbs and looked to their robed neighbors with shaking heads. The few dressed up mares and stallions joined the old mare in yellow and the stuttering stallion in blue.
“This, I-I don’t, then—“ He turned to Burgo. “Is it true? Were you, really under a spell?”
Burgo rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I was. All those things I said earlier, they forced me to say them. Sorry to have to break it to you like this.”
“But, the healing, it can’t be. They couldn’t have, and, I gave them so much.” The stallion swayed, and his glasses slipped off and fell into the dirt just as he fell against the shoulder of the mare next to him.
“Get him some water and lay him down in the shade until he gets a hold of himself,” the bonneted old mare instructed, and as the stallion was hobbled away, she turned to Burgo. “And you, Mr. Mayor, how are you feeling?”
“Well, like I said, hungry. I could go for a baked potato or some fried potato sticks.” He looked over at the deserted stalls and frowned. “I suppose I can wait.”
The mare in the yellow hat followed his gaze. “I hardly think anypony is in the mood for a festival,” she chided disapprovingly as the nearby members of her dressed up committee nodded and spoke out to agree. To emphasize her pointed statement, the mare waved Burgo to the street behind her where the once festive ponies slowly regathered.
Decorations that had been knocked down in the chaos now littered the road, with colorful streamers being trampled into the dirt and mud. The songs of merriments had been replaced with the crying of foals, and many of the townsfolk looked confused as they made their way into the growing crowd, whispering as they searched for answers. The number of armed guards had increased as more and more arrived at the scene. Several of the newcomers and the younger militia ponies reaching for their weapons out of both nervousness and excitement, which in turn only contributed to the swelling anxiety.
And then there were Shim’s followers, wandering the streets aimless in their robes of white, like lost lambs that had gotten away from the safety of their pens. Their faces had fallen into expressions of confusion and disbelief, of rage, and of despair as the news spread through the whispers, with a few swooning just as the stallion in the glasses had. Some had gathered a short distance away from the mayor and Rarity but got no closer as she noticed their looks of anger and desperate hopefulness.
Burgo winced as he turned away. “I, uh, guess nopony’s really in the mood for a festival, huh?” His weak chuckle died under the old mare’s stern gaze. “You think we should cancel?”
The old mare sighed heavily. “Yes, I believe that would be the best course of action right now.”
“I can’t agree.”
Everypony turned to Rarity. “Excuse me?” said the old mare, her eyes narrowing.
“Oh no, excuse me,” Rarity responded quickly with the most disarming smile she could muster. “I apologize if I spoke out of turn. It’s just, and I have to first say that I’m no expert at these sort of events, but setting all this up must have taken much of your time, and it would just be a pity to let your efforts all go to waste.”
The ponies before her followed her hoof to the stalls and the posters. “It did take us all day getting everything ready,” one stallion muttered loudly enough for those around him to hear and nod.
“Would be a shame to not try one of those fried potatoes after scrounging up all that oil,” said another.
“And this festival, it’s called the Provenance Festival, correct?” Rarity continued. She waited for them to nod in confirmation. “And I understand that it marks the founding of Horshire. Surely you wouldn’t cancel the celebration of something that significant over the ousting of a couple of interlopers.”
Ponies in dusty work vest and farm hats and plain frocks now joined those in suits and colorful dresses, and even a few in Shim’s white robes were gathering around to hear Rarity speak. “Your mayor is back, and the town is yours once more. Why, if anything, you have all the more reason to celebrate.”
Many more were nodding along to the points Rarity presented and spoke out in support of her case. The old mare in the flowery yellow bonnet was, however, not among that growing number. Even as phrases like, “She’s right” and “That’s not a bad idea” were being tossed around by her own colleagues and fellow committee members, the old mare continued to stare at Rarity with a frown and a look of suspicion on her face.
“Do you really believe our town is in any position to celebrate?” she finally said, silencing those around her. “After everything we’ve been through just today, you really think we should be partying?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Rarity. “After all, it is still the town’s anniversary. The town is still here. You all are still here, even after everything. Truly that’s worth celebrating, is it not?”
The old mare blinked, and for the briefest of moments, Rarity thought she saw the mare’s lips twitch into a smile. “Mr. Mayor?” she asked, looking to Burgo. “Your thoughts on the matter?”
“Huh? Me? I mean, yeah, of course,” Burgo exclaimed. He rubbed at his face, stroking at a beard that was no longer there. “I mean, I think she’s right. The Provenance Festival is all about Horshire, and, well.” He motioned to the dirt road, to the buildings lining the road, and to all of the ponies that had gathered before them. The crowds that had populated the street earlier were slowly returning, with more and more ponies coming back now that the dust was good and settled. “This, is Horshire, and, uh, geez, you know I wasn’t elected for my public speaking.”
Giggles spread through the crowd as the mayor gave out a rueful smile. “But come on, you get what I’m getting at, right?”
The old mare was silent for just a couple seconds longer before she broke out in a sigh. She turned to her well dressed fellows beside her. “How long will it take to fix everything?”
The ponies looked around for a bit, tilting their heads and tapping their chins as they whispered to one another. “No more than an hour,” declared the mare in the red ribbons acting as the spokespony. “Maybe even in half that time.”
The entire crowd turned to Burgo, but it took the old mare clearing her throat for him to realize what was happening and react. “Ah, yes. Then as mayor of Horshire, I declare the commencement of this year’s Provenance Festival! Er, as soon as everything is cleaned up.”
The beginnings of a thunderous cheer was cut off by a wail, and everypony turned to the source. It was the mare with the braided red mane and tail, Sister Patsy, still in her robes along with half a dozen or so of her fellow worshipers looking as miserable as she did.
“Don’t any of you see?” she cried out. “If there’s no Great Protector, then there’s nothing keeping us from suffering the same fate as the capital or Bakersfield! We’re all doom! What’s the point of celebrating Horshire when we are all going to be destroyed?”
A sobering mood fell upon the crowd like a storm cloud rolling over a once perfect day. “But nothing’s happened yet,” one pony exclaimed. “Maybe, maybe nothing will ever happen.”
“Yeah! Horshire’s doing fine!” shouted another. “What makes you think anything will happen to us?”
“Don’t you remember those visitors from a week ago?” Patsy asked. “Didn’t you hear where they were escaping from? The east, from Trotlen! That great evil and its forces are on the move again, destroying towns and cities, and there’s nothing to stop it from destroying the rest of us!”
“We can take them,” said a guard, a young one by the immaturity of his voice. A few of his fellows that were just as experienced voiced their support, but there was a much greater amount of grim, scolding laughter in response to the assertion.
“They took out the entire royal guard and all of their knights, with all of their real training and real weapons. Twice. What are we supposed to do against that?”
“Well what about those heroes everypony keeps talking about?” somepony asked. “Surely they’ll—“
“They’re just rumors. And even if they were real, what can a bunch of adventurers do that an army can’t?”
Cheers turned to bickering as the crowd split and argued. Burgo Masters’s attempts to restore order and garner attention fell flat as the townsfolk ignored his pleads and the waving of his forelegs. He looked to the old mare and the rest for help, but they were already busy trying to calm those nearby and, from the fearful expression on some of their faces, themselves. The few that could spare a glance at Burgo could only offer worried looks before turning their attention back to the panicking ponies around them.
The mayor let his legs lower and his shoulders sag. He opened his mouth for one last petition, one final, desperate attempt keep his town from collapsing.
“That’s enough!”
Burgo blinked. That didn’t sound like his voice, not at all. It was too high in pitch, too light in tone. Too feminine. Too confident. He and much of the crowd turned to Rarity as she made her way through the masses, shutting up the individual squabbles with a light touch and and a hard glare.
“Listen to yourselves,” she shouted, turning to all around her. “You’re acting as if the world has already ended, as if losing your homes and your families and friends to the whims of that magical squid is inevitable.”
A gasp rose from the crowd.
“Well it’s not over! There are still those out there fighting to protect you. And not some made up all powerful deity demanding your offerings but real creatures you can see and meet. Heroes who’ve risked everything for ponies like you.” Rarity pointed to a random pony in the audience. “And you.” She moved her hoof toward another. “And.” Her eyes and her hoof managed to find Patsy, the mare with the red braids, standing with her fellows in white robes. “And you.”
Nopony spoke for several seconds. Then, Patsy swallowed and stepped toward her. Ponies quickly moved out of the way. “How do you know?” the mare demanded.
“Because,” Rarity began, then paused. She took a deep breath. “Because I am Princess Shmarity Glory Sparkler de Tabitha.” The image of a powerfully built stallion with a mane and beard that resembled that of a lion next to a beautiful mare who’s curls match Rarity’s when they were done properly suddenly flashed through her mind. “Daughter of King Sovereign Regalia the Fourth and Queen—“ Rarity fought back a cringe. “.—Opalescence, sole heir to the throne of Spiketopia, descendant of the great hero Herro, born under the star of the winter phoenix...”
A list of descriptions and titles rolled off her tongue like the torrent off a waterfall. Words that held no meaning to Rarity rapidly left her lips, and yet she somehow understood every single one she spoke. The authority in her voice that had captivated the entire crowd surprised even her, and it wasn’t until her breath was spent and her chest rose and fell heavily as her lungs struggled to compensate that she finally stopped. The crowd watched her with wide, anticipating eyes, waiting with their own breaths bated for Rarity to continue.
“I am living proof that the Squid Wizard isn’t invincible,” she exclaimed. Another image flashed by, this one of the ruins of a once great city. Rarity suppressed a shudder. “They are powerful, yes, but they can most definitely still be beaten. Those heroes you’ve heard about are real, and thanks to their efforts, I am here before you today, ready and willing to fight against the Squid Wizard’s tyranny and take back this land.” Her gaze swept across the crowd. “I won’t ask you to come and fight for me, but as long as you have your families and your friends, I ask that you have hope.”
Rarity caught her breath as she lowered her hoof and slowly got down from the stall she had climbed on, all while fighting to keep her blush at bay. There was a reason why they usually left the grandiose motivational speeches to Twilight Sparkle. Rarity, lacking Twilight’s talent for this sort of thing, couldn’t help but feel that her attempts to raise the ponies of Horshire’s spirit were more than a little cheesy. As Rarity looked to gauge the crowd’s reaction, she could only hope that her audience was more receptive to her words than she was.
Slowly, ponies started to move again as they turned to their neighbors and waited for somepony else to act first. Nopony said a word. Not a whisper or utterance was made, and most that Rarity could see still looked in utter shock.
The sullen old mare was the one to take the first step forward. As she did so, she undid the yellow bonnet and removed it from her head, revealing an almost entirely gray mane tied back in a tidy bun and an unicorn’s horn. Her gaze met Rarity’s, with those sharp brown eyes still filled with suspicion and caution as they tried to pierce through Rarity’s own blues. However, Rarity saw that distrust faded, and the mare’s expression softened for the first time since she and Rarity had met.
It was now Rarity’s turn to be caught off guard as the old mare suddenly lowered herself into a bow. Not a nod or some kind of polite gesture, but a true bow of deference, with her head down and legs bent at the knee.
“Your Highness,” she said. There was none of her previous hesitation this time when she addressed Rarity. “I welcome you to Horshire.”
Starting from those nearest to the old mare, ponies followed suit until the street before Rarity was full of ponies bowing toward her. At the overwhelming sight of an entire town lowering itself before her, Rarity’s mouth ran dry. So distracted was she and busy were her processing faculties that she hardly had any attention to spare for Burgo’s stream of questions.
“Wait, what’s going on? What’s everypony doing? Why are you all bowing?”
“Mr. Mayor,” the old mare said with a sigh, “please stop embarrassing your town before the princess.”
Burgo blinked slowly as he turned to face Rarity, who, having recovered from her shock, was busy trying to help ponies up and assure them that such displays were unnecessary. “Wait, then, you’re actually—“ He gulped. Color drained from his face, and he stumbled back a few steps before fainting away.