//------------------------------// // 3 - Lake Michaygan // Story: Catch Us If You Can // by Miller Minus //------------------------------// For nine whole days, Sombra amused himself by never speaking to Clyde. He communicated in grunts and knocks. He made no exceptions. He accepted his meals wordlessly, knocked on the wagon to see if the coast was clear whenever he wanted to get out and stretch his legs, and even pretended to be asleep when Clyde inevitably invited him to the nightly campfire. Sometimes he didn't need to pretend. But either way, it had to be done. It was important to Sombra that he spread misery to everypony he met, and that included his staff. And if he couldn’t depress such a simple pony as Clyde, what hope did he have when he was king again? And so, as they journeyed over snowy hills, down green valleys, through pine forests thick with the hooting of owls, and along the stream towards Neighagra falls, Sombra studied Clyde’s face, posture, and the frequency of his sighs, to see if he was having a negative effect, and it was clear that he wasn't. Clyde whistled his cares away from sun-up to sun-down, never once repeating a tune he’d already whistled. On the tenth day of Sombra’s vow of silence, Clyde broke him. “Uh… Mr. Sombra? Sir? You might want to come out and see this.” Sombra reached his hoof between tarp and wagon and pulled himself up with a groan. Clyde wasn’t in his hitch. Sombra poked his head out into the air, and Clyde jumped out from beside him, pressed their cheeks together and— “Say ‘Crystals’!” There was a bright flash of light, and a click-whirr of machinery. “Gah!” Sombra pushed Clyde’s bristly face away and blinked rapidly. A bright, infernal rectangle was stuck in his vision. It wouldn’t go away. “What is this? What have you done!” “Just a camera,” said Clyde. “See?” Sombra blinked and squinted at the thing in Clyde’s hooves. He could hardly describe it. It had a glass eye in its center, and it was surrounded by metal and plastic parts that Sombra had no name for. At its top was a white rectangle—the same rectangle Sombra couldn’t unsee. “When did you get that?” he sputtered. “When did you take it out? I—” “I got it at a pawn shop Ponyville when you were sleepin’, and I took it out just now. When you were sleepin’.” Sombra noticed only then that the contraption had spat out a rectangle of glossy paper with a black square in the middle. Clyde took it in his teeth and began shaking his head like a dog with a chew toy. “…Is this part of the process?” Sombra asked. “Sure is.” Clyde took the page out of his mouth and held it out in front of him. “Crystals!” Sombra spat. “That’s me!” “Eeyup. Well. Both you and me.” Sombra snatched the conjured image and held it up to his nose. The first thing he noticed was the color: this new photograph had everything in the rainbow, not just brown and yellow. Sombra’s red eyes and cape, the brown-ish blue of the wagon and tarp and hills behind them. A wisp of violet magic floating out of Sombra's mouth—magic leaking out from the shock. Without a doubt, the two brightest things in the photograph were Clyde’s big green eyes, inside which Sombra could see the image of the camera. Crystals. The detail. But detail was the only thing it had going for it, Sombra decided, because he himself looked terrible. One of his eyes was closed as if winking, and his mouth betrayed bitter disgust. And it somehow made him look pale, broken, battered, and fat. Clyde cleared his throat. “Maybe I shoulda warned ya.” Sombra glared at Clyde, who looked happier than ever. Without breaking eye contact, Sombra reached into his magic stores and sent a tiny flash of purple magic at the photograph, evaporating it instantly. Clyde’s smile faltered, but only a little. “Now, why would you go and do a thing like that?” he asked. “Because it’s evidence, Clyde. It places you and me together. I don’t care. But it could sink you.” “It’s not because you looked a little, uh… unbecoming?” Clyde asked. “No.” “Well, if you say so. Just seems a shame, is all. Your first ever photograph, up in smoke.” “Clyde, if you successfully deliver me to the Crystal Empire, I will be in as many photographs as you please.” Clyde’s whole body flinched and his mouth fell open, and his smile finally, finally, disappeared. But he didn't look miserable. Not even close. “Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Sombra. Clyde shut his mouth. “No reason. Say, I reckon we skip the fire tonight. I feel good. Could march all the way through to tomorrow night, I reckon.” “That seems like a lot.” “Oh, I can handle it, don't you worry none.” “Very well. See it done.” Sombra grabbed the camera from Clyde and tucked it under his arm like it was a helmet. “I’m keeping this,” he said. Clyde scrambled into the hitch as Sombra turned around and held up the camera again, studying its pieces. Now here was real entertainment. “Nice to hear your voice, by the way,” Clyde said. “March, workhorse.” “Yes, sir.” Clyde was growing mighty fond of Sombra’s cold shoulder routine. He’d been enjoying these long days in the hitch; the press of the wood against his shoulders and hips had cleared his mind of all the junk that was usually in there, leaving it as blank as fresh snow against a hillside. Say one thing about Troubleshoes Clyde, say he loved putting his back into things. And when he’d finally busted Sombra out of his shell with the camera trick, he’d only started enjoying the work more, since it was now peppered with the clicking and flashing of the camera from under the tarp. Clyde was having all kinds of fun imagining Sombra placing the camera all over the wagon and snapping photos of himself, never quite being satisfied with how he looked. If only he wouldn’t destroy all the photos. Clyde would have wanted to see them, even the unflattering ones. Especially the unflattering ones. As promised, he marched all through the day, and the night, and then the day again. At a couple hours after sunset, Clyde found a small, secluded beach along Lake Michaygan, parked the wagon in the brush, and made his campfire. His body ached, but not just from the stress. It ached for company. And in that ache Clyde found the golden nugget of a bright idea, something he didn’t get many of in his life. It was simple, really. He didn’t invite Sombra to dinner this time. Instead he left a bowl of soup in the wagon and grabbed Mama Clyde’s photo on his way out. Didn’t even glance at that black shadow of a stallion in his keep. Then, he sauntered down to the fire, placed the frame in the sand next to him, and took up his meal. And sure enough, just as he finished, Clyde heard hoofsteps in the sand behind him. He buried his grin into his bowl, lapping up the remains. Sakes alive. Corn and leek soup never tasted so sweet. “Nice of you to join me,” Clyde said as he stared at the waves. “Hope you—” A photo appeared before him, held up by Sombra’s hoof. It depicted the black stallion himself, laying back against the blanket with the ducks on it, holding the camera above him with both hooves. He had his head turned just so, lip curled in a snarl, one fang shining against the glint of a purple light from somewhere. Fierce and deadly, and no mistake. Clyde swallowed. “Nice shot,” he said. “I thought so.” “Mind if I…?” Sombra dropped the photo in the sand and moved to Clyde’s other side, where he made a tired sigh and sat himself down. Clyde shoved the photo under his hat. Sombra opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned. “Where’d it go?” he asked. “Threw it in the fire,” Clyde fibbed. “Evidence.” “Ah. Good thinking.” Sombra sniffed loudly and sighed. Clutched his cape around his shoulders. Clyde wondered just how skinny poor ol' Sombra was getting under there. His half-lidded eyes stared at the fire like it was a hole he was fixing to fall inside forever. Sombra turned his head and made an upward nod at the picture frame wedged in the sand between them. “She die or something?” he asked. “Eeyup. Long time ago.” “Pity.” A wave climbed up the shore—way, way up the shore—and spilled into the fire-pit. The fire hissed and died, thrusting them both into darkness. “Reckon I could have built that further up,” Clyde commented. “No,” said Sombra. “That was a freak wave.” “Just my luck.” Clyde tipped his head back and noticed the sky for the first time that night. There were enough stars to make out the edges of the galaxy. There’d been so many gray winter clouds on their journey, and Clyde never noticed the difference the absence of light from the towns made. If the fire had still been burning, he might have missed it. Sometimes bad luck was just good luck in disguise, he thought. It all depended on how you looked at it. And then he had another thought. An ugly, selfish one: Was there a way to make this journey last forever? Sombra cleared his throat, seemingly to get Clyde's attention. He didn’t need to. Some small part of Clyde hadn’t stopped paying attention to him since they’d left Appleloosa. “Why do you suppose your luck is so poor, Clyde?” Sombra asked. Clyde shrugged. “I never really questioned it before.” “No?” “Nope.” “Huh.” Clyde could see Sombra’s shape in the darkness, but only barely. Carefully, he placed his hooves in the sand and shifted himself closer. Close enough to hear him breathe, even over the waves. Clyde wondered if he’d shift away. He didn’t. “How are you holdin’ up?” he asked softly. “Awful. It’s as though I wake up on a new, strange planet every day, each with a stronger gravity than the last. I get these sudden bursts of strength, but they’re fleeting. I need my horn yesterday, Clyde. I’m not meant to be an earth pony.” Clyde nodded. He watched Sombra chewing at some piece of his mouth, watched the foggy breath ease out from his nose. And his luck must have been turning around, because right then and there, ol’ Troubleshoes Clyde had his second bright idea of the night. “I know what you need,” he said. “Yes, my horn. We’ve been over this.” “No, not that. I mean, yes that. But before we get there, you need a warm bed and a meal from a proper chef.” Sombra blew a raspberry. “Right,” he muttered. “Let me know when resorts begin accepting the damned.” Clyde frowned and turned his attention back to the waves. “I know a hotel in Neighagra,” he said. “And we’re passin’ through there anyhow. The owner might still remember me. I’ll get you a room, Mr. Sombra. I promise.” From the corner of his eye, Clyde could see Sombra turn his head towards him and arch one of his caterpillar eyebrows. Then he turned back away. “Whatever,” Sombra mumbled. Clyde heard Sombra shuffle and wrap his cape tighter around him. “I probably wouldn’t even be having this problem if you’d just revived me in the summer, you know.” “Want me to build another fire?” “No.” “But—” “Leave it. I’ve always felt more at home in the darkness.” “Alright.” Clyde put his hooves behind him and lowered himself onto his back. The sand cradled his spine, and he sighed his secret sigh—the sigh he sighed when he’d had a hard day’s work, and had brought himself right where he wanted to be. He didn't get many chances to make that sigh. He was rarely where he wanted to be. He closed his eyes, listened to the quiet rush of the waves, and waited for the next time his traveling companion spoke. “I lied just now, Clyde.” “That a fact?” “Yes. I was born an earth pony.” “…Is that a fact? Then where’d the horn come from, if you don’t mind my askin’?” “We found it in a glacier. It was… Well, we never discovered what it was. But we could tell it held power. Unbelievable power. At least, unbelievable back then.” “…” “And it was a time of poverty and famine in the Empire, so I… I had it attached to me. I thought I could wield it to help my people. And I was right. Though... Many didn't accept my methods.” “Do you reckon you could live without it again?” “Not a chance. I would crumble to dust before the month is out.” “…” “…” “…” “I lied too, Mr. Sombra.” “Wow. And I didn’t even notice. You're learning.” “Mighty kind of you. But the truth is… I don’t question my luck because I know the answer already. I deserve it. Plain and simple.” “Explain.” “Well. Really, it ain’t bad luck at all. It’s Mama Clyde’s ghost. She’s hauntin’ me.” “Pfah! Laughable. The mare in that photograph wouldn’t haunt that little boy. Try again.” “I told you that picture was from a long time ago.” “So?” “…” “…” “I never met Papa Clyde. He died sometime before Mama had me. Some mysterious illness. I only knew him from what Mama Clyde told me, and what she told me was that he was fit as a prize fighter, my old stallion. Could cause a tremor in the earth just by splittin’ a log. And then… gone. Five days was all it took. Five days, and no doctor could figure out what was the matter. And then I came along, and I was a poor substitute, I reckon.” “…” “So my Mama raised me, and she did a mighty fine job. We lived off the path, mostly. Stole campsites. Attended rodeos from the shadows. It was a great life, and I wouldn’t trade a day of it for the world. Till she got sick with a mysterious illness of her own.” “Hm. Disease cares not who you are.” “That's a fact. She started to get weak. Throw up every other meal. And I learned that she never really forgave modern medicine for not savin’ my father, because she wouldn’t see a doctor for anythin’. I tried to convince her. I even invited one without tellin’ her one day, and after she’d finished yellin’ she told the mare to stand across the room from her and do her fancy diagnosis from there if she was so smart. Wouldn’t let her touch her with so much as a stethoscope.” “…” “I stayed by her, those years. Did the chores. Cooked the meals. Washed her, fed her, carried her to bed. And she just kept… gettin’ angrier. Don’t think she ever forgave me for sneakin’ a doctor in the house. Don’t think I ever forgave myself for not knocking her out with a lamp and letting the doctor study her while she slept.” “…” “…” “How old were you when she died?” “Twelve.” “When I was twelve I was held in a dungeon on suspicion of being a spy. Didn’t get out until fifteen.” “…” “…” “Well, now. From the dungeon to the throne, eh? That ain’t nothin’ to scoff at.” Sombra scoffed. The noise startled Clyde enough to flinch. He flexed his stomach and sat back up, holding his hat on his head and feeling the rectangular shape of the photograph. Sombra placed a hoof onto Clyde’s shoulder, then pressed until he was back on his hooves. It smarted, but Clyde made no complaint. He couldn't really speak at all, not with those silhouetted red eyes fixed on him. Didn't care much about speaking at all. “My point is not to out-do your misery,” Sombra said. “My point is that children get blamed for a lot of things outside their control. Sometimes their only crime is being born. It’s a tale as old as time.” He patted Clyde’s shoulder, then his hoof slid off, and he wandered off. Clyde listened to him walk away. Listened to the red cape drag in the sand, and leave a trail. Then he heard two hooves climbing into the wagon, followed by the groan of a pony, the groan of the wagon listing under a weight, and… two hooves positioning themselves in the sand. Then silence. Clyde turned around again, and could just about see the shape of Mr. Sombra’s rear end sticking out from under the tarp, his cape flung over his near side. “Uh…?” Sombra pulled himself back out and sat down. “Clyde,” he said. “Yeah?” “I am only now taking stock of the bourbon you purchased in Ponyville.” “Oh.” “We could have been drinking every night and still had some left over.” “Reckon so.” “And we haven’t had any at all.” “True enough.” There was a subtle turn of the head. A devilish flash of two red eyes. “Mr. Sombra, were you in the mood for some spiked tea?” Clyde asked. Sombra’s eyes squinted. Then he reached inside the wagon and pulled out a paper bag filled with bottles, and with a grunt he pulled it out. Clyde watched that silhouette come back over to him and drop the bottles between them. “Fuck the tea,” said King Sombra. “Run the other way, Clyde! Fake her out!” “Woop! Can’t catch me, Mama! Yee-haw!” Sombra wheezed and fell forwards, threw out a hoof to stop himself falling face-first into the bonfire. The warmth was everywhere, in his throat, on his face, in his chest; and the drink smelled disgusting on his breath. His stomach hurt so hard from laughing it felt like he’d been stabbed. Clyde, meanwhile, was running circles around the bonfire, feinting and ducking and jumping away. But wherever he went, the wind followed his every step, blowing smoke in his face. Eventually he stopped and paid Sombra a big, goofball grin, his eyes bright and shining and wet. “That’s unbelievable!” Sombra laughed. “You disaster magnet!” Clyde bowed deep. He doubled over coughing, and Sombra doubled over laughing. His cheeks hurt from wiping away so many tears. Crystals, but they were drunk. “Reckon I’m a pretty good campfire guest, eh?” Clyde said, his voice slurred like street slush. “Don’t need to worry about smoke with ollllllll' Troubleshoes by your side.” Sombra pressed his faced into the sand and laughed a different laugh—a laugh from the stomach, from the heart, starting deep and raising it to a crescendo of glee… what was the word? Cackling. Sombra was cackling for the first time in months. When finished, he rolled over and wiped one last tear from his eye. Clyde sat beside him and was staring down, open-mouthed and grinning. “Sorry,” Sombra said. “That was strange.” “I didn’t hate it.” Sombra suddenly shot up. “Go swim in the lake,” he commanded. “Beg pardon?” “Just go.” Sombra pushed Clyde’s big chest with two hooves, but only managed to push himself into the sand. “Go, you fool!” he shouted at the sky. Clyde rocked up to his hooves, and Sombra had to brace himself against the laughter once more as Clyde snaked his way towards the water, stumbling serpentine. “Go!” Sombra encouraged, following, and just as unsteady. Clyde splashed into the water, holding his hat on his head, shouted, “Jeepers, that’s cold!” then fell to his elbows, got back up and kept running until the water was at his stomach. “Alright, stop, stop!” Sombra called after him. Clyde stopped. “Now turn around.” Clyde turned around. “And raise your hoof out.” Clyde followed the command. He pulled his hoof out of the water, and with it came a bright yellow piranha gnawing on his hoof. “Yyyyyy-owch!” Sombra threw himself back into another cackle, then looked up just in time to see Clyde fall on his backside in the lake. “Alright, get out! Before your filthy rotten luck gets you eaten alive!” With a heavy sigh, Sombra lay his head against the sand and stared upwards. The clouds seemed to stand still, but they held no snow or rain, and they were punctured with holes revealing the night sky beyond. In one of those holes was the dark, blank circle of the new moon. Sombra felt like spitting at it. A thud shook the beach beside him, and Sombra turned his head to see Clyde on his stomach, his forelegs splayed behind him and his rear end in the air. Then his hindlegs collapsed with another thump, and they both chuckled. “Mama Clyde is mean tonight,” Clyde muttered. “Eeyup,” said Sombra. He threw a hoof over his mouth. “Eeyup?” asked Clyde. “Eeyup,” Sombra burped. “I reckon so.” “You reckon so?” “And no mistake.” Clyde laughed his dopey, empty-headed laugh. Sombra decided it was time to stand. He made a plan, then put it into motion: First, he rolled over on his stomach. Second, he froze. He’d rolled towards Clyde, and their sides were now pressed against each other. Their bourbon-filled, foggy breath mingled. Their hooves were touching. A breeze brushed Clyde’s mane from the base of his neck up to his head, gently nudged his hat off his head, and something fluttered out into the sand. The photograph he’d given him. Sombra pushed himself onto his elbows. “I thought you said you threw that in the fire,” he said evenly. “Uh,” Clyde said. “Uh.” And at first, Sombra thought Clyde was avoiding his gaze. But no. He was staring at his lips. Sombra had a question for Clyde, there in the sand, but he never got a chance to ask it, for at that moment he heard something overhead. Wings. Somewhere far off, but beating loudly and only getting closer. Clyde scambled up to his hooves and scanned the sky. “Wagon,” Clyde shouted. “Go!” Sombra rose to his hooves, gathered his cape, nearly fell into the bonfire. His heart pummeled his ribcage. When he reached the back of the wagon and steadied himself, he cast one last look behind him to see Clyde splashing his face with water, running up the shore, snatching the photograph from the sand and holding it over the fire. He hesitated, then their eyes met, and he nodded. He threw the photo in and stepped back to watch it smolder. “Go,” he whispered. Sombra clambered inside the wagon head first, his ragged breath echoing against the tarp. He tried to turn around and close the back of the wagon, but it was too late now. Something hit the sand with impressive force, and Sombra bit down on his lip. “Hello there, friend! Nice evening, ain’t it?” Sombra relaxed, but only slightly. The voice was raspy, choked, masculine. Not Twilight Sparkle, or any of her friends. But then, he couldn’t be sure of that. Twilight Sparkle had friends everywhere. “Howdy, boys,” Clyde responded. “Nice evening for a fly, I reckon.” Boys? thought Sombra, then he heard another creature land. Softer than the first. “We ain’t flies,” said the second intruder. “Take it easy, brother,” the first one cut in. “Sorry about my his mood, friend. We’re normally friendly, just... feeling a little hungry tonight.” “Sorry to hear,” Clyde said. Curiosity won over fear, as it so often does, and Sombra poked the tarp up with his nose just enough to peer outside. Dragons. Both of them brown, scrawny at the arms and heavy at the waist. The one who’d spoken first was a head taller, standing with his claws on his hips. An affect of command. The smaller brother held his forearms against his chest and picked at the scales on his elbows. Sombra had seen dragons before, but only rarely, and never were they so fat. Hungry, indeed, he thought. They had flanked Clyde, spreading out casually as the workhorse backed away towards the brush. You can take them, Sombra thought. You’re bigger than them. Divide and conquer, Clyde, divide and conquer! “Look,” said the tall dragon, “we’re sorry to barge in on your private evening like this.” He took a sudden, large step forward, and Clyde flinched. “But we had to set something straight. See, we dragons? We own fire. And we don’t appreciate seeing little ponies build their own. It just ain’t natural. Isn’t that right, brother?” “Y-yeah. Why don’t you spit in the dragon lord’s face!” “Why don’t you spit in all our faces?” The taller dragon had his eyes locked on Clyde’s. “But don’t worry. It's an honest mistake. And you can make it up to us poor, hungry dragons, with the right gift.” Clyde backed into the brush and stopped. “Ah… Fresh out of food, matter of fact.“ Sombra clenched his entire body, willing Clyde to turn and run. Or, better yet, don’t turn; run straight at the tall one and shoulder-check him into the fire. “Doesn’t have to be food,“ the tall dragon said evenly. “Could be bits. Could be whatever you have inside that crapheap over there.” Sombra ducked out of view. “I’ve got bits for you, boys,” came Clyde’s timid voice. “Don’t you worry none. Just hold on, now. Lemme get ’em.” “Good boy.” “Yeah. Good boy.” And the brother laughed a scrawny, tittering laugh. Rage bubbled inside King Sombra as he listened to Clyde’s defeated hoofsteps. The shame in his breast was heavier than ever. It didn’t matter what Clyde had said. You could not hide without being a coward. And while hiding from Twilight Sparkle was bad enough, now he was hiding from lowlifes. Hiding from worms. Why should he fear them? Why should he fear anyone? And who gave any creature the right to threaten a servant as loyal and dedicated as Troubleshoes Clyde? The rage stopped bubbling, like a stovetop had been turned off underneath him. There was nothing left inside him but heat. Clyde’s frightened face appeared in the back of the wagon, searching for his pouch full of coins. Then he met Sombra’s eyes, and his mouth fell open. He shook his head. Brought a hoof to his mouth. Shh. Sombra became a shadow. “Hey, what’s going on over… there?” Sombra’s hooves disappeared, then his body, his chest, until only his head remained, surrounded by wisps of black smoke. He blew out a breath, and the tarp blew away across the beach. Then he rose. His shadow made the firelight flee, pushed the waves back into the ocean, caused stars to blink out as if the new moon had grown as big as the sky. King Sombra cackled with everything he had. The lake echoed back at him, as if trying to appease him. “H-holy—” said the small dragon. “—smokes,” finished the other. Sombra floated his head towards them, came down to their level, and grinned. Drool dripped down his fangs into the sand. “Sorry about my mood,” he growled. “I’m normally friendly, just… feeling a little hungry.” The dragons screamed and scrambled. The taller one took off into the sky. The shorter one ran straight into the fire. He yelped and twisted through the coals, sent sparks everywhere, got up, looked for his brother, but found himself alone. Sombra laughed and laughed, a full-body cackle, and he heard that delicious scream of the doomed. He tipped his chin up to the sky and howled with laughter, with strength, with happiness and satisfaction and power. He hoped the whole world heard him. He hoped all of Equestria knew he had returned. “Mr. Sombra!” Sombra exhaled. A tremendous weakness flowed through his muscles and veins, left him numb. Gradually he lowered himself to the ground, and his hooves reappeared to support him. “They’re gone. Hey. Don’t you worry, now.” Clyde’s hoof fell on his shoulder. Sombra went to smack it away, but only had the strength to lay his own hoof overtop. “Mr. Sombra? Hey, Sombra, easy, easy!” Blackness crowded the edges of Sombra’s vision. He twisted and fell towards the sand, but something caught him just in time, and he dangled there for a moment before the blackness took everything and left him with nothing.