Had any Ponyville residents of Maple Street been foolish enough to be on the ground floor watching out the window as rain lashed the cobblestones and battered the houses, they would have born witness to a frightful scene as might have been ripped from the pages of a horror story, or transplanted from the stage of a thriller play making full use of nightmarish magical effects to make the audience shiver in fright. Such a scene, whether in a novel or a play script, would perhaps be rendered thus:
Past the window lies a rain-drenched street, half-obscured by the torrential downpour, darkened as by night but lit by flashes of red lightning and an eerie, malignant, magic glow, such as a stage performer might use to illuminate the scene whilst still evoking an evil midnight. Such a street would be deserted by all, save only the villain, or the desperate.
Then, spectral-like, a shadow bends and twists and disgorges into the street an armored unicorn. Whether male or female is uncertain, but the figure is plainly in a sorry state. Like a haggard knight fresh from the war, the unicorn is battered and bent, armor plates and chainmail blackened and scoured by battle. A sword and spear hover in the knight’s magic grasp, though the former is swiftly sheathed, and the latter shouldered.
Clenched in the knight’s foreleg is a delicate bundle – a foal perhaps, and likely an injured foal, for the babe makes no outcry at the storm, nor does he shift at the words spoken by the knight.
With a jerk of magic, the knight rips down an awning from a nearby storefront and transmogrifies it into a crude but watertight carrying satchel. The knight transfers the babe – revealed, startlingly, to be a dragon welp – to this enclosed satchel upon her back, and turns her tender gaze upon the babe as she does so. The lines of her features show her to be a mare, and the ache in her eyes reveals her as a mother, in practice if not in name.
Yet the tender scene is not to last.
A keening shriek splits the air, like the wail of banshee or wraith. Stiffening at the monster’s cry, the mother-knight sprints off in a clatter down the rain-slicked cobblestones, the limp in her gait slowing her not at all as she flees the horror that seeks her end.
Such would the scene have been rendered, and thus might an onlooker have thought.
But there were no onlookers to the appearance and disappearance of the strange pair, and it is well that this was so, for such an onlooker would have been in danger from the horror that stalked the city, and Twilight had no time to spare to protect those foolish enough to venture out.
She had to get out of Ponyville. Where she would go, she did not know. Trixie’s storm barrier surrounded not only the town, but also much of the countryside which encompassed it. While it was objectively a large space, it was not nearly large enough to evade Trixie forever.
Worse, Twilight could not simply flee indefinitely, even if she had the space to do so. Trixie has my friends, and she has the town hostage. I can’t leave. I have to stop her.
Somehow, I have to stop her.
Such plans would have to wait. Twilight didn’t know how badly Spike had been injured, but the fact that he was fully unconscious was a bad sign. Unlike most ponies, Twilight had a good sense of how tough a dragon could be, even a baby dragon. For him to be knocked out cold was a frightening turn of events, and all she could think of now was getting him to safety so she could tend him while she figured out what to do.
Her mind bent its incredible power to the crisis, operating in perfect tandem with her instincts and making snap decisions without conscious deliberation. She cut a semi-random course through town, staying under cover where possible, sticking to shadows, altering her speed when in cover to buy time to briefly survey paths whilst relatively obscured from view before sprinting across gaps. She hoarded her remaining magical energy, only shadowstepping when necessary to cross a large gap, and all the while conscious that detection meant death.
As she passed by an alley, a hoof snaked out from the alley behind the tavern to snatch at her.
Twilight sidestepped the snatch and leveled her spear to strike—
—only to see that the hoof hadn’t been trying to grab her, but gesturing for her to follow.
“Twilight!” the gruff Burnt Oak called, “Come on, girl, we gotta git you off the street!”
“Burnt Oak, wha—” she left the word unfinished as she saw the grizzled pony was not alone. Medevac and Redheart, both wearing medical satchels slung across their backs, were with him. The retired Marine was scanning the skies, while Redheart had her eyes fixed on Spike. “How did—?”
“We’ll explain later,” interrupted Medevac. “We need to get under cover, now.”
“I can’t!” exclaimed Twilight, pressing Spike into Redheart’s hooves. “Trixie’s hunting me. I can’t risk another pony’s safety by hiding in someone’s house.”
“Trixie?!” exclaimed Medevac in shock as Redheart began looking Spike over. “That stage performer is why Redheart’s Dark magic sense started tingling?”
Burnt Oak cut in, declaring, “We’d best discuss this indoors.”
“Did you not hear me!” snapped Twilight. “I’m not hiding in somepony’s house!”
“Not asking you to,” countered Burnt Oak. “The Punch Bowl’s not far, and it ain’t occupied. We can reassess and regroup there. We need to know what you know so we can tend to Spike and plan our next move!”
Twilight’s fear screamed at her to just shadowstep away. Spike was in good hooves – literally – and he would be safer if she vacated the area. However, her instincts told her Burnt Oak knew what he was doing. She wasn’t sure why, but something in his confidence assured her that taking a moment to collect her thoughts and make a plan of attack would not go amiss. Wordlessly, she nodded and followed Burnt Oak.
The Punch Bowl was a popular Ponyville tavern, run by one Berry Punch. The maroon-colored mare was a distiller as well as a tavern-keeper, and made a variety of non-alcoholic drinks as well as her adult beverages.
Local lore had it that, when Berry Punch and Applejack were young adults, Berry had once gone three rounds in the boxing ring with Applejack over a matter of cider sales in Ponyville. The story went that Berry Punch had lost – Applejack was a farmer and a boxing champion – but had impressed Applejack so much by lasting three rounds that they worked out a mutually beneficial business arrangement instead of becoming rivals. While the tale might have grown in the telling, Applejack and Berry Punch were certainly on amiable terms, and Twilight had been to the tavern more than once.
She had never been to the cellar, however. That was where Burnt Oak led them, letting them in through the cellar door after opening it with a key. “Ah make barrels for her,” explained the laconic woodspony as he led them inside.
The sounds of the storm were muted by the cellar, and the rows upon rows of casques, barrels, firkins, and other such vessels made the vast cellar seem like a cozy maze.
“How’d you find me?” Twilight asked as they made their way into the cellar. “Why were you in town?”
“Miss Redheart’s studies o’ the healing arts appear ta have borne fruit,” explained Burnt Oak as he led them through the winding rows of barrels. “She sensed something was wrong, and Medevac flew her inta town. Ah encountered ’em on the way to the center o’ the storm. Not long after that, we bumped inta you.”
Twilight felt like part of the story was missing. Based on the look on Medevac’s face, he felt the same way. She noted the axe slung at the lumberjack’s side. “Okay, but why were you looking for me?”
Burnt Oak gave her an odd smile and drawled, “Miss Sparkle, Ah hunt timber wolves an’ the like on the regular. Ah guess Ah don’t know when ta walk away from a scrap.”
He led them to a discreet corner of the cellar. There Redheart laid Spike down, and she and Medevac began looking him over.
“How is he?” asked Twilight anxiously.
“Hurt, but stable,” replied Redheart after a moment. “It looks like he was knocked out by the magic shock, not head trauma. Based on Zecora’s findings and my own research, dragons tend to bounce back from magic shocks.” Glancing up, she asked, “You said Trixie used Dark magic on him?”
“Yes, or— well… sort of Trixie, sort of… maybe not Trixie.”
“Wait,” said Medevac, frowning, “Did Trixie shock him or not?”
“Trixie shocked him, but… she’s got this… amulet around her neck. It’s… it’s Dark. Very Dark. I don’t know where she got it,” even if I have a really horrible suspicion, “but it gave her a serious power boost. She... she transmogrified most of my friends and the soldiers, stole Rainbow’s wings, and shrugged off my attacks like they were nothing. If Spike hadn’t stopped her, she would have…” she trailed off miserably.
To the nurses’ credit, neither of them stopped working on Spike while she talked, but both of them plainly became more disturbed. Burnt Oak just looked grim.
After a moment’s pause, the grizzled woodspony spoke. “You said it was ‘sort of’ Trixie who shocked Spike.” His eyes narrowed. “You mean part o’ what shocked him weren’t Trixie’s doin’?”
Twilight shuddered. “The amulet was… I think it’s controlling her, or at least twisting her thoughts. She’s not in full control of herself. Her eyes would just go red and… and whenever that happened, it was like she wasn’t the one making the decision.”
“Peachy,” grunted Medevac grimly. “Red, does that mean Spike’s got Dark stuff affecting him?”
Oh, Celestia, I didn’t even think of that! thought Twilight with horror.
Redheart, apparently having already considered the possibility, had closed her eyes and laid her hooves over Spike, looking for all the world like she was praying. “Yes,” she said, but before Twilight could panic she added, “but it’s minor compared to what we dealt with when Oaken first showed up. Between the neutralizing agents in our med bags and what I’ve picked up from my studies, I can handle it.”
Twilight felt a great weight lift from her withers. Oh, thank the Source! “I know he’ll be in good hooves with both of you,” she said to the nurses. Shifting her gaze to all three, she said, “Thank you.” Then, with a final glance of love at Spike, she turned to leave.
Burnt Oak’s weathered hoof caught her shoulder. “Now hold on a moment, Miss Sparkle—”
She shrugged him off. “I can’t stay!” she insisted. “I’m Trixie’s target, remember?”
“An’ what’s yer plan when ya leave here, young’un?” he demanded. “Ya said yerself ya can’t take her on horn ta horn. If ya can’t out-muscle her, ya gotta out-think her. An’ ya can’t do that without knowin’ what yer up against.”
“What we need is reinforcements,” said Medevac. “Is there any way to get a message to Celestia without Spike?”
Twilight shook her head. “Even if Spike was awake, the storm barrier is blocking anything from getting in or out. We’re stuck inside the ring.”
“Well, what assets do we have?” asked the Marine. “Work the problem like Song or Fritters would have you work it.”
The unicorn gritted her teeth in frustration, nearly storming out of the cellar, but the soldier’s words rang true, and Burnt Oak’s warnings struck a chord as well. “A Dark artifact like that probably has some weakness,” she said, turning her mind to the problem. “If I could get to my library, I might find a solution but—” she snorted in disgust, “the library’s the first place Trixie would look for me!”
“Assuming she knows where you live,” Medevac pointed out.
“She found an evil amulet and came back to town just to make me suffer,” said Twilight, all acid. “You want to bet she can’t figure out where I live?”
“Touché.”
“Isn’t there somewhere else you can find some relevant books?” asked Redheart. “I mean, how far out does this… storm barrier thingy reach?”
Burnt Oak stroked his chin. “By my reckonin’, all the way into the Everfree—” he broke off mid-sentence, eyes widening, and both he and Twilight stiffened at the same time.
“Zecora!” exclaimed Twilight aloud. “She knows all kinds of esoteric artifacts! I’ll be she can help!”
Burnt Oak smiled approvingly. “My thoughts exactly, Miss Sparkle. If anypony ’round here knows ’bout that fancy black neckware, it’ll be our Zecora.”
“Yes!” agreed Twilight. “She’s our best chance of—” she stopped and blinked. Wait, did he say ‘our’ Zecora? Does he know her?
The woodspony galloped past her. “Come on, then, Miss Sparkle. We’d best git a move on! Ah know a shortcut.”
“Agreed, there’s no time to— wait, ‘we’? ‘Shortcut’?! Burnt Oak, wait!” she shouted as she galloped after him.
As the sounds of Twilight’s and Burnt Oak’s hoofbeats departed the cellar, Redheart double-checked the work she and Medevac had already done on Spike. Neutralizing compress to deal with the magic; bone-knitting salve on his fractures – none needed on the head, fortunately; blast treatment gel infused with stabilization agent… everything that can be done with our medkits, we have done.
“Storm sounds like it’s getting worse out there,” Medevac observed. “Which means Trixie’s getting angrier.”
Redheart swallowed and tried not to think about Twilight and Burnt Oak trying to make it all the way to the Everfree Forest. How strange that running into the forest is probably safer than staying in town. “He’s stable enough to move,” she stated, referring to Spike. “Should we try to get him to an actual Tuesday Bunker?”
Medevac shook his head. “No telling where Trixie is. If she spots him, she might try to finish the job.” He tapped the wall with his prosthetic hoof. “Berry once told me this cellar was built to withstand serious damage up top. Only reason she made a different bunker was she didn’t want ponies sampling her stock while they waited out the disaster-of-the-day. Apparently the flower triplets once took shelter here and downed enough spiked punch to pickle a minotaur.”
Redheart snorted in amusement; it wasn’t a laugh even by the most generous margins, but it was close as she was likely to get under the circumstances. “I guess we do this here then.” She took a deep breath to steady herself.
“Anything I can do to help?” asked Medevac.
Redheart held her hooves over the unconscious dragon and said, “Say a prayer and stand by with the smelling salts for me in case I overdo it on the magic expenditure.” Closing her eyes, she prayed, Oh Author of Life… please don’t let me screw up. With that honest petition, she concentrated her power, and her hooves began to glow.
Ponyville Town Square, minutes earlier…
Morning Song had not been idle since her transmogrification into a songbird. While she’d been unable to communicate with anypony else, she’d been able to understand them just fine.
When she had been in the cave with Rainbow Dash and her incapacitated soldiers, she’d absorbed Dash’s report with careful scrutiny. She’d studied her surroundings – noting that Trixie appeared to have made camp in the cave – and began forming a plan of action while refining her understanding of Trixie.
Psychoanalysis on the fly was never her preference, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do it when pressed. Each new unpleasant turn of events – the transmogrification of her Colour Sergeant and the Apples; being teleported into a rainstorm; being forced to watch her friends fight losing a battle in the town square – lent new insight to her portrait of Trixie’s psyche.
Pinkie’s serious injuries and Fluttershy’s brush with immeasurable danger in confronting Trixie to protect Pinkie Pie was torturous to watch, yet it yielded critical insights into not only Trixie herself, but also – and perhaps even more importantly – into what effect the Amulet was having on her.
Fortunately, Song’s eyes and ears were just as keen – if not keener – as a bird as they had been as a pony. She’d tracked the changes in Trixie’s eyes, the changes in her voice, and even much of the conversation the crazed mare carried on with herself.
She’d seen Twilight get the drop on Trixie, watched her spare the showmare’s life, and agonized with the rest over Twilight’s own brush with death. Spike’s timely arrival and Twilight’s equally timely disappearing act had been the only thing worth cheering for in a long, bad afternoon.
Not that anypony had time to celebrate. For Twilight and Spike’s vanishing was a catalyst for Trixie’s titanic rage.
The dark enchantress fixed her shocked gaze at the spot they’d been, and stared for three precious heartbeats of stunned silence. Then her face contorted in an animal snarl, and her eyes turned a burning, wrathful red. Magical power built around her horn like a swirling crimson vortex. She spread her wings and rose into the air, but her wings did not flap. Rather, she was born aloft by her mounting, ruthless power. Her cape flared and flapped like the cloak of Nightmare Moon.
Trixie threw back her head and let loose a shriek as dark as a banshee’s wail, a cry of agony and hate that struck the square like a shockwave, bowling Song off her feet and shattering nearby windows.
Yet for all that, Morning Song had a plan.
Even as Trixie raged at the heavens for their supposed cruelty, Morning Song put that plan into action, leveraging the one piece of good fortune that Providence had laid at her feet:
Fluttershy was not transformed.
The mare who spoke to animals had not been altered to a form not her own, and she had the use of her ears and her tongue.
So Morning Song tweeted and chirped and cried above the storm with all the speed of a songbird, and Fluttershy listened.
Fluttershy listened. She did not want to. In fact, she wanted nothing to do with anything else spawned by this horrible day. She wanted desperately to wake up and find that it had all been a cruel nightmare. She would have given her wings to see Princess Luna part the walls of her dreamscape and assure her this horrible misadventure was nothing more than the fears of a tired mind inflicted upon the sleeping consciousness.
Even if it was real, she wanted to feel, not to think. She wanted to grieve for what had happened, to worry for Spike, to rejoice at Twilight’s escape, not to plan or connive or convince. She had saved Pinkie’s life already, and wanted to tend to her while she prayed for Twilight and Spike, all while keeping her head down to avoid Trixie’s wrath. She wanted to take no risk that drawing Trixie’s attention would endanger Pinkie and the rest of her helpless friends.
But she listened. She listened to Song, listened to her plan, and knew in her heart it was the best chance to keep them all safe.
She waited for Trixie to pause for breath from her banshee shriek, and then called out, “Hail, Great and Powerful Princess Trixie, Breaker of Mages and Mistress of Magic!”
Trixie closed her mouth, her next shriek halted.
Fluttershy swallowed and continued, “Hail, Uncrowned Queen of Equestria and Trampler of the Strong!”
Trixie turned her gleaming bloodred gaze upon Fluttershy.
Instinctively, Fluttershy bowed as a shudder ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the savage storm. “Hail, Trixie Dragonsbane, whose power none can deny.”
Trixie descended from her pillar of power, floating down to Fluttershy and alighting to the ground before her cage. Fluttershy kept her head bowed to the dirt, staring at Trixie’s hooves, waiting for her to speak.
“‘Hail?’” echoed Trixie. “You, who are one of the accursed Bearers, say unto Trixie ‘hail?’”
“Y-yes, Your Merciful Highness,” stammered Fluttershy. “The Bearers are b-broken, oh Great and Powerful Princess Trixie. W-we c-cannot hope to match your power, and you have d-defeated our leader, shown her to be unworthy of our d-devotion.”
Behind her, she heard the apple trees sway as though angered, and Rainbow Dash – still muzzled and mute – snarled and strained against her bonds.
A malevolent chuckle bubbled from Trixie’s throat. “Your wingless pegasus does not seem to agree,” she mocked.
Morning Song tweeted rapidly, telling her to get Rainbow Dash under control while also telling Fluttershy what to say to appease Trixie.
Fluttershy turned her head enough to shoot Rainbow Dash a meaningful look. Rainbow strained furiously against her bonds, her mouth desperately attempting to express her rage through the muzzle. “The wingless one is emotional,” said Fluttershy honestly. “But even she understands,” she gave Rainbow a hard Stare, “that the wise adapt in the face of power.”
At the Stare, Rainbow – though still furious – recoiled in her stockade and stopped struggling.
“And your little Song-bird?” said Trixie, who chuckled cruelly at her own joke. “What say you of her?”
Again, Song tweeted what she wished Fluttershy to say. “Your servant Morning Song wishes to be your herald, oh Great and Powerful Princess Trixie,” said Fluttershy, her confidence growing as Trixie seemed to listen. “Ponyville shall fall in line quickly when they hear tell that you have vanquished the coward Sparkle.” She felt bile rise in her throat at the words, but kept speaking. “They have no love for the purple mare, and will bar her from shelter on your Ladyship’s behalf.”
“And why should Trixie not find the coward herself?” demanded Trixie, her voice rumbling with thunderous echo.
Fluttershy bowed low again and repeated Song’s words. “If it pleases your Great and Powerful self to hear the words of your humble servant, it is beneath your Ladyship to do the menial work of hunting a coward whom you have already bested. Let such tasks fall upon your servants, who deserve such petty work.”
Trixie laughed, and it was a sickening sound. “Your words are pretty little mare. Or rather, the Song-bird’s words are pretty. Yet she makes for a poor herald – a tiny bird who would be drowned in this storm and who can communicate to none but you.”
“If it pleases Your Mightiness, the brute Rainbow Dash might be employed as a vehicle for your herald—”
Rainbow grunted in mute outrage at the characterization.
“—and your herald’s voice might be restored, so as to better sing your praises, even as she remains in her Song-bird form as a reminder of both your benevolence and your rule—urk!”
Fluttershy found herself yanked upwards by Trixie’s power, dragged across the cell, and brought eye-to-eye with the madmare. Trixie’s dark gaze bored into hers, and Fluttershy tried not to panic as she Stared back.
Eye-to-eye, gaze-to-gaze, will-to-will, the two mares stared, their words unspoken as Fluttershy prayed in the silence of her mind that Trixie would believe the ruse.
Then, as abruptly as Trixie had seized her, Trixie dropped her. Fluttershy landed with a splash and a grunt of pain as Trixie threw back her head and let out a booming laugh. “Yes, grovel, grovel little ponies! Crawl in the mud before Trixie like the worms you are!” Fixing Fluttershy once again with her arrogant gaze and fierce smile, Trixie declared, “A herald for Trixie then!” With a flash of magic, Song appeared on Rainbow’s head and Rainbow’s muzzle was removed, while her stockade was replaced with hobbling chains that would let her walk, but not run. “What do you say, heralds?”
Morning Song placed one wing over her heart and bowed, then spoke in her old voice. “You are a gracious audience, oh Uncrowned Queen Trixie.”
Rainbow stood glaring at Trixie, a snarl on her face, until Song jabbed her with her clawed feet. Reluctantly, Rainbow bowed. “Hail, hail,” she grated.
Trixie chortled. “Marvelous! Marvelous! Even the braggart now bows, if grudgingly.” With her magic, she grasped Rainbow’s head and pulled her up from the bow. “Don’t fret, Rainbow Dash,” she said sweetly. Then, she flared out her wings – Rainbow’s wings – and waved them mockingly at the pegasus. “You’ll learn.”
A growl built in Rainbow’s throat, but a sharp “Flight Officer Dash!” from Morning Song forced her to stand down.
“Run along now, heralds,” Trixie dismissed them with a wave and a laugh before turning her cold gaze on Fluttershy. “As for you, you shall see to the pink one’s health,” she ordered. “In fact…” there was a blinding flash of light, and when Fluttershy could see again, she found herself inside the tower of town hall, along with all of her captive friends, sans Morning Song and Rainbow Dash. The Apple trees had even been transported with beds of earth for their roots. Fluttershy, Ditzy, and Pinkie – with the latter two still unconscious – were hobbled with chains in much the same way Dash was.
Fluttershy noticed the chains bore an engraving of Trixie’s cutie mark and the words, ‘PROPERTY OF THE UNCROWNED QUEEN, TRIXIE LULAMOON.’
She wondered if Dash’s chains said the same.
Trixie continued haughtily, “You promised Trixie that the pink one would cheer the loudest when she awoke… and Trixie does not regard failure with kindness. Tend her well, and then see to the care of the rest of Trixie’s collection.” With her magic, she caught up one of the pre-peeled apples which fell like tears from the Apple trees and took a bite of it. Chunks of apple and flecks of juice sprayed over Fluttershy’s face as Trixie loomed over her and smirked, “The Uncrowned Queen must have her collection looking its best for the coronation.”
Morning Song had only been a bird for a few hours, but found that it felt surprisingly natural to do certain things – gesturing with her wings, balancing on two feet, moving by hopping more than by walking, all seemed to come rather naturally.
As she rode on Rainbow Dash’s head, she discovered another ability that came naturally.
The ability to feel the abject, seething rage of her equine transport. Rainbow’s quivering wrath seemed to bleed off of her, shooting up through Morning Song’s feet like lightning through a metal rod and sending shivers down Morning Song’s spine that had nothing to do with the frigid rain.
Rainbow Dash was utterly silent until they were well out beyond Trixie’s line-of-sight and much farther than they could have been overheard even on a clear day. Morning Song knew the exact moment that Rainbow Dash decided there were far enough because that moment coincided with Rainbow rearing her head and throwing Morning Song to the ground.
The pony-turned-bird landing with a great splash as a puddle cushioned her fall. Well, at least she threw me at water, Song thought to herself, choosing to believe it was a deliberate choice on Dash’s part. Using her wings to help push herself up, she stood as straight as she was able in her present state and turned to face Rainbow Dash.
More accurately, she looked up at Rainbow Dash, who was currently looming over her, crimson eyes hard with fury and hot breath steaming in the cold rain.
“I must say, Flight Officer Dash, you’d make a terrible cabbie,” observed Morning Song dryly as she flicked excess water out of her wings.
“Morning Song,” snarled Rainbow Dash, “You’d better have a darn good reason why we left Fluttershy with that freakshow.”
“I assure you, Flight Officer, I do,” said Morning Song calmly. “Simply put, we need to keep ponies from getting killed, and this is the best way to do it.”
“Explain.”
“Certainly,” replied Morning Song as she brushed at the mud in her feathers. That won’t be washing out any time soon, she thought absently. “Trixie is quite plainly not in full control of herself. It’s been nothing short of miraculous she hasn’t dropped any bodies yet, and it’s our duty to see it stays that way. If we’re her ‘heralds,’ we can keep the citizens from panicking and doing something that ends fatally. We can run interference for Twilight and buy her time to figure a way out of this. As for Fluttershy, she’s the best equipped to keep all our friends safe and stroke Trixie’s ego so the showmare doesn’t cause further havoc. Fluttershy is positive, gentle, naturally inclined to be emotionally supportive and complimentary even of the outright villains she’s fighting, and she made Trixie back down. Out of all of us, she’s the best equipped to keep everyone safe while we work the crowd.” Flicking her wings, she asked archly, “That a good enough reason for you, Flight Officer Dash?”
Rainbow Dash held her furious gaze for a moment, then heaved a grim sigh and grated, “Yeah. Yeah it is. I just…” her expression was pained, “I hate leaving her there, LT.”
“I know,” said Song gently. “But the sooner we get back on our mission, the sooner we can take the load off of her and make it easier for Twilight to get help and save all of us. You got me, soldier?”
“Yes ma’am!” barked Rainbow Dash.
“Good. Now bend your head down here to pick me up.” She ruffled her wings. “I haven’t had the chance to try these out, and this doesn’t seem like the best weather for it.”
Rainbow Dash gave an amused snort and bent down. “Maybe I can give you some pointers.”
Morning Song awkwardly clambered up on the pony’s head. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. You’re the one who should be flying; I prefer the ground.” As Rainbow stood erect again, Morning Song added, “Oh, and, Rainbow Dash?”
“Yeah?”
The lieutenant bent over to speak directly into Rainbow’s ear. “This is a gentle reminder that you assaulted a superior officer and then had the nerve to be insubordinate on top of it. I’m going to let it slide this time because today’s been one heck of an awful day, but if you ever pull that horse crap again I will personally throw your tail in the brig and leave you there until your hair falls out. Clear, Flight Officer?”
Rainbow wilted. “Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am.”
“Apology accepted. Now march.”
While Rainbow Dash marched Morning Song around town running interference, Burnt Oak was leading Twilight through the Everfree Forest.
The path he took was not one to which Twilight was accustomed, winding as it did through gullies and thickets. They entered the forest at a place that was unfamiliar to her. Though her mental map of the area suggested it was the most direct route to Zecora’s home from where they’d started, she would have been lost if Burnt Oak hadn’t been there. For his part, the lumberjack seemed to know exactly where he was going, and set a rapid pace for their travel.
While they trotted along, Twilight couldn’t help but wonder at Burnt Oak’s relationship to Zecora. Are they close? I’ve never seen him around her cottage, and she hasn’t mentioned him. Not that she’s obliged to tell me about all her friends, but she’s still a rare sight in town, so not many ponies know her that well. Though, to be fair, I don’t see Burnt Oak around much either... and he does venture into the Everfree more than most. Did they meet there?
Whatever her musings, the pace of their travel made conversation was impossible. The only words he spoke were to advise her about various hazards to avoid, lending further weight to her theory that he patrolled this section of the wood regularly, perhaps as part of his efforts to keep the forest at bay, or perhaps to visit his zebra friend.
They reached Zecora’s cottage far quicker than Twilight would have thought possible, though she guessed her muscles would not thank her for their haste tomorrow.
While still at the edge of the little clearing around the zebra’s hut, Burnt Oak halted, pursed his lips, and whistled a warbling bird cry, such as Twilight had never heard before. A moment later, an answering bird cry was heard from within the cottage, and Zecora stepped forth. Seeing them, she smiled and spoke in verse,
“Though dark clouds above do bring tidings bad,
Seeing you both now makes my heart glad!”
She beckoned them inside.
“Come now friends, come, and be of good cheer,
With tea and talk our plans will be clear!”
Twilight ran forward eagerly, words tumbling out of her mouth as she began pouring out her tale of woe as Zecora poured the tea. She sat at Zecora’s table and reached with gratitude for the drink, but paused when she saw Burnt Oak linger at the door. “Aren’t you coming in?” the unicorn asked.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Sparkle, but no,” replied Burnt Oak, who took off his hat and held it in one hoof in a gesture of respect for the two mares. “Now that yer safe here, Ah gotta grab a book or two that might shed some light on this whole amulet business.”
“But you can’t go to the library!” exclaimed Twilight, aghast. “Trixie would catch you for sure. You can’t go, I…,” her dismay hardened into determination, “I won’t lose somepony else!”
Burnt Oak gave an odd smile. “Ain’t talkin’ about the library, Miss Twilight. Don’t you worry none. Ah’ll be back after night falls, an’ mayhap bring some answers with me.” Without waiting for a reply from Twilight, he turned his gaze to Zecora and said, “Ah trust you start us off strong, as always.”
To Twilight’s surprise, Zecora answered in Zwahili rather than Ponish.
To Twilight’s even greater surprise, Burnt Oak responded in the same tongue, then dipped his head respectfully to the both of them and departed.
Once he’d gone, Twilight turned in astonishment to Zecora and managed, “Wait... I... how does he know Zwahili? Better question, how does he know you?”
Wearing her typical enigmatic smile, Zecora replied,
“As to your first query, I taught him of course.
He speaks it quite well, though his accent is coarse.
As for your second, too long for the telling
Is the tale of our meeting, when far south I was dwelling.
This much I’ll say, a long friendship we’ve held,
And timber wolves aren’t the sole monsters he’s felled.”
Twilight’s curiosity demanded answers, but her dutiful nature would not allow such a distraction. Shoving aside her queries, she instead detailed the grim happenings of the day. Zecora listened patiently, asking clarifying questions when necessary, and maintaining her poise and emotional control even as she was aggrieved by the troubling tale.
The zebra’s calm did much to help Twilight’s own state of mind. She did not become less fearful – after all, the danger was quite real – but instead the unicorn experienced an even more important change.
In the face of her fear, she felt braver.
As the storm worsened and the day drew on towards night, the two mages sat, pondered, and planned.
Burnt Oak was well adept at moving quietly and leaving little trace in his wake. The storm made it that much easier to pass unseen.
Not that there was much worry of being spotted; he had not gone anywhere near Ponyville, as his destination lay well to the outskirts of the community.
Still, he kept to cover and passed through open terrain only when he had no other option. Such evasion was a well-practiced skill, and he’d had many years to learn the hidden byways within and around Ponyville.
His path sometimes took him within easy sight of the storm barrier. The tempestuous wall that shrouded Ponyville was a frightful sight – a swirling curtain of blackened storm and red lightning, like the wall of a dark hurricane conjured by hellish might and impassible to any save perhaps an alicorn or something of equal power. If there was another force that could penetrate the barrier, he did not know it.
Burnt Oak grimaced. Such a titanic display of evil power had many implications, none of them pleasant. If Zecora and Twilight can’t think of a workaround… he pushed the thought aside. Zecora was more steeped in lore than virtually anyone he knew, and Twilight was the most brilliant mage of her generation, perhaps even the most brilliant of the century. If any could find a workaround, it would be them.
His destination lay deep in a grove of maple, oak, and birch – a log cabin, his log cabin, sturdily built and well-worn with the passing of years. It was a simple affair, neither showy nor especially large. Some had suggested that a pony of his talents could build something far grander, but Burnt Oak had no intention of doing so.
After all, he’d built it with the help of Bright Mac many years ago. The logs had their sweat and labor steeped into their very cores. No new structure, however refined, could capture the labor of love of two folk who had been as brothers.
Yet there was no time for reminiscing. Upon entering his cabin, Burnt Oak wasted no time trotting over to his fireplace, where his heavy crossbow rested over the mantlepiece while a quiver and harness hung from a knob beside it. He buckled the harness on and thrust his axe and a pair of knives through the loops designed to hold them, then slung the crossbow and quiver on his back.
Trotting to the middle of the room, he then pushed aside the heavy maplewood table that dominated the space and rolled up the old rug that carpeted the floor beneath, revealing a hidden trapdoor.
It had been a long time since he’d needed to use the trapdoor, but it still swung freely on its hinges as he threw the portal open and descended by ladder into the cellar.
The far wall opposite the ladder was dominated by three triangular wooden cases with glass fronts and flags folded within, along with a plaque bearing various ribbons and medals, several pinned newspaper clippings, a goodly number of sketches, photographs – most of them of an older type – and a variety of keepsakes ranging from an old griffon saber to a pith helmet to a shard of clay from a heavy grey jar, the inner part of which appeared fire-blackened.
Other walls were taken with shelving and other means of storage for books, maps, charts, tools, equipment, and clothing suited to various environment.
Burnt Oak paid most of the cellar’s contents no mind, focusing solely on his books. One in particular caught his eye – a dusty old tome labelled ‘Field Advisory, RERC.’ He’d received it years ago, a couple years before Bright Mac and Buttercup’s wedding, and it had served him well in that time. He hadn’t had much cause to ponder since returning to Ponyville, but had never considered throwing it away.
“Kept for a rainy day,” the lumberjack muttered to himself. “Well, it’s rainin’ now.”
Burnt Oak shoved the book into his satchel along with two others, then made his way over to a footlocker tucked away in the corner. Throwing it open, he pondered the contents a moment before removing two things – a kukri, and a bundle of crossbow bolts.
He kept other crossbow bolts upstairs – a wise precaution, especially when living near the Everfree – but the bolts with which he now filled his quiver were not sort he used for timber wolves, nor was the curve-bladed kukri the standard weapon he carried in the Everfree.
No, these were weapons intended for a more intense sort of contingency, one beyond the threats of the Ponyville-bordering sections of forest.
Burnt Oak hadn’t thought to need them again. But then, almost no one ever expects catastrophe to befall them.
He cast a glance back at the trio of flags and the pictures beside them, nodded respectfully, then ascended the ladder. Twilight and Zecora are the greatest minds in Ponyville, he thought to himself as he covered the cellar again. If any can find a workaround, it’s them. And, if there is no workaround… he threw a cloak over his withers to protect his equipment and tried not to think about how Twilight would react. If there’s no workaround, then I’ll make sure Twilight makes it out alive. No matter what.
And he strode forth into the darkening storm.