There's only one narrow track. It goes into an outta Silverlake. Otherwise, it’s all open country around here. Low scrub, boulders an the ruins of one or two Wrecker buildins. The trackway runs northeast. It also happens that Crosscreek, where I’m gonna leave Penny with Mercy, lies three days due northeast of here. Mind you, that’s three days by Pa’s reckonin. It won’t be three days fer Pen’s short legs. An she’s a fearful slow walker.
"C’mon, Penny," I says. "Let’s see you step lively."
I stride out. After ten steps or so, I check over my shoulder to make sure she’s keepin up. She’s stopped. She’s sittin in the middle of the trackway. She’s got her arms folded over her skinny chest. Her saddlebag’s dumped in the mud beside her.
"C’mon!" I yell. She shakes her head. I curse an turn back. I git to her an says, "What?"
"We shouldn’t go," she says. She lifts her stubborn little chin. I know that look. She’s set to cause ructions.
"Why not?" I says.
"We need to stay here," she says. "If Sun comes back an we ain’t here, he’ll be worried."
"He ain’t comin back," I says.
"He’ll git away from the ponies," she says, "I know he will. An he’ll come back an we won’t be here an he won’t know where to start to lookin fer us or anythin."
"Listen," I says, "you didn’t see ’em. I did. Four ponies took him. Tied him wing an hoof an put him in a cage. He ain’t gonna git away on his own. That’s why I’m goin after him. By myself. I promised him I’d find him an that’s what I’m gonna do."
"After you find him," she says, "we’ll come back here. Right?"
I can see by her face that she knows we ain’t ever comin back, but she’s gonna make me say it.
"This place ain’t fit to live in," I says. "You know that. We’ll find us a new place to live. A better one. Me an Sun an … you."
Her eyes fill with tears. "But this is where we live," she says. "It’s our home."
I shake my head. "Not no more, it ain’t. It cain’t be."
After a moment, she says, "Moon?"
"What?" I says.
"I got a bad feelin. I don’t think we should go. I … I’m afeared."
I open my mouth to tell her not to be so stupid, but stop myself before the words come out. I’m in charge of her now an I don’t want her diggin her hoofs in every time I ask her to do somethin. I try to think what Sun ’ud do if he was here. He’d probly tease her, coax her.
"Whaddya mean, afeared?" I put on a face like I’m surprised. "How can you be afeared with me in charge?"
She gives a little smile. "Ain’t you afeared, Moon?" She says it almost like she’s shy of me.
"Me?" I says. Naw. "I ain’t afeared of nuthin. I ain’t afeared of nopony."
"Really?" she says.
"Really," I says. I hesitate. Then I stick out my hoof. She puts hers in it. "C’mon, I says. Let’s go."
We ain’t gone more’n half a league before we come across hoofprints in the dried mud. Four ponies an a bull pulled cart. The strangers come this way with Sun. I kneel down an trace around the edges of a print. I feel dizzy from relief. I feared they might of headed straight across open country from Silverlake. If they had of, I’d of lost a lotta time takin Penny to Crosscreek an then comin back to Silverlake to try an pick up the trail. The hoofprints lead straight ahead. Northeast. Same direction we’re headed. Our first bit of luck. "C’mon," I says to Pen. "We gotta hurry." I don’t give her no quarter. I walk quick, my hoofsteps jerky. No time to lose.
She trots to keep up with me, her saddlebag thumpin aginst her side. Nero flies on ahead.
Sun was here. He passed this way. Sun goes first, always first, an I follow on behind. I’ll catch him up. I always do.
Always have.
'I’ll find you. Wherever they take you, I swear I’ll find you.'
I walk faster.
Mid-afternoon. Second day on the road.
I hafta stop myself from screamin. From walkin fast. Gallopin on ahead.
Penny Rose.
We couldn’t be goin much slower an it’s all her fault. I wanna leave her by the side of the track an ferget she ever got born. I wish she’d disappear offa the face of th’earth. But I cain’t wish that. I mustn’t wish that. It’s too wicked. She’s my own flesh an blood, the same as Sun.
Not the same as Sun.
Nopony’s the same as Sun.
Never the same as Sun.
We leave a thin stand of near-dead pine trees. The hoofprints leave the trackway here. They head off due north.
"Wait here," I says to Penny.
I follow the prints till the hard baked ground turns to scrubby grass. The prints disappear. I shade my eyes. Stare out. There’s a narrow belt of scrub grassland but after that I cain’t see nuthin but wideness. Flatness. Desert. I ain’t never bin here but I know what it is.
Sandsea.
A mean, death-dry place of winds an shiftin sand dunes. A hard land. A land of secrets.
Before Penny, when Ma was still alive an everythin was happy, Pa used to tell Sun an me stories about Wrecker times. Some of ’em was about Sandsea. He told us about whole settlements of ponies buried by wanderin dunes. Then, one day, the winds ’ud shift an the dune ’ud move on an all that ’ud be left was the shanties. No ponies. All gone. Not a trace of ’em left behind, not even bones. Only their dead souls, turned into sand spirits that wail in the night an cry fer their lost lives. Pa used to say he’d take us there an leave us if we warn’t good.
I pile up some rocks. A cairn to mark the spot so’s I can find it agin. I walk back to the trackway. Pen sits in the dust, her head bowed. She’s keepin her hoofs offa the ground.
"We gotta keep movin," I says.
I look down. At her short, fine red an pink mane that grows in tufts. With her thin little neck, scrawney wings, an wisps of mane, Penny Rose looks more like a babby bird than a pony.
It’s a wonder I didn’t break her neck when I slapped her. Jest thinkin about it makes me feel sick, so I try not to. I know fer a fact that Pen ain’t never in her life bin slapped before I raised my hand to her. Sun would never of done it, no matter what. Never. He’d be madder’n hell if he knew what I done.
I crouch down beside her. "What’s the matter?" I says.
Then I see the bottoms of her hoofs. They’re cut an bloody . She ain’t used to walkin so far, so her hoofs are soft'n tender, not tough like mine. They must hurt like nopony’s business, but she ain’t made a peep.
"Why didn’t you tell me?" I says.
"I didn’t want you to yell at me," she says.
I look at her, her face so small an thin. I hear Sun’s voice in my head. 'She’s only nine, Moon. You might try bein nice to her fer a change.'
"You should of said somethin," I says. I wash her cuts an wrap her hoofs in clean strips of cloth. "All right," I says, "climb on my back."
I help her upas best I can with magic . I carry her as much as I can fer the rest of the day, but even a scrawny nine year old filly gits heavy. I’m carryin our saddlebags too so I hafta put her down from time to time. She ends up havin to walk a fair bit.
She weeps quietly in the night. My heart pinches at the sound. I reach out an touch her shoulder but she flings my hoof off an turns away.
"I hate you!" she cries. "I wish they’d killed you instead of Pa!"
After that, I pull my cloak over my head so’s I cain’t hear her cryin.
We gotta keep on.
I gotta find Sun.
Third day. Dawn.
I clean Penny’s hoofs agin an we set off. She takes two tiny steps an falls to the ground. She won’t be doin no walkin today. I guess I ain’t surprised. I pick her up an lay her down on a grassy patch in some shade. I run my hoof through my mane. Glare at the sky. I wanna scream or run around or … anythin to git rid of all the tightness inside of me. I kick the ground so hard it hurts. I curse mightily.
"I’m sorry, Moon," Penny whispers.
I try to smile, make it look like I don’t care, but I cain’t manage it. I turn my head away from her. It ain’t yer fault, I says. I’ll sort somethin out. I spend the rest of the mornin makin a dragger. I cut two of the springiest, strongest tree branches I can find. I lay ’em out on the ground an brace ’em crosswise with smaller branches to make it good an sturdy fer Pen to lie on. I lash it all together with nettlecord rope. Then I make a yoke to go over my shoulders an pad it with a spare cloak.
It’s ready by the middle of th’afternoon. I tie Penny an our saddlebags onto it. I put on the yoke an then I start pullin. The dragger bumps an thumps over the ground, but Penny don’t complain or whimper or cry. She don’t make a sound. The sun beats down. It’s merciless. Cruel. It makes me think cruel thoughts. Like:
Why couldn’t they of killed Penny, instead of Pa?
Why couldn’t they of took Penny, instead of Sun?
Penny ain’t no use to nobody. Never was. Never will be.
She’s slowin me down. Makin me lose time.
My brain whispers. My heart whispers. My bones whisper.
Leave her … leave her … walk away an leave her. What … to die? Don’t even think about it … she don’t matter … what matters is Sun … go back to the cairn … head out about it … she don’t matter … what matters is Sun … go back to the cairn … head out across Sandsea … that’s the way they went … you could be there in a couple of hours or so if you walked fast ... go, go now …
I give myself a shake. Shut my ears to the whisperin. I cain’t leave Penny. I gotta take her to Crosscreek to stay with Mercy.
Sun said I had to keep her safe. When I find him, I gotta be able to tell him that she’s okay. That I looked after her as good as him. As I pull the dragger behind me, I wonder where he is. If he’s afeared. If he misses me like I miss him.
My missin him makes my whole body ache. It’s like … emptiness. Emptiness that’s beside me, inside me an around me, all the places where Sun used to be. I ain’t never bin without him. Not fer a single moment from the day we was born. From before we was born.
If they touch him, if they hurt him, I’ll kill ’em. Even if they don’t, I might kill ’em anyways, as punishment fer takin him.
My shoulders ache. My hurt leg throbs. The sun beats down. I grit my teeth an make myself go faster.
Why don’t Penny cry? Why don’t she whine?
I wish she would. Then I could yell at her.
Then I could hate her.
I push the mean thoughts away, deep inside to the darkest places of me, where
nobody can see.
An Penny don’t cry. Not even once.
Fifth day. Midnight.
We lie on the ground, in a hollow beside the trackway. We’re wrapped in our dogskin cloaks. Penny’s tucked herself into one side of me. Nero’s huddled on th’other side, fast to sleep, his head tucked unner his wing.
It’s a warm spring night. A soft breeze lifts the mane on my forehead. In the distance, a wolfdog howls an another answers. They’re a long ways off. Naught to worry about.
I stare up at the sky. At the thousands an millions of stars that crowd the night. I look fer the Great Bear. The Little Bear. The Dragon. The Manticore. The North Star.
I think about Pa. About what he told us. That our destiny, the story of our lives is written in the stars. An that he knew how to read ’em.
An then I think about what Sun said.
'Ain’t you figgered it out yet? It’s all in his head. There ain’t nuthin written in the stars. There ain’t no great plan. The world goes on. Our lives jest go on … in this gawdfersaken place. An that’s it. Till the day we die.'
I think of Pa layin out his stick circles an doin his spells an his chants, tryin to make the rain come. How he kept sayin he read it in the stars, that the stars said the rain was comin an how the rain never did come. Well, not till after Pa was dead. Not till it was too late. That means eether Pa was readin the stars wrong or the stars was tellin him lies.
Or maybe the truth is this. That Pa couldn’t read the stars because there ain’t nuthin there to read. An all his spells an chants was jest him bein so desperate fer rain that he’d try any old thing, no matter how crazy.
I used to like lookin at the night sky. Liked to think how one day Pa might teach me to read what the stars had to say. Now they jest look cold an far away.
I shiver.
I reckon Sun’s right. He always is.
There ain’t nuthin written in the stars.
They’re jest lights in the sky. To show you the way in the dark.
But...
Pa knew about the ponies. Knew they’d come fer Sun. Before I told him.
Are they here? Have they come? They cain’t be stopped, Moon. It’s begun.
An he knew he was gonna die. Knew his story was about to end.
My time’s nearly up. I dunno what happens after this.
If Pa couldn’t read the stars, if the stars ain’t got nuthin to say, how did he know all that?
How did he know?