Reversing Polarity
The air was thick and dry underneath the high-noon sun. Together, the entirety of the uncharted territory in the southwest filed from their tents, rooms, and shanties when Celestia rose her beacon to the highest point in the skies.
Vagabonds, vagrants, settlers, nomads, prospectors, and dreamers alike marched their way through town towards a small gathering of stallions near the cacti-grove. There, a team of ten had paid the last honors to the fallen, performing grim but necessary work. With ten sets of weathered, weary hooves, they plunged deep into the chasms of the Earth, laying their heroes to rest within the source of their might.
A myriad of ponies marched side-by-side towards the grove, muzzles low, eyes on the horizon. Their hoof-steps were slow, deliberate, churning up a cloud of holy dust in their weary wake. All but five among the territory’s populace arrived, casting aside their own worry and fever dreams to attend. There were names to be spoken, rest to be granted.
One of the awaiting stallions—a veteran of the Royal Guard, thickly muscled and battle-scarred—nodded as the masses approached him. Sweat glistened on his brow. His steel-gray eyes were dim but sharp, staring into the soul of each arriving pony. He found no malice in them. Only sorrow.
The veteran respectfully chose to maintain his silence. He directed the arrivals to the center of the cacti-grove, where twelve patches of freshly disturbed sand slumbered. There, the West held its best lovingly tight, but let their spirits stray.
In solemn silence, the gathering of wayward ponies sat and listened as the veteran strode before them and began last rites. His voice boomed throughout the entire wasteland, quaking the Earth beneath their hooves. He recited the words he had been taught long ago, dismayed to repeat them once again.
“Friends, we are gathered here to honor those brave ponies who gave their lives last night, protecting and defending this patch of soil. Nay, protecting us, this conglomerate of dreamers and deserters, tramps and travelers. These ponies here—may they rest in peace—rushed to meet evil in the flesh, with courage and honor that behooves us all. In all my years as a Royal Guard, I never saw courage like I saw last night on the muzzles of those who rushed to impede the invaders…”
Shuffling his hooves, the stallion cleared his throat and spoke to the skies, to the past.
“Equestria has known conflict, and chaos, and war, and hate. Yes, it is the truth—the awful truth. My years in the Guard showed me that. Equestria is vast and wide, with ponies and Griffons and zebras and others of all stripes and shades. We are many, and yet, somehow, we are one. Somehow, we live in together in these lands, in harmony.
“We live in harmony because of those brave enough to stand up to evil, and madness, and Discord Itself. For although the spirit of chaos and mayhem may have been imprisoned in stone, his terror manifests in us all, lying in wait for the right trigger. The capacity for evil exists within all of us. So does the capacity for good. For unbelievable, amicable good.”
He turned to the twelve now, addressing them as if they were his own soldiers. A single tear formed in his right eye, sparkling in the sunlight.
“Thank you all for your courage, your honor, your sacrifice. It was because of you that, despite everything, this place still stands. That we still stand. That I still stand.
"Your bravery shall never be forgotten, and shall go down in the annals of the West. May the old stories be true,” he said, lip quivering, “and may Galaxia herself greet you in peace and open wings.”
Facing the crowd, the stallion slowly withdrew his revolver from his holster. The weapon trembled in his forehooves as he aimed away from the sun and up towards the heavens. Six of the other stallion who’d assisted him in his grim task did the same, until there were seven shaking barrels of steel shining in the light.
Like the Guard had taught him, he barked the command. In those times, it had been cannonballs piercing the silence, leading the fallen to their refuge above. But times had changed. And so, he salvaged the old ways and the old ritual, here in the chaotic now.
Seven guns, three volleys each.
Twenty-one bullets flying free.
The noise echoed throughout the plains. All in attendance hoped they were heard, loud and clear, and would not only honor the brave below, but stir the action of the silent above.
When the smoke cleared, the veteran stallion held a forehoof to his heart, and let his tears fall freely.
The settlement sat on its haunches for a while, reminiscing, praying. All but five within its invisible borders let the silence that followed serenade their heroes to the great beyond.
Despite the heat, everypony was chilled to the bone.
~
Babs Seed emerged gradually from the well of the black, inch by torturous inch. Sound spurred her first, vision clasped firmly in the forehooves of her dreamless sleep. She was stirred ever-so-slightly by the hushed whispers emanating all around her. The voices were familiar and strange, belonging to mares she knew she knew, but her mind swore were unknown.
“… Ya think it was the same ponies, Auntie?..."
"... Has to be... No way in Tartarus this was a coincidence..."
"... Mother, what do you think... This means, then?"
Slowly peering one eye open, a scene of three fidgeting mares flashed before her. All three played with their hooves, lying on their bellies on the floorboards. Coming up for the depths of a treacherous ocean, Babs Seed felt the haze obscure her vision, rendering her visitors mysterious.
Horseapples... What... where's dat doctor? Did he slip me summat? I know dat I know dem, I jus’ can’t… think straight. What the hay? Dis can’t be a dream.
Pain coursing through her veins and thundering in her skull denied that possibility. No, it was real, so very, achingly real.
One of them spoke up again, sighing and shaking her head. Her features began to fade into focus, crisp with concern: flattened ears, tired eyes, a frowning muzzle. "... I don't know, Citrus. I don’t know what any of this means, or who these ponies are. I wish I knew."
The next voice pricked Babs's left ear to attention. Her words were melodic, comforting, imprinted. As the awakening mare’s attention shifted to her, her concern and confusion became evident as well. She sighed softly before saying, "Auntie, there was this stallion out there when it all happened, an’ he—"
Another mare's eyes caught her sibling's solitary pupil and lit up immediately. Her frown transformed to a slight smile, her piercing orange eyes boring into the curious green.
Awash in joy, Citrus Blossom rose from the floor and strode over to Babs's bedside. The other two took note and quietly rose to follow her.
Leaning up on her forehooves, Citrus nuzzled her sibling and whispered, "Babs? Are you awake, hon?”
A grunt and slow, pained nod were her affirmation.
"Babs..." Apple Bloom clambered up on the innkeeper's bed and laid down carefully beside her, steadying her mare with a forehoof as she groaned and lifted her head. "How do ya feel, sugarcube?"
Instead of answering, Babs Seed blinked a few times and gazed around the room in disbelief. I knew it! I knew it was dem! Had ta be. But… how? Why? "Ma? Citrus? What're youze doin' heeya?"
Libra Scales sat down on her haunches in front of her daughter and kissed her cheek. Overcome with relief—thankful to see her alive, conscious, and in one (broken) piece—she leaned down to speak to her. "We came as quickly as we could once we heard what happened. Are you alright?" She frowned. "I know about this,” she said, pointing at the bandage on her shoulder. “The doctor says that’ll be alright in a few days. But, Babs, dear, we heard you had a bit of a... spell."
A spell. Yes. That was the simplest way Apple Bloom could describe it to them. Truthfully, she was convinced that what had transpired was nothing short of a full-blown trance. Never before had Babs Seed acted so terrifyingly strange. Even her blank, emotionless stare following the news of Appleloosa’s shooting had been minor in comparison.
Doctor Triage attempted to bury the truth in nonsense medical jargon, speaking haughty of “post-traumatic stress”. However, Apple Bloom knew her mare, knew her well, and knew the darkness dancing before her eyes.
She had returned there, where she'd found herself, where they'd found each other, in all of its terrifying significance. She had been a foal again, attacked by a maniac and a monster with hatred in his eyes. A monster who stalked her steps…
Babs Seed weakly titled her head and stared sideways at her mother. "'Spell?' What are youze talkin' 'bout?" Huh? Magic? Is dis what dis is—some black magic?
The three exchanged worried looks. Guiding her muzzle and turning to face her, Apple Bloom explained, "Sugarcube… What she's talkin' 'bout is that, that state you went inta befo' ya passed out.”
“’Passed out’? When did I do dat?”
“Yesterday mornin’.” The answer was simple, crisp, clear, arriving suddenly. It departed with a deadpan, nauseating silence.
More confusion. “What? Youze sayin’ I’ve been sleepin’ ova a day?” Babs raised her head up, slipping out of Apple Bloom’s grasp. Such an ordinary act seemed to require extraordinary effort. She grimaced.
Apple Bloom scooted closer. Citrus and Libra stepped closer, urging her not to strain her voice. “That’s right, hon. You’ve been asleep since yesterday mornin’. It’s noon now, the next day. Doc’s been checkin’ on ya an’ says ya should be feelin’ better soon. Ya don’t remember me wakin’ ya up ta get water?”
Babs Seed shook her head.
Citrus, fighting back tears, murmured, “What do you remember? Do you remember anything?”
“Yea… jus’… Jus’ gimme a sec, alright?” Babs huffed, pulling herself up on her forehooves. She flattened her ears and gritted her teeth, drained of all strength. Keen to change the subject, she glanced at her mother. “How did youze find dis place, anyhow? Been so long since youze last came. Thought youze woulda forgot.”
Libra forced a chuckle. Of course, it was her daughter of all ponies who, even injured and amnesiac, would inject humor into the situation. “Actually, we had a bit of help. I suppose it’s alright if I let her in?” she asked, trotting towards the door.
“’She’?” Babs looked to Apple Bloom for answers, who shrugged in response. Horseapples, iffa there’s any mo’ estrogen in dis room, I think I’ll pass out ‘gain... Where is dat doctor, anyway? Prolly can’t hang wit’ us mares, heh, she thought, her bewildered mind resorting to absurdity. Nodding, Babs focused on the events of the past few days, wracking her brain to remember again.
Libra opened the door and called out into the hallway, “You can come in now. She’s awake.”
~
“’Ey, so how were the funerals?”
Doctor Triage kept his head down, concentrating on the task at hoof. He peeled away a bandage on his patient’s side, careful not to aggravate the forming scab underneath. Washing the area with soap and water, he mumbled, “Didn’t go. Was busy checking on your daughter.”
“Ah.” Turner clenched his jaws at the stinging contact. “How… how’s she doin’?”
“Still was asleep. This whole thing has done a number on her mind, and understandably so.” Triage applied a fresh bandage and moved on to the next scrape. “I’m almost done, Turner.” He turned his head around towards his assistant, who was leaning against an opposite wall on his hindhooves. “Can you grab some more gauze from the medical bag, Dexterity?”
The assistant groaned and rolled his eyes. “Doc, I’ve told you a thousand times. Please, call me Dexter.”
Triage snorted. “Keep up your whining and I’ll call you Poindexter instead.”
Dexterity huffed but complied. Doctor Triage glanced up at his patient and offered a slight smile. “Your wounds are healing up nicely. A few more days off your hooves, and you should be in the clear.”
“An’ Babs?” Turner immediately asked in reply.
“I’m sure she will be in time. Physically, I’m not worried. Psychologically, I’m sure it’ll take a while.” Accepting the needed supplies from his assistant, he continued, “There are a lot of ponies—myself included—who require attention and healing my brand of medicine cannot offer. Although, I’m sure that her mother and sister being here will—“
“Dey’re heeya?!” Turner blurted, eyes wide. Awakened from his own weariness, his countenance alighted with determination. He stared at the physician, incredulous.
Flinching through his second treatment—that blasted soap stinging evermore—Turner demanded, “Hurry dat up! Befo’ dey leave! I want ta see dem an’ Babs.”
“Mister Turner, you cannot—“
“The hay I can’t!” Defiantly, he squirmed away from the doctor’s forehooves, scooting towards the edge of the bed. Reckless and in disregard for his own injuries, he declared, “I’m gonna go see dem, right now!”
Turner placed one hoof on the floorboards, springing the lazy assistant to action. Dexterity focused his magic, his horn sparking with brilliant azure light. With one swift motion, he levitated the injured stallion into the air.
“’EY! PUT ME DOWN!”
Turner glared at him, lips pursing back in a primal snarl. He flailed all four of his hooves uselessly, caught in Dexterity’s magical grip. Shooting daggers his way, he tensed his sore muscles and vowed, “Why, when youze put me down, I’m gonna—“
Triage whooped and smacked his belly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Quick thinking, Dexterity. I guess you unicorns are good for something.”
Dexterity flared his nostrils and flattened his ears, keeping Turner levitated. The spell required noticeable effort, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Whatever, Triage.”
“That’s Doctor Triage to you.”
“’EY! Are youze two gonna keep flirtin’ o’ let me see ma daughta?!”
“Oh, right.” Triage glanced towards his levitating patient, smirking impishly. “I suppose it would be rather rude of us to leave you hanging, wouldn’t it?”
Turner face-hoofed, encased in a bubble of sparkling blue magic.
“Dexterity,” Triage ordered, packing up his medical bag, “please assist our patient to Babs Seed’s room. Make sure he is comfortable when he arrives, but leave him be once he is settled. The family has requested privacy for a few hours.”
Dexterity almost let the enormous Earth pony fall out of his magic. “Are you serious right now?! You want me to carry this big oaf all the way across the inn?!”
“’EY!” Turner protested a third time. “Are youze callin’ me fat?! I’m a nomad, youze numbskull! I’ve covered mo’ miles wit’ ma hooves than youze’ll eva hope ta trot! Why, I could out-gallop youze lanky flank an’ leave youze in so much dust, youze be—“
“Gentlecolts!” Doctor Triage stomped a forehoof, thoroughly unamused. “There are much more important matters to attend to than pithy arguing right now!
"Dexterity, take him down to his daughter’s room. That’s an order. I need to check our supplies and reconfigure our travel plans, as well as write some letters. Thyme said the mail-pegasi are beginning to return.”
Reluctantly, the assistant obeyed. He began to levitate a victorious vagabond down the hallway, straining noticeably with each step. Dexterity mumbled under his breath as they made their way out the door, “I don’t get paid enough for this…”
~
“It’s good to see you again, Babs Seed.”
Little Strongheart mustered a gentle smile, crossing the threshold. She wore her traditional headdress, the sole eagle feather as pristine as it had been since their first meeting almost a year prior. Dust in the desert’s relentless wind had not marred it. On her back were a pair of saddlebags embroidered with gemstones, several more feathers—hawk, falcon, eagle—tied to them with thick, strong twine.
Apple Bloom hopped off the bed and gave the Buffalo a quick hug. “It’s good ta see ya ‘gain, too, Lil’ Strongheart! Been far too long.”
“Yes, it has,” Strongheart said sitting down. “It is a shame we must reunite under such circumstances.” She removed her saddlebags and gestured to Citrus and Libra. “These two were wandering through the plains near our camp. I was more than happy to guide them here.”
“And we are forever grateful,” Libra said sincerely, lowering her head in respect. Citrus did the same, grinning her thanks.
Strongheart dismissed them both with a wave of a forehoof. “Please. Any family of Braeburn’s is a friend of our tribe.” She trotted over to Babs’s bedside and offered a forehoof in friendship.
Babs shook it and forced a smile. “Heh, nice ta see youze ‘gain, too, Strongheart.” She raised an eyebrow and shifted her gaze to Libra. “So, heh, sorry, I guess I’m still—“ she paused, thinking of the easiest way to explain—“comin’ out o’ all dis.
"So… When did youze get heeya? How did youze hear ‘bout what happened? An’ where’s Brae?”
Apple Bloom said, “They got here a few hours ‘go—“
Libra added, “And we heard from some ponies passing through town, and—“
Citrus finished, “Braeburn wasn’t healed up quite enough to go.”
“… I see.” Bringing her forehooves up to both sides of her head, Babs groaned and struggled to remember again. Let’s see… Burnin’ bar… Got Turner out… Got shot by Slinga…
… Wait… Slinga…
“Are you alright, sis?” Citrus pressed a forehoof to Babs’s forehead. “You don’t look so good…”
… Slinga did dis… He did all o’ dis. Soapy, Dyea, Sheriff. Brae’s shoulder. Mine. All o’ it was him.
Apple Bloom shuffled her hooves. “Babs?”
All o’ it was him, an’ it was because o’ me. He was lookin’ fo’ me. He wanted revenge on me. I brought dis heeya.
Libra spun around, opening the door to the room once more. “Where is that damn doctor?!”
I brought dis on ma family.
Everything rushed back to her in a single, momentous recollection, and Babs Seed felt her muzzle pale. She blinked and coughed a few times, crashing back down into the nightmare of reality.
Card Slinger. It had always been Card Slinger—then and now.
Piercing the surface tension of her consciousness, Babs stared at Little Strongheart, thinking of cold fire. She grinned, imperfect molars glistening in the high noon. “Cold fire. Youze rememba, don’t youze?”
“Huh?” Citrus looked at her cousin. “What is she talking about, Bloom?”
Chills proliferated through Apple Bloom’s blood, becoming ice. Nevertheless, it urged her forward, ice and fire battling within. She returned to her mare’s side and slung a forehoof around her. “Shhhhh. None of that, sugarcube,” she whispered, skeptical of her own words.
Ever since Soapy first fired a warning shot into the desert sky, all she could think of was a bonfire in the Buffalo’s camp, tongues of orange, yellow, and red blackening into frigid flame. Now, the very one who’d shown them this horror stood right before her.
What a small place the wide world of Equestria was revealed to be.
Little Strongheart nodded gravely. “Yes, Babs Seed, I remember.” She smiled weakly towards Apple Bloom. "Do you remember, Apple Bloom? Do you remember what you both saw?"
Libra stomped a forehoof impatiently and turned away from the door. “I told him we wanted privacy, not for him to leave completely.”
“Mother, please! Come here. Right now,” Citrus urged. Libra joined the group at her daughter’s bedside.
“Are you alright, Babs?” Libra asked.
“Yes, Lil’ Strongheart, Ah remember—“
Babs snapped, “No, I’m not.”
Both conversations fell to silence. Libra glanced several times at the door, willing Triage to appear. She worried as only a mother does, taking in all of her daughter’s injuries. Babs Seed was now awake and alert, and, but for the wound on her shoulder, appeared to be alright. However, her strange mutterings and fixation on their Buffalo guide testified to something… something that was surely wrong.
Of course, Libra knew, they all were not in the right state of mind, and wouldn’t be for a long, long time. But something… something about her daughter’s answer rendered her at a loss for words.
Comprehending now, Babs Seed stared into the Buffalo, and spoke boldly, fervently. “Cold fire! Youze had me an’ Bloom look inta it, an’ what did it show? Coldness, blackness. Things ta come. Isn’t dat how it works? It shows youze things ta come?”
Little Strongheart nodded. “But—“
“No!” Narrowing her eyes, Babs lurched forward, jaws tensed. Apple Bloom pulled her back. She rounded on Strongheart again, forehooves hanging off the edge of the mattress and poised to pounce.“No! Youze don’t interrupt me!”
Emerald irises pierced their antagonist, twin blades of green. It’s youze! Youze I shoulda listened ta! Youze tried ta warn me, an’ I didn’t listen, but now youze will listen, youze all will listen, because it’s all me, it’s all me an’ all o’ dis is because o’ me, all dis pain an’ hate an’ death an’ it’s ‘cuz o’ me, ‘cuz o’ me, ‘cuz o’ cold fire, an’ I’ll be damned iffa—
Little Strongheart took a step back, stuttering, “I-I’m s-sorry—“
Apple Bloom pulled her mare back, tens of opposing emotions swirling inside her mind. Why was she suddenly so angry? Why had she blanked out again? Was she… growling at Little Strongheart? “Babs! What in tarnation is wrong wit’ you?!”
“Listen! All o’ youze! LISTEN!” Babs barked, hackles raising. Sudden and unexpected vitriol flowed through her, manifesting in her bitter words. “I rememba now! He shot me! He shot me an’ it’s all ma fault!”
“All whose fault?!” Libra Scales took a step back as well, convinced that her daughter had gone mad. She stole another glance at the open doorway, ears pricked for doctors’ hooves.
She didn't have to wait long. Heavy hoof-steps echoed from the ghostly hallways of the abandoned inn, most of its occupants currently drowning their tears in the high-noon sun outside. Libra craned her neck through the threshold, and gasped at what she saw.
A visibly annoyed unicorn carried a thrashing Turner in his magic. The unicorn exhaled hotly, four hooves shaking with each step. He growled to his captive, "For a nomad, you sure seem to eat an awful lot..."
"What is it, Auntie?" Apple Bloom stroked Babs's back in a futile attempt to calm her. Babs could barely contain her rage, clenching her muscles involuntarily, teeth bared for all to see. Little Strongheart glanced towards the door, then to Babs Seed, then to Citrus and Libra, searching for the right words, the right thoughts.
Citrus Blossom approached her mother, brow raised. "Mother, please, what is so—"
"CITRUS? LIBRA?!"
Turner spent his remaining energy on bellowing their names, practically pony-paddling in the thick sea of brilliant blue magic entrapping him. Dexterity grimaced and pressed on, all but exhausted through his efforts. The unicorn was relieved when they reached the innkeeper's room at last, five sets of eyes focused on his squirming, levitating patient.
One pair of eyes finally opened to meet him. Rage dissipating in her relief, Babs cried, "Turner! Turner! Youze alright! Youze really alright!" She begin to rise to her hooves, only to be pushed down by Apple Bloom, who shook her smiling muzzle.
"BABS!" Turner laughed and laughed, his aches forgotten in his joy. He'd believed the good doctor, but seeing those he'd loved the most in the flesh lifted an enormous burden from his pained shoulders.
Turner steered himself towards the bed, snapping down to the weak assistant, "'Ey, bucko, put me down beside ma daughta!"
Dexterity smirked and all but tossed Turner onto the bed behind Babs and Apple Bloom. Chuckling to himself, he grunted once and spun on his hooves, allowing the family some privacy and his tested muscles some relief. He exited swiftly, muttering to himself about bits and plus-sized stallions.
Throwing her forehooves around his neck, Babs nuzzled Turner, tears of joy finding escape at last. "Youze really alright, youze really are," she mumbled, riding her relief. Conflicting, contradictory emotion swelled and brimmed—anger, despair, guilt, relief, joy, confusion—but in the simple act of hugging her father, she found a moment of peace.
Turner nuzzled her back, saying softly, "Yes, an' I'm all right 'cuz o' youze, kiddo. Youze saved ma life."
Citrus and Libra trotted over, and with Apple Bloom, embraced both of them tightly. Little Strongheart took a few steps towards the door, beaming in awe of the calm within the tumultuous storm.
For a moment, there were no shootings. There were no wounds. There were no deaths. There was no hate, no rage, no sadism, no chaos, no confusion. There was only a family, five sets of forehooves finding each other, holding each other close, letting their tears and grins and shaky exhalations testify to what words could never capture.
~
The few weather-pegasi of Manehatten's payroll kicked up a hell of a storm, gathering flocks of dark, gray clouds, transforming the skies into an endless pasture of bleating protest. The thunderheads roared and the downfall came, rivers of cold rain sending street vendors and their customers to seek shelter. It was far from the hour of the light-tenders, but many shopkeepers boarded up early.
Storms like this brought the night out in full swing, demons crawling out from under Manehatten's rug to frolic and tap-dance on the cobblestones. Most were wise to avoid them, locking doors and windows, huddling together, keeping the cold and the evil out.
Card Slinger strode silently through the barren streets, paying rushing passers-by no piece of his tormented mine. He kept his muzzle hung low, staring at his hooves as he trotted.
Inexplicably, once he'd returned back to the East and the beast—to his turf, his territory, his kingdom—Slinger felt a sudden and distressing void, as if he'd lost some precious power within him, something that he could never experience again.
Loss. He had lost something vital to him, something paramount, sacred. The streets, once his concrete jungle, his endless graffitied playground, seemed mean for the first time in his rule as a king of Kings.
He looked past his shoulder to his tail, knowing the ugliness that burned near its base. Four years after a vicious Zebra carved into him with a pot of black ink and a sharpened quill, his tattoo throbbed and pulsed, just as it had when it was fresh and healing. Card Slinger growled to nopony in particular, cursing his foalishness.
King's Knight. Never.
King's Pawn. Always.
Lost in thought, he realized he'd come across the Manehatten Police Deparment, situated in the heart of the ghetto. The police station was an unimpressive, drab building, indistinguishable from the other concrete boxes that lined the streets. A dim lamp burned near its signage. Through the glass door, Slinger could discern several shadowy figures moving about.
Police officers. Police officers that arrested only when commanded to do so, that met with Celestia herself; so went the rumors and the media, but Slinger knew better. Police officers that allowed the streets to fill with enough monsters to cause sufficient chaos and wage endless war, but not enough to attract the focus of Canterlot.
There were King's Knights in there, he knew. But not all of them were. It was impossible.
The rain slicked his muzzle and his mane, chilling him to the bone.
For a moment, Card Slinger considered doing something ridiculous. He galloped off before he made the biggest mistake of his wretched existence.
~
An eternity later, Turner relayed the events of the attacks to Citrus, Libra, and Little Strongheart to the best of his ability. His introduction to the latter had been matched with a story of his own. Apparently, Turner had learned his own survival tricks from Chief Thunderhooves years and years ago, before Appleloosa claimed its own dot on the map.
All listened intently to the stallion's recollections, eyes wide with horror. Citrus, Libra, and Strongheart had caught a glimpse of the bar in their haste, dismayed and alarmed to see it half-burnt, rafters and roof damaged and broken, entire portions of side-walls missing, turned to piles of ashes scattered by the wind.
Libra glanced at her daughter when Turner spoke of the mare lifting him onto her back. A slight smile appeared across her muzzle, consumed by pride. It did not last long when it came time for Babs Seed to speak.
"It's still hard fo' me ta rememba. I rememba hearin' Soapy whoopin' an' firin' out shots outside our window, an' then I remembered Turner was still in the bar. I ran in ta save him, nearly got trapped in there. Then..." She swallowed, turning to Apple Bloom.
Her mare cracked a smile and rubbed her uninjured shoulder. Silently, she conveyed what Babs Seed desperately needed to hear.
It's alright. You can tell 'em. Ah'm here.
"Then what, Babs?" Citrus asked.
"Then, he shot me," Babs said.
"Who shot youze?!" Turner snarled. Unconscious before even leaving the bar, he'd caught no glimpse of his daughter's attacker. Adrenaline sparked through his veins, instincts long left underutilized called to light.
Babs sighed. Alright, gotta be calm 'bout dis. I know what it's gonna bring. I wish I woulda neva had ta talk 'bout dis. I neva did then, an' I sure as hell don't wanna now.
The emotional rollercoaster of her own uncontrollable, irrational rage left her exhausted. Babs closed her eyes for a moment, leaning against her mare.
Apple Bloom, the stronger, pulled her close and turned to Little Strongheart. "Ah hope Ah'm not askin' too much, but... Ya don't happen ta have any medicine that could help her, do ya? She's in a lot o' pain."
Normally, Babs Seed would've resorted to denial, but she said nothing. Instead, she sighed again, preparing herself for the explanation and declaration of a lifetime.
Little Strongheart nodded. Grabbing her saddlebag, she rustled through its contents, retrieving an unfamiliar plant. Apple Bloom titled her head and glanced curiously at it. It was long and triangular, with small, protruding spines along its sides. One end of the plant appeared to be cut open.
Strongheart held the plant tightly and trotted over to Babs's right side. "If you could take the bandage off, I have something that will help with the burn."
Turner asked, "Burn?"
Citrus nodded and muttered sickly, "Apple Bloom told us before she woke up that they had to... cauterize..."
Turner swallowed thickly, grateful he'd declined Triage's offer of lunch.
"Yes, it felt jus' wonderful," Babs mumbled, shaking her head. She opened her eyes and said Strongheart, "Go ahead." Anythin' ta make dis ache stop, an' buy me time. Youze all 'bout ta hate me...
Apple Bloom reached over and removed the fresh bandage, careful not to catch any stray strands of fur in the process. Once fresh air met the blackened burn, Babs inhaled sharply. Turner whistled. "Geez, kiddo. Dat's gonna be a pretty big scar when it's all healed up."
"Thank heavens you're both alright. Scars are the least of our problems. I'm just glad you both are safe now." Libra Scales joined Turner's bedside and kissed the stallion on the cheek. "A little scar won't hurt nopony."
Citrus, too, tried to make light of the situation, watching intently as Little Strongheart began to squeeze one end of the strange plant. "Yeah! And mares dig scars. Right, Apple Bloom?"
"Ah, heh... Ah guess so," Apple Bloom conceded, blushing. Changing the subject, she pointed at the green plant and asked, "What's that, Lil' Strongheart?"
"This is another desert plant, called aloe vera. It grows even farther west from here, towards the ocean and the San Palomino Desert. When my tribe stampedes and travel, we come across it, and harvest it for its medicinal properties. It can be used to treat burns," Strongheart explained. Squeezing the plant with one forehoof, she collected a clear, coagulated liquid in the other. She faced Babs Seed and reached towards her shoulder. "This might feel strange, but it'll help the burn heal and extinguish some of the heat."
Babs began a retort, which dissolved once the Buffalo's forehoof pressed the cold, slick substance to her shoulder. Biting her bottom lip, she let loose a grunt at the strange sensation. Little Strongheart covered the cauterized skin with a thick coating of aloe vera.
Mere moments later, Babs Seed felt the throbbing pain and heat begin to disappear, draining away. "Heh, thanks," she managed, smiling towards Little Strongheart. Guess pouncin' on youze was worth it afta all.
"Now," said Libra Scales, sitting down, "finish what you were telling us, Babs Seed."
"Yes, tell us who the bastard who shot youze is, so I can kick his rotten flank." Turner growled.
Forcing a chuckle at Turner's remark, Babs took a deep breath and began, "Well, Turner, youze rememba how I told youze what happened ta me an' Apple Bloom when we were foals? The crazy dat attacked us in the park?"
The stallion paused for a moment, tapping his chin. "I think so."
"Auntie an' Citrus already know," Apple Bloom quietly chimed in.
Babs nuzzled into her, seeking comfort. Yes, an' I told dem it was jus' a random mugga in the park. Some asshole colt lookin' fo' bits. But dat ain't the truth. It neva was. He wanted me. He was afta me. He was afta me then, an' afta me now. An' both times, ma family was in his sights, in his way, an' he tried ta hurt dem, too.
... I shoulda killed him when I had the chance.
"Yes. What about that little bastard?" Libra hissed, clenching her jaws.
"Well..."
"What is it, sis?" Citrus approached her sibling closer. She smiled softly, urging, "It's alright. He's gone. That was a long time ago, and you kicked the living... tar out of him."
"Yes, I did. But..." Knowing that the next words would decide her next steps—their next steps—and, perhaps, her family's fate forever, Babs Seed let her words hang in the air before finishing at last.
"He wasn't some random mugga-pone, some gang thug dat was jus' lookin' fo' a rush. I knew him. He hated me. He made ma life a livin' hell. He held me down when the othas cut ma tail an' ma mane... "
Turner looked away, enraged and solemn.
"He tormented me from the moment he had class wit' me. He—"
Libra asked, "So, it was a school bully that attacked you?"
"Yes, Ma, it was. A school bully who wanted ta kill me an' Apple Bloom."
Silence made its presence known again, forcing its nauseating presence down everypony's throat. Even Little Strongheart, who stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of whether to leave or listen, felt dread rising to the surface, hoping that their suspicions were false, that this was not the same—
But it was.
"An' dat same jackass was there dat night, an' he shot me."
Quiet.
"He shot me. He tried ta kill me, 'gain. He wants his revenge. He came ta Appleloosa first, an' then out heeya when he couldn't find me."
Sickening, buzzing nothingness.
Babs Seed stared at her aching forehooves, right shoulder now numb, left ear burning as intensely as it did on that dark night almost eight years ago. "Dis is all ma fault. Soapy, Dyea, Sheriff Silverstar. Dey're all dead 'cuz o' me."
Horrified, Apple Bloom looked directly into her eyes. "Sugarcube—"
"Don't youze 'sugarcube' me!" Babs blurted, backing away to the shock of all. Determination surged through her. She was sure of this. Absolutely sure. "Youze rememba, don't youze? The hate in his eyes? Dat soulless look on his face? He's a mad-pony, an' he's afta me! Me! An' all... all o' youze are gettin' hurt because o' it."
On her final words, Babs crumbled, burying her muzzle in her forehooves.
Little Strongheart reached for the door. "I... I'm very sorry for what has happened... I'd... I'd best leave you all to be. Babs, I hope you feel bet—"
"No!" Looking up, tears running down her cheeks, Babs choked, "T-tell me h-how ta s-stop it. S-start y-youze f-fire an' th-throw the s-sand on it 'g-gain."
"I'm sorry." Little Strongheart hung her head. "I cannot predict the future, nor change the casting of the sand. What the cold fire has showed you, I cannot change. You will continue to see it until the future changes."
"Th-then, b-build it! B-build it an' w-we'll s-see."
"Sugarcube, Ah don't think that's a good—"
"Stop... stop it!" Babs rounded on Apple Bloom, ears flattened, molars visible. "Don't youze get it?! It's 'cuz o' me! It's 'cuz o' me youze in danger! Youze all in danger!"
Babs glanced at each and every one of her family members, visions of torrent and tempest holding her mind hostage. She snapped back to Little Strongheart. "Tell me! Tell me what ta do ta make it stop! Don't youze see what youze done?!"
"I have done nothing wrong. I've only tried to help you," Strongheart calmly reiterated. She sighed. "I am very sorry to hear what has happened to you, to all of you. Trust me, my whole tribe is. We know the mail-pegasi have been out for a while, but they cannot fly away forever. They will return soon, and perhaps you can get in touch with somepony who could—"
"Somepony who could what?" Doctor Triage appeared in the threshold, blocking Strongheart's egress. He raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at the cow beneath his towering figure. "Can I help you?"
"S-sorry. I was just about to leave."
"What were you saying about help?"
Little Strongheart smiled sadly at her friends, dismayed she could do little to assist their predicament. Cold fire couldn't offer guidance, and dreams were not ever-reliable guardians. Even the spirits of the wind, sun, and stars were known to their own treachery. Truthfully, she knew not the reasoning behind the assaults on the west, nor the identity of their perpetrators. "I was saying, uh, sir, that since the mail-pegasi are returning, perhaps—"
Doctor Triage snorted, cutting her off. "Let them come. Let them deliver a mountain of letters to Canterlot. Nothing shall be done."
"And why do you say that?" Libra Scales challenged, glaring at him.
"I suspect these villains are from Manehatten. Manehatten's Chief of Police meets with representatives of Celestia on a weekly basis, even the Princess herself on some occasions. She is well aware of the crime there. Chief Brutus, along with many of his top officers, are ex-Royal Guard. They are doing the best they can—or, at least, that's what they say. What the papers say. What the immigrants say."
"See?" Babs gestured towards Triage. "He knows it's Manehatten doin' dis, too! Jus' like dat... dat bastard!"
Libra ignored her, rounding on the doctor. "And how would you know?"
"I used to be one of the top physicians in Manehatten, doctoring the elite themselves. I left only recently, in search of gold and economic freedom. Everything in that city..." Triage shook his muzzle grimly. "Everything is fine and dandy according to the papers, but my experience and that of countless others testifies otherwise."
"Hmph." Turning her attention to her daughter, Libra assured, "Babs, I'm sure you're mistaken. There's no way it could be—"
"I know it's him! I know it's him, an' I know why he's doin' it! An' dat's why, once I'm all patched up, I'm gonna be headin' back ta the rotten city—"
"What?!" Apple Bloom, her jaw agape, tapped her ears, sure she was losing her mind. "Jus' what in tarnation is wrong wit' you, Babs?! Ya can't go back there!"
"Damn straight you can't go back there!" Libra barked, her own hackles rising.
"Why would you?" Citrus asked, dumbfounded, chills racing down her spine. Babs Seed was no longer in the dark about her uncle's misdeeds. Surely, the awful stallion was still there, Citrus suspected, as sociopathic and heartless as ever.
In the midst of the chaos, Little Strongheart snuck out the door, taking to her hooves. There was nothing she could do. She had guided the two mares and applied healing to another. What madness spewed from Babs Seed's mouth was beyond her control, cold fire or not.
Doctor Triage, however, leaned against the doorway and listened.
"Iffa I don't, he'll jus' come back." Her voice trembling, Babs said, "How many mo' have ta suffer because o' me? How many mo' buildin's have ta go up in flames?"
Apple Bloom reasoned, "Babs, honey, we can rebuild the bar—"
"Buck the bar!" Babs snarled, losing control. "I'll burn it down maself iffa it keeps everypony safe. I would hate maself iffa anythin' happened ta youze, Bloom. O' youze, Citrus. O' youze, Ma. O'..."
Babs Seed stared into her father's eyes, eight years of misery relinquished with a title. "O' youze, Da'."
Page Turner smiled and nuzzled her. "No. O' course youze don't want anythin' bad ta happen ta anypony, Babs," he mumbled, tears of tainted joy rolling freely down his cheeks. "But dat doesn't mean youze—"
"That doesn't mean you're going to... to go back there." Libra stomped a forehoof. "I forbid this. I absolutely forbid this."
"I'm not a foal anymo', Ma."
"I don't care! I've... I've almost lost both of my children, and my niece, and my nephew, and... my friends--" Libra looked to Turner, who mustered a smile—"to these psychopaths. I'll be damned if I'll just stand by and let it happen."
Babs frowned. "Ma, please..."
"Babs..." Citrus sniffled, nuzzling her sibling. "Please. Please don't do this. That city is dangerous. He... he is still there."
Turner had no need to ask; he already knew, and felt sick as a result. Two "he's". Two stallions who made their lives—all of their lives—Tartarus on Earth. Evil manifest, running rampant in the flesh. And his daughter playing dragon slayer.
Lost for words, Turner stayed silent.
"Buck him too. I won't let ponies I love get hurt," Babs affirmed, staying strong. Look at dem... dey all are cryin', cryin' 'cuz o' youze. Look at what youze do. Everypony youze hurt...
Apple Bloom hid her face, turning away. Babs felt her heart sink.
O' course, youze even hurt her...
"Please, Bloom." Babs wrapped a forehoof around her mare, urging her to look at her. "Please. I'm jus' doin' what is best fo' us."
"An' what's yer master plan, Babs?" Apple Bloom snapped, tear-stained muzzle inches from hers. "What exactly do ya think yer gonna do? Go git... go git yerself killed?!"
"Bloom, I—"
"Yer bein'... yer' bein' stupid!"
"Bloom, please—"
A deep cough sliced her words, and turned five muzzles towards the doorway.
"Forgive me for eavesdropping," Triage said, stepping into full view. "But, I believe I may have a solution to your problem."
"Buck off, bucko," Turner warned, placing a forehoof on his daughter's back. "Dis is none o' youze business. Thanks fo' savin' our lives an' all, but dis is a family matter."
Doctor Triage raised his forehooves in surrender. "It certainly is. And I am sorry to intrude. I shall leave you be if you wish, but first, let me make a suggestion."
Libra sniffed angrily and glared at him. "And what exactly is your suggestion?"
"I happen to know of an ex-Royal Guard officer who works on the Manehatten police force. She is the head of their Anti-Gang Unit. I have spoken to her muzzle-to-muzzle about some of the criminal activity there. She has been investigating the orange-tattooed gang. I understand that the invaders who were gunned down last night had these marks, according to what some of the townsponies have said." Triage spoke slowly, clearly, no haughtiness in his words. While brash and blunt, deep within his healer's heart, he meant every word he spoke.
Babs Seed snapped back, "What's dis offica's name?"
"Detective, actually. Detective White Dove." Triage leaned down, placing all four hooves on the floor. "If you believe that these monsters are Manehattenites—as I, myself, suspect—and you have a name, I'm sure she can find the pony. It is a mere suggestion, of course," he said, trotting towards the opposite hallway and a scowling Dexterity.
Chuckling awkwardly, Babs mused, "White Dove. What a pansy name fo' a detective."
Apple Bloom glared at her.
"Don't change the subject," Libra deadpanned. "You aren't going to Manehatten. I forbid it."
Babs said once more, "I'm not a foal anymo'. Youze can't control me. Right, Da'?"
Turner shook his head. "Look, Babs, I... I don't think youze are thinkin' dis through clearly. I think youze are makin' a big mistake ta blame youzeself."
Babs groaned, face-hoofing. "I knew youze all wouldn't understand."
Citrus frowned, patting her sibling on her uninjured shoulder. "Babs, I... I can't stop you. But, please. You're not being rational about this. I'm sure it has nothing to do with you."
"No, it has everythin' ta do wit' me." Babs Seed shook her muzzle, standing firm. "See dis?" She gestured towards her cutiemark. "Dis means protectin' somepony. It means sacrifice. Dat's who I am, what I am. I'm a brute. Dat's all I do. I hurt. I hurt othas. An' me bein' out heeya got youze all hurt."
Breathing deep, Babs swallowed her tears and announced, "I'm not gonna let anypony else get hurt. I'm gonna go find dis White Dove, an' dat bastard, an' I'm gonna make sure nopony else gets hurt."
Libra Scales, exhausted and emotionally drained, drew a forehoof back. Babs Seed stared into her, silently urging her to do it, do it, do it. Hit me. See iffa I care. Hurt me. Fine. I jus' hurt everypony else. Fine.
Libra didn't.
Exasperated, heartbroken, defeated, and irrational, the wise Libra Scales threw up her forehooves to the empty heavens. "Fine. You know what? Fine. You're a stubborn mare, and there's no reasoning with you. You're being foalish and selfish right now, you know that? You're going to get hurt, you're going to make us worry, you're going to hurt us. If that's what you want, fine."
Libra Scales mare took to her hooves, galloping out the door, out of the inn, out of her mind.
Citrus Blossom sighed and stared out the open threshold. "I'd better go get her..." She glanced one more time at her stubborn, reckless sibling, more tears shining in her eyes. "Please, Babs... please, don't do this. But, if you do... please, be careful. Be very, very careful."
"Youze ain't gonna fight me?" Babs asked, incredulous.
"I've known you long enough to know that you will do what you want to do, as you always have. You may be a little older, but you're still the foal who would sneak out at night and run the Manehatten streets alone." Sadness hidden behind her smile, Citrus leaned Blossom down and kissed her on the cheek. Before leaving, she nodded to Apple Bloom, saying everything with her eyes.
Babs Seed, now with father and mare only, turned to the stallion first. "Turner? What youze think?"
"I think youze are makin' a mistake, an' I don't want youze ta do it. I want youze safe," he answered honestly. "But, I have no power o' right ta stop youze."
Grateful and honored and privileged to called father at last, Turner nevertheless knew his own position was more of a friend than a guide, and saw in her his own youthful foalishness. Arguing had already proved futile. There was nothing more he could do but bless and hope.
Last but not least, Babs Seed leaned into her mare, nuzzling her cheek before asking, "Bloom?"
Eight years rushed before Apple Bloom's eyes. Eight years of mountains and valleys, questions and certainty. Eight years of learning to love, learning to forgive, learning to be, learning to build. Learning to become the mare she wanted to be, and the mare she yearned to be for the one she owed everything to.
And here that mare was, and irrational as it was—foalish, idiotic, stupid, against all logic and reason and sanity—she knew she could only do one thing.
She could only keep her promise to that mare's mother, and be strong, and keep her safe.
Apple Bloom slowly nuzzled her back. "If that's what ya really want ta do... If that's what ya think is right, Ah won't stop you. An', Ah'll come wit' you."
Babs hesitated, taken aback. "Youze sure?"
For the first time in a long while, Apple Bloom hesitated in return before answering, "Yes."
~
Libra Scales made one last-ditch attempt to persuade her stubborn daughter to change her irrational mind. The mare whose special talent was rationality, reason, and balance met her match in a mare whose talent for destruction and defense was matched by her curt, biting tongue. There were shouting matches and sobbing sessions, but, in the end, Babs Seed stood firm.
She caused this madness, and she would be the one to end it.
Citrus Blossom, although heartbroken just as deeply, left her sister to her decision. She was a grown mare—far too grown for almost twenty. It was understandable, however. She had truly been a mare in Citrus's eyes at age twelve, when she made the decision to crawl out of the belly of her beast. Now, she vowed to return to it, for entirely different reasons, but with just as much determination. And there was nothing she could do to stop her.
A victim of circumstance in many ways, Citrus knew she would only hope, and pray, and perhaps convince Braeburn to pay them an unexpected visit.
Turner made peace with Libra the best he could, bemoaning his decision to leave Appleloosa behind. With Soapy and Dyea resting in peace—bless their souls, bless their gold-mining souls—there was nothing left for him on this patch of soil. Relying on true courage (none of it liquid), he asked Libra Scales if she could reconsider moving that offer to stay in Appleloosa a few months ahead to "when I'm done healin'."
Libra accepted, and kissed him again.
Derpy Hooves returned to the settlement. Her mailbag was soon weighed down heavily with letters, bound for the Appleloosa processing station. "Heh, my boss says it'll make it go faster this way! He has a whole team of pegasi to sort the mail now before we send them out!"
Derpy knocked on the window of the innkeeper's room the morning after Babs's revelation, alerting Apple Bloom. Babs was snoozing on the mattress and Thyme was curled up on a cot in her own room in the corner (gracious mare she was).
"Hey! Apple Bloom! Got any letters for me? I'm just about to head out!" Derpy chirped happily, nodding and giggling like a schoolfilly.
Apple Bloom glanced at her saddlebag, then at Babs Seed, then at Derpy.
"Life's too short, kiddo..."
No. There were more important things.
It could wait.
"Naw, not today, Derpy," Apple Bloom said, shrugging. "Hold on. Ah think Ah've got an apple muffin ya can have, though."
~
A week later, Babs Seed was steady enough on her hooves to declare the time had arrived. The aloe vera had certainly helped. No pain remained in the burn, although that patch of fur and skin would be forever scarred. No worries. Mares dig scars.
Citrus, Libra, and Turner had left the day before, no dry eyes to be found in the Thyme's room. Even the innkeeper wept from the lobby after hearing their goodbyes. Fervent promises to be safe, and to write, and to only speak to the detective and not get involved in any nonsense were the only things that pried Libra's hooves away from her stubborn, reckless brute of a daughter.
To Apple Bloom, Libra whispered, embracing her tightly, "Take care of her, alright? Make sure she doesn't do anything too stupid."
And Apple Bloom, ever the nurturer, nodded and vowed, "Ah will, Auntie. Ah will."
The following evening, when Luna rose her beacon into the heavens, the two nomads set off towards the East and the beast, saddlebags packed, goodbyes said, tips left for a gracious Thyme.
They paused a moment to gaze up at their abandoned, burned bar, and weep for what was, what could've been, and what would never be.
~
In Appleloosa, Manehatten, and Ponyville, every received letter was opened over hot steam, breaking the seal of the adhesive. Each piece of parchment was scanned and screened by the postmaster in secrecy. Upon his orders, all incoming mail was delievered to him before it could be sent. He promised termination to anypony who questioned his judgment or spoke of his orders to anypony else.
Many found their way into the fireplace as a result. Fine, suitable kindling. Three postmasters valued the bits in their pockets and the beat of their hearts more than a broken vow, or righteousness itself.
In the fireplace of Thyme's room in the settlement, another letter turned to ash, needing no postmaster's rejection to be cast aside. There were more important things.
There always were.