//------------------------------// // Chapter One // Story: Words of power // by Sugar Moon //------------------------------// What's in a name? As Big Macintosh slowly worked his field, he thought about it. Big Mac wasn't his name, not his true one and it was a stupid name at that. All the names in common usage were. He understood why, of course. Refer to each other by names similar to their personality or craft. It meant that you always knew who could do what or at least what they were like. It still seemed stupid to him though. None except him and his parents new what his real name was. Names were a strange thing. Everyone kept theirs secret, hiding behind the false names given out at birth. What was the danger in letting everyone know what his true name was? Sighing Big Mac put down his shovel to mop his brow. Course he knew the danger, the reason that everyone in the land kept it secret. True names held power. Anybody with skill at naming could have power over him just from hearing his true name spoken. Course, these days the danger was reduced, the land was peaceful and had been for thousands of years. The time of chaos in the land was reduced to words on parchment in some nobles keep. A young farmer like him knew the tales as well as any, of roving bands of hideous creatures that set fire to the very ground and seemed to turn nature against itself for nefarious purposes; a warlord who could enslave an entire kingdom through simple trinkets; people who imitated others, only to betray their friends and relatives. Yes, Big Mac knew all the tales but that's all they were, to him, tales told by travelling bards and minstrels, actors and mummers alike. Stories to entertain and frighten. Returning to work he had it set in his mind, hiding your true name was merely tradition nowadays. Tradition and fear. But, he supposed, there is some beauty to it. To hiding your name. The utter trust that it shows by telling someone it, the love it carries in revealing it to someone. Even senseless traditions could be beautiful. 'What are you thinking about, you idiot?' a good natured voice asked. 'Look at you, standing there with a dopey grin on your face. You keep doing that while you're shovelling dirt and people are going to think you're quite simple, you know.' Big Mac turned to look at his friend. He was a young lad, around the same age as himself with dark chestnut brown hair and odd darting eyes. His whole face was angular and pointed, with a rakish look to it. He never kept his eyes on one thing in particular for too long and his mouth always seemed to be crooked into a continual grin, as if he was aware of some joke that wasn't likely to share. His clothes were almost as weird as him, patched in odd places and with a large brown coat with the stitches far too big for any kind of sensible sewing. Big Mac thought that his friend must have done it himself. 'But seriously Big Mac, what on earth are you smiling about?' Time Turner asked. 'Just work I suppose,' Big Mac lied smoothly. He didn't want his friend to know about his musing on the silliness of names. Thoughts like that got a man a reputation he couldn't shake. 'Work!' Time spat out, as if the words tasted horrible to him, 'that's all you ever think about. I came just in time then.' 'Time for what?' 'Time to save you from another boring day digging for carrots or whatever.' Time Turner said his voice becoming mocking, 'how lucky you are to have a friend like me, willing to walk for miles to save you from this drudgery.' 'Yeah, lucky,' Big Mac deadpanned. 'That's the spirit. Now come on, we have no time to lose. Let's get going to the village square before everyone else gets there.' Time turner grabbed his large friend by the arm and began to pull. 'Village square? I ain't going down there, not today anyhow.' Big mac set his feet. 'Don't be silly. Today's a feast day, there will be food and ale and all sorts of mischief to get up to. Why wouldn't you want to go? Besides, I haven't told you the best part yet.' 'The best part?' Big Mac asked, his body slowly being pulled away from the farm. 'Oh no, not till we're in the village. Some things are just to good to spoil'. The smirk could be heard through his voice. 'I'm still not going.' Big Mac said firmly. 'Aren't you even a little curious?' 'Eenope,' he shook his head. 'Sure you're not.' The village of Pony field could barely be called a village. It was really a glorified hamlet. A grand total of three buildings were all that marked it. The biggest building in the village was the local inn, run by the mayor of Pony field. The inn was, as the mayor would tell you, the finest building for miles around with all the amenities of any big city. The inn was a quaint thing with a thatched roof and white-washed front. If anyone was looking the only real way to distinguish it from an ordinary farmhouse was the small sign hung proudly over the door. “The Prancing Pony”. The other buildings weren't quite so nice, one being an old run down farm house it seemed. The roof was missing patches of thatch and the wood used in its construction was rotted with age. Still, some signs of life resided inside. The last building was a squat stone square, the entire shape suggested it was a no nonsense practical building. A ringing of a hammer striking metal could be heard from it constantly, and if that wasn't enough to declare to what was inside, an iron-wrought bracket saying “Blacksmith” hung outside. Today though the fact that it was barely a village wasn't remarked by any, as colourful bunting hung from building to building. In between them all was hung garlands of flowers and below each garland was a carefully placed table, filled to bursting with food, casks of ale and other feastday treats. In the cities such tables might seem a trifle sparse but here, among the simple folk around them, they were glorious banquet tables. The lady Sparkle looked upon the scene with a gentle smile. From her place at the side of the inn she could quite easily see everything while remaining free from prying eyes and ears. Her arrival had caused enough uproar already. The surrounding farmers had come for miles, it would seem, to celebrate together. They probably didn't even know what it was in aid of, just that it was a feast. There was some one hundred people around ranging from small children to grizzled old men as they quietly complained to each other in between cups of ale. Music from some of the farmers on pipes and cherished lyres wafted through the air as some of the younger people danced joyously. There was a feeling of rehearsed effort to the dance, like it had been going on for hundreds of years unbroken. At each peak in the music the ladies in the dance would grab their chosen man and pull them into the melee of the dance. It resulted in a lot of giggling from the ladies and a lot of blushing and embarrassed looks from the men. She quickly surmised that this feast day could possibly be the only time that the locals were all together, possibly until the next feast day in six months time. The dance probably had a deeper meaning to it then, probably some sort of courtship ritual. With this thought in her head she heard a voice speak politely to her. 'Would you like to dance, my lady?' a quite definitely feminine voice asked. Twilight blushed furiously at the implications of the question. 'Um, I'm not really much of a dancer. But thank you for your kind offer,' Twilight replied, a little flustered. The girl who asked simply nodded slightly and walked away towards one of the banquet tables. Twilight frowned a little, hoping she had not upset the girl. It must of taken a lot of courage for her to ask for a dance, especially to a noble. Try as she might Twilight thought there was something rather dashing about the rainbow haired girl. She was definitely brave. 'Why didn't you dance?' the voice of her page asked her. 'Because Spike, we are here in disguise. I can't allow myself to show my hand too soon. I must be inconspicuous. We are just two nobles, here for the night before moving on to the city at first light. We can't let him know we're here before we find him.' 'I still say we should just announce who we are and let the village lead us to him. It's not like he can out run an entire village' Spike said fidgeting with his clothes, ' least then I wouldn't have to wear this stupid costume any more'. 'You know why,' Twilight's voice came out a little harsh. 'If he can evade an entire city guard and the Princess' army for ten years I don't think one village can stop him. We need to corner him and let me deal with it. Besides, I don't think the village would be entirely comfortable if you dropped your disguise. People this far from civilization can be a little backward. I already heard someone say they didn't believe in the Chan'lins. They'll be in for a rough surprise in a few years if we aren't successful'. 'You always bring that up,' Spike folded his arms crossly. '”People just wouldn't understand Spike, They think your race are monsters”, how do you know if you always try to hide who I am?' he asked furiously. 'Spike' Twilight lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. 'Forget it,' he shrugged the hand away. 'Let's just find this guy and leave. How do we catch him?' Sighing Twilight looked out towards the crowd. 'Well, if I know him, he'll be living under an assumed name or disguised and probably doing the most overlooked yet vital job hereabouts. We're just going to have to ask these people about the village and hope that one of says something that will lead us to him. We know he's here, all that's left is to actually find him.' 'That's your plan? Ask around? You, of all people, want to talk to others in a friendly, affable and social setting?' Spike said flabbergasted. 'Well, yes.' 'Right,' Spike pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.'I'm going to get a drink then.' As he walked off towards the tables, Twilight called after him 'Don't just leave me here with these people.' The crowd of revellers turned around to her, while she tried to stammer out an apology. Still walking Spike muttered under his breath 'Smooth Twilight, smooth'.