This train was one of the older models. The coaches didn't match the engine (and even each other in the case of some), and showed signs of age: rust, dents, and chipped paint here and there, though calling the dilapidated would've been quite the stretch. They were pulled by a highly streamlined engine. Some say it was an Amareican design, but the 2-3-2B was an entirely domestic machine, thought it's overall appearance may have been inspired by the works of Loevee... The boiler sat atop the wheels like a great big bullet (or missile, according to some), with the five-pointed star on it's tip, pierced by a large headlamp, molded to complete the bullet's cone, with the star decor itself painted in two colors, diagonally: silver on the top side, and black on the bottom, to signify it's traverse between the Union and the Territory.
The 'Autonomous Territory', or "Free Territory", as it was known colloquially (simply named as "Yucrane" by it's dwellers) was... Quite the head-turner, at least in a geopolitical sense.
It's people revolted against the relentless onslaught of the two big competitors during the Civil War, and formed it's own militia. Initially, these local "green armies" were politically neutral and quite ineffective, until a novice revolutionary, released along with the other political prisoners in Mosscow, came home to complete his task.
His name was Пастор Макро, and it was he who brought order into the disheveled bunch, and in the most surprising way possible. Organizing the green armies under a new banner - one that was all black, and showed a frightening image to all those who stoop up against the revolution, both with a literal and metaphoric symbolism, woven into the flag: a skull and crossbones, not to distant from the one pirates used in the colonial era, yet far from being the same as well, with one, clear message around it: Свобода або Cмерть! - "Freedom or Death!".
This new armed force's name was quite a mouthful: "The Revolutionary Insurrectionary Army of Yucraine", so most simply called it the "Black Army", and it's members...
Well, if anything, Батько Макро sure taught them, the Communalist Greys and the Tsarist Byelos one thing, which the entire world had to learn as well:
That Anarchy is Order.
The anarchists were initially the underdogs of the Civil War, using partisan techniques and sabotage, first, to chase off arrogant landlords and factory owners, then, to fight of the local "king" and his raiding army of mercenaries and nationalists. Giving true power to the peasants in the countryside, once an area was stabilized, they moved on, continuing the fight. Enrolling volunteering smallholders and lower-ranking landlords that were willing to join their cause, the pacified locations could resume life with new, locally organized "free councils", and experts (aforementioned smallholders and landlords) guiding the former serfs in their work.
Once the Black Army began to liberate cities, the Communalists finally noticed them. Initially, they considered them to be a mere nuisance, but as they grew in number, and began to take over - or rather, take back - regions captured by the Greys, the kommissars began to see them as more of a threat.
However, as the White Guard closed in around Yucrane, there were increasing cries for negotiations in both armies.
At long last, the leaders of the Workers' and Peasants' Steel Army and the Revolutionary Insurrectionary Army met, and discussed the situation. Makro viewed Linen with both admiration and unease. The high-flying, passionate leader of the Greys served as a great inspiration during his years in prison, however, meeting him in person, the former lawyer seemed... A bit detached from his followers. But more unsettling where his two head commissars: the tactical mastermind, and seemingly always angry Trotsky, and the cold and secretive Steel Ink. Nevertheless, Linen welcomed him, and they set of to discuss a truce between the two armies. However, try as he might, the Supreme Commissar couldn't keep himself from steering the negotiations away from battle tactics, and onto the fields of philosophy and ideology. Makro was a simple, straightforward, earthy type, while the ranting, constantly walking, thinking and talking Linen was clear example of unicorn scholar, his fate sign being an anchor with two hammers crossed over it, with a large, red star serving as a background, clearly visible against his brown fur and reddish crest and tail. Trotsky's fur was a bleached, dirty white, making his wavy and curly, disheveled dark brown crest and tail and black, round glasses stick out quite a lot. His fate mark was a plough shown from the profile, crossed with a large hammer, both contained within a large red star, with a bayonet-bearing rifle placed diagonally behind it. Steel Ink was of a darker beige color with a dark gray, almost black tail and neatly combed-back crest, his rather streamlined-looking face dominated by a profound moustache. His fate mark was more streamlined, "sharper" red star with a hammer and sickle crossed within it.
He remained silent trough the conversation, cooly eyeing up the newcomer from down south. His expression showed no contempt or curiosity, just unambiguous observation.
Trotsky initially seemed to hold some sort of vendetta against the young rebel, however, once his peasant origin and simple take on the world and his duty was revealed, he started to see the yucrainian as more amiable equine - especially when he passed on some unique tips, tactics and strategy that he has been using to fight the Whites.
Following Makro's suggestion, the Communalists resumed the usage of the red banner (which they've ceased to utilize momentarily during the war, so as to detach themselves from the utopian philosophers that Coal Marks has criticized, who used the same banner to call the workers of the world into union), and instead, started to use the steel gray color on their military markings (which is how they used it initially), namely, the five-pointed stars on their hats, helmets and vehicles.
Working together, the Black and (recently re-christened) Red Armies drove the Byelos out of Yucrane.
And again, as the end of the Civil War drew near, tension rose between the two allies. For a long time, it seemed that the Reds would eventually turn against the anarchists, however, a last-minute decision from an already ill Linen changed the newly formed Union's approach in the Yucrainians' favor. Deemed to be a "relatively successful social experiment thus far", they granted the Free Territory (and along with it, the newly formed Belostrana) independence. Some might say that this was due to the pressure of the one-year anniversary of the independence that Princess Celestia granted them, but after so many years, who knows, really?
One thing for certain: the ponies of Free Yucrane knew no gods, no masters.
Yet, there were two figures they admired.
Makro wasn't among them. Sure, he was heralded as a hero of his people, but, much like Linen, he tried to make his comrades follow the ideology and not him, and, unlike Linen, he actually got his point trough. He was only given a small statue in the town he was born in, which was quite handy for those who wanted to give him a final respect, as his grave was left unmarked upon his request.
One of the figures was, oddly enough, Princess Opscura. For some odd reason, ponies genuinely believed that the Princess of Darkness had aided them in their quest against the tsarist and nationalists. Of course, prior to the annunciation of the Three Sisters, she was known to them as "Nightmare Moon".
The other one was an even more enigmatic than the legendary Mare of Eternal Darkness. Rumor has it that it was he who "convinced" the very first Troika to grant the anarchists their freedom.
They still kept in touch, though, the first few generation of troikas kept giving the "Autonomous Territory" (as they called it) the cold shoulder, hoping that it's dwellers' measly resistance will be crushed with the collapse of their "economy", if such small trade activity could be called such.
Turns out, it didn't.
In fact, it only helped the Yucrainians gain the skills and experience they needed for self-sufficiency, and strengthened their sense of independence. Their micro-economy was self contained, simple trading and barter made money useless.
It was only the War's engulfment of the World that forced Yucrane, along with Belostrana, to join forces with the U.C.C.R., in order to defeat the Reich's armies - as they did with the Astro-Hungerian Army before, and the White Guard soon after that.
The War... Was Tartarus.
It devastated both land and equine, leaving the vast Callsack country a scarred, ruined waste pit. For once, the Union offered it's aid, heck, even Belostrana did. Of course, both offers came with the same conditions: the Yucrainians surrender their liberties, the Makrochina (a nickname for the, by then, elder Makro's army) disarms, and they give up on the whole anarchist tomfoolery, and become a proper state - a satellite state, to be precise.
Needless to say, the ponies refused, and rebuilt their country on their own.
But things did change. Industry has gained a much greater role than it had before, as they discovered the various riches the country's mountains had to offer. Agriculture was modernized, and education, in a form that was both similar, yet different from what was popular at the time, was made mandatory... Trough peer pressure, mostly. This form of scholarship later served as the base of many "alternative schools" that sprung up in the following decades, and by the time of the Changeling Rebellion, it became the norm, though, every country had it's version of it.
Industrial exploits mainly revolved around smaller mines, connected with local foundries, which were, in turn, trading and allying themselves with nearby manufactures, many of which had their speciality, and "orders" for their products came from all around the country. As road conditions were similar to those of the Union's "roads", the necessity for a form of transportation became increasingly urgent. The railway has already proved itself useful within the Union, and deserting volunteering engineers travelled to the Territory were happy to help. Soon enough (in a matter of 20 years), the country had a proper railway system, and it's dwellers became interconnected. Other countries began to took notice of the rising wonder, and (under the watchful eye of the Union) decided to (quite literally, at times) trade with the anarchist region. Eventually, so did the Union.
It was this trade connection that made the two railways (albeit, with different gauges, requiring transfer stations) connect as well.
Still, the lack of any form of existing government made the free territory rank quite low on the list of tourist destinations (well, apart from the lists of sociology and economics students).
Visitors were few and far between.
But the Yucrainians, and the land, was anything but hostile.
"Well... This is certainly different..." Twilight mused, as she stepped out onto the small platform. The station they stopped at was not particularly huge, but more along the lines of a branchline station. The two rail lines distanced themselves from each other as the station came into view, so both were shouldered by a shared goods and passenger platform on either side. The building in between the two lines served as the warehouse, while the two other buildings and platforms contained puritan waiting rooms for passengers, connected via an underpass on the eastern end, and an overpass at the western end. The goods depot usually contained the post and small deliveries, universal spare parts for the train, along with a coal hopper leaning over both tracks and a dual water tower.
The passenger platforms on the sides were cleaned of snow, which compensated for the lack of roof the goods platforms had in the middle.
Leaving the train, they trotted trough the simple, empty station, and out onto the cobblestone road. The distant buildings of the nearby town were in vicinity, across an empty field with a clump of deciduous trees, now all barren, their black barks and sharply angled, spike-like branches making them akin to humongous, broken-boned claws trying to slash into the cloud-cowered sky. The air was still, and very cold. It lacked that distinguishable wetness of the winter aura. It was... Pure. But also, bloodcurdlingly cold.
"Hooohhh..." Spike shivered in his coat "It wasn't this cold in Linengrad, and that's the highest up north we've been!"
"It's the mountains!" Sunset explained, pointing a hoof at the steep, towering elevations, standing tall in the distance, still well inside their view of the horizon, but giving generous amounts of space for the valley between them to expand. There was no ridgeline, the individual monstrums of black rock stood close, yet, solitary among each other, giving them a jagged, curtain-esque look, their peaks richly cowered in snow.
"Beautiful, but what of them?"
"The carbonic mountains of this region ensnare the weather conditions for prolonged amounts of time. During the summer, the sweltering heatwave may have passed the region, but these valleys will still be like fire pits. During the winter, even if thaw is near, they remain Dante's freezer."
"Ooooohh... Who's Dante?"
"Look, we gotta find a sculptor named Thundra, right? She's said to be living in one of the local phalansteries near here." Trixie mumbled, shivering "Let's just find her and get the hay out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
"It's only because of winter. It strips down the flora, and quiets the fauna, giving this place an unnatural, unnerving aura." Twilight replied, trying to soothe her.
"The Genocide Memorial in Bearling is unnerving, this place is creepy!"
"I don't think that's a good comparison..." Spike replied, as they began to trot down the cobblestone road, following it's curving path towards the village. It was an indirection, due to the roads nature, but they didn't mind - after stumbling into the icy snow when exiting the station's waiting hall, they quickly decided to always stay on the paved path. The locals build the roads, for convenience's sake, but each community had it's own version of them. Going around on the curve, the cobblestone suddenly changed to hard pressed wood planks, bearing a striking resemblance to japoneese wood paths used traditionally around temples and on wetlands. There was a dense forest near by, and the logging village there decided they'd try out something oriental. Pity the icy, wet wood was slippery like Tartarus, making the three ponies and the young drake skid to the next comblestone path. After some ice ballet and a few tumbles, they arrived practically at the entrance of the town. It was a small community, consisting of only a few dozen houses, barely enough to form five streets in a class "I" shape. A few ponies were outside, mostly cleaning their porch of snow of pouring sawdust onto the street before their porches.
After a bit of nudging, cursing and an eventual slap on the flank, Sunset begrudgingly trotted up to one of the locals, asking for information about Thundra and the sculpture. The others, meanwhile, had a chance to take a more thorough look around. Most of the buildings were built from stone, and had either tile or straw roofs. The only outsider to this trend was the local church. While Makro's actions were never directed against the equines of the cloth, priests still had a tendency to abandon their parsonages, either out of fear of divine punishment for letting their "lambs wander astray", or the more secular, but nonetheless dangerous retaliation of the revolutionaries. Others, inspired by said revolutionaries' strong will and desire for freedom and equality, joined their ranks as chaplains, abandoning the holy buildings. Whilst the Reds treated holy ponies indiscriminately to other demagogues, the anarchist were more willing to accept their disposition in the matter of faith. After the civil war and the Pan-Equine War, though, priest decided to instead form communities like the others, akin to religious orders - except that they accepted outsider, and kept trading with others.
The churches fell in a state of disrepair. Random lightning strikes and arsonist burned them down, the weather eroded their structure and the storms fell their towers. Communities which chose to abandon religious practiced simply tore them down for materials, or repurposed them as libraries, warehouses or town halls - trying not to disrespect the buildings past.
The church in this town - Камінь Форт - was an older one built mostly from wood, and while they didn't demolish it, they couldn't spare the money to repair it. It's frame had warped and withered, forcing them the prop up the main building's walls with logs, while the windows were either smothered with dirt and dust smeared onto them, or were nothing more than empty, glassless frames. As the metal rods and large pickets that kept the corners of the building intact and the logs of the walls in place had eroded into hinges, making the church "shake it's chapel" during storms. But the most noteworthy was it's tower, is it was facing the street - the wood rooted green, the windows all broken and the frames disjointed and crooked, and the entire structure leaning slightly toward the street, which was only amplified by the fact that it was the part of the building facing it, the entrance on it's front not only boarded, but barricaded with planks and rocks thrown haphazardly on the stairs leading to the double-winged doors, one missing. The spire, built, oddly enough, seemingly out of large copper tiles, was twisted and crooked, leaning to the side, weathered green and discoloring the wood directly underneath it.
It was dark and forlorn, with the two oil lamps in front of it showing near similar signs of age, as if no-one had touched them in years...
The building was seated away from the street, with two rows of crooked, visibly dead trees leading up to it. The roadside before the church's lawn was still cowered in snow, and, as the remaining hoofprints on the road's trampled snow revealed, the locals were keen to avoid even getting it's lawn, let alone stepping on it. No animal tracks could be found across the sleety snow, as if even Mother Nature has condemned the land the building stood upon. Tall fences bordered the oblong land, but only on two sides, making the church appear to stand in pathway of nothingness, as the grayish white of the valley and the sky expanded and fused behind it, making it look like it was erected out of a white haze. Not only that, but there weren't any family houses on either side of the fence - the right neighbor was a large barn repurposed as a warehouse combined with an item lender's office, and to the left, a garage for the community's motorized tractors, farming equipment, and a few remaining armored, tracked vehicles from the times of the war, all well maintained and looked after. It was noteworthy that the warehouse had no windows facing the church, and the garage was built in such close proximity to the fence that the church wouldn't be visible from any of the parking slots.
"Alright, apparently, Miss Thundra has dropped the statue off at the local blacksmith's." Sunset explained, returning from her conversation with the communard "It's a family business, and they're known to be burly, but warm hearted. A father, who runs the shop, his wife who works as some type of manager on the fields, a young daughter and a son, old enough to join the voluntary militia, but they keep him home for the winter. The smith was putting on some polish on the statue, as per requested by Thundra herself."
After a brief moment of silence, she caught notice of her friends' wide-eyed, pallid faces. Following the direction they were googling at, she took her time to oogle at the dilapidated church herself, gaining a similar expression, before shaking it off, and dragging the three down the road.
"OK, that's enough spirit watching, let's get to that blacksmith."
***
"Vould yoo like another kup of tee?" Залізний Рудник asked. Coming from a family of blacksmiths, he was the first to break the family vocation lineage by marrying an agricultural worker. His wife, Літона Урожай was an harvest manager, of course, this meant she couldn't work during the winter, but she didn't mind - she could spend more time with her family. The lack of work and physical exercise also meant she put on some extra weight during every winter, which she then progressively worked off during the next spring. This was, by no means a problem - with spring, the season of blossoming turning up, she looked like a modest fertility symbol, along with some of the other women in the community. And stallions kinda liked 'em curvy around these parts. Her husband, in particular, was a profound equine of the curves, but he loved her either way. She was still in her bulking up stage this early in winter, but this was already enough fluff for her daughter, Сяюча Зірка, to get the "snuggles" around her. Thus, she spent most of her days relaxing, cooking and snuggling with her daughter, husband, or occasionally, her son.
"It iz rare that ve get visitors around here." she explained, as her daughter clinged to her lovingly. She petted her wings, and the white pegasus only squirmed closer to her, opening just one bright, green eye to peek at her mother, her gray mane scuffled under her mother's hooves. True to her name, Summer Harvest was honey gold coated, with a fresh grain yellow mane, gazing at the world with green eyes, which her daughter took after.
Coal Mine, on the other hand, was pale white with a black crest and tail, with a robust, muscular body, undeniably a result of many years of hard work. Aside from his smithy in the town, he sometimes also collaborated with other smiths and construction workers for large building projects. He practically never took off the working apron - well, except when he was spending quality time with his wife, of course.
"Miss Thundra iz yoor typikal phalanster-dweller." he explained "Jumpy, always muttering to herself, and burying her head into her studies. Sculpting iz something she does in for leisure."
"What's the sculpture about?" Twilight asked. The smith scratched his beard.
"It iz one of her most impressive vorks. Definitely the most impressive I've ever seen. Solid steel, the shapes pried out from a large spike, made by the nearby foundry." he paused for a moment "But it iz a symbolic work, and I kan't decipher it. You'll hav' to see it for yoorselves."
"OK..." Twilight mused, returning to her tea.
There was a long pause.
"What's with that church?" Trixie asked.
The question, once asked, hung in the air heavily. The two callsacks exchanged looks, then, with a sigh, Залізний replied:
"The Church of the Forgotten Martyrs. Built in the name of those vho died in the name of Harmonia, vay before the civil var."
"An almost 300-years-old building." Літонa added, taking the word from her husband "And a crooked place, trough and trough..."
"How so?" the blue mare asked, increasingly curious.
"Befor' the revolution, this church served as a front."
"A front?" the three mares asked in unison, puzzled altogether.
"For who? Or what?" Sunset asked.
"A cult." Залізний replied darkly, poking the fire "It vas an extension of the Inquisition, long after their fall, that had an outpost here."
"They vere called: Ignis Deae, or "Goddess' Fire"." Літонa went on "A merciless order, with their bases spread out all around the country, spying on people, orchestrating pogroms and witch hunts. They vere manic, paranoid, and xenophobic, having travelled from all the vay down south, exiling themselves into these kold regions, to a foreign land. Yoo kould find their monasteries and nunneries all around the countryside."
"The things their monks hav' kommitted." the blacksmith added, placing another log in "Many of their aktions later inspired the invading gearmanes on how to "get us in line". That's vhy so many churches are left in ruins in these valleys. We kould never tell if they vere the pulpits of honest priests, or the disguised torture chambers of the order."
"Their nuns vere no different." his wife continued "They veren't permitted to use violence, but they vere kolder than vinter itself. They'd rather let the poor die than to give any from the stock, and they regularly taxed those in the vicinity of their nunnery. If the ponies didn't pay up, the monks would come to "cleanse them from their sins"."
Both ponies shuddered, and the three mares exchanged nervous glances.
"That, of course, vas not the end. All locked up in their little forts, these kold, shrewd, but still rather young mares had no one but themselves..."
She paused, and glanced at her daughter. Nodding, the little filly covered her ears tight.
"They got up to all sorts of debauchery, and often the most obscene and positively while acts of perversion and deviancy. Nopony knew vhat vent on in these forts of theirs. If they got found out, however, the monks vould kome, and cleanse them, publicly..."
"There were stories..." the stallion added, staring ponderously into the fire "A lone stallion, or a monk from another, truly holy order in disguise vould knock on their door, and ask for shelter for a night. They vould take him in, and he vould become their koncubine, a physical subject to all their karnal, depraved fantasies. They'd keep him until he died of exhaustion, then dispose of the body in the large furnaces they hid under the altars, a feature shared by both nunneries and monasteries shared."
"If any offspring vould spawn of these kareless aktions, they vould leave the little ones to die, or trust them in the hands of the locals. That's vhy phalasters kame to existence here in the first place, to counter the order's presence." Літонa added, taking the lead of the monologue once again "The order, of course, had great influence. Many landlords only allowed their presence because the order served as an additional tax income, or used them as their private army. Other landlords joined the debauchery of the nunneries, to fend off their own depraved desires. Some vere simply powerless against them, having their heads in their hooves. During the konfusion of the civil war, the local "little tsar" at Kiyev had sworn to chase them away, but it vasn't until Makro and his army vas formed, and the landlords began to fall one by one, that the monks and nuns began to run away. Makro had ordered his army to kill them vithout trial or jury, and they vere the only ones he directly ordered to be killed. They never kaught them, but the kountry had it's revenge: they kouldn't escape before the vinter arrived, and they all froze to death, before they kould leave the border behind them."
"This is just one big horror story." Trixie muttered, in a depressed manner, as Shining Star uncovered her ears.
"Not all of them vere like this." the smith added, concluding the tale "Some monks vere genuine ponies of faith, and spent their time preaching to the locals in pubs, or in the town halls. Vhen the revolution came, they discarded their robes, and joined the ranks, especially after hearing what their "brothers" have been doing. Indeed, they vere the one vho searched for the order the most fervently, and had been core members of the militia since."
"The nuns, too, vere not all succubi in disguise." the farmer mare put in "Many spent their time aktually meeting the locals and learning about their faith, and helping them. Vhen the aktions of the order vere brought to light, they joined the phalansters to atone the sins of their cult secularly, as nurses, doktors, engineers, and, in some cases, as soldiers as vell."
As the conversation finally returned from the dark, Twilight took a look around, and asked:
"Where's your son, by the way?"
"Ah, Глибоко Врожай... Such a ponderous young stallion." Літонa sighed, with the love of a mother "Reminds me of his father when he was his age."
"Так! But I vas left ponderous by you, мій золотий урожай!" the aforementioned chuckled, before, quite ironically, pondering out loud "Sometimes Iy worry about that kolt. Yoo see, he's very gifted vith visual arts, but Iy do not think that it'll make him happy in the long run..."
"The artist's job isn't to be happy, it is to create art!" Trixie exclaimed, enthusiastically.
"True, but yoo kan't expect his parent NOT to worry for him!" the blacksmith argued "Anyways, if you vant to meet him, he iz in his study on the top floor. He's currently showing our other guest his drawings..."
"Other guest?!" the mares asked, already on their way to the stairs.
"Yes, she arrived sometime before you."