The Mysterious Wayfinder
Part 5: Wayfinder, the Charitable
The Mysterious Wayfinder sat in his family home in Canterlot, pouring over a series of photographs and documents. He’d stayed home to let his injuries heal and hadn’t been out and about in a long while. “How’s your head?” his elderly father appeared, leaning on the doorway with a smile.
“Well I’m not bleeding out at the moment,” Prince Blueblood smirked a little. “I was just reviewing the next few cases.”
“Oh? Any good ones?”
“Well first there’s Mister Vibrant Cast,” Blueblood gestured to a photograph. There was a grubby-looking stallion sitting against a brick wall looking rather miserable. “This is him begging in front of a grocery store in Manehatten.”
“Mhm?” his father said. “I’m sensing hesitation in you, my son.” He said. “What’s the matter with him?”
Blueblood turned the photo around so his father would come closer and have a look. “Well, wherever he goes he has these two grocery sacks with him. See there?” he gestured with a hoof to show the trio of expensive-looking cigarette cartons sticking out. His father nodded a bit.
“It’s not your job to help everypony, Blueblood. Remember that,” his father soothed. “Merely those that can be quantifiably saved. You’re not a marriage councilor, or a soldier, or a psychologist. You’re a benefactor.”
“I know, I know. If he has bits to spend on such bad habits I should not be aiding him. It doesn’t keep me from feeling bad, though. I’ve the means, but not the will,” the Prince sagged in his chair a bit.
“It’s called discretion,” his father harrumphed a little. “I would worry if you were throwing money at every cause out there. We didn’t buy the patents for Celesti-O’s cereal, velcro and standardized concrete so that the millions of bits could be frittered away on every pony with a sob story.” The red stallion sat across from him to ease his weary bones. His son nodded, troubled. “How about this guy?” his father pawed at another picture.
It was a picture of one a Mister Caker, a lanky-looking stallion. “Two foals, wife, fairly successful local business.”
“And?” his father asked. “He looks alright to me.”
“His bakery rarely does much more than break even. Advanced schooling for his foals is going to be out of the question unless he wins the lottery,” Blueblood said, flipping through the paperwork. “No criminal record, good stories from his own culinary school. Neither of the children are earth ponies, though, I’m a tad worried about their racial education.”
“Oh?” Blueblood’s father took a page or two. “M’yes, an earth pony cannot effectively teach a Pegasus or a Unicorn how to fly or use magic.” He gave the paper back after a time. “But surely there are local programs for that in…” he trailed off to find the town. “Ponyville?”
“I’m not sure,” Blueblood murmured, brow furrowing over the logistics. “That being said the local school system is archaic. A single-room school house with one teacher and simple playground. If the town’s yield of foals ever became more than forty or so per year, the poor mare would be overwhelmed and out of resources.”
“Ah, I see. I think we’ve found our pony, then.” His father smiled grandly. Blueblood thought for a time, then smiled and agreed.
=-=-=-=
“Now everypony, I want you to pay extra-close attention today. I know having class outside can be new and… distracting,” Cheerilee had wrangled all thirty foals to their outside desks at last. “But we’re going to continue as normal while the rennovations to the school are being done this spring!”
“But how long to we have to be out here?” Somepony whined. “There’s bugs! And noise! And… and stuff!”
Cheerilee sighed a little, sagging. “We’ll just have to make the best of it. Math books!” she called melodically. There was a group-sized moan. She’d taken the children to a picnic area in Ponyville park so they could be away from all the construction noise and such. She wasn’t about to tell them about the mysterious stallion that had shown up at her door in the middle of night, hoof’d her a half-million bits, and told her to rebuild the school. She was stressed enough as it was. He’d come bearing paperwork and everything else, asking only to not be identified as the school’s benefactor. She’d taken it without question, for he’d offered neither contract nor constraints. Blueprints had been drawn up, and she’d been allowed to pick her favorite out of over a dozen designs. She glanced over as she was teaching, seeing none other than the mysterious stallion walking amongst the trees. He smiled to her, serene, before teleporting away. She thanked him with her eyes, but continued her lessons. In only three months the school house would be bigger, better, and even host its own little library and secondary classrooms! How grand!
=-=-=-=-=
“Back again?” It was Twilight Sparkle who’d appeared as if from nowhere in the park. Wayfinder startled, but frowned at her and said nothing. Her horn glowed, pulling on his mask. The inhibitors had been doubled-up in its band, and she could not pull it off of him.
“Must you be in my way again? I am trying to help others,” Wayfinder said. “You’re grasping the idiot ball rather firmly, I’m afraid.” He flipped open a pocket, pulling an inhibitor circlet free. “Must we dance this dance again, Twilight Sparkle?”
“I want to know why you’re doing all this, Wayfinder,” Twilight said, lifting a hoof in case he should Frisbee the dark ring at her again. “Where all this money comes from. I’ve been doing research,” she threw out her chest rather impressively.
“Oh have you?” Wayfinder relaxed just a little. “And what does the research say?”
“That you’re an immortal shapeshifter,” Twilight said uncertainly. “That you help ponies financially, with a seemingly endless well of bits. Catering to those that can’t help themselves, or can be put on the right path through financial means.”
“Oh?” Blueblood cocked his head a little.
“Mhm, Equestrian Folk Tales and Legends has an entry on you!” The purple mare pulled a book from her saddlebags, flipping it open for him to see. Inside was a woodcut of a stallion giving monies to a poor old stallion outside of a doctor's house. The mask and flank-flaps were pretty distinct. “How old are you, anyway?” she wanted to know.
Blueblood began to sweat a little. Nosey thing. “Erm… I’ve long since lost count,” he lied. “I mean, when you’re as olllld as I am,” he drew it out, looking to one side. “It’s not polite to ask an elderly gentlecolt his age, you know.” They began walking side-by-side, through the park trails and among the trees. He never took his hoof off the inhibitor circlet.
“It’s not, you know, blood money or something, is it?” Twilight wanted to know. “I’m afraid you’re giving away money that you’ve gotten through stealing, or drugs, or something!”
“You insult me!” Blueblood’s Canterlot accent slipped out and his hoof leapt to his mouth.
“Well at least I know where you’re from,” Twilight smirked just a little.
Wayfinder was liking this less and less. Stopping, he sighed and turned to her. “Who I am is none of your business, Twilight Sparkle.”
“I could stop you,” Twilight warned. “Some masked pony hoofing out money like there’s no tomorrow? Where does it all come from? Why do it? How do I know it’s not illegal?”
“Being who you are, a national hero and an element of harmony, can you not understand charity for the sake of charity?” Wayfinder scowled at her. He felt her magic pull on his mask again, but the inhibitors held. “Stop that!” he snapped, lighting his horn to snuff her spell. “Imagine this, and perhaps your curiosity would end, Twilight,” he said, licking his lips to search for a metaphor. “Imagine all the ponies in the world. The griffins. The zebras and so on and so forth. Now imagine how many nobles, lords, princesses and queens there are. The top of society that wields the most power overall.”
“Uh-huhm?” Twilight said neutrally.
“Now imagine those that wield power over the greater swaths of the population, through monies.” Wayfinder said. “The one percent of the one percent of the one percent. The mortal gods of the economy, across all nations. Those that decide the fates of millions on wealth alone,” he said.
“Uh-huhm?” Twilight was frowning by then.
“Now imagine you were one of those ponies.” He pointed to her. She looked at the hoof on her breast. “…wouldn’t you get bored?” he whispered. “Try to better yourself? Make the world a better place?” Turning to face her, he stared into her eyes when she looked up.
Twilight stopped. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. She had no answer for this. “Why wear a mask, though?” she asked quietly. “Don’t you want to be known for your contributions or something?”
“Not long ago,” Wayfinder began walking again. “A cigar company gave twenty-thousand bits to charity, and spend two-hundred thousand telling everypony about it.” He waited for Twilight’s angry wince. “Charity is not about being recognized. It is about helping others. Working in the vast quantities that I do, I cannot afford to be known.” He chuckled a little, looking at her, “Can you imagine how many would flock to me for hoofouts if everypony knew I sent a hooffull of ponies to college? Had debts forgiven? Made life-saving surgeries happen?” he was digging back through several generations of Wayfinders for examples, but the message was the same. “I would be bit-less in a matter of months.”
“So you get to pick and choose? That seems a little… narcissistic. Like you decide their fates,” Twilight said, staring at the path as she spoke. She didn’t sound so sure of herself anymore.
“I do my research, and help those that need it. That deserve it,” Wayfinder said.
“Oh,” she said in an even smaller voice. “I see.” He’d given her a lot to think about.
“Will you stop chasing me then, Twilight?” he asked, staring ahead as they walked side-by-side.
“One more question, a-and I’ll let you be,” Twilight said.
“Ask it,” Wayfinder offered with a relieved smile.
“Are you really ageless? Some immortal creature that just looks like a pony? Helping others?” Twilight wanted to know, looking over at him. She circled around in front of him, looking closely at his mask and face. “I mean, that’s what the book says but… it is true?”
Wayfinder smiled a little wistfully. “Beneath this mask,” he whispered to her, drawing close and putting a hoof on her shoulder. “There is more than flesh. The idea of the Wayfinder is to help others. It doesn’t matter who or what I am inside, or outside. Under this mask or not. It’s what I do with my vast wealth, to help others, that defines me.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear (Twilight’s face colored). “Now, forget you’ve seen me. I don’t exist, after all…” he gestured to her book. "I'm just an old pony's tale."
“Wait, but…” Twilight’s protest was weak. He backed away a few steps, lighting his horn. “But I…” she mumbled, her brow knitted into an adorable little hieroglyph of feminine stress. He winked at her, then winked out of existence. She didn’t track his teleport, merely stared at where he’d been.
SEVERAL YEARS LATER, BEYOND TWILIGHT’S ASCENSION…
“I got a delivery for Princess Twilight!” Mail Mare Derpy Hooves stood at the front doors of Castle Friendship. Entering, she poked her head about. Deciding to follow the main hall, she found a door to a side room open. “Hullo?” she called.
Princess Twilight looked up from her thick book. “Oh, h-hullo Derpy!" her eyes were puffy and stressed. Derpy peered about the room, for it smelled like smoke and ash. Piles of half-destroyed books were all around the room. "Sorry I didn’t answer the door!" she wiped her snotty, reddened nose. Even Derpy could see she'd been crying for hours. "I was just lost in this b-book!” she rose.
Derpy bowed to her, and the poor purple mare blushed. "I heard what happened to your Library Tree. I'm sorry your house got blowed up." she said, brow furrowing in pity.
Twilight huffed, containing a sob before it came rushing out. Her home, all those books... just gone... *sniffle*... “Erm, you have mail for me?” she asked.
“Yup!” the grey one said, leaning and setting down a small package for her. “Sign here!” she had the princess put her hoof on it, and was away. “In Rain or shine or OOMPH!” her wall eyes had misjudged where the doorway was. Twilight startled, lifting a hoof to aid her. “I’m okay!” Derpy called, then flap-flapped away and out of the castle.
Twilight smiled, shaking her head. Turning to the package. Attached was a note. She flipped the card open. Inside, the loopy hoof-writing read:
It has come to my attention that your town library burned down recently, Princess Twilight Sparkle.
A rather unique one, too. Did you know that Living Library Trees actually come from darkest Zafrica?
And that with the proper care, they can grow up to three feet per day until they reach their full size?
Fascinating!
W.
P.S. I just so happen to know a rather organized mare who needs a job, as well. Perhaps a Librarian?
Her breath caught in her throat. Twilight dove for the package, ripping it open wildly. Fluff and packing peanuts went everywhere as she searched back and forth. At last she found it at the very very bottom. Encased in glass and magical, blessed fluids from Zafrican shamans—a golden oak acorn. A Living Library seed. Tears welled up in her eyes and she hunched a little, holding it to her breast. "Thank you, Wayfinder..." she whispered.
THE END