Mortal Coil

by Reeve


XIV - Home Sweet Home

Port Mule, the city I had been born in, the city I had grown up in, the city I hadn’t seen in over two years was now finally in front of me. Even now after my time in Equestria, I still knew it like the back of my hoof. While it was smaller than Pivot, it definitely had a lot more packed in, as a result the cobbled streets were very narrow and many buildings were tall. You might have a very boxed in feeling as a result of this, traversing streets that might as well have been alleyways while walls rose up all around you. On top of this the winding streets made the town very difficult to navigate for anypony unfamiliar with the layout of the city; this was compensated for by having signposts on every junction.

The city was built on a slope, so there was always a gradual incline as you walked from one end of the town to the other. The port that gave Mule its namesake was at the lowest end, and made up the largest of all the districts in the city, while the fort that had been affectionately nicknamed Fort Mule was at the highest end of the city. It was a fat behemoth of a structure, squatting at the top of the city, built in the same functional form of the city walls. By stark contrast the buildings that made up the city itself were designed to be a lot more aesthetically pleasing, reminiscent of the Equestrian renaissance period when Mule was first built.

This could be seen in the stone columns and arches, as well as the facades on the walls of buildings, all of which served no real purpose beyond making the building in question more eye-catching. There was also a large focus on flora, from hanging flower baskets to ivy creeping up the walls and wrapping around pillars. All this emphasis on style served as a visual representation of class and wealth in Mule, the wealthiest homes and the most prosperous stores had more architectural extravagance and carefully maintained plant life.

While this used to encourage a great deal of elitist attitudes, it had calmed down somewhat in my lifetime, and by the time I was working for myself very few ponies cared one way or another how wealthy a store was before shopping there, or a family was before associating with them. Mule was much like I remembered it being as Applejack and I entered through the city gates, although there were still a number of things that I was quick to pick up on. For starters the gate I just mentioned was now flanked on either side by a number of ponies in dark armour, their shields baring the same emblem as those of the ponies at the bridge.

Indeed, there were an alarming number of guards throughout the city, some standing guard at street corners while others patrolled the streets in units of four. Not only this, but Grass Snake hadn’t been metaphorical when she said the Liberators had raised their banners in the city. It didn’t seem to matter where one went, there was always at least one banner in view, whether it be hanging over a shop window or lining the city walls on standards. Another difference I noticed was the evidence of the war, like Pivot many buildings had been marred by the recent events, but unlike Pivot attempts were being made to repair the damage.

I was pleased to see that the economy of Mule hadn’t suffered like Pivot had, I didn’t see a single homeless pony around and the narrow streets were packed with ponies going about their daily lives. It actually seemed a bit surreal, and I was more than a little suspicious as to how the two major trading cities of Panchea could be doing so vastly different, especially considering they relied on one another for most of their business. Applejack wasn’t too bothered by the whole thing however, with the amount of products they were just giving away to the ponies of Pivot, they really needed the extra sales here in Mule so she wasn’t about to complain that they were still doing so well.

The last difference that caught my eye, which wasn’t hard as it was quite a big difference, was the fort itself. For as long as I had lived it had been little more than a giant cube shaped keep, very basic, intended only to serve as a town hall in times of peace. Now however, it had grown exponentially, it was much bigger and definitely more complex than the mere box it had once been. While I could have understood the need for an upgrade during the war, the fact that there was still a great deal of scaffolding and tarpaulin around most of it suggested they were still building.

Applejack and I didn’t have to walk long to reach the market square, perhaps the most open area of the whole city. Once we arrived there she began setting up her stall while I unloaded the first lot of apple related goods for selling. As we worked to get started up, I scanned my eyes around the market looking at all the individual ponies going about their business. I recognised a few faces, nopony I knew well enough to greet, but the majority of faces were unfamiliar to me. I figured what with how well Mule seemed to be doing, quite a few ponies had moved in from other towns that weren’t doing quite so well, like Pivot or Glean.

“You know you don’t have to stay and help,” Applejack said once we were finished setting up. “You can go over to your house.”

“I’ll have plenty of time to do that,” I replied. “Besides, I want to help.”

The day ended up being quite busy, and I’m sure Applejack ended up appreciating having an extra pair of hooves to deal with all the orders. Occasionally we’d get a few soldiers on patrol come over and buy something; one group in particular took notice of my weapons and Applejack’s… body.

“You look like you could handle yourself in a fight,” one of the guards said to me. “I don’t know many mares who walk around with a sword, would you be interested in enlisting with the Liberators?”

“It’s mostly for show,” I replied with a little laugh. “To scare off bandits on the road, I assure you I don’t know the first thing about fighting.”

“Smart,” the guard continued. “Bandits have been a real problem lately, but then that’s the rebels for you, they can’t keep their men in check. The Liberators never have problems like that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I replied, trying to hide my scepticism.

“What about you?” the guard said, turning to Applejack. “Now don’t tell me you don’t know how to fight, you look like you could beat all of us up.”

“As temptin’ as that sounds,” Applejack began, the guards probably thought she was referring to enlisting, but I knew she meant beating them up. “If I ran off to join the army then who would work the farm and bring these apples here for you every week?”

“Fair point,” the guard admitted. “I suppose if everypony joined up there wouldn’t be much of a country left to fight for.”

I frowned as they walked away, so far the Liberators seemed much friendlier than any of the rebels I had met, with the exception of those who had left willingly like Applejack and Hammerhead, and judging from what that guard had said they definitely seemed to believe they were fighting for a good cause. The Liberators must have some very good propaganda if they can make invading Equestria, the most powerful kingdom in the world, sound like a good idea or a noble cause.

It ended up quite late in the afternoon before Applejack had sold out; apparently their previous trips to Mule had taught them to overfill the cart. She even made herself a fair amount of money for the day, I was a little worried that she might get robbed on the way back, but then I noticed her claymore in the cart that had previously been hidden by some strategically placed apple crates. Even if she hadn’t had the sword, this was Applejack I was thinking of, any bandits would be stupid to cross her path, no matter how many of them there were. I wonder if the battle at Olympus had suffered without her after she deserted.

“Right, well ah guess that’s that done and dusted,” Applejack said after loading the last empty crate onto the cart. “Now to sort out your cut…”

“Yeah, I’m going to stop you right there,” I interrupted. “You don’t owe me anything, you’ve done more than enough for me and I don’t need your money.”

“Now Rarity, don’t be stubborn,” Applejack replied. “You did a day’s work, so you get paid for a day’s work. It would be different if you were comin’ back to the farm, but you’re not, so just take the money so ah know you have some to keep you goin’ should anything go wrong.”

Applejack practically thrust the bits into my chest which I reluctantly levitated one by one into my own purse. I could see Applejack fidgeting over the rest of the money, I could tell she gave me a reduced amount so I wouldn’t complain and she desperately wanted to rectify that.

“Just keep it AJ,” I said. “You’ve got a family to think about.”

That seemed to do it for her, so she put the rest of the bits away all while muttering something under her breath.

“So, that’s business taken care of,” Applejack began, looking back up at me. “We should head over to your house.”

“I can make my own way back,” I argued. “And unless you want to stay the night or stop in for a rest, which I know you’d refuse anyway, you’ll need to head out as soon as possible so you can get back to the farm in good time.”

“Alright,” Applejack groaned. “Ah suppose ah can trust you to find your way home alone.”

“Applejack, I was raised in this city,” I replied with a small chuckle. “If there was ever a place I was in my own element, it’s here.”

“Well okay, but don’t forget to come visit as soon as possible,” Applejack insisted.

“I will, you act like I’m going to forget to if you don’t keep reminding me,” I assured her.

After a drawn out farewell and some more reassurance, Applejack finally hooked herself up to the cart and began making her way out of the market square and out of sight. Truth be told I was a little relieved, when Applejack had suggested I go straight home rather than stay and help her at the stall, I had been tempted to accept. All day I had been itching to get back to my house and the more I delayed the more agitated I got, it was only the knowledge that staying and helping was the right thing to do and what a true friend should do that made me stay with her.

Now that she was gone however I took no time in hurrying through the familiar streets to get to my home district. There were five districts in Mule, the Harbour District which as I said was the largest and easily the most important. The Merchant District where we had spent most of the day, the Home District where the majority of ponies live, and the Defence District where the fort was located. Lastly was the Botanic District, where all the wealthiest ponies live as well as where the main touristy attractions could be found like the theatre or the public gardens, that was where I lived.

It really sounds like I’m tooting my own horn, that I’m making myself out to be ridiculously wealthy, but I assure you my parents were anything but. They were both as working class as working class ponies could get, and they worked very hard their whole lives so that they could afford to live in such luxury and give me and my sister the upbringing we received. What I said previously about elitist attitudes declining in my lifetime helped as well, making the houses in the Botanic District aimed more towards the middle class as opposed to the super rich.

However as I made my way out of the narrow streets of the Merchant District into the more reasonably sized ones of the Botanic District, I quickly realised something was wrong. Even in the late afternoon the city was still busy, there were still a great many ponies milling about making lots of noise, but not here. The Botanic District was unearthly quiet, the large houses that lined the streets sat dark and empty, the whole place looked abandoned.

I quickly wished it had just been abandoned, but as I passed by the first few houses and came to one that lay completely demolished I realised it was worse than that. I ran down the streets, passing by ruin after ruin, some were the blackened remains following a fire, others looked as if they had been systematically dismantled brick by brick, and some looked as if they had been blown apart from the inside out, all left to lie. The number of houses which remained whole became fewer and fewer as I ran, but it made no sense to me as panic started rising. Buildings had been damaged all over the city, I had seen that, but they were being repaired even as I walked through with Applejack. So why were these houses being left in their current state?

I wasn’t particularly religious, I liked Princess Celestia because she was a physical being who actually lived and actively ran a kingdom, but I was more sceptical about the legends of the other five alicorns who made up the Six which so many ponies worshiped. As I ran however, I found myself praying to Celestia and to the Six and to every other being of myth and legend I could think of that my house, the house I had been born in was one of the few that had been left mercifully untouched. I ran passed number thirty-eight, it was whole. Number thirty-nine was lying in disrepair. Number forty had been bombed to oblivion, now only a crater remained where a house once stood. Forty-one had been set alight.

Finally I reached number forty-two, and as I stood at the tall iron gates peering in at my house, I knew my prayers had gone unanswered. The house was unrecognisable, perhaps it had been set on fire or perhaps it had been blown up, I really couldn’t tell. I had travelled all this way, gone through so much, always so confident that at the end of it my old house would be waiting for me, good as new. In retrospect I was a fool, and as I slid the foot of the iron gates and began sobbing quietly to myself I became a pathetic fool.

I don’t know how long exactly I had sat there, but by the time I finally found the strength to stand up and open the gates it was dark. I walked very slowly down the garden path, looking forlornly to either side at what had once been my mother’s pride and joy, after me and my sister of course, now reduced to dry, cracked soil with the odd lifeless plant dotted about. The house itself, once so magnificent, was now nothing more than a husk. The roof was almost entirely gone, there were a great many gaps in the walls, the windows had been smashed in and the doors either smashed to pieces or were just plain gone.

As I stepped beyond the threshold and found myself in the hallway I had to struggle not to burst into tears again. Everywhere I looked was another cruel reminder of what had been lost, the staircase that I used to race Sweetie Belle up, now collapsed in on itself. The coat rack that father always used to hang his hat on the moment he stepped in the door after a day’s work, completely absent. The family photos in their frames and their glass fronts that my mother had wanted to take with us before we left for Equestria, a few now lay on the ground, dust and debris obscuring how badly cracked and smashed they were, most were missing.

I continued down the hall, nearing the door to the parlour. I was so absorbed in my own misery that it wasn’t until I was right up beside the door that I heard the faint crackling of a fire. Curiosity overtaking anguish, I pushed the door open and edged into the room. This room was no better than the hall, but somepony had clearly made some effort to restore it. There were planks boarding up the smashed windows to prevent any drafts from entering, the furniture was all missing, but in their place were a couple old armchairs that looked like they had been dragged out of a skip.

The fire I had heard was inside the fireplace, but there must have been something wrong with the chimney, possibly collapsed, and the smoke was now coming into the room. To counter this, a large hole had been smashed into the ceiling just above the fire place to allow the smoke to exit, at least I hoped that’s why the hole was there and it wasn’t just another bit of mindless destruction. Beyond this, the room had been stripped absolutely bare, in some parts the floorboards had even been pulled up. It wasn’t hard to figure out who had lit the fire, especially considering he was curled up in one of the armchairs staring right at me.

“Good evening,” he said in a gruff voice, before his eyes moved down to look at my sword and a worried expression crossed his face. “I don’t want any trouble.”

The stallion looked like he had seen better days, he reminded me of the homeless ponies I saw up in Pivot, even dressed like them. As I walked closer to him I could make out the scruffy beard he had going, and how thin he was beneath the equally thin garments. This pony looked absolutely miserable, but he also looked absolutely terrified and I realised I had just made my way closer to him without telling him I meant no harm.

“I’m not here to cause any,” I said at last.

“Then take a seat,” he offered, visibly relaxing.

I was slightly irritated at being offered a seat in my own house, but then I felt a sharp pang when I realised this was probably his house more than it was mine. I sat down in the chair opposite him, it was a horribly uncomfortable thing, I could feel loose springs sticking into my backside.

“You don’t look homeless,” he commented, taking in my clothes, weapons and bags. “What are you doin’ here?”

“I live here…” I began before catching myself on. “Or, I used to live here…”

“Before the war,” the stallion finished for me, to which I nodded bitterly. “Can’t imagine this is too easy for you then, your eyes tell that much.”

I realised my eyes must look very bloodshot after all my crying.

“So where have you been all this time?” he asked. “You a soldier too? Is that where you got your fancy sword?”

“No, I’m not a soldier,” I replied in a hollow voice. “I’m just a coward, my family and I ran away to Equestria when the war started.”

“And how does that make you a coward?” he asked in an even tone, the question taking me by surprise. “Your sister was pretty young, would it have been brave if your parents had stayed here and let her live in a country ravaged by war?”

I gaped at him.

“How do you know about my sister?!” I exclaimed, a little bit frightened.

“The pictures,” he answered simply. “I recognised you as soon as you walked in, but that don’t answer my question. Would it have been brave?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I answered, trying to inject some firmness in my voice.

“No, it would not,” he agreed. “But maybe you stayed here while they went to find safety elsewhere, is that bravery, to leave your family in a time of crisis?”

“No…” I replied awkwardly.

“No is right,” he jumped in quickly. “So your family left the country and you went with them because that’s what family does, so how are you a coward?”

“I… I don’t know,” I answered lamely.

“Well if you can’t say, then what right does anyone else have to say so?” he asked, giving me weak smile.

His words rattled around in my head for a moment while I tried to make sense of what I was hearing; eventually I gave him a genuine smile in return.

“You’re right, thank you,” I said, wiping my eyes. “My name’s Rarity by the way.”

“Name’s Mashed Potato,” he replied. “So, where’s the family now?”

“Still in Canterlot,” I replied, frowning once more. “I came over on my own to see if things were safe enough for them to come over as well, but after everything I’ve seen… and now this, I know it’s anything but safe for them.”

“Yeah, things are pretty bad,” Mashed Potato agreed, nodding his head sagely. “I still remember when Equestria surrendered, when the war was finished. We were over the moon; we thought life would finally get back to normal. But for a lot of soldiers, they left the Rebellion to find that there was no life to go back to. That their homes were destroyed, their families killed or missing. We waited for the Rebels to make things right, to take control of the country and restore it, we’re still waiting to this day.

“We had the choice to go back,” he continued. “To keep fighting for the rebels even after the war was over, but would they pay us to do so? Could they pay us to do so? They could not. During the war most fought out of a sense of patriotism, they believed we were fighting the good fight, but once the war was finished and the Equestrian armies had left our shores… what were we still fighting for? We won, so why were we now being expected to fight each other? Even if he rebels could pay me for my services, I don’t know that I’d want to go back, knowing that I might be asked to fight ponies I once fought alongside just because they switched faction.

“So if I won’t fight and there’s no life left for an ex-solider, where does that leave me?” he asked before spreading his hooves out around him. “Right here, sheltering in the ruin of your house, hoping that the Liberators will pass this place by another day. It won’t last forever I know, one day they’re going to come in here to break it down and harvest it for materials to expand that accursed fortress, and when they find me I’ll be given the same choice all homeless ponies in Mule get. Join the Liberators in their insane fight against Equestria, or be sent to Pivot to die in the streets alongside the rest of the ponies there.”

“But why?” I asked, I had stayed silent throughout Mashed Potato’s story but now I couldn’t stop myself. “Why can’t the Rebellion do anything? Why are they now fighting each other? Why doesn’t Mule want homeless ponies?”

“The first one is easy,” Mashed Potato began. “The Liberators control Mule, the remnants of the Rebellion control Pivot, the two oppose one another so the Liberators do everything in their power to break the economy in Pivot. Cutting trade between the two cities, filling Pivot with ponies who are too weak to work and don’t have any bits to pay for local services or products, and many other dirty tactics intended to ruin Pivot and by extension the Rebellion’s main power base.

“As for why they’re fighting,” he continued. “Well they want different things, and so they each want to take control so that they can get those different things. The Liberators want to conquer Equestria, the Rebels do not, and whoever controls the country decides which happens. I suppose that also answers your first question too; the Rebellion can’t do anything so long as their power is being constantly undermined by the other factions. The only major city they have any influence in is Pivot and in its current state it’s no use to anyone.”

I groaned and leaned forward in my seat, the entire country was in chaos and ponies everywhere were suffering because of it, and why? Because the few ponies who led the Rebellion had a falling out and until one of them wins or they come together nothing can be fixed.

“You seem to be quite knowledgeable when it comes to these matters,” I pointed out.

“When I was in the Rebellion I was in… one of the more secretive units,” he explained.

“Secretive?” I repeated curiously. “You mean like a spy?”

“I suppose so,” he admitted with a small shrug. “To be good at that sort of job you need to have a firm understanding of the political ongoing and intrigues of your enemy’s leader base. Those skills can equally be applied to your own leaders, especially when towards the end of the war divisions were already starting to appear and I was being asked to help come up with a special code for messages that only a select number of individuals would be able to decipher.”

“A code?” I repeated, imagining a small light bulb appearing over my head as I remembered what was in my bag. “You mean like this?”

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the now thoroughly crumpled piece of paper that I had found in that hollow stump with the wreath of thorns carved on the side.

“How did you get hold of this?” Mashed Potato asked in disbelief as I presented the letter to him. “This is definitely a coded rebel message, although the code looks to have been slightly altered since I first helped develop it.”

“Can you decipher it?” I asked eagerly.

“I think so, yes,” he stated as his eyes scanned over it. “No names of recipient or sender, that’s typical, but there are also no names of the ponies being referenced. These are orders, they are instructing the agent this was sent to go to the town of Glean and check in a specific inn. Apparently their target is being kept hidden there under the innkeeper’s protection. The agent has been told to allow the innkeeper one chance to hand the target over, if he does not oblige he is to be…”

Mashed Potato grimaced slightly at what came next.

“Basically he is to be eliminated, although the letter gives rather… specific instruction,” he continued.

“Does it say anything about making it look like a suicide?” I asked quickly, my heart beating rapidly as the mystery began to unravel.

“Yes actually,” Mashed Potato confirmed, looking at me a little suspiciously. “How did you know that?”

“I found the innkeepers body,” I replied quietly. “Before I found this letter.”

“I see,” he said in an understanding voice before carrying on. “After that the instructions are to find the target and escort them to a pre-specified location for questions, after which they too are to be eliminated and their body dealt with.”

Mashed Potato looked disgusted as he folded the letter and handed it back to me.

“So this is what the Rebellion does?” I asked in a rotten tone. “What it still does?”

“The war behind the scenes is just as brutal as the one in the limelight,” Mashed Potato replied. “Anyway, it’s late; I was going to get some sleep. You’re welcome to stay, not that you really need permission to sleep in your own house.”

“No,” I said in a dull tone as I stood up from the armchair and made my way over to the parlour door. “This isn’t my home… not anymore.”