//------------------------------// // Blueberry Pancake // Story: Cold Light // by Scramblers and Shadows //------------------------------// The welkin rings! It's working at last. For a moment there I thought the repository was going to break. But it's fine. Everything's settled down for a while. And I'm back, just in time to introduce you to the villain of our piece. Chapter 10 Blueberry Pancake The railway snaked across the landscape on its low viaduct, between shallow mountains leaking sulphurous discharge like pustules on plains littered with the twisted, rusting skeletons of ancient structures, across a field of ragged blackened rocks like rotted teeth. Bereft of wheels, the train rocked sullenly while its passengers chatted, played games, sat in silence and looked out at Amaranth. Halfway through their journey, while Sweetie Belle was sitting at the back of the skip, dozing, Saffron blinked into existence in front of her. “Guess what?” she said. “You've figured it out?” “Yep.” Scootaloo looked round at her. “What?” “Nothing. Just, uh, my qilin.” “Oh. Uh, right.” Saffron tilted her head. “Your qilin?” “Just leave it,” said Sweetie Belle. She caught another glance from Scootaloo. “Can you hear this?” she thought at Saffron. “I can.” “Well, while you're here, there's something I wanted to ask you. All those thousands of spells you mentioned – should I learn any?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “I can't see any good coming of it,” said Saffron. Her tail swished, and the red-orange tip passed for a moment through the side of the skip and back again. “I was only asking,” said Sweetie Belle. “What's changed, anyway?” Saffron peered at her. “Last time we talked about this, you were almost offended by the idea of hearing the daemons. And now you're inviting them in?” Sweetie Belle shrugged. At the far end of the skip, in her conversation with Tom, Scootaloo laughed. Saffron glanced at her. “Ah.” “It's not that. Not just that, anyway. What if the pirates … or this S. creature … comes after me? I'll need to defend myself. Just a couple of easy spells I could use to get away. You said they're not all as tiring as the one you gave me back on the pirate ship, right?” “You also need to stay sane. Say I teach you a spell. That'll bring you closer. Every time you use it, you'll become more susceptible. And … well, you see.” “And what?” Saffron looked away briefly, then closed her eyes and massaged the spot between her antlers. Sweetie Belle wondered if she actually got any relief from doing so, or whether all these gestures were just for show. “And,” said Saffron carefully, “daemons magnify personal vices. From what I've seen of yours, I'm not enthused at all at the prospect of them getting in your head.” “What in Equestria is that supposed to mean?” “I mean exactly what I said. Just drop it, pony.” Sweetie Belle sighed and and looked again at the passing landscape. Saffron faded out. Something occurred to her. “How do you avoid them?” Saffron reappeared. “Pardon?” “The daemons. They speak your language, and you can hear everything I hear.” “Ah. You're right. It is a problem, and my solution is actually quite clever.” “Of course it is.” “I've set up a subroutine that reads your auditory input. It looks for anything that resembles my native language and purges it before I have access.” Sweetie Belle stared at her. “Do you understand any of that?” said Saffron, shaking her head. “Barbarian culture, honestly …” “So if someone came up to me and spoke your language, you wouldn't be able to hear them?” Saffron paused, looked up. “Right.” “And you can't hear the daemon whispers either?” “Right.” Sweetie Belle grinned at her. After giving it some time to sink in, she continued: “Why weren't you affected before? Back before you hid in the repository?” “Aha!” said Saffron. “I am affected. Just a little, enough to be able to tell. You didn't see what I was like before.” “But you're not mad enough to start ruining a civilisation, are you?” Saffron gave her a joyless smile. “Right again. You're smarter than I gave you credit for.” “So what's the answer?” “We found a way of repelling daemons, my lover and I. A change in the thaumic background texture. It wasn't enough to save us – limited radius, limited duration, long recharge period. But with just the two of us in a small enough ship, we could keep it clean easily enough.” She sighed and stared off into the distance. “When things got bad bad, we stole the prototype and took our little ship as far away as we could, to try and work out a solution to the whole mess.” After that, she became reticent. Sweetie Belle could get no more out of her and didn't want to. Eventually Saffron vanished, and Sweetie Belle settled into a corner of the skip to sleep. They arrived a little after midday at a great plateau of striated grey rock, atop of which Red Oak Station clung. Its name given, perhaps, by some immense dendritic structure of rust-scabbed iron beside it, the station was a flat, off-white box that wore its skeleton of trusses on the outside. Its left side, from their approach, opened into three airship berths, all full – the airships were all Equestrian, with gondolas slung low beneath the envelope.. The right held a gaping square mouth which swallowed the train. In an instant sunlight and Scarlight fell away and were replaced by the dull glare of incandescent lamps. As soon as it came to a halt, workers descended on the train to strip of half its payload. “Here we go,” said Tom as they scrambled out of the skip. “It leaves in less than ten minutes, at half past.” He looked at Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. “Was I the only one who listened to everything Millie said?” “Probably,” said Scootaloo. “But don't worry. You'll learn.” Once a gangling minotaur with a clipboard had checked them off – the train's passengers itemised along with its scavenged matter – they were allowed off the loading bay. Here, an open chamber with the familiar scene: Salvage loaded and offloaded; labourers accompanied by buzzing chevaloids; cranes grasping hungrily at ancient detritus. Across the station, transparent plastic panels of a partition showed the underbellies of three airship gondolas. Sweetie Belle saw this as a moment to take charge. “Tom, how much did Millie leave us?” “Three hundred bits.” “One of them should be willing to take us. I'll ask that one; you two take the others.” “Celestia! Are you serious?” Scootaloo came up beside her. “Someone's out to kidnap you, and your first reaction is 'let's split up'?” Sweetie Belle tried to come up with a response. “We go together,” said Scootaloo. “We've got enough time.” Scootaloo in the lead, they traipsed across the station. Before they were halfway to the airships, someone stood out from the hordes of workers. A crystal unicorn with an extravagantly clean and coiffured mane talked to a diamond dog in overalls: “Yes, yes, I totally understand! You're on a tight schedule, and having me and my cronies drop by unannounced isn't in your game plan. How about this –” She fluttered her eyelashes in a way that reminded Sweetie Belle of Rarity “ – You go do what you need to, and if there's anything left when the train leaves, I'll pick it up. Non-wholesale rates, even.” “Sure. That's fine, miss,” said the diamond dog. “Wonderful! Thank you so much. Now you get along. I'll be here.” Immediately after she was finished, she turned and smiled at each of the three of them in turn. Even in the sour light of the station lamps, her teeth sparkled. “Well, don't I feel popular! Hello, there. What can I do for you?” “We're looking for a ride to Ilmarinen,” said Scootaloo. “Ilmarinen? You're in luck. That's my first stop once I leave here, and we have space. That's my ship, there.” She pointed at the ugly, colourful airship. Its belly was open, with a flatbed for cargo and a separate cabin resting beside one another in the berth. “How much?” “Make me an offer.” “Uh … a hundred bits?” “And just the three of you?” “Yeah.” The unicorn made a show of looking uncertain. Then: “Oh, all right then. But only because you all look so cool. But I expect good company on the way to make up for it, alright? Good, good. Pleased to make you acquaintance. I'm Blueberry Pancake.” When they had all introduced themselves, Sweetie Belle found Blueberry Pancake looking into her eyes. She spoke just before the moment became awkward: “I do beg your pardon, but … Sweetie Belle, the musician?” “Um … yes.” “Wow. I hope you don't mind me saying, you're very good. Once you get back to Equestria … you are going back to Equestria, I hope? Good. Once you get back, keep going. You're gonna go far, filly.” Sweetie Belle brushed her mane back. “Thank you.” “Well,” said Blueberry. “Come along, and I'll show you aboard.” Scootaloo didn't move. Her tail swished. “Could we have a moment? Don't you need to wait for that guy, anyway?” A sort of grinding, a shade too subtle to be a headache, hit Sweetie Belle. It was gone in an instant. “It's fine!” said Blueberry. “Just come with me.” A pause. “Okay,” said Scootaloo. Leading them across the station, Blueberry looked up at Tom “Goodness, you are tall! Honestly, I …” But Sweetie Belle stopped listening as Saffron's voice sounded in her ear: “Don't act like you can hear me. Listen very closely: You must not get on that airship. This pony is bad news.” “What?” “Eyes forward. You can't hear me, alright?” “Okay, okay. Now, what?” “She just used an thrall spell on you. That's qilin. She has access to our spells.” Sweetie Belle took a moment to let this sink in. “Shit.” “Yeah, that's what I was thinking. I managed to counteract it in your case. If she has that, she might have others. Right now, the thrall is all she's used.” “ …But if I try and run, she might use something worse.” “Yes.” “And if I don't try and run, I'm going to end up on her airship.” “Yes.” They were halfway across the concourse. She glanced at Blueberry, who was still flirting with Tom. She was a few seconds from disaster, trapped, and couldn't even warn her friends. What was there? After scanning desperately, randomly, feeling the seconds fall away, her eyes settled in the big clock. 12.28, it read. “The train. If we can get on the train, can we escape?” “Maybe.” Sweetie Belle looked to the approaching airship cabin. The glint of hope sputtered. “No. She can chase us in her airship.” Saffron didn't respond. “Come on!” thought Sweetie Belle. “Give me something!” Saffron gave her something. In the air, barely present, came a new texture. “Elementals,” said Saffron. “Try and scoop some of the air up. Imagine it's wet clay.” At that moment, Blueberry stopped whatever she was saying and looked over at her, smiling. Sweetie Belle snuffed her horn out as quickly as she could and smiled back. Blueberry looked ahead again and resumed her lecture. They were close now. Sweetie Belle grabbed at the air as frantically as she could get away with. It fell away from the touch of her aura, the texture tearing like wet tissue, leaving her with rags and fragments. “Calm,” said Saffron. Almost at the cabin.. Sweetie Belle clenched her teeth and tried again. The air came together under the invisible touch of her aura and coalesced into something. Invisible yet vital, it quivered, waiting for a command. “Just tell it what to do. Anything that can be done with air.” Sweetie Belle looked up at the airship. The engines, she realised. Piston cylinder and pipes. Vulnerable to pressure. The sylph twisted beside her like an eager dog. No, she told it. One thing first. The doors to the cabin were pneumatic. “Go.” The sylph swam ahead, slipped into the pipes. Blueberry, unaware, walked past the threshold. Right behind her, Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle grabbed her mane in her aura and pulled back. An inch in front of Scootaloo's nose, the doors snapped shut. Immediately, Sweetie Belle felt the sylph's exertions as her own, a sharp jab in her chest. No time to process it, though: “Run!” And she swung round to follow her own instruction. The pre-departure klaxon sounded. Thudda-thud of hooves on one side, paws on the other. “What –” began Scootaloo, but she was cut off a wail of wrenched metal behind them. Another fire-hot needle in her chest, and Sweetie Belle stumbled. She put up a shield around the three of them. Her sylph, defeated but alive, flew up to the engines to complete its second task. “Get to the train,” she shouted. From behind, in a commanding tone, Blueberry: “Stop.” Scootaloo and Tom faltered. But in a moment, they were moving again. The clock ahead gave them less than thirty seconds. Another command from Blueberry. A bolt of some ancient magic glanced against Sweetie Belle's shield. The bubble quivered, soundlessly popped. That was it, then. No shield. Blueberry had her. From behind them came a bang so loud it came more as pain than noise. Another drain, another needle in her chest – and Sweetie Belle's legs bucked beneath her. She stumbled, hit the ground looking back they way she'd come: Waves of thick white smoke pouring from the airship's engines; twisted open cabin doors; Blueberry Pancake staring up at it, ignoring her quarry. And then Scootaloo's wing slid beneath Sweetie Belle and scooped her up, dragged her forward. She needed no more prompting, and began to gallop again. They ran into the crowd. Everyone ahead staring up at the scene behind them – too many, and too absorbed to move out of her way quickly enough. She weaved between them. Nearly there. A chevaloid blindly stepped into their path – except not blindly. When Sweetie Belle moved to go behind it, it stepped back, turned towards her. Too close. Scootaloo surged ahead, one glittering wing extending to full span, and swatted the chevaloid away. Clicking and humming away, its arc took it into a pillar which snapped its spine. A pegasus, almost skeletally thin, took to the air just above the heads of the crowd and moved to intercept them. A wing-gun lay against his feathers. He closed in, aimed. A paw reached up, grabbed the gun, and pulled it away, sending the pegasus off kilter. Tom was tall, some inappropriately tranquil part of Sweetie Belle's mind commented. She jumped over barriers onto the deserted platform, crossed it to a flatbed car, leapt – and landed on an empty space behind a bundle of girders. The train jolted forward, pulling her hooves out from under her. Sweetie Belle looked back in time to see her friends, just a metre away but still on the platform, vanish behind her. She shrieked. The train refused to heed her, and a moment later, she was in the open air, leaving the station behind. Thump of landing hooves on the girders. “Scootaloo!” She turned round. It was the wiry pegasus who had chased her. Sweetie Belle retreated without thinking; on her second step her rear hoof stepped into nothing. She was at the corner of the flatbed. Below, concrete like a meat grinder hurtled past. “Just come with me!” called the pegasus. Cornered, but not helpless. The familiar knot in her belly – but that was manageable. Front pastern hooked around one of the cables holding the girders down, rear hoof on the very corner of the flatbed, Sweetie Belle hung over the side of the train. After a quick glance to assure nothing trackside might hit her, she turned back to the pegasus. He was no longer advancing. “If I let go … whaddya think that'll do to your precious treasure?” She tapped her free hoof against her skull. The pegasus made no move. Rushing air battered against Sweetie Belle's face and sent her mane and tail whipping in her wake. Her eyes were beginning to water. She blinked the tears away to see him still unsure. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. A rush of colour. Scootaloo came bounding from the car behind, rolled once with the pegasus. They landed, him above, her beneath. She kicked him in the belly, and pushed him off the car's other side as he was still reeling. Sweetie Belle saw his wings extend before the wind pulled pulled him backwards and out of sight. She eased herself back onto the flatbed and screamed – or perhaps laughed. The train swayed, slow and lulling, even with the rushing wind. Beside her, Scootaloo said something that Sweetie Belle didn't take in. Her legs were trembling. Her heart was still battering her chest, accompanied by a slower rhythmic throbbing from the sylph's drain on her energy. The sylph! The thought of the exploding airship engine, the danger of qilin magic, and the knowledge that she had made it happen brought a renewed thrill, accompanied by a sense of horror. She closed her eyes and listened to see if the daemons' sussurations were any more comprehensible. A paw on her shoulder brought her back to reality. Tom – where had he come from? Followed Scootaloo, of course. His chest, like hers, was still heaving. “Are you okay?” he asked. She stared at him. “Scootaloo asked you –” he began. “You didn't need to come with us!” Sweetie Belle hadn't intended it to come out like an accusation – and yet, she had. Tom looked taken aback. “Whoah, whoah!” said Scootaloo. “What's wrong with you?” “I … I'm sorry,” Sweetie Belle said. “I just …” She looked at Tom. “They're not chasing you. You don't need to get caught up in this.” “Yeah, if I stayed, I'm sure she'd have just patted my head and let me go on my way. ” Tom scritched his ear and considered this. “Oh, crumbs.” “Sweetie Belle,” said Scootaloo, “what happened back there?” “That mare, Blueberry. She has qilin magic. She tried to use a … a thrall spell, or something. When you weren't sure about going with her.” “Right, yeah, that was weird,” said Scootaloo. She frowned. “Shit.” “Are your legs starting to ache?” said Tom. “Mine are. Skip's over there; let's go sit down before we go any further. Then, uh … then I think all four us need to try and understand what's going on.” “Four?” “Your qilin friend too.”