Meeting the Great Minds of Canterlot Part 3
On a road somewhere in Equestria, a week before The Great Gathering…
At a crossroads, one of many in Equestria, the earth pony Spire, once known as Byzas, peered closely at his map of Equestria, which he had placed on the ground.
Over the past months, Byzas had been living under a false identity in order to create a new life for himself. To make sure nopony recognized him, he had done several things. First of all, he dyed his coat maroon, covering up his rare sandstone-red coloration. He then had his cutie mark visually modified. With a bit of paint, he had turned the ruler on his flanks into a charcoal stick and turned his thin, ‘round’ shaped paint brush into a larger varnish brush with rectangular head. Of course he had to renew his paint once every few days, but his disguise was complete. Instead of Byzas, court-artist, he was Spire a lowly travelling, painter pony.
Some ponies might call Byzas’s new occupation a fall from grace. However, the pony had never thought about it that way. Before he had been the Night Court’s Artist, Byzas had been the lowly painter pony that was now Spire. The earth pony had despaired that he had lost his title, all the perks that came with it, and the castle he had loved. Still, Byzas viewed his new job as a return to his roots, and thus was not undone by his loss. He felt guilty about telling Laurel he was going to kill himself, but it would be safer for her the less she knew of the truth.
And the pony was good at his new job. Renovation and construction work were in high demand in the aftermath of destruction brought forth by the war. Byzas had found plenty of work and had made more than enough bits to feed himself. One thing bothered him though, there was no challenge involved with this line of work. The artist who had once been challenged to produce new and dynamic pieces was stuck with menial work that was beneath his skills.
So, when Byzas had heard of The Great Gathering of Creators, he packed his saddlebags and started galloping. He was eager to admire new works of art and was looking forward to displaying some of the works he had created in in hiding.
Now a week away from the opening of the event, Byzas had halted at a crossroad. The pony was so absorbed in evaluating his map that he didn’t see of the cloud of dust closing rapidly. Neither did he notice the warning that had been shouted.
The various belongings of the two colliding ponies went flying. Byzas also flew quite far. With a loud “OOFF!” the baron-in-disguise went head over heels and landed back side up and head upside down.
“Did a chariot hit me?” groaned Byzas, speaking slowly for once.
“Do I look like a chariot?" replied a sarcastic voice. This was soon followed by a snort.
"And how can a chariot yell ‘Get out of the way’?”
When the pony opened his eyes, what he saw out of his inverted vision replaced his annoyance with curiosity. What Byzas saw was a chuckling earth pony stallion hitched to a two wheeled cart with a canvas tarpaulin covering it. The pony had a coat the shade and colour of dry sun-baked sand, his blonde mane was held back by a headscarf. As he rolled over picked and himself up, Byzas noticed the pony’s cutie mark was what looked like interlocked gears overlaying a cam.
“I’msosorry.Ididnothear.MynameisSpire” said Byzas.
“Say wha?” asked the other pony. Byzas took a deep breath and repeated his introduction again, slower. His speed-talking was something that had dogged the pony throughout his life. None of the doctors or practitioners he had visited could offer any suggestions.
“No problem! I’m Sa’id. Where were you headed Spire?” inquired the sandy colored stallion.
“TheGreatGathering...Sorry, I’m heading to the Great Gathering of Artists. I am a painter as you can see and I wanted to get away from renovation work and see some artwork for a change,” said Byzas honestly.
“Ah! What a strange coincidence! I’m heading to The Great Gathering as well! I heard about it from my home in the Southern Equestrian Deserts,” explained Sa’id.
So that’s why he has a headscarf and that explains his coloration. Wow...He travelled far! Wonder why he is going to the Great Gathering? thought Byzas. He asked the question and Sa’id smiled brightly and gestured to his cutie mark.
“I’m an inventor! My talent is in mechanics and understanding how things move! I design devices that perform specific tasks,” explained Sa’id.
“Whatsortofdevices? Sorry, what sort of devices?” asked Byzas.
“Well, you know how difficult it is for a single pony to unhitch himself from a cart right?”
The maroon-colored pony nodded and without another word, the sandy-yellow pony kicked a small lever on his cart by his left hoof. The leather straps loosened and the arms of the cart dropped to the ground.
“Surprised?” asked Sa’id. The astounded look on Byzas’s face said it all.
“Simple really, the lever is hooked up to a rope that runs along the arms of the cart to the leather straps binding-,”
As Sa’id began to explain the complexities of his invention to Byzas, the two packed up their dropped items. When they had finished, Sa’id had a suggestion.
“Say, why don’t we travel together? We’ll be travelling along the same path anyway! It’ll be fun!” said Sa’id with a great enthusiastic grin plastered upon his face.
Byzas was apprehensive, but only for a moment. Having been without company for weeks, the disguised pony was eager for a travelling companion. Besides, Sa’id’s cheerfulness and enthusiasm was infectious. The two found the correct route using Byzas’s path and a weird, but very useful object of Sa’id’s called ‘a compass’ that always showed where North was, no matter where the sun was at. The two stallions then began trotting down the path, exchanging stories.
Within minutes, one could hear streams of laughter as the new friends continued down the road to their great destiny.
Foot of Mount Canter, The venue of The Great Gathering, The day before The Great Gathering…
It was the day before The Great Gathering. Many of the stalls had been rented out by artists and craftsmen wishing to display their work. The air was filled with neighs and whinnies of constant movement and action.
In the glass section of the Gathering, hundreds of works of delicate artwork were being set up. It was a beautiful sight, as the bright light of the sun twinkled and shimmered off many vases, panes of stained glass and glass sculptures that were being displayed.
One particular tent, a green one had products that especially shone. Most of the works that were propped up on the table were stained glass windows and they were masterpieces. The stained glass had been composed in a symphony of colour and elegance. The notes of light that shone through these windows revealed the images of heroic ponies on great adventures, of the majestic princesses soaring through the sky and of ponies playing, laughing and frolicking on the grass.
As Chartres slightly adjusted the angle of a pane, the ivory white unicorn mare gave a tired smile as she reveled in the beauty of her creations. Unfortunately, her contemplation was short lived.
“CHARTRES! Close up the tent before somepony steals my work! Then come to the back!” roared an angry voice. A resigned sigh sounded from the unicorn as she closed the tent up, shadowing the intricate glass creations, her works. Walking deeper towards the rear of the tent, Chartres lifted her head up to see the pitiless face of her mistress, Glassy Hoof.
At first glance, anypony would think Glassy Hoof was a greedy and jealous pony. From the glint in her stingy squinting green eyes to the greedy twitch of her mouth, she screamed greedy and jealous. Her coat was of medicine yellow and her curled mane of grape-purple. Although both were well kept, the combination was still ugly. The unicorn had an ample flank that was adorned by a cutie mark of a glass chalice. There is a pony saying that suggests that one should not judge a book by its cover. For Glassy Hoof, one should, for her looks told the truth.
“Sparkle my mane, Chartres!” ordered Glassy Hoof. Chartres blanched whiter than her ivory coat.
“But mistress! I had to use my magic to complete those pieces. I don’t know if I have any left!” gasped the unicorn. The yellow unicorn’s expression didn’t soften and Chartres blinked back her tears as she concentrated on her horn.
Blue sparks spluttered and stuttered, but no sparkles appeared on Glassy’s mane. By that time, the ivory unicorn had collapsed, her unkempt blue mane for which she was named after was drenched in sweat and her tail flopped down almost lifelessly against the ground.
“Since you won’t sparkle my mane, you won’t get to stay for The Great Gathering. Begone with you!” ordered Glassy. At this, the fallen unicorn sprang up, despair creased across her exhausted features.
“No! Please, anything, but tha-,”
A perfectly manicured hoof slapped Chartres sending pain exploding across her cheek and another slap almost unbalanced her. Blinking back tears of pain, Chartres cringed as Glassy advanced.
“Quiet you peasant! You still have at least five hundred bits left to pay me back. What will selling that scrap glass of yours do to your debt? Of course I realized you were making your own piece;I just didn’t worry about it because it was so worthless,” said Glassy with a derisive snort. The other unicorn whimpered, grabbed her sackcloth saddlebags and left.
How long Chartres ran, she didn’t know. What she did know is that she found herself in the sculptors’ area. The featured piece, a great statue of Princess Celestia stood towering over the lonely unicorn. The sculptor for this particular statue had decided to give the princess a gentler expression instead of the usual regal look. It was the kind, heart-warming features of the statue that broke the dam holding back Chartres’s despair. The barrier of what little pride and hope the unicorn had left shattered like glass hitting cobbled stone. Tears flowed like a torrent of melt water in the spring as Chartres cried.
“She’s taking MY WORK. MY glass! MY magic! And I can’t do ANYTHING about it,” sobbed Chartres. Sinking down against the statue of Princess Celestia, the unicorn pulled a stained glass window from her saddlebag. The arrangement of the glass seemed random. The shards and sections clashed and intermingled with each other. The lead strips binding the piece together seemed to be the only thing holding the glass in any form of semblance.
“You are my only hope,” said Chartres, gazing at the mosaic of colour. Still clutching the pane, the tired and dejected unicorn fell into a restless sleep of exhaustion.