//------------------------------// // Chip Off the Old Block // Story: The Light of Despair // by Gordon Pasha //------------------------------// Hope did not sleep much that night. And when she did, her dreams were troubled by fire-ponies. It was, quite frankly, a relief when Celestia made the sun rise in the east. Hope lifted herself up and yawned. She was not sure if the fog she felt herself in was from the lack of sleep or from the memories of the night before. No matter. It was time to get up. Time to start a new day. Time to renew the endless, losing battle to the plague and the creatures of flame that were responsible for it. Hope took her time getting ready. It was a full day before midnight, so it was not like there was any immediate danger. Admittedly, that had never been her attitude before. But the mayor had been right; she could do nothing to actually help. So why rush? As she looked at herself in the mirror, Hope was surprised to see the shiny, reflective quality coming back to her coat. Why? Last night had, to her way of thinking, been an absolute failure. And yet, here she was, shining almost as she used to, in happier, long lost days. Hope pondered it as she descended down the staircase toward the courtyard of the inn. She did not find a sufficient answer before she reached the bottom of the stairs and realized that she had a visitor. The mayor. Hope barely made eye-contact. Come to tell me to take more time off? she thought. Come to laugh at me for believing in ‘fire-demons’ now? “Hope….” Oriflamme said. Her voice was strange. It had the quality of… sadness? Hope was surprised. Any other day, she might have cared. Not today. Not after last night. Hope just looked straight ahead and kept going. Then the pegasus stretched out her wing to block Hope’s path. “Hope, please, you need to hear this.” Hope considered teleporting past Oriflamme. She certainly could. But then it seemed like a lot of work just to get breakfast sooner. So Hope stopped and faced the mayor. Hope noticed that Oriflamme’s eyes were filled with as much sadness as her voice had been. Sadness and pity. Now Hope was beginning to sense that something was wrong. “Hope, please listen,” she said softly. Hope looked behind her. There was Fallen Fortune, sitting at a table, looking as though he was wondering when the innkeeper would arrive with a tankard of cider. “What is this? An intervention?” Hope asked. Looking over Oriflamme’s shoulder at Fortune, she said, “Did you tell them about last night? About me?” Oriflamme closed her eyes, apparently trying to remain composed. “Why is it always that with you two? This is about something much more important!” Hope suddenly noticed that there were not just two ponies in front of her. There were three. One of them was a tall, thin earth pony with a beard full of wood-shavings. Hope recognized him immediately. “It’s Wood Chip,” he said, “It’s my boy….” “Don’t tell me….” Hope began. But she could not finish the sentence. She felt as though all the life had just been drained out of her. Oriflamme nodded. “What Cross Beam is trying to say is that Wood Chip has come down with the plague.” Hope’s gasp filled the whole inn. She had already surmised it, but hearing it was still unbearable. “No! Not him! Its never attacked foals before!” “I know,” said the mayor. “This is new, even for me.” “Your Highness, I know how busy you are,” the carpenter said, “but could you please come take a look at my boy? He just likes you so much.” Hope barely heard him. But she did not need to. She shook her head repeatedly. “My fault…. This is… my fault…. They never attacked foals, not until I…. If I hadn’t…. I have to save him!” Hope dashed past the mayor’s wing so fast that Oriflamme was sent spinning. Before the mayor could recover or the carpenter say anything, Hope was out the door. “Wait!” said the carpenter as he chased after her. “You don’t know where we live!” Hope was gone. Fallen Fortune watched the mayor steady herself. Slowly, Oriflamme walked over to the door, as though in a daze. Fallen Fortune remained seated. “Did you ever notice that she has a bit of a savior complex?” he asked. "Hope, I mean." “And what about you?” asked the mayor with disgust. “Oh, I’m many things. Alcoholic, charlatan, maybe a compulsive liar – Or am I just lying about that last one? – but nopony would ever accuse me of being a savior.” “Finally, something we can both agree on,” Oriflamme said as she walked out in a huff. Fortune watched her go. He wanted to get in one last witty riposte before she left, but knew that he could not afford to get any more on her bad side. Besides, there were more pressing matters. Fortune looked around. “Where’s my cider?” The innkeeper approached and set it down. “You don’t need to yell,” he said. “But don’t you think you should be going with your friends instead of getting sloshed in here all day?” Fortune shrugged and then looked to the door. He thought about Hope. “I guess so,” he said glumly. Then, looking up the innkeeper, he added, “Can I get this in a to-go tankard?” Fortune arrived at the large hovel a little later. The mayor and the carpenter were outside. The carpenter was clearly distraught, leaning against the hovel so as to hide his tears. Oriflamme seemed to be trying to comfort him, but it was obviously not her strong suit. “Is Hope inside?” Fortune asked. “Why do you care?” Oriflamme responded. “I thought you had cider to drink.” “I figured this was more important,” Fortune said. “And that innkeeper didn’t have a cup or something for me to take it with me. I tell you, if you want to actually do something useful as mayor for a change, you’ll make ‘to-go cups’ happen!” Oriflamme seemed to be about to offer a retort of some kind. Then she once more caught sight of the carpenter. She restrained herself. “Maybe it is better if you go inside,” she said. “Anywhere that’s not near me.” “Hope?” Fortune called as he opened the door. (This hovel had a door – clearly all the bits Fortune had paid the stallion for renovations had been put to good use.) “Hope, are you in here?” He was greeted by a shush. He looked toward one of the bedrooms (And separate rooms, too! Maybe Fortune had been too generous in his payments….) there, he thought he saw a foal lying in the small bed. Fortune slowly, quietly, approached. He pushed open the door. Sure enough, there was Wood Chip in the bed, asleep. And beside the bed, with one hoof upon the colt, was Radiant Hope. “He looks well,” Fortune said, trying to put a bright spin on things. “You know what will happen,” Hope said without looking up. “Yes, I do,” Fortune sadly admitted. Hope’s eyes suddenly shot up. There was a desperate, almost wild look in them. “If only we could–” Fortune could not bear it. He turned aside. "You know my position on this." “Yes, I do,” Hope responded quietly, once more turning to Wood Chip. Only then did Fortune feel that he could look at her again. “He’s a sweet foal,” Hope said. “He almost reminds me of Sombra.” 'And we know how happily that turned out!' Fortune felt like saying. But he didn’t. What he did say was, “I’m sorry, Hope. I know that you two became rather close when you healed him.” Hope did not answer. Fortune slowly approached her. “You understand, don’t you, Hope? I don’t want him… I don’t want him to die any more than you do. But dark magic, it’s dangerous. It’ll just cause more pain than it heals. That’s why I can’t use it, and that’s why I can’t let you use it.” Still no answer. “Hope, it corrupts things. Maybe that doesn’t mean that much to you. It certainly didn’t to me, not until I tried it. Then I felt it, I felt it trying to take some part of me I didn’t even know I could lose. And I don’t want to lose it. Life would not be worth living then, for any of us.” Hope still did not answer. The carpenter slowly poked his head through the door. “Your Highness, how is he?” Hope forced a smile. “He’s doing fine, but I’ll stay with him. And you don’t have to call me ‘Your Highness.’” “But you’d done so much for us, Your Grace, that I–” “No, not that either. I’m just a mare. Just call me Hope.” The carpenter, a little abashed, nodded. “Thank you, Hope.” “It’s the least I could do,” Hope responded. The carpenter left. “Now, Hope, you know that you’ve done all you can,” Fortune said. Hope did not need to say, ‘There is something else I could do.’ Her eyes said it all. “Hope, I don’t know what else I can say to–” Hope rose. “It’s alright. I know you think it’s for the best if we don’t use dark magic. I just wish there was something else we could do. How did you research go?” Fortune shook his head. “Nothing, I’m afraid. Not yet at least.” ‘Not even in the black b–” “Nothing, Hope, nothing,” Fortune said curtly. There was a small noise. Both Hope and Fortune saw the youth beginning to stir. Wood Chip opened his eyes. “Princess, can I have another lollypop?” he asked. Hope looked around her. “You know, I forgot my saddlebags. But next time I’m here, I promise to bring you one. How’s that sound?” “Alright, I guess,” the boy said. “Princess?” “Please, just call me Hope.” “But you are a princess and I’ve never met a princess before.” Hope approached the bed. “You want to hear a secret.” Of course, every foal loved to hear secrets, and Wood Chip was no different. His eyes grew wide and his head bobbed up and down in excitement. “I’m not really a princess,” Hope said. “I was supposed to be, once. But not anymore.” “Why not?” Hope sighed and looked out the small window above his bed. “It just wasn’t right for me. Turns out that, being a princess, I couldn’t do what I wanted to do.” “Who wants to be a princess, anyway?” said the foal. “That’s girly stuff.” “A young misogynist,” Fortune said. “How charming….” “You haven’t spent much time around boys, have you?” Hope asked. “My mother insists I was one at some distant point in time," Fortune responded. "I’m happy to say that I’ve since grown out of it and whole-heartedly regret the phase.” “It’s okay, Miss Hope,” said the foal. “You’re still a princess as far as I’m concerned. And not the girly kind. The cool kind.” Hope smiled. “Well, I’m glad to know I’m the cool kind.” “Miss Hope, will you read me a story?” Wood Chip motioned toward a stack of foal’s books. Hope levitated one from the top and brought it over so she could see it. It was a fairy tale with a handsome unicorn knight and a large, fearsome dragon on the cover. “Oooh, I had this one when I was a foal!” Hope said. “It was my favorite!” “It stereotypes dragons, if you ask me,” Fortune said. “All that guarding a hoard of gold, flying off with the princess, threatening the kingdom….” “What do you know about dragons?” Hope asked. “Nothing, but I choose to believe that it is not the number of your scales, but the content of your character that counts!” Hope waved Fortune off dismissively. “It’s a foal’s book. A fairy story. You aren’t supposed to take it that seriously.” “Says the pony who still believes in fairies.” “Fairies are real!” announced Wood Chip from the bed. Hope smirked at Fortune. “Looks like you’re outvoted.” Fortune let out a sigh. “I can see why this new ‘democracy’ fad just isn’t catching on.” Hope returned the book to the top of its stack. A look of sadness crossed her face, but she did her best to hide it from Wood Chip. Her magic lit up his covers, and she pulled them back over him. “I’ll read to you later,” Hope said. “Right now, though, you need more sleep.” “But I’m not tired and I feel fine! I’m not sick anymore! You know that! You healed me!” Hope smiled a reassuring, albeit fake, smile. “Yes, I healed you. But you still need your rest if you want to recover your strength. Just sleep for a little while and, when you wake up, I’ll give you a lollypop and read you a story. How’s that sound?” Wood Chip considered the bargain. Despite having to endure that particular unpleasantness known only to children who are sent to bed when they are not tired, he nodded in agreement. “Alright,” he said. “Just promise.” “I promise,” Hope responded softly. The foal lay back in his bed and quickly drifted off to sleep. “A lollypop and a story must be a very great bargain when you are a child,” Fortune observed in disbelief. “Of course they are! Don’t you remember when – oh, look who I’m talking to….” Fortune thought there was hope for Hope. She seemed to be in a decent mood. But with these last few words, a new darkness came over her. It wasn’t physical darkness, the kind that would dim her shining coat. It was a different sort of darkness; a sadness, a sorrow, across her still glowing face. “What am I going to do?” she said in a whisper. It took Fortune a moment before he was sure she had said anything at all. Quickly, he put on a fake smile of his own. “All hope isn’t lost, Hope! I still have my research to finish. I’ll even look into the black book again, just for you. And I won’t return here until I find something!” Hope smiled weakly at this. She tried to look in Fortune’s direction, but gave up before her head even made it halfway. “Alright, I’ll go,” Fortune said, speeding out of the room. As he approached the doorway at the front of the hovel, he looked over his shoulder one last time. He looked to Hope, silently looking down at the colt beside her, her eyes half-closed in sorrow. Fortune was not sure if he wanted to go or not. And if he did, he was not sure whether he would even look into the black book. As much as he hated admitting it to himself, he was not sure whether he wanted to return. Would Fallen Fortune return? Read on.