Of The Last Millennium

by BlndDog

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

In the last hour of daylight Scootaloo followed the smell of spices and freshly-baked bread across soft, sandy ground. She knew the inn was nearby; was about to walk past it for the fourth time, in fact, when Rain spotted the window.

In hindsight she should have been the one to find it. After all Ponyville had more than its fair share of tree houses and treehouses. But her mind was still filled with images of the log huts of Wintergreen. With the lush canopy overhead it took some time to figure out where the inn was and where it was not.

The living wooden wall was formed from hundreds of skinny trunks all fused together. Calloused bands on the light green bark showed the places where ropes had once been tied. The first two floors were meticulously trimmed, while leafy branches obscured the windows of the upper levels. The square footprint of the building was the only sign of Wintergreen’s architectural influence.

The front door opened onto a short dock woven from living stilt roots. The swamp here was very open. Staring at the gentle black waves, Scootaloo almost forgot about the dangers that lurked all around her.

Most of the windows faced the water, and a single gas lantern was hung on a long stripped branch sticking out from a top floor window. The two children crossed the porch stealthily, with their ears perked under their hoods. There were many voices coming from inside; at least a few of the patrons were drunk.

The door swung open before Scootaloo could knock, and both children ducked just in time to avoid a face full of slob.

A mint green mare with a faded pink bandana over her curly blue mane stood in the arched doorway, her mouth hidden behind her hoof. An empty wooden pail rolled the short distance to Scootaloo’s leg. For a long second they stared at each other, uncertain of what to say or do.

“A… are you Spring Lotus?” Scootaloo asked, picking up the bucket with one hoof.

“Yes,” said the mare hesitantly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Scootaloo,” she said. “This is my brother. We need a place to stay tonight.”

Lotus set her hoof down and frowned at the children’s faces beneath their damp hoods. Then she scanned the entire porch and the calm water beyond.

“Where are your parents?” She asked.

“We’re from the Canterlot Orphanage,” Rain said. “We got separated from Gari a while ago, and we’re trying to meet up with her again. We’ll do anything you ask if you’d let us in tonight. I’m a candle maker, and Scootaloo was a courier in Canterlot. We’re both excellent housekeepers too, and…”

“That’s all very good,” Lotus said. “I don’t have a room to give you, but I think I can fit you somewhere. Come in.”

The walls inside were also made of living tree trunks. The floor was an intricate lattice of roots, and the ceiling was woven from sturdy branches that had become shaded out as the building grew. Lotus guided the kids through a narrow hallway into a low-ceilinged dining room.

There was barely room to stand. Most of the guests were griffins, many of them still wearing hoods or dusty jackets as they talked amongst themselves over tumblers of beer. Even with all the windows thrown open the room reeked of sweat and liquor. Scootaloo saw three hawks as she pushed through the crowd, each one perched on its master’s leather shoulder pad. They eyed her hungrily as she passed.

Lotus was stopped every other step by an impatient customer. She told them all to wait, sounding more and more agitated with each repetition. Sweat dripped from her nose by the time she ushered the kids into the steaming kitchen, closing the door in the face of a black-feathered griffin who had just opened her mouth to speak.

“We can talk later,” Lotus said, sliding down the door into a sitting position. “You’re my waiters for tonight. Just get this stuff out there as fast as you can and try not to spill. Beer’s in that big keg at the other end of the kitchen. Remember to get a name when you refill, and tell me as soon as you get back. Come on!”

Scootaloo’s legs nearly buckled from the weight of the tray. The wooden bowls were stacked in five levels, topped with a mound of steaming beer loaves.

“That’s for Grizelda, Gaston, Garibaldi, Gloria and Genevieve. Hurry up!”

The griffins cheered when she emerged from the kitchen looking like a serving tray with legs. Scootaloo tried to ask for directions, but they quickly grew impatient.

“Just call out the names!” Someone hollered. “They’ll know who they are!”

So it was the Scootaloo spent her shift as an auctioneer of sorts, calling out each name, waiting for an “aye” or “over here”, and running the order to the right table. As the soup and bread were lifted from her back by eager hands they were replaced with empty mugs. The griffins placed their mugs on her tray when she passed, mumbling their names as if she knew them already. On her first round she could only recall three names, though Lotus filled three dozen mugs. The innkeeper was far too busy to be properly angry with her, so Scootaloo was sent out the second time with an excessively strong shove.

After six rounds Scootaloo felt ready to collapse. There wasn’t much air in the dining room, and the kitchen was even hotter. Her feet baked inside her boots, and her cloak was drenched in sweat. The vat of water on the kitchen floor was the only relief she got, and after a dozen rounds Scootaloo only caught a fleeting glimpse of her brother.

“Look at me,” said Gilbert when Scootaloo brought him his rabbit stew. “Just last year I was the best comedy writer in the Garden of Shadows! Now I write about ponies for a living! Isn’t that funny?”

“Give it a rest, Gil. They’re paying you to travel! I wish I was getting paid to be here.”

“Oooh! Do me! Do me!”

“Aye, I’ll do you! I’ll do you right!”

“You’re drunk, Guille.”

A hawk landed on top of Scootaloo’s tray, flinging bits of carrot and shallot across the room as he bobbed for meat in the adjacent bowls.

“Puddle! Stop that!”

Thankfully many of the griffins went to their rooms after dinner. When the dining room had cleared out enough for Lotus to run the remaining orders the children got a hard-earned break. They left their clothes and weapons on a hook in the kitchen. Lotus led them onto the back porch where a halved beer barrel stood, and gave them a kettle of boiling water. It was only enough to make a lukewarm bath, but they were grateful nonetheless.

When they returned to the dining room Lotus was waiting for them in a clean booth. The mood had mellowed down dramatically. Everyone was seated be they pony or griffin, and the hawks were quietly preening themselves. Three beeswax candles burned on each table, and a dozen lanterns dangled from hooks in the ceiling. Shadows danced across the bumpy walls. The night breeze carried a fresh, salty scent that tempered the sweetness of the candle smoke.

The tables had been moved to clear a piece of floor in front of the windows, and now three griffins walked onto this stage. The girl at the left took out a short bamboo flute from a satchel, and the room immediately fell silent.

“Rooted Butterflies,” Lotus explained in a low voice. “They’re from Vanhoover.”

This drew an emphatic shush from the next booth, and Scootaloo held her tongue as the melody began.

The first song was in the griffin tongue, but Scootaloo enjoyed its relaxing tune. Thankfully it was not very long. When the last note faded away Lotus sidled out of the booth and made a beeline for the kitchen, returning with a loaded tray before the band finished taking requests.

“Tell me if the beer’s too strong,” Lotus said.

The soup was vegetable chowder, much to Scootaloo's relief. Both kids finished their first bowl by the next intermission, and Scootaloo was only just thinking about seconds when the bread basket was refilled and another brimming bowl appeared on the table before her.

The band was evidently quite popular. The room filled with applause and requests every time they stopped. Scootaloo recognized a few work songs: “The Miller’s Jig”; “Down The Line”; “Farmer’s Gold”. These were laughed off by the trio on stage, much to Scootaloo’s relief. Hearing them now would remind her too much of home.

“Serves Her Right!” Cried one of the griffins in the booth behind her.

Many from the audience cheered in approval, Scootaloo included. The girl on the right, who had been strumming a mandolin up to this point, handed her instrument to the singer and stepped to the front.

The griffins behind Scootaloo whistled and drummed on their empty mugs with spoons.

She took her time setting up, self-consciously running her hand over the dark feathers of her head. Her glossy red beak shone like polished metal, and the flashing of her bronze eyes sent a chill down Scootaloo’s back. The room grew quieter as the tension built. Scootaloo could hear the clicking tongue of a hawk, though the nearest hawk was five tables away.

The first notes hit like flashes of lightning. It was nothing like Sapphire Shores’ original; there was neither piano nor guitar, and the much younger singer had a very different accent, but Scootaloo found herself keeping beat with the rest of the audience. The young griffins performed with such energy, the song might as well have been written for them.

So enthralled was she in the performance, Scootaloo failed to notice that her brother had stopped moving. It was not until the song ended and she gave him an enthusiastic bump on the shoulder that she looked at him again.

Morning Rain was sitting perfectly still, his breathing quick and shallow. He had become very pale, and every muscle in his body was tense. Waving a hoof before his unblinking eyes had no effect.

“Rain,” Scootaloo said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Rain, what’s wrong?”

Lotus was staring at him with a look of concern on her face. Feeling rather embarrassed, Scootaloo raised her hoof and struck him hard on the back of the head.

Rain let out a short yelp and jumped three feet off the bench. His eyes darted around the room as he stood stiff-legged on the seat back, finally settling on the five griffins in the next booth.

“Kid, are you okay?” One of them asked.

Rain jumped onto the floor, nearly smashing his face on the back of a chair. He disappeared into the kitchen before Scootaloo could leave her seat.

“What’s his problem?”

Scootaloo reared up on the seat back and looked into the other booth, where five male griffins took up every inch of bench. One of them had a black body and grey feathers while the others were the more common white and gold. Two of them were wearing long-sleeved jackets. They were altogether unremarkable; Scootaloo didn’t think she could tell one face from another.

The kitchen door slammed.

Morning Rain screamed in pain.

Something heavy fell on the table in the other booth.

“Have we met before?”

The griffin that had been sitting directly behind Rain was holding the boy by his right hoof. He was wearing a pale blue jacket with golden swirls in the front. The feathers around his eyes had a black fringe, giving him a spectacled appearance.

The black scythe blade was wedged deep in his part of the table. Then it jumped into the griffin’s free hand; Scootaloo didn’t see him move.

“Have. We. Met. Before.” He repeated.

“You were at the Canterlot Orphanage!” Rain cried, struggling with all his might. Thick blood oozed through the griffin’s fingers, dripping off his wrist and onto the bench. “You… You killed my friends! My brothers and sisters!”

The other griffins in the booth laughed. The one holding Rain let the scythe fall to his side.

“If I got a bit for every pony like you! Think of the possibilities!”

He twisted his wrist, and Morning Rain bit back another scream.

“Yeah, I was there,” he continued, lifting the boy into the air like an especially large pheasant. “All five of us were there, and a few others as well. Yes, I admit it! Listen up everyone! Take a good look! Here we are, Gari Anac Luna’s most wanted!”

All the griffins stood up at once. Lotus pulled Scootaloo across the table and held her tightly. The falconers uncapped their birds, and the nearest griffin took a step towards the booth. Rain’s captor sneered and raised the scythe back to the boy’s throat. His companions got onto the table, each one with a short knife in his hand.

“The door is over here,” said a young grey mare standing between two like coloured griffins. “You’re not leaving.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” he chuckled. “Now before you act too rashly, try to see this from my perspective. Do you know of anyone who can bring back the dead? Of course you don’t! What is done is done! Nothing you can do will bring back those kids, but you can decide what happens to this one. What’s your name, son?”

Rain spat in his face.

“I don’t blame you,” said the griffin. “Like I was saying, you can decide what happens to this one! I’ll release him safe and sound at the door, or you can attack me now and send him back to Canterlot in a box.”

A few of the younger griffins tried to push to the front of the group, but they were held back by the others. The crowd shuffled uneasily, opening a narrow path leading to the door. Scootaloo stared at the party of five, trying to remember every last detail about each of them.

One had some red feathers on his head. The one in the red-brown jacket had an especially fluffy chin.

Was the black one a little taller than the others?

“You do know that we’ll come after you immediately, right?” A sylvanocian stallion said, earning a hard slap from one that could have been his twin.

“I know,” said the griffin, casually dangling Rain before the sylvanocian’s face. “And I wish you the best of luck. In fact, I’ll give you ten thousand bits if you can bring me back here by tomorrow morning. Heck, I’ll give you ten thousand bits if you find me by this time next year.”

His wings snapped open, but the other sylvanocian held him back. The five progressed through the crowd with their knives out and ready.

Scootaloo sat petrified in Lotus’ embrace.

Do something! They’re getting away!

They were just three metres from the door. Though there was much fist shaking and uttering of threats nobody dared step into their path.

A flash of motion made everyone in the room duck. The dark griffin fell to the floor, his dagger clattering into the crowd.

Brown Jacket toppled into another griffin and was immediately grabbed by five others.

In two seconds the hostage taker stood alone in the party. A pair of massive cream wings flared open; at first Scootaloo thought it was her brother.

The scythe rose into the air. There was a loud, wet crack, and the last griffin fell onto his back with both hands empty.

The crowd closed in immediately. The look of horror on the griffin’s face before he became obscured by the many bodies gave Scootaloo some satisfaction.

A loud bang cut through the sounds of fists and hooves. Thick grey smoke rose from the floor in front of the door, quickly swallowing half the room. Many screamed as they lashed out blindly. Three griffins were thrown from the fray. Something heavy crashed against wood, and then the cloud began to recede.

When the dust steeled seven griffins and three pegasi lay on the floor with deep gashes across their chests. The front door was shattered in three pieces, and the five were gone.

Standing on a table was a large, cream-colored pegasus with a trailing black mane. His cutie mark was a bright orange sword over a circular steel shield, almost concealed by his enormous wings. He looked very serious with his square jaw and cold grey eyes, but his brows were furrowed in deep concern as he nudged the colt in the crook of his left foreleg.

Rain sat slightly reclined, his injured right hoof hanging limp at chest level. His eyes were opened wide, as was his mouth.

“Daddy?”

Author's Note:

Short chapter, because busy!

Comments

[Bast]

That cliff hanger!

[BlndDog]

4820541 Originally this chapter was supposed to cover everything up to the next morning, but then l realized that would make this chapter almost as long as the last one. I think this is a good place to stop for this week.