• Published 23rd Aug 2014
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The Wayfarers - TheFictionAddiction



Motley outcasts, dejected mages, and sordid warriors find themselves on a collision course with destiny in this budding epic. Set in an Equestria wounded by Tirek's bout for power, monsters of all shapes and sizes work to destroy a paper thin peace.

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Act 2, Chapter 37: Licking Wounds

Alabaster plopped onto the floor, wincing at the scratches on his flank. Everyone in the sitting room was finally settling down. Bundle of bandages in hoof, Granny Smith set about tending to Little Whisper’s wounds. Alabaster watched, impressed with the old mare. Although her narrow frame trembled with age, Granny Smith scrunched her face and willed her hooves steady.

Glad there’s ponies here who can keep their shit together, Alabaster thought.

His head still rang with the chattering voices of the ponies packed into the dining hall turned infirmary.

*****

“You, uh…” Alabaster glanced over his shoulder. “You wanna go first?”

Midnight glanced at him, head cocking, then peered in through the doorway. A wall of flanks and tucked tails were backed up to the door. There was hardly a hoof width of room between them all. Midnight’s heart stuttered.

“Think I’ll wait out here if it’s all the same.”

Alabaster sighed. “Thought so. Sit tight. I’ll try to be quick.”

Midnight moved aside. Alabaster stepped forward and craned his neck up. The vaulted ceiling was nearly a story and a half tall. The only thing occupying all that empty space was a crystal chandelier.

Alabaster unfurled his wings. “Guess it’s an idea.”

Alabaster scampered atop the back of a pony. If the mare had been anything other than an earth pony then her legs would’ve buckled under his weight. Alabaster sprung into the air, the mare’s cries following him up.

Alabaster squinted down. Part of the dinner hall was occupied by bandaged ponies laying on makeshift beds, but mostly it was filled with a strewn mess of ponies milling about. After a minute, Alabaster was able to discern a faint flow to how the crowd’s movement. Loose lines wound around the long tables. They began at the door and ended at two small clearings towards the back.

Hovering in that direction, Alabaster spotted Mayor Mare in the center of the first circle. Her voice could barely be heard over the din.

Crowd control, I’m guessing.

It was the second clearing that captured Alabaster’s attention. Two ponies sat in it’s center, one of which who wore a bright, white coat. Eyes narrow, Alabaster dove down.

Gloomy faces waited and watched as the mare in the white coat inspected a small filly. They broke out into wide O’s as Alabaster landed in front of them. Ponies scuttled back a step before they were standing on other hooves. A cluster of voices hollered out from the crowd.

“Hey, pal, there’s a line for a reason!”

“Wait your turn!”

“Get to the back, get to the back!”

Their words fell on uncaring ears. Alabaster strode forward, head high and chest puffed out. The mare, a murders worth of crow's feet perched around her eyes, inspected the cuts along a shivering filly’s back. She chewed thoughtfully on a tongue depressor. Bags of supplies were piled chest high around them. It looked as if the castle had been raided for everything it was worth.

Alabaster spoke. “Yo doc, I need a second.”

The mare’s ears tilted back as she looked up. Her gaze fixed on Alabaster like scope reticles. The shouts and insults from the crowd died immediately.

“You’re pretty cut up,” the mare said, her voice raspy and dry. “But it doesn’t look like you’re dying. Get in line and wait your turn.”

“You got it wrong. I’m fine, but I have some friends who are worse off. I can patch them up, I just need some-”

The mare dipped down, grabbed a bulky tote bag, and tossed it towards Alabaster in one quick motion. It smacked Alabaster in the face before he finished his sentence. As he fumbled with it, he heard the faint clatter of glass from inside. Alabaster turned the bag over and saw a bright red cross stitched into the canvas material.

“Good, go tend to your friends,” she said, turning back to the filly. “And hope you don’t have to bring them back here. We’re backed up enough as it is.”

*****

The scene felt as if it happened yesterday, not within the hour. Who am I kidding. Most of the day feels like a year old fever dream.

Alabaster snorted. “Would you believe I was drunk in an alleyway just this morning? Boy, could I go for some more of that wine right about now.”

The rest of the Apple family glanced at Alabaster, unsure who he was talking to. After a moment they resumed what they were doing.

Grimes had propped himself up in one of the cushionless chairs. His half-swollen face stared vacantly around the room, sometimes drooping as he nodded off. Meanwhile, Applebloom helped Macintosh dress the stocking of cuts along his right leg. Occasionally Applebloom would lean over and tap the back of Grimes’s neck, just to make sure her cousin was still awake.

Midnight couldn’t help but feel guilty. Other than the old mare, he was one of the few who’d made it to the castle unharmed. Midnight’s stomach squirmed at every flash of scarlet. The smell of blood and sweat hung about the room like a miasma. Slouching forward, Midnight tried in vain to push himself through the floor.

Midnight’s shadow had gone from a steep boil to a dying simmer. The din of the world outside subsided into an unintelligible murmur. For the first time that day, Midnight heard only that which was immediately around him.



Midnight wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved. While the screaming and the crying had strained his brittle psyche to its limit, the encroaching silence was almost worse. It brought with it the phantom echoes of the banging at the front door. Uncertainty tangled with Midnight’s nerves like a bed of vines.


Sitting up straight, Midnight noticed Applebloom glance away. Macintosh studied her, his expression disapproving. It took Midnight a moment to realize that the filly had been staring at him. Cheeks flushed, Midnight turned his attention to Alabaster.

Alabaster sat across the room, expressionless. He watched Granny Smith work on Little Whisper. It was eerie seeing Alabaster so docile. Images of that face twisted vy a murder’s rage were still burned into Midnight retinas. Now? Calm as a koi pond. The visage was only disrupted by the pyre burning in Alabaster’s eyes.

Alabaster cleared his throat. “Midnight?”

Midnight jumped. He feared for a moment that Alabaster might have seen him staring, but his friend’s gaze never left Whisper. Midnight licked his lips.

“Y-yeah?”

“Can you tell if those mutts are still trying to get in?”

Now everyone was watching them. Even Granny Smith, clean bandage gripped between her teeth, couldn’t help glancing up from her work. It felt as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Midnight frowned down at his hooves. He prodded his shadow inquisitively, hoping for some kind of response. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope you’re still there.

When no response came, Midnight decided on the only course know to thim. He closed his eyes and opened his thoughts. The invisible blade held in his mind had melted to an icy knode at the center of his forehead. There was an immediate response as Midnight funneled his thoughts into it. The voices murmuring beneath him spoke up.

Four sets of eyes widened. Inky tendrils were curling from Midnight’s coat, drifting lazily like rings of smoke. Midnight himself appeared unbothered, serene even. The only thing to disrupt the peaceful facade was the rapid eye movement beneath his shuddered lids.

Only Alabaster appeared unphased. He glanced from Midnight over at the Apples and noticed a faint hint of condensation clinging to their breath. None of the farmer’s realized they were shivering.

“What’s he doing?” Applebloom squeaked. She crawled atop Macintosh, trying to put as much room between her and Midnight as possible. “What’s he doing!”

Alabaster raised a hoof and shushed her. No one said anything else. Midnight’s eyes fluttered open a minute later. Those eerie strings of black smoke dissipated at once.

“Still there,” Midnight said shakily. “Still banging on the castle… sounds like they’re in a frenzy.”

Alabaster nodded and rose to his hooves. He scowled when a couple of feathers fluttered to the floor.

Granny Smith set aside a bundle of gauze. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“For a walk,” Alabaster answered curtly.

“You just sit your flank right back down! You’re not going anywhere until those cut are cleaned up.”

The Apples flinched when Alabaster turned his gaze on them. They saw the molten gold in his eyes just before a wave of warmth dissolved the chill in the room. Images of Sandalwood lying broken amongst a pile of rubble flashed in their minds.

Alabaster sneered. “As if any of you would touch me with a ten-foot pole, let alone your hooves. You wanna do me a favor, look after my friends.”

Alabaster stomped towards the door, but was stopped when Midnight entered his path. Midnight struggled to hold his head up. He recalled the calm, quiet resolve when he faced down the timberwolves. Drawing comfort from the voices bubbling from his shadow, Midnight was able to summon the strength to meet his friend’s eyes.

Alabaster glared at him. “And what are you doing?” His voice was as reframed as a lighting bolt ready to strike.

Midnight wetted his lips. “M-maybe it’s best if we just sit tight… at least until Whisper wakes up. We’ve done enough. We might be borrowing trouble if-.”

“Midnight,” Alabaster sighed. Midnight tensed as Alabaster approached him. Every instinct was telling him to flee.


“I appreciate you looking out for me, but one save doesn’t make you my caretaker. In fact, my caretaker is currently incapacitated on a coffee table. Now-”

Smiling, Alabaster rested a hoof on Midnight’s shoulder.

“-get out of my way.”

Midnight felt the need to protest. He only wanted to keep his friends far away from all those teeth and claws outside. The collection of cuts and gashes riddling Alabaster seemed like dark promises of things to come.
But the heat on Midnight’s shoulder was undeniable. Despite his injuries, the vitality radiating from Alabaster was terrifying.

Reluctantly, Midnight moved aside.

“That’s a good boy. If I’m not back in half an hour, than you might have to come retrieve me.”

Midnight blinked. “Wait, wha-”

But Alabaster was already hurrying out the door. Midnight stared after him, wondering if he should pursue. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to stand, how much more would it take to run?

And what exactly happens when I catch up to him? As I am now, all it would take is a huff and a puff to knock me down.

“Let ‘em be, boy.”

Midnight turned. Granny Smith was staring at him with a knowing glint in her eyes.

“B-but he, I c-can’t-” Midnight paused, biting down on his stuttering tongue. When he spoke again, he did so evenly.

“I don’t think he knows what he’s doing… I think… I think he’s about to do something reckless.”

Granny Smith nodded. “Probably so. But from what I’ve gleaned about… what was his name? Aleister? From what I’ve gleaned about Aleister, he’s the Hard Headed type. And I mean hard headed with two capital H’s. I think you’d be better off negotiatin’ with one of those doggies outside.”

“But maybe… hmm…” Midnight lowered his head. Everything she said sounded par the course with Alabaster.

After a second more of deliberation, Midnight slunk back to his spot by the door. He dropped to the floor. His muscles felt like nothing but dead weight. Midnight closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. At least in sleep he wouldn’t have to think anymore.

Author's Note:
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