Tales of The Wasteland Wanderer

by BlakeCorman

Chapter 3- ...The Inferno

Chapter 3- ...The Inferno

Pyro awoke to find himself chained up inside some sort of wooden structure. He tried to look around to get a better idea of where he was, but a chain around his neck jerked his head back into position. Then it hit him. He was in the wooden cart used to take ponies away when they were too old, weak, or troublesome to keep around. He was chained inside the executioner's cart. His legs gave out from under him, and, had it not been for the chains, he would have hit the floor.

Everything came flooding back to him at once. His rage, the fight, his defeat at the hands of Grimwrik. He groaned. How could he be so stupid? How could he have thought that some colt, barely twelve years old, could take on an entire plantation’s worth of handlers and their boss? Grimwrik was the most feared, let alone powerful, owner in the entire continent of Waste! And he had tried to attack him head-on, without a single thought! How could I be so stupid!?! He thought to himself, trying to hang his head lower than it already was. Wait, how could I have been so stupid? He suddenly thought.

He had been planning this for months, he wouldn’t just throw it all away just like that… would he? Then he remembered. The voices. Thousands of voices giving him different instructions, but all with one goal in mind; kill them all. He didn’t know where the voices had come from, or what had caused them, but one thing was clear; they got him killed.

...Or maybe not. He had never known that he possessed such powerful magic, and, thinking back, he realized that he had been wearing a magic dampening ring on his horn the entire time. In the light of hope and desperation, he pulled his horn and hoof together, straining against the chains that bound him. After what felt like hours, he finally touched his hoof to his horn… and his heart sank. They had added two more rings to his horn. How am I going to get out of this now?

Don’t give in…

Pyro jerked his head up, trying to locate the origin of the voice, but he knew he was alone. “Who said that?” He asked aloud, hoping that it had just been his imagination.

Use your magic…

The voice sounded again, causing Pyro to jump. “Who’s there?” He called. “What do you want?”

Your magic cannot...be restricted…

This time, Pyro stopped panicking and focused on the words he had just heard. He could still use magic? With three rings? It sounded impossible… but…. He closed his eyes and looked inside himself, searching for that flame he had felt for the past months. He searched for a while, almost giving up hope, before feeling a small feeling of warmth within his… heart? He focused on it, and, in his mind’s eye, imagined himself walking up to a simmering flame. It was little more than smoldering spark, but something told him it could be so much more. He just had to fan the flames.

He started reaching into his memories, pulling only the most sad, anguish-filled moments he could find. They appeared as pictures before him. He started to reach for the memory of his mother’s death when the voice sounded again. Not like this… the flames will… consume you….

Pyro froze, not daring to move his imaginary hoof a single fraction. But if he didn’t use these memories, what would use? What else did he have? Pyro pondered this for a while, growing more and more frustrated as he couldn’t think of an answer. Help me! He finally called out, frustration and hopelessness setting in.

Look deeper….

Pyro stopped and lost himself in thought. What else did he have but the anger? He began looking deeper as the voice had instructed, but couldn’t find anything. He had just about given in when a sparkle caught his eye. He turned towards the source, and made his way towards it, coming to a stop in front of a triangle of changing light. He reached down and began trying to pull it out, but no matter what he did, the memory wouldn’t budge. He stopped and started to circle the small triangle, but stopped when he felt something shift underneath his hoof. He looked down and was surprised to see what appeared to be dirt or soil. He thought about this, and an idea struck him. He pawed at the “ground” around the memory, and was rewarded by the sight of more changing light. Encouraged, he dug around the precious thing more vigorously until, finally he revealed what looked like a shining mirror. He stared at the mirror, but saw nothing.

I don’t get it, he thought.

Try harder….

Gee, thanks, he thought, with a roll of his “eyes.” He turned his attention back to the memory, trying desperately to see what was hidden within. Slowly, an image started to come into view. He leaned in closer to get a better look, but, as the picture became clear, he sat back on his haunches. The image before him was of his mother holding him when he was young, slowly rocking him back and forth while humming a sweet, warm melody. The image lasted a little longer and began to fade out. Pyro, caught up in the moment, didn’t notice until the image was almost completely gone.

“No! Wait!” He cried out, lurching forward and placing his hooves on the mirror, but backed away again as another image took its place. This time, the image that appeared was that of his sister singing to him when they were little. It played for a while before beginning to fade as well. This time Pyro waited patiently for the next picture to take it’s place, and was rewarded when yet another memory came into existence on the mirror. What he saw both confused and startled him. He saw himself, sitting all alone in the dark, crying over all his loses. He watched for what seemed like hours, waiting for the scene to change, but it never did. The smaller version of himself continued to cry, waiting, hoping that someone, anyone would come and comfort him. But no one ever came, Pyro thought, slouching his head forward and closing his eyes.

But don’t you… remember…?

Suddenly, the past and present began to mirror each other as Pyro and his younger counterpart both jerked their heads up, one in surprize, the other in realization. That’s right. I remember… it was you. Slowly, a blanket of warmth spread itself over him, just as it had done all those years ago. The warmth he had thought he had imagined, made up to make himself feel better in the moment. It was an embrace, filled with love and longing. It was the embrace… of a father he had never known.

Remember… you are my… little warrior… and I will never leave you.

Pyro turned, coming to stand on all four hooves as he did so. What he saw was the ghost like image of an older, soot-black stallion, with rose-red eyes and a fiery blue mane streaked with gray. The ghost smiled, its tired eyes never leaving Pyro. The moment didn’t last long. Before long, Pyro Comet began to fade, turning to dust and blowing away. But as he disappeared, he left Pyro with one last thing.

You are more… than you could ever imagine…. You are strong… you are brave… you have the power to change who you are… and the world around you…. You are Pyro Mance… last of the great Pyro family… and my son…. Whenever you fill the darkness creeping in around you… remember… I… we… will always love you.

Comet’s presence slowly faded from Pyro’s mind, but at the same time, Pyro had never felt more surrounded by love and care. All at once, Pyro was once again standing in front of the tiny ember of magic, two memories floating to each side of the flame. One was of him, enraged, flaming, black-eyed, and out of control, while the other showed his family and all the happiness they had shared, no matter how brief. He knew he had a choice to make, and he didn’t hesitate for a second. He pushed away his rage and fury, and grabbed onto all the happiness he had ever known. The flame began to grow, becoming hotter and hotter as it grew from an ember, into a flame, into a fire, and soon, into a raging inferno. Not one that wished swallow him up and devour everything he was, but one that held him close, filled him with warmth, and filled him with happiness.

Pyro’s eyes flew open within the executioner’s cart, and, without much thought, he grabbed the magic inside and began to position it along strategic points of his body. First, he focused heat into his horn, slowly melting through the enchanted rings. When the last ring fell to the ground, he felt his magic soar to new heights. He focused on each of the shackles, repeating the process for all of them. He turned to the door and started to make his way toward it, but stopped when he heard voices. There were guards outside. He looked all around, but stopped when he looked at the floor.

With a smile, he ignited his horn, unleashing a thin, intense beam of flame into the floor, making a quick circle. Before completing the circle, he used his unicorn magic to keep the cut-out from falling with him on top. He stepped to the side, bringing the wooden plate up and setting it to the side.

He poked his head out of the bottom of the cart, looking around to make sure no one had heard anything. Upon seeing that the two guards outside the wagon were oblivious and that there were no other guards, he slid out of the hole, lowering himself to his belly. Taking quick glances behind him and at the guards, he began to scoot backwards towards the rear of the wagon. Once free, he stood up, putting his back to the wooden cart.

He looked around to make sure no one had heard him. His eyes settled on a house, the biggest building on the plantation; Grimwrik Manor. Anger once again pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. He stood there, staring, for a while before looking off into the distance, into the wastelands that were his only chance of escaping. He knew that he should take that route, that he should let go of his anger… but after so long, he couldn’t do it. With a jerk of his head, he turned back to the manor and stealthily made his way towards it.

Author's Note:

So, is anyone else confused about what just happened? Good, cause I have no idea where I pulled this from.

As usual, if you see any mistakes, let me know in the comments below with the rest of your thoughts, and have a great day!