Chapter 39
Behind him, he had his past nipping at his heels, driving him forward at a breakneck pace, and stretched before him was his future, the great unknown. Not just his future, no, his daughter’s future. Buttermilk’s future. Everything hinged on this moment. What sort of pony was he? The sort that pulled through in a pinch, or a failure? This wasn’t about winning, but providing.
The cold claws of desperation raked him, bringing to mind his recent eviction. That had been a low point. Mister Blancmange appeared in his mind’s eye and Copperquick felt the unsettling rage of that day kindle to life like a malnourished, ravenous flame that had just found fresh kindling to devour. For the first time in his life, Copperquick had felt as though he could kill another and the unease had never truly left him; he dreamt of it often enough to regret it during his waking hours.
Like relentless, slavering hounds, his past memories pursued him.
He and the mare beside him ran neck to neck, nose to nose, their hooves pounding out an odd rhythm, with her striking eight beats for his every four. It was as if the ground rose up to meet his hooves; he did not sink in and he felt light as a feather. Why, he almost flew. It almost felt as if the ground pushed his hooves away and kept the full brunt of his weight from settling in.
Huffing and chuffing, he pushed himself even harder, tearing down the straightaway.
Seeing a glow from out of the edge of his vision, he turned his head and saw the mare beside him engulfed in blue-white flames. This was alarming, but he too was engulfed in flames. Glancing down, he saw that his legs and body were surrounded in a nimbus of fire that did not burn him. Together, they blazed, the flames leaping between them like conductive electrical arcs.
There was no time to stop and marvel at the curious conflagration.
One mile was already gone and the next mile wouldn’t last long. Copperquick could not recall ever running this fast. In a weird way, even though he exerted himself, this was effortless. Yet, it wasn’t. A new fatigue was setting in already, one that he had never experienced before. He hungered, as if he hadn’t eaten in days, even weeks. Holding tight to the edge, he began to round the corner, the small mare keeping pace beside him, their shared flame burning bright.
Did a shared flame burn brightest?
The pack was ahead of them now, with some of them crossing the mile marker that doubled as the starting line. Soon, Copper would catch up with them and he would have to pass them. The corner was gone, consumed in the span of just a few eyeblinks, and now they tore down the straightaway. Somehow, Copperquick coaxed out more speed, and curiously, the mare kept pace beside him. It seemed as though no matter how fast he went, the small, lithe mare was his equal. Yet, she seemed to gain no ground either. When she attempted to pull ahead on the straightaway, Copperquick felt some mysterious pull upon his body that allowed him to keep pace.
For whatever reason, the magic bound them together and kept them together.
“Ladies and gentleponies,” an announcer shouted through the public address system, his voice causing the loudspeaker to crackle. “Are you seeing this? The rarest of all miracles! We’re seeing earth pony magic at work! It does exist! It does!”
Was the crowd roaring? It was hard to tell with the hammer blows just inside of his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was his heart thumping or the frenzied, furious beat of his hooves against the earth reverberating in the soft cartilage down in the inside of his ears. The sensation of static danced along his pelt, it crackled through his mane and tail. It was as if he wore a cloak made of thunderstorms. Electric sparks flew from his hooves and though he did not see them, he left faintly glowing hoofprints behind him in his wake.
Already, they were coming up on the pack, the slow, ponderous, plodding plough ponies. Copperquick, his brain on fire, knew he wasn’t one of those ponies. He wasn’t made to pull a plough, haul a heavy load, or do hard, manual labour. That’s why he left home. The tight, narrow, claustrophobic streets made it hard for him to be himself. They made it hard to run. Canterlot was no better, it was a tight, twisty maze built atop a mountain peak.
But out here on the track, he could run.
And so he did. He couldn’t even feel his frogs touching the track now and it was almost as if he was weightless. The announcer was screaming something, but Copperquick could not make out the words. In front of him, the ponies almost came to a stop as they all scooted out of the way, their eyes wide, their jaws slack. They stared in astonishment as Copperquick approached and gaped as he went blazing past, the smaller mare keeping pace beside him.
He had been born Copper Quick but was so fast as a colt that to get his attention his name had merged into a single word. Head down, his neck a straight line with his spine, his withers flexing as though he had pistons beneath his gleaming, sweaty copper pelt, Copperquick surged forward with impossible speed, and behind him the track blazed with flickering aetherfire.
His mouth was dry, his throat burned, and it felt as though his ribs would shatter from the force of his heaving sides. Drenched with a foamy lather, it bubbled as if it were boiling off of his pelt. Though unseen by himself, Copperquick’s bright amber eyes blazed bright with dark amber flames which trailed back along his flapping ears.
Beneath his hooves, something reacted in the earth, something electric, something magical, and Copperquick’s coppery pelt, which had always been rather metallic, now gleamed as if he was made living, breathing metal. Beside him, the bluish-white flames rising from the mare intensified, becoming brighter. Together, they were a furious fireball that devoured distance.
It was the last straight final stretch, followed by a curve, and then the finish line. The track was empty now, save for the two blurry speedsters. With the others gone, Copperquick was free to blaze a path to victory with his odd companion. He would not win this; somehow, he understood that, but he was not bothered, not even in the slightest. This was bigger than both of them. They would cross together, bound as they were by this strange magic. The magic only worked while they ran together and for whatever reason, separation was not possible.
He didn’t have to think, or worry; he only had to act. Somehow, he had in fact left his past behind him. Mister Blancmange was no longer a worry. His eviction? Not even a concern. The fact that he was broke? All those things were weights. Heavy things, all jettisoned so that he could do what he was born to do.
Back home, his mark was called a bowler hat, but here in Equestria, it was a derby hat.
It was here, in Equestria, where Copperquick finally came into his own. Right now, at this moment, there was only the purity of speed. Why, he was almost floating over the earth. It was as if his hooves weren’t even touching the ground anymore, somehow mysteriously stopping just a few molecular widths away before being lifted away and kicked forwards. He could not hear the thunderclaps caused when the magic in his hooves reacted with that of the earth beneath him, for such was the constant roar in his ears. Each step was almost an explosion that lifted him and carried him forwards, both he and his companion.
Traction was treacherous at this breakneck speed, but only if he lost his concentration. With the past left behind him, he had no distractions, nothing holding him back. He had outrun desperation, fear, worry, and doubt. There was only speed, glorious speed, and speed was enough. Speed would somehow see him through. Everything would be fine, because no trouble was fast enough to catch him.
Going into the curve, both he and his huffing, puffing companion leaned. Never before had he leaned this far down in a curve and perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, but it seemed as though the ground rippled, rising up so his hooves would find purchase. Each hoofprint he left behind him was surrounded by cracked, dry soil that almost seemed as though it had melted, or perhaps had the life drawn out of it.
The curve only existed for mere seconds and then Copperquick pounded over the finish line. There was no stopping now, no way to stop, no desire to stop, and he fairly flew down the straightaway like a copper cannonball, trailing coppery flames behind him. Stopping seemed impossible, but also vitally necessary. A quiet voice of warning told him that if he kept going, he would burn up. Already, the next curve was approaching fast as he seemed to skim over the ground. He couldn’t feel his hooves striking anything at all now, even though they went through the full range of motion. No connection, no sense of touch.
Looking down, he saw dead earth where he had trod previously, dried out, dusty, drained ground. Lifeless soil. He had taken too much and this sudden awareness, this flash of insight, this realisation of knowledge jolted him from whatever altered state he existed in. Almost stumbling, his hooves struck the ground and dug deep into the powdery, dusty, dead soil. Momentum dragged him forwards while gravity exerted its dominance once more.
Whatever spell had carried him was now broken. Beside him, the mare tumbled into the dirt, rolling and bouncing, her four quivering legs going askew. A moment later, he joined her, and as he tumbled through the dirt, the sweat from his glistening body gave moisture back to the ground. At long last, he came to a skidding halt and then lay there in a heaving, gasping heap, his ears ringing with a deafening tone.
He gulped and gulped, trying to swallow the air he so desperately needed, but no matter what he did, there just wasn’t enough. His lungs were filled with countless tiny, stinging, biting insects, a nest of fire ants, and cruel spikes of agony lanced through his frogs. Every muscle in his body clenched with enough force that it felt as though his bones would snap.
Copperquick had quite literally ran himself right into the ground.
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Well. I have many thoughts on this. I shall sum it up thusly:
Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!
That is fascinating. Very much so, even if I'm concerned for Copper's and [speedy mare]'s safety and/or wellbeing. Damn near hypnotising.
Synchronicity, or incipient herd? Only time will tell.
it is a fast chapter indeed.
"My name is Copperquick, and I'm the fastest stallion alive."
9214176
Buttermilk is faster than he is. Copper is slow compared to pegasus standards.
9214187
He drained enough magic to kill the land he ran over and was still slow by pegasus standards? Ouch.
9214227
No training. First time.
Plus, he's still running, not flying. A pegasus can hit 60 or 70 mph with no real effort. And that's not even fast.
IT FITS! IT ACTUALLY FITS! IT REALLY DOES GO WITH EVERYTHING!
With this awesome chapter, i thus dub thee, Kudzu Haiku of the Awesome Sauce.
Wow.
I feel like the identity of this fellow speedster is going to be important. Maybe that other single parent mentioned off and on earlier in the story? The mention of another foal last chapter makes me curious.
I wonder if there are going to be any significant consequences from this very visible earth pony magic display. And if they'll just award two first place prizes.
9214239
I feel you, it makes perfect sense.
9214275
"Don't cry now, Esme. Because... Dad is here!"
Fuuuuuuuck! NOW how am I supposed to find out if they won the race or not?!
Also, that was EPCI! O.O
Earth magic man, that stuff is strong one way or another. Oh I wish there was artwork of them...it would be phenomenal. Can you imagine how the spectators felt? It would have been like watching Seabiscuit and Secretariat on their legendary runs.
Fantastic description! I guess all the other racers just pulled off the course to watch.
9216749
They did. No doubt some newspaper is going to make up some story about a unicorn cheating.