Virga

by Dave Bryant

Everfree

By the time a gingerly moving Rose found them again, Cook and Sunset had trampled down a spot out on the meadow and cobbled together a pup tent from the somewhat mismatched shelter halves found tied to the older pair’s transformed packs.

“How’re you feeling?” Sunset circled the tent—almost the only one visible amidst the tall wild grass—and eyed the limping pegasus solicitously.

“The doc said I’ll live, but I’m not thrilled about these . . . mud packs.” Rose looked down at her chest and opened her good wing, showing small splotches of a drying spackle-like substance covering her quill wounds.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Cook put in absently as he worked at the tent’s finishing touches. “He was out of bandages.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Rose shook her head. “I’ll bet he didn’t have a lot to start with, since he probably had to run with whatever he could grab on the way out, like everybody, ah, everypony else. But still.”

Sunset craned her neck to peer at the makeshift plasters by alicorn-light. “Umm, they’re probably treated with a poultice mix, so they should be pretty clean.”

“Homeopathy?” Rose didn’t sound reassured.

“Oh! No, alchemy,” Sunset explained, and after a moment added hastily, “That’s a real thing here. The zebras are pretty good at it, and we’ve learned a lot from them.”

Cook ambled over for his own look. “It’s still taught at medical school, I believe, even if some of it’s obsolete these days. Don’t military medics get trained on field expedients? Same idea.”

“Okay, fair,” Rose acknowledged. She eyed the tent with grudging approval. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No,” Cook said bluntly. “You lie down and rest. We won’t be able to get more than a few hours of sleep before dawn, so we need to make the most of it.” When Rose opened her mouth, he went on, “You’re walking wounded, Captain, and you need to take at least a little time to recover if we’re going to travel in the morning.”

Sleep proved elusive and fitful: stress, unfamiliar surroundings, makeshift arrangements, disturbances as refugees continued to trickle in. The pièce de résistance was the onset of “wild” rainfall not long after the three of them settled onto their sleeping pallets. Desultory efforts to steer it elsewhere came to nothing as the sheer mass of clouds overmatched the few pegasus ponies—even fewer weather-trained—who went up to meet them. In the end most of those present crowded into what shelter the ruins offered, leaving the meadow to hardier or better-equipped souls.

Rose muttered under her breath, barely audible over the rain drumming on the taut oilskin. She shifted position yet again, the novelty of her new winged form wearing off somewhat. Sunset, sprawled beside her, mumbled sleepily, “Try sleepin’ on your back’r your front. Twi had th’ same trouble when she got her wings ’n’ stuff.”

“Or you could try sleeping on a cloud.” Cook’s voice from the far side of the tent hovered somewhere between irritation and amusement.

“Seriously?” Suspicion lurked in Rose’s voice.

Sunset sighed. “Cloudwalking is part o’ pegasus magic, yeah, but nopony’s controlling these clouds. They’ll drift on the wind, and you’d be miles away by morning. Or they could dissipate, and then you’d fall. If you didn’t wake up in time—”

“I get the picture.” Before Rose could continue her sour observations, another voice sounded through the torrent.

“Hullo? Who’s there?” Anxiety and exhaustion wavered in the heavy brogue—too thin to be called a shout, too forceful to be anything else. “I’ve foals in tow!” Further words, softer, were nearly swallowed by the rain, followed by a couple of small piping voices.

“Sonofa—” Rose lunged up, discomfort forgotten, and yelled back, “Here!” Ruthlessly she poked Sunset, then Cook, with a shod hoof. “Shake a leg, you two.”

All three stumbled out into the downpour. In moments a faint alicorn glow emerged from the wet gloom, revealing a solidly built unicorn mare, all pale blues and grays, head down and followed by a gaggle of foals who tottered along behind her, nearly out on their feet. “A-Azure?” Sunset squeaked. “Is that you?”

The stranger raised her head fractionally, soaking mane trailing heavily. “Sunset Shimmer, is’t? Of all th’ mares.” She blinked at the pair flanking the gold-coated unicorn. “I’d give ye all a proper greetin’, but . . .”

“Say no more,” Cook murmured. “The old palace is that way, Ms. Azure.”

The trio shepherded the whole cavalcade across the sodden grass. Sunset paced alongside the other unicorn mare while Rose and Cook trailed the young fillies and colts, making sure none collapsed or wandered off. One already was draped along the long-suffering guide’s back, barely awake enough for a whimper of, “Ma? We there yet?”

“Almost, sprout. Look, it’s Sunset. Ye ’member her, right?”

“Hi, River.” Sunset leaned over to nuzzle the filly, half-buried under the poncho thrown over both Azure and her adopted daughter. River returned the nuzzle before pulling her head back under the cloth like a tortoise.

“What happened, Azure?” Sunset let her worry show in the question, as she had not in front of the foals.

Azure gazed into the rain ahead. “I’m guessin’ ye saw the airship an’ the bombin’?” At Sunset’s nod she continued, “Well, me husband Gleam’s home on leave, so we both went out t’ organize th’ townsfolk. Things . . . didn’t go well. ’Twas pretty plain it was all slidin’ into th’ pot, so Gleam stayed put while I gathered up all th’ foals I could find an’ lit out. A close-run thing, I don’t mind sayin’. Had t’ leave me flute b’hind, but I took me rifle an’ all th’ ammo I could carry, an’ me sword t’ boot. Shot down three o’ th’ hooligans and ran through two more ’fore we could reach th’ wood.” Grim satisfaction colored her recitation. Then she took a deep breath. “Of what happened after I know naught.” For a moment her mask slipped, showing a desperate fear for the husband she’d left with the town’s civilian defenders.

Sunset rubbed shoulder and cheek against hers comfortingly. “If anypony can win through, it’s Gleam.”

“Don’t I know it,” Azure replied as they stepped onto the crumbling old stoop. More loudly, she called, “Okay, you lot, here we are, safe an’ sound. In with ye, now!”

In the echoing vestibule all of them did their best to dry off, letting clothes fall with wet splats on the stone floor and shaking themselves. River slid off her adoptive mother’s back and Azure’s poncho followed, joining the rest of the temporarily discarded garments and revealing a mostly dry vest under crossed straps supporting scabbards for rifle and sword.

Rose’s brow rose as she surveyed the battered, faded bits of embroidery on the vest’s shoulders and chest; despite the unfamiliar designs there was no mistaking their military nature. “Guard?”

The unicorn mare nodded wearily. “Sergeant-Major Azure Foalklore, scout master, EUPG, retired.” In turn she glanced up at the larger pegasus. “An’ ye? ’Tain’t many things cause wounds like those.”

“I—” Rose looked taken aback and uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

With an artfully bland expression Cook put in, “Like you, Sergeant, the good captain here is a retired soldier.”

“Captain!” There was a trace of apology in the reply, and the former NCO snapped to attention by sheer reflex.

“Stand easy, Sar-Major. You couldn’t know.” Rose shot Cook a fulminating glare before turning back. “Master scout, hm?”

“Oh aye!” Pride suffused the words. Then Azure sighed and shook her head. “But here I am, fled from me home, me husband fightin’ ’longside th’ townsfolk—”

“I’ll hear none of that, Sergeant Major,” Rose interrupted in a bracing tone. “You succeeded in bringing a half-dozen foals out of harm’s way, guiding them through the Everfree Forest under adverse conditions, and reaching at least temporary safety. You’ve done an exemplary job, one any recce outfit would be proud to count among their accomplishments.”

A few other ponies had begun to show up from deeper within the palace’s remnants, attracted by the sound of voices. Perforce the discussion was cut short as a new bustle took over. By the time the ruckus died away, even Azure had been swept up and carried off by it, leaving Sunset, Cook, and Rose standing and looking after the departed folk in bemusement.

At last Rose sighed and looked up at the tarps overhead. “Well, at least the rain seems to be dying down. Maybe we can go back to our bivvy without getting soaked all over again.”

There was no dawn—at least, none that was visible. The clouds became a leaden fog that gradually lightened to a pewter mist, muffling what little sound reached them. Few if any of the others in or around the ruins seemed to be stirring in the early morning when Rose prodded the others into rising and striking the tent. Cook made no complaint beyond an inarticulate grunt, but Sunset uttered a few plaintive noises.

“We have to leave while we can,” Rose whispered. “By now the enemy must have Ponyville wrapped up. That means patrols could be sweeping the forest. The minute they find this place—”

Sunset bit her lip, manifestly distressed, and Rose sighed. “I’m sorry, Sunset. We can’t stay, for the same reasons we couldn’t stay at Princess Twilight’s place. We can’t delay, because if any of the refugees come out to check on us, it’ll get that much harder to leave, for all kinds of reasons.”

“If it’s any consolation, the fog will help both us and the other folks here.” Cook paused. “Pretty convenient when you think about it.”

Rose gave him a sharp glance. “More magic?”

Cook shrugged. “Maybe.”

“But—what about Gleam? What happened back there? How—?”

Rose turned the same look on Sunset. “I don’t know, and there’s no good way to find out. Sunset, have you ever heard the phrase ‘fog of war’?”

Breakfast—more of the honey-granola pucks—waited until they were well away from the palace meadow, on the bank of another stream. As Cook distributed the food, Rose cleared her throat. “You two are the experts. Where do we go from here?”

“I’d recommend getting out of Equestria.” Cook paused thoughtfully. “The question is where to go.”

Sunset looked up from her half-eaten puck and suggested diffidently, “North. The Crystal Principality.”

Rose’s brow rose. “Mister Cook?”

“Hm. Griffonstone is effectively a failed state, and getting there is a chore and a half. Yakyakistan is, well, a collection of villages. The bison tribes have no real state as we understand the word. The zebras . . .” Cook trailed off, thinking hard, and after a couple of minutes shrugged. “Sunset’s right. Even without Princess Cadance present, it’s probably the best choice. Mind you, that doesn’t make it a good one, but I’m not sure anything better is available.”

Rose blinked. “Okay, that last bit needs a little unpacking.”

“Princess Cadance was at the Friendship Festival too,” Sunset explained. “Twi mentioned something about all the princesses being there.”

“So we have to assume all of them, including her, are at least captured.” Rose nodded. “But presumably there’s some sort of caretaker governance in place while she’s away.”

“Yes,” Cook agreed. “The question is how solid it is.”

“Only one way to find out,” Rose replied briskly. “In the mean time, we have to figure out how to get past Canterlot. It’s northeast of us, and I didn’t see any other passes through the mountains. I’m guessing we’d have to swing a long way east or west to find another way through.”

Both Sunset and Cook nodded confirmation, and Rose’s nostrils flared with a deep breath. “Okay. So we have a choice. We can try to circle around Canterlot and the mountains—more time spent traveling, which could mean more risk of getting caught. Or we can beeline for the Canterlot pass—less time traveling, but going straight into the heart of conquered territory. Which will it be?”

“Some choice,” Cook muttered. Sunset’s worried expression echoed the sentiment.

Author's Note:

“I just hope they’ll be okay.” Fluttershy’s soft voice summed up everyone’s thoughts.
   The five young women with her nodded quietly, even Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash displaying none of their normal ebullience. The whole group huddled on some of the mismatched wing chairs arranged to form a pair of cozy conversation groups in the front parlor of Lectern’s New and Used Books.
   The silence lasted a few minutes more until Mister Lectern himself approached and cleared his throat. “I apologize for disturbing you girls, but we’ll be closing shortly.” The leaf-green eyes in his age-lined new-brick face peered at their unhappy expressions. “Is everything all right? I noticed Ms. Shimmer isn’t with you tonight.”

Azure, Gleam, and River belong to Rose Quill and appear with her gracious permission.

Comments

[EchoWing]

If the ease at which the Manes and their backup took down the forces left in Canterlot at the end of the film, most of the Storm King's forces are probably fanning out across Equestria at this point. Going through conquered territory's still a dangerous proposition, but not as much as would have been the previous day.

[FanOfMostEverything]

"The zebras . . .” Cook trailed off, thinking hard, and after a couple of minutes shrugged.

Yeah, bit hard to give a definitive statement there when the show refuses to.

Traveling on hoof, it's entirely possible that by the time the group gets to the Crystal not-an-Empire-anymore, the conflict will have resolved itself. Of course, first they have to deal with miles and miles of tundra. And the intervening country before that. This isn't going to be at all enjoyable.

[Dave Bryant]

9152028
Pretty much, though of course Cook’s mentally running over all the other possibilities as well. Part of his calculus is the difficulty of reaching the Crystal Whateveritis—if it’s hard for the three of them, it’s much harder for an army. And they don’t plan to get there entirely by hoof. . . .