Christentine

by Arn

Service

Back at the offices the few staff his wife could gather were wadding up paper and putting it in piles. Their crime? Being covered in pony names with contacts and references to other churches.

"I'm just saying" said Gardner"...this place is built like a fortress.."

"...and I'm telling you 'No!'" Pastor interrupted. "Unlike some tales from our history: we are not five hundred conquerors holding a continent of 'My My' hostage...what would the Lord think if we were? Not ever three hundred in a mountain pass!

Yes, this place 'is' built like a fortress like the Almost at Test Us, its foundation of solid stone built over ancient bread ovens abandoned because the deep fire went out, but our fate would be the same, even if our position was like the city of Boxing holding out against the Gong Gong, or a fort in Manitoba!

Like the Master said in John 18:36 'His kingdom is not of this world', there is no one here to alleviate the siege!"

"Scripture: right. Points: true..."Jesser said tearing a notebook top to bottom. "Names and history right?...not so much!"

"Sorry." Pastor said gruffly "I don't have my Humane's Outline of Stranger History, Tales, Legends, and Trivium...'eighteen hundred Circa to two thousand thirty four, with alteration in six volumes, and specula declinations of degrees in variation by dimension!

Its at home at the manse..."

"We should have a tunnel to the manse. Easy to..."

Pastor interrupted Gardner.

"The point is," he took a breath, "We take this time moment by moment, and live the best we know how, Fallbrook already scouted...there is no way out! Everyone inside Church is being 'kept' inside the church when they arrive!"

"....And I'm saying, not all of us survived a shipwreck, at sea, clutching a plank, being an arrogant little kitchen colt!" he started raising his voice.

It wasn't Gardner's fault.

"Running away from here!" he came in front of the pastor.

For how hard he was tromping across the delicate membrane on memory and emotion.

"Seeing an eldritch thing, fought off by a..a... flaming spiritual cheese wheel, slamming into it and having an angel stay with you, sitting on the waters!" he snorted.

Of the dissemblance between the two.

"Biscuit!"Gardner was in his face with a click of his tongue.

The words of scripture echoed in Biscuit's ear, of what his father and mother taught him.

'Let us share a common purse and hide in wait and waylay some poor soul.' 'Do not go with them my son.'

Why had Biscuit not listened?

'A foolish son brings disgrace to his mother.'

Wasn't everything he wanted to know available for the asking of the ponies of the town leading to the libraries open to all who would seek?

'Seek and you will find, ask and it will be given, knock and the door would be opened to you.' 'That no one who comes to the father will be turned away.' and 'All who come to the Father by way of the Son.' Son being so close...as to be the father. 'The Father and I are one!''The Father never turns those who seek Him, away.'

But No!
Biscuit had to be impatient.

Had to go with the rebels of his town wanting to get away from anything smacking of the depravity of nature, and every last vestige of ancient Calvinist doctrine or Protestant work ethic.

Go out as ponies, perfect heathens!

With a ship master that may as well have been the Rider himself!

He just told snipits of the story to friends and congregation as testimony. Only his wife, Maples, knew the whole adventure, when he would wake up in a flop sweat,a start and a sob with inflicted survivors guilt, the Rider reaching from the past to a future he could never accept, his fate, the Lake of fire!

Maples reminded Biscuit of the important things and that she was there, his helpmate! 'There is a freind closer than a brother.''That God is love.''He is a God of the living.' and as long as he was alive, even after he left this pony shell, Biscuit and she, and everypony he knew and every Imago Dei the spirit led him to pray about...was also loved by God...One day, as God promises all the secret things will be revealed and all would know.

Until then, his testimony story would come out little by little, if something unforeseen should happen, it was all written down...safe at the parsonage.

How could this been unforeseen? Christians living in a world of magic....in their world, there was bound to be friction!

These unfortunate youths, at sea, the dark deep claimed one by one, his friends, till he alone was left, only the kitchen and his cookery of breads and fish between his skin the captain and his crew of uglies with their cursed cutie marks of skulls of bones of blood and death.

As the shipped tossed and toppled over the roiling sea never once did little Biscuit think to turn his eyes to all thing's creator!

No sky, instead, darkness and mold of the ship's deck met his eyes when he rocked them upward eyes. How he cursed. Eyes full of salt tears, till he had none left to cry, deep in the dank of the hybrid steam and sail ship's hold!

Even knowing every verse of the "Ancient Mariner" by heart, and "The Singers at Sea Against the Sirens" did not warn him of the coming disaster. No. He was in the prequel of "Treasure Island" in the role of Barbecue the chief...the horror.Only his wits keeping the crew well fed with a well stocked larder of proteins, keeping them from eyeing his scroungy limbs!

Fish...strange fish, and one that look astonishingly pony like. Dead when dropped on the counter. Lovely enough to make a gentle heart cry,in a way.

Biscuit? Ignored all feelings prepped it and served it up as soup.

His heart, as dry as chalk!

A wrenched dank day came. The crew and captain called out terrible ruins in rot circles round the mast, unclean fires burning.

'Teach a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.'

'Bowing to Sun? You think that is bad? Sewing spells on their limbs? Think that is bad?"....Praying to unclean Gods in the depths of the heart of the stormy sea,horrible words that brought biscuit to the teaching of his younger days.

The Sun? The Moon? The Land? All the precious live across Equestria? Dear Lord!Monsters for the destruction of all land and overthrow of all Equestria?

Now, relieved, he could see the ship's design, old ugly and warped. It was possible to fold out into the form of a man and stride up the countryside smashing towns to bits!

These ponies actually wanted these ancient mindless horrors to merge with their craft a design only on of the most diabolical mechanized inventive minds of the "Stampedic Rush" could pull off...Nappy.

Nappy.
Had a flank covered in gears and springs, his mark.

Nappy.
Who swore to overthrow all of Equestria. Burn the past: culture,knowledge and history and set up a new order. A new of mnn! A new government and language with no ties to the old, human or equine! His designs upon all of creation.

Built a frame that lifted his form up and forced him to stand on two legs with manacles on the front hooves that could move with the dexterity of hands. His was a flag of five fingers from palm spread!

Nappy.
Forced his followers to wear the same. Their admiration for him as he pointed to Canterlot and the sky screaming "I am not an animal!" raising a single digit and cursing Celestia and her city out!

Nappy: now a terribly weathered statue in the royal garden
He, delivered by Celestia's Judge and the brilliance of her generals, with shock and awe, standing, between the shard remains of the one they, and who took the name, called Abdul Alhazred and the other, the Lord of Chaos!

Nappy.
Eternally erect, in that awful body twisting frame, him astride defiance. A tattered blank flag fluttering, posted into the ground as if he a conqueror. The wind blowing, tearing flakes, formerly of fur, skin and armor as the digits of of each manacle dropped off periodically one by one with a click of a pebble on the ground to all nature's satisfaction!

Monsters of destruction, Nappy worshiped! Monsters rebelling at everything that God has, everything noble and true and beautiful and real.

~
After the era called the "Stampedic Rush" came an era the strange ponies called "The Forgetting".

Four score years from the date the strangers arrived, desperation set in as the ponies tried to retain the memories of where they had come from, believers where protected somewhat and took shelter in the mass and communion.

The confusion of mass printing that resulted from that time! Many speculated that Nappy and the mad arab, as fellow travelers, had met and decide to divide the world between them and the racists...it was hard to know. Often Biscuit would go through the accredited works with a sensational pulp lifted to the same level on the same shelf.

Nappy, his army of mechanicals ailed with the named Abdul, his army of zealots, promised answers by false teachers for their cause, these ragged haired mangy, native born and stranger, to blow themselves to bits against the infidel!

Yet Nappy had the iron will to ally with these Saracens!

The Calif of Saddle Arabia himself sent for help against the marauders preaching at twisted version of reality, if it had not been for the unified forces of E.U.P. under Equestria's Judge under the command of the diminutive Little Shadow of the Moon, that little gnawing, biting thing, of chain, glassy eye and burning beams of light, this battle, Equestria would have been overturned and drowned in fire and water!

That is another story.

As it was, after one hundred years the descendants of Celestia's Judge couldn't remember his name, let alone the deeds he had done to let them live in the magnificent house in the valley.

She evicted them, took possession of the building and hid it behind a water fall, preserved, clean!

~

What Nappy didn't know is without God , they mindlessly lash out! Mindlessly, destroying everything they would deem threat, might, overthrow them with the excuse of evolution or in truth, "Their ancestors acknowledge God, maybe they might acknowledge him again! Press them beneath us to the depth with them before we arrive to the cold and empty smoky depths our destination! Stomp forever on that image of His!STOMP!"

For Biscuit it was too real!
His heart shattered as he saw the slimy old ones who long ago defeat the vain race of Alicorn mystics and sorcerers. Many eyes and mouths screaming and accusing mussed into the pulpy sides of slime.A wing or hoof or rump sticking out of the roping mucusing coils that caught there prey as an iguana would catch a moth,not with tongue, but in stringy drippy strands of acidic putrification returned by drawn back!

Not a mind in them, in there, to considering pegging a place, establishing a foot hold to invade the world of men! No, God was not present, this never conquering thought never entered mind, they did not consider! These mindless destroyers given over to destruction!

Biscuit prayed, was delivered into a calm sea after the ship fell away from him, pulling the storm with it, its steam engine screaming as the corkscrew and paddle wheal tried to climb, belching sulfurs gas, tried to gain traction back up to the sunlit sea, drawn to the deepest parts! Biscuit pushing upward, putting out bubbles, exhaling, so his lungs did not burst

The Last of Nappy's ancient cult of Theosophy gone!

Biscuit, bursting into a clear blue sky on the waters rippled by a zephyr breeze, grabbing something floating nearby pushed into him, his cutting board from the galley, still smelling of fish.Now he cried deep sobs.

Shadow over him. Was it a yahoo's fever dream? The whale come to swallow taking the poor pony down to the city of doom?

He laughed.

The fish he caught, pulled him out to sea! What a turn that he would be lashed to it. Another story about a whale!

Deliverance!
Angels of the sea with their ship, half horse, half griffon, hoisting him aboard, no question! The albatross cutting board into the cheerful fire as they all kept warm.

These happy faces.
Just a bath and a warm bed and warm coverings and clothes. A hug and a pat on the head. Gathering in two or threes, would whisper whenever he was on deck near them, exercise being a necessity, to keep from becoming a stiff, he always had a feeling their talk was about him.
Back to bed again grumbling with Eustachian recrimination, pertaining to Eustace Scrub, of himself.

The crew mostly let him be.

Save one big young one. She would drag him out of bed every morning, walking beside him, as he grumbled, wrap him up in her wings, bring him to the deck joining the crew. Melodically they cried before the mast, by no means was it singing!
None of them could carry a tune! They did have fun doing it.

'Make a joyful noise.'

Biscuit eventually laid his head across her back, taking in her air, like fresh outdoors, and feeling the reverberation of their cries through his body.

Taken back to the cabin, bedding fresh and changed and he, cocooned him self there, tail sticking out where head should be, until little" sky fresh" brought him supper and would read the annoyed pony stories in her language till he fell asleep. Her book: illustration of a large ship with what looked like a choir of ponies singing against harpies in the sea.

Coming to dock, all bid him leave.
A wave smile a pat and a hug, resupply,a warm coat and off they were !

Just like that!

Alone.

Looking out, he though he saw a flash. Was it a gimps of Celestia flying close to the boat? Descending...?

In the busy terminal he was alone!

Had Celestia not paid an attention after his delivers brought him back to dock? All around him other colts and fillies were scolded by guards and parents for their indiscretions.

Guards for Biscuit? They just walked on by.

Biscuit overcame his sickness, studied theology and came to the same conclusion as the many studied unicorns came, gathered for their Pow Wows, or Dream Times, or Serious Discussions, they called them, considering fancy and wild speculation tied firmly to a God centered universe, to smoke the dark brown leaf...in moderation so as not to have that most precious right of ancestry become a byword and offence to be taken away.

In conclusion: Celestia was appointed their Oyarsa, ruler of Equestria, deserving love, respect, honor and duty..she was a little off kilter!!

Not everything he learned was skewed from those unicorns. Some were a lot of fun!

From one such unicorn, a descendant of many Catholics, Sculpting Whole, remembered visions naturally, out of his pipe, smoke as Tolkien reports, told many a story of Popes selected, of an earth Pope who had once declared the Hippogriff to be a representative of Messiah!

Biscuit took some comfort in that when he remembered his rescuers, pretty good for a crazy earth pony.

Now Pastor sighed.

"Look Gardner,"he breathed into his face." We can only do what we can do. Maybe this is a quickening! So come from here some come from there, with all kinds of different motives. He gathers to himself to hear so they can decide to listen and believe!"

Gardener scoffed and turned away.

"I won't tell you what to do." He looked at him hard. "Question is: What are 'you' going to do?" Gardner had a moment of defiance then he relented in the process wadding up a parchment. The pastor winced.

He had worked hard on that thesis!

Turning, "Remember Brightener." he told the pony who had volunteered. "Keep the doors barred until the last moment, this could still only be a false alarm, wait for a signal form us to start. Start 'only' when you hear a signal, being sure." He gave her oil and a sparkier."Being sure, get it going, stay as long as you can without getting hurt then get out quickly, the old chimney's in this place still carry the air. The vent will feed the fire and it will really go! Who knows? Maybe in the panic some of us will escape."

"Or get locked in..."grumble Gardner softly as pastor Biscuit made his way out.

"You can count on me." she said as he paused by the door.

Ponies still wadded and scattered paper and parchment, he tapped on the door and turned around. "This is stupid!" he said putting the oil and sparkier so they could be gotten safely.

"Everyone, we need to make sure, to leave as little as possible," he took up a wad from a shaking pony, from the papers, holding it before the pegisi's face "so our friend can escape." He dropped the wad. "Brightener, everyone, let us pray. Maybe we are all wrong about this, so expectant of persecution!"He knelt down. There was a few moments as the ponies in the room silently prayed.
"After we leave the room, Bright Jewel, I want you to bolt the doors and keep praying. I don't know what to do. If this is real? What signal to give...?" he swallowed. "We can only do what we can do..."

"We...we.. will have to depend on Him.." she said.

"We always depend on Him."They prayed for the next five minutes.
Pastor left the room, dismissing the other ponies: Gardner, Fennel Wheal, Braw Ding and Jesser.

Bright Jewel bolted the doors behind them.

"Keep up a good face he told them...hold your loved ones close, pray for your enemies.. and forgive." They left shocked but stoic. Leaving pastor alone in the empty hall. He began his climb to the stage.

Pastor stopped.

He remembered an old tale how they used to chose a Pope...before the announcement, a chimney would put out a little cloud of smoke, or at least there was one occasion they did. If he hurried he could light a fire in the kitchen oven then maybe some of the parishioners would take warning and not come into this waiting trap.

In the kitchen he lit a punk the kindling was always ready, of rags and paper ready for wood to be added. He opened the oven only to be met by the smell of dampness and pulp paper mush.

How did that happen? The air vents were well drained, the work of master masons in there day, with then soundness of their work testifying even today, concealed through the natural craggy ground of the caverns.

He closed the ovens and walked down the hall to the stair. He saw something, in a vent, big enough for a pony to get through. He opened it and looked through and up into the yawning blackness. The strands of hair were a color he recognized.

"Good luck Gardener!" he said quietly up after the soft scraping sounds he heard. He then drew the vent closed tight and walked away. Again he stopped for a moment.

As the bells began to chime announcing service, reminding anyone to gather to come to church he was also reminded.

"I still don't have a sermon!"

Author's Note:

Biscuit made his way to the front, the church was already filling, what could he do? Nothing! Nothing without causing a panic...
The choir began to filter in, they wouldn't see her till they took their seats.
"Keep smiling." he said to each quietly." We may yet get out of this. Don't want to cause a panic...sing knowing you could see God's face today."

"Tell us about the darkness, in Massachusetts." said the voice behind the curtain to the pastor in front of the whole congregation.

Eh. Why not? He didn't have a sermon.