Chapter 29: End of an Era
The world turns, and the ephemeral beings that live on its skin call it a day. They add seven of those turnings and call that a week. Add more, and it becomes a month, then a year and so on and so on, until all of time is measured out in discrete chunks that allow us puny mortals to divide one thing from the next.
But not all things can be measured by the simple turning of the Earth, or the measured passage of the stars in the sky. Some things are measured by events, by the time before and the time after, and yesterday, magic had come back to the world.
Seeker’s Tree, as the magic producing tree near Brightly was already starting to be called, continue to pour out a veritable flood of magic into the area, returning to the ponies of the town their full abilities, as well as giving every one of its residents their second taste of a life in fur and hooves. A taste which would become a regular thing for them as the second change had rendered all of them into “were-ponies”, as Darter put it.
Not all of Brightly’s denizens were happy with the change to their lives, but by and large most accepted it as just another bit of small town strangeness. The various soldiers, scientists and visitors to the town had revelled in their new powers, and once they had gotten used to moving their new bodies in ways that avoided automatic faceplants, they explored their newfound abilities with a will.
What followed was nothing less than a full celebration of life and living, involving an impromptu airshow, displays of magical prowess, and a summer feast, the likes of which had not been seen before in the community. The night concluded with music, dancing and a magically fuelled fireworks show that ended with everyone heading back to their beds tired, full, and happy.
The next dawn found the entire town restored to their human selves as they woke in their beds. The only individuals that retained their equine forms were Foxfire, the small community of bat ponies led by Father Addison, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders, of whom Apple Bloom had gotten up early to check on her friend Seeker.
“Hey Seeker! You up?” Apple Bloom called, knocking on the red wooden door of the Pedersen home. By the kitchen clock that the pony could just see, the time was around seven thirty, but by Apple Bloom’s internal clock, the sun had been up for hours now. Time was a’wasting.
“Seeker? Shield Maiden? Either of you up?” Apple Bloom called, starting to knock on the door again, but stopping as a thought came to her mind. “Shoot, maybe they’re over at Iron Heart’s place.”
The young filly was just turning to leave when the door creaked open and the white horn of Foxfire poked through the gap, followed in short order by a pair of bleary eyes.
“Hmm?” Foxfire asked, barely awake.
“Sorry to bother y’all Ma’am,” Apple Bloom said, politely. “But Ah was wonderin’ if Seeker could come out. If’n her chores are done, that is.”
Foxfire’s brain chugged up to speed with remarkable alacrity, even reminding the witch unicorn that Apple Bloom was a farm pony, and farmers generally woke up with the sun, especially during summer hours.
“Oh sorry, Apple Bloom,” yawned Foxfire, before looking down fondly at the young pony. “The girls are still asleep. Yesterday was a long day and they were pretty tired out before they went to bed.”
“Sorry Ma’am, Ah kinda forgot yer not farming folk like the Hardings. Can Ah ask you a question, Ma’am?” asked Apple Bloom, looking up at the unicorn so earnestly that Foxfire opened up the kitchen door.
“Of course, Apple Bloom. Why don’t you come in and ask me your question while I start getting breakfast going?” Foxfire suggested, now fully awake and feeling the need to get her own day started.
“Thanks Mrs. Foxfire!” said Apple Bloom, stepping inside the kitchen. The young pony watched as the unicorn effortlessly multitasked with her magic, levitating all the makings for pancakes out of her cupboards and setting to it with a will.
“Just ‘Foxfire’ is fine,” the unicorn assured the red-maned pony as she settled herself on a stool. “So, what was your question?”
“Ah was just wondering if you an’ everypony else in town was okay with being ponies?” Apple Bloom asked, and Foxfire was quick enough to catch a look of worry in the young filly’s eyes.
“Well, I can’t speak for everyone else, but I know that my family has loved the changes. My Goddess teaches me that life is a series of cycles, but within those cycles there will always be change,” the unicorn explained, mixing and stirring as she did so.
A cup of morning tea floated over to land in front of the earth pony, complete with a small pitcher of cream and a small pot of honey. Apple Bloom took a moment to add plenty of honey to the tea before returning her full attention back to Foxfire.
“Everything changes, and I've experienced more changes to my life than most. You know what’s kept me going?” Foxfire asked, testing the griddle with a dollop of batter.
“No Ma’am,” replied Apple Bloom politely. She made a small face at the taste of the tea, before adding another bit of honey.
“What’s kept me going is learning how to move with all these changes. I didn’t ask to be a mother, or a survivor, or a pony, or a unicorn, but they are all things that are a part of me and by accepting those changes in my life and learning how to move with them I’ve become a better person. Or at least I think I have,” Foxfire concluded, starting up a series of pancakes with a set of sizzles from the griddle.
“Can Ah ask another question?” Apple Bloom asked, sniffing appreciatively at the smell coming from the stove.
“Of course,” the unicorn readily agreed, getting out some butter and birch tree syrup for the pancakes.
“What’s a witch?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Oh, that’s a question that needs a bit more of an answer,” Foxfire replied, flipping the first set of pancakes onto a platter. “Why don’t you head up and tell the girls it’s breakfast time and then I’ll answer your question. Am I right in assuming you would like some too?”
“Yes Ma’am!” Apple Bloom eagerly replied, bouncing off the stool and heading for the stairs leading to the upper floor of the Pedersen house. “Ah’ll be right back.”
The small but solidly built pony zipped up the stairs, and Foxfire smiled as she listened to the muffled squeals of delight from both of her daughters as they were woken up by a bouncy pony. Five minutes later the trio of young females came pouring back down, by which time Foxfire had enough finished flapjacks to keep ahead of her hungry girls and their guest.
“So, y’all ain’t ponies today?” Apple Bloom asked, around a syrup laden mouthful.
“We got more than enough sun yesterday to change, I guess,” Rowan responded, taking a moment to touch her small pendant. “Mom?”
“With magic back I’m guessing that the old rules of sun or moon exposure are back in force,” Foxfire answered, touching her belly for a brief moment. “And it looks like your new sibling is still keeping me as I am, for now.”
“Mr. Thunder said somethin’ about that,” Apple Bloom commented. “Y’all really change back to humans if’n you get enough sun?”
“Or be ponies if we don’t,” Romy answered, before taking a big gulp of her own mug of breakfast tea.
“So Apple Bloom, did you want an answer to your question earlier?” Foxfire asked, and both of her daughters paused their meals in curiosity.
“Yes Ma’am. We don’t have witches in Equestria. Lots of magic, but no witches,” replied Apple Bloom and Romy and Rowey both shared a smiling look.
“The definition of ‘witch’ has changed a lot over the years,” Foxfire began, serving up another set of pancakes for the girls and creating a small stack for herself. “In the past, it meant an evil practitioner of magic, usually a woman, who used her abilities to harm others or to have power over those around her.”
“But in the modern context, it refers to someone who tries to be one with nature. Recognizing, channeling and harnessing the magic of the wild world to heal and protect those around her, while learning how to become a better person,” the unicorn continued, as an unconsciously channelled arcane ring appeared around her, complete with glyphs and symbols. “We are seers, shapers, singers and makers, and our paths have taught us many things.”
“Like what?” the pony asked, eyes wide in appreciative awe.
“The true secrets, the important things,” Foxfire said solemnly, leaning close until she was almost nose to nose with the young filly. “Fourteen words to make someone fall in love with you forever. Seven words to make them go without pain. How to say good-bye to a friend. How to be poor. How to be rich. How to rediscover dreams when the world has done its best to steal them away.”
“Wow,” breathed the pony. “Ah gotta tell Sweetie Belle.”
“You do that, after you finish up,” Foxfire said, giving the filly a quick nuzzle and the aura of power around her faded into nothingness as the unicorn became just a pony again.
The rest of breakfast passed uneventfully, broken by the chatter of the three girls as they planned out their day. They were heading out to link up with the rest of their friends when Rowan paused at the door.
“Yes dear?” Foxfire asked, noting the sly smile her daughter had.
“Babylon 5, Mom?” asked the young girl, giggling a bit. “Really?”
“Doesn’t make it any less true,” chuckled Foxfire, before making shooing motions. “Go have some fun, but I want you girls back for lunch so we can go berry picking in the afternoon. Okay?”
“You bet,” she chirped, zipping back over to give her mother a quick hug. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too.” replied the unicorn, giving her daughter a quick peck on the cheek. “See you later.”
An hour later there was a storm of footsteps on Foxfire’s backdoor followed in short order by a series of rapid fire knocks on her door. The white unicorn opened her door onto the worried faces of three ponies and five children, the Crusaders and the Furred Five, in their human forms.
“What’s… going on?” the unicorn asked, concerned.
“Mom, something’s happened,” Rowan blurted out, eyes wide.
“The tholdiers are marching,” Romy added, looking equally worried.
“What?” Foxfire asked again, feeling the children’s mood overtake her. “Do any of you have any idea why?”
“I was with Ram, and she got a call on her radio thing,” Scootaloo stated. “She got sad and told me to go home or maybe go wait on the main street.”
“Right kids, you’re with me,” Foxfire said, determination taking hold of her thoughts. “Let’s go to Main Street and see if we can get some answers.”
Foxfire, the Hardings, and the Kye’s all lived on the same street, being about two blocks away from Brightly’s main thoroughfare, so the trip only took a few minutes; but by that time a sizable percentage of the town’s population was already milling around on the sidewalks.
“Arn, what’s going on?” Foxfire asked, as her beloved came running up, face and hands still marred with the grease of an engine he had been working on.
“No idea. Just got a heads up to get over here,” replied the big man, shaking his head. “Hey, listen.”
Brightly was built on a slope, with the town’s administrative centre at the top and the school and its large park field at the bottom. On the far side of the peak were the remains of the old part of town and the cabins which the military had requisitioned for their use during their stay, and it was from that direction that the sound of hundreds of feet, moving in lockstep cadence sounded.
The first soldiers crested the hill, and the gathered townsfolk saw Captain Malinski at the front of the formation, dress uniform gleaming. Behind him marched a lone bagpiper, his instrument silent for the moment, and behind the piper marched four soldiers in line abreast. The outer two warriors were carrying the standards of the PPCLI and JTF2, while the inner ones carried the Maple Leaf and the Union Jack.
Silently, except for the sound of their boots, the soldiers advanced, and their wordless movement stopped all conversation.
“Eyes Right!” commanded Malinski, in a thunderous bellow, as he drew abreast of the town hall, and in response the flag dipped, sinking to half mast.
“Oh Goddess,” whispered Foxfire, her dread compounding as she saw that each member of the military had their faces set in a stony, emotionless mask. The mask that people use when they are hiding a deep wound.
“Honours, Hup!!” came the order from the grim-faced captain, and in response a drone began to rise as the musician charged his instrument with air.
A moment later, the air was filled with the keening wail of Scotland’s national instrument, and the banshee notes began to form themselves into a tune, a tune that Foxfire and her husband both recognized. Foxfire knowing it from Star Trek, while Arnold knew it from his time spent with his friend, Ernie.
‘Amazing Grace’ filled the air in and around the town, and as the soldiers continued to march forward and approach their position, black bands could be seen over the unit patch of each soldier.
“That music. It makes me want to sing and cry at the same time,” Sweetie Belle said, ears and tail drooping. “Did… did somepony die?”
“I think so, Sweetie,” answered Foxfire, drawing a gasp from those around her as she gestured toward the soldiers that were now passing by in silent ranks. “Those are mourning bands they’re wearing, and flags only go to half mast when somebody dies.”
“And for the soldiers to do this, it means somebody important, really important has died,” Arnold added, wiping his hands on a rag. “C’mon, they’re headed for the park. Let’s beat the rush and get ahead of them.”
The herd made their way quickly down to the school, looping around the main street instead of trying to force their way through. As they reached the grounds that served both as a local park and the school’s playground they were joined by the Hardings and their ranch hands, Wayan and Maysan Harb.
“Amazing Grace?” Ernie asked, as he got close, to which his friend Arnold nodded.
“And the town flag is at half-mast,” Arnold added.
“Oh shiii-aving cream,” Ernie responded, moderating his words just in time. “I think I know what’s happened. I heard a thing on an AM radio band about it.”
Ernie was about to add more when the column of soldiers entered the park, and the bagpipe’s repetition of ‘Amazing Grace’ flattened any attempt at conversation beyond half-understood shouts as its volume reached magical levels of sound.
In ranked columns the soldiers entered the field, with the colour group marching in place as they reached their designated location, while their brothers and sisters in arms continued to pour onto the green grass. It was some minutes later that the last of the soldiers entered the field, found their place and marched in time until a definitely enhanced call of, “HALT!” was sounded from their captain, silencing the bagpipes and stilling the multitude of feet.
“Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry, prepare to render honours!” ordered Captain Malinski, and twenty-four soldiers immediately took out their rifles and aimed them outward at an angle.
“Joint Task Force Two, prepare to render honours,” Malinski ordered again, and another twenty-four soldiers raised their weapons.
“FIRE!” and the rifles crashed out a thunderous salute.
Again and again, the calls of “Present” and “FIRE!” were given, the soldier’s weapons crashing out the salute they had come to give, and Foxfire was shocked to see tears coming from Ernie Harding’s eyes as the last of ninety-six shots were fired into the air.
“London Bridge has fallen down,” whispered the man, into the sudden silence, followed by a heartfelt, “My GOD!”
“Ernie, what?” and all of those around the little herd followed the line of Ernest Harding’s outstretched and shaking finger.
Standing beside Captain Malinski was a small, frail old woman, a small yellow dog at her side. She wore a tailored dress in a somewhat blocky cut beneath a plum coloured boater hat, and while her body might have been withered and frail, her eyes were alive with intelligence and determination.
“Captain,” said the woman, with a voice of gentle authority.
“Ma’am!” responded Malinski, wheeling in place and giving a salute so crisp you could have cut meat with it.
“That was well done, Captain,” commented the woman, nodding graciously.
“Thank you, Ma’am!” Malinski replied, his voice professional, but his eyes were wide as he looked in full at the specter before him.
“Carry on,” gently commanded the old woman, who turned and began to slowly walk away, the small yellow corgi pacing her mistress.
Not a single person dared to say a word. No one breathed, and when a tall and handsome man in the full mess dress of the British Army appeared out of nothingness to take the old woman’s arm, no one was even sure that their hearts were still beating. Together, the two continued to walk toward the tree line, years sliding away from the old woman as they moved, until a young and slim brunette walked beside the man she had loved. The man who had been waiting for her for over a year.
“Did we do our duty, Phillip?” the woman asked, as the pair began to fade away.
“Indeed we did,” the man answered, and the wind whispered his last words of, “Time for us to go home.”
“The Queen is dead, Long Live the King!” shouted Malinski, recovering himself some unknowable amount of time later, his shout shaking soldiers and civilians alike back to the here and now.
“Long Live the King!” the assemblage shouted in response. “Long Live the King.”
“Dismissed,” Malinski called out, and the assembled soldiers broke ranks and began to talk among one another and to the townsfolk who were all full of questions.
“Captain, is she really gone?” Arnold asked as he approached, leading the small group of people and ponies that best knew the leader of the military detachment.
“A little over an hour ago,” the captain replied, checking his watch. “She passed peacefully, and with her family at her side.”
“Damn,” opined the metalworker and mechanic. “She was responsible for a lot of bad shit, but she was also a hell of a lady.”
“And a good Queen. One of the best England ever had,” responded Malinski, with a heavy sigh. “And that pretty much concludes my last major official duty here.”
“Did I– what I did with the tree get you in trouble?” Romy asked, looking up fearfully at the captain despite the immediate assurances by those around her that she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Get me in trouble? Not a bit,” the captain assured the young girl looking up at him. “According to all reports, what you did with the tree ‘woke up’ at least five other trees around the world. Magic is spreading, which is having the effect of taking the bulls-eye off of Brightly. I was sent orders this morning to start preparing to move… and then this all happened. Do you think that was really her?”
“Brightly IS a magical place,” commented Foxfire, with a flick of her tail. “The out of the ordinary is common here. So are all of you leaving?”
“One company of the Pats will stay, along with Warrant Officer Ram, who will be heading up the Crusaders’ protective detail,” replied Malinski, with a chuckle. “For her sins, she’s getting a promotion from Warrant Officer, to Second Lieutenant. She is not happy.”
“Why not?” asked Ernie, confused. “Doesn’t she want to move up?”
“Oh she does, but someone in HQ caught wind of her call-sign,” answered the captain, snickering.
“I still don’t get it,” asked the farmer, still confused.
“They decided she should have an all-female team. To be less intimidating and more relatable to the Equestrians,” Malinski was openly laughing now. “They’re calling the team, ‘The Spice Girls.’ You know, because Ram is Pumpkin Spice?”
The laughter was contagious and soon everyone in the group was barely able to stand. Everyone except the Crusaders whose response was summed up by Scootaloo’s complaint of, “What’s so funny?”
As a Canadian, I felt the preceding was both necessary and a way to show my love for the beloved Queen that ruled my country longer than I have been alive. And while this is a fantasy story, I have continually tried to ground it in the real world as much as possible as evidenced by the inclusion of my Prime Minister, members of the American government as well as the Washington state governor.
This is my tribute to Queen Elizabeth the Second, an imperfect woman who wielded power on a level that none of us reading these words will ever know and who spent her life in service to her nation.
I am fully aware that there are a great many reasons to dislike and even hate her, and should decide to make those opinions known in the comments, I will not stop you, nor shall I reply to them. I only ask that you respect each other.
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this is the first time that i ever cried while editing something from you. this was a really powerful chapter.
11359860
In the words of my PM, "I will miss her so."
Even as an American, I respected the U.K. and the Queen of England and all her territories and am saddened by her loss, God save the Queen, Long Live the King!
A poignant chapter. Whatever else you might think of her, Queen Elizabeth deserves the respect.
I can only imagine how every citizen felt seeing Her Majesty standing before them with Prince Phillip...
The Queen is Dead, God Save the King...
11359860
Glad I wasn’t the only one.
Thank you for making a respectful tribute to Queen Elizabeth.
I think the term "witch" and what connotations it carries depends on the era. In the period of the 17th century. fear and terror drove many to distrust that which was different. Hence "witch" became negative.
Nowadays, society is more fascinated with the occult than scared of it. So "witch" is a more fascinating and exciting term.
Wise words.
11364424 I always thought the term 'witch' was demonised because Christianity didn't want the competition, all the way back as far as the 10th century..
11367527
That's part of it. But in general, people blamed natural disasters and other terrible events on scapegoats because they had no science to explain them.
When the Black Death happened, Jewish people were targeted by pogroms because they were blamed for poisoning the water supply, even when the Pope was begging people not to blame the Jews,
Nice Babylon 5 reference.
You realize, of course that that particular episode is over 20 years old and likely came out at least 10 years before that little girl was born?
.
.
.
None the less, B5 is criminally underrated.