Fire Within
A deathly cough rattled out of a pony as she winced from the pain. Walking was becoming too much of a hassle, so she decided to lie down on the cloud instead. The sun was at its zenith. Soon it will be time to get ready. Spitfire coughed again, this time shaking her entire body with the effort.
There is only one other time she felt like this, near the Mare of Death. It was long ago …
A bolt of red and orange streaked across the field as a little filly slammed into a large stack of hay. “Oh what the hay?! I’ve done this trick plenty of times!” exclaimed the little filly as she got back up. A young colt trotted up, “Haha, so you keep saying yet none of us have ever seen this fancy trick of yours!”
“I swear I have! A double corkscrew mid dive with an upturn isn’t too hard!” Spitfire exclaimed while shaking off random bits of hay.
The little colt smiled, “The Spirited Spitfire … always has been the most reckless thing born with wings.”
Spitfire’s face contorted with fury, “Blaze, you’ll see that I –“ The filly broke into a small series of coughs, interrupting her outburst.
Blaze looked concerned for a moment. “Are you ok Spitfire? That cough sounds bad.”
With her coughs now under control, Spitfire started to walk back towards the village. “Yeah I’m fine … had that cough for a while now. Keeps getting worse though.”
The sun continued to fall slowly, the celestial body moving at its own pace. Minding the pain, Spitfire carefully stood up. Time to get ready. With utmost care, the fiery pony took out a collection of various jars, brushes, and other assorted materials. She clamped her jaws on the jars and twisted the caps off, exposing a variety of herb-based dyes and ink.
These mixes were specially designed. Combinations known only by Spitfire now, but once known by an old and wise pony that resided in a secluded place. Now he is gone, his wisdom living on in these liquids. In order to get the ingredients this time she had to ask for the help of both Fluttershy and Zecora. The former for her knowledge of healing herbs, the latter for her wisdom in the plants of mystery.
Spasms of pain rocketed through Spitfire, forcing her to drop to her knees in anguish. Tears began to form in her eyes but she fought them back. “I will not be defeated …” she muttered weakly. Getting back up on her hoofs, preparations continued as another flashback took over.
Blaze allowed his friend to lean on him, supporting most of her weight as they continued to walk. “Don’t worry Spitfire, we’re almost there.” He whispered in her ear. Earlier in the day Spitfire collapsed during her audition for the Wonderbolts, striking the ground hard.
It has been about two weeks since her crash into the hay, everypony thought she was recovered by now. Turns out Spitfire was just really good at faking that recovery.
Finally at their destination, the sick filly tried to walk on her own and stumbled face first onto the floor instead. She was wracked with a heaving fit of coughs which lasted several agonizing minutes. Blaze helped her stand back up, but quickly let her walk on her own, knowing how stubborn she could be.
“Thank … you …” Spitfire quietly muttered.
In front of them was a small temple. Expertly crafted, each brick in the temple was made of high quality gems of multiple colors. A waterfall was situated directly above the Temple of Light, the liquid caressing the rainbow of colors. Several stations of mirrors were positioned throughout the area, all directing light to the temple. Of an unknown magic, the mirrors seem to follow the Sun to make sure maximum light is harnessed. The effect of liquid and gems combined with that of the light makes the Temple glow brilliantly with every known color in the spectrum.
Walking inside, neither pony knew what to expect …
Another blast of agony stopped the flashback. With preparations complete, Spitfire started the ritual. Her setup was on a cloud far up in the sky, brushes of various sizes affixed to special clamps to hold them in place, pointing out over the cloud. Each brush was coated in a thick layer of its special mixture.
Spitfire took a moment to steady herself, preparing for the task at hand. With calm grace she jumped off the cloud. The blazing pony took great care to time her movements to fly near the brushes, painting very specific designs on her body with each dye and ink. Pain continued to bother her, but this had to be done …
The smells inside the Temple of Light were overwhelming. Sweet blended with sour, spicy dashed with cool, tangy played with smooth … smells so strong as to be tasted. Plants of all kinds of shapes, sizes, and colors grew all over the place.
In the center stood a lone pony, his mane silvered through the ravages of time. His eyes looked up from the plants he was attending to gaze upon the new arrivals. Those eyes were a deep blue, almost impossibly deep from experience that seemed to grasp what he viewed in a beam of understanding and held you there until he was ready.
Silent moments passed until the old stallion spoke. “By the look of you younglings, it seems there is a grave matter at hand. Tell me more.” His voice was smooth and even, perfectly controlled of inflection. Blaze took a step forward. “My friend here, Spitfire, is very ill. She –“
The old stallion interrupted, “No. Let her tell me.”
“But she is too weak!”
“Silence! The fact she isn’t dead now proves she is strong enough. Let her tell me.”
After being stopped by fits of coughs here and there, Spitfire finally gets out her story. “It started a while ago; simply a cough, but getting stronger as the days past. Eventually it prevented me from flying straight, often causing me to crash into random objects. This morning I passed out and was treated at the hospital. None of the doctors know what the issue is, but someone mentioned of an old sage that lived in a temple of pure light. Blaze and I took a few trains then walked the remaining distance … at first uncertain if we were going the right way, or even If this place existed at all.”
The old pony was silent. He took in the information that the sickly filly struggled to get out. After consideration, he spoke. “I know what plagues you. It is a disease not from Equestria. Long thought to have been abolished, I never fathomed I would encounter it again.”
Blaze, always curious, interjected. “How can you tell what it is just by looking at her?”
A smile crept upon the old pony’s face. “Young impatient curiosity … I remember how that felt ages ago, but do not interrupt me again! Still, a good question. Everything around us has a presence, each unique to what it is. This presence gives off an aura, that if listened to can be felt. Those that are practiced enough learn what an aura feels like and can then identify it again. The same goes here. This ancient plague, I remember it well.“ He took a short breath and sighed sadly. “Unfortunately it cannot be defeated with ease. No cure was ever found. Don’t fear however, because there is a way.”
The monologue was broken by a new series of coughing, this time Spitfire spitting up a sizable portion of blood in the process. “Wha – What is it?” she gasped in between breathes. Blaze quickly went back to her side so that she could lean on him for support.
The smile long faded and was replaced with a sad frown, the ancient stallion continued. “It is not a perfect science. The process is very unique for each pony. I can supply the dyes and inks, but the rest is up to you … all I can offer is advice.”
With this, he walked over to Spitfire and quietly started to whisper in her ear.
The sun was now setting, the glowing ball of light turning the sky a beautiful shade of colors ranging from blue to orange to red to pink. Spitfire was almost done, angling in for the last stroke of the brush. Just a few feet away the coughs threatened to shake her into a crash with the cloud, which would destroy all the plans she has worked towards this day.
Biting down the pain, Spitfire concentrated hard and kept her angle in check. A tickling sensation greeting the side of her flank as the last stroke of the brush finished the design painted on her with the special inks and dyes.
Everything in its place, the fiery pony landed on the cloud and took a few moments to rest. The disease was taking a great toll on her. Even the simplest motions caused her to gasp for breath now. Yet again, another series of coughs racked the pony and sprayed blood all over the cloud.
“I – I can’t … do this …” Spitfire groaned weakly as darkness greeted her.
There was no motion to indicate life; only the purest of peace and silence which enveloped her.
Like an arm, the sun’s ray of light reached for the lifeless pony. It extended and reached and stretched as far as it could. Gently, the ray of light caressed Spitfire, brushing against her fur and feathers and passing on some warmth. Smells and aromas started to slowly drift along the air. The special dyes and inks were activated by the prolonged exposure to the sun as the heat triggered the release of the aromas.
Deep in a chasm of lost souls, Spitfire heard something. She tried to look around and find out what that sound was but found she couldn’t even move … or feel anything! She couldn’t even see through the black veil that covered her. Trying to scream for help, she was greeted with silence. No voice either. Panic set in as she thought to herself. Where am I? What is this? Why can’t I talk? Several sense depriving moments went by. At least there is no pain here.
Far in the distance, the worried pony thought she heard something again … something familiar.
“ … you OK?”
The voice grew louder, clearer.
“Spitfire … you … “
That voice. It holds some meaning to the fiery pony. Something close. She strained to hear the next part.
“Spitfire, are you OK? That was a rough tumble!”
Memories came to life as Spitfire’s recollection snapped into working order. It was a few months ago in a field …
Soarin' trotted over to Spitfire, laughing the whole time. “Spitfire, are you OK? That was a rough tumble!” Spitfire slowly stood back up and rubbed the back of her head with a hoof. “Yeah, I suppose … I swear that tree moved in my way.”
Her friend continued to laugh, “Ha-ha! Well maybe you won’t try and fly backwards again!”
“Well at least I could still out fly you Soarin' … backwards!” the fiery pony smirked as she shook her head, trying to shake the pain away.
Soarin' continued to smile, barely containing even more laughter. “I love speed too Spitfire, but it isn’t always about speed, sometimes you have to smell what’s around you too! Especially if it's a pie!”
At that sentence, Spitfire was instantly slammed with vivid colors. She could feel the breeze drift past, ruffling the feathers on her wings. Taking a gasping breath was immediately greeting with the mixed smells of the dyes and inks. Sweet and sour, tangy and smooth, spicy and cool; familiar smells. Smells that could be tasted.
Slowly, the pony stood up in defiance. I won’t die. Not today. Not when I have friends to help me. Specks of blood showered the cloud again as she continued a fit of coughs. Getting the coughs under control, Spitfire steadied herself at the edge of the cloud. A quick glance at the cloud confirmed what she hoped. The sun has not set too far down yet, it still glowed brightly. Bracing herself, the fiery pony had one stray thought as she jumped off the cloud: Now to attempt again what I accomplished all those years ago.
Spitfire fell a few feet before spreading her wings, gaining momentum. She shot up and vigorously pumped her wings. Limbs sore from the disease, it was hard to fly higher, shooting pain going up and down her wing with each pump.
Up she went, slamming through every cloud in her path. Every furious beat of her wings caused her to go faster; to go higher. Pain didn’t matter now, she had to do it … her life is at stake. Faster and faster Spitfire burst through the clouds as tiny droplets formed small water beads onto her body.
Her wings started to tire out, the strain becoming too much. Still beating frantically she went up all the same, eyes starting to fog … the edge of her vision closing in. Her wings started to slow down. About to pass out again, for the last time, she heard an ancient voice from her past.
“… all I can offer is advice.”
It was the old stallion! Memories from back then, giving her their strength now! With renewed motivation she stepped up the pace and fought through the blood-infused coughs. She went higher; breaking more clouds, adding to water that was starting to form a skin-tight layer around her body.
“Everypony is different, each with their own aspirations and dreams.”
The layer of water covered almost every part of her body. Staying off only her wings, eyes, and nose. With an agile quick point turn seen in only the more experienced flyers, Spitfire launched herself down. The fiery pony pressed her wings to her sides, letting the layer of skin-tight water cover them.
“Even the cutie mark is unique. It reflects what makes you special, a part of what makes you yourself.”
Stretching as far out as possible, Spitfire gained speed. The layer of water around her improving her aerodynamics dramatically. She continued to slam into clouds and added to the layer of water.
“There may not be a cure, but there is a way to get rid of the disease … at least temporarily.”
The ground was approaching at break neck speeds. Spitfire could even smell the salty waters of the ocean as she neared the end of her decent. Greens, browns, and yellows of the ground starting to fill up the remaining vision she had left.
“Find that one thing you’re good at, the one thing that makes you unique, and use it to cleanse yourself. Being true to who you are can heal many wounds of the body and soul.”
Spinning into a frighteningly fast spiral, the fiery pony corkscrew-dived right into the ocean. A whirlpool formed in her absence, caused by the immense force of her entrance. Moments later she burst forth a few feet away and rocketed back up into the sky, this time a jet of water following her up.
“Look deep within yourself. You will find the answer. Push away all the lies, all the false truths, all the things others expect of you and look clearly. Search for who YOU are, not what others want you to be.”
Spitfire’s ascent finally slowed down as she stopped in front of the setting sun. Suddenly she spread her wings as far out as possible and looked up into the sky! The jet stream of water continued to flow into her, renewing her water skin and spreading it out in the sky.
The herbal mixture of dyes and inks mixed with the natural minerals of the ocean waters. The spectrum of the setting sun reflected off each drop of water and started to make the water glow. Getting brighter, the glow became nearly blinding before setting fire to the water surrounding Spitfire.
She screamed as loudly as her lungs would allow, a long drawn out release of the pain of her years past. From ground view, the image of a phoenix filled the sky, water fueling the impossible fire.
The fiery pony continued her long scream, the fire burning within her just as it did without. Flames raced through her blood and the scorching pain echoed through her body as the cleansing fire light up every fiber of her body. Not yet over, it intensified. Already coursing through Spitfire’s body, the fire leapt deep into her soul, exterminating every possible part of the disease it could find.
And as quick as it happened, it was over. The jet stream of water dropped back into the ocean. The gaseous ball of light continued to set, darkening the sky with every passing moment. Even the skin tight layer of water was gone.
With renewed strength, Spitfire pumped her wings in triumph. Her hair and feathers seemed to glow slightly as she took a deep breath of fresh air. As loud as possible she yelled into the sky for everypony to hear:
“I AM SPITFIRE!”
“BURNING WITH THE PASSION INSIDE ME!”
“IGNITED BY THE SPARK OF LIFE!”
“HERE TO LIVE WITH EVERYPONY!”