The Tragedy of the Tapestry (Turbulence, Act One)

by EbonQuill

Chapters

• Chapter 1: Blue Skies Over Equestria
• Chapter 2: The Millennial Sun Celebration
• Chapter 3: The Racetrack
• Chapter 4: Haute Coutere
• Chapter 5: Ah! Gonzo!

Chapter 1: Blue Skies Over Equestria

Thunder rumbled close to the towers of the ancient structure, shaking loose small parts of its roof. It had not heard the hoofbeats of ponies in countless centuries. Time had not been kind to the strange ruin, and the surrounding jungle was well on its way to obliterating the once-strong walls and spires. Nothing stirred in the jungle, no creatures lurked within, perhaps frightened away by the five monstrous statues that held a silent vigil over the forgotten site.

As if in defiance of the silence below, a beam of light lanced out of a web-shrouded window on the third floor. Within, raised voices were heard, two female and one male. Three shapes galloped past the windowsill, and the grey coat of a pony could be seen for just a moment. He paused by the window, and looked out.

“Come on, Tempest,” a mare’s voice, silk and steel together, called out from within. “There’s no turning back now!”

“Yeah!” shouted another, this one full of irrepressible energy. “This is it! The day of reckoning! We’re coming for you, Chaos!”

The grey stallion nodded, fluttered his wings, and together the three leapt into the abyss.

Somewhere, a bell rang.

Warm sunlight fell on his muzzle to the peal of a distant bell.

“Good morning, Tempest! Doesn’t Cadence’s Bell sound lovely this morning?” The cheerful voice of his mother cut through what remained of his dream, and snapped the grey pony back to reality.

Tempest groaned, and shrugged under the covers. Whatever time it was, it was too early to be awake.

“Get up, sleepyhead!”

He grunted a negative, and rolled over. His mother laughed. “You were so excited about the Summer Sun Celebration that you couldn’t sleep, is that it?”

She pulled the blankets off of him, pulled his window open, and laughed again. “You promised Eureka you’d be there for her, remember?”

Oh Tartarus, I did. “Enough, Ma, I’m up. Good morning to you, too. How do you do it every morning?”

She nickered a little. “It’s called ‘coffee’, and you’ll learn all about it when you apply for the Royal Guard in Canterlot. For now, come downstairs and have a nice, home-cooked meal, Ponyville-style.” And with that, she trotted downstairs, leaving his stormcloud cutie mark shaking in the early morning cold.

Tempest ran a hoof through his cerulean mane, trying to get it to look presentable. He then stretched his wings, and flew out his window into the back field for his morning exercises. He may not have been a morning pony, but every pegasus knew the cure for persistent morning fog; sweep it out, and let the sun in. Forty minutes later found him in the bathtub, soaking his sore muscles. That did it. The morning’s cobwebs were now long forgotten, a faint echo in the back of his mind washed away by the promise of a wonderful morning.

If there was a better smell in the morning than roasting hay fries, Tempest didn’t care to know about it. The smoky aroma rolled through the hallways of his house, and he glided down the stairs to follow, drying his wings as he flew. It was another gorgeous morning in Equestria, another beautiful day to be alive.

His mother had set out a delicious breakfast: hay fries, thick oatmeal with honey, and even an apple fritter. They were a special favorite of his, although some less-charitable ponies he knew called it an addiction; he just couldn’t say no to those flaky, crispy shells, and warm, fluffy insides all stuffed with apple bits. It was something he'd picked up from his late father, who had called them "little pockets of sunlight."

Breakfast quickly devoured, Tempest flapped his wings and returned to his room upstairs. He drew in one shaky breath to calm his nerves, and pulled a long wooden box from under his bed. The old teak creaked as he carefully nudged it open, and revealed a long blade with a slender bitgrip. The weapon’s style was an old one, having fallen out of favor with the warriors of Equestria over 400 years ago, during the devastating war with Nightmare Moon. Back then, they needed as many blades in the army as could be made, so the blacksmiths had almost abandoned any extravagance when forging. Blades like this one were rare, belonging to an age prior to the rise of the Gathering Dark. Of those curios, this one was special: it had belonged to his family for generations, passing from parent to child for as long as Tempest’s family knew.

Tempest trembled a little as he ran his hoof along the looping faceguard of the hilt. He’d be worthy of the ancestral weapon soon, right after he aced the entrance exam for the Royal Guard. After all, a pony was measured by their actions and how they managed the consequences of those actions. To his mind, a name was just a label to identify the cause of a chain of events. The name of the pony didn’t matter. What actions the pony undertook did. If they brought tragedy and sorrow, the pony behind them was similarly marked. On the other hoof, if they served truth and justice, the pony behind them was equally honorable. So, he was going to be a Royal Guard, protecting the citizens of Equestria, in case another Nightmare Moon rose.

Like that’s ever gonna happen, a cynical little pony in his head said.

Instead of the blade, he grabbed a piece of red cloth and slowly unwound it from the scabbard. This he wrapped around his brow, and cinched tight. He would not claim his father’s sword, not yet. However, he could at least show his dedication to his father’s cause and to his duty by wearing the family sigil as he went about his day. Taking up his wooden training sword in his teeth, he stopped only long enough to check in a mirror that the crossed pair of keys sat over the center of his brow before he breezed down the stairs. He tucked the wooden sword into the sash under his wings, pecked his mother on her cheek, and set out towards the fairgrounds.

Chapter 2: The Millennial Sun Celebration

The fairgrounds smelled like caramel corn, cider, and too many ponies. The grounds were nearly two miles wide and had been divided into four quarters around Sungleam Square, where Cadence’s Bell hung. There was the Exhibition Grounds to the north, where showponies, inventors, and preachers could pay a deposit to rent the large stage and get a cut of ticket sales. To the south was the Market, where vendors hawked their wares. To the west was the Bazaar, where sideshows and circus-style acts competed with each other for the onlooking crowd’s bits. Finally, to the east was the dancing pit and the race course. In the evenings, the dancing pit was alive with music and revelry. During the day, the race course pulled almost as many ponies as its neighbor did during the night.

The crowds of revelers so congested the four districts of the fairgrounds that even the sky was packed with flying patrons. It seemed like everypony for miles had come to Ponyville for the Summer Sun Celebration.

Of course they did, he chided himself. It’s the Millennial of our Kingdom, and the Four Hundredth Anniversary of the Battle of Broken Bough.

Broken Bough, where Nightmare Moon’s horde of monsters, the Gathering Dark, had been stamped out for good by the forces of Equestria, and King Sungleam XXI had personally taken the field against the Last Warlord and ended the War of Eternal Night.

Who wouldn’t want to celebrate that? What foal would— is that apple fritters I smell?

“Gangway,” he shouted, and flapped his wings as fast as he could. In a blur of motion, he zipped around the food stalls, seeking out the tantalizing scent of the freshly-baked delicacies. He took turns at speed, and ruffled a few tassels of the fashionable mares nearby.

Nothing in the Market. No food vendors in the Bazaar. It was as if—

He clapped his forehooves together. The dancing pit! Nopony’s gonna be dancing there this early, so the other vendors gotta be there!

He rolled forward, spurred to greater speeds by his deduction, straight into Sungleam Square. He didn’t have a chance to see the pretty white unicorn mare with the blonde mane who stepped in front of him. She was looking somewhere else when he struck, but they both found themselves sprawled on the ground.

“Oof!” Tempest had the air knocked out of him, and he lay on the ground clutching at his stomach.

Several feet away, he saw the delicate filly stand up and sway to her hooves, a musical note done in rich blues and purples on her flank. He tried doing the same, but he couldn’t breathe.

“Ow!” She stretched her body out, and took a deep breath. Her horn shone with a pale violet, and a matching aura wreathed her neck. Nothing happened. She gasped.

“My pendant!” She began frantically looking around the accident, and finally saw Tempest. “Oh, dear! Are you OK?” Her voice was gentle and cultured, with a Canterlot accent.

“… yeah,” he rasped. “I’m fine. Sorry about crashing into you. I, uh, had somewhere to be.” He stood up, and gingerly stretched his wings out. They were strained a little, but nothing a little ground-pounding wouldn't fix.

She looked abashed. “I’m sorry to keep you... what did you say your name was?”

Tempest chuckled. “I didn’t. I’m Tempest.”

She grinned. “Glad to meet you, Tempest. I’m, er…” she glanced around for a moment, seeking her lost pendant. “I’m Meadowsong. If it’s not too much trouble—“

He cut her off with a wave of his hoof. “Say no more, I’m at fault here. I should’ve been watching where I was flying. Need a hoof finding your pendant?”

She stamped on the ground in relief. “That would be wonderful! It’s been in the family for generations, and I’d hate to lose it!”

See what you did? The little pony in his head said. What if some jerk made you lose Dad’s sword?

He gritted his teeth, and bowed his head. “I’m so sorry. Here, I did it; you take these bits, and go get a cider. I’ll find it.”

Meadowsong smiled again, and wrapped the proffered coins in her magic. “Thanks, but no. Let’s get started, shall we?” And with that, she pressed the coins back into Tempest’s hoof and began searching.

Tempest wasted no time; he stepped backwards, looked at the impact site, and scanned the periphery. There, glittering underneath a nearby candy vendor’s stall, was a red stone carved into a sun. This had to be it. He cantered over, slid his hoof underneath, and swept it out.

“Hey, Meadowsong! Here it is!”

In a cloud of dust, she was upon him. “Thank you so much!”  She raised an eyebrow. “Er, may I have it back? I know I’m supposed to give you a reward--”

At Tempest's sudden peals of laughter, Meadowsong furrowed her brow and stepped away.  Perplexed, she began, “I’m sorry, I must be missing something...”

Tempest wiped a tear from his eye, and shook his mane. “No, no. You keep it, it’s yours. Reward. Heh. Where’d you get a silly idea like that? Look, if you want to pay me back for it, why not just help out the next pony who needs it?”

Her face lit up, as she laced her magic around the golden necklace, and clasped it around her neck. “Really? You’re such a gentlecolt, Tempest. I’d heard Ponyvilleans were a rough-and-tumble sort.”

Tempest shrugged. “Sure, some ponies can be jerks, but that’s true everywhere.”

Her grin brightened, and she pranced in place for a moment. “I am ever so grateful, Tempest. Um...” She looked around, taking in the Square as if for the first time. “Are you perhaps a local?”

He nodded.

“Would you mind showing me around the Celebration? I’m from out of town, and don’t know anypony--”

“I’d be honored, miss.” He grinned.

“Please. Just call me Meadowsong. Not--” she stuck her tongue out, “-- not ‘miss’, nor ‘milady’, nor any other such silliness.”

Tempest raised an eyebrow. “Okay, sorry. Didn’t realize you Canterlot folk were so touchy about titles. Now, what do you wanna do first? The races? The food? The exhibits? I was after some fritters before--”

She sidled up close to him, and brushed his neck. “Your choice. Show me the world!”

Chapter 3: The Racetrack

They attended the races first, where speedsters of any species were welcome to test their mettle. The starting leg of the course was fairly generic, with fences or hedges placed every so often, sometimes with water-filled ditches just behind to force a longer jump or a draining climb out of the muck. It wasn’t until after the first turn that the famous Ponyville Summer Sun Celebration Racecourse began to show its teeth. The ground rolled suddenly into small hills along the course, with a deep brook across it. Most racers forded it, and hoped to make up the speed elsewhere on the track, but a rare few attempted to leap onto the small pier on the opposite side.

After the second turn, the racers found themselves on a bridge over the brook itself. Some sections of the bridge would drop abruptly into the chilly water. Those unaware or unlucky enough to find themselves dunked had to swim back to the first leg and climb back onto the pier.

Beyond the bridge, the course braided its way through a set of swinging logs. The rhythm changed every year. These logs weren’t intended to harm, but could still bruise a slow racer. Most of the racers would try to slalom through them. However, if you learned the rhythm, a lot of time could be gained here.

By the fifth turn, the brook had grown into a swift-moving river. Rafts on ropes traversed the stream in fits and starts. Fording this was impossible for all but the strongest racers, so most lept from raft to raft until they landed back on the dusty track. Falling in usually meant a long, embarrassing swim back to the pier after the first turn and a huge loss of time.

The sixth turn led to the most challenging obstacle: ten yards of thick, sucking mud with only five ropes bridging the gulf. The racers, tired, sweaty, and shaky from the last five turns, would have to leap carefully onto the thick ropes and cross the muddy ditch or find themselves caught in the sludge. This usually resulted in a concession, but some of the strongest racers conserved their energy for just this strategy. Jostling the ropes above was considered bad form, but wasn’t illegal.

Once across this last ditch, the checkered banner marking the finish line was a short jog away. The whole course ran about three miles in total. Tempest had used it as his morning exercise when the course was empty. He had even competed before, but nothing had come of it.

Now, it was time to see what the pros could do. He could hardly wait. Tempest galloped ahead, and grabbed seats right against the track. “Over here, Meadowsong! This is gonna be great!”

As they took their seats, the barker called out: “Welcome to the Millennial Summer Sun Celebration qualifiers! Introducing, from the inside rail out, the racers!

“In lane one: we have a mysterious figure from across the bay. He’s known only as Xerxes!” The figure pulled back its hood to reveal a powerful-looking zebra, with his mane shaved. There was scattered applause.

“In lane two: she’s lean, she’s mean, she’s the cross-country queen. But will a course race ruffle her feathers? She’s Gwenhwyfar!” The griffon, covered head-to-toe in white feathers, roared a challenge to the sky. In the stands, her fans roared back, and stamped out an applause.

“In lane three: the maven of magic, the telekinetic terror, it’s Strobe Light! She’s a gutsy unicorn, on her fifth attempt to be the first unicorn to qualify for the Summer Sun Finals. How about that dedication?” Strobe Light waved to her fans, eliciting cheers and shouts of support.

“In lane four: he’s the strongest buck in the orchard, but will that help him on the track? Ponyville, give it up for your very own Apple Cider!” The yellow-maned Earth pony got the loudest cheer so far, with Tempest adding to the din.

“And last, but not least, in the outside lane, we have a surprise entrant: I can hardly believe it myself, folks. We’ve got one of King Sungleam’s personal pegasi protectors, carrying an impressive string of racing titles as long as her military victories, it’s that famed Flame, the Colonel of Cornering, Spitfire!” The noisy crowd fell silent until the fiery-maned pegasus stepped into full view and took a bow. Then, it erupted into cheers and thunderous applause that dwarfed the cheers for Apple Cider.

“Your Millennial Summer Sun Celebration racers, fillies and gentlecolts! Place your bets now and earn those Silver Points!”

“That hardly seems fair, don’t you think?” Meadowsong asked. “She’s quite good. I’ve, er, seen her before.”

“You just wait and see. Every race is different, and here in Ponyville, each of them has to stay on the ground. Those wings won’t help her at all, and take it from me: being a fast flyer doesn’t mean you can ground-pound for long. She’s gotta make it through all five obstacles, and the other racers know the course better than she does. In fact, my bits would be on Cider or Xerxes, if I was a betting colt. Which I’m not.”

“Done this before, have you?”

Tempest nodded. “Yeah. Turns out I’m not as fast on the ground as I am in the air.”

“Mm. Pity that you weren’t galloping towards those fritters, then.”

Tempest laughed, and nudged her shoulder with his forehoof. Below, the racers had finished limbering up, and were taking their marks.

The barker spoke up again, his magically-enhanced voice drowning out the cacophony of ponies jostling to register their bets. “You got ten minutes until bets close! Alright, racers, get ready!”

“Oh, I’d meant to ask, what are Silver Points? What’s their purpose?”

“Something we do here in Ponyville to liven up the Celebration. The more Silver Points you earn, the more you can spend to drive back the Gathering Dark.” Meadowsong raised an eyebrow, and Tempest continued. “Did you see that big, black, sinister-looking tent outside the fairgrounds? That’s the Gathering Dark. Or at least, our representation of it. See, each pony collects these Silver Points, and spends them to play games inside the tent. The unicorn that runs it is a mad genius; he’s got illusion spells that you’d swear are the real thing. So what we do is, we drive back Nightmare Moon’s forces in these games, like what happened four hundred years ago. Simple fun.”

Meadowsong nodded slowly. “I see. Where can we get these?”

Tempest swept his hoof around, as if to catch the entire Celebration within its circle. “Everywhere. Here, take my card, and go get in line. Remember, Xerxes or Apple Cider. Gut says Apple Cider.”

Meadowsong caught the card with her magic, and galloped off towards one of the betting stalls. Tempest flagged down a concessions pony, and purchased some popcorn and two ciders.

Canterlot, huh? I wonder if she knows anypony in the Guard. I mean, could you imagine…

And he could. When Meadowsong returned eight minutes later, he was striking martial poses, and dueling shadows with his wooden sword. She stood in amusement, watching him going from imaginary foe to imaginary foe.

“Take that! And that! That’ll teach you to invade Equestria, or my name’s not--” He froze as he met Meadowsong’s gaze. “Er...”

“Oh, no, don’t let me interrupt. You seem to have missed an invader.” She gestured behind him with her hoof.

Tempest flushed a faded crimson, and sat down gloomily. “Oh. I’m sure he’ll uh, he’ll be fine.”

Meadowsong just laughed. “Oh, cheer up, brave guardspony. If it makes you feel any better, sometimes I pretend to be at Broken Bough, too. Just my bow and I against the hordes of Nightmare Moon.” She presented a small crossbow with a bit-fitted loading bar, and then returned it to her saddlebag.

Tempest smiled a little, and slid her the second cider. “For you. We’re sharing the popcorn, though.” He winked. “Gotta make the rations last.”

They laughed together at that, as the race started.

Apple Cider, Xerxes, and Gwenhwyfar sped off, each trying to outpace the other. Behind them, Strobe Light and Spitfire emerged from the cloud of dust at a little better than a canter. Apple Cider hit the hedgerows, and cleared them with the confidence born of long days of practice.  Behind him, Xerxes slalomed around them, and Gwenhwyfar pounced to the top of each, leapfrogging them one after the other.

“And they’re off! Looks like Apple Cider in the lead, a good showing for the local buck. Gwenhwyfar and Xerxes are hot on his hooves, though, so he’ll not be getting any breathing room here! At the rear is Spitfire and Strobe Light! Could it be that they’ve conceded already? Or are they merely pacing themselves? Time will tell!”

Strobe Light and Spitfire entered the first turn. Strobe Light avoided the jumps completely, following Xerxes’ path through. Spitfire, however, jumped each hedge with a practiced ease. Each jump carried her further and further down the track, and away from Strobe Light.

Frowning, Strobe Light channeled her magic.

“What’s she doing?” Meadowsong asked. “Surely magic is as illegal as wings.”

“Enh, bit of a gray area. Can’t use it to directly affect the other racers or the track, but can psych your opponents out or small stuff for yourself. We’ll have to see.”

They didn’t have to wait long. As Spitfire leapt over the next hedge, a large yellow alligator roared out of the water trap behind it. The crowd gasped, but Spitfire did not seem to notice. She jumped through it, landing unharmed on the other side.

Strobe Light sighed, and galloped after the pegasus.

“Illusions?” asked Meadowsong.

“Yeah, she’s known for it. She does some work for some theatres as a special effects mare, but this is her real passion. I guess. She’s local, too, but I don’t know her that well.”

Apple Cider plunged into the cool brook, and forded it quickly. He’d no sooner shaken the droplets of water off, than Gwenhwyfar landed next to him on the pier with a roar. They took off, with Xerxes emerging from the water, behind by mere seconds.

Strobe Light and Spitfire both forded the brook, and were neck-and-neck going into the second turn behind the three other racers. As their hooves met the wood of the bridge, Spitfire charged ahead, putting a great distance between her and Strobe Light. As she passed Xerxes, Strobe Light flicked her ears back, and took up a more measured pace. Xerxes, perplexed by the pegasus’s sudden appearance, also slowed down some.

“Our mysterious racer has decided to take it easy for a bit and let the showponies wear themselves out! Strobe Light is closing the distance some, I don’t know if he sees her…”

Ahead, Apple Cider had almost cleared the bridge when the segment before him gave way. He whinnied and reared back, trying not to plunge headfirst into the water. Gwenhwyfar passed him, leaping over the gap with a triumphant roar.

“Hear that, griffon groupies? Gwenhwyfar’s overtaken Apple Cider! Now, he’s got to keep ahead of Spitfire, or he’s done for sure!”

Tempest grit his teeth and huffed. C’mon, you can do it…

Apple Cider cleared the gap only moments before Spitfire, and tried to maintain his lead. Behind them, Xerxes and Strobe Light cleared the gaps in the bridge created by the others’ passage. They left the bridge just as Apple Cider and Spitfire entered the swinging logs. Claw marks on the logs showed that Gwenhwyfar had hurdled them, like she had the hedges earlier.

Apple Cider chose to run behind the swinging logs, waiting until one had passed before ducking around it. Spitfire, however, just slalomed them, weaving in and out as if she’d run this leg a thousand times. In no time, she’d outdistanced him, leaving him in third. As she cleared the logs, Strobe Light and Xerxes entered. Strobe Light seemed at first to be following Apple Cider’s lead, but kept pace with Xerxes as he traced Spitfire’s path.

Just as he started to draw ahead of the other pony, a bright flash and a loud pop exploded next to him. He froze for a moment, unsure of what had just happened, and a log knocked him off the course. He snorted in anger, ran back to the entrance, and tried again. Another pop, and he found himself muzzle-deep in a pile of nettles. Strobe Light’s laughter could be heard all the way back at the stands.

Strobe Light then stepped through the logs with ease. She’d known the rhythm all along. She exited the logs just behind Apple Cider, who smirked to see the other local.

“Oh! And you can count Xerxes out of this one, folks! No way he can make up the gap now! Well played, Strobe Light!”

Ahead on the rafts, Gwenhwyfar was trying to time her jumps carefully. She’d almost ended up in the rapids a few times, either from jumping too early or overshooting her jump completely. She’d only made it to third raft when Spitfire arrived. Spitfire, winking and waving at the announcer ponies above, stretched one hoof over the spray created by the fast-moving water and just stepped out. She hit the spray, and kept walking.

As she passed Gwenhwyfar, the griffon looked up at the announcers in disbelief.

The announcers placed hooves to ears, and then shrugged at each other.

“Nothing against it, Gwen! Sorry! Spitfire makes short work of the rafts, and clears to the other side!”

Snorting with rage, Gwenhwyfar climbed up the rafts to the ropes above, and leapt from rope to rope. At the rear, Strobe Light paused, looking at each raft in turn. Next to her, Apple Cider plunged in and waded to the other side, fording this river with hardly any more effort than he had the brook.

“That’s the old Apple Acres brawn on display, fillies and gentlecolts! Just like that, he’s back into this! And what’s this? Strobe Light’s just bouncing in!”

Behind Gwenhwyfar’s frantic attempt to make up her time by clinging to the ropes overhead, Strobe Light had entered the hazard at just the right time to leap from raft to raft with very little effort. As she passed underneath the griffon, she paused.

Gwenhwyfar sprang at another rope. At the apex of her jump, another bright light, this time accompanied by a loud hissing sound. Gwenhwyfar bared her fangs and soared for a moment, hissing back.

“Disqualified! Illegal use of wings! An excellent play by Strobe Light!”

Strobe Light exited the rafts hazard in an easy third place. She hurried to make up the short distance between her and the leaders.

The final obstacle loomed ahead of both Apple Cider and Spitfire. Each pounced on a rope, and tried to walk along it to the other side. However, Apple Cider’s dip into the rapids had left him soaked and halfway across, he slipped. In his struggle to stay on the rope, he bounced off of Spitfire’s, and both of them hit the muck.

Behind them, Strobe Light wicked the water off of herself, and gracefully took a rope far away from the other two. She crossed it carefully, but still slipped once.

As she dangled over the muck, Apple Cider pushed on. His mighty muscles strained against the sucking mud, and he moved slowly towards the other side. But he moved.

Spitfire, however, had just sprung back up towards her rope and was shimmying across while hanging off of it. She was too light for the muck to pull her in as quickly as it had Apple Cider, and she reached the other side.

Tempest wished he could look away. All that bluster about “knowing the terrain” was about to be shot to pieces, as Spitfire enjoyed a commanding lead into the final stretch. She had almost pirouetted coming off of the rope, and cantered towards the finish, drinking in the cheering fans in the stands.

Her eyes locked onto Tempest’s-- no, he corrected, she’s looking at Meadowsong...

Spitfire stopped dead, staring.

Apple Cider emerged from the fifth obstacle covered in mud, and galloped like mad. Spitfire's lead had disappeared, and yet still she stared. Even after both Apple Cider and Strobe Light passed the line, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the enigmatic unicorn filly cheering Apple Cider.

“You were right, Tempest! He won!” Her joy was unmistakable, but Tempest couldn’t share it.

“Why is Spitfire staring at you?”

At that moment, the announcer’s megaphone burst with a shocked. “Dear sweet Celestia, she’s disqualified! Fillies and gentlecolts, Spitfire is disqualified! Illegal use of wings!”

Wings?

The crowd erupted in catcalls and cheers. Spitfire was flying right for him, mouthing something that looked to Tempest like “... impressed...” He glanced back towards the unicorn, and stared.

Meadowsong was nowhere to be found, as Spitfire rocketed past him into the catcalling herd of ponies.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, your Millennial Summer Sun Celebration Finalists! Apple Cider, Strobe Light, and Xerxes! Give ‘em a hoof, everypony!”

Chapter 4: Haute Coutere

It didn’t take long for Tempest to track Meadowsong down. He found her muzzle-deep in candied apple chips, and trotted up behind her.

“Having fun?”

She beamed at him. “This is the most fun I’ve had since-- since I got here! Thanks ever so much for this!”

“Yeah, no problem. What’s with the disappearing act?”

Meadowsong glanced at the ground quickly, then back to Tempest. “I, er, wished to collect our Silver Points.” She levitated their card. On it, 10 Points shone brightly.

Tempest nodded slowly, tucking the card into his wing. “All right, so where to next?”

She grinned. “How about the Market? I’ve got some bits to spend, and I would dearly love a souvenir.”

They left the race course stands, and meandered through the crowds towards the packed Market. Meadowsong craned her neck around, taking care not to miss a single thing. Tempest chuckled a little. She drank in the scenery like a parched pony might throw back water. She ‘ooh’ed and ‘aah’ed over things Tempest would have just passed by, like a spoon set fashioned by a local unicorn or a painting of the sunset viewed from Ponyville.

This last was especially interesting to Meadowsong. She admired the way the artist had captured Celestia’s Sun dipping between the spires of Canterlot as it slipped beyond the mountains. She gushed over it so much, that Tempest could see the artist getting a little embarrassed.

“Ma’am, I’m just--” the artist paused as Meadowsong winced. “I’m just a minor talent at best. Just sell my works at fairs like this ‘un.” His thick Appleloosan drawl hitched up a notch. “Y’all’re from Canterlot, right? Y’must’ve seen much better than mine there.”

“Oh, no, mister… um…” she looked plaintively at the artist.

“Pastoral View.”

“Mister View, your style is just so-- and the way you’ve hidden your brushstrokes! It’s altogether-- And I should know, I’ve seen a fair few so-called ‘talented painters’ back at the palace--” she froze, and coughed.

Pastoral View raised an eyebrow. “Well, if’n y’all like it so much, I’d part with it fer 20 bits.”

Meadowsong’s face lit up, then fell. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I seem to lack the funds. But I’ll spread the word.”

“She’ll take it,” Tempest said. He gingerly lifted his wing, snagged his wallet with his teeth, and tapped out twenty golden coins onto View’s booth.

View swept them off the counter, and nodded to Tempest. “All your’n.”

Meadowsong’s squeal of delight could’ve been heard from those same spires depicted in Pastoral View’s work, Tempest was certain. He started to shoulder it, then grunted in pain. He’d forgotten about his strained wing.

Meadowsong encircled the painting in her magical field, and lifted it off of his back.

“You paid, I’ll carry it. I insist.”

Their next stop was at a tent that reminded Tempest of nothing more than a filly’s layered cute-ceañera cake, with pale blues and lavenders as frosting. The sign out front advertised “Couture in only one style-- FABULOUS!” and that the tailor could make anypony “stand above the pennants of Canterlot!” if they dared to wear her designs.

It made Tempest itchy. Of course, Meadowsong wanted to go in.

The interior was as frilly as the outside had been, with dresses, saddles, and the like displayed one after the other. Heavy curtains divided the tent in half, hiding the rear from sight. Little bells tinkled in the air, announcing their intrusion.

“Visitors?” A mare’s voice, also cultured, cut through the silence. Her’s wasn’t the crisp notes of Meadowsong’s Canterlot, but held the same weight. “Por moi? Be still, my heart!”

A little more melodramatic, though.

A white unicorn with a purple mane done in an extravagant swooping style poked her head out through the curtains, and gasped.

“Oh dear, and with me right in the middle of a delicate lace fringe… You darlings stay right there, I’ll be with you in two twinkles of a gem’s facets!” She zipped back behind the curtains.

“... A what?” Meadowsong blinked, nonplussed.

“... Yeah, we’re--” Tempest started.

The unicorn’s head emerged again, now wearing red horn-rimmed glasses. “Right. There.”

Tempest and Meadowsong sat down and sighed in unison.

The unicorn went back to her work, and left them sitting there for quite a while. Every so often, snatches of tunes would waft through the curtains. Sometimes it was something one of the buskers outside was playing. Just as often, it was something else. Tempest had heard it somewhere before, but he couldn’t place it until Meadowsong started singing along. The two unicorns then started singing in harmony:

Sweetie Belle, Tempest thought. That was Sweetie Belle’s “Crusaders”.

Sweetie Belle was one of the best singers in the world, and she hadn’t even gotten her cutie mark yet. Tempest didn’t follow music, and didn’t know much about the personalities surrounding that culture, but he knew Sweetie Belle. She had talent, and loved sharing her songs with the world. Sure, she was usually a little more pop and cheer than Tempest preferred. This one, though, was his favorite. A wish to return to a happier time was something he understood, and the vaguely country twang was appreciated.

After all, you don’t live one stop down from Appleloosa without picking up a few things.

He realized that the pony on the other side of the curtain had stopped her sewing. He looked up as the red velvet parted, revealing the pretty unicorn mare’s workspace. The aura of her horn still traced the operating line of the curtains. Her eyes were as wide as her grin. She folded her glasses into her aura, and released the line. As she set them down on her worktable, she crossed to the others.

“You’re fans of my sister?”

Sister?

“I had the honor of seeing her perform at Canterlot last year, and loved her!” Meadowsong stamped happily. “And you must be Rarity, her stage manager?”

“Oh, yes! And her costume designer, production manager, and so on-- but I get ahead of myself! I am Rarity Belle, at your humble service!” She bowed low, and rose with a flourish. “And to have seen my sister perform in Canterlot, you must be--”

Meadowsong nickered. “Meadowsong, my dear. My name is Meadowsong.”

Rarity froze, but recovered quickly. “Er, of course, my mistake, forgive me. And who is this young stallion? That is a most interesting headscarf-- headwrap? Er, what is it, exactly? It’s fetching, to be sure, but I can’t place the design. Is it from Saddle Arabia?” Rarity’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head. “Or perhaps--”

Tempest sighed. “It’s the wrap for the handle of an old blade. It’s been in the family for generations.”

Rarity’s face lit up again. “Oh, it’s marvelous, darling! I’d never have thought to work martial elements into a fashion piece! And the little symbol in the center there? It rather looks like crossed keys, but I--”

“It’s my family crest, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

Rarity shot bolt upright, and grinned. “I love it! This may be the ticket to designing the uniforms for the Canterlot Royal Guard, and that’d be--” She giggled.

Tempest rolled his eyes. “Glad to help. Hey, Meadowsong, could we--”

“Oh, where are my manners,” Rarity said quickly, “you’ve not been fitted! Oh, where is my head today, I ask you? Do join me in my studio!”

Meadowsong pranced happily behind the counter, and into the workshop. Tempest groaned, and followed behind.

Chapter 5: Ah! Gonzo!

An eternity later, after Rarity had taken both of their measurements and offered her advice on fashion, they left Carousel Boutique’s tent, and re-entered the chaos of the Market.

“I like her!” Meadowsong pranced.

“Yeah, she was alright, in her own way. Little too frou-frou for me, but she’s certainly passionate about her field.”

Meadowsong smiled. “Oh? And who pressed her for information about where padding would both accentuate and protect? And how one might--”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. Where to next?”

She placed a hoof on her chin, and thought. “The Bazaar, of course! While you were looking through Rarity’s stallion pieces, she was telling me all about this device some clever pony has created. Some sort of practice dummy that hits back. Win--”

“Win, and you get some kind of reward. Yeah, I know the mare who invented it. She’s fun, you’d like her. She’s got a show at the Exhibition Grounds at noon. She’s gonna be unveiling something better. At least, that’s what she says.”

“And we can get more of those fritters--”

Tempest’s eyes widened, and he shot off. He stopped after three powerful strides, turned, and called over his shoulder: “Why didn’t you say so? Let’s get going!”

She nickered, and galloped to catch up, her pendant glittering crimson in the morning sun.

A hoof fell on Tempest’s shoulder from behind. He whirled around, only to see a stout older stallion, with a bushy moustache poking out from under a faded, wide-brimmed hat. It had been blue once, but now was almost gray.

“I didn’t wish to surprise you. I merely wished to ask about your companion, that young mare down the way. I purchase odds and ends, and that pendant of her’s could fetch a nice price. Do you think she’d sell it?”

Tempest edged away from the stallion. “And who are you?”

The stallion chuckled, a sound like a brook over stones, and walked back to his stall. “My name is Oakhoof, my lad, from lands far to the south, beyond the Everfree Forest. You’ll not find better jewelry nor stronger steel than those birthed in my forge, I’d take my oath on it.”

Meadowsong trotted up, a little winded. “What’s all the fuss?”

“This guy wants to buy your pendant. Says it could be worth something.”

She flushed. “No, thank you. It’s an heirloom. I’d never part with it.”

Oakhoof chortled, a cascade of rocks down grassy hills, and nodded. “But of course. Think nothing of it. Would you like to peruse my wares, perhaps? And a small discount, by way of an apology?”

“T-thanks, maybe later,” Tempest said. “We’re meeting some friends over at the Bazaar.”

Oakhoof bowed, and sauntered back into his stall. He shouted to their retreating forms, “You should come visit my forge, if you need some steel worked! Enjoy the fair!”

The Bazaar was as loud as the Market, with shouts of joy and excitement in place of the vendors’ hawking their wares. Each ride was packed with celebrators, and each game stall had a line of four or so ponies just waiting to try their hooves at this or that carnival game. As they passed, Meadowsong called out encouraging words, and Tempest realized he was smiling.

So he joined in.

Eventually, they found their way to Eureka’s stall. There was no caretaker, just a turnstile installed into a brick wall, and set around a large red ball. Tempest watched as a tough-looking colt with three stars placed in a triangle for a cutie mark entered to the cheers of his pals. He pushed through the bars of the turnstile, and looked back towards the gathered throng. Before he could say anything, however, the ball hissed and clicked wickedly. They all watched in awe as the sphere snapped into sections, and whirred. In moments, a form emerged. It looked like a rotund pony, albeit one ten feet high.

The tough stared at it, as it held what appeared to be a microphone to what had to be its face, and sang to a brassy blast of horns.

Everyone, including the tough, stood motionless, overwhelmed by the ludicrous image before them.

Gonzo let out a blast of steam, and crouched low. Tempest had seen this before, and shouted a warning. The burly pony shook his head, and dodged as Gonzo rocketed forward with a bang. Gonzo’s hooves sank into the soft loam, and it froze, tracking the star-flanked pony.

“Yeah, Cosmos! That’s the way!” shouted a short, stocky pony with a daisy sandwich cutie mark. “Show that robot who’s boss!”

Cosmos grinned, and started to say something in response. However, Gonzo leaped towards him and caught him in the stomach. There was a coughing and a sputtering, and Cosmos fell over.

As he did, a large sign dropped from above the ring, and started to tick down. Gonzo shouted with it, blasting steam from its muzzle..

As the sign ticked to zero, a buzzer went off somewhere within Gonzo, and it clicked and whirred again. In no time, the sphere stood still and silent. Cosmos stood up shakily, and stepped back through the turnstile. The gathered ponies all commiserated with Cosmos, and in no time he had recovered. He walked away with his friends, all of them laughing.

Tempest adjusted his headband, and looked back at Meadowsong. “We can take this hunk of junk. I do it all the time.”

Meadowsong raised an eyebrow. “I imagine that Cosmos fellow thought the same thing. Still, we are here, and it is 15 more Silver Points.” She reached into her saddlebag and removed the slim crossbow with her magic. As she notched a bolt, Tempest laughed and drew his wooden sword.

“Just a moment, Tempest. I won’t go in there with an injured companion. Let me look at your wing, please?”

He sidled up to her, and stretched his injured wing out, grunting with the pain as she prodded it and gave it a tentative flex. “Are you-- ow. Are you a medical student in Canterlot? Ow!”

She shook her head, and closed her eyes as her horn glowed. His wing joint was wrapped in her faint, pale violet aura. He hissed as the swelling decreased and the wing righted itself with a pop.

“Ah! Ow. Hey, that’s a neat trick. Where’d you learn that?”

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He cocked his eyebrow, and shrugged. “Maybe some other time, then. Now, let’s go to work on this thing.”

The turnstile ticked twice as they stepped through.

Gonzo’s act was no less impressive as he assembled for a second time. Out came the microphone and the brassy fanfare:

“How does it know?” Meadowsong asked, sighting down her bow.

“The turnstile, I think,” Tempest said around the hilt of his sword. “I dunno, Eureka did it.”

With that, the fight was joined. Tempest took to the sky, as Meadowsong fired her bolt at the mechanized giant. The bolt dug into a joint, but was snapped off as the robot leapt towards her. She gave a short shriek of surprise, and felt the steam from its muzzle. She shut her eyes, and tensed for the blow.

It never came. There was a crack of wood on metal, and a cry from Tempest. She opened her eyes to see Gonzo sprawled in the mud with a dent across its side. Tempest hovered in the air, beating his wings steadily to stay aloft.

“You alright?” His eyes never left Gonzo.

She reloaded, and cocked the crossbow. “Yes, thanks.”

Gonzo sprang to its feet, and raised the microphone to its muzzle. Before either of the ponies could react, the robot let out an ear-shattering blast of feedback. Tempest and Meadowsong screamed in unison, and Tempest fell towards the ground. Gonzo bolted after him, and reared back for a buck.

Gritting her teeth against the agony, Meadowsong aimed, took a breath, and fired.

There was a crack, and then a crash as Gonzo fell off-balance and into the wall of the stall. Tempest landed with a thump, and stood up shakily. His wooden sword thudded point-first into the ground.

“And you?” Meadowsong said as she reloaded.

Tempest nodded. “Thanks.” He grabbed his sword, and shot back into the sky.

Gonzo stood, and turned to face the pair. One of its eyes had been fractured, the crystal now split unevenly into three pieces. There was a moment as it twitched its head between the retreating form of Tempest and that of Meadowsong.

Meadowsong wasted no time. She fired again, and shouted. “Over here, you big lummox!”

The bolt was knocked out of the air, and Gonzo charged her. She stood her ground, and bit down on the string on her crossbow. “That’s right, me! Come here, you…”

It leaned its head back, preparing to ram her.

Just as suddenly as before, there was a streak of gray followed by several loud cracks. Tempest had hit Gonzo with an upward slash, which had knocked the robot up and and off its hooves. Now, he was quickly looping around in the air, striking Gonzo again and again before he flew past and landed on the ground.

Gonzo hit the ground with a thud, and a little white flag popped out of its back with a burst of confetti. It stood up, and raised the microphone to its face again.

Their card pinged softly in Meadowsong’s saddlebag, registering the increase. With that, the battered form of Gonzo disassembled and reformed into the sphere, awaiting another challenger. Tempest and Meadowsong left through the turnstile to the cheers of the onlookers.

“That was… certainly an experience,” Meadowsong said. “Does this Eureka usually try to kill her friends?”

Tempest smiled. “Nah, usually her inventions explode. Glad to see she’s gotten the bugs ironed out. She’s really earned that wrench on her flank with ol’ Gonzo here!”

The two shared a laugh on their way to a fritter tent, and celebrated with a few.

Some time later, over the din of the crowd, a barker called out, “Fillies and gentlecolts! That Mistress of Mechanics, the Filly of the Future, Eureka is ready! She’s presenting her latest invention now, at Exhibition Stage Three! Come for the science, stay for the fireworks, if you know what I mean!” Tempest glanced at Meadowsong, who nodded in return. Together, they headed north.