Homelands Chapter 12

By Somber

Chapter 12: Blood for Blood.

“Ruined city number twenty two,” Precious announced sarcastically as she slumped against the side of the wagon. “What do you think? Ghouls? Blood Legion? Killer zebra robots? Raider scum?” Precious asked as the Whiskey Express pockety-pocked its way along the Old Road. The winding track didn’t seem to have much in the way of Blood Legion patrols. Maybe Majina was right and there was something to the ancient thoroughfare that protected its travellers.

Unfortunately, the one thing it couldn’t protect them from was boredom. “No, Precious,” Scotch Tape said dully as Skylord took a turn driving. “We’ve got supplies. We’re not going to poke a ruin looking for trouble.”

“Oh, come on! We’ve been driving a week and aside from two stupid checkpoints, we haven’t had any fun at all! The Wasteland’s not supposed to be boring!” the dragon filly protested as they passed beside a large ruined community with the Carnilian architecture that was all they’d seen for days: long curved rows of block houses and buildings rising four or five stories above the razorgrass filled streets. “Just an hour. I’ll find something, kick its butt, and be back before you know it!”

“Boring is good,” Pythia muttered as she scratched something in the notes of the atlas. “No one died of boring.”

“Speak for yourself,” Majina said in a huff. “I’ve told all my Old Road stories. I didn’t think you could run out of Old Road stories!”

“So make up some more,” Pythia muttered.

Majina gasped. “You can’t just make up an Old Road story! You have to make notes and consider the classics and…” She slumped. “Okay. I admit. I made up the last three…”

“I thought it was weird there was an Old Road story about a six friends in a steam tractor,” Precious muttered.

“Well, it’s not like I know them all,” Majina protested. “Mother taught me the ones she knew.” She sighed, slumping a bit. “I’m a Zencori. You’d think I could make up good stories.” She pointed a hoof at the ruined city they were passing. “Maybe we can find a bookstore? Oh, or a library?”

“We’re not crawling through ruins looking for books,” Pythia vetoed.

“You know, books aside, every ruin we pass, we’re also passing up potentially valuable salvage,” Charity said sourly. “I mean, we don’t have to hit every singly ruined city, but maybe one or two?”

“We’ve got plenty of supplies. You budgeted everything out for two weeks, and we’re hitting the closest caches on the map to restock. We don’t need to do any risky exploring for profit,” Pythia replied as she kept checking her notes.

Scotch huffed. Back with Blackjack, almost everywhere they went had been in the Hoof, and dangerous. There was something new and exciting, or just plain terrifying, around every turn. But here… the zebra lands were so huge that the wonder just wore out. Sure, they’d had more than a few close calls, but usually they just outran them in the lighter, faster Whiskey Express. After twenty one cities the size of the Core back in the Hoof, another one was just… another.

Majina’s stories had helped, but they only served to underline how crushingly bored they all were when they were over. While they were wrapped up in one of Majina’s tales, their existence was one of excitement, filled with strange monsters, mysterious ruins, or magical animals. The only thing even approaching exciting that came their way was other travellers trying to find somewhere safe to live or scavenge. In fact, a part of Scotch mused, they must have looked at the six of them as something straight out of the stories. ‘Six bickering children of three and a half races adventuring across the wasteland in search of the Eye of the World.’

Well, mostly. Scotch was eaten up by questions of this ‘New Empire’. Korgax hadn’t known anything about it. He’d been just another gun-for-hire, before Scotch had essentially bought him out. Now heading west away from Iron Town and the river, they were going into the heart of Blood Legion territory. They’d have to go a long way before the Road took them south. The ‘Great Western Empty’ was a huge area they’d have to cross if they were going to get to Roam. This left a lot of time to think.

Riptide had talked about how a book had inspired her. Haimon, according to Majina, was a lot more complicated than he appeared, but hopefully he was nailed down in Rice River. She pored over the documents taken from Carnico for some hint to the larger conspiracy. Mariana’s letters talked about ‘The Captain’ and ‘The Shaman’, but there wasn’t anything concrete. Was Mariana ‘the Manager’? She doubted it. ‘Inform Mariana that the Manager has acquired assets for the repairs she requires and will cover all costs.’ Unless she was talking to herself, there had to be another involved. Unfortunately, all Charity knew about the zebras that had hired her was they had ‘talked funny’ and paid in gold coins.

She stared morosely at the city as it passed by. Most of the buildings were away from the road rather than straddling it, and she stared out at the gray brick facades as they crumbled under the relentless assault of the green razorgrass. Here and there, trees fought back. Gnarled limbs waged an endless war with their shade, creating pockets that were clear. A freeway cut right through the middle of the city, but it was broken and collapsed in places, while the Old Road was still intact. Maybe it had been too inconsequential to be targeted by Equestrian forces. Or maybe there was some magic left.

“Hey, Pythia,” Precious said as they rolled along. “Why are you so freaked out by that poster? I mean, it’s not really you. It just looked kinda like you.” Everyone in the trailer tensed. This was the sixth or seventh time someone had brought it up.

The first reactions were the most familiar. Her tensing her jaw. Instead of snapping, she replied tersely, “It is me, and you didn’t have to bring that stupid poster with you.”

“Hey. It could be valuable,” Precious protested, not quite hiding her smirk.

“You just did it to annoy me.”

“Well, I just consider it a bonus.” Precious’s smirk broke into a grin. “Come on. Seriously. How do you know it’s not just a coincidence?”

“Because I just do, alright? Looking at that is like looking at a mirror, and it doesn’t make any sense,” she said, glowering at Precious. “What would you think if you found a photograph of yourself, just a little older, from before the Great War?”

“I’d be thinking…” She paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Awesome!” she concluded as her grin returned. “Like, I get to go into the past or something? How amazing is that?”

Pythia stared a moment before retorting, “You are such a foal.”

“Do you see futures of yourself as a Proditor?” Scotch asked, trying to head this bickering somewhere productive.

Pythia hesitated before she sighed, “Looking that far into the future is hard. You see isolated glimpses, but not how you got there. Half the time, trying to avoid it causes it. The other half, just knowing about it makes it impossible.” She paused and lick her lips nervously. “But yeah, I’ve seen red stripes in some of my futures. I have no idea why I would be that idiotic. A Proditor Starkatteri is a dead mare.”

“Who’s that character in the show?” Scotch asked Majina.

“Well, in the show, the Starkatteri is named Tanit,” Majina said. “She was the team’s magical specialist. Kinda like you if you were nice and a little shy.” That immediately got a scornful snort from Pythia and a guffaw from Precious.

“I’d pay to see that,” Precious said with glee, then paused. “You know, not a lot, but I would.”

“She didn’t happen to be able to see the future, did she?” Scotch asked with a half smile.

Majina blinked and her smile faded as she glanced at Pythia. “Actually, she kinda did.”

“See!” Pythia said, jabbing her hoof at Precious. “Starkatteri and a seer?”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Majina said. “She was also one of the two gay mares on the team.” Pythia froze with a strangled noise as Precious collapsed, laughing outrageously. Majina looked around with a hint of bafflement. “Why’s that so funny? She and Eskare were totally an item. And given how Carnilians don’t like gays, it’s not surprising they made her character gay too. Like… wooo… Starkatteri mares all like mares. It’s not like Pythia does…” she froze as she saw just how red Pythia was becoming, Majina’s eyes getting rounder and rounder. “Wait… do you?”

Instead of answering, Pythia rose and started to climb out of the trailer, despite the fact they were going full speed. Scotch shouted in alarm, reaching out and grabbing her before she could jump out.

“What are you doing?” Skylord shouted back, slowing down. “If you need to get out to take a leak, just ask.”

“She’s fine! We’re fine,” Scotch said as Pythia jerked free, cocooned herself in her cloak, and tried to imitate one of the sacks of corn meal. The Whiskey Express picked up steam and everyone settled back down. “Why don’t you tell us about the other Tremendous Twelve? Besides those two?”

“Oh! Sure. The handsome dreamboat with the shotgun is Claudio. They treat him like the leader in the show, but I just think that’s because he’s Carnilian and so handsome. He can smooth talk any mare into a pile of butter.” Majina sighed, pausing for a moment, before she blinked and went on. “The stallion with the rifle is Herne. Huge prankster. I really love his character. The last stallion is Xiegfried. He’s… kinda weird, honestly. They don’t do much with him in the show unless there’s techie stuff going on. I personally totally ship him with Ignatia. That’s the mare. She’s a shaman and total bad ass.”

“I thought shamans weren’t supposed to fight in wars and stuff?” Scotch asked.

“They’re not,” came the mutter from inside the cloak cocoon.

“But she was a hero, and heroes are special. Like in the show she summons up these great flaming war spirit cat things made of blue fire! How much more amazing can you get than that!” Majina gushed.

“You got to admit, great flaming war spirits does sound pretty cool,” Precious said with a grin. “What about the rest? That’s just six.”

“Oh. Well the most famous had to be Hiroto the Breaker. I’m surprised he’s not in the lead on that poster, Precious, because he was always the most… everything! I mean, he was probably the most Achuest Achu that ever Achued.”

“Gesundheit,” Charity deadpanned.

Majina gave a sheepish grin before she went on. “Anyway, he was the biggest star of the team. There was one fight where he got on a Raptor and he took it out with his bare hooves.”

“A Raptor? Seriously?” Charity sniffed.

“Well, it was in a show. And Gāng said there really was a Hiroto. He had a poster of him in his dojo. A master of the Sundered Earth technique. And he was one hundred and ten percent tough guy. I don’t think he ever smiled in the show. It was always…” She drew back her hoof. “Suuuuuundddeeeerrrredddd…” she said in a deep voice before shouting, “HOOOOOOOOOF!” as she thudded Precious’s shoulder.

“Hey! Watch it,” Precious snapped, rubbing her scales.

“Oh, sorry!” Majina said, pausing a moment and counting. "Then there's Alexus. He's the Roamani on the group. Kinda a foil to Hiroto. Real stickler for the rules while Hiroto was going off and doing his own thing."

“And the others?” Scotch asked, boredom abated by this topic.

“Well, like I said, there’s Eskare. She’s a Mendi medic, and a sunstripe, and also a shaman, though she doesn’t fight at all. Most of the shows she’s just patching everyone else up and having snuggle time with ah….” She looked at the cocooned Pythia and went on. “Bhavika is the Tappahani. She’s actually a lot like that one Ministry Mare. You know, the cheery, pink one. She doesn’t do much fighting, but she makes sure everyone else is happy. Dante is a Logos and he’s the exact opposite. He doesn’t just have no sense of humor. He sucks every last bit of humor out of everything around him.” She gave another look at Pythia.

“I know you’re looking at me,” Pythia muttered from inside the cloak.

“Well, Logos are always weird. He had this strange fascination with clocks and trains. Or as he always put it, ‘Locomotives.’”

“I’ll be sure to tell Vega,” Pythia said as she peeked sourly from the hood, her cheeks still bright red.

Majina colored as well as she continued, “Anyway, Bjorn was this great, big, shaggy Sahanni that was their demolitions expert. A really cool, laid-back stallion who loved to blow things up,” she said as she rubbed her chin, looking skyward in thought. “Oh! Subria. Can’t forget her. She was the oldest on the team. The Zencori. She knew all kinds of stuff since she’d actually been to Equestria. And last was Waimarie, the Atoli. She was the youngest. A real sneaky girl, and absolutely fearless.”

“Why twelve though? I thought there were thirteen tribes,” Scotch asked. “Why would there only be twelve heroes?”

“Well… there are. I mean, the thirteenth tribe was the Eschatiks, but they didn’t agree to the war at all. I mean, they were worse than the Mendi, and the Mendi hated the war, but they at least sent medics to help. The Eschatiks wouldn’t even do that.”

“Who are the Eskawhatits?” Charity asked, looking to her chart. “What dumb currency do they use?”

“No idea,” Majina admitted. “They were a tribe of spiritualists and occultists and stuff. In the show, there’s this one Eschatik zebra named Zinat who’s always causing trouble and making messes. She’s a complete idiot, and gets the team into half the problems they face.”

“And these were soldiers?” Scotch Tape asked skeptically.

“Well, yeah. I mean the show had them on missions for the Empire, but there were almost a hundred episodes. I mean the idea was pretty straight forward. Have a champion from each tribe in an elite unit. They were supposed to be the best. Our heroes.”

Precious rubbed her chin. “And were they?”

“Well, they were in the show,” she replied. “Seriously, did none of you watch it?”

“I think I caught one episode of this one zebra getting captured by ponies and interrogated and they had to break into a Raptor to get her out, but they kinda lost me when that one zebra did a spinning kick and reflected a disintegration cannon shot back at the Raptor. I mean, if zebras could do that, then how could they lose the war?”

“They didn’t,” Pythia muttered.

“That’s debatable,” Charity countered as she glared at the ruins passing beside them.

“Fine,” Precious snorted, rolling her eyes. “Then how could they not curb stomp the ponies flat if they could roundhouse kick disintegration bolts? I mean, that zebra’s leg would have been green goop. Actually, all of him would have been disintegrated!”

“Well, it was a show. I don’t know if Hiroto could do that,” Majina said defensively, “but he could do a lot.” Then she grinned. “You know, if you’re interested, we could try and find some books on it in one of these cities.”

“No way,” Pythia muttered. “We’re scavenging for food, water, and coal and not stopping till we get to Roam. And that’s final.” All eyes turned to Scotch, who simply gave a shrug. While she was curious, she had to admit that Pythia had a point about not stopping. They had nice, safe caches to raid on the atlas. Why take risks?

* * *

That night, they stashed the Whiskey Express behind a small hillock off the Old Road. Pythia sat, conferring with the stars and her dangling crystal when Scotch approached her. “I don’t want to talk about sex,” Pythia said bluntly, not even looking up from her map. Scotch started to speak when she interrupted, “No, it’s not something I want to talk about. I’m not sure who I like. I don’t think I like anyone like that. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. Really. Yes, I’m sure. Now go away, I’m talking with Vega.”

Scotch pursed her lips then turned and trudged back down the hill. “Good talk.”

Ruined city twenty three, this one with plumes of smoke rising from the city center. “Please! There’s gotta be something interesting in there!”

“No.”

Ruined city twenty four, built on the bend of a river as it snaked its way northeast. “Those stores look intact. We really should stop and look around for something valuable.”

“Forget it.”

Ruined city twenty five, this one with a strange, large white dome in the center. “Hey, look at–”

“No! No! No!”

“Hey, that looks inter–”

“We’re not stopping!”

“Okay. We’re stopping,” Scotch pronounced. They were drawing near to ruined city number thirty. They’d left the flatlands, and had entered hilly terrain as they approached high mountain ranges. The city below was a neat, orderly, grid like arrangement that she hadn’t seen before. Two large roads divided it into four quarters, and the river had been channeled through it via multiple distributaries to spread out the flow. A raised railroad cut across, slightly off center, but in the middle she could see what she thought might be a train station. A raised wall enclosed the entire city. All in all, she could admire the efficiency, even if it did have all the atheistic appeal of a chess board.

“What?” Pythia blinked. “No we’re not! We–”

Scotch leaned over and grabbed Pythia by the head. “We. Are. Stopping. We are looking around. We are salvaging. Unless you can see something imminently deadly, we are taking a break and poking around a little. Can you?” Scotch asked, her muzzle brushing Pythia’s.

“No. Nothing immediate,” she said, pulling her face free of Scotch’s grasp. “But remember the murder balls?“

“Yes, and that means we’ll stick together, but we need to stop. We’re going crazy back here and fact is that we’ve been riding the Whiskey Express for almost three weeks now. She needs maintenance. We need to find some grease for sure, wash out the boiler, and give it a good inspection for any cracks in the bolts.” Pythia opened her mouth to argue, and Scotch interrupted her. “Does the atlas say anything about this place? Is there a cache?” There was something off about this place besides the sterile architecture.

Pythia glowered at her, but opened the book. “It’s called Fort Greengap. There’s a marking for some sort of hazard, but nothing more specific. There’s a Blood Legion patrol route marked down that does go through the middle, and a cache in the middle of town.”

“So we’ll keep our eyes open. We’ll head for the train station. They’re most likely to have tubs of grease, and coal. Maybe even parts.” Assuming it hadn’t been scavenged yet. “Majina can keep an eye out for a book store or something. Charity for anything valuable. Precious and Skylord for danger.”

“What’s the future look like?” Majina asked Pythia.

She stared at the town, her eyes unfocusing. “Nothing for an hour or two.”

“So then there’s no problem if we go, right?” Precious asked.

“Fine,” Pythia yielded, the jabbed a hoof at Scotch. “But only because we need stuff for the Whiskey Express. If my headstone reads ‘Died because her friends were bored’ I’ll die of embarrassment.” She paused as the rest fought not to snicker and blurted, “You know what I mean!”

Scotch fought down a slight pang of guilt from the knowledge that they had at least two weeks to go before needing a good tune up. She had more than enough grease stashed away. It was partly boredom, but also something else. She wanted to actually see more in the zebra lands. Sure, it was a risk. Everything was. But to come to the zebra lands and not see what she could seemed a waste.

Most zebra cities were tightly packed together, with buildings four or five stories tall and little sprawl. Carnilians favored a circular layout around a central plaza. The cutoff from city to grassland was as sharp as a knife. Most industrial areas were located away from the communities, connected by rail or concrete road. This was the first one that was different. The wall was definitely new, twenty feet high, with multiple gates. At first, she thought that a weakness, till they saw a solid slab of stone had been dropped into the gate, sealing it completely. Mangled bits of steam tractor poked out from underneath, crushed into a band of metal as thick as her hoof. They went to the third entrance. Somezebra had hammered beams into place under the square of stone. Scotch was still glad to get out from under it.

‘Welcome to Greengap! Free city!’ declared a banner stretched across the roadway, fluttering weakly in the breeze, the frayed ends snapping quietly. Old concrete barricades formed a semi-circle around the entrance, but it was undefended. “Creepy. At least it’s not covered in razorgrass though,” Charity said. “Make salvage easier.”

The Whiskey Express pocked softly along the concrete roads, between three story tall walls decorated with mosaics of zebras in ancient armor. The wide boulevards were broken in two lanes separated by an overgrown planter space. Huge oaks shaded the lanes as they walked. All was quiet. The ruler straight roads offered long fields of vision, but Scotch Tape didn’t see anything moving.

“What a weird city,” Precious muttered.

Each block was surrounded by the tall walls, with only a single gate. Inside each were homes built around a central courtyard. The yards were choked with razorgrass and other weeds, but had likely been some sort of garden. A deep well lay in the center of each. “It’s like dozens of little forts inside one big one,” Scotch said as they explored one of the blocks. “Look at that,” she said, pointing to a desiccated wooden bridge atop the wall. “I bet you could swing that out and cross to the neighbors without going through the streets.”

“This has to be a Roamani city,” Majina murmured. “I can’t think of any other tribe it would be.” They looked at the empty homes, each built vertically with windows facing into the court yard.

“Any one of these would be a dream come true for raiders back home,” Precious muttered. “So where are they? Or the Legion? Or ghouls?” She picked up a rock and tossed it into the well, the stone clattering off the steep stone walls before splashing.

A deep snarl made Scotch whirl in shock. “What was that?” she asked, only to realize her friends stared at her in bafflement. “Didn’t you hear that?”

“I heard a splash. Why? What did you hear?” Pythia asked sharply.

She stared at the empty apartments around them. “It was… I’m not sure what it was. Like a snarl.”

“Okay, we’re out of here,” Pythia said sharply as she pointed to the Whiskey Express. “We’ll get to the train station and then we’re leaving.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Precious scowled.

“We should at least do a sweep. Can you detect anything on your PipBuck?” Majina asked Scotch, but Scotch shook her head.

“Let’s at least see if this place has been looted or not,” Charity suggested. Pythia grit her teeth, before lowering her head in resignation.

They walked into one of the apartments. The interior was dark, even with Scotch’s light and Charity’s magic. “Stay together,” Skylord warned. “I don’t like this either.”

The house was decorated in a simple style. One door in or out. Windows heavily shuttered. A single table and four cushions on the floor of a front room and kitchen. The place hadn’t been looted, but a layer of dust covered everything. The food in the kitchen had rotted, and then dried as hard as rock in its containers. Old spears hung on the wall, their dusty tips still sharp. They made their way up to the second and third floor; two bedrooms. Not a lot of electronics. The place was wired for power, but the structure was so old the wires ran on the outside of the wall in conduits.

“Where’s the bodies?” Precious asked. “It’s like everyone just left and didn’t come home.”

“I got imperios!” Charity said as she peered inside a cupboard, levitating out the gold coins. “Looks like this was a good stop after all.”

“This is weird. No ghouls. No killer robots. Why aren’t there a whole bunch of people here?” Scotch asked.

“Let’s get to the train station,” Pythia said. “I like this place less and less the longer we’re here.”

“And remember, stick together,” Skylord warned.

They overrode Charity’s objections that they should search more of the apartments and headed towards the middle of the city, their apprehension growing. Something was off, but Scotch couldn’t see what. They should have run into something by now; a radroach, bloatsplite, or ghoul. Something, and yet the city was empty and silent. They pulled along a wall riddled with bullet holes. Thousands of them pockmarked the walls.

“Something bad happened here,” she said as they reached the train station. It sat next to a long, narrow plaza with two large zebra statues facing each other. Someone had shot them up too. A large government building, almost like a rectangular keep, sat opposite the station. A huge green banner hung across its face. ‘Free city’, the glyph proclaimed. Only this one had been vandalized by a single red glyph painted across the surface. “Blood.” The paint had faded away over years in the sun.

“Blood Legion hit this place,” Skylord said as he peered around. “How though? This place is a fortress. It’s a fortress of fortresses, and it’s not blasted apart. The Irons would kill for a place like this.”

“Maybe the Bloods did too. What’s a free city?” Scotch asked.

“Maybe it means ‘take me, I’m free’?” Charity asked, rubbing her chin as she eyed a fountain between the two statues. The water system must have been gravity fed, because it still burbled and splashed freely despite there being no power.

Skylord furrowed his brow. “They’re cities that don’t belong to any Legion. Places like Rice River that are supposed to stay neutral, or won’t bow to a legion. Sometimes they’re just not worth the trouble to take.”

“And you’ve never heard of this place?” Scotch asked.

He furrowed his brow. “I remember Adolpha talking about a fort falling back when I first joined up, and how it was bad for the Irons for some reason, but I never got specifics. That was five or six years ago.” He peered around at the structures. “I don’t get why they’re not here. I mean, this place is almost as well fortified as Iron Town. There should be ten thousand Blood Legion camped out in here.”

“Well, if they’re not using it, maybe I could have it?” Charity mused. “Never mind. It’d take me forever to get it back to Equestria.” She levitated a rock, chucking it into the basin with a small splash.

Automatic gunfire roared behind them, and Scotch hit the ground, covering her head. For a few seconds it snarled right behind her, and she looked around for the shooter and cover. Then she noticed she was the only one to do so. Everyone stared at her and she rose up, hissing, “Oh, come on, someone had to hear that!”

“Hear what?” Precious asked.

“I heard a machine gun,” Scotch replied, looking from one to the next. “None of you heard shooting?”

“No. I heard nothing,” Pythia stated firmly.

Scotch peered around, but aside from the canvas flapping lightly against the keep, nothing. No red bars. Everything was quiet.

“I’m going to fly up to the roof and see if I can see anything,” Skylord said, jabbing at the station with a claw. “Get your stuff and get moving again.”

“Hey, remember the murder balls?” Precious warned. “We need to stay together.”

Scotch thought of pulling the plug then and there, but aside from the creepy feelings and what she was hearing, what risk was there? “There should be a maintenance storage somewhere around here,” she said as she gestured to the raised rail station and platform. “Probably in the back, downstairs. That’s where I’d put it.”

They made their way around to the back, where a loading dock confirmed her hypothesis. A scissor gate stretched across the dock, with an unconventional, circular lock that defied her bobby pins. Somehow that was more infuriating than the things she was hearing. Precious tried to roast the gate with her fire, but it resisted.

“We can try and go through the train station,” Scotch suggested.

They circled around to the front and Precious forced the doors open with her claws. They weren’t locked, just stuck. As the air rushed out the gap, it made a low moan. Inside was a simple, functional space with kiosks that looked as if they had been converted into storage, then looted. Plastic bins lay scattered across the fading carpet. Lights flickered from the far side of the room. A placard hanging above escalators going up read ‘29 Bastion 1315’. Water from dark bathrooms trickled out the doors, making the carpet squelch with every step.

“What is that smell?” Precious asked, covering her muzzle with a claw. A strange fruity reek, like spoiled cherries, permeated the space and made Scotch’s head spin.

“That way,” Scotch muttered, her hooves splashing softly as she walked in the direction she hoped would take them to maintenance.

“Haimon…”

She froze, her ear twitching as she looked behind her, but none of her friends could have made that strange, whispery voice. The name repeated, and she looked in the opposite direction as the lights flickered. “Scotch?” Majina asked in worry.

“Haimon!” the name repeated, and she turned her head as the voice got louder. “Haimon! Haimon!”

Then the light flickered and something black stood before her, like a zebra made of tar. It dripped before her eyes, oozing waxy ichor as it stared down at her. She fell back with a scream, scrambling away from it. Another flicker, and it was gone. “What was that? What was that?!” she repeated, jabbing a hoof at the space it had occupied.

“What was what? What’s wrong with you?” Charity asked. “You just started looking around and freaking out.”

“There was a thing! A black… oozy thing… I think!” she stammered, her eyes going from one to the next. “You didn’t see anything?” She looked at Pythia last, but the filly only looked away. “I know I saw it.”

“Okay,” Precious said slowly and then let out a plume of flame in an arc before her. “Did I get it?”

“No. It’s gone now…” she said as her hooves twisted on the soaked carpet. She rose to her feet, and the lights flickered.

“Well, whatever it is, let’s hope it stays gone,” Charity said as she led the way with her illuminated horn. “I think it’s that way.” Scotch watched them go ahead, and then met eyes with Pythia, who lingered.

“If you don’t see them, they don’t see you,” she said quietly. “Let’s get what we need and get out of here.”

Scotch paused, staring across the foyer as the light blinked on and off at the dark mouth of the bathroom. As she stared, she could almost make out an equine shape standing there silently as water trickled out the doorway. Pythia stood off to the side, waiting in the doorway her friends had taken. She could take either, leave with her friends or walk into the darkness alone.

She took two steps towards that shape that she hoped only existed in her imagination before her courage failed her. Ducking her head, she quickly caught up to Pythia, who held the door open for her as she hurried down the hall with her PipBuck lamp on. At the end of the hall, she could see Charity’s horn light coming through an open doorway.

“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong with her,” Charity said before they entered. “Is she losing it?” She froze, her eyes straining.

“I don’t know. She’s a pony. They’re only slightly weirder than zebras”

“I’m a pony,” Charity retorted.

“With a glowing bone on your head that lets you do magic. That’s definitely weirder than zebras,” Skylord countered. “She’s probably just crazy.”

“She’s like a shaman. At least, I think she thinks she’s a shaman. That’s pretty unusual though. Right? I mean ponies don’t have shamans,” Majina babbled. “Maybe she just wants to think she’s a shaman? I mean, she did something in Rice River, but who knows if that was really her or not, right?”

“Look, no matter what’s going on in her head, she’s our friend. I don’t know what’s happening to her. I just know she’s a good pony so stop talking junk behind her back, okay?” Precious growled.

“Says the freak,” Skylord replied.

“Hey, watch it with the f-word, turkey! I’m a blend, not a freak,” Precious countered.

“At least I’m a species. Or are there other dragon-pony-like-you things running around the pony lands?”

“No, she’s pretty much it,” Charity answered, then amended. “Wait, were you asking if there are others like her or oranges like her?”

“I am not a freak!” Precious snapped. “I don’t know what I am, but I’m not that!”

“Please stop fighting!” Majina begged. “We won’t get anywhere if we fight!”

“I still can’t figure out why you’re here in the first place,” Charity asked along with the sounds of rummaging through some stuff. “Pythia says you have to come and you dump everything and run to the far side of the world, and now going all the way across a continent because she says so? At least when I was in charge of the Crusaders, we had clear goals.”

“Hey, Pythia says it’s important,” Majina piped up.

“Yeah. The zebra who can see the future also sees herself in the past. You know what I think?” Skylord grumbled.

“No one cares what you think!” Precious snapped.

“I think that she’s just as crazy as the pony and neither one of them have a clue, and I’m going to get killed because they somehow convinced my boss that they’re special. They’re not special. They’re crazy.”

“Please don’t fight! Please!” Majina repeated.

“Oh let them. If you’d stayed in Equestria everything would be–” Charity began to say.

“What, fine?” Precious snapped. “For you, sure. But what future did I have there? Being your guard dog? Scotch at least treats me like a person, and not a–” Precious’s voice cracked.

“Freak?” Skylord supplied. There was a roar and smash. Scotch gave one look at Pythia’s composed features and took a deep breath, then stepped through the door. It was a maintenance storeroom, long and narrow, with shelves filled with pipes, tape, solder, and other supplies for mending equipment. At the moment it was the sight of a dragonfilly rolling on the ground with a griffon, the pair trying to scratch and bite each other. Skylord seemed to be getting the worse of it.

“Stop!” Scotch commanded loudly at the pair. The order gave Skylord a window to pull free, launching himself into the air and hovering as he glared down at Precious. “Stop, all of you. There’s no point in fighting right now. We’ve got to do some maintenance on the Whiskey Express and this is our best chance at it.” She marched past them to a roll-up door, unlatching it and shoving the door upwards. The scissor gate was an impediment, but they could work around it. “Charity, can you magic stuff off the shelves through the gate?”

“Now that I can see it, sure,” she answered, a bit mollified.

“Good. Then everyone back to the tractor. We’re going to do what we need and get going and then we can talk about how mad we are with each other or how stupid this all is. Got it?” she demanded, eying each one in turn. Surprisingly, Pythia smiled.

Scotch led the way back out again, keeping her eyes locked straight ahead and stomping her hooves loudly to keep from hearing any whispers or spookiness. Skylord was sent up to the roof to keep an eye out for trouble.

She’d done maintenance like this countless times in the stable. The Whiskey Express wasn’t any different. First they tackled the scale. The zebras had an acidic solution that was added to the boiler to remove that. She was thankful Charity’s magic could just pour a cup into the boiler. A vinegary reek confirmed the solution was working. She opened the drains and let the milky water pour out, taking the minerals with it. A second round was nearly clear, so she rinsed out the boiler with clean water from a hose with a brass nozzle.

Then they tackled the firebox. The coals were carefully scraped out into a metal bucket and covered. Then the firebox was opened completely to help it cool while she mixed soap and water. She didn’t think about what her friends had said. She kept focused on the task at–

Her hooves lifted from the soapy bucket, dripping red.

“No, no no no no,” she repeated, clenching her eyes shut. When she opened them, the red had disappeared.

“What is it?” Precious asked.

“Nothing,” Scotch assured her. “Just this place getting to me.”

“Don’t see them, and they won’t see you,” Pythia assured her.

But she wanted to see them, but this wasn’t like at the festival or even Lumi’s little familiar spirit. Something bad had happened here. Something wrong.

She stared into the crimson depths of the bucket, blood sloshing about. Again, she clenched her eyes. Focus. Ignore it. They didn’t have time for spirit stuff now. Once the firebox had cooled, they attacked it with soapy water and brushes. Pythia, the smallest, won the honor of climbing inside the firebox to scrub the tubes that heated the water. Majina stood on the top, scrubbing the flue with glee. Precious got the ignoble task of heating the water in a metal bucket before passing it to the other two. Charity helped Scotch apply a well-needed refill to the Whiskey Express’s grease reservoirs, then oiled everything else. Finally, as they cleaned the outside, she inspected the bolts and plates for looseness, cracks, rust, or dents. Thankfully, the water jacket had protected the boiler from bullets.

After two hours, it was noon and the five of them were utterly filthy, but the Whiskey Express seemed to enjoy the attention. At least she imagined it did. “That’s a good job,” she concluded with a smile. The coals were returned to the firebox, with fresh fuel added to get to boiler simmering again. Everyone’s mood seemed a little better. Even Pythia, black as coal, seemed in grudgingly high spirits. “Time to clean up,” Scotch said as she lifted the hose, twisting the nozzle as she pointed it at her dirty friends.

A machine gun roared, her friends’ bodies wilting as bloody holes tore open. Worse, her friends laughed at their bodies ripped open before her.

She screamed as she threw down the hose turning her back on the horrible image and clenching her eyes tight. “Haimon…” came the whisper again. “What are you doing, Haimon?”

“I don’t want to hear about Haimon!” she yelled, pressing her hooves to her ears, but it did nothing to silence the whispers.

“Scotch?” came Pythia’s voice, and her touch gentle on her shoulder.

“I can’t help it! I keep seeing horrible things and I can’t not see it!” She looked up at her friend. “You say don’t see them and I don’t want to see what I’m seeing but I want to help them!” She could see the uneasy looks Charity and Majina wore.

“Let’s get cleaned up and get out of here, okay? We won’t have to stop for a while after this,” she assured her. “Just hold it together.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Charity asked, looking at Scotch like a stranger. A dangerous stranger.

“Do you believe in ghosts and spirits?” Pythia challenged.

“No, of course not. That’s dumb,” Charity replied flatly. “There’s plenty of real things to be afraid of.”

Pythia nodded. “Like most ponies. Well she does, and they believe in her. That’s enough,” she said as she pulled away. “Let’s get bird brain and get out of here.” She started around the station, heading back towards the plaza.

Charity walked past Scotch with that scornful, skeptical look. Scotch could forgive her. She hadn’t seen the bridge, and it wasn’t like Scotch could talk about this casually. None of the others seemed interested in spirits. Even Majina was only keen on discussing them in stories. It wasn’t something she could chat about except with Pythia, and she’d only refuse to talk about it at all.

She looked out at the simple, square construction. Functional. Practical. Uniform. It appealed to her stable aesthetics. It even had running water with no power, something she could admire. The others didn’t care what happened here though. Charity cared about what she could get. Precious and Skylord for what they could fight. Majina for the stories she could take from it. What about the people that had lived here? Was she wrong for wanting to know?

Scotch hurried to catch up with her friends, and met them just as Skylord shouted down at them. “We got trouble! Get up to the roof. Quick.”

They ran inside. Though still a formidable structure, it had been converted into offices. The granite floor had tracks worn in it by centuries of passage in and out. A staircase rose up the middle and forked at the second floor. A broken fire sprinkler overhead trickled water in a little cascade down the stone steps. Then they found a smaller stair up to the third, which looked like a mayor’s office. Finally, they found a roof access. Precious picked the lock with a well-placed body slam and they moved out onto the flat stone roof. Skylord peered out between the crenellations to the east. “We’ve got company.”

There were at least five steam tractors coming up the Old Road. A pair of zebras with strange bat wings were flying above the convoy. From the tops of the trucks flew the pennon of the Blood Legion.

Did Korgax double-cross them, or had their luck finally run out? “Well, that’s bad.”

“You think that’s bad?” Pythia called out, waving a hoof from the west side of the roof. They rushed over and looked out to the west, where the hills to the north and south came together in a little saddle.

It wasn’t a Blood Legion patrol.

It was a damned army.

Twenty steam wagons and five steam tanks rolled down the freeway straight for the city. A thousand black dots seemed to swarm around them, walking in a disorganized mob. A least a dozen flyers bobbed around the force as advance scouts.

“If we hadn’t stopped, we would have run right into that,” Precious muttered. “We would have been caught in the open for sure.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we can go the way we came,” Skylord said. “We’ll be spotted.”

“We’ll have to hide,” Scotch said. “Find somewhere to hole up. Hide the Whiskey Express. Wait for them to go. How long do we have?”

“The smaller force will be here in half an hour. The big one in an hour. If we wait four or five hours, we might sneak out during the night,” Skylord suggested. “Maybe sooner, if they just keep going.”

Scotch doubted they had that luck. “There’s a couple buildings nearby we might be able to park in.” She pointed down the plaza at two large square structures on the far end, one of which looked like a garage for steam tractors. Then she paused. From up here, she could see into the train station. Sitting on the tracks were three tanker trucks and an engine. From the rust, she guessed they’d been there for a long time. Through the streaks of rust, she could make out ‘Carnico’.

Why would someone park a train with Carnico tankers in the middle of a city? After the poison Mariana had used in Carnico, pieces were coming together.

“We need to hurry,” Charity said, giving her a shake. “What’s wrong with you? More ghost crap?”

“No. I’m not sure. Maybe. Let’s go,” she said, starting back down stairs. They needed to hurry. She was in such a rush that, as she reached the stairs descending to second floor, she was splashed by the cold water drizzling from the broken pipe in the ceiling. She shook her head hard, trying to clear it of the water as the rest continued down.

On the second floor, she saw a zebra colt silhouette backlit through a pair of doors at the end of the balcony. She blinked several times. “Hey, who are you?” Scotch asked, glancing around for other bars and…

No bar. As she stared, it seemed to beckon with a hoof. Scotch blinked, and the colt disappeared. Don’t see. Don’t pay attention. Don’t care. She looked down at the others, took a step, and froze.

“Scotch, what are you doing?!” Precious hissed up at her. “We have to go!”

“Just give me a minute! I need to check something out,” Scotch shouted down the stairs, and walked quickly to the open door. It was an office with a big, fancy carved wood desk. Scotch’s eyes scanned the room for any signs of the small zebra colt she’d seen. Papers were strewn everywhere. A terminal sat on the desk, but someone had put a bullet into the monitor. A pair of spears were snapped in two and tossed on the desk.

She closed her eyes. What was she doing? What was she even looking for?

“…what are you doing, Haimon?” a colt whispered in her ear.

“What’s going on, Scotch?” Pythia asked quietly from behind her, making her open her eyes. “I told you…”

“I saw something in this doorway,” Scotch insisted, searching through the desk. “I think there’s something important in here. Something about Haimon.”

“Haimon? That Major with the Blood Legion?” Pythia regarded her soberly. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but right now we don’t have time for this. They’re coming.”

“I know!” she snapped back, shuffling through the papers strewn everywhere. “There’s something important here.” She shivered as she looked at the office. “Something bad happened here.”

“Something bad is going to happen here, Scotch,” she replied, her voice soft. “We need to get caught up with the others. Don’t look for them, and they won’t see you, remember?”

But Scotch wasn’t leaving just yet. If that had been a ghost, there had to be a reason. Something worse than just your average Wasteland mess. Nevermind the question of what she actually saw and if she was seeing ghosts, or something else. “Do you see ghosts?” she asked as she rifled through the drawers of the large desk. “Are they spirits?” She spun towards Pythia again and begged, “Please! Tell me.”

“I’m not a shaman, remember?” Pythia reminded. “We need to go. Whatever happened here in the past doesn’t matter.” Scotch didn’t stop looking. A hoof gently touched her shoulder and she blinked, looking back at Pythia. The filly’s yellow eyes were round with concern. “You don’t have to do this, Scotch.”

She imagined the shuffling of cards and that dusty chuckle. “If I don’t, who does?” she asked. Pythia didn’t answer as the zebra pulled her hoof back.

Then she touched a folder in a drawer and felt something like cold water dripping on her spine. She withdrew the folder and looked at the papers inside. “What are you doing, Haimon?” repeated as she held it. Flipping it open she saw several letters. “Let’s go,” she said, stuffing them in her saddlebags and rushing down the steps to the entrance, where her friends were waiting.

“What took you so long?” Precious asked with a scowl.

“Nevermind!” Pythia snapped. “I see the first team searching for us here in the future. Let’s get the Whiskey Express out of sight.”

That was easier said than done. The firebox was barely warm, let alone hot enough to have the steam to get the tractor moving. “What I don’t understand is how we didn’t see their smoke sooner,” Skylord said as Precious stoked the furnace with jets of her breath.

“I don’t know,” Scotch admitted. “We should have had a lookout from the get-go.”

The two buildings at the end of the plaza were each the size of a block, three stories tall, and made of heavy stone with tall, narrow, glass brick windows. A walkway connected one to the other. They drove the Whiskey Express down into ‘parking’, pulling in amid dozens of other rusty wrecks. Water trickled and splashed, gurgling into the drains. They banked the coals and pulled a tarp over to obscure the shape of the tractor and trailer.

It was then that the Blood Legion arrived, not with the chugity-chug of a steam engine, but with a soft whir. Scotch shrunk back as they pulled into the plaza, four steam tractors that looked the part save for barely a wisp of exhaust. What kind of tractors didn’t belch smoky plumes everywhere? One by one they disembarked, a dozen or so in the red dyed, spiked armor of the Blood Legion. The zebras certainly looked the part of bloodthirsty ravagers, but were oddly quiet.

“Something’s wrong,” Skylord muttered as he crouched next to Scotch behind a rusted hulk. “When was the last time you saw less than twenty Blood Legion in one place?”

“Those are some nice guns too,” Charity pointed out. “They look brand new.”

Everything about them looked new, from their armor to their weapons. “Is this some kind of special squad or something?” Scotch asked. They also appeared well fed, healthy, and athletic.

“I don’t think so,” Skylord muttered. “Greens might have guns like those, but Greens wouldn’t be poking around a ruin dressed up as Bloods. Golds wouldn’t either.” His eyes suddenly went round as they formed trios. “Oh shit, we have to get out of here!”

“Why? What’s going on?” Majina asked. One trio went towards the keep, while the second headed for the train station.

The third was heading right for them!

Skylord didn’t answer. He made straight for stairs heading up into the building above. The rest caught up only when they scampered out of the stairway into a shopping center of sorts. The atrium went up three stories, with dirty skylights providing some illumination. Most of the shops on the second and third floor were closed behind pull-down rolling grills. A fountain in the center comprised of a dozen square pillars forming a spire filled the air with a chorus of splashes as water spilled from the top of one pillar to the next.

“We’ve got to hide. Or run. We have to move,” Skylord said as he peered around them.

“What’s going on? Who are those people?” Scotch asked.

“Shadow Legion,” he said, his eyes scanning the balconies. “I’ll tell you all about them once I’m sure they’re not going to kill us.”

He raced across the atrium to a large store with a glyph Scotch couldn’t read on the front. The interior was choked with rags and knocked over counters. The whole place seemed have been looted, but there was just enough left to hide under. Scotch and Skylord covered themselves with old zebra outfits. Majina and Precious hid in the changing rooms. Charity and Pythia concealed themselves behind the register counter.

“Who are the Shadow Legion?” Scotch asked in a whisper.

“About three years back, the Irons were infiltrated. They sabotaged our steel production facilities, disrupted our supply, and assassinated several leaders. They almost got our general. No one knows for sure who they were, but similar things happened to the Whites and the Golds. People talk about a legion that doesn’t hold territory. They call it the Shadow Legion, because no one’s sure if they really exist or not. Now, shhh…” he hushed as three figures emerged in the shopping center and started towards them.

They moved carefully, but with purpose, one stopping and keeping watch as two advanced. “Why’d she pick now, of all times, here, of all places, to go to ground? I’m telling you, they bypassed this place just like they did all the others,” a mare muttered, her voice carrying.

“The seer says otherwise,” a stallion responded as he wept a gun back and forth before him. “So we check. You thought he was wrong about the Greens, but she was just out looting a factory. If we’d waited, we could have snatched her up for sure.”

“Seers. I can’t believe we’re relying on mumbo jumbo for intel,” the mare replied.

“There’s also a cache here. If those kids looted it like they looted the others, we’ll know they’ve been here.” The stallion shone a flashlight attached to his rifle into a looted store. “Bloods really did a number on this place.”

“Cut the chatter,” snapped the third, a stallion. “They’ve got an Iron with them, and I’d rather not get shot wearing this Blood Legion crap.”

“You know, this would go a lot faster if we had our full gear,” the mare commented.

“Rules are clear. Visual concealment is mandatory. That’s Sanguinus’s whole damn army out there. You want a fight with them? Far as they’re concerned, we’re searching for deserters. Better if we avoid contact completely.”

They walked up to the ice cream shop adjacent to the commissary, and one moved into the back while the other two kept watch. The light swept through the commissary windows more than once. “What do you think hit this place?” the first stallion asked.

“Don’t know. Reports said the Bloods neutralized this place. Who gives a shit?” the mare replied. “Free cities are just as big a pain as legions. Just look at the cockup in Rice River. Irons, Whites, and Bloods all pointing shit at each other and no one has control.”

“Well, be glad they’re not pointing those guns at us. Fuck, I’ll be glad when we’re back at base. This place gives me the creeps,” the first stallion muttered as the second emerged from the back of the ice cream shop. “Anything?”

“Nothing touched. They haven’t been here yet. I set some mines. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Orders are to take her alive if possible,” the first said pointedly. “Haimon wants to question her.”

At the name, a thousand voices started whispering in Scotch’s ears over and over again. Haimon! What are you doing, Haimon? Please, Haimon! She did all she could to remain quiet, but pressing her hooves to her ears did nothing to silence the hissing whispers. It was as if they were whispering inside her head.

“Yeah, well it’s been a week so I’d say it’s not possible,” the mare answered.

“Finish sweeping this place. There’s a lot of city to search,” the second stallion said. “Haimon will want a report.”

The thousand voices grew louder and deeper, rumbling in the guts of the building. Haimon wants a report. They growled. Scotch grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. They serve Haimon!

“We’ll get it done sooner if we split up,” the mare said sharply.

“Remember your training. We stay together. Search the commissary,” the second stallion instructed.

“What’s wrong with you?” Skylord whispered. “Stop whimpering!”

She’d been whimpering? “They’re angry. They’re so angry!” she whispered.

Pythia stared at her from behind the counter, mouthing ‘ignore them.’

“Wait!” one of the three zebras hissed. “You hear that?”

“All I hear is you and that stupid fountain,” replied the mare.

“No! I heard something in there. Quiet,” the stallion snapped.

Skylord tensed beside her, but she touched his shoulder. He might get one of them, but three? They were spread out, and the walls of the commissary gave some cover. She peeked out of the pile of clothes. Two kept cover by the door, standing on hind legs, bracing against the cover of the door as they panned their weapons left and right across the commissary. A third slowly advanced, the mare. “Come out,” she crooned softly. “And I promise we won’t hurt you.”

Scotch swallowed. Could Precious and Skylord take out all three? And as soon as they started shooting, how long would it take before the others arrived? She took a deep breath, and then called out. “Don’t shoot!” Skylord’s glare could have murdered her. She rose to her feet from the rags, and had three guns trained on her. “I’m the one you’re looking for. Who are you?”

“You don’t get to ask us questions, little pony,” the mare replied. “Be a good pony and come here and you won’t get any bullets in you.”

“I don’t think so,” she said as she backed away as the mare advanced, trying to keep from tripping over the scattered boxes. “I heard your boss wants me alive.”

“Haimon wants you alive. The others aren’t so picky,” the mare replied.

Haimon! Haimon! Please Haimon! Scotch winced as she fought to ignore the screaming. There was a pop, and one of the fire sprinklers started to dribble rusty, reeking water. The mare glared at the pipe as the water started to spread across the linoleum.

“What others?” Scotch asked. “Who’s after me?”

“Above my pay grade, little pony. You want answers? Give up. I’ll take you back to Haimon and maybe he’ll tell you. Or not. Riptide would pay me handsomely for your corpse,” the mare said. Scotch heard a splash and watched as the fountain started to overflow, water spreading out in a silent wave as it washed towards the commissary entrance.

“Damn it. Just shoot her,” one of the stallions snapped. “Who cares what Haimon wants?!”

Haimon! Why! Why! What are you doing Haimon? The screams cried out, growing louder every second. Water flowed out from a pair of dark bathrooms, connecting with the wet sheet spreading out across the tiled floor. It flowed around the zebra’s hooves at the entrance.

“You work for him, right?” Scotch insisted. The mare lunged and Scotch scampered away, running around and leaping through the trickle. As the water cascaded over her she staggered and slipped, thudding into a pile of clothes and striking her head.

Then the screaming started as she struggled to pull herself together. Guns roared, the loud bark of the zebra rifles with the chatter of Skylord’s machine guns. For a moment the water rolled over her, filling her nose and mouth as the world swirled away.

The colt looked out over the city wall at the army arraying itself around them. Red Blood Legion banners snapped in the wind as they encompassed the city in a great host. Like a crimson glacier, they slowly moved past. At any moment they might charge in and the shooting would begin. His job was clear: to make certain every fighting zebra in the fort had a magazine or healing potion when they needed it.

But today wasn’t the day, The Red Legion slowly marched away to the east, roaring promises of great and bloody wrath. Only when they disappeared behind the ridge did the all clear horn blow, and every fighting stallion and mare went off the wall.

The colt looked around at the crowd and frowned. Someone was missing. Racing nimbly down the stairs, the colt made his way to the keep. He heard the shouts, and his ears lay flat a moment as he approached the office. “We can’t keep this up. It’s been three years of constant sniping and harassment. The Blood Legion are going to keep coming after us till they get what they want!”

The colt carefully pushed the door open to peek at the strong, bearded stallion sitting behind his desk like it was a bulwark. Before him was a younger copy, beardless, but with his mane in a tight mohawk. “It’s always been this way with the Legion, Haimon. They’ll cause trouble for us, then eventually collapse. There is no negotiation with them. You capitulate or die. Of all my sons, I would never imagine you to be talking about the former.”

“Sanguinus is no fool, father.”

“Nor are you,” his father countered. “You have a wife. A daughter. You will take over when I die. It is your sacred duty to keep this city from the Legion, at any price.” His father rubbed his beard. “What would you have me do?”

“Take the fight to the Legion. We have a thousand willing fighters. Show the Legion that you’ll stand up to them. There are other communities that would rise up if they saw others having courage. Stop hiding behind these walls. Sooner or later, they’re going to find a way past them,” Haimon insisted.

His father seemed to consider his words before gravely shaking his head. “I will not throw lives away. These walls protected my father, and my father’s father, and his father’s father. Let the Legion dash themselves against them all they want. We will endure!” The old stallion’s eyes shifted and lit on the colt. “Ah, Andre. Your brother and I were just having a discussion.” His hard eyes returned to Haimon. “One that is now over.”

Haimon turned and walked away. The colt gave one look at his weary father, then turned and left with him. “What’s wrong, Haimon?” he asked as he followed him up the stairs and onto the roof. His older brother leaned on the crenellation, staring west towards the saddle where the Legion had disappeared.

“Father wants to pretend like the Blood Legion’s just going to go away. It doesn’t matter how strong these walls are. They’re not going to protect us forever. The Legion keeps us under siege. How free are we, like this?” Haimon asked, then shook his head, just like father.

“Well, you’ll find a way. Everyone respects you, Haimon. They all say you’ll find a way to beat the Blood Legion” But the young colt’s words didn’t seem to brighten his brother’s gloomy spirits as he turned his face to the east, gazing out at the setting sun.

Scotch gasped and coughed. She was in a dark room, lying with her face in a puddle.. She was soaked from head to hoof, but she was also alive. Wet tile lay under her cheek as she heard something whimper nearby. What was that she’d just seen? No one had told her about visions of the past. It was too strange to be her imagination.

She turned on her PipBuck light and stared around at the devastation. Walls full of holes and sinks shot to pieces, the latter of which dribbled a constant flow of water that spattered around her. The dark, still air was punctuated by sharp snapping noises and that persistent whimper. She scanned around. “Hello?” she asked.

“Kill me,” whimpered a voice.

She slowly walked in the direction of the toilet stalls, the wet cracking noises growing stronger. She stared into the first, at the strange squat toilet set in the floor. Sticking up from it like an odd stump was a zebra’s hoof. As she stared, the hoof trembled, and with a cacophony of sickening crunches, sank slowly down the drain of the toilet bowl. Scotch backed away, her stomach clenching. Then she made the mistake of looking in the next stall over.

Only the mare’s head, forelegs, and chest protruded from the bowl. Her glossy eyes stared in shock at Scotch, blood trickling out her mouth. “Kill me,” she repeated, trembling as the toilets groaned and she sank an inch deeper into the bowl with a noise of snapping bone and sinew. Scotch couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look away. The mare’s eyes went round as the groaning noise grew, mouth opening, working…

Then, with a cracking of bone like a thousand bullets going off, her head disappeared as well. She’d never unsee a mare’s insides being squeezed out her mouth. Scotch sat there numbly as the mare’s hooves twitched for several seconds, then sank out of sight as well. The water flowed over every drop of blood, every lump of gore, washing it down the drain.

Scotch leaned over and vomited everything in her stomach, glad she hadn’t eaten much today. How… no. She didn’t want to think about how. ‘What’ wasn’t safe to think about either. In fact she wasn’t sure any thought was safe at the moment. She sat there, the water flowing over her, as she stared where the PipBuck light ended and the darkness began. It dripped like oil, trickling along the edges of the light. Crawling along the grooves in the tile like fingers of black wax.

Then she felt her body start to slide. It wasn’t a tug so much as a flowing sensation… right towards the toilet the mare had disappeared into. Instantly she tried to rise to her hooves, but they slipped out from under her. It was as if the floor beneath her was tilting, sending her sliding. She spread out her hooves to grab the stall, but the metal was slick. She slid on her belly, spinning around as the water flowing under her bore her straight towards the toilet bowl.

“No! No no no!” she screamed as her head was pulled by the flowing water to the porcelain basin. Everything seemed to be sucked straight into the drain. “I didn’t do it! Please,” she begged the spirits or whoever was doing this. “I don’t work for Haimon!”

With a great yank, her mane was seized and pulled straight into the bowl. She felt her head impact with the porcelain, and then felt the pull. Pain exploded in her skull as the pressure increased and the water flooded in around her mouth. She had only a second before it would be submerged, and screamed, “Andre!”

The colt snuck along the train platform. At the far end stood Haimon with a mare and a yearling, his niece. Haimon nuzzled the homely young mare, a momentary smile of contentment on his face. He kissed the foal gently on the brow, and then the colt watched as the pair departed. Haimon watched them go, his smile melting away as he watched them depart. It was getting dark. The lone generator hummed in the basement of the train station. Andre crept closer, and was astonished to see his elder brother weeping.

“What’s wrong, Haimon?” Andre asked, making Haimon start.

“You shouldn’t be out this late, Andre. Father will be angry,” he said as he scrubbed away the tears with a hoof. “Go back to him and mother.”

“No, Haimon. I’m not a colt anymore,” the colt said. “What’s wrong?”

Haimon turned and stared out at the Blood Legion surrounding the city. Their fires dotted the night sky like angry stars. “Sanguinus is going to win. He’s going to winnow our numbers one by one, week by week, till we’re too feeble to withstand it any more. Then they’ll take the city. Sanguinus wants Greengap. It’s a far more fitting throne for a warlord than that slaughter house at Meatlocker.” He closed his eyes. “We could have made a fight of it. Struck out at the Legion before they regrouped. Instead, all we’ve done is hide here behind our walls, waiting for the monster to go away.”

“Don’t say that. We’ll be okay,” Andre assured his brother.

“No. So long as there are legions, none of us will ever be okay. I see that now. There’s only one way to defeat a monster,” he intoned softly. “Go back to mother and father. Hold them. Tell them you love them,” he said, his voice dull. “I love you, Andre.”

Andre didn’t understand. There were lots of ways to beat a monster: shoot it, stab it with a spear, beat it with your hooves. He walked away, but instead of returning home, he ducked into one of the old information kiosks. His brother was troubled, and Andre wanted to be here for him.

It was a dark and moonless night, clouds blocking the stars. Only the wan light of the campfires surrounding the city gave any illumination. Then he watched as his brother picked up a shovel and approached a stallion on guard duty. Haimon approached from behind. What was he doing?

The shovel fell in one swing, the edge striking the back of the soldier’s neck. He dropped without a sound. A second swing. A third. And then Haimon reached down and yanked out the wires to the alarm. He reached out, and pulled a lever besides the tracks.

Machinery whirled as, at the edge of town, a length of elevated track extended over the wall to connect with the rail to the east. Andre emerged. “What are you doing, Haimon!” the colt demanded, wanting somehow for all of this to make sense.

His brother whirled and stared at him. For a moment, shock covered his face, his eyes wide and pupils tight and small. He’d never seen such a look from his elder brother. The one that thought big thoughts and dreamed of getting rid of the Blood Legion once and for all. Andre turned to run. To tell. To somehow make all this right, but Haimon raced at him and tackled Andre to the ground. It wasn’t like when they wrestled for fun. It hurt.

From the east came the chug of an old steam tractor. It pulled itself along the old track, and some sentries gave shouts of alarm, but shouts could only reach so far. The train rolled into view, a dilapidated machine barely able to pull three large tanker cars into the station. Blood Legion hung from the sides, wearing gas masks.

The largest of the lot jumped down and approached the struggling pair. Haimon released Andre, the colt scrambling for the stairs. A red-armored legionnaire pounced before he could get that far.

Haimon stood before the immense zebra, his Carnilian stripes broken by hundreds of jagged scars. He pulled off his mask, revealing a once-handsome face marred by pink hatchet marks that turned his features into a mask of horror. “Sanguinus,” Haimon intoned, bowing before him.

“No! What are you doing, Haimon?” Andre pleaded. Alarm was spreading through shouted calls. Any second they’d storm the platform and end all of this. “Brother, please!”

Haimon lifted his head, his eyes hard. “We need to hurry. They’ll be here any minute.”

“Of course,” Sanguinus purred, his deep voice resonant. He extended a gas mask to Haimon, who pulled it on. Gunfire was exchanged at the stairs between the few Blood Legion and the guards. Any second, they’d stop all this. Stop his brother before it was too late.

Suddenly from the base of the tanker came a spray of amber fluid accompanied by the stench of rotten cherries. The reek rolled over Andre, who gave one last struggle against the Legionnaire holding him, and then collapsed into oblivion.

Scotch came to, her chest burning, nostrils full of water, head pressed against the bottom of the toilet bowl… but the pressure was gone. She jerked her head out, flinging an arc of water as she kicked and scrambled away till her back was flush against the wall. She coughed and gasped, her chest burning as she struggled to her hooves and staggered out of the restroom.

The commissary was a sodden wreck, the contents strewn out the gate as if by a great flood. The fountain trickled softly once again, pattering away into the pool as puddles left behind slowly trickled away down drains or were left standing. She fought the panic inside her. Had her friends been pulled away as she had? Sucked down toilets to a horrible death? Had they gotten away? Captured? She swung her head, looking desperately for yellow bars.

There! A cluster of yellow. She started in the direction, but was stymied by an empty shop. It took her a few moments to go looking for some stairs. Up to the third floor, where she heard soft sobbing.

“We can’t worry about her anymore. She’s dead,” came Charity’s hard voice.

“She’s not dead,” Pythia contradicted.

“She’s dead and we’re going to be dead if we stay here. We’ve got to find a way out!” Charity snapped.

“Keep your voice down. There’s more soldiers out there. A lot more!” Skylord hissed.

“We should have helped her! We should have!” Majina sniffed. “Those screams… those horrible screams.”

“She’s not dead,” Pythia replied, numbly.

“Look, let me go back for her. I’m tough. That water couldn’t sweep me away,” Precious demanded.

“It nearly carried you off too. I don’t want anyone else dying today,” Charity insisted.

Scotch rounded the corner, to where a sky bridge connected this building to the one across the street. There sat her five waterlogged friends. Precious held a sobbing Majina as Skylord ground his beak, glaring out the window. Pythia sat in her drenched cloak, slumped with her back against the wall. Scotch tried to speak, the corner of her mouth hitching in a sort of a smile. “H-hey…”

All eyes turned to her and in a rush, Skylord pounced her, slamming her against the wall. “Don’t you ever be that stupid again! Ever!” he demanded. “What were you thinking?! I’m supposed to be protecting you! That does not! Mean! Stepping! Out! To banter! With the! Enemy!” He shoved her against the wall in outrage.

“Skylord! Stop! She just didn’t die!” Majina said, squeezing herself between Scotch and the griffon. Then she was hugging her tight. “I’m so sorry we left you! I didn’t want to leave you. I didn’t! But that water, it was just pulling everything into the bathroom and those soldiers were pulled in and then you were and Precious was about to be swept away and–”

Scotch smiled as she hugged her friend. She never wanted to see another bathroom again. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“You are not okay!” Charity said, pointing a hoof at her. “What the hay happened? You got out and started talking to them, and suddenly there’s water spraying from the sprinklers and flowing from the fountain and we’re getting sucked off our feet! What the hell, Scotch? This is not what I signed up for!”

“You didn’t sign up. You were drafted,” Scotch replied, dripping. “And I’m not sure what happened. That water splashed over me and I was… someone else. A colt, back when this place was inhabited,” she said, and she looked over at Pythia, who seemed to be ignoring her return as she regarded her star map. “When I came to, I saw those soldiers getting sucked into the toilets.” Her heart pounded at the memory. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Majina stared in horror, “Sucked into…”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Scotch reminded her. “Ever.”

“Were their guns sucked in too?” Skylord asked at once.

“I really didn’t pay attention. I don’t think so. Just their bodies. And remember when I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Ever?” Scotch repeated, looking pained. “How’d you all escape?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.

Majina wiped her eyes. “Oh. Skylord flew us to higher ground. Well, all but Precious, but her claws kept her from being swept away.” She sniffed. “We tried to save you but you were… in a daze or something. You didn’t take my hoof when I reached for you. You were just swept away.”

“Yeah. What is the deal? Seriously?” Charity asked, her voice strained. “I’d happily take ghouls and shit over killer water.”

Scotch looked at Pythia, and their eyes met. Pythia’s yellow eyes were solemn. She knew, but she wasn’t a shaman, so she couldn’t say. Because that would be admitting she was. Scotch closed her eyes.

“Something bad happened here,” she said as she gestured around her. “This place… people lived here. They were fighting the Blood Legion. One of them betrayed them, and let those tanker trucks in. There was a chemical. That sweet, fruity smell. I think it either killed them all, or knocked them out or something.” There was a piece missing, though.

“So why’s the water crazy? Is there a water monster here?” Charity asked.

“I don’t know.” Scotch closed her eyes, thinking. “The spirits here are angry. I think they’re affecting the water.”

“Spirits?” Charity asked, scornfully. “Seriously? Spirits? You believe in ghosts now?” She walked over and put a hoof to Scotch’s shoulder. “You’ve been here so long these zebra superstitions are getting into your head. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Superstitions?” Majina protested indignantly. “You’ll believe in ghouls and monsters, but spirits are too much?”

“Yeah, because you can do business with ghouls!” Charity countered. “Have you ever seen a spirit or ghost or whatever?”

“Shamans do,” Scotch said. “Maybe there are spirits all over Equestria too, but we just don’t see them.” She stared back the way she came, listening to the distant trickle of the fountain.

“That’s dumb. You’re dumb. It’s a water monster. Simple as that. It’s got to be,” Charity muttered, shaking her head hard.

“Project Chimera came up with all kinds of freaks like that,” Precious quipped.

“Like you?” Skylord commented.

Precious growled narrowing her eyes, “Keep it up, turkey. I’ll have some roast chicken.”

“Will you two stop?” Scotch asked as her brow furrowed. She knew she was missing a piece. When she’d been in Carnico, near death, she’d seen those oily, black spirits. They’d been confused and lost. Unfocused. These spirits were different. Something had happened to them. Something that made them deny this place to the Blood Legion, and everyone else.

Skylord raised a wing. “Shut up!” he hissed. They fell silent, and from the shopping center, heard the sound of footfalls. Scotch saw red bars. “Looks like they’re looking for their missing soldiers. We need to move.”

“We can’t go that way,” Majina said in a low voice, pointing at the far building across the walkway.

“Why not?” Scotch asked.

“Take a look,” Pythia suggested. Scotch frowned, but walked to the far doors, expecting them locked. Instead, they pulled open easily, and her ear was immediately met with the splashing of water.

A lot of water.

She stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked a colossal bath house. The cavernous space was nearly the size of the block, with an immense rectangular pool that could have held a thousand bathers at once. Twenty smaller pools, large enough for a dozen, lay to either side of the main pool, with channels transporting the water in cascades from the smaller to the larger. Marble pillars rose to the ceiling overhead, where massive shutters covered glass skylights. Sunlight peeked through a tiny gap, reflected again and again off the polished glossy walls. A long marble finger stretched out across the middle of the pool, and from it cascaded a continuous sheet of water pouring down in a fan. Ivory white bridges crossed the main pool, providing a diving platform right into the middle of the volume of water.

“Oh,” Scotch said.

“We can just wait here,” Majina whispered. “They’ll get eaten too, right?”

Maybe, but Scotch suspected it would take time. The name Haimon roused the spirits. Unless these soldiers dropped it several times, they might not react. Not soon enough to save them. She stared at that water below her, its depths lost to shadow. “We need to go down there,” Scotch said.

“No. No we don’t. That’s crazy talking,” Charity hissed softly.

“Listen!” Scotch said. “We can’t stay here. If we go down there, maybe I can find out what happened to these spirits. Maybe they could help us escape.”

“Or we just sneak quietly through and hope they don’t notice us,” Pythia offered as she folded up her map.

“Even if we get out, Sanguinus’s army is right out…” Skylord began to say when there was a great wave. It rolled down the length of the pool, and when it reached the end, fountained up towards them like a great grasping hand. The six scampered back as the water washed over the balcony from three stories up, the wave receding and pulling the water back after it.

“See! See!” Charity insisted. “Water! Monster!”

“It’s the name. That name you used, Skylord. That and that name that starts with H. They’re the ones that did this,” Scotch said as she stared down at the water.

“You’re talking stupid again,” Charity said, her voice taut. “It’s just a dumb monster. That’s all it is. There’s dumb monsters and dumb people. Not ghosts and spirits and stupid crap like that.”

But Scotch shook her head. “We can get out this way. If you trust me.”

Pythia nodded. “We can if we all do.”

“Shut it. You’re just as crazy as she is. All zebras are crazy,” Charity hissed through her teeth. Finally she slumped. “Fine. Shot or drowned, dead is dead. What do we do?”

“Just follow,” Scotch replied, stepping out onto the balcony and slowly descending the stairs down to the pool side. This wasn’t a monster, per se. Like a monster. Capable of monstrous harm. But it wasn’t a monster that killed just to kill. As they walked, the surface of the pool roiled as if something was swimming along the bottom of the pool. Her friends froze, but she continued walking as if this were no big deal. The roiling settled, and they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“There’s the exit,” Majina said, pointing towards the glowing green glyph over the door. “We can get out and find somewhere safe to hide. One of the homes, maybe.”

But Scotch doubted they’d be safe for long. Sooner or later, they’d meet a similar fate. “Come on,” Pythia said, tugging on her shoulder as the others made for the exit.

Instead, she walked towards the pool.

“What are you doing?” Precious demanded.

“Something bad happened here,” Scotch said as she stared out at the water.

“You keep saying that! How’s about we try and avoid it happening again,” Charity snapped. “Now let’s go!”

“Scotch, we can’t stay here. It’s dangerous,” Majina agreed.

“Something bad happened here and I need to know what,” she said firmly. Pythia walked up beside her, her yellow eyes luminescent in the gloom.

“No. You don’t. Bad things happen all the time. You don’t need to know why. If you see them, they see you. Listen to your friend. It’s just a monster. A thing to get away from,” she whispered. “Please, don’t do this, Scotch.”

But Scotch couldn’t take her eyes on the water. “I need to know.”

“For the love of Celestia… who cares?!” Charity demanded.

“I care!” Scotch shouted as she rounded on the filly, making her balk. “I care, damn it. Because people matter and it sucks when people die and nobody cares! But even if no one else does, I want to know so that at least someone remembers!”

Then she saw all friends’ eyes go wide as they all backed away from her. She turned in time to see the wave rolling toward her and bunching up. She stepped forward, right on the edge of the water. She wasn’t going to run. She wasn’t. She… oh Goddesses if she was wrong… no! She wasn’t.

The wave suddenly faltered and diminished, shrinking down to a ripple that broke over the edge and lapped against her hooves. She stared out at the pool. “Skylord. Can you open up that shutter?” she asked, pointing up at the ceiling.

“Is this a bad time to mention that there’s people after us who want to kill us?” Charity pointed out. “You’re wasting time with the lighting?” The others all regarded her flatly and her ears lay back. “What? This is stupid.”

Skylord spread his wings and flew up towards the roof. He found a crank and started to turn it. The shutters opened far more silently then they should have, admitting more and more light. The delicate carvings in the marble facades came into view, depicting zebra families frolicking in the water. The pillars became stone trees, their branches buttresses holding up the ceiling. The clear water gleamed as sunlight hit it for the first time in years.

Illuminating the bodies.

The hundreds and hundreds of bodies.

They were mostly bones by now, covered in a whitish yellow wax discolored with brown splotches. As they lay there, the motions of the water translated into the slow movement of the bony limbs within. Some heads seemed to strain towards the surface, legs waving slowly in the mass. Rotten cloth swayed slowly to and fro. With no animals left in the city, nothing had disturbed the remains.

“First egg,” Skylord muttered. “There must be at least a thousand in there. Maybe more.”

Scotch stood at the edge of the pool, which had now gone completely flat, save for the ripple of water pouring in. Hundreds dead, just like what they’d planned at Rice River. Would it have become as cursed at this city? “What happened here?” she breathed.

“Whatever happened here, it’s too late to help these bastards,” Skylord muttered. “We should go. Right now.”

“Listen to him, Scotch. We have to go,” Pythia said.

But Scotch stared at those wax covered bodies, their jaws wide, silently screaming. “I need to know.”

“You’re talking like Blackjack now. Don’t talk like Blackjack,” Charity said, her voice uneasy. “Let’s just go. There’s no point to swimming with a ton of corpses.”

Majina was silent, fidgeting, chewing her lip. Precious just blinked, confused at all this. Scotch took a step towards the marble stairs that led down into the water. Then another. Then another, until she was right on the threshold. She could hear the shuffling cards. The dry laughter. The smug silence. She tugged off her saddlebags and dropped them beside the great pool.

Suddenly, hooves grabbed her around the neck, trying to tug her back. She turned, looking into Pythia’s terrified eyes. “No,” she whispered. “If you see them, they see you. If you acknowledge them, you’ll never get away. They’ll never let you go. They’ll take you. Just walk away. Please.”

Scotch gently disentangled herself from her legs. “I’ll be fine,” she murmured, “but they need help. I need to help them. And besides, maybe if you help spirits, they’ll help you.” Pythia looked at her as if she weren’t sure whether to cry, hug, or hit as Scotch stepped away.

She dipped one hoof into the cool, clear water. Then another. Then another. Something viscous brushed against her legs. She ignored it, sinking in up to her barrel. She could feel the water pulling her down to join them. To die with them.

She didn’t fight it. She took one last breath into her poor lungs and took the next step. Her head disappeared beneath the water.

Opening her eyes, she could see. She could see as clear as day the countless black shadows reaching for her, screaming their pain, their outrage, their loneliness. Like a black mob they surrounded her, pulling her down to the bones to join them forever.

Show me, she thought. Show me what they did to you. The world swirled away.

The colt’s head ached, his limbs bound as he lay beside the great pool. To his left and right were his neighbors, all bound tightly as he was, their heads dangling over the rim of the pool. He craned his neck to look at the legionnaire pinning him in place, and try as he might, he couldn’t struggle his way free. Behind him he could see more, bound, unarmed, guarded by legion soldiers. Half the city must have been here, though many were missing. Even stranger was a crowd of filthy outsiders, hobbled together just like citizens of Greengap.

On the bridge across the pool stood the victor. The stallion exuded power from every pore. He might have been handsome to some, with his powerful jaw and strong brow, but the hatchwork of scars covering him head to hoof gave him a garish, mutilated appearance. He wore no barding other than a scratched and dinged gold collar with the numeral three carved in the front. On his left stood his commanders, all looking quite pleased by this. On his right stood Haimon, a zebra wearing an elaborate wooden mask that appeared dipped in blood, and in the back an equine shape, face hidden in the shadow of the hood.

“Citizens of Greengap!” Sanguinus proclaimed, his deep, rich voice echoing off the marble walls confining the hundreds and hundreds of captives. “I thank you for your warm welcome to your fine city. It has been long deferred. Too long.” Someone started to shout defiantly, but the legionnaires reared up and beat him silent with their hooves. “I understand if my presence here is somewhat upsetting, but fear not. Your worries are at an end. I have come to bring justice.”

“Justice?” shouted another.

“Yes, justice!” he proclaimed, smiling ear to ear. “For generations the free cities have slept soundly while we, the Legion entrusted with your protection, are denied our due! You sat fat on arable land while others went hungry. You kept your families, while ours bled and died for yours. You arrogantly asserted your independence, while we kept the Irons from bringing their guns and reducing your city to rubble. You hid behind your walls, while we fought the Fire, who would have dragged you off to Roam for their fools crusade. You sneered at our entreatments, while we died against the Golds, who would have auctioned off the lot of you as slaves! Your debt is astounding, and it is time to collect.”

“Liar!”, “Murderer!”, “Beasts!” echoed in the chamber, some in the crowd struggling against their bonds. The legion beat down those spirited enough to object. Most sat, heads bowed, awaiting their fate. Sanguinus waited calmly with a beatific smile on his mutilated face.

“But one of you saw the folly of your ways. One of you knew where your loyalty was due. One of you sought to rectify this injustice.” He swept a hoof over at Haimon, who sat so still he more resembled the carvings on the wall than a zebra.

“Traitor!” came the cry. “Butcher!” and “Bastard!” They seemed to have no effect on the stallion.

“Tell me, Haimon. This is your city. This is your home. This is your people!” he declared, sweeping a hoof at the captured citizens. “Tell me, what punishment is fitting for such people? What is proper recompense?” Haimon said something, and Sanguinus cupped an ear. “What is that? I couldn’t hear. Do speak up for all to hear!”

Haimon’s throat worked for several seconds before he emitted a cry that echoed across the bathhouse, “Kill them!” More screams and sobs filled the air, yet Sanguinus purred and patted Haimon lightly on the shoulder.

“Very well then. As you wish,” he said with a chuckle. “But fear not, for with your deaths, your spirits shall consecrate this city to the Blood Legion. With every drop, I will make this city mine. For now and for the rest of eternity. Like ancient Roam, this city is mine!”

The masked stallion at Sanguinus’s right coughed. “Not too many, milord. Certainly. You will want some to serve and breed, yes?”

Sanguinus’s smile disappeared as he nailed the masked zebra with a glare. “As many as I wish.” Then he beamed a smile once more. “Or rather, as many as Haimon wishes! As he delivered this city on to me, as he has laid sentence on you all, let him decide how many are to die.” His grin faded. “Let us see his true conviction.”

A mare was brought forward, the mare from the train platform. She clutched a foal in her hooves, struggling to keep it a few seconds longer as she screamed. The wailing babe was pulled from her grasp by a legionnaire, and she was forced to the edge of the bridge crossing the pool. The cloaked zebra withdrew from its folds a strange knife. It was long, thin, sickle shaped, and black as volcanic glass, the grip wrapped in cloth. The masked stallion coughed. “Milord, are you certain of this? The spirits–” But he was silenced with another glare.

The knife was passed to Haimon, who bit down on the grip. Sanguinus just stood there, looking down at Haimon, his forelegs spread wide as if daring the stallion to attack him. Haimon turned away.

“No! Please! Don’t do this, beloved!” the mare screamed. But he leaned in, slipped the knife around her neck, and a moment later pulled it slowly and firmly across her throat. Her eyes bulged as blood poured from the wound and out her mouth, body trembling before the limbs went slack. Then she was released to dangle there, dripping into the pool.

Sanguinus broke into applause, and the cheers of the legionnaires drowned out the screams of shock and outrage. Haimon looked back at Sanguinus, blood dripping slowly from the razor edge, and Sanguinus just grinned, hooves wide. The legionnaire holding the screaming foal started to walk away from the bridge, but he spat out the handle, holding the knife in his hooves. “No! Bring her here!” The soldier looked to Sanguinus, who suddenly seemed surprised and nodded his assent.

“You want your daughter to see your conviction?” Sanguinus chuckled. “Good!”

Haimon bit down on the grip and held her in her hooves. She quieted down a little, burbling at him as her mother bled out beside him, sniffling and scrubbing her hooves.

Then he leaned in, as if to nuzzle her. It was just a motion. One quick jerk of his head. Then she was gently laid next to her mother to drain out the tiny bit of blood her body contained. Utter silence filled the chamber, and even Sanguinus stared in silent wonder at the bloodsmeared face of Haimon. He spat out the blade and called out, “Next!”

Another came to the bridge. Another throat cut. And another. Another. The bodies were kicked into the pool once they stopped dripping. Soon, they didn’t even bother trying to drain them, just flinging their flailing, dying bodies into the pool. Those that yelled and fought were taken first as Haimon worked like a machine, slicing throat after throat after throat. He spoke not a word beyond ‘next’. After an hour the commanders began to fidget, wrinkling their noses. After two, the air stunk of copper. Mare and stallion. Young and old. All were marched up to bloody Haimon. All were cut across the throat and fell into the pool. The masked zebra kept fidgeting as the wailing of the condemned lingered.

“Well?” Sanguinus demanded, smiling no longer at the host of zebras bobbing in that bloody pool, staring at Haimon. The masked stallion wrung his hooves as he looked at the pool of death, eyes wide, unable to tear them away. The cloaked quadruped moved away silently, unnoticed by all.

Haimon, his body lathered in sweat and blood, spat out the handle and said, “Next.” His red eyes locked with Sanguinus’s blue for several seconds before the general waved a hoof, and the slaughter continued.

The colt watched it as the sun dimmed. So many bodies filled the pool that one could have walked across with little difficulty. Somehow he’d been missed as the condemned filed by, the last most resigned to their fate, submitting to the glassy edge. Finally, only he remained.

“Next!” Haimon croaked.

“Enough! We’ve more than enough for the ritual. Ten times as much!” Sanguinus objected.

“Is this about a ritual or about justice?” Haimon cried out. “Next!”

“Milord, please. I think we should go. Quickly,” the masked zebra said.

“You said I would decide when justice was served! That I would say when it is finished,” he snapped, and pointed a maroon painted hoof at Andre. “Next,” he croaked.

“Brother!” Andre sobbed.

“Next.”

“Milord, please…” the masked stallion whined.

“Next!”

“General, it’s been seven hours,” one of the commanders muttered.

“Next!” Haimon shouted, his voice echoing across the bathhouse.

Sanguinus didn’t answer. He stared at Haimon with an almost loving gaze. “What’s one more?”

Andre was dragged up and Haimon held the struggling colt himself. “Why?” Andre sobbed as his head was stretched out over a sea of gore. “Why, brother? Why?”

The blade passed under Andre’s neck, rose up, and bit deep into his throat in a stinging line. Then Haimon released the grip and whispered, “I swear on my life and soul, I will kill Sanguinus and destroy all the legions.” Then the blade was pulled free, his brother giving him one more squeeze, before he was flung away, tumbling down, down, down into that endless dark sea of blood and death.

Over the next week, Sanguinus tried to claim the city for his own, but a soldier who slipped in a puddle smashed his head open, his blood trickling into the drains. A mare looting a home was found with her head stuck in the toilet, drowned. A commander drinking from a pool went mad, screaming and slicing himself with broken glass till he bled to death. And all the while, the masked shaman begged, cajoled, demanded, and desperately sought to placate the spirits. He even went back to that bloody bridge, over a pool full of bloated corpses, to demand their compliance. A tentacle of corpse water engulfed him, encapsulated him, and crushed him into bloody slurry. Even Sanguinus nearly broke his neck when a slip at the top of the stairs sent him tumbling to the bottom.

Eventually, Sanguinus left the city, glaring at the structures that refused his very presence. Haimon was the last to depart, leaving the city with a smile.

Scotch opened her eyes, but she was no longer in the bath house. She stood up to her barrel in a vast sea of warm, coppery red. Rain dripped down upon her, and her eyes lifted to behold countless forms dangling from hooks that descended from that vast darkness above. Zebras. Ponies. Griffons. Dragons. Shot. Stabbed. Sliced. Slain. Somewhere beat an enormous heart.

As she stared, she saw Pythia hanging there. Majina. Precious. Charity. Blackjack. Glory. Daddy.

She couldn’t look away. She saw it. It saw her.

The immense ocean suddenly shifted and from its depths rose an immense skeletal creature. It gave the impression of being equine, but it was hard to tell in the gloom. Pulsating vessels dangled from the enormous bones, a blackened heart beating regularly in its dripping rib cage.

Blood. A spirit of blood. Blood was life. Spilt blood was death. Before her was the embodiment of all those slain zebras. No. Every slain zebra. Every butchered pony. Every gunned-down griffon. Every beast hunted.

“What. Do. You. Want?” it asked, the question humming in her marrow and punctuated by the beating of her heart.

Scotch didn’t know what to say. She wanted so many things, and here was a being of power she could barely imagine. She had the impression she’d only get one answer, and unlike foalish stories of genies, she doubted wishing for more wishes was an option. She felt stupid. Small. Should she ask for her father back? For Blackjack? Her mother? Should she vow revenge? Apologize, so that someone at least did? Ask for answers? She stared up at it through that slow, heavy, crimson drizzle and said the only honest answer she could think of.

“I don’t know.”

It rumbled at it stared down at her with those empty eye sockets, and she knew that was a poor answer. Its massive mouth opened wide, to swallow her for all time. “I want to stop bad things from happening!” she shouted up at it. “I want to make the world better.”

The enormous skeleton froze as stared down at her. Then it closed its mouth. “Childish,” it rumbled, and she tensed. “Foolish,” it stated and she trembled. “Naive.” And so it was. She was childish, foolish, and naive. Pythia would certainly agree. Most adults would.

“So what?” she yelled up at it. “That doesn’t change the fact that I want the world a better place!”

It stilled again. “What. Do. You. Wish?”

“My friends and I are being hunted in your city. We need your help to escape.” Instantly the sea rumbled and she felt herself sinking into it. It crept up her neck, rising higher and higher. “Wait!”

“Selfish. We. Are. Not. Your. Slave,” the skull rumbled as it crept up her chin.

“We’re looking for the Eye of the World!” she screamed in near mindless fear.

The rising blood paused.

“The. Eye?” the spirit rumbled.

“Yes! We’re searching for the Eye of the World! We’re trying to find out if it was blinded or not!” she explained frantically. “Do you know?”

The enormous skull stared at her for a long moment, then let out a deep sigh and collapsed back. The ocean jiggled and receded, flowing away as those countless hooks lifted into the dark vault above her. “Wait? Do you? Tell me!” Scotch begged as the crimson fluid flowed away from her, disappearing into the hard, black ground.

All except for one glob. It stood there, a few feet from her, like a cherry red colt. “Andre?” she asked softly. It nodded its head once in reply. “I saw… I heard what he said.” Haimon killed his wife. He killed his brother. He killed his own child! “I just… do you think he meant it?”

Andre smiled, then melted away into the earth too.

Scotch’s eyes opened in the water, and she blinked several times before kicking her way to the surface. Breaking into air, she sucked in deep breaths and struggled to kick her way back to the steps, ignoring the firmer things her hooves came in contact with.

“You’re crazy. Certified lock-you-up crazy,” Charity murmured as she stared at her in shock. “Blackjack would be proud.” She didn’t smile as she said that.

“What happened? You went in and the water went all jiggly and the bones pulled you down and I was sure you were dead!” Majina gushed as she passed Scotch an old towel. Well, it was a bath house after all.

“I saw… things.” For a moment, it was all she could say. She glanced at Pythia, who seemed to find the skylights more interesting than her. “Stuff about Haimon. The Blood Legion. The Eye of the World.”

Charity snorted, “Yeah, yeah, that’s all great. Did you find out if the water monster is going to leave us alone?”

Pythia suddenly blinked and shouted, “Get behind cover!” as she ran for a nearby pillar. The others hesitated just a moment in confusion before they followed her example.

At that moment, the door to the walkway opened and a trio of soldiers burst in, rushing to the edge of the balcony. “Target Green sighted!” one bellowed, giving them an additional second to scramble for cover, not that there was much in the marble floor of the bath house. Bullets from above fired in regular bursts, keeping them pinned. On her E.F.S., one bar jiggled back and forth, and she imagined them running down the steps to flank them.

Skylord, still up near the rafters, broke the barrage by unloading on the pair still up on the balcony. The rest scattered in an instant. Precious was off, racing low to the ground towards the flanking legionnaire. “Target Purple!” the faux Blood Legion shouted as he leapt clear of her flaming blast, then rolled back up to his hooves and drew a carbine. Precious didn’t stop moving though, scrambling ahead of his shots as he panned after her.

Then a glowing towel wrapped around his head, tying itself firmly in place. He didn’t stop firing or turning, but scraped at the towel with a hoof. Precious sprang, leaping on him with a roar. Scotch didn’t watch to see what happened next, because the front door of the bathhouse exploded inward, and three more burst in, their guns chattering bullets in controlled bursts. One went towards Majina, then declared, “Ignore Target White. Take out Target Pink!” Two began to fire up at Skylord, who had to dive for cover, pressing tight against the wall. The third pointed his rifle straight at Scotch, who raced for the cover of the bathroom. They pursued.

Scotch simply ran all the way into the back of the bathroom, pressing herself against the stalls as the zebra stood by the sinks and carefully took aim. “Please! Don’t!” she screamed, but it didn’t matter. No banter. No begging.

Suddenly the faucets next to him erupted, spraying him with a thin jet of water that traced back and forth over his body. The tip of his rifle tumbled down to the tiles. Then the barrel, and his hoof. He gaped at it, mouth working silently till the receiver cut in two and his legs tumbled to the ground. A second later, jaw still working, his head tumbled off as well and his body finally collapsed. The water sucked the spraying blood into the drain as Scotch sat there, coughing as her chest protested the most recent abuse she’d put it through. From out in the pool came a roar and desperate screaming. A wave of water rolled into the bathroom, sweeping across the body all the way up to her hooves. Then it receded rather than drained. The dismembered corpse slid out with it, drawn on the red tide.

It was a minute before she got her breathing under control and stepped out. There were her friends, waterlogged but alive. Precious sat apart from this others, shaking. Skylord was the only one who’d escaped the deluge, his guns reeking of cordite. Charity was furiously drying herself, as if that would somehow keep the water at bay. Pythia just dripped in her freshly-saturated cloak. Majina stared in horror, not at the pool, but at the dragonfilly.

In the pool bobbed five bodies, like fragile dolls torn apart in a fit of childish rage. One with a towel wrapped around its head had its entrails snaking out. The others were missing bits of themselves. Then they were drawn to the bottom with the rest of the bones.

“Is everyone okay?” Scotch asked, then broke into another fit of coughing. Damp plus running wasn’t good. No one answered. “Is anyone shot?” Precious was all bloody and shaking.

“No,” Pythia muttered. “No one got shot.”

Scotch noticed Precious staring at the gutted zebra, her draconic pupils contracted to lines. “Precious, are you okay?” she asked as she walked to her, putting a hoof on her shoulder. “You’ve got blood all over…”

The dragon filly started, then turned to look up to Scotch. Blood smeared her face. She trembled, then threw her hooves around Scotch’s neck, sobbing. “I ate him! I ate him!” What was there to do but pat her back and give her time to let it all out?

They sat up on the roof of the keep, watching Sanguinus’s army slide past Greengap and head east. The surviving Shadow Legion had withdrawn in their strange, smokeless tractors, disappearing. No doubt they’d be back. She could almost pity Sanguinus on some level. So much effort to take this place. To make it his Roam, only to be denied by the spirits of those he’d killed. Yet it still raised questions about Haimon. Did he mean what he’d vowed? If he did, did that make him an enemy or something else?

Blackjack had been a good mare, but she’d activated a talisman that had flooded their home with poison gas. She’d been trying to stop a cannibalistic infection from claiming everyone, but had killed four hundred with the push of a button. Every pony that Scotch knew, went to school with, even considered friends, had been killed. Did that make Haimon the same as Blackjack? Did it make him worse? She was torn between horror and questions she didn’t want answered.

Majina seemed to be scribbling down notes of their adventures in a notebook while Charity was lecturing Skylord about just how much all the bullets he’d fired had cost. Only one of the sweet, new carbines had escaped the pool, and he had only a few dozen rounds of ammunition for it. They quibbled back and forth between using it and selling it.

Precious sat by herself. She hadn’t spoken since the pool, violently vomiting once she was away from the others. Scotch decided not to press her as she watched Sanguinus’s army filtering away to the east. Were they going to Rice River? Iron Town? Somewhere else she didn’t know about?

Pythia approached. “Hey.” A second later she added, “Yes, you need a teacher. No, it’s not going to be me. Yes, I am your friend. No, I can’t teach you. I wish I could, if only to make you stop. Yes, I know this is annoying but– No, I don’t know how– Yes, but–” she stammered.

Scotch leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. It had the desired effect. “Stop talking to me in futures and just talk to me.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have stopped,” Pythia murmured, flushing as she pulled her hood up. “I can’t teach you spirits. I’m afraid to even talk to you about what you saw.” She tapped her hooves together. “But I really am curious what you did.”

“Well, I talked to an enormous spirit of blood that seemed interested in the Eye of the World,” Scotch answered wryly.

Pythia groaned with a slump. “That’s just cruel,” she muttered.

“I know,” Scotch said, her smile fading. “I’m starting to get it though. The Eye of the World. It is the big deal you say it is.”

“So is whoever is hunting you. I don’t know why, but you’re wrapped up in this,” Pythia muttered. “Ugh, add it to our list of unanswered questions!”

Speaking of unanswered questions... Scotch smiled. “So…” she said with a grin, “do you like fillies?”

Pythia immediately pulled her cloak over her head. “Not talking anymore!”

“Oh, come on!” Scotch said with a smile.

“No. Never mind. I take back all those nice things I was thinking about you! You’re horrible and spirits hate you!” she protested from the depths of her cloak.

“So you think nice things about me?” Scotch teased, drawing a smile from Majina and cutting off the quibbling unicorn and griffon.

“No! I wasn’t. I was possessed when I said that,” she sniped, waving a hoof furiously at Scotch as she tried to keep her cloak covering her face. Even Precious gave a little smile at the sight. “Keep your dumb sex questions to yourself!”

The rest of them shared a laugh. It’s been a horrible day in a haunted city, but they were alive. They were safe. And who knew what would happen when they stopped at the next city?

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Author’s note: So yay. After a kidney stones and a month of fail, a little further along in their adventure. Next chapter will probably be a lot more world building. So thanks to Kkat for creating FoE in the first place. Huge, huge thanks to Bronode, Icy Shake, and Heartshine for helping my edit this into something decent. Thanks to everyone that’s read up to this point. And special thanks to my patreons who support me and keep me able to keep writing. This wouldn’t have been possible without their assistance. Thank you.

Editor’s note: Heartshine - I totally ship Precious and Skylord.

Editor’s note: Icy - I totally ship Charity and money.

Editor’s note: Bronode - All ships are trash, without exception.