Chapter Forty Nine

Ghosts of the Past

The rain indeed did not relent in its attempts to wash away the cottage until early the next morning. Even now, at what was technically a new dawn, the darkness of night still lingered on, nurtured by the vast cover of clouds. A lightly falling mist mingled with swirling clouds of fog, and high above, lightning arced across clouds like pulsating, throbbing veins of light. Thunder boomed every now and then as well, but it was distant, a sign that most of the rain had fallen already and would likely cease within days.

Still, when Ebony Blade awoke early that morning, it was cold. If it hadn’t been for the many sheets, comforters and blankets covering his guests and him, any of them might have taken ill from the sheer dampness that seemed to hang in the air. Grumbling as he crawled out of bed, and feeling his pelt bristle in the chilly air, he pulled a large robe out of his closet and left his room. As he did so, Ebony noticed Bakhtak was still soundly sleeping on her pillows, the cold doing nothing for her. Then again, why would it? Her kind was able to withstand a great range of temperatures, whether hot or cold.

Wandering down the halls and coming into the common room, the weary stallion tossed in some logs and arranged some tinder and kindling, with a few sawdust-coated pinecones thrown in for good measure. Taking his flint and steel, he struck several times, and with a little patience had a few sparks land in the sawdust. Soon enough, after gently breathing on the tiny golden sparks, the batpony had a small flame going. As soon as the pinecones lit up, the rest of the kindling and tinder did as well, and within minutes, the fire itself was roaring. Feeling the heat seep into his bones through the enchanted grate he placed over the fireplace, Ebony then set off down the cellar steps to get some more firewood. The heat faded very quickly from him, especially in the cellar, but after grabbing and carrying up a few more loads, his body had warmed up considerably. Still, as he sat down in the great big armchair and stared out the window, he truly felt at home.

Too bad it was under a very odd set of circumstances. If not, he’d have likely sat there for hours, if not all day, rising only to stoke the fire. No; with his guests, it’d be best for him to make breakfast, or at least try to. He didn’t know what they wanted to eat though, and soon enough, he’d also have to go get them some fresh clothes from town.

“Hopefully some shops will be open,” Ebony muttered, staring at the flickering flames. “This sickness is making everyone act strange... or at least, stranger than normal. Who knows if Madam Kier is even open today?”

“Well, what do you expect?” a voice said over his shoulder, and with a small start, Ebony looked back and saw Bakhtak standing there, as calm as ever. “Ponies do as they like, be it rational or not.”

“Why must you do that?” he asked, wondering how she was so quiet. He hadn’t really heard her come in last night; only seen her.

“Do what?” she asked, which would have been an innocent question, save for the toothy grin she was sporting as she walked over by the fireplace.

“Be all sneaky like that,” the batpony replied, rubbing his temples in frustration. “You know I told you to stay in the room, or at least, the cellar. I don’t want that dragon waking up and setting fire to the countryside just because he got scared you were going to eat his family.”

“The cellar is dark, damp and cold, and right now, I wanted some warmth,” Bakhtak replied simply, both of them knowing fully that cold didn't bother her at all. “So... what are you doing?”

Seriously reconsidering my offer of hospitality... “I was going to go into town today and purchase my guests some clothes,” Ebony replied. “They came to me with the clothes on their backs and goodness knows they’ll need something to wear soon enough. I know what it’s like to go unwashed for days, and I can only imagine just how long they’ve gone without washing themselves.”

“Seems reasonable, though I sense you feel conflicted about such a gesture of goodwill,” the Nightmare said softly. “Why is that?”

“Because I don’t want to just leave them here, all by themselves, with suddenly only you for company. I’d at least like, if not prefer, to inform them of this decision before striking out for town, and make sure you’re out of sight for the time being. Who knows what trouble they could get themselves into if I don’t tell them personally?”

“Why not just leave them a note?”

“That’s useless; easily lost, can’t convey everything I’d want them to be aware of/not do, and it can’t answer any questions they might have,” the batpony said, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Besides, I should at least tell them where the wash basin is, and how to start the fire that heats it, and-,”

“Why can’t I tell them?” she asked simply.

Ebony just stared at her for a few moments. “Bakhtak... you know what I said last night? About not wanting to lose my house to some out-of-control dragon?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it still stands, and will stand for as long as they stay here,” he said. “Even if he doesn’t wake, I can’t put it on my conscience to know those mares could stumble upon you and potentially injure themselves, or worse, the foals they carry.”

“Ebony, do you really think so little of me that I would intentionally cause them such a fright? That I would intentionally cause them pain and suffering?” Bakhtak asked, a rather chilly tone entering her voice that had nothing to do with the chill outside. “Though I may look it, Ebony Blade, I am not a monster, any more than you are. Why must I be judged as so every time, without being able to defend myself at all?”

“Bakhtak, I-,”

“No, Ebony, there's something I've been holding in too long, and it's about damn time I said it. I am what I am, but that does not mean I am what everypony thinks we Nightmares are. Nightmares are an ancient, nigh-ageless race, batpony, almost on par with alicorns and dragons. We once freely walked this planet, alongside many other creatures like us. Over time, our ways were destroyed by your ancestors and the ancestors of other ponies, be they pegasus, earth pony or unicorn. My race has lost so much of its history that few, if any, of us remember our accomplishments of the deep past. All because we look like “monsters”, monsters your kind have always feared.”

The batpony remained silent as she continued on.

“Our kind developed medicines to treat bubonic plague when your ancestors still subsisted on fruit and insects and dwelt upside-down in caves. We had long used the wheel before you domesticated wolves into dogs. Nightmares were among the most cultured creatures to exist, and yet... because of our appearance, because of what we look like, we’ve been rejected, pursued, hunted to the ends of the earth. We are but a shadow of our former glory, all because ponies like you saw only what your eyes see, and not what the heart sees.”
What the heart sees? What did she mean like that?

“Only a few species of today know of our once proud heritage. The oldest of dragons, some of the alicorns, and most especially, the draconequui. Many of their most revered scholars know of our past, but what they know is all we know, and little by little, every remnant of it is washed away. Now tell me, Ebony Blade, do you think I hate pony kind for what is has driven my species to become? Scavengers, flesh-eating ghosts that inhabit the darkest corners of all civilizations; relics of a bygone era that even my own kind knows little about?”

The stallion was silent for what might have been an hour, or just a few minutes. The venom in her words... it was there, to be true, but it wasn’t the whole story. The flames that danced in the fireplace mirrored the flames that danced in his eyes when he spoke.

“No, Bakhtak, I do not think you hate pony kind. You feel cheated, shunned, hated, yes, and rightfully so, but what my ancestors did or did not do to your ancestors has no influence on how I treat you. I honestly could care less what they did, for I am not them, nor will I ever be them. Do I still share some of their fears? Of course. Do I let that control my actions whenever I am with you? Never.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked, her voice returning to its earlier, much softer tone, her temper obviously be wrestled back under control.

“Because even though you may think you look like a monster, I have gazed into your heart and seen the truth. Nightmares are not so different from ponies; we are all different in some way or another, and yet the same. You are no exception. You are compassionate, almost to a fault, and even though you make mistakes, as well all do at some point or another, I know you mean well by them. You genuinely care about duty, honor, oaths and friendships; you are steadfastly loyal and highly dependable.”

“I’m sensing a “yet” in there somewhere.”

“Yet for all your good qualities, there is something you lack, even with all your years of life on this world.”

“And what might that be?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“The ability to see what others see, be it inside and out,” the batpony said. “When you look at me, you see a creature so different from you, a creature whose ancestors at one point drove yours to near extinction. You see me as your kind has likely seen my kind for countless generations, and while you have never truly said it out loud, I feel you have felt that same prejudice against everypony you’ve ever met.”

Bakhtak remained silent.

“When I look at you, Bakhtak, I see a pony very much like myself, but different, yes. Not worse, not better; simply different. In fact, I think that Nightmares split off from the main branch of pony kind so very long ago, and although you may not think it, I think, in a way, you are still one of us. It is not within my power to apologize for the crimes done to your kind, but know this; I do not judge you on your appearance. I may be slightly scared of you from time to time, and worry that others may be, and worry about other such things, but that is because I know that ponies don’t like to sit down and talk with others before they decide to judge them. I myself have been a perpetrator of that many times, far too many times to count, but I assure you, with you... it’s different.”

“How so?”

“I... I honestly don’t know,” Ebony said softly, gazing into the fire as if it might hold the answers he sought. When the curling flames refused to reveal their secrets to him, he sighed; it seemed he wouldn’t be making his guests breakfast after all. “I’d best be going.”

“What?” the Nightmare replied. “Weren’t you going to wait to tell them everything they needed to know?”

“I’m entrusting you with that, if you wish,” the batpony said as he rose and fetched a traveling cloak from the coat rack.

“But, what about that whole “your appearance could hurt them” spiel?”

“I realize that you feel strongly about them and the situation that they have been placed in, as it likely mirrors the same on you've faced countless times. Even though you have yet to meet them, I am hoping you would be the one to decide whether or not they would meet you, regardless of whether I was present. It still rests upon you for that, Bakhtak. I should be back sometime around noon.”

With that, Ebony left her by the fireplace, his figure disappearing out the front door, which locked with a sharp click behind him.

Bakhtak, all alone by the fireplace, stared at the door where he had gone for several minutes. She felt... well, “odd” wasn’t the right kind of word to describe what was in her heart. Pride? Relief? Guilt? It was hard to say. Ebony had shown her a side of him that she hadn’t known existed. She had known him to be trustworthy and kind, but... sympathetic without being placating? Just without being pretentious? It was... incredible to her. Here she had thought she had him pegged for what he was, and yet it was like she hadn’t known him all.

She’d have to keep that in mind from now on. As she went over and lay in the same seat from which Ebony had departed, happily soaking in the latent heat he had left behind, she heard soft hoofsteps coming down the stairs. Inhaling deeply, the Nightmare sat silently in the seat, the scent of her visitor telling her exactly who they were.

“The zebra,” she whispered softly to herself as she politely crossed her legs.

“Hello?” a voice called out, and as if on cue, said zebra walked into the room, her travelling robe clenched tightly around her body.

“Come in, come in! Please, make yourself warm by the fire, my dear,” Bakhtak called out softly.

Asalah slowly approached the chair from behind, cautious of this newcomer. “Um... who are you? Where’s Mr. Blade?”

“He should return by around noon, he said,” was the reply. “He is out in town, fetching you some new clothing. He instructed me to tell you of the goings-on of this house, and to help you with anything you require.”

“But... who are you?” Asalah said as came around the side and saw... well, a demon wasn’t the first thing that came to mind. Fourth or fifth, maybe, but spirit-walker, skin-changer, and several others competed for first place, along with something else, something that tugged at the farthest recesses of her memory...

“I? I am the maid, Bakhtak,” the tall figure replied simply, with a light chuckle. “You must be cold, dear. Come, sit, warm yourself; no sense in you catching a cold.”

The zebra slowly walked over and sat down by the fire, her eyes never leaving the creature before her. “I didn’t know Mr. Blade had a maid.”

“He doesn't talk about me much,” Bakhtak replied with a shrug. “I’m not exactly a good conversation piece; "Oh, by the way, my maid is a Nightmare, so don’t be surprised if you see her around here," doesn't exactly come up all that often.”

“A Nightmare?” the zebra repeated, the pieces starting to fall into place for her. “You’re a Nightmare?”

“Well, yes, if my appearance wasn’t a dead giveaway. I am indeed what you ponies call a Nightmare.” Truth be told, as far as Bakhtak knew, her species had given themselves a name so long ago that none remembered it.

Asalah was silent for a moment. “Have... have you ever been to... been to Agrabah? Or at least, near that part of northern Africa?”

The towering figure touched her chin in thought. “Hmm... it has been some time since I was last near that part of Africa... do you have a time as to when?”

“Several years ago, perhaps close to fifteen?” the zebra asked. She had to know... had to know if this was... her.

“Hmm... yes, now that I think about it, I do remember being in Agrabah years ago. Why do you ask?”

“You... you don’t remember, do you?” Asalah said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “The sultan... the sultan there had a daughter, a daughter you befriended on a long caravan trip to visit one of her relatives.”

“Hmm...” Bakhtak said softly. “Yes, yes, now I remember. The cutest little filly, trying to be all dressed up like a grown-up, yet still scared of the desert’s noises at the time. Poor little filly, hardly able to sleep for fear of jackals and hyenas coming to snatch her away. I... I remember showing her the stars in the sky, and singing softly to her to help her sleep... How do you know these things?”

“Because... because that little filly was me, Bakhtak,” Asalah said with a small sniffle. “I... I knew I recognized you from somewhere, but... but I couldn’t be sure it was you, couldn’t be sure it really was... you.”

“Asalah?” the Nightmare asked, recognition filling her face as she stared at the mare across from her. “Little Asalah? Is... is that really you?”

“Yes, yes it’s me,” the zebra said, rushing forward and throwing her arms around the much taller mare. “I... I can’t believe I’ve found you, after... after all these years!”

Slowly, Bakhtak returned the hug. Of course... how could she have missed it before? She had a very long memory, and an excellent sense of smell. How could she have forgotten little Asalah, who smelled of incense and honey and lily? How could she forget of the little filly who had been her only friend in a very long time? The friend she had had to leave behind, promising one day to see her again?

It was breaking her gladdened heart to see her again. “Come now dear, now is not a sad time,” she whispered as she patted Asalah gently on the head. “Now be a dear and tell me all about what’s happened since we last saw each other.”

“Well... there’s a lot to tell,” the zebra said slowly, extricating herself from the Nightmare’s embrace to find a seat on the adjacent chair. She was so giddy at seeing her old friend once more, a friend many had told her had merely been a figment of her young imagination at the time. But she had known; she had known that “Bakky”, as she had called her, had been very real indeed. “So much... so much has happened in these past few months, never mind these last few years. I... I’m not sure where to start, to be honest.”

“Start wherever you like, Asalah. I have all the time in the world to hear of your adventures.”

Meanwhile...

With clouded skies above and the chilling wind biting at his travelling cloak, Ebony Blade sat atop his carriage alone. Down the long winding road to New Wingda he went, the only sound over the wind was the occasional creak of the carriage’s wheels. Within days, not only would everything have dried, but it would be sunny, warm, and everything would go back to normal.

Or at least, that is what the lone batpony hoped. Here he had thought his time with his guests was going to be an easy one. Already, somehow, he knew that was going to be so far from the truth. His... discussion with Bakhtak had awakened something in him. It was something he had refused to acknowledge, like a stubborn fool who refused medicine because he thought his hacking cough was nothing more than a result of the humidity. It was something buried deep, so deep that when it came to the surface, it almost blindsided him, nearly driving him to a screaming agony.

He was lonely. He, a mercenary, often surrounded by blood and death and all manner of ponies, was lonely. He knew many other mercenaries who had families; it was what drove them to be mercenaries in the first place. He... he was different. The loss of his family, rather than a need to feed and clothe them, had fully driven him into his line of work. Sure, he had been in the employ of others when his... when his family still lived, but it had just been a job to help make ends meet. Now... it was his life; it was what he thought about when he awoke, what was on his mind during the day, and on his lips when he fell asleep. He lived, breathed, and was the job.

He hated that. He despised that.

He didn’t want it to be his life, to be what he stood for, what he was. He wanted more, he wanted to be more than just some sellsword, some stallion for hire. He wanted what was taken from him, wanted the world and family he had lost.

Ebony wanted his life back.

But the world would not grant him this. It would not give him what he wanted, no matter how much he asked, or begged, or prayed for-,

“Mama, wait up!” a voice called out, soft and twinkling in the stiff breeze. His ears nearly ripping themselves off of his head in their mad dash to swivel towards the noise, Ebony turned to see a small figure run along the side of the road, her little wings flapping happily behind her. Her mane, long and dark, trailed behind her as she ran up to... up to...

“No,” Ebony whispered as he watched a mare bend down and scoop up the small figure into her arms. Her mane... her eyes... her smile... it couldn’t be her, and yet... yet it was her.

His wife, Lobelia.

Ebony shook his head, trying to dispel the image from his head. “No, no, get it together Ebony, she’s not there, she’s... they’re not real.” It would not be the first time he had thought he had seen his family, alive, when they were so clearly gone from this world. In the first year, he would still hear his wife’s singing, his daughter’s laugh, smell the biscuits they would bake together; it almost drove him to suicide. He had thought he was going mad, and as it turned out, leaving the house for extended periods of time, often months at a time, was the only thing that cured him of it.

When he looked again, the small figure had vanished, gone like a wisp of fog driven away by bright sunlight, and yet... his wife was still there, smiling as she watched him move along on his... their carriage. It had been a wedding gift from her parents, for travelling and for work, and Ebony had thanked them profusely for such a wonderful gift. Now... he kept it in as good of condition as he could, just to honor their memory, as they too had been taken by plague ten years before. That was why he’d always put it away in the shed, no matter the weather; as long as it was in tip-top shape, then their memories still resonated within his heart.

“Hello, my love,” not-yet-was-Lobelia said, and in that moment, Ebony thought his heart would give out from pain and shock. It... it had to be her. Her voice, it... it held within it the same vibrance and life it had when their daughter had been alive; before... before Calypso had passed away.

“You... you... you’re not...” Ebony stuttered as this... vision of his wife walked alongside him.

“I’m not what?” she asked, giggling slightly at the stupefied look on his face.

He felt as though he were dying from the inside, as if his soul had risen up in rebellion and was waging war on the vessel that carried it. This... this had to be a hallucination brought on by the stress of his newfound feelings of loneliness and confusion. Yes, that was it; there could be no other reason as to why... why his wife was... amazing, how she was still so beautiful, still so...

“Shush dear, let’s not talk about unpleasant things,” she said, her twinkling laugh all but erasing the doubt from his mind. Instead, a light fog filtered through, soothing his pain and worries like a blanket that brought warmth to a cold foal. “Tell me, how have you been? It has been a very long time since we spoke, my love.”

The batpony gulped, not sure how to tell his wife what was going on. “Where... where’s Calypso?” he asked. “She... she was just with you.”

“Oh, she’s off, playing in the sunflowers and chasing butterflies,” she said, casually moving some of her mane out of her face. “You know how she just loves the way they follow the sun’s passage through the sky.”

To Tartarus with logic; Ebony was going to ride out this hallucination for as long as he could. “Oh, okay,” he muttered, watching as his wife’s clothes barely moved in the brisk wind. “Are... are you okay?”

“Of course,” Lobelia replied. “Other than the storm last night giving Calypso and me a fright, we have never been better. Besides, how could we not be, with such a loving father and husband to care for us? Now, love, when were you going to tell me we had guests?”

“Guests?” he replied, nonplussed. "What... what guests?"

“Yes, Ebony, guests,” she replied. “Who are they? I would have had a hot meal ready for them last night if you had just sent a letter ahead to let me know. I do hope they have eaten well; our pantry is well stocked for such occasions.”

“I... I guess I forgot to tell you,” he said. “They... they’re some travelers put in my charge. I’m to take them far away from the reaches of Istanbul and... and the Ottomare Empire.”

“Ah, yes, our troublesome neighbors to the south. If they are indeed moving away from that dreadful empire, then all the better for them.” Lobelia tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Is that it?”

“Well, um, there’s the one called Eutropia. She’s a griffin, only a little older than Calypso would be-, I mean, is; quite a bit older, actually.”

“A griffin? I haven’t seen a griffin in ages,” she replied softly. “The others?”

“Two... two unicorn mares, named Trixie and... and Maria. The fourth, she... I’m not sure what she is, but they call her... call her a Changeling. The other one... she’s a zebra: Asalah is her name.”

Why was it so hard for him to talk? It was like the fog in his head was growing ever thicker...

“Is that it? Surely there are... more?” Lobelia asked, a distant look in her eyes. Her voice, even as she spoke, seemed to become quieter, lost in the wind.

“A... a dragon. The... the mares are his wives, his... his family. They call him... Spike. Spike Dragul, I think.”

“Spike Dragul, the dragon,” Lobelia asked, the world seemingly becoming darker with every step she took. “Most excellent.”

“W-What?” Ebony asked his world seemed to swirl around in his eyes, and soon enough, he felt very, very sleepy. “L-Lobelia? Please, don't... don't leave me! Not again, not...”

“Hush now, forget this happened. A dragon... most excellent,” was all he heard before his eyes closed and he slumped over in his carriage seat.

As the carriage continued onwards towards town, it’s sleeping driver still holding the reigns, Lobelia remained behind, her wings behind her back rustling with the buffeting wind. It would not be long before he awoke, remembering the incident as if it were nothing more than a dream. At the thought of what she knew, of the truth, she smiled, though her smile grew wider, and wider, and wider, far wider than any pony’s mouth had a right to grow.

“Most excellent,” she hissed, her pelt and mane changing as her voice took on a more feral tone. “Most excellent indeed, you lovesick fool.”

In a flurry of wings, she was gone, flying low over the fields like a great predatory bird. Her target was set: a distant cluster of trees, near a large house, a house she had gazed into late last night...

Meanwhile...

A pair of green eyes slowly opened as a particularly strong gust of wind lashed at the cottage. The rumbling around the building was nothing compared to the rumbling inside the dragon’s skull.

“Ugh, my aching head,” Spike mumbled, reaching up to wipe his eyes... only to find that it took him nearly three times the effort to do so as it normally might. He just felt... exhausted, as if he had been subject to hard labor for days on end. At least the bed was comfortable...

Wait a minute... a bed? How in the world had he gotten into such a comfy bed? The last thing he remember, he had been... he had been... just where was he now?

“This doesn’t look like the prison cell,” the dragon muttered as he slowly sat up, much to the protest of his body. He was rested, for sure, but he just ached. It was as if millions of tiny fists had pummeled his insides, from his bones to his muscles and even his organs. It even hurt to occasionally blink, never mind move his jaw to talk.

Groaning softly as he shifted himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed, he glanced around some more. There were several beds, all in various states of dishevelment. In one bed, there lay a covered-up figure, their head feathers just barely poking out from under the covers.

“I wonder who that it,” Spike muttered as he glanced at the other beds. There, two forms lay snuggled up against a third, and the horns on all three were unmistakable. “Trixie? Maria? Chrysalis?” he mumbled, his eyes glazing over for a few seconds as he stared at their slumbering forms.

They didn’t move; all were soundly asleep, and though he had no idea where he was or who was in that separate bed, Spike didn’t wish to wake them to ask. So, gently letting himself off of the bed and onto an unsteady pair of legs, he slowly began to walks towards the open door. He could feel the floor was cold beneath him, but the instant he was in the doorway, he could feel a light, rising heat coming from somewhere else in... wherever he was.

“Wait... where’s Asalah?” the dragon asked himself as he wandered down the hallway, taking in his surroundings as best he could. This looked nothing like any of the homes he had seen in Istanbul. For once, it wasn’t a dungeon, and two, it seemed so... rural. This house was obviously older than he was, to be sure, but it seemed very well-kept. It almost reminded him of any of the homes he had seen in Ponyville; rural yet sturdy and built to be a home, a sanctuary for family and friends.

He only hoped he’d have a home like this when he got back to Equestria. Living in a castle was nice and all, but if it wasn’t built right, then it wouldn’t feel like a home. It’d feel more like...

“Like a prison,” Spike muttered, shivering slightly at the memory. Spying a set of stairs, the dragon slowly clambered down the steps, feeling like he might stumble and tumble down them at any moment. His ears twitching unexpectedly, he listened intently; he could hear voices coming from another room in the house.

“Asalah?” he called out, his voice an octave above a whisper as he walked around. “Asalah?”

Creeping into the doorway to a room, he could see a roaring fireplace on a hearth, a tall figure in a chair facing away from him, and-

“Spike!” a voice shouted, and Spike had just enough time to blink before the black and white streak that was his wife collided with him, covering his face with kisses as they, thankfully, fell backwards onto a couch.

“Asalah, what... no... gerroffme, I just got-,” was all Spike managed to mumble out before Asalah’s kisses found his lips and silenced his words, their warmth and softness causing his words to die in his throat.

“Oh, Spike, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re all awake!” his wife squealed in-between kisses, her arms squeezing him with an unusual strength. Who knew she was so strong? “I was so worried about you! We all were! Wait... are the others awake?”

“No,” Spike said, breathing in deeply at the freeing of his face from her kisses. “They’re still asleep.”

“Ahem,” a voice said, causing Spike to look towards the figure in the chair. It... was that...

“Spike, stay calm,” Asalah said suddenly, her encompassing grip somehow tightening even more (Spike swore he heard his bones creak) as she followed his gaze towards the tall... creature. Seriously, like freakishly tall, taller than him by... a lot. “This is Bakhtak, an old friend of mine. Bakhtak, this is Spike... my husband.”

“Charmed,” the tall pony-like creature replied. What was with her body? Were... were those scars?

“Um,” Spike began as Asalah resumed nuzzling against him in joy at his awaking. “I think I’m going to need an update on everything that’s happened, and I mean everything.”

Meanwhile...

Ebony awoke with a snort, his sleep being disturbed by a jolt in his side. Looking down through groggy eyes, he saw a pair of mares, their faces peering up at him from underneath heavy robes. One was holding a walking stick like a fire poker. He was right outside of New Wingda, his magical carriage having stopped alongside the road on its own.

“Sir?” the one with the stick asked. “Are you all right?”

“I guess so,” the stallion replied, rubbing his eyes before looking at the mares. “Why’d you poke me?”

“We thought you were... deceased,” the other said simply. “Wouldn’t be the first time ponies had strolled into some town dead at the wheel of a carriage. Often a sign of ill omens to come, I’ll warrant.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m clearly not dead,” Ebony said, a bit of his usual dry humor filtering back into his voice. “Since we’ve already established that, mind telling me if any of the stores are open? I need to pick up some things.”

“Old Vlad’s apothecary is closed; roof partially collapsed last night from the rain and wind,” the mare with the stick said. “Thank goodness nopony was hurt, but there is some water damage inside, and it’ll be a while before he reopens.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Well, I was actually looking for a tailor. Do you know if Madam Kier is open?”

“She just opened up an hour ago,” the second mare said, pulling her cloak tighter against her. “She shouldn’t be too busy. Not many ponies outside these days, what with that sickness going around.”

“I bet it’s just some bug going around, nothing more than that,” Ebony said as he clambered down off the carriage. “Good day, ladies,” he added, giving a small bow before walking away, the hilt of his bastard sword glinting in the dim light of the day.

As he walked off, Ebony quietly surveyed the town. Much of the trash and refuse that accumulated along the city’s streets was piled high near some of the storm gutters, with several unhappy-looking ponies scraping it apart with pitchforks to let it flow freely into the drainage system beneath the city. Several buildings were indeed in need of some repair from the storm’s fury the night before, just like Old Vlad’s apothecary. As Ebony passed said building, he had the distinct impression that a giant had simply smashed his fist against the roof. Then again, many of the buildings within the city were more sheltered from the wind than his own, but also much older. Perhaps the fact that his home was more built into the side of a hill that just as a freestanding structure helped things out a bit. The ponies that were out and about traveled in pairs, though most seemed to be in groups of three or more. Some had started fires in some of the local bonfire pits, gathering around the mostly sheltered buildings to warm themselves between their daily routines; amazing that the wood they were using was even dry, after last night’s drencher.

The cloaked batpony passed several farmers with their carts, loads of rain-soaked wheat headed to some of the city’s inner barns where, thanks to a few unicorns and a very large furnace, the grain could be dried before being sent off to the mill. Wet grain spoiled terribly, often quickly as well, and without it, winters would often cause starvation amongst the poorer citizens of the city. Finally arriving at his destination, Ebony strolled in through the door. A small chime ringing as he entered, he spotted the earth pony Madam Kier almost immediately. Wizened, nearly toothless and wrinkled like a prune, she was still as quick as a whip and about as blunt as a rock when the situation called for it. She suffered no troublemakers in her store, hence why any young hooligans dared not enter it for fear of a swift caning, or worse, some of her tea. The batpony still didn’t know how she could brew the stuff so strong that the vapors alone could burn your eyelashes away.

“Ah, Ebony Blade, what a surprise,” the old mare said with a smile as she hobbled over to her large desk. “What can I do for you this fine day?”

Fine day? Had she even been outside? “I’m here to pick up some clothes,” he said. “A few... distant relatives showed up last night before the storm, and nothing I have fits them.”

Then again, when you managed to healthily live to her age without keeling over, every day was a fine day. “Then why not simply resize some of your older clothes? Surely your guests aren’t much larger than you are,” she said slowly.

“No, no, they’re my... most of them are relatives of a female persuasion,” Ebony whispered. “I don’t... I just don’t have anything that would suit them, okay? They lost some of their luggage on the way over and are in need of some new outfits.”

“Hmm, quite,” the old pony said, bustling off to fetch some robes. “Any idea as to their measurements?”

“They’re about the same height as me, if not a little shorter,” he replied, wondering just how much this was going to cost him. “In fact, can I buy several sets from several size ranges, and return the ones that don’t fit.”

“Sure thing dearie, but only if you stop by for some coffee,” Madam Kier said from the back. “You don’t visit like you used to, and I want to know what you’ve been up to since I last saw you.” She was one of the oldest mares in the countryside, and as such had helped to raise several generations of townsfolk, Ebony included. Everyone called her “Ma”, even though she and her long-deceased husband had never had any foals of their own.

“Sounds... good to me,” the batpony said, suppressing a groan.

Yes: this was definitely going to cost him.

Author's Notes:

Well now, Spike's finally awake! Huzzah!

Too bad three of his wives are pregnant, or there'd be copious amounts of group sex. Glorious, gratuitous sex.

Sadly, he can't have fun with Asalah either, since everyone is basically sleeping in the same room together. Man, for Eutropia, that'd be awkward as hell: Spike and Asalah getting it on in a bed not a few feet away.

Hey, anyone interested in being a potential proofreader for A Dragon's Journey? Now, I currently rely on Raiden Sparkle for my proofreading/editing of my chapters, but I was wondering: anyone else out there willing to give me feedback on chapters before I publish them? Not terribly in-depth stuff (unless you want to): just grammatical tidbits, ideas on how to improve/lengthen the chapter, development, etc. I just feel like it's unfair for me to put so much on Raiden when it comes to asking for them to proofread for me, as they already do so much, and I was hoping to help lighten their workload.

Just drop me a comment or PM if you wish to do so. I do warn you though: I can be a bit... unreasonable when it comes it comes to how rapid of a response I expect (less than a week, if not several days). Or at least, I'd like to think that's being somewhat reasonable, given how some of my previous proofreaders/editors have been for other stories of mine.