Blood and Thunder Ch2: From Taos to Tributary

Chapter Two: From Taos to Tributary

 

As much as the troupe loved life on the Elkland trail, they never actually made it to Elkland, the capitol of Cervidas, not until much later. At the first opportunity, they made their way to Taos, the mountain village north of the trail, and found the rough-and-ready life there much more to their liking. Spread on the sage plains at the feet of a particularly stunning stretch of the serrated Sangre del Sol mountains (Blood of the Sun), Taos was a cluttered old settlement of a few thousand souls. A few miles west of the village, a runoff from the great Colterado River had cut a deep gorge into the earth, with the cold whitewater spilling through a chasm six hundred feet below the canyon rim. In addition to the beautiful landscape, the Apple’s found in Taos a sort of kinship that was both surprising and refreshing. All walks of life made Taos their home. A majority of the citizens were traveling fur trappers and mountain men, a rowdy group of individuals.

 

Many Buffalo Tribesmen were, in actuality, much more peaceful and open to trade than their Griffon counterparts. With their knowledge, Equestrians learned how to set traps for smaller mammals, on the condition that they offer up prayers for the animals killed. “The smaller creatures, the beaver, the squirrels, and their kin, they offer up their lives so that we may improve ours. We must not waste any part of the animal. We can make protective leather from the skins, warming clothes from the furs, powerful arrowheads from the bones. And so, we must always offer our gratitude.”

 

Braeburn was drawn to this strange fraternity of mountain men. He was entranced by their freedom, their competence, their otherworldly air and foreign ways of behavior. And he vowed to become one himself as soon as they would have him. That first winter in Taos, the Apple siblings were taken in by a trapper and explorer named Mathew Kinkead, who had been an old friend of their father’s back in New Saddle. From this seasoned frontiersman, they absorbed all the elements of mountain living. Staying in Kinkead’s cabin in the wintry months, sitting before the fire in the gray tang of fireplace smoke, they began to practice several Tribal dialects, working on being able to speak the language of both the friendly Buffalo tribes, as well as that of the typically hostile splinter groups, and the difficult tongue of the wild Griffon. They learned how to sew their own clothing, and how to fashion a good, tight bed of cornhusks draped in beaver fur blankets.

 

From 1822-1825, the Apple siblings temporarily went their separate ways. Applejack signed on as a cook for another Taos trapper who went by the name of Young, and had set up a store in Taos to outfit trapper expeditions. The twenty year old AJ was apparently a competent chef, but then again, these greasy mountain wayfarers, accustomed as they were to trail rations, were decidedly unpicky eaters. At the same time Big Mac had put his muscle to good use in the copper mines to the southwest, hoping to garner enough money to finance his younger brother and sister, in the event of hard times that he was sure were around the corner.

 

 

By the spring of 1824, Braeburn had become proficient enough in the Griffon language to sign on as a translator for a merchant caravan that was bound for Gryphus, a thousand mile journey round trip to the capital of the Griffon kingdom to the far north. The ancient capital, with its ornate cathedral, it’s beautiful stone aqueduct, and it’s guards in stately armor hewn from the profits of the Gryphus silver mines, was one of the largest and most dazzling cities Braeburn had ever visited, a far cry from the nomadic war bands of the west. The Gryff, as he found them to call themselves, were certainly a militaristic, warlike people. But they seemed so much more dignified, civilized, and advanced than the Griffons he had come to know. He wondered to himself just what could have caused such dissimilarity between the two cultures.

 

As fate would have it, in the spring of 1826, a unicorn business man by the name of Nether called on the three Apple siblings, reuniting them once more, and offering to have them join his party of some forty Taos fur men on a journey deep into unexplored territory. Braeburn, of course, was eager to accept.

 

“Come on, sis!” He pleaded to Applejack. “This will be our first real trapping job, a chance to put all those skills we’ve been practicing to practical use. And besides,” he said, a smile inching up his face, “I know you’re just itching for something more exciting than being a boring old cook, ain’t ya?”

 

”Oh fine. You win.” AJ said, with an insincere sigh, “I guess me and Big Mac could join ya on yer little ‘adventure’.” In truth, AJ and Macintosh were eager to explore once more. Their sense of wanderlust had been reignited after only a short time settled down.

 

“Now that’s what I like to hear! Quickly now, let’s get our things together and meet Mr. Nether. He wants to set out in just a few more days.” The smile on Braeburn’s face was infectious, and soon AJ and Big Mac were laughing along with him.

 

 “Prepare yourselves!” Shouted Nether on the morning of departure. “I want all Earth-p0nies to bring along their best firearms, all unicorns learned in the art of magical combat, and all Pegasi prepared for aerial reconnaissance and warfare!” he barked, with a knowledge of tactics far beyond what one would expect from a frontier trapper.

 

“But sir,” piqued up Braeburn “We’re just going near the Elklands, aren’t we? Surely there’s no need to arm ourselves in such a way?”  

 

“Well, that is true,” admitted Nether. “But this is no ordinary trip, my boy. Your first group voyage into the mountains is an especially ambitious and dangerous one, for in addition to the usual hardships—wild animals, Tribals, hypothermia, and the prospect of a killing thirst or starvation—this mission is also strictly illegal.” he said with a dangerous glint in his eye.

 

 

“Now, most trapping excursions venture into the unclaimed wilderness of the West, but I plan to drive my men into a little-explored tributary on the borders of the Deerfolk land of Cervidas. Normally, there would be no problem with trapping there” Said Nether. “Cervidas is, after all, no longer at war with the Equestrians. But this patch of land is supposedly brimming with resources, and just out of the Deerfolk’s legal reach. As such, the Deerfolk have been battling for control with the local Tribes, mostly the Griffons of this region. The Cervidas government has denied all trapping permits for that area, citing the land as being ‘too hazardous’ to permit entry for civilian trapping groups. More likely, they just don’t want any outsiders to take what they see as ‘rightfully theirs’. Well, I’d like to see them stop US!” Nether boasted, his chest swelling with pride.

 

“So, we’re just going to march right on in?” asked AJ, a hint of unease in her voice.

 

“Of course not! That would be foolish. To confuse the officials, I’m going to lead us north, into the mountains. Then we will double back and ride southwest before striking at the river and those sensual, sensual little tributaries. Simple! But it won’t be easy. That’s why I’ve asked for you three to join along. You’ve shown a lot of promise in these past few years. With Big Mac’s strength, AJ’s practicality and dependability, and Braeburn’s diplomatic skill, we should be set. Not to mention your combined experience as watchmen and trapping practice.” And with that, the conversation was closed, Nether returning to his cabin to ready the supplies.

 

“Sensual…tributaries?” puzzled Big Mac. “That just don’t add up.”

 

“Sure, he’s a little…eccentric. But his men really seem to trust him.” Braeburn said hastily.

 

“Heck, he’s kinda funny in a way” Added AJ, not wanting Big Mac to back out on something that meant so much to Braeburn.

 

“Well, ok. With you two by my side, I know there’s nothing we can’t climb. I’ll make sure of it. Let’s do this!” Big Mac enthusiastically agreed, momentarily breaking his usually stoic demeanor.

And so the Apple siblings joined Nether’s party, ready to set out once again for rich, uncharted lands.

 

They were aware that Nether commanded a group of trappers that had murdered natives in countless kill-or-be-killed scenarios, and that some of the more callous Earth p0nies in the group even made a practice of hammering brass tacks into the stocks of their rifles for every native dispatched. But they had no idea of the trapper parties’ greatest slaughter, a completely unwitting one: As the forerunners of P0ny civilization, creeping up the river valleys and across the mountain passes, the p0nies brought foreign disease, they brought strange guns and magics, whiskey and STD’s, they brought the puzzlement and desire, of money and gleaming jewels. And on their liquored breath, the p0nies whispered the coming of an unimaginable force, of a gathering shadow on the eastern horizon, gorging itself on the continent as it pressed steadily this way.

 

That spring, the burgeoning Apple’s worked along the tributaries with Nether’s party, moving into increasingly strange country that had never been properly mapped. One day, Nether’s camp on the Saltlick River was approached by Griffon tribes, sneaking steadily through the hills. Sensing hostility, Braeburn urged Nether’s men to conceal themselves. The three Apples approached Nether, whispering a plan to him under their breath. The trappers were concealed beneath their packsaddles and blankets, emboldening the Griffons to swoop down on what they viewed as “easy targets”.

 

Soon, the hills “were covered with Griffon raiders” as AJ would later recall. But when the attackers drew within range, Big Macintosh let loose a thundering cry of “DRAW!” the same time as Nether shouted “LET ‘EM RIP!” with a gleeful whinny. At the “Draw” mark, every Earth p0ny flung away their saddles, and took a bead on targets with their rifles. The unicorns, which made only about a fourth of their numbers, leapt forth at Nether’s cry. And let em rip they did. What they lacked in numbers they made up for in sheer power; numerous bolts of magical fury ripped into the Griffons, stunned by the sudden actions.

The Earth p0nies, armed with a random assortment of rifles, shotguns, and muskets, took advantage of the Griffons being momentarily taken aback. Volleys of grape-shot were pitched into the hides of the closest Griffons, while skilled sharp-shooters took aim at the tribal leaders with their rifles. Aiming his rifle, Braeburn drew a bead on an onrushing behemoth sized raider, shooting him straight through the nipple at which he had aimed—straight through to the heart within. Braeburn had killed his first Griffon, a great beast of a man, wearing the headdress of a leader. Within moments the Griffons were in complete disarray, and a call to retreat was sounded. “A moment’s all we needed to convince them to abandon their endeavors.” Big Macintosh would later be heard to say, allowing himself a small grin of pride upon reflecting on the quick action his family took to save the band.

 

After all of the chaos had subsided, and after all the other trappers had finished congratulating Braeburn on sensing the danger, and moved on to cheering the decisive tactics displayed by Big Mac and Nether, Braeburn approached the body of the fallen Griffon raider he had shot. Kneeling down over the body, he said a quick prayer to Celestia for the spirit of his slain enemy. Respectfully, he removed a single long, white feather from the Griffon’s plumage, placing it in his saddlebag so that he may never forget what happened on this day.

He was nineteen years old.