//------------------------------// // 1 - The Fool in the Crazy Eights // Story: Death Valley // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// Necromancy had a PR problem. Not without reason, of course. It was hard for it to not have a PR problem when its most prominent adherents took to evil more thoroughly than a duck did to water and had a nasty recurring issue with enslaving the souls of the dead. It was enough to give most ponies knee-jerk anxiety on hearing a word that began with necro-. Unfortunately, that anxiety meant necromancy’s less harmful uses were often neglected. Many arcanists avoided working with death at all, even for something as harmless as talking to the spirits of the deceased. That wasn’t even getting into more complex uses, such as resurrecting the recently dead. There were applications of necromancy that could do nothing but help ponies, enough applications to fill a spellbook or ten. Yet countless ponies refused to even think about them, simply because they involved the word “necromancy”. But if Celestia could abdicate, anything seemed possible. Three moons ago, Princess Twilight had started the Necromancy Corps, an initiative to study necromancy in-depth in contexts that wouldn’t make the average pony balk in fear, to rework necromancy’s image into something more palatable than four simultaneous zero-anesthesia root canals. Not only would its benefits be found, but such knowledge would make hostile necromancy easier to counter. And the unicorn heading the Corps, Amanita, was experienced, unrivaled, easily the most powerful necromancer in the history of the Royal Guard. The only necromancer in the history of the Royal Guard had stage fright. Her clothes were too tight even though they’d been fine when she’d put them on and she was going to break out into a sweat at any moment and she was short of breath and her mane was probably definitely absolutely so frizzy it looked so terrible and she still wasn’t that great with the memory-display spell and had she really memorized the path of her speech maybe she ought to skip the presentation today to go back home and- The short, slim, spectacled earth pony next to her jabbed her in the ribs. “Breathe, Amanita,” murmured Restricted Code. Easy for you to say, Amanita panic-grumbled to herself. Code had more years of experience in ritualism than Amanita had years of life. Code was Equestria’s High Ritualist, the top pony in the Royal Ritualist Commissioned Division. Code had had the ear of Celestia herself for over a decade and a half (a period that had ended when Celestia, not Code, had stepped down). Code was here in a fancy-schmancy dress uniform with a chest full of medals that wasn’t even all of them. Amanita, on the other hoof, had been with the Guard for barely three moons and didn’t have much experience with presenting like this. Her last actual job had been nearly half a decade ago and in retail, for Celestia’s sake! Small-town retail! Four moons ago, she’d been in jail! For necromancy! The very thing she was- Another, sharper jab. “Seriously, breathe,” said Code, almost disapprovingly. “You nearly destroyed a lich. You helped capture a spree killer.” “And this is totally different,” hissed Amanita. “I can’t just murder the audience when things go wrong and bring them back later!” (She wasn’t being facetious. That technique had served her well in the past. Multiple times.) “No, but I can help cover for you,” said Code. “And my help is more useful than murder.” She glanced at the clock. “And I believe that’s my cue.” Without further ado, she walked onstage, leaving Amanita with nopony to talk to and pawing at the ground. Both too slowly and too quickly, Code reached the lectern. She cleared her throat and spoke with well-worn confidence and no notes. “I’d like to thank you all for coming to this talk. I know necromancy is still feared, but…” As Code talked, Amanita peeped around the curtain and took another look at her audience. It was sparse, thanks to necromancy’s reputation, yet, with one exception, the few ponies present were some of the brightest minds in Equestria, the cutting edge of arcanics, the sorts of ponies laws of metaphysics were named after. That wasn’t even getting into Princess Frigging Twilight Sparkle, Starswirl the Frigging Bearded, and Celestia Frigging Herself What on Frigging Equus. Under normal circumstances, the only way any single one of these ponies wouldn’t be the smartest person in the room was if one of the others was also in the room. And they’d come to this conference so that she could teach them. Holy… On the cusp of adulthood, Amanita had lost somepony close to her. A lich had taken advantage of her grief and carefully, gleefully pointed her along the path of necromancy. Yet Amanita had eventually had an attack of conscience and backed out, turning herself in to the authorities. After a stint in prison (only two years — she was lucky), Amanita was the only pony in Equestria who knew necromancy in-depth and wouldn’t get thrown in jail for it the second a guard laid eyes on her. Technically speaking, Amanita wasn’t in the Necromancy Corps, she was the Necromancy Corps. Oh, sure, there were other ponies involved, but if Amanita decided to leave, the Corps simply couldn’t function. Which both made her incredibly important and the place where all the weight was laid. Everything about necromancy, the Guard came to her for. Counterspells, mostly. The worst part about it was the way most of Amanita’s work was so trivial. Yes, of course fresh eye jelly worked best, why did they even need to ask? Because they didn’t know where to start, mostly. When she was able, Amanita distracted herself by properly cataloging the necromantic artifacts the Crown had collected over the centuries. And since a surprisingly large chunk of her work had involved rewriting CONOP 8888, Equestria’s own anti-zombie-apocalypse plan, the Necromancy Corps had been temporarily dubbed the “Crazy Eights”. It had taken a little bit of doing to reassure her that it was affectionate rather than derogatory. After all, given the antics of Princess Twilight and her friends, crazy was the new hip. Once Amanita had straightened out existing data, she started poking her nose in what was uncharted territory, even for her. Between Code’s watchful eye and her own conscience, she stayed away from anything resembling zombie creation or enthrallment. Thanks to body donations, she even had a decent amount of cadavers to test with, once she’d needed to move up to actual ponies from rat corpses. She threw herself into her studies with the same fervor she’d once devoted to the sort of magic that gave you a bounty of six hundred thousand bits. Now, here she was, with a spell only she could have created, one that was undoubtedly necromantic yet also benign, sharing it with the world. It was just the sort of thing she wanted. Sadly, necromancers were not known for their speech-giving skills. Amanita took a step back, letting the curtain fall, and started pacing, forcing herself to not hyperventilate. She couldn’t do this. She could do this. She couldn’t do this. She could do this. She’d never done it before. There was a time when she’d never done necromancy before. And back and forth and back and forth, like her brain was playing tennis with her thoughts. It was probably just nerves, but her mind was very good at coming up with plausible-sounding reasons for why she ought to just go home and never leave again. Even though she was the whole reason this seminar was being held in the first place. Panic took up enough of her attention that she almost missed it when Code said, “…so without further ado, please welcome Amanita.” With a gulp, Amanita walked onstage, barely managing to hide her shakes. She was pale green all over, but that was just her normal coloration. The crowd stomped out slightly-more-than-polite applause as she reached the lectern, thanked Code for the introduction, and arranged her notes. She waved a hoof for them to quiet down, and they did (holy cannoli Celestia and Princess Twilight did what she said). She glanced up at the back corner. Bitterroot was up there, for whatever reason. She gave Amanita a reassuring smile and a small wave, which at least made her panic slightly less. She made sure her stance was right, looked at the audience in general, failed to ignore how small she felt, and cleared her throat. “Psychometry,” Amanita said. Almost immediately, her mind blanked and she had to take a quick look at her notecards. Her tail twitched in embarrassment (thankfully, her cheeks weren’t burning — yet) and she looked back up. “Seeing the past of an object and… noteworthy events in its history. Hypothetically, one of- a very… versatile branch of magic. However, most attempts at spells for- at psychometric spells have been impractical at best, assuming they even work to begin with. The data- Information received from them is- hazy, very hazy, and the power requirements are steep, and the spells themselves are too complicated to justify their use.” No response from the audience except forward-turned ears. Good sign. Amanita swallowed and held her head higher. “The- main issue with psychometry,” she continued, remembering not to glance at her notecards too often, “is that objects can’t really remember things, and when they do, it’s, it’s in ways that render psychometry redundant, such as physical notches in a sword. But bodies can remember things, and in non-physical ways. The more- impactful the event, the stronger the memory. If you get burned, you’ll automatically flinch away from fire.” (A few ponies in the audience nodded.) “And death is one of the most impactful events possible in life. After all, you can only die once.” She grinned, hoping it didn’t look too nervous. “U-usually.” The crowd giggled. Emboldened, Amanita found herself speaking slightly louder. “With that in mind, we have created a spell that can, when properly applied, show the moment of a person’s death, so long as we have the body. Unlike many aspects of necromancy, it does not interact with the person’s soul in any way. It’s no different from looking at a photograph. We call it Tempus Mortis. If you’ll open up your packets, there are spell instructions inside.” The room echoed with the rustling of paper as a dozen pages were turned at once. Before she launched into her explanations, Amanita allowed herself a grin and risked a thought of, This is going well. Astonishingly, fate withstood the temptation and this continued to go well. Amanita didn’t stumble over her words or forget anything as she spoke. The crowd seemed to be following along as she laid out each step of Tempus Mortis. She didn’t miss the lost looks or disgusted cringes when she got to the parts related to necromancy, but that was to be expected. After all, she was the Guard’s first necromancer; foal’s play to her was brand-new and/or alien to everypony else. When she reached the end, her heart was almost beating at a normal rate. “…giving you the sensation of being there at the instant the individual dies,” Amanita finished. The audience had shuffled a little as she’d spoken, ponies that had been sitting apart now close together so they could point at their papers and whisper to each other. She couldn’t make out the words, but at least the tones were invested. “Now, showing you’s better than telling you-” Surprise rippled through the audience; Amanita was sure she felt the wind as Celestia’s wings twitched slightly open. She raised her hoof for silence. “Showing you’s better than telling you,” she said with a slightly raised voice, “and we have the body of a guard here, Sergeant Major Chainmail. With the permission of his descendants, we can show you just how he died. So if you’re, uh, not interested in seeing a dead body, move over there.” Amanita pointed to the right side of the room. “We’ll be putting up a sheet to block the view for anyone who doesn’t want to see it.” Someone stuck a hoof up. “Will it also block the view of the casting?” “Yes.” Everypony in the audience went over to the left side of the room. Amanita and Code glanced at each other. “No sheet it is, then,” said Code. She trotted offstage and quickly returned, wheeling up a gurney with the body of a ten-years-plus-dead pony on it, a unicorn stallion who wasn’t much more than bones and teeth and skin anymore. Some members of the audience grimaced slightly, but not much else. Code placed the gurney in the middle of the stage and stepped aside. As Amanita approached the desiccated corpse, her guts loosened. Finally, something she was used to. First, she placed a hoof on the body. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be necessary in later versions of the spell, but for now, she needed a connection to the body, and a physical one would have to do. Next, she gathered and shaped her magic. It wasn’t too complex, but the edges of it, the parts related to death, would make most ponies flinch away, by reflex if nothing else, the same way one flinches away from plunging their hoof into a corpse’s intestines. Most of the spell’s difficulty came from the caster needing a strong enough will to perform it while still keeping their lunch down, rather than any technical complexity or power requirements. But Amanita was a necromancer, capable of playing with rotting intestines with one hoof while eating spaghetti with the other; those energies were like old acquaintances to her and she worked them with thoughtless ease. And, finally, the incantation. As she let the magic flow, Amanita intoned, “Meminerim mortem.” Technically, the words didn’t actually do anything, but the focus required for them gave Amanita that last little psychosomatic kick for the spell to work. And what a kick it was. Right where Amanita’s hoof was touching the body, chronology and physicality unraveled. Her existence was gone in what would’ve been an instant if time meant anything. Space ceased, leaving behind only ideas, concepts, and moments. Thanks to the spell, the most potent of those moments was the last thing Chainmail ever did. Amanita immersed herself. Even before she saw anything, words and sounds rippled from the void, slightly echoic. A stallion’s voice, the scratching of claws, screams. “Don’t you touch them, you overgrown housecat! Get over here!” A bellow of rage, a wet slice, a crunch- History slammed into being around her, a moment locked in time. Nothing was moving; Tempus Mortis captured the second the pony died, not an instant before or after. Everything was slightly musty, like experienced through a thin film, and limited in color, like an old photograph. Amanita was in a bar that was old even in its own time. A hole had been smashed through one of the walls, the bloodthirsty manticore responsible in the middle of the room. Glass shards, broken tables, shattered chairs, and jagged splinters coated the floor and hung in the air. And there was Chainmail, a unicorn in the prime of life, thrusting forward with a spear, stabbing the manticore right in the eye. His face was frozen in a roar even as the manticore’s stinger caved in his chest. Even without the blunt force trauma, he wouldn’t have survived the poison, but he went down swinging. Or stabbing. Amanita didn’t have much in the way of a body, but she could move. She “walked” around to the other side of the manticore and saw the spear exiting the back of the manticore’s head, something Chainmail couldn’t have seen. She looked over the bartop; a unicorn and an earth pony were huddled beneath it, the unicorn desperately putting up a flimsy shield to protect the two of them. Maybe Chainmail knew they were there, maybe he didn’t. Either way, time knew. Amanita spent another few minutes wandering around the building, making sure to get a good look at the details. She saw regular ponies fleeing the scene and guards running in to attack the manticore, portraits on the walls, even the threading of screws if she looked hard enough. But she couldn’t go far from Chainmail; space vanished if she tried and she simply couldn’t move any further. The bar was where Chainmail had died, not whatever stores lay outside (although Amanita could see the trail of destruction the manticore had wrought in getting to the bar — its presence was an important part of his death, after all). Once she’d seen enough, Amanita removed herself from the past. The last syllable of the original incantation was still hanging in the air when she fell back into being. Her head was spinning like she’d stood up too fast, but a few blinks put that to rest. She turned to the audience. “And that’s it,” she said. “The spell still follows the Law of Liminality, so no outside time will have passed. However, since you still experienced it, it can be shown with the right spells. If you’ll just give me a moment, I can do exactly that.” And now came the tricky part. Amanita was a necromancer, not an illusionist. And this spell, able to play back what she’d seen and heard, was an illusion spell. She’d done her best to learn it, but the finer details always escaped her — details that were necessary for the spell to function. Most of the time, it simply didn’t work for her, and when it did, it was more of an “I guess?” sort of working rather than a “Got it!” sort. But it was necessary to properly display the spell for others, and she only had to make it work once. Amanita lowered her head and pushed magic through her horn, but when she tried shaping it, she only got sparks. Tried again, more sparks. The design kept wiggling from her grasp, like a wet, water-filled balloon. She tried one more time; still more sparks. And absolutely everypony in the room was waiting on her. “Um, sorry,” mumbled Amanita. Then she remembered where she was and raised her voice. “Sorry,” she said more clearly, “but, um, nobody’s dead, so I, I’m having trouble with this.” She blinked and quickly turned away as the assembled archmages chuckled softly at her ineptitude and her face turned beet red. She clenched her teeth and scrunched her eyes shut and focused and- She heard Chainmail’s voice again as the spell thankfully bubbled out of her. She breathed deeply, keeping the magic flowing, and risked a glance upward. The image, a record of what she’d experienced, was a bit fuzzy, but still perfectly “legible”. The scratching of nearly a dozen pens and pencils rippled through the room, nearly disrupting Amanita’s control. But she held on and the memory played out fairly clearly. Once she dropped the spell, Amanita breathed a few times to stop her head from spinning, then returned her attention to the audience. Thankfully, the worst was over. “If you check the records of the Guard, you’ll see that Chainmail died in Stirrup Gap in 991, when…” From there, it was smooth sailing, even if her mind kept glancing back. Amanita explained Chainmail’s death, went through possible applications, and was wrapping up her talk before she knew it. “…thereby providing a safe, simple, and non-invasive way to investigate death.” And that was it. Her speech was over. All that was left was the Q&A, where at least it wouldn’t be surprising if she screwed up. Her heart actually went a-flutter. “Now, are there any questions that don’t come from the princess?” (Princess Twilight’s hoof was already up on pure reflex.) Most hooves in the audience went up as Princess Twilight pouted (and kept her hoof up). And Amanita suddenly felt ready to panic. What did she do here? Just pick a pony and let the others sit? Which one was the best one to pick? Starswirl’s hoof was up; did she go for the famous pony and risk alienating the others? Or should she- Before she could overthink anything, she forced herself to point out at random. Then she moved her hoof so she was actually pointing at a pony. “Um, you, in the corner.” An older pegasus stood up. “I’ve been looking through all your write-ups,” he said, “but I don’t see any ritual instructions for the spell. Doesn’t it follow the Holstein equivalence principle?” “We, we’re pretty sure it does, yes,” said Amanita. “It’s just, we’re, uh, still trying to figure out what does what-” Her blanch was hidden by her already-pale coloration. That was a terrible way to explain it to any scientist, much less one who was probably one of the foremost ritualistic minds in Equestria; yet, put on the spot like that, she couldn’t come up with any better way to put it. She tried thinking, but her mouth locked up. Code glanced at her for half an instant and was immediately talking to head off the silence. “You have to understand,” she said, “given the lack of research into necromancy before now, we’re still learning which ingredients have any meaning in this context and what that meaning is. We have no reason to assume this spell cannot be adapted into a tribe-independent ritual, but the setup of that ritual, and most necromantic rituals in general, is still very much uncharted territory.” That seemed to satisfy the pegasus; he nodded and went back to taking notes. Amanita mouthed, Thank you, at Code, who gave a small nod back. Could’ve gone better. Could’ve gone worse. And the extent to which it could’ve gone better was smaller than the extent to which it could’ve gone worse. Which was… something. And something was better than nothing, so Amanita continued. “You, with the bow tie.” Thankfully, her phrasing improved as she answered more and more questions and Code barely needed to intervene again. The questions were all easy, to boot, even if the sound of everypony taking notes was surprisingly loud. By the time Amanita picked Starswirl (!) for the next question, she was practically confident. “I was looking at line…” Starswirl traced a hoof down his paper. “…9-” (Amanita quickly pulled up that line in her memory.) “-where you draw out the impression of death using Rachis’s Recall Rigmarole, only to cut out all but the beginning and end by setting the memory factor to infinity and sending its related fractions to zero-” “It has to do with the nature of death,” said Amanita. “As I mentioned before, death is one of the most impactful events in a person’s life, so naturally-” Starswirl interrupted her with a huff. “Well, yes, I understand that, but I’m speaking of measurements. There’s no proofs, no lemmas… How did you derive that?” Amanita’s blood ran cold. She swallowed and forced herself to say, “E-experience.” “…Ah.” Silence fell on the room like a wet blanket as Starswirl slowly sat back down, looking every which way but Amanita. Even the scratches of pens had stopped. Amanita glanced at Code, who still wore a neutral expression but had folded her ears back and was pawing at the ground, apparently unconsciously. Amanita felt like her hooves were still stained with blood and her horn was still stained with worse. Necromancer. Amanita wasn’t sure whether Princess Twilight put her hoof up again to break the silence or whether she was just clueless, but she was grateful either way. “Erm, yes, P-Princess?” “This spell was made to analyze death-” (She was talking fast. Definitely to break the silence.) “-but could it be used to analyze other physical events? Not as-is, obviously, you’d need to make a lot of changes…” In spite of that bump in the road making everypony just a little bit quieter, the rest of the session managed to go off relatively hitch-free and Amanita soon realized she was walking offstage and ponies in the audience were milling about and the seminar was over. Her heart wasn’t even pumping that hard. Well, there it was. Equestria’s first seminar on necromancy. If you ignored Amanita’s screwup with the memory-projection spell (which she had a hard time doing, admittedly), it had actually gone pretty well. But of course it would, everything else she’d done was so basic. Necromantically speaking, anyway. …Huh. Basic. That was… not that far from the truth, really. So if they all learned- “Good job, Amanita,” said Code. “You did excellently.” Amanita nodded. “Thanks.” “You don’t need to hang around if you don’t want to. I’ll see to it that Chainmail-” Code jerked her head back a little. “-gets reinterred myself.” “Thanks. Again. So, uh, see you in the lab tomorrow?” “In the lab tomorrow.” Code nodded to Amanita and trotted off. Code leaving was almost like a signal to Amanita: the boss left, so you can, too. Irrational, she knew, but that was the way it felt. Some of her stuff was spread out across a front-row seat in a bad corner nopony would want, in case she’d needed it quickly, and soon she was packing it up piece by piece. For the moment, all she wanted was to get home. Then her ears pricked up as she heard somepony approaching her. “…more complicated than that,” Celestia was saying. “I know, but that’s all I can think of!” protested Princess Twilight. “Nothing else fits!” Amanita’s joints locked up, all the way up and down her spine. The Princess and the Prime Mover. Separately, she could probably handle either one, but both? Being in a conversation with the two most important ponies in Equestria was… It was genuinely uncomp- “Excuse us. Amanita?” asked Celestia. “Do you have a moment?” “Um.” Amanita swallowed and lifted her head. “Yeah.” She turned around to look Celestia in the eye, only remembering at the last second she needed to also look up for that. Celestia was big. “What, what do you need?” Please don’t be too complicated, please don’t be too complicated… Princess Twilight began, “In all the…” She made a vague circular gesture. “…ritual foods you eat, it’s always rye bread. How come? The only thing I could come up with is that a lot of rye breads are black, and…” She nickered in a sort of disgusted amusement. Not too complicated. Although you’d think Princess Twilight Sparkle would know better. “Well… yeah, that’s the reason. Rye bread is black. That’s it.” Princess Twilight and Celestia exchanged looks. “That’s really it?” Princess Twilight asked. “The… color.” She sounded more disappointed than if Starswirl’s greatest written works were rendered illegible by water damage. “Pretty much.” “That seems a bit simplistic,” said Celestia. “Tell that to funeral mourners,” Amanita said. For a moment, she managed to not feel mortified talking back to somepony who moved the sun itself holy crow that was a terrible idea dangit dangit dangit what on Equus was she DOING. Talking sense, evidently, since Celestia’s response was to frown, then nod and say, “I see.” (Although based on her tone, that might’ve been a lie.) Trying to ignore her stomach’s trapeze act, Amanita continued, “Symbols are usually symbols because they’re simplistic. It’s this… big idea packaged into a small space. And when something as simple as color can put you closer to your goal, you’ll tweak the color.” “Huh,” said Princess Twilight. Her frown was far less regal than Celestia’s. “I was expecting something… more.” Amanita shrugged. “That’s, that’s the way it is.” She dropped a half-eaten granola bar into her bag, clipped it shut, and slung it over her shoulder. “Actually, wait another minute,” Princess Twilight said quickly. “I saw your resurrection and enthrallment rituals — and no offense, but they’re really creepy — and once I… actually worked the numbers out, I found that the enthrallment ritual actually uses more energy than resurrecting somepony.” Celestia looked down at Princess Twilight and flicked her tail. “It does?” “I know!” said Princess Twilight. “And resurrection even took less and less energy the longer it went on, where enthrallment took more! It doesn’t make any sense!” “Yes, it does,” said Amanita, tilting her head. Did the two alicorns not get this? “Compared to enthrallment, all resurrection is is healing the body. By the time you put the soul back in, the last bit of magic that restarts the heart is so trivial the universe practically wants it to happen already.” Judging by the looks on their faces, no, the two alicorns didn’t get this. Amanita took a quick breath. “Okay, so… it’s like this. In both enthrallment and resurrection, you start by doing a katabasis, right? Going to the underworld to retrieve a pony’s soul.” “Is it really the underworld?” Princess Twilight muttered. “Elysium and Tartarus aren’t really-” She stopped when Celestia nudged her with a wing and motioned for Amanita to continue. “And it’s the same thing in both, so they take the same amount of power. But, but in resurrection, you’re healing the body, and bodies heal themselves anyway. Holding healing spells together takes a lot of… dexterity, but not a lot of energy. The universe wants to do what you’re doing, you’re just making it easier.” Amanita’s words were picking up speed as she talked and she started gesturing. “Enthrallment, though, it’s subverting a pony’s will to follow your own, and… Well, wills don’t want to be controlled, that’s kinda the whole point of a will. So even though the enthrallment spell is simpler than healing on a… structural level, you need to fight the universe every step of the way and dump in thaum after thaum to get the pony’s mind secured. And you need to make it last so your thrall doesn’t get their mind back and… do something you don’t want them to do. It’s like… healing is playing an instrument, enthrallment is pulling a train car. The first one doesn’t need you to be as strong, but that doesn’t mean it’s easier.” Her ears twitched. “Does… that help?” she asked quietly, looking between Princess Twilight and Celestia. Princess Twilight’s brow furrowed for a moment, then she smiled. “Actually, yes! Quite a lot!” “Indeed,” said Celestia. She flicked her tail and lowered her head in a bow. “We apologize for taking up your time, and thank you for your service.” Out of some crossed wire of reflex, Amanita said, “You, too.” Yet before she could feel silly about that, Princess Twilight and Celestia were already leaving, deep in conversation. Come to think of it, from what she knew of them, they probably did consider ruling Equestria a ser- “Oh! You’re still here.” An auburn pegasus sidestepped in front of her, interest written all over her face. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” “Well… not really, n-no,” Amanita heard herself say. “I was- just leaving.” “Well, I can walk and talk,” said the pegasus brightly. “I was wondering why exactly fire destroys thralls so thoroughly, and you’re sort of the only pony who knows that sort of thing.” Amanita swallowed. She wanted to go home, but this was such a simple question. She hitched her bag over her shoulders and made for the door. “Fire burns,” she said to the following pegasus. Honestly, that was, like, Metaphysics 101. “Enthrallment needs the body and soul to match up, and fire changes things on a metaphysical level.” She pushed open the door and kept walking. “If you burn wood, it’s not wood anymore, it’s ash. So, with-” “But what about rot?” somepony asked. Amanita twitched and spun around; she’d blundered into the crowd of scientists gathered outside the room in their own conversations with each other. And once they’d heard her, they’d all started gathering around her. “Rot changes things as well, why doesn’t it have as much of an effect on thralls?” Grinning nervously, Amanita reluctantly continued her explanation. “Well…” Bitterroot leaned against the outside wall of Canterlot University, crisp air turning her breath into steam. The cold bit at her exposed neck with shark teeth, but she ignored it (and the fact that she still needed to buy a scarf). Amanita had seemed a bit nervous during the seminar, which, okay, she was an adult, but she could probably use a friendly face as a pick-me-up. Otherwise, Bitterroot would be homeward bound by now. And she was half-considering doing it anyway. The seminar had ended like thirty minutes ago; what was taking Amanita so long? Something that’d leave her really wanting to get away from it, probably. So Bitterroot waited. She was a bounty hunter, she was used to waiting. She heard some voices ripple through the doorway and stood up, flexing her wings. It wasn’t long before Amanita stumbled out the door, thronged by a gaggle of scientists so tightly Bitterroot was surprised she was able to stand up. Yeah, that would explain things. “-it’s, it’s more complicated than that!” Amanita was protesting. “Ponies don’t just end at death, there’s more- Look, can you let me-” “But for all practical purposes, that’s true, isn’t it?” “I mean, most of the time, yeah, but in some cases- I really just want to get-” “What sorts of cases?” Bitterroot waited for a moment, but the crowd wasn’t leaving Amanita alone. Whenever she pressed forward to escape the crush, it simply relocated so she remained at its center. As her voice grew louder and angrier, the crowd just got louder and more persistent. No way she was getting out of that on her own. She’d practically need divine intervention. But with no gods around, Bitterroot was the next best thing, so she raked her mind for the best course of action. After a moment, she settled on sounding loud and acting official. She half-roughly shoved one of the outside professors aside, yelling, “Amanita! Amanita, we need you!” Success! The crowd immediately parted like a shoal of fish, finally giving Amanita some breathing room. Before anypony could say a thing, Bitterroot marched up to her and yelled, “We’ve been waiting for you! You’re gonna be late!” Amanita blinked, saw what Bitterroot was doing, and smacked herself on the forehead. “Yes, of course! The- thing!” “I’ll carry you! We’ll get there faster!” And within seconds, the pair were soaring over Canterlot, with Bitterroot’s forelegs wrapped around Amanita’s trunk. The second they were a block away from the university, Bitterroot lowered them both to the ground and lightly deposited Amanita on the street. “Sorry about that,” muttered Amanita. “It was… I just couldn’t get away from them. It was like they were a wolfpack.” “Scream at them and get aggressive,” said Bitterroot, folding her wings. “It works on the wolves I’ve seen.” Amanita grinned weakly as the pair started walking home. “So, uh, you were in the audience?” “You sounded nervous a few nights ago and I thought I’d support you.” Bitterroot shrugged. It was the least she could do. “It helped a little. Thanks. But did you understand anything I said?” “No. But I had fun not understanding it. How did it go for you?” “Ehm.” Amanita coughed. “Alright. Better than I expected.” “…So why do you sound disappointed?” “Well- Nothing to do with the seminar, really. It’s…” Amanita bit her lip. “Look, I’m making history just by existing. I at least want it to be good history. I mean, most of it went fine, but how is it supposed to sound when I screw up the memory-projection spell in front of Princess Twilight, of all ponies, and try to pass it off as it not being about death?” Bitterroot blinked. “Wait, you mean that wasn’t supposed to be a joke?” “…What do you mean, ‘supposed to be’?” “It sounded like a joke! You said something totally off-the-wall like it was nothing! It was funny!” “It was?” “Not super funny, but when I wasn’t expecting any jokes at all, yeah, it was funny. Why did you think they laughed?” “Because I’m supposed to be a skilled necromancer but I was botching something simple outside that?” “Look, this isn’t high school. These ponies are professionals. They get that you’re a necromancer and not an illusionist. Or at least they should.” “…Huh. I never…” Amanita stared off at nothing for a moment, then shook her head. “I, I never had that… happen to me. Circe was…” “Yeah. I know.” “But… still…” Amanita folded her ears back. “Mages should be… well-rounded, shouldn’t they? I mean, once everypony in the Crazy Eights catches up with me-” “You think they will?” “Eventually, yeah! I don’t have a master anymore, it’s just me, and- I’m just a necromancer, so once somepony else who’s a necromancer and also a decent illusionist comes along-” “How long have you been worried about this?” “Just since the seminar. Everypony was asking me questions that I could answer in five seconds, and if they catch up quickly and suddenly I’m not enough of a necroma-” “Amanita, they’re so far behind you that they’re still learning the basics. They’re impressed by you looking at somepony’s past when you’ve already resurrected ponies like it was nothing. If you’re worried about job security, you’ve got it for a looooong time. And there can be two necromancers in the Necromancy Corps, you know! Just… I don’t know, it’s not worth worrying over.” “Yeah. I’m…” Amanita kicked at a loose cobblestone. “…still getting used to having a status quo that isn’t awful. Paranoia.” “I get it.” Some of Bitterroot’s family had gone through bad times. It was the kind of thing that stuck with you. “But remember, status quo or not, I’m here for you.” “I know.” Amanita smiled slightly. “Thanks.” They walked in silence for a little longer. Bitterroot raised her head, spread her wings, and breathed deeply through her nose. She could feel the crisp winter air travel through her nostrils, down her windpipe, all the way to her lungs. She let it out slow, letting her breath mist up. “Nice weather, isn’t it?” “I guess. The cold stinks,” Amanita mumbled. She shivered. “Anyone who says they like winter is lying.” Bitterroot snorted. “I know plenty of ponies who’ll say otherwise.” But Amanita shook her head. “They like surviving winter. They don’t like winter itself. It’s like… It’s practically spite. You can be outside for ages in spring, summer, even fall. Not winter. The cold drains the life from you.” She pulled her coat tighter and rubbed her hooves together. “Besides, they always like early winter, when you’re still in the honeymoon phase of snow, or late winter, when you have the hope of spring. Never midwinter. Everyone hates midwinter. Midwinter is the worst.” Bitterroot opened her mouth, immediately closed it again. She tilted her head in thought. “Okay, that actually makes sense.” “Spend a season without modern heating or air conditioning and then tell me you like it.” “…Spring’s still nice.” “It is! It’s warm, the sky’s blue again, you don’t need to worry about shoveling…”