//------------------------------// // Chapter Six: Be Mindful of Your Gardens // Story: Equestrian Concepts // by Achaian //------------------------------// Chapter Six Be Mindful of Your Gardens The silent palace parapets were the first to witness the rise of the new day. Stone walls, lofts, balconies, smooth and pointed and sloping splayed as shadows on the landscape. But they were just walls, brick and mortar and marble, not living as those inside did. They would never, could never, possess the range and intensity of atrociousness and beauty that life could. That was what the gardens were for: a refuge from the trappings of stone and marble solidity, from the cold desolation that reigned whenever the rooms overwhelmed their inhabitants. The walls and rules owned their inhabitants, but the inhabitants made them, constructed cages around themselves to limit the burden of choice and find comfort in routine. Sometimes the walls were thick and unforgivingly strict, such as the ones Luna and Celestia made about themselves. Others had looser rules, windows, means of greater expression but also greater danger. Celestia and Luna very purposely constructed those brutal walls, not only for their own sake but for the sake of others; they took on a stricter existence because they would inevitably exist for a great span of time, and would influence so much in the world. They agreed upon those barriers: any violation spelled a weakening of will and resolve to fight against entropy and the Nightmare, or so they had thought. As harsh and uncompromising as it was, they deemed it necessary. Thus Celestia’s reaction been swift and terrible, even though she regretted it, and would regret it for the rest of her memory. It was not only the act itself—she had not fulfilled the act—it was the motivation and reasoning for the act. Superficially, it was because Luna appeared to be separating, being consumed again by rage and anger. Destructively, her anger and misinterpretation influenced her desire, corrupted it. Her reasoning was imperfect; her actions therefore changed. Thus her walls proven too thick, too strong: they had nearly crushed her and her sister. Yet the gardens were a place where there were no walls, no unloving constructs and machinations. There nature ruled in all its wild glory and randomness, cycles constructing out of chaos, order from nothing, life perpetuating itself. There Celestia could look at her actions from beyond a walled perspective, meditate, find the basest reasons for her actions and hopefully absolve herself from her horrendous desire, from the Nightmare. Life was not in perpetual victory, it was in perpetual struggle, and there she would take her hope. I have always struggled with, for, her, and I have always hoped that that struggle would not be against her, but it is clear now that other options must be considered. I have been foolish and arrogant. I would give much for a day in the gardens, a few hours, time to reflect… yet many duties call us both. Unfortunately, she was not in the gardens, and a darker recess of the palace was about the least conducive place for mental healing and reconciliation. Luna had insisted, though: she had promised Tick that she would explain the Nightmare, and when Celestia had regained some semblance of mental fortitude, she agreed. Forcing those three unfortunate souls on a journey with Luna to destroy books, of all things, would only alienate them further without a proper explanation. Considering what she had heard from Luna, Tick was not the most obeisant pony she had ever met. It was the full morning now, the barest crack of light on the horizon, only now shining on more than the peaks of mountains and parapets. The sisters walked through silent halls, each knowing what the other was thinking and each knowing that they knew, yet still they worried. What they both knew was not a solution, but an impetus to find one. They had to save themselves before they could go about trying to fix the rest of the world. It was always a matter of how. The suffocating walls had failed them, trapped them. There would be a solution, as there always had been—or so they had to believe. If they believed, then it was much more likely to be found anyways. Celestia did not look at Luna as they passed through the halls, but felt her presence with the wisps of magic that were as apparent to her as the occasional beams of sunlight through the windows. Her mind was a place of worry: for Luna, for herself, for the thousand things that she must attend to in the beginning of the day. In too soon of a time, they were at the cell. Ditzy, Quirk, and Tick had fallen asleep in a circle round the beamed light from the channel in the wall, all laying round so that they seemed to flow into the next. They hadn’t even bothered to use the mats, but slept where they had sat. “They look so peaceful,” Celestia noted, her voice strong diminished out of respect for their slumber. “It is truly a shame that they cannot remain so,” Luna sympathized, sadness tingeing her voice. Celestia turned to Luna for a moment, their eyes exchanging more than words could; the indecipherable silent language they had formed over the centuries remained unaltered. Together, a myriad mix of silver and white enveloped them as they slipped like wraiths through the bars, magic indistinguishable, indivisible between the two. If only we could be so again… I can’t hear you now, but I am sure you think the same. They made a quiet round around the unintentional trio, soft magic popped around the graceful sleeping forms. They stopped their patrol, standing with backs to bars, and watched the unaware trio wake. Groaning, yawning, with much rubbing of eyes and stretching the three sat up—although all eyes, normal, slightly unfocused, and revolving, widened when they noticed both of the heads of order and power watching them awake. Tick shifted cautiously into a sitting position, never breaking eye contact with Luna, warily. Quirk made no attempts to move further or draw any attention whatsoever to himself. Ditzy’s eyes shifted back and forth between Celestia and Luna, although it was hard to tell which she was focusing on at times—perhaps both. “We,” Luna said, her eyes momentarily slipping to Celestia, “are here to explain the Nightmare and its significance to you. You will need a thorough understanding of our reasoning and knowledge if we are to press you into our service.” “‘Press us into your service?’” Ditzy spoke. “What does that mean?” “It is best that that is left until after the explanation. It will make more sense.” “We are in complete agreement on this matter,” Celestia input, drawing all eyes save Luna’s to her for the first time. “This is not something to be taken lightly, and it is something that we agree must be done. I cannot stay for long. Duties pull on both of us, so my visit will be brief. However, Luna will remain among you for a while and answer your questions to the best of our abilities.” Luna nodded. It was necessary that Celestia show her support; it lent a greater of authority and correctness to her words in the eyes of the three. It was plainly apparent that they were less than enamored with Luna. “And now, unfortunately, I must depart. Many demands must be dealt with before the sun passes through noon.” Luna glanced at her, but refrained from showing her surprise. She had not expected for Celestia to leave so soon; she had not felt it. A long void remained between them, a reminder of how far they had yet to go. She could feel Celestia tangibly and intangibly pass as she moved out of the cell, out of the room, down the halls and into more populated sections of the palace. As their connection became more tenuous, Luna became aware that she was looking off into space while Tick watched warily, Ditzy stared curiously, and Quirk attempted unsuccessfully to blend into the walls. We are only deceiving ourselves to the depth of the problem… “We can see it in your eyes,” Luna said, directed at Quirk. “It is no use denying what you have seen, or what you have been told by these two.” Quirk did not reply, but moved over to sit next to his brother; he appeared no happier because of it, but he was keen to avoid her focus. It was as much of an admittance he could make without drawing attention to himself. “Now that we have that matter settled, we can engage ourselves on the Nightmare. All of you have witnessed and executed portions of it, but none of you have a complete understanding. The Nightmare is, in one sense, a single emotion: hatred. But the truth is that it consists of many things: malice, apathy, dishonesty, uncontrolled anger, overwhelming greed…” She paused momentarily, “and despair are among them. “Some would put willful ignorance in that list as well,” Tick interjected. Luna studiously ignored him. “Ditzy labeled yet another aspect of it in her timely outburst: the ability to commit horrific acts. Part of realizing the Nightmare is understanding what it can cause you to do, which is sometimes in itself enough to drive one to madness.” “The Nightmare is not supernatural, nor magical in nature. It is the purest form of hatred imaginable, a sheer emotion that is far from understood, even by us. Arguably the most reviling fact of it is that it can be present in all of us as a result of free will. Every last mare, stallion, and foal can be victimized by it. The absence of hope can cause horrendous things.” “So why are you still holding us?” Ditzy asked. “Because you all possess intimate knowledge and experience of the Nightmare, and Tick has repeatedly shown unwillingness to destroy sources of it.” “A book of history cannot drive somepony to murder!” Tick fumed. “But didn’t you say that reading was the second-most dangerous thing in this world?” Ditzy asked, not objecting to his cause, yet still confused. And why are you holding me? I haven’t done anything! “She didn’t even give the rest of the book a chance! I had shown her the terrible things because I was concerned about them. I did not anticipate that she would burn them without a second glance!” Tick was vehement. Luna did not dispute the statement, and she stayed cold and collected. “How do you know that this knowledge can create vulnerabilities, Luna?” Ditzy asked. “Personal experience.” Oh. There was that, of course. Ditzy fought the urge to smack her forehead with her hoof; the last thing she wanted to do was bring up an emotionally trying past during a discussion that already simmered with tension. Resuming the center of attention, Luna spoke. “Discord’s chaos is notorious for spreading the Nightmare, and we believe that to be one of his goals alongside the destruction of order. We also suspect that the Changelings may be a product of it—specifically the absence of positive emotion. If that is true, then they are an unfortunately excellent example of why we cannot allow these ideas to spread.” “You can’t use substantive statements in a historical argument,” Tick objected. “It is not a historical argument because we are not discussing the past. It is an explanation of our reasoning as to why we would be burning books.” “It is an argument because it is not proven.” Ditzy’s head swam, completely lost in the fields of unfamiliar logic as the two became more obscure and pedantic. “There is no contention about the existence of the Nightmare or its nature,” Luna replied. “All of our intentions are honest. We will not stand for a spread of this disease.” I don’t even know what they’re talking about anymore. There has to be a quicker way out of this. Quirk hadn’t spoken a word that morning, and it became increasingly apparent to Ditzy as time passed. He had been successful so far in becoming one with the background, but she intended to change that. Turning, Ditzy queried him. “What do you think?” Uncomfortable with the passionate, even, and curious gazes now leveled at him, he visibly resisted the urge to squirm and finally spoke. “I don’t think I’m qualified to give an opinion on this…” Quirk replied weakly, uncomfortably shifting between the gazes. “You are one of five who are intimately connected to this matter,” Luna stated. “Speak.” Reluctantly, he began. “I don’t think either of you are completely right. Both of you are getting into semantics, too. Books can be as dangerous as anything else, but that’s the thing: they’re as dangerous as anything else, any other knowledge. You can’t say that a book is bad or good just because it might cause somepony to do something, because that depends on who’s reading it.” Tick wasn’t completely satisfied with his brother’s reaction, but he seized on what he could. “The Nightmare was even taken out of context when I presented Luna with it. What little of the passage I had translated had to deal with the sealing of Tartarus, a topic I have never encountered in history in detail. The knowledge contained could be priceless. Unless, of course, our resident immortal rulers had something to say about it.” I understand them a little bit, but this is all crazy... Wasn’t this supposed to be a vacation? I just want to go home now... Ditzy’s thoughts meandered as the discussion continued to deteriorate and wander into irrelevancy. “In fact, I find it suspicious that those who have lived so long have said so little about the past. Why wouldn’t they?” Luna and Tick verbally sparred for what seemed an aeon over whether it was a ruler’s responsibility to be the recorders of history. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ditzy noted that Luna seemed to be winning the argument. She wasn’t thinking about them, though: her thoughts were homebound. All she wanted was to see Dinky again, pick her up and hug her and promise she wouldn’t leave. She could feel the sheets of her bed like she was reading her a bedtime story, snuggled close. Dinky would fall asleep and Ditzy would carry her off to her own bed, but only with great reluctance. Sometimes she didn’t, and she would wake up with Dinky sprawled out on top of her, wrapped closely together. Whenever that happened, she knew it would be a good day. She missed her house, untidy though it was; it was her home more than anywhere else could ever be. Even her job evoked a twinge of nostalgia… Her increasingly warm thoughts rambled about her head in no particular order, bringing back memories she didn’t know she had—cute little things about Dinky, interesting quirks of her life, and the occasional time spent with friends that she had made. “Would you be amenable to that agreement, Ditzy?” Luna said—for probably the second or third time considering how everypony was looking at her. Ditzy blinked, suddenly aware of the attention given to her. “What was the agreement?” “That before we decide whether to destroy or to preserve whatever we may find, we will first fully consider the works presented and allow the discussions of them to run their full course beforehoof.” “Sounds good enough to me,” Ditzy replied nearly automatically; her mind was not all present; she was rapidly becoming lost in memory again. I can figure out what this all means for me later. If becoming part of this strangeness lets me get back home, then it will have been worth it. I don’t think I had much of a choice, anyways. Luna nodded, tone losing the last of the slight combative edge it had taken during the discussion. “Very well. Now we may move on to the specifics of our immediate plans.” “Wait,” Quirk interrupted. “Will Celestia agree with this?” Luna’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, tone remaining clean. “We have a feeling that she will have no objections.” “Feeling isn’t good enough,” Tick added, clearly still disgruntled but resigned to his fate for now. “We know.” Luna’s visage took on a peculiar hardened appearance, but the subtleties of her features escaped them. “She will be meeting us in the gardens after this meeting; if you have any questions about her opinion of the agreement you may ask her there. All of us should be heading there now, in truth.” Luna stood and pivoted without pause, as glow coated the bars and she walked through them. This time, the glow stayed, and she motioned for the three to move forward. Tick and Quirk moved through with small hesitation; Ditzy stopped just before. “You’re going to let us go?” Luna looked back, an eyebrow ever-so-slightly arched at the comment. “We reached an agreement. Attempting to break that agreement would be a poor decision.” “You might even have somepony mail themselves to you just to find you,” Tick deadpanned, looking ahead with a flat expression. Luna gave Tick a questioning glance, but did not inquire. Quirk let out a grin only noticed by Ditzy, yet he retained his silence: Tick must have kept him fully up to date. Ditzy was ruffled and undignified, but didn’t speak up. Reputing the prod wasn’t worth trying to explain why she had mailed herself in a crate to find Tick to Luna. Stepping through the shimmering divide, they began walking, presumably towards the gardens, but only Luna knew their exact location. She walked in front, Tick and Quirk side-by-side behind her, and Ditzy lingered along the rear of their procession, consumed by thoughts of home with the occasional hint of the threat draped around them. She didn’t notice the dark halls, nor the frescoes painted on them; she took no heed of the library they passed through, or the monolithic panoramas of painted glass and stone. Her presence returned to her only when she nearly bumped into Quirk when they stopped, outside, round a small stone table. Ditzy looked around with a small dose of wonder, plainly interested in the expanse. They were in the gardens now, but only the merest edge. Hedges wild and cultivated alike rolled into the foreseeable horizon. Plants of all orders grew in subtle patterns or without, phyla scattered or condensed, with nothing but the world and themselves to guide them. There was both chaos and order in it, the vorpal edge of nature. This is a lot better than being stuck in that cell, but when will I be able to get out of here? The table they were gathered around was an unremarkable piece of white stone, rough and bleached by the sun and wind and cracked by the weight of time and roots. All remained in states of silence. Without a cue, Celestia began. “As we are all now well aware, the Nightmare is a threat that is not easy to curtail. Now that we have all agreed on a method of action,—” When did she hear about that? Ditzy’s thoughts returned to the present, her wandering mind dispelled by the irregularity. “—that being the collection and examination of ancient tomes that may pertain to it from wherever they might be found. For example:” A hologram flashed above the white slab-like stone, detailing a three-dimensional architecture with several stories. It appeared to be a transparent representation of a section of the royal library, complete with the caved-in section that Tick had discovered. Ditzy neither leaned in nor away from the sight, her caution and her desire to stay out of the situation restraining her curiosity about the apparition. “What exactly Tick found was an abandoned and sealed section of the library from when the palace was constructed roughly a thousand years ago. Given the status of Discord at the time, he was likely the cause for the floor’s collapse; whether he intended for the books inside to be found or even if he knew about them is indeterminable.” “I suppose you couldn’t ask him?” Tick theorized; he took close note of her response, eyes watching carefully. “We could,” Celestia acknowledged. “Even statues, as long as they live, have their means of communication, but he is no easy opponent. Any answer we could get from him would be misleading.” I would believe that. The tone of Ditzy’s thoughts surprised herself; she had lost all fear of him. What little emotion she had in regards to him was composed of disgust. I have suffered through him and proven myself. What he does is shameful, but I can’t do much about it. He can hurt me… but he can’t break me anymore. Luna spoke, refocusing the explanation. “Our plan for the immediate future is to recover any ancient records that could contain definitions of the Nightmare and examine them. All of our other actions will be derived from our findings, as per the agreement. The only currently known location that is sure to harbor works of that age is the ancient castle we once inhabited, now buried deep in the Everfree forest. We will leave immediately pending Tick and Ditzy’s recovery.” “Our recovery?” Ditzy asked. “What are we recovering from?” Tick queried in unison, gaze slipping to Ditzy with a light hint of wariness. Ditzy did not notice. “The spell you flew headlong into is complex and multifaceted,” Celestia explained. “If you attempted to leave the boundaries of Canterlot within a full day of encountering it, you would fall unconscious. Fortunately, that time will expire in the matter of a few hours.” “Until then, we thought you would rather enjoy nature after being stuck in a cell,” Luna concluded. “Be mindful of the gardens,” Celestia warned as Luna turned to exit. “While I will remain here until your time is finished, I would advise being cautious in your wanderings. I have seen many spend hours in them, only to leave with unfathomably indefinable differences in their demeanor. It is a place capable of help and harm, yet it seems to have the quality of aiding reflection.” And for that, I am glad, Celestia noted silently. She sat herself down with her back to the sun, taking a long, deep look at the spires of the palace. She could feel Luna slipping away from her as physical distance increased. So absorbed was she that she almost didn’t notice the three wander off in disparate direction, beyond the vorpal edge, into the compound that she could not label either order or chaos. Tick had gone north, Quirk south, but Ditzy had gone west—straight west, right towards the sun, enshrined by its falling arc... ~~~~~~~~~~~ Ditzy didn’t so much let her brain work out a path as let her instincts and emotion find a way for her. It wasn’t the usual logical thought process that she so cherished, but she understood that rationale can’t always force feelings into logic since Discord attacked her. Neither had she paid special attention to anything that had happened since the second bout of homesickness had harrowed her mind. She moved straight west—homebound—and she did not notice Quirk, to the distance in the south, sweating bullets as a column of songbirds swarmed around him; or Tick to the north, examining thoughtfully and with a concerned look a statue that appeared weathered beyond relief. Her thoughts were on home, but her eyes were on the sun. And it was strange, and it was beautiful, and it burnt. She was not able to reach a decision on whether she quite liked it or not: she had shone in its wrath, been silhouetted by it; she had been guided by it out of storms and gloom, saved with its help. It was not of much consequence now. She let herself simply exist for a while, and let the currents of her mind tug her without consciously thinking. Walking without her sight, it was inevitable that she would bump into something on her heartbound journey. She found it odd, though, that she should walk straight into Discord. Literally, straight into Discord. One moment her eyes were subsumed by radiance, the next she was sitting, rubbing a bruised spot on her head and looking up at the statue she had knocked on. He was a mere statue now—frozen with an expression of incredulous fear on his face, claw and paw stretched out to deflect that which had already passed; his forked liar’s tongue stilled once more. Pretty funny that the only way you can hurt me now is by letting me run into you. Ditzy’s quiet humor caused a small smile to cross her face, but it then returned to normality. “Oh, can’t I?” His presence reverberated in her mind as a voice, and her mild surprise quickly dissipated. Her expression did not change; she did not make any extraneous movements besides rub her head. “You can’t,” Ditzy stated aloud in a factual tone. “I’m in control of myself. You can’t say or do anything that can hurt me.” “A shame! Am I to have no more fun, then? It was so delicious to twist your memory and watch you live through it over and over, writhing in agony. I am sure, at least, that I enjoyed our little game. It was so easy to unlock your hatred again, so easy to unlock your rage; and you thought you had solved those problems with a simple move and the help of a few ‘friends’…” Ditzy stood tall against the words, and kept her head high. “I am beyond you.” That drew his ire like no other declaration could; fury, rage and wrath barreling to the forefront of his projection. His desolate anger ripped through the air around her, harsh and screaming as it whistled. The wind whipped, throwing Ditzy’s mane into disarray, but an almost bored expression pervaded her face. “I denied you,” she continued. “In his mind I denied the anger, and I have no issue with saying it over and over until you get the point.” The sky trembled; it grew dark; the earth seemed to rise against her as fate menaced. The attitude of the garden changed from wild life to cruel conflict under Discord’s influence, but Ditzy could not be touched by him. She was the calm in the storm, the heart of peace; she had healed. “The only remarkable thing about you, Discord, is that you are able to trick so many into hurting themselves.” “And I do it very well. You will be no obstacle against my doing it again. You are nothing compared to ME, a speck in my mind and nothing else.” She turned to leave, and the chaotic winds rained, and the trembling blackness seeped from his mind, and the cold skies overcast. Ditzy was not sure what was real and what was his mind casting malicious illusions, but she did not stop. She walked away from him, and as his presence faded she could feel him cry out in anger. “You will run back to despair!” As soon as Ditzy vanished, Discord’s façade of rage faded. A peal of thin laughter echoed throughout the mindscape, only to subside as his smug superiority returned. “Believe whatever you want, my dear…” ~~~~~~~~~~ Celestia had not moved from the table. Her face had bowed low in her ruminations, worry and shame hidden. The instant Luna’s presence had slipped away, her thoughts had turned to the solitary occupation of worry. She worried about a great many things: Luna, Twilight, Cadance, the ordinary machinations of maintaining order and equality, but last of all herself. She spared precious little care on herself; all of her effort was spent to maintain others. Never, she thought, could she do enough penance for striking out against Luna again, not compiled with her long history. After so many years, my injustices compile, from the petty… I have no way to pay them back, except with service. Ditzy didn’t see any of that walking back. All she observed was Celestia staring past the palace’s walls into the darkening east. She walked to stand by her side, Celestia completely unaware of the wall-eyed mare looking up into her eyes. “Your highness?” Celestia didn’t notice. Her mind was about Luna. “Princess Celestia?” She blinked once, then her eyes turned to see Ditzy. “I’m sorry, but if I could ask one question—” “Anything.” Celestia was slightly taken aback by her own response, but retained her composure. Ditzy did not notice in her slight awkwardness before authority. “Where are the palace kitchens?” “There is a dining hall just inside and to the left, if you go four doors down—” “Not a dining hall, an actual kitchen.” Celestia was slightly perplexed, but told her without questioning. She resumed her long, searching glance as her sun cascaded along its long descent. Walls had failed her. Perhaps nature would offer a solution. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Tick had wandered until he found something that sparked his curiosity: an ancient stone block, sheared away on one end, a fragmented statue of a guard on top. What he could see of her was unsettling: she had been holding something as if striking (but what she had been holding had long since broken away), her stance and the armor suggested combat, and her eyes were twisted into a fearsome visage under her helmet. It was great and terrible, but none of that had been his initial attraction—it had been the symbols inscribed on the base. They looked old, ancient and archaic in nature and pattern. Tick had spent quite a while examining them; they seemed infuriatingly familiar and yet he could not determine their meaning. For a great length of time, he passed over them: forwards, backwards, reciting what he could recall about that obscure dialect, although he knew his chances of deciphering them were low. What little he knew about the language he had taught himself, not having the luxury of a teacher. Occasionally, he would stand back and growl in mild frustration at the incomprehensible pattern, but he refocused on his work and dismissed the anger. It was irritating to him; how could he struggle to overcome such a small obstacle? His patience had to fade eventually. With a final growl that simmered into an angry shout, he struck the weathered statue. His hoof split under the impact; he drew his own blood; he sat down and stared with confusion at his hoof, but he was not intrigued by the slight wound. Why did I do that? There was no need to be frustrated! Something in this garden is wearing on me… I’ve lost my sense… The unnatural act fired a suspicion in his mind that he could not quite identify. He looked back up at the broken statue, and he felt something burn, some primal urge left untouched. A slight trickle from his wound caused him to hold his hoof up, look at it again. He saw the blood on it, and his mind played tricks on his sight; for a moment it was superimposed on the statue. His sight vanished—blackness—and then visions of Luna’s nightmare, flashes of Ditzy’s anger, and the same visceral feelings he had felt when he had fought his brother washed over him in an instant. The strange momentary vision flashed away, and he found himself dazed, looking the armored visage in the eyes. Then he understood both the statue and his action simultaneously. The guard was killing something, stabbing it with spear or halberd or yet unimagined cruel instrument. He could see it now, the shaft of the instrument invisible to his eyes, but not to his mind, as he saw it terminating in space where the block had sheared away. It was all too easy for him to imagine the sweat dripping in the armor, the clanging of the plates; the jerking, harrowing motion of the weapon sickened him. He saw the blood spill into the ground and he saw her hatred on her face; he recognized it all too easily—for he had seen it in himself; he had seen it in the Nightmare he had glimpsed. Tick stumbled back, echoes of delusions dancing before his petrified mind, horrified. The sickening visions seemed a part of him, and his reaction to them was abrupt and violent. No! Not this! This is not what I was after, not what I wanted to find! The price of knowledge was pain, it seemed; and the price was high. The horror that accompanied knowing was shredding his mind; knowing hatred seemed no different from experiencing it. Was Luna right? This is sickness, this is agony! His mind in the grips of fear screamed yes, and his long-built devotion crumbled in the onslaught. I can’t live with this knowledge! I argued that what we left behind was worth saving, but now it seems to be all misery! What is even in the rest of those books? If what Luna remembers is any representation of what’s to be found… If I am wrong about whether this can help us, then I am a lie… then my life is a lie… and I’ve only damned more to that fate. Muffled groans of pain and grief echoed through the garden. ~~~~~~~~~~ There were many things that Quirk could have told Ditzy when he suggested stories, but one of the more significant ones that he did not tell occurred directly after his and Tick’s birth. When their mother and father along with the few sailors not bound to hammocks had wandered ashore after the horrendous storm, they had noticed something unusual about the newborns as the weeks passed by: Tick would not open his eyes, and Quirk had no voice. His thoughts turned to his shaded past as he passed through the shade, unseen songbirds occasionally calling out. He felt that they were mocking him, despite his abilities. As he reached the center of a small clearing, oak and birch and willow around, he sat and looked at the sky with a stare that passed beyond it to see whatever cosmic entity he had so misaligned him to curse him to commit wrongs from birth. At the edge of the clearing, a bird called out their distinctive tune, without response. And then again. Quirk absent-mindedly whistled a reply, a flawless imitation of the bird’s song; not a wavelength differed in it. Brought back by his reply, he shivered in the warm sunlight as repressed memories resurfaced. He had had no voice… but he could steal them. Another bird, another song, another reply imitated, a second bird flocked to him as his eyes turned wide, staring at nothing at all, and memory tormented him. He could not be sure—no, not at all—of what had happened, or when it had happened, but it inevitably had happened, so he tread with a fearful, morbid curiosity in his past. Quirk had once thought he was simply skilled with voices, but know he knew he was a plagiarist. The damning thought had haunted his mind ever since he had sat down with and tried to sing something he had not once heard. He could not, and he had hidden from the fact as much as possible. A third bird called; a third bird joined the flying column. He and Tick had gotten their marks with the help of the other, according to their mother. They had been young—incredibly young, it seemed almost predestined; it must have been for it to have occurred so soon. Tick’s was nearly indefinable from his color, a quiet silver symbol on his solemn ashen coat. Quirk’s was more obvious, though it had passed yet unnoticed: white sound waves on his blue-green sea. He could perfectly reproduce any sound, as long as he had heard it before. I have no voice of my own; I am a thief... His ability was his curse; the price he paid for it was his individuality. Four and five swarmed, ringed around him. They were still not sure how it came to pass. In some long-forgotten town they had stayed, only for a day, an instant in the horizon expanse of their lives. Everything he could recall was from his mother’s telling. She had walked into the room and Tick was staring—seeing, his eyes wide open at her, and Quirk was talking, speaking, and it had all been so joyous, and so happy for her and for their father, and it made him sick to think that they had gotten pleasure out of what he had done. The trees emptied, the branches as bare as if they had no leaves, and the flying multitudes cast out the sun by their number. Then he saw them, their number and measure, and he trembled and paled in guilt; he felt their wrath with a fearful certainty. I stole from them, all of them… He cowered under their cycling gazes, inner disgust and shame building. Damn it, I don’t deserve to have dignity after what I did. I’m nothing… a piece of filth. I mocked them and all they did. It was so easy for me to just take it from them, even without thinking! I’ve stolen the greatest works with no effort… Fierce guilt coursed through Quirk’s form as he shielded himself from the birds, unwilling and unable to move out of the center of the cyclone, hating himself all the more as the endless shame flowed through him. He could never be original, never sing a new sound. He could write the most beautiful piece of music imaginable, but he could never appraise it with his own voice unless he had first heard another do so. He was no individual. He was a hopeless conglomeration, a hideous abomination, and he could not see himself any other way. The birds swarmed, and they flew and whistled in the air around Quirk as he trembled, but they eventually passed back into their trees and left him to shudder in his self-inflicted agony. ~~~~~~~~~~ The light was growing dim, Celestia’s face fading to black as time passed. But her mind ticked on, as it always had, and she would let no darkness nor horror of past nor passage of time keep her from her sister. She would find a solution or she would forever search for one. So absorbed was she that she did not notice Ditzy return, muffin balanced on top of her nose, and enter again into the garden. ~~~~~~~~~~ Discord knew well the reason Celestia and Luna kept him in the garden instead of locking him up under carved stones with metal and magical bindings. It was because he was right. Or, at least, partially correct. They would all agree that far: any more, and they would strenuously deny what Discord saw as truth. Chaos was a necessity. They holed themselves up in their castles, their thick and unforgiving walls, and they had put Discord in the garden. He modulated the order of the plants and animals here as they modulated his attempts to spread chaos elsewhere, keeping a sharp contrast to the order and stability of stone cages. And they go here—here! —to reflect. Their order is too much for them. They will see the truth one day… They cannot conceive of ultimate sameness for eternity. It would destroy us all. It seemed no more than death to him, and so he espoused chaos above all. Whether it caused fear and malice bothered him not, although he sometimes took pleasure from it. He only acted for the sole reason that he would find death if he did not. He would find change, any change, and it would be his never-end. Then he felt Ditzy enter the garden again. Twisted pleasure arose inside Discord when Ditzy came into sight of the statue. “Back so soon? I thought you were a greater challenge than that!” And the one thing he thought strange was that she was carrying a muffin on her nose, eyes focused in concentrated balance. Had he not scarred her? Had he not mutilated her memory and her enjoyment? Still, his sickened pleasure increased as Ditzy returned to the statue. But why, why have you returned so soon, and with this scar you bear with such delicacy… He tried to reach out, but her mind was untouchable to him. Discord could neither grasp nor twist her, not when he was trapped so, and he was frustratingly perplexed by her lack of communication so far. “I was right, of course.” He projected his air of certainty, clever mind whirling, analyzing, planning behind it. “Could it be any other way?” She did not reply, and did not open her eyes, but came right up to the statue and left the muffin there. On it was a small note, and in cursive calligraphy were inscribed three words. Three small words, a miniscule amount of text, but they wreaked as much havoc on Discord’s mind as he had inflicted torment on Ditzy's. It read: “I pity you.” For a minute, his disbelief interrupted all other thoughts. How was it possible; how could she resist him? Had she not been destroyed by his malice and pain? His mind boiled in indignation and anger. How dare she subvert my chaos, deny her dark side, and above all pity me?! He could not be pitied; it was the greatest affront to his philosophy! If she can truly pity me, then I have lost. By neither hating him nor falling into apathetic despair, she threatened to at last crack his armor, for pity was Discord’s anathema. If chaos incarnate could be denied… “Believe me.” She turned to leave, and her steps were like the steps of grace as she vanished from his reign, fading with the rays of the setting sun. He could only seethe. “You will fall away from grace, and I will be the cause…” Discord could not deny her ascendancy, and he was dour in his prison for a moment, but that was soon smothered by discipline. “Fair match… but the game is not over.” ~~~~~~~~~~ Tick could not find the strength within himself to move. He had laid long enough in miserable torment to lose track of time and space. His mind was neither here nor there; he was trapped in some darkening space within his conscious and in no way aware of the outside world. Ditzy wandered her way over to him, surprise and confusion and then concern as she saw his moribund state. She was feeling peculiar after her encounter with Discord, as though she was beyond all her troubles, and the sight of the one she had so recently known lying in apparent misery pulled her strongly. Tick? Ditzy said nothing and walked up behind to him, worriedly watching him as she did. “Tick, are you alright?” He did not respond verbally, but shifted around in his sitting position. She glimpsed something falling from his eyes. Ditzy felt no words in her mind, but rather a surge of emotion and the demand of sympathy that her goodness required. She gently put her hoof on his shoulder, and as soon as she was sure he would not act aversely, pulled him into her embrace. “It’s alright,” she whispered, but it was lost entirely in the quietness. Tick was unsure of who was silently comforting him, but his convulsions of sorrow gradually ceased as the mutual warmth of contact passed through them. They held that pose for a long time, neither wanting to break away first. Ditzy was determined not to let him go if he needed it; Tick knew it would be better if he let the healing happen. The gesture itself was a communication to him of solidarity, hope, and healing; Tick could think of no nobler expression of words. It was love and respect, the gentlest touch he had felt for many years. The calm peaceful release of it promised him a state of renewal. Tick shifted slightly to see who could express a sentiment so full of grace, and he looked straight at Ditzy, eyes closed and focused. He didn’t see anything else, and he didn’t want to see anything else at that moment. It was too perfect. He was not haunted by the Nightmare in that moment, not in this moment and not in anything he could imagine. He could not even dream of the shadow of a possibility of it. How could he have been so concerned about malevolence? It had passed from him like the dew after the dawn, simply evaporated. It was love, respect, union, understanding, there was a word and he could not quite catch it— “Empathy! He shouted, much to their mutual surprise. “What?” Ditzy exclaimed, disengaging as Tick stood suddenly. “Empathy! It’s what…” Tick stopped; his mind was working too fast for words. It’s what makes Luna wrong… “Does this mean you’re feeling better? Is there anything you need to talk about?” Ditzy asked, completely phased out of his thought process. Grinning, Tick decided not to answer with words but to reciprocate the action with a hug that Ditzy did not expect in the least. She had not seen him act like this before, had not expected it of him, and her surprise at his return of care made her slightly wary behind her concern for him. He looks ecstatic. I guess that’s better than how he was before. Tick noticed the slightest hint of stiffness in her demeanor, but he was wrapped up, his good faith restored and his cognizance only of mutual joy. Ditzy quickly returned to her warm smile after she became aware of her change in composure, and motioned that they should start heading back to the stone table. Tick agreed, he was filled with blissful enlightenment and a reassumed certainty in his principles. By coincidence or fate, or simply by reason of mutually assumed meeting times, Ditzy, Tick, and Quirk arrived back at the roughly weathered table just as Celestia turned to watch her sun set. On the scale of appearances, Ditzy and Tick by far topped the list: Ditzy with a quiet smile, Tick with a triumphant look, practically glowing in the wake of his ideology’s consecration. Celestia was next, weary from worry, but the fight shone in her eyes, and all else was well-disguised from those that saw her. Quirk slunk into the back, noticed by no pony, and there was a great amount of despair in his eyes and precious little fight. “An hour yet remains until the spell diminishes to where you will be able to leave. At that time, you will board a train to Ponyville in preparation for the excursion to the ruins of our old castle.” Now Ditzy’s face nearly mirrored Tick’s in happiness; she had waited far too long for her taste to see Dinky again, and the rest of home was nice as well. “If Tick and Quirk are unable to find lodging, you should seek out Twilight Sparkle and give her this letter—” Celestia levitated a sealed scroll over “—and everything should be arranged shortly. It shouldn’t be a problem anyways, considering Tick is already acquainted with Twilight according to Luna. But you must, under no circumstances, give her any detail of your mission or provide her with any materials regarding what you find or the Nightmare, both for her own safety and for the simple fact that she has quite a large load of responsibilities as it is.” “Princess Luna will meet you some time after you arrive. Unfortunately, we don’t know yet when she will be available, so it could be as long as several days until she arrives, but not longer. We consider this to be very important, as you’ve no doubt noticed.” “Until then…” Celestia shrugged, the only nonchalant gesture she had made so far. “Do what you will, but do not wander far. The gardens are always open; you could go back.” “I do not think we will.” Quirk said, unusually deciding to comment. Tick, mood marred minisculely by the sight of his brother defunct, tapped him on the shoulder and pulled him aside after Quirk declined to move willingly to a bench where they could talk, not unobserved, but unheard. Celestia and Ditzy were left around the wind-scarred white-hewn table, the gardens undisturbed by sound or presence of others. It was very nearly a solitary existence, with the exception of Tick and Quirk far off in the distance. Celestia seemed ready enough to resume her methodical stare into the night sky in search of solutions, but Ditzy had other plans. “Princess Celestia?” “You can call me Celestia, if you wish.” Celestia looked straight at Ditzy, who blinked and continued in a slightly more informal tone. “Celestia, then. I have a bit of a strange question to ask.” “An interesting question would be a nice change, usually I have monotonous ones all day.” Celestia smiled a bit, setting Ditzy more at ease. It was not the first time she had talked to Celestia alone, but it would be the first conversation that passed beyond a few sentences. “When I first came into Canterlot, I noticed the waterfalls and how they flowed through and out of the city. It took me a long time, but I found out where they ended. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about them since then, but I was wondering: where do they come from?” Celestia’s face was blank for a few moments, and she turned her gaze back to the sky before she answered. And so our pasts come back to haunt us, yet there is something different, tangibly different about this one out of all the others… “You must be lucky. I am one of the few who know the complete story of those falls. It is a long story, and a sad story, and a story that cannot be told well here.” Ditzy felt uncomfortable having asked, but she couldn’t change that now. “That’s alright.” She wondered how a simple geographical occurrence could bring such emotional baggage, but then she remembered what had happened to her at the base of the falls, and she stopped wondering why and started imagining what, which made her immensely curious. “No; I am going to tell it.” Celestia said, as if she was convincing herself. “We have more than enough time.” Her wings spread against the sky; she looked back at Ditzy, who appeared far from about the change in events. “It is not far,” Celestia assured, “You don’t have to go if you do not want to.” Ditzy’s face reformed into something harder, determined. “I want to go.” Celestia’s face shed a little smile, and there was something in it—sadness? regret? —that intrigued Ditzy, but it was obvious to Celestia that she was keeping her distance and her caution. “Off we go, then.” They flew behind the palace, towards the sheer cliffs of the mountain. ~~~~~~~~~ “Tell me what’s wrong.” It was that way with them, direct, to the point, no hesitation. Neither liked posturing or the politics of conversation, so they avoided them as much as possible. It was a demand of mutual concern and benefit. Very purposely, they were not gentle when they used words, although sometimes they used no words at all. Far more did Tick prefer his unusual mode of communication; it had the unique quality of imparting sensation and concept more than words at times. Words could be manipulated, twisted, euphemized—just a fading shadow of ideas, the distorted reflection of temporal realities expressed by undefinable reactions of the mind. In sensation there could be no lie. Quirk refused to look at his brother. “Why would I bother telling you the same thing twice?” But in words there were so many connotations, so much implied meaning that would take so long for sensation to convey. He could reference the beauty of the sun or the oddity of their birth with a few mere words, while it might take many minutes to achieve that communion of sensation. “You are not sure!” Tick was plainly angry. Ah, how they played into and out of each other, Tick and Quirk, feeling and verbiage. Gracefully and harshly they would conflict and compound meaning, a wondrous and terrible mystery for those left outside their scope. They could mean anything, anything at all—but most likely they meant Quirk’s uncertain past. Need and respect drove them to commune; boundaries of time drove them to words. It was no perfect union, but it was passable. “Nevertheless, it is.” Tick growled away in slight frustration, determined to resolve it later. ~~~~~~~~~ Sheer granite cascades towered; they were nearly the color of lead and nothing like the weathered table they had left behind. It was an eighty-degree ascent, but it did not last long: Celestia soon found what she had long known to be there. Motioning for Ditzy to enter as she stood on the extreme edge of the cave, Celestia gathered her courage and fortitude—not for the dark, no, but for the telling—and pressed on into the half-illumined cave. They wandered not far into it, around a corner to a pool of soft shimmering silence, and there they stopped. Neither Celestia nor Ditzy could see into the dark distance, but the pool shone with the occasional hint of shaded hue. It was as if the world had faded to the smallest sphere, stone and pool and the two of them and all the wonders and terrors hidden in them. It was like Tick's gift or the brother's telling, they had become raptured together in silence. Celestia stopped just before the pool and stared into it, the barest hint of trembling showing beneath her eternally composed demeanor. Neither rippling nor apparently moving was the pool, so Ditzy took her place next to Celestia and mimicked her gaze for a moment to see if she could gain a hint into her perspective. She could not see the bottom of the pool. “This is where the tear first fell that became the falls that now drop forever off the sides of this city. It was not always that way. By necessity we will start from a perspective of thousands of years ago. Many of the details will be sparse or uncertain. I am…. ashamed… that I cannot remember more.” Celestia was not speaking with a quiet voice, but the vastness of the unseen cave swallowed it into a whisper. She was very, very small compared to the pool and the cavernous room, despite the smallness of the sphere. Ditzy broke her gaze with the pool, and instead observed Celestia’s unceasing gaze into it. Celestia’s eyes were wide open, but it appeared to Ditzy that she was looking inward—they were obscured with the visions of the past. Her mouth was poised as if she was on the brink of a speech, but her tongue caught her words for a moment. “Our first battle against Discord was a fateful one. I can recall very little from it, except for flashes of pain and triumph. He was horrendously powerful—he is a shadow of his former self now—and those who lived under him lived in agony. At last, we confronted him with the six Elements of Harmony and turned him to the stone that now again resides in that very garden you wandered through. It was a great victory, and the blissful peace that followed was glorious and hard-fought…” “But it came at a great price.” “The sixth Element, Magic, had disappeared. Elated in our victory, we hardly cared. What did it matter if an Element was missing, even the Element that bound the others together in unity? Discord had been defeated, the greatest threat since the sealing of Tartarus banished and locked forever away in the solidity and order of stone. Luna and I did not know it at the time, but as users of the Elements we were intimately bound to them, and through that conduit Discord had struck at us. The dissolution of Magic had destroyed our unity, even though it would take thousands of years for us to feel the effects.” Ditzy was completely still, but it would not mattered if she had moved. Celestia was bound fully into her memories now. “And so we grew great and prideful. Over the centuries we drifted apart, and the crack was subtle at first, and remained subtle until the day it split us in two. I was the first to show signs of our failure, at least by my faded memory: my vanity grew tremendously, and I hoarded attention and glory. I shone like the burning rays of the sun…” Ditzy had a vivid flash of memory of when she had confronted Rainbow Dash and the incident in Tick’s mind, but kept her sense of place and made no motions to interrupt. Celestia noticed nothing outside herself now, continuing her tale. “And the rays did not first strike Luna, but she fell as surely as I. It was not entirely her fault for lashing out against me, far from it. We decided that we are both equally guilty in the matter, for her pride influenced her as well. However, that does not help…” She caught herself. “The point came to pass where she started to believe that I, in my arrogance, must be put down for the sake of all I ruled over. In retrospect, I quite agree with her, but she was obstinate in maintaining that it was her own pride and impatience that brought her to that point. It was no short span of time that brought either of us to our states of disgrace—it occurred over great spans of time, and it would be no easy task to trace the point that we fooled ourselves completely. But the day did come, one thousand and two years ago, that she struck out against me and my arrogant pride.” Her composure was slipping if only the barest bit, emotion dripping back into her voice. It was enthralling and concerning; Ditzy was completely absorbed, subsumed by the narrative. “It was my fault.” Celestia whispered that lone line, and her whisper cut through the darkness like no shout could. It echoed all through the cave and rang in Ditzy’s ears. The story had turned confession. Ditzy had forgotten completely about the falls as soon as Celestia’s voice began to show hints of breaking. The emotion ruled her voice now—sorrowful passion and shame guided her into confessional declarations. “I goaded her, taunted her, I deserved to be put down. That night in the Everfree, peace turned to maddening terror as we fought to destroy each other. We both believed ourselves to be the righteous one, while in truth we were as horrible as the things we had fought to imprison. It was my fault, my pride and insensitivity that pushed us past the brink.” “Eventually, I seized control of the Elements and managed to banish her to the moon, but it was imperfect, the sixth Element still missing, our Magic missing and our unity destroyed. She would return. Then I looked up into the sky and ripped the moon out of it. It was agonizing fulfillment of my insane vanity, the ultimate declaration of supremacy, the shredding of our unity and our love into nothing but burnt cinders. And it was my doing.” Celestia ended on a note of bitter self-condemnation, but she moved not and continued the telling. “I had never touched the moon before, never guided it peacefully or otherwise into or out of the sky. Something about it unsettled me, and as I looked down, just as I began to feel giddy evil triumph, I looked down and saw the five Elements.” “…Five Elements.” “All the grief and all the horror and all the regrets and sadness and maddening inability to change the past struck me at that moment. I could only look up and see the sun that represented my vanity and loss of my sister; I could only look down and see the foolish sister that had cursed both of them. There was no shock—no hesitation—only the crushing passion that could not atone for a hundredth of the wrongs I had committed against harmony, that could not forgive a thousandth of the crimes I had caused in my pride, that could not make up for a ten-thousandth of the pain I had caused and would cause to my sister.” “I flew out of the ruined castle and out of the forest, across the plains, my sights set on the only place where I might find a remnant of my sister’s blessedly dark cool night; a place where I could be in her memory and eternally strive to lessen her pain—but not deserve her forgiveness. I never deserved her forgiveness, and I still do not deserve it.” “It was a lone mountain on the plain, the steepest and the only one for many miles around, and in the mountain there was a cave…” The fur on Ditzy’s neck was standing straight up, the air was charged with eclectic electric emotion, penance and sorrow and regret, distressed pain and confession and a tension that granted Ditzy a wide-eyed awareness of the cave. It can’t be… “…This cave.” “And in this cave I stayed for what seemed to me an age of agony, but it was never enough. I could bear no torment great enough to repent for what I had done to Luna. Outside, time was passing rapidly, without change of sun or moon. The sun stayed in the sky at noon, an eternal day, and just as the sun brings life to all things…” It was the height; the air seemed to scream, Ditzy knew what was coming, but she didn’t dare imagine, not until she heard the words could she comprehend it—it could not be real— Celestia’s voice was ragged with pain and self-loathing, and her deliverance was hot with condemnation. “…So too can it burn away that life.” “My sun, MY sun, remained in the sky while I cried away my torments in this cave. As I had committed the worst of crimes against Luna in my vanity, now I committed the most horrific crime against all of Equestria: letting what had been my blessing to them become a curse. Rivers dried away to nothing, crops withered, countless fires raged across the land, misery and drought and death…” Celestia looked as if she would break at any moment, she was breathing quicker, it could not be long now but somehow she continued— “Until they found me, holed up in this cave, me and my damned vanity of pain, for my sorrow was not pure. Realizing what I was doing didn’t make it any better. They begged me to end it and raise the moon, but I would not do it until I fulfilled one promise—one last promise to Luna—that my tears would never stop falling for her until the end of time. And my tears formed this pool, and the pool flowed down the mountain and into the earth, and the earth took it back up into the mountain so it could forever cascade as my tears for Luna, and they built Canterlot on the mountain and happily forgot their pain as is their wont.” Ditzy somehow found breath in the void atmosphere, somehow found the presence of will to utter a question, and she was not sure where it had come from, but she was convinced that it had to be asked: “What would you have done if Luna had returned as Nightmare Moon and Twilight had failed?” Celestia bowed her head and shut her eyes, tightly clenched, and said with the most convicted, tormented voice Ditzy had ever heard: “I would have joined her.”