//------------------------------// // Eleven // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// Tomorrow, my journey ends. I have seen my goal, now, the source of our power and salvation. I entered its abode, witnessed the world amassing its might against our foe. If nothing changes, it will be ready tomorrow. The Well—I can call it nothing else—appears as a giant pool, glowing as it grows. A vortex of power extends to the sky, almost too faint to see. It is drawn here, to match our doom in the south. Perhaps that is why we have been so ineffectual combating it. Eleven LUNA WATCHED WITH BAITED BREATH, not daring to move lest she spoil the vista before her. Each passing moment seemed to pause and hold an eternity unto itself, as it slowly dragged at an orb on the horizon, pulling it closer and closer to oblivion, and the cold, still, darkness of night. The sun sent out a magnificent array of colours, painting the sky around her with vivid red and vibrant orange. It was washing the air, a final cleansing before its rest. But it was not the final gasps of the day that had so captivated Luna’s attention. Nay, the Princess of the Night had spun, what seemed to be years ago, staring with a fierce intensity at the east. For each sliver of light that passed beyond knowledge in the west, each last gasp of colour splashing across the mountainous horizon, another glimmer of light appeared in the west, heralding the coming of a moon too long denied the world, and herself. Luna had been waiting for this moment from the instant she broke free of her prison. In there, she had been unable to reach out to her moon, unable to even feel its presence. That had made her isolation that much worse. Luna reached out the moment she saw the first glimpse of the pale orb, rising over the mountains. She could feel it, definitely, as well as her sister’s magic controlling it. Luna suppressed the brief surge of jealous rage. It was only logical that Celestia would handle the moon in her absence. Luna touched her awareness to her sister’s, focusing on the joy of their reunion. Though not in her presence, Luna could feel the relief radiating from Celestia. She truly had been worried about her. Celestia relinquished her hold over the moon, returning her magic to Canterlot with a brief caress as parting. She would be anticipating her return later this night, but first, Luna would fulfil that most fundamental aspect of her being. The moon was a part of her, as much as her hooves, and she would not go without it more than she had to. Luna’s magic touched the moon lightly, a gentle breeze rising across its surface as she began to lift it from its tracks. Celestia tended to use a set pattern to guide it across the sky. Luna preferred spontaneity. Each night it traced a different angle, made a different pattern amidst the clouds and stars. It was her signature, emblazed high above the world. It had slowed slightly, where Celestia had released it, but Luna had caught it before it had begun to dip back down. She took her time, charting a course through the heavens and instilling it with the will to follow. She wanted to savour it, to rejoice in her return, at last, to the world. But eventually, there was nothing left to do. Regretfully, Luna cut her connection, returning her awareness to her body. She had been standing motionless for over an hour, and although her eyes were sore and mouth dry, she felt rejuvenated. Energy coursed through her as she took a deep breath, and let out a sigh. She was at peace. Night had fallen over the Wastes, but it was not the tranquillity of night she’d known in Equestria. As Luna opened her eyes, she was assaulted by flying sand and grit, propelled by the ever-present wind. It made a soft whine as it blew around her, warping the air as if it was whispering to her. Dust had worked its way into her coat, staining her deep, midnight blue a faded grey, and lending her a grimy feeling. But it was night nonetheless. Luna stepped forward, continuing in her path. She’d stopped for the moonrise just a few miles from the dome, but if she hurried, she could still make it to the border before morning. The trouble was,. Luna didn’t especially feel like hurrying. She’d spent herself in her escape, consuming all the rage that had been building in her since her cleansing. She didn’t know, exactly, where it had come from. But that was secondary; she had a more pressing concern. Anger was constituted, in large part, by will. While its absence left her joy to fill her with near-insane happiness and dull her fear to a mere trepidation in the light of her success, she was without the will to continue. She knew she should run to her sister, confess everything, take precautions. She simply did not want to. When that will returned to her, that nagging voice of fear convinced her to raise her wings, step into shadow and move, it would come accompanied by the fire that had destroyed her prison. Luna cast her gaze around the desert surrounding her. Scattered here and there were small piles of debris. Everything she saw seemed to be large chunks, beams buried in the sand. Anything smaller had already been blown away. Whatever had happened here, so long ago? Luna felt its impact, a deep sympathetic pang as she considered the atrocity represented in the callousness of the empty desert. The voice in the dome, that entity with the gall to imprison her, and then acknowledge her escape with vague disappointment, as if she’d failed, somehow. Had the culture here failed it as well? What had it done to bring such destruction upon it. That was what rankled, really. It wasn’t the knowledge of their deaths, the horrible last few days that had taken the lives of so many. Luna understood the world, and wasted no time lamenting the fate of mortals. No, what troubled her so was the way the wind covered all evidence of their existence, spreading thin sand and dust around to obscure their history. Luna shook her head, increasing her speed to a trot. She didn’t want to dwell on her surroundings; it would only encourage the return of her anger. Perhaps later, when she trusted herself to remain under control, she could return and dig around. First, though, she had find a way to move on. Mortals could acknowledge and ignore their emotions, letting go. Luna suspected immortals didn’t have that option. She suspected the only way to free herself was to forget. *** “I don’t know! He was on the train when I left! I saw him get on at the station!” Twilight exclaimed, meeting her sister-in-law’s gaze squarely. “I don’t know why he’d get off the train during its journey. The driver insists he didn’t stop anywhere, and there are only two reliable ways off when the train is in motion.” “Teleportation,” Cadence said. “And an air-lift, via pegasi,” Twilight finished. “None of the other passengers noticed anything. Not even the guards do—one minute everything was fine, the next they’re waking up here.” “So, what happened?” “Mm,” Twilight said. “And perhaps more importantly, when.” “What do you mean?” “Well, Shiny had no reason to be dishonest with us, right?” Twilight asked. At Cadence’s nod, she continued. “Then he wouldn’t have gotten off the train by himself, not voluntarily. Especially with what happened to the guards . . . I can’t say for sure, but it sounds like they were knocked out, maybe by a spell?” “Check them,” Cadence ordered. Twilight had only been musing out loud, following the facts to their logical conclusion, but Cadence wasn’t dumb. She could connect the dots just as well as Twilight could, and that conclusion was making her worried. Twilight turned, trotting to the guards. They were still on the station, resting inside where the local doctor was checking them over while Twilight and Cadence spoke. Twilight exchanged a glance with the doctor, moving to his side. “How are they doing?” she asked, peering at his clipboard. He snatched it away from her, clutching it to his chest, then sighed. “So far, they’re fine. I can’t find anything wrong with them, save perhaps some trauma from falling over.” “Spell residue?” “Nothing so far,” the doctor replied. Twilight frowned. That didn’t make sense, it had to have been a spell. Whoever had been with Shining Armour—there had to be somepony interfering, else he would never have gotten off the train—would have also incapacitated his guards. Not only did that imply premeditation, it also meant that they had had foreknowledge, and would have planned appropriately. There wasn’t any other way to take down a group like that, not without marks or memories. “Mind if I take a look?” Twilight asked. The doctor sighed again. “Not at all. But please, be careful,” he said. Twilight lit her horn, approaching the nearest guard. Usually, a spell would leave traces of power behind, which would slowly dissipate into the world. Residue could last anywhere between three or four hours to whole weeks, depending on the spell used. Something like this would stick around for days—certainly long enough for Twilight to see it now. The train ride only took three hours. But as she started to extend her senses toward the guard, running her gaze over him in search of that tell-tale prickle of power, she could already sense she wouldn’t find what she was looking for. Twilight pulled back, stepping away from the guard. She left the shelter, walking back out to Cadence on the platform. She was speaking with the driver herself, horn alight. That was a good idea. Twilight hadn’t even considered a spell tampering with the driver’s memory. Cadence finished, extinguishing her glow and turning to face Twilight. “No trace of anything on the guards,” Twilight reported. Cadence grimaced. “Nothing on the driver, either.” “I still think it was a spell. Nothing else would be able to take Shiny down.” “Though precious few unicorns that could manage it,” Cadence muttered. “You’re probably right. There are ways of hiding any trace.” “A skilled unicorn, then, and powerful,” Twilight said. “Or a group,” Cadence said, closing her eyes. Twilight nodded. “Or a group.” “Come with me, Twilight,” Cadence said, turning and trotting to the exit. “I need to tell you about my Dream.” *** Trixie woke slowly, coming to awareness as if walking out of the ocean, a wave of sleep pulling her back each time she stirred. Then all at once realisation crashed over her, jolting her awake. Bolting to her hooves, she lit her horn, casting gloomy shadows over everything in the vicinity of her dim light. Shining Armour was still slumped beside her, out cold. Trixie sighed in relief, placing a hoof on his chest, feeling a strong heartbeat. Her spell was holding, for now, and without suppressing his vitals. Trixie took a deep breath, gathering magic in her horn. She was still sore from her exertions on the train, but she thought she’d recovered enough to make it to Canterlot. She’d need to get to the safe house in one jump; she couldn’t allow Shining to be spotted inside the city. The magic coalesced around her, crackling in the air. The growing glow provided more illumination, giving Trixie a better view of the tunnel she’d picked to recover. She’d been sleeping next to the tracks. If it hadn’t been the last train of the day . . . she would have died, along with Shining Armour. She hadn’t planned well enough, hadn’t been careful enough. If it hadn’t been for Brash and Cumulus, for her strange ability to invade other’s minds, she wouldn’t have succeeded at all. She’d taken those strengths for granted assumed that even if something went wrong, she’d be able to deal with it. It was arrogance, yet again rearing its head. How many times would it take her to learn that lesson? Adaptability was important. The fact that she was, in fact, able to handle complications as they arose proved that there was some basis in truth for her overconfidence. Still, she should have had a backup plan. She should have gone in expecting to find Shining Armour awake and ready. The magic came together in a brilliant ball, encompassing both Trixie and Shining’s prostrate body. In a flash, the ball imploded, sending them far away to the basement of a burned out house. Boundless was waiting for her. As she appeared to the side of the table, Shining Armour thudding down onto it from a small height, he rose, trotting around beside her. “You’re late,” he observed. “Something go wrong?” “I handled it,” Trixie said. Boundless grunted, turning to the pony lying prostrate on the table. “We have a problem, Trixie. That one’s sister,” he said, gesturing at Shining Armour, “found me here two days ago.” “Twilight was here?!” Trixie exclaimed. “What happened?” Boundless grimaced. “I got away.” “How could she know where this place was?” “I thought maybe you’d know that,” Boundless said. Trixie cringed, but he only turned away with a sigh. “Perhaps she followed you. No matter, it is done. We’ll have to move.” “Where?” “We can find someplace in the underground. Come on,” Boundless said, moving to the stairs. “Can you cover him?” “Of course,” Trixie said, casting an invisibility spell over Shining Armour’s body. It would hold reasonably well, though maintaining it would tire her out. Nevertheless, she picked him up in a telekinetic field and followed after Boundless. “I already know an entrance. It’s not far,” Boundless said. “The underground?” “There’s a network of tunnels under the slums of the city. Most houses here have basements, and when somepony realised that they were essentially adjacent, they started knocking holes through the walls down there. All the slums are joined together underground, now.” “Won’t they be full of ponies then?” “Yes,” Boundless said, showing his teeth. “So what?” “No reason,” Trixie murmured. Maybe they’d find a spot without running into anypony, though she doubted it. The slums were notoriously packed, each house fitting a surprising number of ponies. But then, if the entire area was interconnected like Boundless said, there was a lot more room there than most realised. Boundless led her down the street, trying not to look anxious. It really was amazing, Trixie decided, watching him from her position a few step behind, Shining Armour’s body floating, invisible, beside her. Here, in the open, his inexperience and youth were so obvious, so plain to see that despite everything he suddenly didn’t seem to be such a threat. Was this what she was so terrified of, this nervous colt, too anxious to do more than shuffle past those they saw. For all of his audacity, his presence and utter conviction, under the sun he was no more than a child. That was a dangerous mistake to make, Trixie knew. He had found a niche nopony else would step into, a choice that had elevated him from just another pony to one of the most notorious ponies in the Equestrian underground. There had been times, in the past, when they had been challenged, stepping into another’s territory, or stealing from somewhere under another’s protection. He’d always assured her he’d talked them out of it, played them by appearing weak. He’d said that they’d agreed to allow them to leave in peace. Had she really believed that? Trixie knew how effective such an appearance could be, but it struck her now that Boundless was not the sort to play the submissive side. He had no need of it, not when he could overpower entire groups of adult ponies through the sheer, inconceivable violence of his approach. Trixie still hadn’t been able to shake the idea of murder from her mind. It flirted with her, dancing on the edges of her consciousness like some scrap of knowledge forbidden to her, tauntingly close and maddeningly vague. It was, as she’d found just days ago, her boundary, the limit beyond which she could not seem to step. She did not know why, logically. She had experience enough of the world to accept damnation, should it come to her. She should have been able to kill him, to thrust a blade of magic through his chest, severing skin and sinew, crushing through bone and splitting apart his heart. Just the thought nearly caused her to retch, but she should have been able to do it, and worry about the consequences later. Something had held her back. Some unknown force, that had bound her to her few morals, prevented her from betraying what little she held to be true. Trixie didn’t know if she should thank it or resent it. Boundless certainly seemed to view it as a restriction. If she’d been able to . . . but that wasn’t an escape either, was it? Even then, he would loom over her, haunt her for the rest of her days. Trixie shook her head angrily. There wasn’t any point to this debate, it just circled around and around in her head. The truth was, there was no way out, not anymore. Just in front of her, Boundless slowed, gesturing to a house on the side of the street. “Come, Trixie, in here.” Good thing, too. Trixie could feel her magical reserves, still somewhat depleted from her fight with Shining Armour, straining to maintain the spells on his body. She’d need to recast the Sleep spell soon as well. Boundless led her into an alley beside the building, stopping around the back of the house. Turning the corner herself, Trixie saw him pound his hoof into the wooden doors, angled between the wall and the ground. Stepping back, she watched them swing open, and a blue unicorn stick his head out. “Hurry up, Boundless,” he said, disappearing back into the basement. Trixie had never seen this pony before, he must be one of Boundless’ contacts. Once again, she was reminded that despite his inexperience, Boundless was a resourceful pony. It had taken him less than a week to establish contacts—in all probability, a whole network—in the city. Trixie quickly found herself lost in the maze of tunnels under the city. The citizens of the slums had apparently taken to the idea so much that they’d actually built tunnels connecting to rooms separated by more than a wall, to create what was almost a city in its own right. Trixie trotted past Boundless, coming up alongside the unicorn leading them. “Excuse me . . .” she asked. “Deep Blue,” he replied shortly, not even glancing at her. “Right. I was wondering, about this,” Trixie said, gesturing with a hoof. “How far does it extend?” “Whole of lower Canterlot,” Deep Blue said. Apparently Boundless had been right. Trixie dropped back to her position at the rear of the party, considering dropping the invisibility. They walked for what seemed an age, Trixie sure she wasn’t going to make it. But eventually, Deep Blue indicated down a passage and turned away, trotting off somewhere. Boundless watched him go, and then turned to Trixie. “Drop the spell. We’re here.” She let the invisibility go with a sigh of relief. Levitating his body suddenly seemed easy, despite her drained reserves. She moved Shining Armour into the room at the end of the passage, depositing him on the table, and dropped to the floor, massaging her head. *** “My last scheduled session was three nights before Shining Armour left for Canterlot. It was no different from any other night, save for the contents of that particular Dream,” Cadence said. She was standing at the window in her rooms, gazing out at her city. Twilight stood beside her, listening carefully. Dreaming was a tricky business, in a similar manner to Sight. But where Sight fell under the purview of the unicorns, Dreaming was a pegasus art. But where Rarity would fall into a trance, and See in a semi-conscious state, Dreamers like Cadence would approach from the other side. That put the subconscious in control, making the experience far more vivid, and often less coherent. Cadence sighed. “Normally my Dreams are reassuring, Twilight. Before our wedding—before the invasion—they were foreboding, and again just before the Empire returned to us. But apart from those times, they have been happy, full of joy, and contentment.” “What did you Dream, Empress?” “Don’t call me that, Twilight,” Cadence said absently. Her eyes were distant, focusing on the crystal ponies scattered far below, going about their daily business. Routine as usual; they hadn’t informed the public as to Shining Armour’s disappearance. There was no sense in worrying them prematurely, though Twilight had to do some fast-talking to convince those at the feast that her brother had chosen to remain in Canterlot a while longer. “It . . . It was horrible. I’ve never felt anything like that, Twilight, not even Sombra’s presence came close. It was like a weight, pressing down, this sense that something just awful was going to happen, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.” “What was it, Cadence?” Twilight asked quietly. “I was . . . me. Standing on the side of the train track, deep in the Canterlot mountains. I don’t know how I knew where I was. It was pitch black. I couldn’t feel anything around me, physically or magically, like I was floating in a void.” “what happened?” “The train rushed past. It was so fast, it just came roaring through, all fire and light and noise. And, emanating from it, this dark energy, like it was evil. Corrupt, to its core. It spread like Sombra’s touch, but it was blacker. Not crueler, but . . . it had less boundaries.” Twilight frowned. “There wasn’t a great deal Sombra wouldn’t have done.” “No,” Cadence shook her head vehemently. “Understand me, Twilight. Even in the depths of his hate and the height of his power, he would not have dreamed of the feats this was capable of. It was nature; implacable and without mercy, but bent and twisted to its own ends.” “So the train came past,” Twilight prompted, taking the rebuke silently. “It blew past me. I knew he was inside it, I could feel how evil it was, and how utterly incapable I was of stopping it. It was gone before I could lift a hoof.” “And . . .” Twilight said. Cadence turned to look at her, the faint whisper of a tear shining at the corner of her eye. “And then I woke up.” *** “Today, we shall discuss boundaries,” the Drac rumbled, his breath in danger of igniting the grass Daerev stood on. “These are, loosely, the guidelines that govern your actions and decisions.” “Like a code,” Daerev said. “In a way. But it is important to realise that something like a code will inform you of what you must do.” The Drac shook his head. “I—for this is a personal preference—believe that we should not structure our lives around what we can and should do, but instead, focus on what we cannot.” “Ah,” Daerev said. “Because while there is an infinity of things we can do, there are only some things we will not.” “Yes, exactly. Boundaries inform us that we may not, under any circumstances, perform a given action.” “Surely there are things you would try to refrain from unless you had to.” “There are extenuating circumstances, yes. It is important to know these, define them along with your limits.” “I will not kill for food, unless my life, or the life of another, depends on it,” Daerev said, nose twitching. “Very good. That is your decision to make, and I will not offer an opinion. Knowing how far you will go is more important than a code that tells you what you should do.” “That leaves most choices to be spontaneous,” Daerev observed. “Is that not preferable? Should a dragon not live in the moment, deciding only what course he prefers as it is presented?” “It seems . . . unstructured.” “Not when you yourself bring to each choice the experience and knowledge of a lifetime. Learn yourself; who you are. That is more valuable than any code, and your boundaries are part of that definition.” Daerev didn’t reply, nodding slightly while lost in thought. His old code—the Noble Dragon code that he’d created to separate Spike from the Equestrian dragons that had so horrified him—fit what his mentor described. It had told him how to act, without granting him the choice, in the moment, where he knew the subtleties at play. A simple acknowledgement that he wouldn’t allow the debt to go unpaid would have served him better. The Drac broke Daerev from his reverie, reaching behind him to seize something. Pulling it around, he tossed it onto the ground in front of Daerev. The deer’s carcass slid a few metres as it landed, leaving watery blood spattered in a trail on the ground as it spun, coming to face him with vacant, unmoving eyes. Daerev inhaled sharply, spines on his back stiffening and claws on his hands extending. A small cloud of dust rose around the body. “W-What?” Daerev said, eyes wide. “What is this?” “It’s a deer,” the Drac said, smoke gusting from his nostrils as he chuckled. “No, I mean . . . why is there a deer here?!” Daerev exclaimed, unable to tear his eyes from the carcass. Blood had begun to well up from under its torso, turning the verdant grass a sickly, shiny red. “Lunch,” the Drac said simply. “Perhaps I was wrong to push you to this as Spike, but Daerev Quitu must understand the way of the world.” He lifted a claw, prodding at the deer to roll it over. “This, this is not wrong. This is not evil. We have done nothing but act within nature.” “You killed it! You stole its life away, for what? A full stomach?” “Not mine,” the Drac said, pointing at Daerev. “Yours.” Daerev’s eyes widened as realisation hit him. Tearing his eyes from the corpse, he shuddered, crossing his arms across his body. “Oh, no. Didn’t you hear me? I will not,” he said defiantly, staring at his mentor. There was no way he was going to cross that boundary. It was unthinkable. “I remember. Do you, Daerev? You told me you would not take life, lest life itself depended on it.” “That’s right.” “Well, here you do not have to take life. The deer is dead, and none of your misplaced morals will bring it back.” “Irrelevant. I will not demean this creature!” “Demean it?” the Drac said incredulously. “How does your consumption of its flesh relate to anything in its life?” “It reduces everything it’s done to a simple meal. Life is more than meat!” “You’re scared,” the Drac said. “I think I understand, Daerev. But we are not our bodies. Flesh and bone, that is not who we are, nor does it comprise our whole existence. You will eat.” “I will not,” Daerev replied, baring his teeth. A small ball of green fire ignited in the back of his throat, spilling out of his mouth as liquid overflowing to run down and sizzle on the ground. The Drac strode out of the river, coming forward to stand at his full height, towering over Daerev. The young dragon gulped, his defiance suddenly quelled by the display of sheer strength. The Drac leaned down, opening his eye—as big as Daerev’s entire head—and locking his gaze with Daerev’s. “You will,” the Drac began, breath silky soft and quiet, so quiet that Daerev could almost hear the storm it contained, buried under layers upon layers of control. “You will, or you will die.” Daerev couldn’t say anything. He had no response, no way to reconcile the scene before him with his conception of his mentor. The change had happened so fast, switching from the familiar calm, collected visage of the Drac that had taught him so much, guided him into his adolescence and heritage, passed on hard-earned wisdom and life lessons, with the carefully controlled beast that was breathing hot smoke into his face, holding his gaze with intense, piercing eyes. Slowly, Daerev broke under the Drac’s will, bending himself in the utter belief that failing to do so would result in his death. He reached down, snagging part of the carcass in one hand. His talons tore through the flesh easily, as if they’d always been meant to. Lifting, he hesitated as the stench of the meat—death and decay, odours of defilement—reached his nostrils. “You will eat, Daerev, or not only you will perish, but also the residents of the pathetic town you call your home.” Trembling, Daerev took the meat—part of the deer’s forelimb—in his mouth, and chewed. To his surprise, his stomach did not rebel against him though his mind screamed. He did not abhor the taste, the texture of it parting against his sharp teeth, or the blood running down his chin. It was natural, and, as he forgot all about the Drac, towering above with fiery eyes and a wide grin, perhaps something he had been missing all along.