//------------------------------//
// Echoes of the Past 
// Story: Penumbra 
// by Deep Pond 
//------------------------------//

	The wind was chilly as it whistled through the rocky hills, tousling the blue unicorn's mane and tail. Trixie shivered and tucked her head lower, missing her star-spangled hat and cloak even more. They were gone, of course: destroyed by the Ursa Minor that those two misguided foals had lead into Ponyville.

A drop of rain struck Trixie's nose, and she glared skyward, ready to shout insults at the pegasus pony who would dare to mock her. Nothing but roiling storm clouds met her gaze. Of course: she was in the unnatural environs of the Everfree Forest, where nature and weather were wild and untamed. It was one of the few places left to here where her shame was not known; where she was not mocked by those who had heard of the events in Ponyville.

Despite its name, the Everyfree Forest contained many types of terrain, and Trixie had left the forest proper some time ago. She had heard rumors of some sort of zebra enchantress who lived nearby, and had no desire to encounter yet another wielder of powerful magic, especially one reportedly quite popular in Ponyville. She currently found herself trudging through an area of rocky hills – they seemed like small mountains to the unicorn – riven with gullies and canyons, and with nothing to break the bitter wind.

The rain increased, adding dampness to Trixie's cold misery. Quickening her pace, she peered about, searching for some sort of shelter. It was intolerable that she should have to endure this! All because of that wretched Twilight Sparkle person. As ever, the thought of that purple unicorn filled her with a mix of resentment and envy. 

Shaking rainwater from her bedraggled mane, Trixie caught sight of what looked like a structure up ahead. She continued to mutter under her breath, the heat of her anger sustaining her as she forced one hoof in front of the other.

More than ever, she missed her wagon. It had been both home and stage for many years now, every since she was a runaway filly who had just gotten her cutie mark. It was small and cramped, but it had been home to both her and her master, Blue Flame.

Memories of the old unicorn brought the ghost of a smile to Trixie's face. He had taken in a wild young filly with nowhere to go, and taught her the art of the stage. He had been a real magician, with a natural charisma Trixie reluctantly admitted she had never been able to match. With a few words and a wink, he could have an audience laughing along with him, gasping in wonder at the simplest illusions, and feeling honored to be hosting such an illustrious personage.

She tried. Celestia, how she tried; but somehow it never seemed to work. Oh, Trixie could draw attention easily enough, and she knew her magical tricks were good. Yet the audience never seemed to warm up to her as they had Blue, never shared in her jokes or knowing winks, never gave that feeling of honest wonder. 

Inevitably, Trixie's mind turned to Blue Flame's death, on the road between towns, with nopony around but his young apprentice. He had been very old, his body frail but his mind agile and sharp. A small grave, marked with a star-shaped rock, was the final resting place of the self-styled King of Magicians and Magician to Kings. Trixie had always known that he intended to leave her his traveling show, but she had never even considered the idea of taking it over so soon.





The structure Trixie had seen in the distance proved to be a castle. Now mostly in ruins, it was built of dark gray stone and seemed to be of immense age. Trixie trudged in, neither knowing nor caring whether this ruin was inhabited, only glad to get out of the downpour. The smell of old dust and ancient stone filled her nostrils. She made a brief effort and sky-blue light glowed about her horn, illuminating more dark stone, cobwebs, and dead weeds.

Trixie glanced down at herself. Her white-blue mane and tail were limp and ragged-looking and her legs were splattered with mud and grime, but there was nothing she could do about that. Her ragged saddlebags were chafing her back, the wet canvas making her shiver. Her breath misting before her, she continued deeper into the castle, seeking a room free of drafts, and preferably small enough that she could close it off somehow and spend the night in less discomfort.

After what felt like an hour, Trixie had manged to ensconce herself in a small antechamber, blocking the doorway with bits of debris. She had even coaxed a small fire to life, using dead weeds and tinder and ancient, crumbling furniture as fuel. The proof of her own cleverness cheered her briefly, until she once again remembered the circumstances that forced such cleverness. She huddled close to the tiny fire, lying on her solitary blanket in an effort to keep the cold of the stone from leaching into her bones.

Again her mind drifted back to Blue Flame. How many nights had they spent on the road, far from civilization, nopony around but themselves? And yet, it had never been lonely. The old magician had had a quick wit and a warm charm about him that simply precluded loneliness. 

Curling up as best she could, Trixie wished with all her heart that those days had never ended.





Trixie came awake, her heart pounding. She had fallen into an uneasy sleep somehow, and now found herself alone in absolute darkness and cold. Her fire had died, and it was utterly silent. Trixie felt, somehow, that there was nothing else alive and moving in all of Equestria.

But what had awakened her?

She almost ignited her horn-glow again, but something stopped her. The darkness was not absolute; there was a faint, pale light shining through the doorway, past the crude barricade Trixie had constructed. It was far too slight to have disturbed her rest, though.

“. . . ssseeeeeee . . .”

Trixie's ears flipped of their own accord. Was that . . . a voice? Or just the sound of wind on stone? Or had she even heard anything; maybe her half-dreaming mind was playing tricks on her.

“. . . trrrrick . . . seeeeee . . .”

That time there was no mistaking it. It wasn't just wind; somepony was speaking her name, soft and low, but with a mocking edge to their voice. Anger brought Trixie to her hooves; wasn't it enough that she had been humiliated and shamed and badgered halfway across Equestria? Couldn't she even find peace here, in a ruined castle in the middle of the Everfree Forest?

“Who's there?” she demanded, her voice sounding thin and harsh in the still night. “Who dares disturb the Great and Powerful Trixie? Show yourself, foal!”

Silence.

Then . . .

	“Trick . . . seee . . .”

Fully outraged now, Trixie used her magic to shove the barricade aside and strode stiffly into the next room. The light was brighter here: starlight coming through a large window, its glass centuries gone. Trixie was just able to make out the general features of the room: a raised, oval dais directly before her with vine-wrapped pillars to either side of it, and an open doorway at the far end of the room. She saw no movement or sign of any other living thing.

“Trixie . . .”

“Who is there?” she demanded, her horn flaring to light. She winced, squinting against the sudden radiance as she scanned the room.

Nothing.

“Trixie . . . I can help you.”

For the first time, Trixie realized that she was not hearing the voice with her ears; somehow, it was sounding inside her mind, like one of her own thoughts. The realization terrified her, but also brought a strange thrill: here was magic unlike any she had ever heard of before.

Unlike anything Twilight Sparkle had heard of, either.

“Who are you?” she demanded, “and why should you want to help me?”

“Trixie . . . you have been mistreated . . . mocked . . . and driven away.” The voice somehow gave the impression of great age, like an ancient grandmare wheezing for breath. “Your talents . . . dismissed . . . by upstarts. Betrayed.”

“Yes,” Trixie heard herself say.

“I also . . . have been sorely used. I am not . . . what I once was. But we . . . can help each other.”

“How? And who are you?”

“I am . . . you would call me . . . a spirit of magic. With my help, you . . . can once again be . . . Great and Powerful. I can show you magic . . . such as no pony has seen . . . in a thousand years.”

Trembling with more than the cold, Trixie stepped slowly into the room. The voice seemed to be coming from her right, from the far side of the oval dais. Slowly, alert for any sudden movement, she circled the dais.

“Join with me, Trixibelle,” the voice said softly, and Trixie stopped dead. How did it know her true name? She hadn't used it in years, and most of the ponies who knew her by that name were long dead.

“Join with me, and together . . . we can work such wonders. We shall be known . . . revered . . . through all of Equestria . . . and even beyond.”

There was nothing beyond the dais, though the dust was significantly less, and the floor scuffed with hoof-prints. Somepony had been here recently – although that could still have been a year or more, as far as Trixie could tell. Her horn-glow flared brighter, and her eye caught something that glittered in the floor.

“For power,” continued the voice. “For vengeance. We shall never . . . be alone again. We shall be together . . . always.”

There was a crack in the stone floor, narrow but deep, and something dark glittered at the bottom of it. Gathering all her courage, Trixie reached into it with her magic – careful to keep her horn glowing – and withdrew a small, dark object about half the size of one of her hooves. It was a chunk of metal, jet black and shiny where it had obviously broken off from something larger. Trixie levitated it before her magenta eyes and stared at it.

“Join with me . . .” came the voice from the shard. “I can give you such power . . .”

Trixie opened her mouth, swallowed hard, and tried again.

“Show me how.”