//------------------------------// // Thirty-One // Story: The Moon Also Rises // by Nicroburst //------------------------------// I approached Luna, today. She no longer thinks me a fool, though it is evident that she still believes I should spend my time on the forefront of her war. It continues, even now. I wonder how much more blood will be spilled before her notions of Justice are avenged. There were certainly a great many who took advantage of the crisis we faced. And though I cannot argue with my sister, I do not hate them as she does. Thirty-One BOUNDLESS POUNDED on the gates of Hornwall, his hooves just killing him. It was late evening, the sun having disappeared a half-hour or so ago, and he was longing for respite. The last week, or thereabouts, had been both boring and taxing, a monotonous period spent walking, always walking. At first, there had been the thrill of conspiracy and threat. Every slight noise had startled him, each shadow menacing. But as the days passed and he remained unmolested, he had settled down, into a mindless reverie. The guard opened the door just a little, sticking his head through the narrow gap. “What you want?” “Lodging,” Boundless said, “a bed, a bath, and a hot meal! If you could direct me to the nearest inn . . .” He trailed off, smiling hopefully. “No visitors in Hornwall,” the guard said, pulling back. Boundless stuck his hoof through the gap, wincing as the guard tried to shut the door on it. “Wait a second,” he said. “No visitors,” the guard repeated, “on the orders of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, of the Crystal Empire.” Orders from the Princess? They could only be in response to one thing. Shining Armour had been many things, from respected Guard Captain to devoted Royal Consort, and his wife’s reaction to his death was understandable, if extreme. Boundless hadn’t thought about the extended consequences of his actions until now. He didn’t regret anything, but he could stand to have a little more forethought in the future. For now, it was just another obstacle. “I have business in the city,” Boundless said. “You wouldn’t deny a pony a bed for the night, would you? My associates are waiting for me.” The guard sighed. “What do you want in Hornwall?” he asked. From behind the gate, Boundless heard a snigger. Another head appeared, underneath the first guard’s, younger, though wearing the same helm. “Aww, you really gotta stop being so grouchy, Spear,” the second guard said. “He isn’t a bad sort,” he said to Boundless, in an exaggerated whisper. “Just takes himself a little seriously.” He giggled again, as Spear began to steadily push him back. “Go ahead, Cloud Burst. Disobey a direct order. Make my day.” Boundless cleared his throat. “Princess Cadance barred the gates?” “That’s Princess Mi Amore Cadenza,” Spear said, shooting him a glare. Burst piped up from the behind the door, his face having lost its reverse tug-of-war with Spear’s hoof. “Oh, come on, Spear! Everypony needs a nickname.” Spear grunted. “We only got word a few days ago,” he said. “The Princess has closed all borders into the Empire. I’m sorry, but there’s no way in, even if you do have business to attend to in the city.” Boundless sighed. He hadn’t the time for these two, as amusing as their banter might be, and there was no way he was getting through them—not without drastic actions. He was tempted, he had to admit, but ultimately laying low would better serve his goals. So he needed another way in. There were bound to be secret entrances: tunnels; doors built into the wall; places where he might vault over, with assistance—he could enlist some pegasi to sneak him in under the cover of darkness. To do that, though, he needed help. “I understand,” Boundless said. “Do you suppose I could pass a message on, to my associates? As I said, they’ve been waiting for me to arrive, and I’d hate to cause them any undue inconvenience.” Spear shrugged. “I’ll pass it along. But we aren’t messengers, so it might take some time.” “Thanks anyway,” Boundless said. He scratched the ground with a hoof, and then looked up, smiling. “Do you ha-“ “Here,” Burst said, popping back into view and holding out a pen and a piece of paper. “-ve . . . Ah. Thank you.” Boundless scratched a short message, taking his time with it. He needed to obfuscate his meaning against the inevitable snooping of the Guard, and at the same time, be sure that Clod Hoof would understand him. That pony had been known to struggle with complex sentences, on occasion. Clod Hoof I regret to inform you that I won’t be able to make our scheduled appointment. I have been stranded outside Hornwall’s gates, and will make camp close by. Inform the others, and if you could send somepony out to speak with me, I’m sure we can work out a solution. Don’t keep me waiting. Boundless “Who should I give this to?” Spear asked, taking the furled scroll from Boundless. “Clod Hoof. He’s a degenerate sort, frequents the taverns and gambling dens. But I find him useful for the odd errand." “We know Clod,” Spear said, nodding. “He’s been in and out of the jail ever since he arrived here. I’m surprised you’d want to associate with the likes of him.” “I’ve found his type to be rather resourceful, with the right motivation.” “Resourceful isn’t the word I’d use,” Burst said, sniggering. “Don’t worry,” Spear said. “We’ll get it to him.” “Excellent. I appreciate it,” Boundless said. Turning away, he heard the gates shut loudly, and the smile fell from his face. It was already late, and he did not want to spend another night camping outdoors. The plains had had precious little shelter, and the hard earth was far from comfortable. Thankfully, there was a small forest just south-east of Hornwall. It was nothing on the scale of Whitetail Woods, or the Everfree Forest near Ponyville, but it was a forest nonetheless, tall trees, wide shrubs, and long grass growing thickly at their roots. It would do, in a pinch. Over the next few hours, Boundless found a cosy nook, nestled against a thick trunk close to the edge of the forest, gathered together a pile of leaves and twigs for kindling and larger branches for firewood, and, following paths beaten through the trees by larger animals—deer, in all likelihood—found a stream, flowing south. The water was pure and ice cold, testament to the stream’s source, fed by melting snow. A spark of magic lit the fire, and immediately warmth sprang up around him, combating the chill in the air that had descended with the sun. It was dark now, so dark that Hornwall’s walls were completely obscured. The world contracted into a little bubble, consisting of no more than him and his camp. Boundless chewed some cud absently as he waited. There was no sense in overthinking his position now, nor was there anything more he could do to further his ends, so he relaxed, shifting occasionally to prevent any soreness from building in his back. Eventually, as the wind picked up, throwing the flames of his fire higher and threatening to spill it out into the forest proper, he even dozed off, sleeping fitfully, for mere minutes at a time. In his slumber, he came to observe his surroundings through sound, more than sight. An odd cry, shrill and high, of a bird returning home, laden with food; a gentle trickle of water over rock, endlessly repeating the same tune with infinite variation; wind marking trees with strokes of air, whistling as it wove a map of the forest, and leaves rustling in acknowledgement: all served to build a picture in his dreams, an assurance, like a warm blanket or the presence of another, sleeping alongside, that everything continued around him, that the world stood vigil until he returned to it. Approaching hoof-steps failed to rouse him from his peculiar reverie, nor did the quiet call of his name, so Clod Hoof was forced to shake him awake. Boundless spluttered, pushing Clod back, all serenity destroyed. Lip curling, he took a moment to collect himself, then nodded wordless thanks and began a brisk trot back towards the city, trusting Clod to follow behind him. “Well?” Boundless demanded, as Clod caught up with him, falling into step at his side. “I got us in with Plain Sight’s group. There’s a hole-in-the-wall a mile or so, that way,” Clod said, extending a hoof. “No pegasi?” Flight would be the easiest solution. Fast, cheap, and best of all, it involved only a few additional ponies. Boundless didn’t want to extend any more trust than he absolutely had to: years of petty crime had taught him paranoia well. “Uhh . . . no?” Boundless snorted. No matter, Plain Sight’s group had been operating here for years—their entrance would be secure. The two of them moved quickly, and in relative silence. Boundless was eager to get inside—the thought of a warm meal and a hot bed dominated his mind. Tranquillity had its virtues, but the night was cold, and he had been outdoors for weeks. Some time later, a flash of light appeared on the top of the wall. It waved back and forth: a cone of light, cast forth from a unicorn’s horn. Guard patrols, then, to ensure the Princess’ orders. Boundless was suddenly relieved that Clod hadn’t had the brains to employ pegasi for the job—or maybe, he’d known all along. Boundless shook his head, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. No, that was giving Clod too much credit. The cretin had, in all likelihood, simply delegated the task to the first candidate he could think of. Still, Plain Sight could be considered an expert, and it was always wise to defer to expertise. The patrol passed them by without incident, and shortly thereafter, Clod brought them to a stop. “Here.” “There’s nothing here.” “This is the spot they showed me. See that marking?” “What marking?” “There, on the wall.” “This?” “Yeah. That marks the spot.” “It’s just a couple of scratches.” “Well, yes. Though it’s also the anchor for a rather complex spell,” a new voice said. Both Boundless and Clod jumped at the sound, looking around for the voice’s owner. It chuckled, and then a grey hoof emerged from the wall, sticking out of solid stone. “Come on,” it said. “I’m getting tired, here.” Clod seized the hoof and was immediately pulled through the wall. In just a few moments, Boundless was left entirely alone. Slowly, he approached the spot Clod had vanished into. Reaching out, he touched the stone with his own hoof, not entirely surprised when it simply disappeared from view. An illusion spell, he realised, covering up their entrance. With more confidence, he strode forward, plunging into darkness. He blinked, once, twice. While the night outside had been dark, and the inside of the wall itself pitch black, this little nook was well-lit, flooded with light from two torches, seated either side of a wooden door, standing open. Beyond it, in a small room, Clod was waiting for him with a grey unicorn. “Boundless,” the unicorn said, extending that same hoof towards him. “It’s,” he shivered, closing his eyes for a moment, “exciting to have you here.” “Plain Sight, I assume,” Boundless said, shaking the hoof. “I’ve heard about you. “Good things, I hope,” Plain Sight said. “Depends who you ask.” “High praise,” Plain Sight said. “You aren’t entirely unknown to us, either.” “Oh? I hadn’t thought the odd petty crime would be worth your attention.” “Not usually, no.” “Well? I haven’t all night.” “Did you . . . did you really murder Shining Armour?” Boundless tilted his head to the side. “Yes.” Now Plain Sight seemed eager, almost. He began hopping back and forth, from side to side, face twisting. Behind him, Clod Hoof had gone green, and he retched, leaning on the wall for support. “Could you . . .” Plain Sight began, and then clamped his jaw shut, his whole body quivering. He appeared to be fighting something, some internal battle, making itself plain in his shifting expression. Excitement, nervousness, fear, longing, disgust . . . Boundless saw them all, flitting across his visage. “Could you show me?” He managed, gasping the words out, as if they required physical effort. Perhaps they had. Boundless remembered well the effort it had taken to coax Trixie into performing the murder, just as he remembered that experiment’s success. And here, he was being offered a subject, free of manipulation and torment. This pony wanted to be a monster. This pony chose to be like him. For what reasons, Boundless couldn’t fathom, nor the circumstances that had conspired to bring about another so weakly affected by the moral compulsion currently wracking Clod’s body, but he wasn’t about to allow the opportunity to pass him by. Boundless turned his gaze from Plain Sight, fixed his eyes on the quivering form of Clod Hoof, now leaning over a small puddle of vomit. “Why not?” he said, and took a step forward. *** Pinkie tried to smile. The guard facing them was just as stony-faced as all the others she’d seen, but she just knew that under that façade, under that exterior of rock and slate, he was as soft and gooey as everypony else. Like a piece of candy, or a chocolate lava cake. Pinkie wanted to see it shine through, to see the lava of kindness and empathy spill out. She’d never had to force herself to smile before. Each of her smiles, and she had hundreds, thousands, all with a specific tone and function, were natural, blooming forth as easily as the dawn, unfettered by misgiving or trepidation. Now, though, it felt wrong, felt unnatural, as if she was playing some cruel joke, twisted, so that its spirit was one of sadistic parody, rather than genuine laughter. She pulled at the corners of her mouth with her hooves, massaged her cheeks, and plastered on the best smile she could manage. The guard seemed unimpressed. “Is there any way we could-“ Daerev said, bringing Pinkie’s attention back to the moment. The two of them had found their trek utterly uneventful, a dull cycle of movement and rest, punctuated only by brief stints in the sky. Daerev was already becoming more adept, more comfortable in the sky, and Pinkie had high hopes for where he was headed. Those rides, moments she took apart from time, had buoyed her, and had given her something to clutch at while she regained her footing. In truth though, she was well aware of what troubled her, what continued to tug down the corners of her mouth. The guard sighed. “The Princess has closed down all borders with the Crystal Empire.” Another guard appeared, his head appearing to hover in space, projecting from the doorframe. “This again, Spear?” Spear didn’t bother acknowledging his comrades presence. “Northbound traffic isn’t all that unusual, Cloud Burst,” he said. “Dragons are.” Pinkie turned her smile to Burst, hoping for a better reaction. He seemed . . . more forthright, than his partner, with his emotions bubbling a little closer to the surface. Unfortunately, he took one glance at her—mouth stretching wide, eyes bulging, head slowly leaning forward, stretching her neck—and vanished to whence he came. Faking a smile was hard. Daerev was getting impatient, though, taking small steps forward until he towered over the guard. Staring down, Pinkie saw a glimmer of a snarl overtake his expression, and his tone turned vengeful. She hated seeing him like this, pretending to be this scary dragon, this tyrannical predator. He wasn’t the Spike she’d grown up alongside. “How then,” Daerev asked, enunciating carefully, “would you suggest we gain entrance to Hornwall, and the Crystal Empire beyond?” “Wait,” Spear said, standing his ground. “There are rumours that Princess Luna has appeared north, and already negotiations over the border agreements between our nations are underway. Perhaps there will be a quick resolution.” “Don’t feed me rehearsed lines,” Daerev said, leaning forward and propping himself up on the wall with a claw, right beside the guard’s face. “Without a royal edict,” Spear said, “there’s no way.” Pinkie coughed, once, and reached inwards. Seizing hold of that stubborn tendril—she’d drawn on it many times, over the past week, and still it remained—she felt backwards, imaginary hooves straining to reach out for . . . ah, there. Pinkie, she whispered, feeling her words be stripped away, pulled from her mind at the instant of their conception. Get an edict from Cadance. Need to get into Hornwall. And then the stream closed, reality zipping up around her with a little pop, and a memory surfaced in her mind—of a new combo, wobbly knees-tongue roll-ear flop- . . . She shook herself, once, all over, to discard the faint buzz that clung to her fur, and refocused her attention on the guard blocking their way. Reaching behind, she whipped out a small scroll, bound with red ribbon and pink wax, sealed with a faceted heart. “Oh, you should have said so,” Pinkie said, injecting a little sing-song into her voice. She felt better, now, brighter. Like clouds, parting to allow a ray of light through. They could keep moving. Both Daerev and the guard were staring at her. Daerev began to say something, before slamming a claw into his face and trailing off. The guard didn’t know her as well as he did. “Where did you . . . ?” “Oh, this?” Pinkie said, hoofing the scroll to him. She already knew what it said—Cadance had written the scroll herself, a full month ago, granting Pinkie and her companion access to Hornwall. “I always keep scrolls handy.” “In case of emergency,” Daerev said, shaking his head. He offered her a smile, and for once it appeared genuine. A moment’s relief overpowered any amount of underlying guilt, it seemed. “Thanks, Pinkie.” “Any time,” Pinkie said, and chuckled a little herself. The pun flew right over their heads, of course. “This . . . this is only valid today,” the guard said, in some consternation. Pinkie tilted her head. “Of course, silly. We’re only trying to get in today.” “But how . . .” The guard shook his head, and then peered at the scroll closer. “Ah. I see. Sorry, Pinkie Pie, Daerev, but I still can’t let you through.” Pinkie’s ears matched the downward spiral of her heart. “Why not?” she said, bottom lip quivering. “The Princess was rather specific with her orders.” Spear turned. “Cloud Burst! Fetch me a copy of our orders.” A few seconds later, Burst reappeared, passing another scroll to Spear. “Did you say Pinkie Pie? Did she actually turn up?” “Apparently so,” Spear said. “Spear,” Burst said, turning a stern expression on his partner. “You owe me twenty bits.” “Fine,” Spear said, clenching his jaw, and pushing Burst out of view, and then turned back to Pinkie and Daerev. Clearing his throat, “To wit: None shall cross the border, be they pony, donkey, griffon, yea, even dragon, save under Our name and Our seal. Keep especial eye for a pony of pink complexion, bearing party favours and the name Pinkie Pie. The invitation We extended her some time ago is no longer valid, and ought to be confiscated on sight.” “What.” Daerev said. Pinkie, for once, was utterly lost for words—instead sinking into thought. She had never bothered understanding her peculiar abilities, but Twilight’s recent exploration of Coromancy had helped her gain a little more insight into exactly what she was doing. Always before, it had been just something that was, something she just did without thinking. Now, though . . . now she was aware. Pinkie Sense had been at the core of what she could do. Somehow, little messages, coded in the form of sensations, could warn her of her immediate future. That meant that she, unconsciously or not, was sending those messages back. Luna’s warnings were taken seriously, and once Twilight fixed herself on an explanation—an actual explanation—for the Pinkie Sense, she hadn’t been willing to give it up. So Pinkie found herself practicing, learning to hone the talent, and to extend it. She could change some things. A falling pot plant, sidestepped, an inexplicable ditch in the road, avoided, a certain fleeing pegasus, found, each because of a warning, a hint, reflexively sent back in time, and every once in a while, a doozy, warning of calamity, or great change. But she couldn’t change others. She had reached into the past to obtain the edict allowing her through this blockade, and to do that, her past self had requested it from Cadance. So when Cadance had closed the borders, she had remembered Pinkie’s odd request, so easily indulged before all this horribleness, and, divining its intent, taken steps. What was, was, and always would be. She could use Coromancy to get through here no more than she could use it to prevent Shining Armour’s death. “Come on in, then,” Spear said, stepping back. Daerev blinked. “You’re letting us in?” “Actually, no. We’re holding you for a few days.“ “What? Why?” Pinkie bounced to her hooves, flashing Daerev a quick smile. “It’s okay,” she said. “They’re letting us in.” "The Princess mentioned you two specifically," Spear said. "We aren't about to let you fly clear over the city." Daerev folded his arms across his chest, rocking back onto his heels. “And if I turn around and leave?” Burst reappeared. “Paperwork. Lots of paperwork,” he said. Pinkie stepped past him, taking in the rooms beyond the small doorway all at once. She now stood in what appeared to be a living room—complete with couches, tables, and a counter leading into a kitchen. It was a far cry from the austere image of a guard post, framed with dull greys of metal and stone, resembling more a home. Several doors indicated adjacent rooms, one standing open to reveal a sink and basin, and Pinkie would bet that she could hear the sounds of city life echoing through the walls: a certain tell-tale hustle, full of life and energy. Burst had perched himself on a shelf beside the door, allowing him to stick his head out from the side without appearing to touch the ground. Pinkie giggled a little at the sight, and, hiding herself from Daerev, twisted the world, her head mirroring Burst’s from the other side. The guard started, falling to the floor with a loud thud, staring up at her with his mouth agape. Joy swelled in her chest, and it quite nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Nothing. But I would rather you remain here, where we can watch you,” Spear said, ignoring Pinkie’s antics. She blew a raspberry at him. "At least wait until the Princess replies. I imagine she might have further wishes regarding the two of you." “Oh,” Daerev said. He shuffled his wings, ducked his head. “Uh, then . . . I accept.” He slipped into the building, scraping the doorframe with his shoulders. Pinkie pulled back to allow him in, emerging from the corner and heading for the kitchen. Soon enough, he’d be too big for places like this—too big, even, for his library back home. Pinkie quickly shunted that thought to the back of her mind, instead turning to the bench before her, and cupboards beneath. In a matter of moments she had produced a large mixing bowl, a bag of flour, eggs, milk, sugar, and a bouquet of tulips. “All you’ve gotta do is add a cup of flour,” she . . . well, hummed more than sang, really, too absorbed in the moment and her memories of it to pay attention to vocalisation. The words weren’t important, anyway, no more than the sugar. Instead, the image of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, still fillies then, full of promise, full of potential, filled her mind. Burst was beside her, cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl. Daerev chuckled, while Spear stood at his side, openly gaping. Pinkie paid them no mind. They weren’t here, not where it mattered. She’d thought Spikey might have been able to understand—to meet her halfway. She’d clung to that hope even as she heard him dash it, repeatedly deny her. He’d confirmed what everypony else had accepted long ago, that Daerev had finally killed Spike off, replaced him completely, utterly. Spear rushed at her, grabbing at various implements. Turning, Pinkie flashed her teeth, and passed him a spoon, then, a second later, a spatula, and then an empty bowl, each as she finished with it. Straining, Spear stumbled to the side, too loaded to stop her from sliding the tray into the oven and clapping her hooves in excitement. Fresh food, and tasty, too. Burst collapsed to the ground, clutching at his sides as Spear dumped the dirty dishes into the sink and stuck a hoof in Pinkie’s face. She’d been able to produce food whenever she wanted it during their trek, but by the end she hadn’t bothered much. A few days from a kitchen, anything she pulled from the past had been aged, and was on the verge of going stale. She could survive by grazing. Fresh grass and a few flowers beat out stale cake any day of the week, but Daerev required a little more, and he’d often left in the early evening, not returning for some hours. Pinkie hadn’t had the courage to ask him where he’d been. Pinkie licked Spear’s hoof, causing him to retract it hurriedly, and his tongue to trip over whatever he was blathering about. She was just so sick of being afraid: too scared to ask the Cakes to stay on at Sugarcube Corner, too scared to scream for Fluttershy to remain with them, in Ponyville, too scared to press Daerev on going to Canterlot, too scared to leave her room and too scared to stay behind. She could feel the change coming to the world, the lingering air of prophecy and revelation that hung around the last few weeks. Luna’s return, Shining Armour’s murder . . . it was a catalyst. She was scared she would never see Ponyville again—see Ponyville again, not the town, but the place. Joy had left her, drained away by her manipulation of reality. In its place, a rising tide of sorrow, as black as any night and as deep as any ocean threatened to engulf her. Held at bay by long days of nattering, time spent on anything but, her grief would not be denied. She imagined herself a dam, seams ready to burst. Daerev and Spear had retreated and were talking in the other room. Snatches of their conversation drifted to her ears, finding a melodic sense, accompanied by her thoughts. “. . . lots of homes this far out, it just happened to be adjacent to the main street . . .” “. . . unrest following the Princess’ sequestration—heard from Canterlot? . . .” She could smell something sweet. “. . . looking for a young unicorn, no more than a colt, really . . .” Burst, however, had regained his feet and slung a hoof around her shoulders, his quick grin slowly replaced by a more serious expression. “Pinkie,” he said, prodding her in the ribs. Slowly, she shook herself from her reverie. “Your cupcakes are going to burn.” Pinkie twisted the world. Her pupils shrank to mere pinpoints, barely visible, stars of black against a blue sky. Her jaw stretched, several times over the point it should have dislocated. Her lungs inhaled sharply, drawing in air in a great gasp. Her sorrow fell away from her, a cloak all at once enveloping and dissipating, evaporating from her shoulders. She slipped from under Burst’s embrace, turned to the oven and pulled her treats out, giving the tray a tiny shake as she did so. Each wobbled, continuing to move ever so gradually for a few moments after she stopped. Perfect, or near-about. With barely a thought, she reached to the side and grasped a pastry bag full of pink icing. Icing could last a few weeks—she’d tried—so there was no problem bringing that along. It took all of five seconds for her to be sliding the tray onto the table, right under the noses of Daerev and Spear. Pinkie waited for them to take one each—Daerev chewing eagerly, Spear holding his with a bemused expression—before she clamped her teeth onto the tray, tossed them into the air, and caught them in her mouth. Sweet, fluffy goodness filled her senses, and she lost herself, simply let go of the world. All too soon, it was over, but even so she felt rejuvenated, buffered against the emotions swirling within her. As if she were feeling them from a distance, her memories of torment and grief shielding her from the worst of her torment. Burst followed her into the room, pouting at the sight of the empty tray. Spear caught sight of him, and, sniggering, took a large bite, making sure to emphasise each motion, every slow extension of his jaw, every rolling crush of his teeth. Behind it lay a smile. For the first time since Pinkie had met him, Spear was smiling. That victory—small, perhaps meaningless—spread like a virus, reaching Daerev and Burst simultaneously, all three now breaking out into laughter, and then to Pinkie, who fought it even as she longed for it, pressed down the corners of her mouth, clenched her jaw, and tried in vain to tear her eyes from the sight. The longer she looked, the harder she found it to turn away, until a grin broke free of her control, and she threw herself forward, collapsing onto the others and enveloping them in a great hug. Giggles spilled forth, choking her, seizing her throat up, hysterical, convulsive, and as she pressed her face into Daerev’s leathery belly, accompanied by a damp warmth.