There is something here. I was right about the Tower, wasn’t I? And Starswirl’s manuscripts, and . . . it doesn’t matter. For all her griping now, she’ll be grateful when I—when we—know more. When we can turn it to the betterment of all.
Fifty-One
THE WAVE SWEPT over her without warning. A great rush, all at once, swamping her with feeling, sudden sentiment. Applejack gasped, her body tensing, head jerking up, snapping towards the north.
Something had just happened.
She found herself reaching forward, hoof plunging through the table before her. Wood splintered, cracked under the force of the blow, and she started to topple forwards before catching herself. Watching her body move without direction, almost in slow motion. She shook herself, took several deep breaths.
She wanted—needed—to act, to move. Getting up from the chair, she kicked the remains of the table, saw it crash into the opposite wall. Her thoughts spiralled, confusion dominating, clouding, preventing her from just slowing down.
She ran outside, not really opening the door so much as throwing it open, bouncing it off its hinges and back into her face, where it smashed itself to pieces, a great crack ripping through her ears. Applejack trembled.
She could use some of this, burn it off, clear her thoughts. It would come back, later, rebound against her. But . . .
A pain lanced across her chest. She fell, gasping out at the sudden burst, hooves rising to touch her heart. Slowly, she looked down, found herself whole. The pain faded, slowly, replaced with a dull ache that spread throughout her whole body.
Never before had the free-fall seemed so close, so readily apparent, so intoxicating.
She reached into her orchard, drew on the stability of the ground, the networks of branching tree roots, capable of weathering any storm. She could feel the change in the air and the ground and her own body. Something taken away—as if she were trying to gallop without horseshoes. Everything seemed a little more dangerous, a little more possible.
She moved forward, wincing with each step. Into the heart of the orchard, the apple trees arranged around her. Not rows, as they had been in the past, but concentric, spiralling outwards. Creating a centre. The pain held less sway over her there, the impulse to act not quite as domineering. She sank down, took the time to calm herself, to tense and relax every muscle. Minutes, to master her thoughts, but just being here afforded her that time. Gave her some semblance of control.
This . . . whatever it was, Applejack highly doubted it was only affecting her. As personal attacks went it was poorly directed, poorly timed. To assail her with strength, and the impetus to use it, in the seat of her power? No.
Fluttershy.
Fluttershy had already encountered manipulation like this. Fought it, eventually to a standstill. She could handle herself, had proven that again and again.
Applebloom.
Applejack turned towards the town with a dawning sense of horror. Indiscriminate, playing off the tensions already running through the town, this was perfectly suited to bring that kettle to a boil. Applebloom was in there, selling produce. So, for that matter, was Big Mac.
She found her way to her hooves, drew further on her orchard. She knew the outermost rings of trees were drying, half-formed fruit falling to the ground, dessicated, in response, but she shunted that acknowledgement to the farthest corner of her mind, and drew more.
Stability lacing her hooves, she galloped for the town.
Was this some ploy by the Drac? She’d forced promises from him, oaths he would not—could not, if Twilight was to be believed—break. A way around them? He’d said that he would stop. That his task was done, ended, complete with delaying Fluttershy long enough to prevent her from reaching Twilight in the Crystal Empire. To prevent her from stopping Boundless.
Or was that was this was? Boundless’ mission complete, the Veil torn asunder? She closed her eyes, trusting her hooves to know the sense of the road, battering down obstacles as she plowed towards the town, and looked inwards.
A whirling storm of emotion. How much of it hers? She could feel it out, so to speak, notice when the flavours weren’t quite right, when the motives didn’t line up. Paying attention, she found threads of an unknown loss, an . . . abandonment. Linked to—Applejack flinched away, her eyes opening, breathing heavily, loudly, occupying her mind with the simple motions of running.
The town loomed up ahead. She listened, focused more of her being into her ears, and heard. Faint sounds of conflict, of raised voices, shouting, and the crackle of fire.
No.
She barrelled towards the sound, coming out of an alley and into a smaller plaza on the western flank of the town. A district largely belonging to the newer members of Ponyville, those traders and merchants that had set up shop here, taking advantage of Ponyville’s position as trade hub between Canterlot and the rest of Equestria.
The crowd were baying, gathered tightly together in the centre of the plaza. Handing out weapons, makeshift, but dangerous enough. Pitchforks, spades, rakes. Torches. Not disciplined, plenty jostling their neighbours, barely restrained by the figurehead leading the charge. Applejack couldn’t see who it was, through the press of bodies.
About them, fire raged. Already claiming buildings towards the east, spreading—thatch roofs and the economical layout, houses pressed up against houses, with only narrow gaps allowing ponies to slip between the buildings, relying more on wider roads between blocks for movement, it resembled a business district more than residential, testament to the prevailing mindset of those who lived here. They’d set those fires first, Applejack realised, in the throes of this uncanny anger, feeding off their distaste for the residents, and their sudden ability, desire, to do something about it. They’d only gathered into a mob as that first wave began to run out of steam.
But the mob would provide plenty of fuel. Self-fulfilling, really. The expectations created by the short-lived burst of destructiveness would only serve to drive more to pillaging. And every step worse than the last. A descent into madness, a push, off the edge of a cliff.
Applejack took a step forward, stopped. No use revealing herself, not yet. She doubted her ability to make them see reason, not here, not now. She needed to break the group’s momentum.
She turned, keeping to the shadows cast by the fires as she made her way around the plaza, eyes fixed on the crowd. Not dark, yet, but she couldn’t wait, either—had to trust to their own focus to hide her.
If she could just . . . Almost too loud to think. She needed to find the leader, the pony this loose gathering was revolving around, break their grip. Establish authority. But the crowd hid them too well, constantly shifting, the only gaps in the crowd moving just a few ranks deep, and closing as quickly as they opened. The cacophony of noise, voices, fire, the cracking of wood and crash of buildings beginning to splinter apart, the metallic screeches of weapons being smacked against each other, against the ground . . .
She heard faint screams, and twisted to glance at the burning buildings again. The fire most progressed at the edges of blocks, too much stone to really gain a footing in the sparse alleys between houses. If there were ponies still inside.
Applejack clenched her jaw. A time limit, on top of everything else. She’d considered attempting to contain the mob, limit the damage they could do, until they petered out, spent. That wouldn’t work if it meant leaving others to burn to death.
She’d’ve killed to have Fluttershy by her side here. A Conduit’s ability to sense energy would have been invaluable, in locating those trapped by the flames. Her ability to manipulate energy perfectly suited to containing those blazes, preventing them from doing further harm. Her ability to see the effects plaguing the crowd, to alter it, subtly, to calm them down.
Actually, scratch that. Applejack knew her friend well enough to know that that was, in all likelihood, exactly what she was doing, elsewhere. Applejack was ill-equipped in comparison. Not beyond the realm of possibility that she’d have struck out on her own anyway, unable to really contribute anything to Fluttershy’s efforts.
Focus. The crowd hasn’t moved yet, but they were gearing up, egging each other on, testing the waters. Feeling, in an unconscious way, for resistance, social or magical, that might hold them back. Testing boundaries. The fire licked up the sides of houses, ate away at their roofs.
Applejack made a decision. Came at the crowd, barrelling forward, fast. Fast enough that nopony could get more than half a word of warning out before she was in their midst, crossing the distance from the dark edges of the plaza. She wove through them, using her shoulders as bludgeons, never striking directly, but bumping, dislodging, disrupting their balance and coordination. Creating a disturbance, and moving on before they could catch more than a glimpse of her, burying herself in the next clump of ponies.
Fighting erupted in her wake. Ponies assuming fault of those next to them turned, faces twisted in anger. Others lost grip on their implements, let them fall to strike those near them. A hundred voices lifted in indignation. Chaos.
Steadily, she made her way forward. Looking for a space, for the gap that influence would need to occupy, to signify, to allow their words to carry. Towards the centre, she found it.
“Mayor?”
The mayor turned, her grey mane twisting around her neck. “Ah, Applejack. Come to join in the festivities?”
“I . . . no!”
“Ah, but we’re nearly ready to go! Come, now, even you could use the release.”
“No, no, this is wrong. You’re . . .” Applejack caught herself. Too much, too fast. How to appeal to a crowd, like this, already swept off their hooves by welling, bubbling emotion. Logic would have no sway here. “My friends!” she bellowed, spreading her hooves wide. Not enough space, they drowned her out, couldn’t see her.
Snarling, Applejack planted her hooves in the ground, reached down through the cobblestones to the dirt and rock below. Just a trickle, and the cobblestones erupted, sudden growth of roots, movement of earth pushing upwards, creating a narrow pillar underneath Applejack. Thrusting her up, above the crowd. A makeshift pedestal. She reared, yelling out, “My friends! Too long we have watched as others tore down our homes! Too long we have waited, trusting in their goodwill! Too long!”
The crowd roared. Their attention on her, now, specifically her, and not each other, not the weapons in their hooves, the fire at their backs.
“Canterlot does not care!” Applejack cried, all but tasting the lies. “They send their upstarts here, those too young or foolish or stupid to have a place on the mountain. They send us their trash!”
Another roar. It grew, in volume, swelling all around her to a deafening din. And the fire crept forward along the edges.
She took a deep breath. “Well, what are you going to do about it?” she screamed, turning her gaze skywards. This weapon, double-edged. She prayed she wasn’t making a mistake, firing their fury even further. But blind emotion was a stampeding herd, a charging bull. Easy enough to direct, for all its strength.
“There!” she called, pointing to her right, where the fires raged. She was all but certain this crowd had been the ones to set it, small groups or individuals rampaging before they had congregated here. “They burn our homes!”
“There!” she cried, pointing forward. The rioting had already dealt damage to the town, had broken windows and storefronts, defaced homes, left ruins in their wake. “They tear down what we’ve built!”
“There!” she pointed to her left. Shadows danced on the walls. “They cower. They fear us!”
She took another breath, found some more magic, used it to strengthen her throat, her lungs. Bellowing, now, loud enough to drown out all other noise, to drown out thought, “Oppose them! Stop the destruction, save your homes! Find your families, your loved ones, protect them! And then we will have a reckoning, my friends, yes, a reckoning indeed!”
Go, go, please, just go home.
It was a spell. She was all but sure of it. And spells wore off, or could be dispelled.
She prayed she wasn’t wrong.
They took a moment, just staring at her. Some mouths slightly ajar, others with hooves over their ears. Others, eyes shining. They hadn’t moved, frozen in place by a strange paralysis, caught up in the spectacle.
“Go!”
And they went. Streamed towards the burning buildings, their torches forgotten. Found water, somewhere, dug up loose dirt to smother the flames. Scattered, individuals, no longer part of a mob, but preoccupied with thoughts of their own: families, lives, selves. Dispersed.
Applejack lowered herself, panting. She wiped sweat off her brow, flicked it towards the ground. A wholly different kind of exertion, this, profoundly dishonest. Her lip twitched.
Applebloom. Fluttershy.
Alone again, she turned towards the centre of the town, and ran.
***
Twilight reeled.
The impact had knocked her onto her rear, the nausea had forced her down, twisting onto her side, panting. Unexpected, though she should have known . . .
No. There was no real way to prepare for something like this. For the indoctrination of a lifetime being brutally removed. For the thoughts—the horrible, horrifying intent that stamped itself over her mind. She glared, picked something, out in the distance, focused her vision on it.
Not your thoughts, Twilight.
She knew that, of course. Didn’t help much, though. In and out, breathing carefully, with control. She could still feel the sensation of the magic, parting flesh . . . was that universal, she wondered. Was everypony in the Crystal Empire, in Equestria, now reliving that awful moment?
A puzzle. She clutched at it like a filly, to her favourite toy late at night. Surely the magic would dissipate with distance. Like any spell, the further away from the casting they got, the more power it would require—and so, the less effect it would have. A smaller impact, a much faster recovery. So that, at the farthest extremes, places like Appleloosa, hundreds and hundreds of kilometres from here, it would register as a faint sense of unease—if that.
Yes, that sounded right. She rolled the concept over in her mind, examining it. Would that lessen its effectiveness? She could certainly imagine a radial map of consequence—that is, the more extreme reactions concentrated nearby, while those spread further out might not notice their new circumstances, but . . . would they still be able to take advantage of their freedom?
It wasn’t murder that Twilight considered. That had ever been only the example, only the worst possible part of what this meant. There were so many things, all tied together, that relied on inter-personal conflict . . . her imagination failed her. She thought of Science, of the thousands of opinions that might now fight for their differences, instead of reconcile them. Of Art, and the myriad of forms, the passion that might suddenly appear. Of Aspiration, and the heights they might reach.
The problem. Any spell relied on a complex interweaving of its various parts, the spell-form an aggregate of laced runes and matrices. The Veil had been opaque, its design hidden, but for all its complexity, for all its power, it could not flaunt those basic rules. Even the Elements of Harmony, the closest thing to raw power given physical form they had, had an internal spell matrix.
And the destruction—the utter annihilation, at the hooves of Trixie—of any part of that matrix, would cause the whole thing to fail.
Hadn’t she merely killed? Spread the feeling out, over as much distance as she could, spurred on by the Coromantic potential within her, within the minds of her deceased friends? For an instant, Twilight froze, nausea forgotten as her hooves rushed to her muzzle. If she had merely freed Equestria, without actually destroying the spell itself . . .
She could feel its influence—or rather, the absence of its influence. Something she’d never noticed until it was gone. She was free. But . . .
No. Something on this scale, with this much power behind it . . . the effects would ripple. Compounded by every individual torn away. Growing until the Veil itself tore. Without ever targeting it, exactly, Trixie could overwhelm it—as if it rent itself asunder attempting to control and subjugate her sentiment. No, it was gone. It could not have survived.
Twilight rolled onto her back. Her breathing had calmed, and she felt better, more like herself. Clambering to her hooves, she saw Trixie, unconscious—to be expected, with that exertion—saw Daerev tending to Cadance, who was moving through her own panic attack, Luna and Celestia huddled together, quietly talking. Saw him. She approached the Princesses, picking a path through the debris their fight had left covering the plaza. Through the air, the sounds of cries, thundering hooves, screams of horror and desperation.
“Twilight,” Luna greeted her. “Welcome back.”
“We have to do something,” Twilight said. “Something right now. I . . . For a minute there, I actually wanted . . .”
Celestia looked haunted. “I know.”
“They’re . . . Some of them,” she gestured out, at the city around them. The sun was beginning its descent, now, abandoning its prior zenith. “Oh, Celestia. Equestria . . .”
“The Palace must make a statement. Immediately,” Luna said. “No delay, no careful wording. They will listen to me, but they will hear you, sister. Go. Now.”
Celestia paused, hesitating for a second, mouth half-open, before she nodded, disappeared in a flash of bright light.
Luna looked to Twilight. “I will monitor the situation, I think.”
“Luna . . .”
“Decisive action supersedes consideration here, Twilight,” Luna said. “Better to do the wrong thing than nothing.”
“No, it’s not that,” Twilight said, fumbling for words. “I just . . .”
Luna sighed. “I know. I wish—but no, there is consolation. Here, let me show you something.”
Twilight hesitantly stepped closer to her, looked up at the Lunar Princess. Those eyes, normal now, but huge, like the great abyss of night, motes of light sparkling against nothing at all. She felt after Luna’s memories, those willingly offered, witnessed—lived—them in an instant.
“Rainbow,” Twilight whispered.
“You know where?”
Nodding, Twilight lit her horn.
“Go then,” Luna said. “I will see to those here. And Twilight? Rainbow will be weak from her exertion. I . . . Nightmare Moon suggests Ponyville, as an ideal place to recuperate.” She looked pained.
Twilight nodded, once, not willing just now to engage with that tidbit. She filed it away for later consideration, and disappeared into a burst of purple light.
***
Applejack hadn’t found any other impending riots, though there were plenty of small pockets: ponies cutting loose with their frustrations, or trembling, hiding from the chaos in their homes, or frantically trying to save what they had from the developing fury. She did what she could to calm them, to channel their energies in different directions. Several times, she stepped in to stop groups terrorising individuals, one time even catching them using fire to drive others out from their homes. The chaos moved like a wave, a ripple, spreading across the town, so that as she got closer to the town’s centre, the damage was more severe. Behind it, looters and opportunists followed, using the flash-mob as an excuse to settle petty grievances or long-standing feuds. It wasn’t often that the violence escalated to physical harm, but not so uncommon, either, that Applejack had to watch where she stepped, moving carefully around the rivulets of blood spreading down towards the gutters.
Screaming and the crackle of fire. Shadows lengthened, the sun now setting, and despite all the years she’d lived here, watching the town grow, she found herself somewhat lost more than once.
It was, Applejack thought, a particular chaos, a loss of control more than any great impetus. Here and there, she encountered those further taken with the swirl of emotion that had caught them, but far more often it was simply a herd mentality, a social pressure. Individuals were less prone to violence. Groups tended to centre around a leader, themselves extreme, in any direction. Twice, she’d been able to defuse a situation merely by appealing to their goodwill. Energy, unexpected and intense, with nowhere to go.
They needed to set boundaries.
Still, her priorities remained simple. Find Applebloom, and Big Mac—though she was less worried about him. Find Fluttershy. Minimise the damage, survive the night. She’d worry about planting seeds for the future later.
Ponyville was bigger than she’d thought, or so it seemed. All the recent developments had gotten away from her: she could remember when the walk from outskirts to town centre took just fifteen minutes. Now, it seemed, she’d been running for hours.
There.
Up ahead, another small group, surrounding a two-storey building that took up most of the block. Squat and ugly, wide gates faced those milling in front of it. As Applejack approached, she could hear their voices, egging on a bright orange pegasus, fluttering at the top of the gate. Straining.
Scootaloo?
“Hurry up!” a high-pitch carried through the air.
“C’mon, ‘loo! Ya can do it!”
Applejack grinned. She recognised the building now that she was a bit closer—one of the new schools. She knew the girls had resented that particular development—saw it as a particular affront, even though they’d long since graduated when it was built. They were trying to get access—why? To deface it, to destroy it, to vent some of that energy on a hated object.
“Girls!” she yelled, approaching.
“Oh, shit,” she just barely caught Sweetie Belle muttering.
“Oh, thank goodness I found you,” Applejack said, closer now. “Y’all’ve given me the biggest scare.”
Applebloom hung her head a little at that, though the others weren’t so easily guilt-tripped.
“We’re fine,” Sweetie Belle said, flicking her mane back over an ear. “W-”
Applejack swept right past her, grabbing Applebloom up into a tight hug. From over her sister’s shoulder, and ignoring the squeak of protest as she squeezed all the air out of Applebloom’s lungs, “An’ what were you all doing here, anyway? This . . .” turning her eyes to the side, pretending to just notice it, “this is a new school! What, y’all planning to bring down the system?” She turned an eye, and associated eyebrow, on Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo, who had dropped down beside her.
“No, it’s just that-”
“Because I surely hope you all didn’t think that this’s the perfect opportunity for a little vandalism, hmm?” Applejack said, bulldozing right over their attempts to taking control. “I imagine that would come part and parcel with some unpleasant chores.” She let Applebloom down, fixing her gaze on her sister. Applebloom wilted.
“No, that isn’t right,” Sweetie Belle insisted.
“Oh?”
“We wanted somewhere to hide out,” Scootaloo said. “You think we can’t see what’s going on? Please, AJ, we’ve spent long enough living here, of all places.”
“Doesn’t add up,” Applejack said. “The school? I know you resent it, at least partially.” She held up a hoof, forestalling argument. “However trite that is, it’s exactly the sort of emotion this . . . spell, seems to magnify. And why now? It’s been at least an hour, maybe two, since this started.”
The three girls glanced at each other.
Applebloom nodded. “Fluttershy told us to stay put. A-and then,” shuddering, “Sugarcube Corner got hit. A group came through, trashed it. Left graffiti on the walls, smashed up the tables and chairs, tore down part of the ceiling . . . we were upstairs, in the kitchen. Sweetie Belle nearly fell down, but Scootaloo caught her.”
“Didn’t want to stay there, after that. But outside was . . . scary. Nopony really hurt us, exactly, but . . .”
“They weren’t friendly,” Scootaloo said.
“Right. So, uhm, we ran a bit, and wandered, and then Sweetie Belle remembered the area. And we came here, because whose going to be at school right now?”
Applejack fought to keep the concern off her face. Expertly applied, she had to admit, hitting just the right notes to override her reason. Appealing to her protectiveness, to the tendency she still had, seeing her sister as a child.
But Applebloom wasn’t a child anymore.
“So,” Applejack said. “You don’t want to trash this place? Not even a little bit?”
Applebloom licked her lips. “M-maybe a little bit,” she said.
“Right,” Applejack said, trotting up to the wall. “I’ll give you a boost over, Scootaloo.”
“What?”
“Everypony’s going a little crazy right now, and you’re right—nopony’s going to be looking in here. Promise me you’ll stay on the ground floor, don’t trap yourself anywhere you could get cut off? I’m worried about fire, mostly.”
“O-ok.”
She waited for Scootaloo to step into her hooves, then threw her skywards, fuelling the throw with just a touch of magic. Combined with a hard flap, she cleared the gate easily, drifted down on the far side. She ran off, heading for the office, presumably in search of keys.
“So,” Applejack said, sitting down against the wall while they waited, her legs sore. “D’you know where Fluttershy went?”
Applebloom and Sweetie Belle shook their heads. “But she was scary,” Applebloom said. “Intense. It was strange. We were . . . agitated, hyped up. Like when you’ve had too much coffee, and you can’t stop moving.”
Sweetie Belle smacked the back of Applebloom’s head. “That was one time.”
“A-anyway, she looked at us, and she got all tense and still, and it faded away. We were calm—well, calmer—but she . . .”
“I think I get it,” Applejack said. Problem. She didn’t think Fluttershy would repeat her mistake, taking in all the negativity, but that she was trying at all . . .
“Sis’,” Applebloom said. “What’s going on?”
Applejack sighed. “I don’t know, yet. We’re waiting ‘till Twilight gets back here, an’ Rarity too,” nodding at Sweetie Belle. “They’ll know more, I expect.”
“But-”
“This won’t last long,” Applejack lied. “Trust me. It’ll all blow over, and we’ll fix the town up and have a party to celebrate. Just like the ol’ days.”
“You really think so?”
She nodded. “Just gotta do the best we can.” She yawned. Tired. What was this? An overuse, a response? A tidal shift, drawing away? “Just gotta . . . hold out.” She shook herself lightly, got to her feet. She gazed to the east. The town burned, sparsely, but still . . .
Scootaloo had returned, was fiddling with the padlock on the gate. Sweetie Belle yawned, though in sympathetic response to Applejack or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“You girls be good,” Applejack said, working up to a trot. “I’ve gotta . . . gotta go. Stay safe!”
Have to find Fluttershy.
She forced herself into a run. She knew where she was, now, could move faster, take shortcuts through side-streets. Much of the new development was behind her, leaving only the established winding lanes of her youth.
Blocks went by. She encountered almost nopony here, just a few tearing down an old wooden shack. She moved to stop them, then blinked, felt more than saw the heat on her coat. They were fighting the spread of fire—trying to prevent it from moving across. She let them be.
She kept moving, stumbling occasionally. Dimly, somewhere, she realised that this stupor wasn’t natural. Like fighting through a fog, her mind worked slowly, distantly, scrabbling after ideas but failing to link them together.
Eventually, she saw the library, the old treehouse, up ahead. She moved to it, no faster than a halting walk, now, all trace of goals lost. She slumped against its bark, took several deep breaths. She was trembling, she realised belatedly, the rough bark vibrating with her.
But it was alive. She reached for it, found it unaffected. A wellspring of strength—old, and weathered, but there nonetheless. She drank, sparingly in respect, felt herself spark to life like she’d been shocked awake.
What in tarnation?
She shook herself, worked her jaw. That . . . was that the same spell? Quickly, her mind put together the danger. The inexplicable weariness would put down the mobs well enough, but those fighting fires, trying to protect themselves and their property . . .
She took a step away, testing her legs. Traces remained, and she wobbled. She turned back to the tree—just one more sip, and stopped.
She hadn’t been trembling.
The library treehouse vibrated, tremors shaking it from the inside out. Cautiously, Applejack approached, stepping quietly, and slunk around the side to a window. Reaching out the edge, she peered inside, and couldn’t stop herself from letting out a small gasp. She clapped her hooves across her mouth, pressed her back to the bark beside the window.
Inside, Discord stopped pulling bookcases from the walls, turned to glare at the wall Applejack hid behind. He snorted, before dismissing the sound, and went back to whatever he was doing.
Minutes passed before Applejack dared peek again. Deathly silent, she watched him for a moment, before moving away.
Searching. He’s searching. For the Elements.
“Applejack!”
The scream could hardly have been more poorly timed. Applejack froze, eyes locked on the window, as the sounds of Discord rummaging through the books there stopped once again.
“Applejack!” Fluttershy screamed again, careening down from the air. “We’ve got a problem!”
She looked manic, hair a mess, eyes wild and bloodshot, her coat flecked with foam. Applejack waved, pointing with her hoof, then galloped away, sprinting, as fast as she could manage, for the darkness, shelter in an alley way nearby.
Fluttershy hit the ground hard, a few steps behind her, following.
“What?” Applejack hissed, as soon as they were out of sight of the library.
“The Everfree,” Fluttershy said. “Applejack, the Everfree. It’s growing.”
***
Luna tore through the Forest. Branches, covered with leaves, obscured her vision, bushes grabbed at her legs, trunks blocked her path. She barely bothered moving out of the way, trusting to her magically enhanced durability—to the durability of the gleaming armour that covered her form—to protect her as she moved straight through most obstacles, leaving a trail of ruined vegetation behind her.
The Forest was alive. More than just affectation: the usual stories of whispers through the trees, birdsong and rummaging critters, the wind and the trickling waters combining to create an ambiance of life. No, this was no illusion. There was something here.
She found the Lethe, followed its waters south.
Their discussion in the Crystal Empire had shaken her more than she liked to let on. Hard, to entirely reject Celestia’s arguments, harder still, to let go of her own. It left her in a state of dissonance, a horrid uncertainty. She wanted—needed—answers. And while Twilight would learn what she could from Rainbow and Rarity, those scouts returning too late to significantly contribute to her present dilemma, there was one name that had cropped up again, and again, and again.
Agyrt Vaeros. Where are you, Drac?
She came to the Old Castle, stopped, hovering in the air. She would recognise his presence, she was sure. Still, she closed her eyes, reached for her Sight. Reached for his mind.
No visualisation came to her, no fog-shrouded picture of him. This was a simpler application, no need to convert his presence back into an image for her to observe, With practice, with the right mindset, her tutor had said, just about any Coromantic technique could be reduced to the basics, simplified, and in the process made more efficient.
She felt outward, a radius several miles wide, searching, and found naught but the life-forms of the forest. That in itself was curious. The Forest was alive, she was sure—but her Sight told her of no intelligence governing it, no mind behind it. Purely instinctual, acting on pre-conceived forms?
She bit her lip. Expand outward, search. She touched the outskirts of Ponyville, dismissed the few citizens she’d touched there. Still no trace. Again, now searching a band outside the Forest entirely. Again, nearly fifty miles out, now, and . . . and caught just the faintest trace, the whiff of him, the fragments of dissipating magic. It had a flavour of its own, separate and complementary to that of her own, or of her sisters. Chaotic.
Again, outwards, a hundred miles, reaching up to past Canterlot and down to the desert, and it was stronger still, there.
Again, a hundred and fifty miles, and she found Appleloosa inside her band. She moved to dismiss them, and halted, sensed panic, a franticness. Trixie’s spell? She paused, debating, and made her choice.
Again, outward, two hundred miles, more, and she found him. Flying south, serpentine and graceless, out of the water. Fleeing. Luna snarled. He would not escape her. She began to gather the energy she required for a teleportation, drawing it from the Forest, mostly, not risking touching the waters below her.
She refined her Sight, reached for the picture of him, the location. She expected desert, dry, barren, oranges and golds extending out in every direction, as the sun set.
She saw a Storm. It drenched the landscape, boiled in the air, tore at the dunes and expanses.
Luna’s spell finished, and, with just a fine adjustment, she melted into the shadows without a trace.