//------------------------------// // Chapter 23 // Story: Luna's Lacunae // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Feeling an odd protective need, Maeve stood watch while Fuschia poked around a cluster of snapdragons. There was nothing here that could hurt Fuschia, or Red for that matter, but that didn’t stop Maeve from having her peculiar feeling. Her head was clearing up and she was feeling better. The dizzy feeling was going away and she was no longer in pain. In the distance, she saw Princess Celestia leading a procession; Bjarke, her uncle, walked just behind Princess Celestia, his arms folded behind his back, Raven walked beside him, and a group of school aged unicorns trailed out behind them in double file. Bringing up the rear was a lone elderly unicorn with an excessive amount of grey hair in his pelt, his mane, and his tail. “That must be Bjarke,” Red Russet said in a low voice as he stood beside Maeve. Maeve nodded. “That’s him.” “He looks a little bit like you.” Red Russet tilted his head to one side and squinted so he could see better. “His face is like yours. Is he nice?” “I don’t know.” Maeve shrugged. “He seems kind, but I don’t know him.” “If you would like, if it makes you feel more comfortable, I could be with you when you visit him,” Red offered as he turned his head around to look up at Maeve. “Would you?” Maeve tore her gaze away from the group in the distance. “Of course… I’m your friend.” Reaching up with his foreleg, Red brushed his mane out of his eyes. “I’m your assistant.” The seriousness that Red spoke with surprised Maeve. Red tended to be a bit more relaxed and rather playful most of the time. Something had changed while they were at the cottage. She recalled the time at the edge of the pond when she held him close. How cold she had been, how she had shivered, and how warm he had been. A fire ignited in Maeve’s cheeks and a peculiar feeling overcame her. She looked down at Red and the fire spread from her cheeks to her ears. She tore her eyes away and looked at Fuschia instead. The little filly was rolling around on her back and kicking her hind legs up in the air. She was also getting dirty; dirt that Maeve was going to have to scrub off. Maeve stared, her mind overwhelmed with different thoughts. She wasn’t taking care of some barnyard animal. She wasn’t taking care of some pet. She was taking care of another thinking being, something with feelings, something that could talk, something that had all of the same emotions that Maeve had. Realising this made Maeve feel very small and insecure. She no longer felt quite so grown up, but rather, she felt as though she was a little girl once more, and the world was a large and frightening place. This wasn’t like taking care of a dog or cat, making certain that the dishes were filled with food and water. This was not some mindless, mute animal. Fuschia could speak. Maeve, standing very still, had an epiphany, some great realisation that she could not express or put into words. Maeve’s mind raced with a million thoughts. She felt a little smarter, a little wiser; she felt like she had grown. She opened her mouth, but nothing profound came out. Instead, all that came out was, “Fuschia, stop rolling around in the dirt, you’ll track it inside of the castle and the maids will fuss.” “Aaaaw…” Fuschia rolled over, got to her hooves, and stared up at Maeve as her lower lip protruded. “Meanie.” “How am I a meanie?” Maeve hunkered down to get more at eye level with Fuschia. “I’m not being mean to you, I’m trying to be nice to the maids. Goodness knows I cause them enough problems as it is. I am the castle wrecker.” Lower lip still protruding, Fuschia stared at Maeve. She began to flick her tail around, brushing herself off and cleaning herself up a bit. When Maeve’s hands touched her sides to brush away the dirt, Fuschia touched her nose to Maeve’s nose to say thanks. When their noses bumped, Fuschia’s lower lip was pulled in and she smiled. “You know what, I bet Fuschia would like to see Philomena.” Red lifted his head and looked around. “You know Maeve, you could take Fuschia to go and have a look. You could get us past the guards. They have to listen to you.” Still trying to brush away dirt and smooth out Fuschia’s pelt, Maeve nodded. “That’s a good idea. Fuschia, would you like that?” Maeve looked at the filly she was trying to clean up and saw the filly’s face crinkle in concentration. Using her right hand, she wiped some black dirt away from Fuschia’s face. “How did you become a Sorceress?” Fuschia asked. “I rescued Princess Luna,” Maeve replied, leaving out the details. “Princess Celestia said I was a hero. She called me a Sorceress and said that Equestria owed me a debt. I just did what needed to be done.” “You sound like my father,” Red said to Maeve. “Princess Luna and I were in a very bad place… I didn’t just rescue Luna, I rescued both of us. But Luna rescued me first.” Maeve felt an odd pain in her lower stomach as she recalled the hazy memory of wrapping her arms around Luna’s neck and Luna dragging her through the closet door. “I was trying to repay a debt.” “If I was in trouble, would you save me?” Fuschia asked in a squeaky voice. “Of course.” Maeve extended her finger and tapped the filly on the nose. “I look after my friends. And one of my duties as a Sorceress is to look after ponies in trouble.” Extending her arms, Maeve embraced Fuschia, cradled her hindquarters, and lifted the filly up into the air. Maeve wondered if she was a little stronger than she had been. She was taller. She felt stronger; Fuschia didn’t seem quite as heavy and Maeve was able to carry her with very little effort. She felt two fuzzy little forelegs slide around her neck and a damp nose pressed against her jaw. “Let’s go have ourselves a look at Philomena.” Holding Fuschia in her arms and with Red walking right beside her, Maeve approached the guards that stood in front of the doors leading to Philomena’s arboretum. Philomena lived in a glassed in enclosure that had a golden apple tree in the middle of it. As Maeve approached one of the guards stepped forwards and bowed his head. “Sorceress Maeve,” he said, his head held low. “It is an honour to see you.” “Hello… my apologies, but I do not know your name,” Maeve said to the guard. The guard lifted his head. “Sorceress Maeve, my name is Storm Blitz. How might I be of assistance? Do you need help?” “We came to visit Philomena.” Maeve gave the pegasus a fetching smile. “Of course. These doors will open for you,” Storm Blitz said to Maeve. He stepped aside, then stepped backwards, resuming his position by the door. “Have a nice time, Sorceress Maeve.” “Why thank you,” Maeve replied. She bowed as much as she could while holding Fuschia, as she was unable to curtsey. “I’ve seen you before. You’ve stood guard near my door.” Storm Blitz smiled, showing square, perfect teeth. “I have high clearance. I guard what is most treasured by the Royal Pony Sisters.” Maeve blushed so hard that she was certain that new freckles had just formed, blossoming like flowers beneath the radiant sun. She watched as the pair of pegasi opened up the large double doors for me and then she stepped inside. Upon entering the arboretum and seeing Philomena, Maeve was gripped with a strange fear. Philomena was a phoenix… a creature made of living fire. Maeve froze in place as a growing sense of dread overcame her. She felt Red brush up against her leg. “Maeve, you okay?” “I’m fine, Red,” Maeve said, feeling bad about lying to her friend. She didn’t want to worry Red or cause Fuschia to feel afraid. She watched as Philomena preened her feathers and fluffed herself out in an attempt to look pretty. It took all of Maeve’s will to set Fuschia down upon the path made of flat, smooth marble stones. She gave the filly a pat and then stood up, never once taking her eyes off of Philomena. Maeve’s wooden hand clenched into a fist, remained closed for a moment, and then her fingers flexed open. Maeve took a deep breath and then willed herself to walk forwards, so she could sit down upon a nearby bench. Already, Fuschia was nosing around the large golden apple tree. The apples didn’t look like golden apples, like the sort that would go into a pie; they looked like golden apples and had an odd metallic look to them. Maeve stared at the tree while she sat down. The tree was not on fire. Philomena was roosting in the tree and it was not burning. Maeve’s tension melted away as relief overcame her and she began to relax. “She’s so pretty,” Red said as he sat down in the soft grass beside the stone path. Hearing the word ‘pretty,’ Philomena lifted her head and stared down at Red. She fluffed her breast feathers and fanned out her tail while flaring out her wings. She began to strut along the branch where she had perched, all while making cooing noises. “This place is amazing.” Red, comfortable in the grass, had a good look at his surroundings. “I’ve never been in here before. the ground here feels different. I wonder why.” “I don’t know, Red,” Maeve replied. As she spoke, Fuschia fell over onto her side and laid down in the grass, causing Maeve to smile. Maeve rose from the bench, walked forwards, and then sat down beneath the golden apple tree. Trotting forwards, Red joined her and sat down at her side. After looking around and seeing nopony else, he eased himself down upon his side and got comfortable, laying in the cool, damp grass. “My mother read me a storybook about a little girl and a phoenix.” Maeve leaned back and rested herself against the trunk of the tree. “The little girl’s name was Maeve… I think my mother changed it… but the little girl ran away from home because she had a cruel stepmother… she ran away from home and ran far into the woods… she ran into the fog.” Maeve paused for a moment and thought about her mother, missing her. “And then what happened?” Fuschia asked. “Well, the little girl was lost. She was hungry, she was cold, and she was thirsty. She had no idea how long she had been roaming the woods,” Maeve replied. She reached down and began to stroke Fuschia’s mane, tousling the fine, soft hairs with her fingers. “Eventually, when she thought she would faint with hunger, she came upon the phoenix.” Red lifted his head and looked at Maeve. He could see tears in her eyes but he said nothing. He did scoot a little closer though, and even though he knew it was risky, he placed his front hoof alongside Maeve’s knee, touching her skirts. “The phoenix, who could talk, offered the girl a wish.” Maeve shook her head as tears trickled down her cheeks, the memory of her mother now quite painful. “But warned that the wish would come at a terrible price. The girl would know an agony unlike any other. But the little girl was brave. She accepted the phoenix’s terms.” “What did she wish for?” Fuschia asked. “The little girl asked for wings so she could fly away and be happy forever,” Maeve replied. She reached up with her right hand, the one she had been using to stroke Fuschia, and wiped her eyes. “The phoenix set the little girl on fire and she burned. It was horrible. The little girl screamed and screamed while she had to endure the horrible pain of burning to death. Eventually, she died and all that was left of her was ashes.” “That’s awful.” Red squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get the mental image of Maeve burning to death out of his mind. “That’s not the end of the story.” Maeve took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Out of the ashes came a new phoenix. She was as beautiful as the dawn, rebirthed from flame, her mortality gone and her old life was now burned away. She spread her wings, let out a cry, and then, after she shook the ashes from her feathers, she flew away, happy as the day is long.” Maeve felt something on her shoulder, startled, she saw Philomena. Somehow, Philomena had perched upon her shoulder, without sound, without movement. Maeve stared, almost cross eyed at the phoenix hen. Philomena began rubbing her head against Maeve’s cheek. “I dunno if I like that story,” Fuschia said in a low voice. “It had a happy ending, but what a horrible price to pay to be happy.” Red opened his eyes and saw Philomena. He gasped and then fell silent. He tilted his head so he could have a better look at the beautiful bird. “Mother told me that sometimes there is a terrible price for what we want… she read me that story a lot when I was a little girl… usually at bedtime.” Maeve thought about everything that her uncle Bjarke had told her and she realised what her mother had given up for love. Maeve felt more tears coming and Philomena was pressed up against the side of her face now. Sitting beneath the golden apple tree, Maeve realised that she had also faced her own trial by fire. She had survived a year with the fey. Almost a full year of misery, of pain, of agony. Now she was here. She had grown wings and had flown off to be happy. A sad smile crept over her face as more tears slid down her cheeks. Somehow, without saying how or why, Maeve felt better.