Death to the Sun

by Mare Macabre

Chapter 3: First Light

Moonset came too quickly. Sandhya felt her chest tighten as the cool darkness began to slip away from the world as the icy white sphere drifted into the horizon. She turned to her bed, looking over her meager pack of supplies with a faint air of disappointment. She was aware that such packs were essential to the survival of travelers and adventurers like herself—starting now—but all the illustrations she had seen and all the fanciful descriptions she had read of such things in her sparse few books meant only for entertainment had built up an expectation that hers did not meet.

It was tiny, to say the least. Sandhya had been methodical in creating her checklist of items and materials to pack, but they had only filled the bag nearly halfway. She had tried rearranging the bedroll, the small iron pot, the wooden box containing a pot of ink, several quills, and a few sheets of paper, the flint and steel, the mess kit, the bar of soap, the bundle of torches, the waterskin, and the tightly tied bag of dried food—several times in fact—but they always left a sizeable gap at the top of the pack. What few material possessions she had did little to take up the extra space, but she had removed most of them on the grounds of being unnecessary anyway. In the end all she had added to the pack were a few books, a wand of her own making, a small box of ingredients for certain spells, and a mirror enchanted to be nearly shatter-proof.

Sandhya took a final look out the window, just catching the last glimpse of the moon sliding down behind the edge of the world, then turned and hoisted the deceptively heavy travel pack onto her shoulders. She stepped forward as the weight hit her, careful not to topple over, then adjusted the straps until she could let her arms down without worrying it might slip off. Finally, Sandhya pulled open her robe and affixed some pouches to her belt, one of them sagging heavily with coins, and slipped her spellbook into the folds of her clothes.

The young woman turned and made her way to her door, hesitating with her hand outstretched to take the handle, then steeled herself and pulled it open, stepping out and nodding to the two guardsmen waiting to escort her through the palace before closing it quietly behind.

The pattering and thumps of bare feet and heavy boots on stone stirred a lone figure leaned against a wall, the lingering sleep slipping away as he shook himself and stood. He looked toward the approaching noise, stifling a yawn as he recognized the people walking his way. Two of them were soldiers like himself, dressed in the standard garb of a palace guard. Gold-colored plate mail covered their torsos. Open-faced helmets with short blue plumage crowned their heads. Simple leather trousers with intermittent patches of interlocking rings covered their legs. At their hips were short swords and over their backs were shields emblazoned with the insignia of the sun. Unless, of course, they had traded theirs in for the new standardized shields of the castle guard—one with a pattern that displayed a silver crescent moon cradled inside the brilliant golden sun.

Whatever their equipment, they did not interest him. What did was the young woman walking two paces behind, apparently struggling to find a comfortable position for the pack slung over her shoulders.

Her skin was a deep tan color, accented with red in her face for either embarrassment or exertion and few freckles. Her hair was a dark chocolate color, with two strange looking streaks of lavender and salmon down her left side. Her eyes, when they opened, sparkled a deep violet color, one far richer than the pale purple of her cloak. She was dressed simply, the cloak aside—a staunch robe of similar color all she seemed to wear underneath, and the lone guardsman could hear that she was not wearing any kind of shoes. His mouth twitched with a suppressed smile as he realized this was probably her attempt at emulating her mentor.

The princess never wore shoes either.

The escort marched to a halt in front of him and Sandhya caught up quickly, thanking them with heavy breaths and wiping sweat from her hairline. The two guards saluted and spun on their heels, marching back the way they came. The enchantress took several seconds to catch her breath before straightening up and realizing she was not alone in the hall. The red in her face deepened and she tensed up at the sight of the young guard staring at her.

The boy was taller than her, but not by much. His skin was lightly tanned, more by time in the sun than genetics, and his clothes allowed glances at his finely muscular body beneath. His short, dirty blonde hair spiked up and back, with a few stray locks hanging down over his face. His eyes, blue as the sky, shone with worry as he watched Sandhya recover from her trek through the palace, making her all the more embarrassed at having been winded by the fairly light pack.

“I can carry that if you need.”

Sandhya blinked, startled the realization that could speak. Her mouth moved silently for a few seconds before choked sounds started filtering out and she quickly shut it. She cleared her throat, pointedly avoiding the boy’s eyes, and collected her face into a semi-dignified expression.

“That won’t be necessary,” said the breathless young woman, adjusting the weight once again. “T-Thank you for the offer though,” she added in a mumble.

The guard ran his eyes over her once more, trying to decide whether she was shy or just a bitch. His decision making was interrupted by the door at the end of the hall behind him opening, admitting a looming regal being and one of . . . less impressive stature.

“So!” the shorter, pudgier woman piped, running through a list that trailed along the ground behind her, “as long as there aren’t any unscheduled festivals or celebrations held at the palace this stock should last seventy two days exactly. Unless you decide to have some extra Danishes with your afternoon tea, in which case you can take some from the emergency Danish stockpile, but then you’d have to substitute the missing ones from the regular Danish stockpile and those won’t stay fresh for nearly as long, so you should probably only take extra éclairs because I made a ton of extra éclairs because I know how much you like éclairs with tea; I don’t care if some of the other cooks think it’s weird, I like éclairs with tea too!”

“Thank you, Miss Pie,” the princess laughed, “I do quite enjoy those Western pastries.”

The slightly rotund woman beamed at her. “Well good thing too! I made up a lot of tortes yesterday too after you asked for that other one. I wanted to have all my bases covered when I wasn’t here to make them for you.”

Celestia’s smile wavered for an almost unnoticeable amount of time, a brief flicker of annoyance at her sister passing through her mind, but she responded with the same kindness as before. “Thank you. Those are my favorite.” The excitable pastry chef seemed like she’d carry on before the princess directed her attention to the two people loitering in the hall in front of them. “I believe you know my student, Sandhya Camaka?”

The woman turned her broad smile to the young wizard. “Of course! Everyone knows Evening Glow.” She frowned and cocked her head to one side. “No, Sunset Shimmer? Hmm . . . Dusk Shine? Twilight Sp—”

“The translation of the name is not as important as the name itself,” the princess cut in, sparing the two what could become a very lengthy conversation on context and dialect. “Sandhya, this is Miss Pinkamena Dianne Pie, the royal pâtissier.”

The portly woman extended a hand, her friendly smile piercing through Sandhya’s curtain of uncertainty and prompting her to hesitantly take it with her own.

“Nice to see you again, Sandhya,” she said cheerily. “And you can call me Pinkie. Pinkamena’s too many syllables when you’re in a hurry. And everyone’s in a hurry around here.”

Surprisingly, the flow of words ended there, and Sandhya attempted to return the smile and handshake. “Pleasure.”

Pinkie turned to the boy at her left, her eyes narrowing as she examined his face. “And you’re . . . Flash. Flash Salvai. You just got out of the academy, didn’t you?”

The young man stared at her in disbelief. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t remember our first meeting.”

The baker shifted her head back. “You have short-term memory loss? It’s okay, I can write notes for you—“

“No no, I don’t have memory problems,” he quickly assured her. “I don’t think,” he added worriedly. “Why?”

“’Cause this is the first time we’ve met,” Pinkie smirked. “You don’t remember me walking out here?”

Flash scowled and narrowed an eye. “If this is the first time we’ve met, how do you already know my name?”

“I know everyone’s names!” Pinkie exclaimed excitedly. “Or, everyone’s name that works here in the palace. I wish I knew everyone in Canterlot’s names but that’s eleven thousand three hundred and sixty two—“ she frowned, her eyes flicking toward the ceiling, “No . . . sixty five. The couple on Fifth and Mane had triplets yesterday.”

Flash and Sandhya shared a horrified look. She’s insane!

“Miss Pie,” said Celestia, halting the conversation, “will be joining the two of you on your mission. She is a renowned cook as well as a former student of—“

“Whoa! Whoa whoa, slow down,” Sandhya butt in, shocking the other two with her interrupting the princess. “The royal pastry chef? That’s who you’re sending with me?”

“Uh, I also have some concerns about that so far as qualification,” Flash agreed. “Y-Your majesty,” he added quickly.

Before the towering matriarch could speak, the red haired cook stepped forward and poked a finger into Flash’s shoulder. He looked down at her hand, then up at her face, his expression confused and slightly annoyed.

“What—“

A pulse of energy shot through the baker’s finger and out the young soldier’s back. Flash yelped and grit his teeth, jumping away from his attacker, then glared death at the pâtissier. His hand slipped around his back, his stance shifting, and suddenly a blade appeared in his fist. To Sandhya’s horror he lunged at the curly haired chef, dagger flashing and eyes fierce.

Pinkie stepped forward, catching Flash’s inner arm with a strike of her palm and stopping it dead, then twisted and slammed the other palm into his chest. The young guardsman wheezed as the air rushed out of his lungs, the force of the blow lifting him off his feet and hurling him back into the wall. Plaster and stone shattered as the phantom strike traveled through his body and smashed into the hard surface like a ghostly sledgehammer, Flash’s body bouncing off the cracked surface before slumping forward and collapsing on the floor. Pinkie dropped down and caught his head before it impacted the hard stone then laid it gently at her feet and stood. She turned to Sandhya, her eyes bright and smile wide.

Sandhya simple gawked in terror at the deceptively shaped powerhouse of a woman, her mind scrambling for words. “W-wha-I-How did—“

Pinkie clapped a hand on Sandhya’s shoulder, making her jump. “We’re going to have to have a talk about multiclassing while we’re on the road,” she said seriously. “Also we’re going to have to fix his ribs. You can do that, right?”

Sandhya blinked and looked down at the wheezing body on the floor. “I-I . . . yes, I can, yeah. Fix ribs, sure.”

Celestia discreetly pinched the bridge of her nose as the two women bent over their companion, each casting their own spells to repair the damage done to his body. So much for leaving at first light . . .

The sun rested high in the sky before the palace gates finally opened to admit a motley trio into the city beyond. A young man with a recently bandaged chest lead the way, followed by a bright, blue eyed woman in a chef’s hat that clashed with her otherwise colorful attire. They walked several steps through the great archway before realizing that they were alone, and turned back to their mutual companion, frowning and smiling expectantly at the sight of her fidgeting at the threshold.

Sandhya stared at the ground in front of her. The color and texture of the stones that made up the street were vastly different from those of the royal driveway. The polished white flags transitioned abruptly to rough, weathered cobblestones, packed with dirt and littered with stains. Her toes curled at the thought of stepping out onto the uneven walkway and her heart picked up its pace as her thoughts raced ahead to all the other types of roads she might have to walk on outside of the palace. Not every place had the smooth marble walkways, she knew, but somehow the prospect of walking over the different terrains that could be found anywhere other than the palace had never crossed her mind.

Flash sighed impatiently, bringing a deeper color to Sandhya’s face. She hesitantly reached out and placed the ball of her foot beyond the gate as though testing the waters of the city. She set her foot flat and took a calming breath as neither the rough texture nor the less-than-cleanliness of the road made her ill. With another halting move she stepped over the threshold with her other foot, then looked up at her companions with a nervous excitement.

The ginger baker smiled encouragingly, holding out an arm to invite her to catch up. Flash tried not to make a show of rolling his eyes and motioned with his head for Sandhya to join them. The enchantress made to follow, but paused. She glanced back over her shoulder at the palace—the comforting white walls and elaborate stonework, the glittering stained windows and gleaming, gold plated roofs, the finely trimmed green lawns and ever-attentive guardsmen posted throughout the outside and inside of the structure—and felt somehow as though she were betraying her sanctuary by leaving it behind. Her eye was caught by a glint in a window high above, and, for a moment, she thought she saw a familiar face staring down at her, but focusing on the window showed that the room was apparently dark and empty.

But the thought that her mentor was watching was enough. Courage filled her at the memory that there was almost nowhere she could go that the sun’s conductor could not see her with her magick telescope. No matter how far the girl traveled, Regina Celestia would watch over her. Sandhya felt the weight of her pack lessen and her chin left as she turned back to her companions. She stepped quickly, closing the distance between them and brushing past to lead their march through the capitol city.

She had not gone five steps when a firm hand closed on her shoulder. Sandhya squealed, nearly dropping her pack, and spun around to face an amused Pinkie and face-palming Flash.

“We’re going to the train station, right?” Though Sandhya could tell she knew the answer she nodded anyway. Pinkie smirked and jutted her thumb off to her left. “Then we want to go that way.”

Sandhya’s face flushed again and she lowered her head. “R-Right. Let’s, ahem, shall we . . .?”

Pinkie wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulder and steered her down the adjoining street, Flash following, and occasionally shooting her a dirty look, close behind.