The Book of Eventide

by Cosmic Dancer

Black Knights' Tango

(Second Entry, cont.)

The dull rays that shone forth from Illimitable Nebula’s glassy eyes entranced me such that I failed to notice the intimacy of our first meeting in the vast observatory, void of life save for he, Spark and I. Nebula stood only yards from me, staring through and passed me, though wearing a vacant expression, and seemed to be waiting for me to initiate the interaction — so I did.

Stepping forward, I noticed the intense silence of the observatory, as the clink of my hoof against the marble tiles below rang out through every particle of air in the place before bouncing back to my ears. Another step, another echo, and the sound became oppressive to me; the flow of time seemed to ebb like a dammed river, with each moment and thought coming slower and slower to me, so I stopped short and introduced myself from an uncomfortable distance away.

“It’s an honor,” I began, “to finally meet and work with you, Illimitable Nebula. I’ve always considered you one of my great teachers in astrology and magastromancy, and I have copies of all your textbooks and essays in my private library.” I said these things with genuine reverence and a childish grin, unconsciously lowering my head to humble myself before him.

A few tense moments passed in silence, his dead-eyed glare transfixing me, and I was afraid I had made an ass of myself and insulted him somehow. As I was repeating the terse introduction in my mind to check for any unintended implications or wordplay, Nebula’s lips curled up into an amused grin before they parted to release a torrent of squealing laughter. I could hear Empyrean Spark join in his merriment with her own squeaking giggles, and I was terribly confused.

Still laughing, Nebula stepped over to me with an almost dancing gait, and hooked a foreleg around my crest. He pulled me into an embrace and kissed my cheek (a greeting in the urban style), and said, “Your heart’s in the right place, little squire, but that sort of blandiloquent mewling doesn’t work on real magicians. This isn’t Celestia’s conservatory.”

“Yes, sir,” was all I could respond, taken aback as I was by the display.

“And it’s a good thing this isn’t the conservatory, because you don’t learn quickly,” said he. “Honorifics disturb my digestion, and brevity is the soul of wit, so ‘yeses’ and ‘noes’ will suffice. If you must call me, call me ‘Nebula,’ and leave your ‘misters’, ‘masters’, and ‘sirs’ out in the real world where they’ll get you somewhere,” Nebula trotted away from me and toward a lectern behind the massive telescope in the center. Taking a quill, he began floridly recording something in the book on the stand, and called back to me, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll show you around the place in just a moment, after I’ve finished, here.”

Though awestruck I was by the surreality of the encounter, I was lucid enough to take his advice. I laid myself on a luxurious upholstered chaise in one corner of the observatory and tried to relax. To focus my twirling mind, I intently examined my surroundings — the environs and trappings of my new career.

While the first floor of the observatory was relatively undecorated, with tall, cramped bookshelves taking most of the room, the upper floor was opulence itself. Intricate hoof-woven rugs and carpets from half-the-world-away covered the polished marble tiles, with paintings and tapestries equivalently adoring the cyclopean stone walls. Beautiful, carven wood furniture was strewn about the room, with all the amenities of a wizard’s tower in hoof’s reach — busts and statues here and there to offset the intimacy of the place. It seemed as though Illimitable Nebula had made the observatory a second home.

Empyrean Spark had trotted over to what seemed to be Nebula’s desk and, after looking through some paperwork, went to search some large tomes behind a locked glass-doored bookcase. Nebula was still writing in his book on the stand.

Illimitable Nebula is a large pony, at least half a head taller than I, and all together seems to be powerfully built. It’s difficult to tell, at first, but he’s actually sort-of plump, no doubt fattened by his affluent lifestyle, but it suits him. He doesn’t carry any of the weight in his face, as far as I can tell, and he’s attractive (for a stallion); he isn’t necessarily ‘handsome’ as his features are subtly effeminate, or androgynous, but natheless good-looking. His voice is much higher than you’d expect, but not nasally, and it easily commands authority. His coat is a powdery ultramarine, and his hair is a dull silver. Lastly, Nebula’s eyes are the same light red as Empyrean Spark’s. I can say with confidence that he is a Scorpio.

Without my noticing, Nebula finished his writing and had eased over the chaise on which I laid. It wasn’t until I felt him sit down beside me, in his overly-familiar style, that I realized anything had changed. I almost shot up from surprise, but kept my composure, and continued laying languidly.

“What do you think of the place, Eventide?” He asked, casually.

“It’s very well-decorated, and much more relaxed a setting than I anticipated,” I answered, truthfully.

“That’s the way it ought to be. Work such as ours should be kept close to the heart; that’s why there are only the three of us,” he said, and this took me by surprise. I simply thought most of the royal astrologers were sleeping at home, and would arrive later that night.

“I can sense your misgivings over this,” Nebula continued, “but there’s nothing for it. It isn’t difficult work. The High Unicorns calculated most of the coming astrological occurrences for us thousands of years ago. All we three ‘Royal’ Astrologers are asked to do is record the nativities of any unicorn foals born and maintain the archives in which the natal charts are kept. Occasionally we may be asked to cast a horoscope, or to perform suchlike undertakings, but that is rare.”

“I see.”

Nebula stood up. “You’ve seen the archives on the lower floor, and the few shelves we keep up here for the more important ponies. You’re a smart stallion, I’m sure you’ll figure out whatever else you need to know. You’ll have to adjust your circadian rhythm, since most of our work is at night (which reminds me, we’re about to have our recess), so if you never learned the yogic sleep, I can teach you a meditation that will help you acclimate to our work schedule, or I can send you home with bottle of wine and you can pass out until nightfall.”

“Thank you, but my old master taught me how to sleep on command,” I sat up on the chaise, and Nebula nodded his head.

“That’s very good, and convenient. Now get up, we’re finished for today. You’re going to have lunch with Empyrean Spark and I.” He said, and I stood up. “Empy, bring the chess board,” he called out to his filly apprentice, and as she was putting away the book from earlier, she made sure to levitate a wooden box containing the chess set into her saddle bag. We all left the observatory and started toward the palace’s great hall.

The great hall was magnificent, with decadently carved tables stretching down the length of the room, each seat conferring a beautiful view of the painted walls and crystalline chandeliers. Nebula and Spark led me out onto a balcony adjoining the great hall, where a table had already been set with a heavenly array of delectables. To my great enjoyment, the balcony overlooked the gardens.

At first we ate in silence, but as we each got our fill, conversation began to break out sporadically. Most of the words were between Nebula and I, and Empyrean Spark was notably quiet save for a few monosyllabic responses and interjections. I tried to coax her into conversation, but each time I was to speak to her, the attempt was precluded by Nebula speaking to me. Most of it was small talk or tentative joking, save for one exchange:

“You were in the Horned Legion when you were Venutian’s apprentice, weren’t you, Eventide?” Nebula asked me, nonchalantly, and ate a slice of beet cake from my plate.

(The Thirty-Third Legion, or the ‘Horned Legion’ is a corps of warmages. For a short period, military service was compulsory for unicorn apprentices living in or near Canterlot. All ‘military service’ really amounted to was spending two weeks at a training camp, and a few seminars depending on the branch of the armed forces the apprentice chose to enter. No wars ever broke out. Even so, most magocrats thought horribly of the initiative, which was put into action by the Archmage, and Celestia herself eventually repealed it all away.)

“Yes, I was,” I answered, laconically enough, and took a bite of some kind of roasted nut dish.

“Your record said you were a legionnaire. You know, most of the apprentices who had a say in the matter went into administration,” Nebula said, and I could hear in his voice that whatever point this had would be particularly sharp. “They were afraid they might see combat if they went into the Thirty-Third, but not you. You volunteered to join; you and only two other apprentices. But more than that, you also elected to take classes in magical dueling and combative spellcraft.”

I let him flatter me. I didn’t tell him that the only reason I ‘volunteered’ and ‘elected’ to do all of those things was because I was courting an older mare, at the time, who thought I was just a colt and not worth her time. So the night before the draft I got drunk on aqua vitae and signed up for everything I thought would make me look manly and courageous. (I don’t drink anymore.) The truth is, I hated the legion more than any of the conscripts, but I suppose they don’t put that in your records. The worst part of the ordeal is that the older mare thought I was not only immature, but also an idiot.

“Do you know why I’m reminding you about all of this, Eventide?” Nebula asked.

“No, I cannot say I do,” I answered, blissfully unaware of what was to follow.

“Those are the reasons my master chose you to work with us at the observatory,” Nebula spoke slowly, knowing very well how badly this truth would rattle me (and it did). “That’s what he told me, anyway.”

I asked, “Who do you mean?” even though I already knew.

“The Archmage, Yisrach L’ulaamun. You’re familiar with him, Eventide. ‘Cosmic Dancer’? ‘To Mega Arion’?” Said Nebula, in a dark, sibilatory tone. “He’s been thinking thoughts in my head all morning, and looking at you through my eyes. He’s very eager to meet you.”

My heart was pounding with a vague, anomalous fear. Suppressing this, I said, “I would love to meet him, too!” Nebula laughed hard at this.

“Bite thy forked tongue! You cur! You rascal!” Nebula chortled, taking a sip of dessert coffee. “Well, your wish is granted. He’ll be coming over to the observatory, tonight. He’s just told me.”

I almost fainted, but then felt my mind fill with some luminous energy, and I was immediately at peace. It must have been Yisrach. I’m certain of it.

After that short episode, the atmosphere of the lunch recaptured some normalcy, and after we finished eating, Nebula played a few games of chess against Spark and I. He won every game. I observed that he mostly played the King’s Elephant Defense when he was black, and the Eclipse Variations of the Dromedary’s Gambit when he was white. His openings are very well thought out, and his mid-game is masterful, but he shows a tendency to blunder in the end-game (if he allows it to be reached before checkmate).

We eventually parted ways and I enjoyed an uneventful walk home. I immediately set myself to sleep through magic, and have only just awoke as of writing this entry. I will soon depart for the observatory, to meet the Archmage.

[Appended to the entry is a passage from a dream record.]

I dreamt I was a planet. A small satellite trapped in the orbit of a distant, white star. The dream seemed to last for years, and I eventually saw my star growing in size, or coming toward me. It took on the shape of a massive, spherical egg, which hatched to reveal a titanic, cosmic eye. Feeling its all-seeing gaze on me, I was sent hurtling through its pupil, and into infinity. The dream came to its end and I awoke.

Comments

[Carla Brix]

The setting is great, very well described. And you have some writing talent. When I write some stories, I often use https://edubirdie.com/plagiarism-checker to check them. Interested where your story will go.

[Armi]

The brief background of this story in any case sounds quite tempting, I will follow you and this story. Despite all these circumstances like coronavirus symptoms and other crazy things