Corvus

by Delerious

Interlude I

Interlude I: The River in the Sky (Part II preview)

Apart from the thousand-year period where Princess Luna lay sealed in the moon, modern Equestria has always known in some way the reign of the Sisters Royal.

However, this was not always the case. At least two thousand years ago, before the accession and coronation of Celestia and Luna—even before the Strife of Discord—everypony in those days practiced a form of animistic religion; the stars in the sky, according to these beliefs, formed patterns that corresponded to creatures often found on Equestria. These were called “constellations,” and were venerated by the ancient tribes as spirit-animals with great power that was said to equal that of an Alicorn. Certain secluded communities throughout the world still hold these spirits in high regard, revering them as equals to the Sisters, or even as gods.

One such community is also the largest of its kind: the Aquastrian Empire of the eponymous ocean, or—to use the Equestrian vernacular—the sea ponies. According to Aquastrian lore, the sea ponies were much like any other pony; even today, traits of the three subspecies are still present in their physiology, while in the past they were only distinguishable from everypony else by a love for swimming, sailing, and other water-based activities. But at the onset of the Age of White, when the blizzards wrought by the Windigoes were just beginning to blow, their shamans saw a glimpse of the future, and the strife that was soon to come.

They petitioned the spirit-animals for guidance, and if records of those days are to be believed, they were told to break off from the other tribes of earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns in order to fend for themselves, instead of informing them of the events in store for the world. They did so, and their bodies were transformed; sleek scales and slick, slippery skin of many colors replaced their coats, gills opened along their necks, and streamlined flukes and fins took the place of their manes, tails, and even their hooves. With these new bodies, they realized they could thrive in the ocean for as long as they wished, and they slipped beneath the waves without a moment’s hesitation as the waters began to freeze above them.

(At this point, it should be noted there is controversy as to whether the plight of the sea ponies should be interpreted as a blessing to help them survive and build a new culture unique to them, or a curse for abandoning their comrades. In the interest of neutrality, the author would like to point out that each side of the argument comes with an equal amount of bias and misinformation; proponents of the former theory are largely Aquastrian themselves, while on the other hoof, many supporters of the latter believe Princess Celestia cursed them personally. This latter statement is dubious, as no major historical records make reference to either Celestia or Luna until their uprising against the god Discord.)

The pantheon of the sea ponies, however, is generally agreed to be factual, as it shares many similarities with other religious beliefs of its kind, such as the zebras of the southern jungles and the traders of the Mareabian dunes. The many spirit-animals the sea ponies worshipped were called Star-Beasts in their culture; they were said to live on the shores of the great river Eridanus—the “River in the Sky,” and one of the largest of all the constellations. The waters of this river, according to lore, flow from a place that the sea ponies call Anyparxia, or “nothingness,” into the world of Equestria. The nomads of Mareabia, who have traditionally assigned a name to every single one of the countless stars in Luna’s sky, refer to this location as Anha'eyh Aghyh, meaning “infinite void,” while most Zebrican tribes refuse to give it any name at all; they consider its inhabitants to be evil beyond any comparison or reason, and that to speak of it would surely bring that evil upon their lands.

To ward off this evil, the zebra tribes that still venerate these spirit-animals hold a special ceremony. On a clear, moonless night, in the presence of the tribe, a seasoned warrior of age communes with a spirit called a Star-Mother, who they call Ebene‡. With the aid of herbs, aromatics, and the prayers of the shaman and every zebra in attendance, the warrior slips into a trance. If the rite is successful—that is, if the star-mother finds the warrior worthy—then he is gifted with the power needed to vanquish the darkness that lies beyond Eridanus. In exchange for this power, his soul is considered the property of Ebene until such a time as the forces of evil have been dispelled. During this time, the warrior’s body—his soul’s only physical link to Equestria—lies comatose, and the tribe vigilantly looks after his physical well-being until his service is complete—or, as is more often the case, until his death.

‡When consulting the zebra herbalist Zecora (see the section Acknowledgements for further information) on the nature of the rituals of her species, I was informed that “Ebene” is actually taken from a Prench word for the color black, though Zecora also inferred that a more contextual use of the term might be the absence of color, or of light. Whatever their reasons, I can only surmise that the zebras elected to use a foreign word as a name for their “star-mother” because there was simply no applicable phrase in their language for something as mysterious and undoubtedly alien as Ebene must have appeared to them.

- Excerpt from Lost Lore and Legend, Vol. I

Dusty Tome, Royal Archivist of Canterlot 2025-57 CSE (Coronation of the Sisters of Equestria)

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2066 CSE

Four years later

“Your attention, please,” came the pleasantly cool voice from the intercom of Manehattan Grand Central. “The seven-forty from Baltimare is now arriving on platform three. Please stand clear of the tracks at this time.”

The largest train station in all of Equestria was also one of the oldest still in use today. The same could be said of a large fraction of the trains that, on any given day, more than one hundred thousand ponies used to get to and from Manehattan. There were the more modern “bullet” trains of Bellerophon Industries, able to rocket from one point to the other at nearly half the speed of sound, but the old-and-reliable steam locomotives were still in use after so many years, frequented less by commuters and businessponies than by tourists, who preferred an opportunity to sit back and enjoy a wide-open view.

The seven-forty from Baltimare was neither of these; angular, blocky, and a very drab gray, it was one of Equestria’s first attempts at implementing its new mass-transit system. More thought had clearly been put into how many it could fit inside than how comfortably it could fit them. With “economy” trains such as these, space was always at a premium. Fortunately, the ride was smooth and quick enough to almost make its passengers forget how merely squeezing in and out of their seats could constitute the day’s exercise. Almost.

Poorly lubricated brakes raised a harsh, but futile protest as the train slowly came to a halt, capped by the pneumatic hiss of double doors opening. Within seconds, dozens upon dozens of sapients flooded out of the train, a murmuring babble of indistinct noise adding to the already chaotic hustle and bustle of Grand Central.

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

Almost immediately afterward, so did everything else.

For a single, imperceptible moment in time, time itself had frozen. And since even the smallest of thoughts take time to think, no pony—no creature—would ever be aware that the world around them had ground to a total halt.

Except for one.

The tan stallion presently emerging from the seven-forty was fairly tall, but had the look of a hoofball player who’d lost about a hundred pounds in the span of two days. His face was gaunt and unshaven, with a clear five-o’clock shadow over his muzzle. It didn’t look like he’d slept well; the earth pony’s dark brown eyes, concealed behind slightly tinted eyeglasses, were half-lidded from a combination of insomnia and boredom. An unzipped, dirty white overcoat at least two sizes too big for him covered his entire barrel, cutie-marks and all, and a heavy-looking guitar case and rucksack was slung under one foreleg and over his withers.

This pony did not even seem to notice—or even to care—that the world around him had ceased to exist outside of that one moment. He casually threaded his way through the silent, motionless crowds with all the practice of somepony who’d done this quite a few times before, jauntily humming a tuneless song to himself as if this was merely the world’s biggest game of musical statues. Occasionally, he would bump into one of the ponies who’d been frozen in place with the rest of time; he did not stop to apologize—as if it would have been any help; moreover, they would only assume somepony else must have bumped into—

Something moved.

Immediately, the stallion stopped, his eyes suddenly wide and alert, scanning the section of the station ahead and to his right, where he thought he’d seen something shift position in the corner of his eye. His right foreleg slowly moved towards his guitar case.

More movement.

Sure enough, it was near the turnstiles again. The stallion also happened to see what—or rather, who—was responsible. He relaxed, but only a little; very few creatures in all of existence had the means and the ability to erect a chronotonic nullification spell of this magnitude, and even fewer had the ability to break through it. Those that could were either very powerful, or very dangerous.

The pony he saw was certainly not the latter, and frankly, he thought it didn’t look all that powerful, either. In any other situation, this would have instantly put him on edge. But once he saw what he—at least, the stallion thought it was a he—was doing, he had to fight the urge to laugh. Quickly and silently, he crept up behind him until he was so close that he was tempted to dramatically breathe down the pony’s neck.

Then: “‘S a pretty cheap thing to do.”

The stallion chuckled to himself—the little colt had jumped so high he’d nearly touched the ceiling. The ticket he’d just filched from the saddlebag of the unaware mare just ahead of him fluttered to the ground, and he followed shortly thereafter, his face blushing every color possible.

Quite literally every color, noted the stallion—and the change wasn’t just limited to his muzzle, either. “Oh, sorry,” he said, in a mocking but goodhearted apology. “Didn’t mean to throw ya off your game. And for what it’s worth,” he added, “that’s a neat trick to have—the way you can change like that? Nopony ever looks twice in this city. And if somepony ever did, who’s to say they’re still lookin’ at the same pony they just passed a second ago?”

The colt was silent, perhaps just now coming to the realization that he, too, wasn’t the only one in this place who could apparently control the flow of time. The stallion had noticed, and raised his forelegs defensively. “It’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “I’m not gonna hurt ya. You don’t look like the kind what goes around causin’ the kind of trouble that gets ponies killed.”

A silent sigh of relief.

“Now that bein’ said, pickin’ pockets is no way to go through life, son, and it ain’t what our kind’s good for.” The stallion’s smile turned wry, and his kind voice gained just the tiniest bit of an edge, like a father scolding a foal who’d done something wrong but wasn’t old enough to know better. He pointed a hoof at the ticket on the floor. “C’mon, then. Put it back where you found it.”

Slowly, reluctantly, not daring to take his eyes off this strange stallion, the colt obeyed his instruction—though not without a long look at the turnstile ahead. He turned an inquiring gaze back to the stallion.

The stallion grinned, as if he knew what the colt was trying to say. “See, when ya got this kind of power, you start to see every way you could possibly get somethin’ done. Long ways, short ways, by-ways—subways,” he chuckled at his own pun. “Long way—see the turnstile up ahead, but ya don’t have a ticket, what d’ya do, steal somepony else’s.” He paused for emphasis. “And then there’s the short way.”

A quick shake of his barrel, and his guitar case had shifted down across his right flank, exposing his sandy brown withers. “Want a ride?”

A few seconds of confusion passed before the colt’s eyes suddenly lit up, and suddenly he was shimmying onto the stallion’s back. Without further ado, he shot off at full tilt, galloping faster and jumping higher than anypony else ever could, sailing over benches, passersby, and finally the turnstiles as if they weren’t really there.

In no time flat—which, from a certain point of view, wasn’t completely an exaggeration—they’d spotted an empty table at a nearby outdoor café, and sat down on cushions that, despite being slightly understuffed, were quite more comfortable than a three-hour train ride.

“Somethin’ on your mind? You ain’t said a word this whole time, kid,” the stallion coolly observed, plucking a daffodil from the plate of a passing waitress, frozen in mid-trot. “Well, I dunno if I oughta call you a kid at all,” he laughed, munching on his flower; it was a little on the dry side, he decided.

“You look pretty young for a pony, sure,” he continued. “But I think we both know by now that’s not what we are. And for all I know, you’re probably a whole lot older than me.

“ … ”

“Now, I don’t like to get my muzzle in things what don’t matter to me, so I’m not gonna ask what you’re doin’ out all this way from the River. You, on the other hoof … well, ya look the curious type, so I guess there ain’t harm in spillin’ at least one or two beans in the jar.”

The stallion rested a hoof affectionately on his guitar case, which he’d plunked onto an added cushion all to itself. “I’ve got some family comin’ to town. I imagine they’re all here already, probably waiting on me. Be nice to see how much they missed me—it’s been awhile since I last showed up to any of our ... reunions.” His face darkened slightly. “I hope they’ll enjoy it as much as I will,” he said, “‘cause I don’t expect to be showin’ up to any more.”

“ … ”

“To be completely honest, that ain’t why I’m here. Why I’m here … well, I got a debt to settle; an old friend of mine—very old. Let’s just say he likes his assets very, very liquid.”

He gripped his guitar case again, and checked a battered-looking wristwatch. He frowned slightly; why he was checking the time when time was still frozen around him, the colt did not know. Evidently, it made sense to the stallion, as he abruptly stood up, purpose in his eyes.

“Y’know what they say? ‘Time waits for no pony?’” asked the stallion. “Well, there’s a few things out there what don’t wait for time. And I dunno about you, but I’d rather not be late.”

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The waitress holding the plate of daffodils suddenly turned around, thinking she’d seen somepony reaching for the strings of her apron. It wouldn’t have been the first time; she’d only just settled out of court for that last case of harassment two weeks ago. But nopony was at the table behind her, though she did note it was somewhat odd that a table for two currently had three cushions under it.

She gave a noncommittal shrug before turning back to delivering her order; perhaps it had merely been a bird. Yes, that was it. There wasn’t anything to be gained by wasting second glances on a flock of pigeons.

After all, nopony ever looked twice in this city.