• Published 13th Sep 2012
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Equestria's Secret Service - EdwardJ



The Service maintains the balance of peace, but what happens when one of their own turns traitor?

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X - The Shaman's Pride


Chapter Ten

"Magic is everywhere.
"To the non-unicorn, this fact is generally accepted without thought, but for the thinking practitioner, it must be taken with the fullest understanding. In order to successfully create new spells or to fully understand old ones, a unicorn must have a working knowledge of how the ethereal energies of magic interact with the material substance of our world, and the basis of all of this lies in mana.
"In simple terms, 'mana' is an ambient magical energy that exists everywhere in the world. However, it is virtually undetectable. In fact, we wouldn't even know of it's existence if it hadn't been for our encounter with the Zebra and their incantation circles. Since then, great advancements have been made in the field of magical research and theory, but many scholars believe that we have barely scratched the surface of the mystery that is mana..."

~Excerpt from "Introduction to Magical Theory"
by Radiance; scholar of magic
Course textbook

The Shaman paced restlessly in the dungeons. The unicorn had been true to his word, and not a single cell had its door bolted or locked. Not that it would have made much difference; the signs of disuse were plain and evident: iron rusted red and frail, mushrooms and roots growing between cracks in stone, puddles of water from unseen drips. It had been generations since anyone had even opened the door, and the Shaman had decided that he would need this place cleaned up to be even remotely liveable. So far, though, little had been done. He wasn't above doing the work himself, but he couldn't focus on any of it. Indeed, he could barely think as it was.

No matter where he went, no matter how deep he walked, the very air convulsed with the magic of the pony city. A jumbled wave of noise, a constant thrum against his mind. At first it seemed that it would be little more than annoyance—not unlike his own mana-disrupting creation—but it never let up and never died down. By now his head throbbed, and it was keeping him awake.

With a growl, he lashed out at a nearby door; the corroded iron broke under his claws, and the dull thunk of bad metal hitting stone floor seemed to protest the act of echoing. The Shaman paid it little mind; his head was already full to bursting with noise. Nothing he did stopped it; even his own magic would ring painfully by now. Part of him wondered if this was some pony trick to drive him insane.

"I 'ope we 'aven't come atta bad time."

He turned, snarling, toward the voice thick with city-dog accent. There, he found two unicorns, one of whom took a fearful step back upon seeing his face. The other, a mare, lowered her head an inch, eyes narrowing. The ache in his head overpowered any sense of caution or diplomacy he may have had, and he growled in their tongue. "What do you want?"

"We just came down to see how you were doing," the mare responded. Following the Shaman's example, she spoke in her own language, keeping his ears free of the stallion's grating accent. "If there's anything we can get for you." Her leg was wrapped in bandages, there were healing cuts all over her body, and yet she kept her voice level, completely unafraid of the Shaman. He almost took insult to that.

"Get me silence," he growled. "City crawls with noise."

The mare cocked her head, and the other unicorn—the stallion who spoke Canid—looked around curiously. "This is... too loud for you?" she asked. She looked over at the stallion, who simply shrugged. Returning her attention to the Shaman, her horn began to glow. The magic was so close and clear that it felt like a needle against the constant ache, but he was instantly able to identify it as a spell of silence. As her spell solidified, the mare gave him a questioning look. "Does this help?"

The new spell seemed to scream against his mind, giving a sharp new pain to the dull throb of before. With a snarl, he slammed his staff against the stone floor, his own spell ripping the unicorn's to pieces. "Pony know nothing," he growled. "Always so arrogant, so proud. City reeks, and you hear nothing!" He shouted the last word, and the pain in his head pulsed. With a wince, he forced his anger into check and turned his back to the ponies. "Leave me."

The unicorns had retreated a few steps at his outburst, but they made no move to obey his wishes. "Ah... ya shore dere's noffing we c'n do?"

Why does that pony feel the need to butcher my language? His head turned, and one eye fixed on the stallion. "Leave," he hissed. His staff began to glow. Again the familiar ring of his own magic accented the pain he felt, but he wanted to make his message dead clear to these ponies. I am Shaman. Do not trifle with me. I am not to be ignored.

The mare's eyes shifted, but she understood. "Come on, Sunmeadow; let's leave the dog to his room." He watched them leave, but the mare held back at the door, looked over her shoulder, and took the last word. "We are here to help you, but we can't do anything if you're not willing to let us." She turned away from him. "See you tomorrow."

Alone again with nothing to distract him, the throbbing in his head became that much more apparent. The ponies couldn't help him—they had no idea what he was talking about. If something was to be done, he was the only one who could do it. Growling, he turned away from the door and stalked deeper into the cells, fighting the storm and trying to think.

In a calm corner of his mind, a quiet thought appeared. It whispered to the Shaman, chuckling at the knowledge that the unicorns couldn't feel the magic in the air.

In the noise surrounding it, it went unheard and was quickly lost.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

Celina shivered against the morning chill. Beneath her, Canterlot slept in the darkness before dawn, huddled warmly in its dreams. Streetlamps and the occasional glow from windows lit the urban landscape, giving the whole place an eerie, ghost-like appearance. It was a beautiful sight, flying over the slumbering city—almost enough to make her forget about the cold.

Almost.

She looked over at Balloons. The unicorn was focused, keeping the fire above them burning. She watched him, idly making note of how he shaped his magic and the flame. The magic was simple, but she suspected that it was more feel than force. She couldn't help but smile; after being confined to his bed the previous day, he'd taken the morning as an occasion to sneak out of the hospital for this, and he was still stuck to the fire. "You're missing the view," she teased.

"Almost done," he said. "Just gotta make sure the fire'll hold us."

"It got us up here easy enough."

"Sure, but we don't want to go too high, or fall too early. The fire's hot air lifts us against the cool air of the morning, but it doesn't stay warm. It cools, like anything else, and then it—" He stopped, glanced over at her, and smiled. "Do I need to go over the science of this, or is that more of an evening conversation?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "I think I understand it well enough, Balloons."

"Then give me a moment; I'll be with you shortly."

He returned to his work, and she watched him for a time before turning back to the horizon. The early morning dark had something of a crystal clarity to it, and even the brisk air smelt fresh and new—a side of her city she had never seen. She smiled and took it all in.

A faint whisper of light had begun to colour the distance when she felt him nuzzle her neck. "Finished."

"You missed a show," she said. "The fireflies got in a jousting match with the candleflames over whose light was prettier."

"Bet they lost to you," he replied, settling down beside her in the basket.

She gave him a playful shove. "Quiet, you. I'm being serious."

"Oh, my apologies, then," he said, smiling. "Please continue."

"Well, as I was saying, it was quite the epic battle. It started small, yes, but grew quickly. The fireflies would gather their numbers, circling and rallying their troops, finally charging the fortified lampposts of the candleflames with their sharpened lances and scissors." She began making grand sweeping gestures with her hooves, illustrating the violent battlefield. "The candleflames retaliated with hot wax and decoy traps, showing the 'flies they had no claim to the name 'fire.' Though many burned, the 'flies would push on, and many a valiant candle wick was cut short, its light extinguished."

"Sounds gruesome," commented Balloons.

Celina nodded. "Oh, it was. But in the end, despite their loses, the fireflies won out. They'll probably light the streets for years to come, while the candleflames will only dream."

"Surely it won't be that bad," he countered. "The candleflames will always have a place in the night." He looked over the edge of the basket. "See? There's still some down there."

"But what a terrible life they'll have, always under the oppressive hoof of the fireflies and their victory." She sighed. "They'll never be able to shine as bright as they did before."

He paused a moment, watching her. "Were you hoping the candles would win?" he finally asked.

She didn't answer right away, looking out beyond the city to the brightening sky. As the first tip of the sun peeked over the horizon, she finally found her voice. "They doomed themselves," she said. "They sat inside their castles, thinking themselves untouchable. When the fight came to their gates, they had nowhere to go." She shook her head. "Can't win a defensive war."

"Celina..."

She turned to him and smiled. "Anyway, that's what you missed while you were fiddling with your fire over there. And now you'll never have this story to tell to your grandfoals. You can only say, 'I heard this once.'"

Balloons' smile had become forced. There was something on his tongue, something he wanted to say, but he couldn't quite find how. He watched her with curious eyes, that smile on his lips, as the sun left the horizon behind.

"...yeah." He sounded lost when he spoke, and he looked out to the sunrise.

Celina trotted up and draped her neck over his. "Something wrong?" He gave no answer, continuing to watch the day being born. She closed her eyes and whispered. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to ruin your balloon ride."

"It's alright," he said quietly, turning his head to rub his cheek against her muzzle. "Nothing's been ruined, you just... Where did you ever hear that story?"

"I don't remember," she told him. "It's been with me ever since I was a foal. I used to feel sorry for the candles, you know? Back when I was young and didn't know better. They were the ones content with life, just selflessly giving their light to others, and then along came a swarm of jealous, bitter fireflies. They challenged the candleflames to a friendly joust, and then, after the first pass..."

"Turns out it isn't so friendly." She nodded slightly; he felt it against his neck more than he saw it. "You know," he said, looking back to the sunrise, "I've never heard anything like that before. The most violent stories I heard were the Service tales, and you know how tame those have become."

"I guess I just had strange parents," she suggested.

He chuckled. "Maybe. What were they like?"

"Hm?"

"Your parents. Any really fond memories?"

"My parents, huh?" She sighed and trotted to the other side of the basket. "Both unicorns, both rather successful. Dad's still around. He's an advisor for the Trades Council—spends a lot of his time in the guildhouse. Thinks I work as a researcher for new applications of magic. He pretends to be excited about it, but he never really understood magic beyond the basics." She shrugged. "I can make things up and he'd believe me."

He was watching her again, smiling. "And your mother?"

"She's gone. Happened a few years before the Service pulled me. Still don't know what happened. There's a story, yes, but after working here I'm not sure if I trust it."

"Have you tried to find out? The Service usually keeps records, you know."

"Not really," she admitted. "Don't see much of a point. She's already gone, and knowing if I was lied to won't change anything."

He didn't say anything at first, only frowned slightly and drooped his ears. Finally, "Was she in a dangerous field?"

"Nurse. She would travel around, helping anyone in need. She didn't care if they were ponies or not, only if they needed help." Celina looked west, out over the vast flatlands and forests of Equestria. "She wasn't around much."

"Must've been hard."

"Not really," she said. "Dad was there, and all his friends. They kept the house full. When we were told about Mom, it didn't seem real at first, but she never came home." She paused at the memory: grim-faced ponies knocking on their door late one evening, apologies dripping from their tongues. She remembered scoffing as they told her father, and why wouldn't she? Back then, she knew the world wasn't a dangerous place; she had wanted to slam the door on their faces. She had been angry, but the truth of their words slowly sank in over the following months. By the time she had fully accepted it, it was too late to mourn.

"Anyway," she said, returning to the present, "with all that, it's really no wonder why I can't tell you where I heard that story. Honestly, maybe Mom heard it on some trip outside of Equestria, or one of Dad's friends made it up—they usually talked a lot."

"Was your dad friends with any firefly breeders?" He was struggling to hide a smile. "Maybe he was trying to get ponies to buy less candles."

"...How would that work?"

"Well, they got in a fight over whose light was prettier, right? And the fireflies won, right? That means that their light was prettier, so you should buy more firefly lamps."

She stared at him, mouth agape, struggling to follow along. "That... is terrible marketing."

"Which is why it never took off! You might've been his first test audience, and when you showed sympathy for the candles, he knew it would never work."

By then he was grinning widely, and Celina couldn't help but chuckle. "That is utterly absurd," she stated. "Nopony would be daft enough to think that'd be good advertisement."

Balloons shrugged. "Maybe he was drunk." He started swaying and slurred his speech. "Hey, thar, li'l filly. Uncle Lampfly gots a story ta tell ya."

Her laughter filled the sky, and his soon sounded beside it. It carried over the waking city, heralding the joyful day to come. It took several minutes for their laughter to subside, and by that time their sides ached with glee. "Thank you," she said, wiping tears from her eyes, "for turning part of my foalhood into a poorly thought-out marketing scheme."

"Ah-heh... sorry about that," he replied sheepishly. "You just looked so sad."

She smiled at him. "It was a nice thought, then." He blushed lightly, looking down with a smile. In the silence that followed, Celina noticed that the morning was unusually warm for the early hour. She looked up. "Hey, Balloons? Is the fire supposed to be this hot?"

"Hm?" His attention followed hers, and suddenly he was all business again. "Is it that late already?" His horn sparked to life, and the fire instantly cooled. The balloon dropped slightly, but before it got too far he cast a second spell, steadying them above the city. Celina recognized it as the same spell he had used the first time he'd brought her up here.

"Got too warm out?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Sorry 'bout that; usually I'm paying better attention to the temperature. Guess I was just wonderfully distracted."

"You're a charmer," she teased.

"Hey, don't relax yet; you're taking us down, remember?"

Celina smiled and tilted her head, cracking her neck. "Smooth as silk," she responded.

A few minutes later, the basket landed on the balcony with a thump, but this time it barely jostled its occupants. Balloons was smiling. "Well, maybe not silk, but we can certainly call it cotton at least."

Her smile was strained as she looked at him, and her hoof clicked against the basket's base. "Very funny, Balloons."

"Hey, now, don't be upset; that was much smoother than last time." He nuzzled her behind her ear. "I'm sure you'll have it in no time."

She flicked her ear; he'd rubbed her cut. That should've been fine! What went wrong? Where did I mess up?

Balloons seemed to sense her frustration, and he stepped away, his horn sparking to life. "Want to help put the balloon away?"

"Can't," she replied, hopping out of the basket. "I've gotta get to medical; my appointment's in a few minutes, looks like." She looked up at the sun to make her point.

He followed her gaze. "Ah, right. Well, then, I won't keep you. Oh, and... could you not tell them where I am? If they find out they'll send orderlies to interrupt me." She looked at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I'm going back," he added hastily. "I just need to put this away first."

She gave a short laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about, Balloons; I haven't seen you all morning."

He smiled, but it vanished quickly and his eyes fell. "Hey, uh... Celina? About those candles..."

She hesitated a moment, one hoof hovering in midstep. "What about them?"

"Well... earlier, you said you used to feel sorry for them, when you were younger and... and... what about now?"

She looked up to the spires of the palace, towering above them and the city below like guardians. "Now?" she asked. "Now I pity them. They had the power to prevent their downfall, but they'd grown too soft and complacent. They couldn't win when it mattered the most."

He was silent for a time. "Is that why you accepted the call to service?"

She chuckled and glanced up at him again. "Maybe. But what a line that would be: from bad marketing to defender of the realm!"

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

The Shaman's eyes were closed, and he was breathing softly. He sat on a small, moss-covered stone, his forward lean supported by his staff. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating a dancing red lightshow on the inside of his eyelids. The air was fresh and clean, and a smile came to his lips as birdsong reached his ears. The place was calm, quiet; there was a small whisper of magic in the distance, but compared to the maelstrom of the city it was a lullaby. The pain in his head was little more than a memory, and even the sudden flash of a nearby teleport spell failed to erase his smile.

"Ran this far, did he?" The mare's voice was sharp and flared with anger. "Alright, ponies: his first jump got him here. He won't have stopped, so start searching for his next one. I want to know where he's 'porting to yesterday!" There followed several voices in acknowledgement, and a wave of scrying magic that threatened to bring back the ache wiped his smile away.

"Pony waste time." Instantly the scrying stopped, and the Shaman breathed a sigh of relief. He heard the sound of hoofsteps on soft ground behind him, rapidly coming closer; he didn't open his eyes to greet them.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked the mare's voice.

"Breathing," he replied. "Is quiet here."

"Is dangerous here," came her retort. "You could be seen."

He opened one eye and regarded her. "Then I kill pony who sees. I remain dirty secret."

"No." The unicorn's voice was barbed, and she made no effort to hide the anger in her eyes. "You'll come back with us and stay hidden."

The Shaman was unmoved. "Pony not want dead ponies?"

"Do you like it when we kill your dogs?"

"Yet pony wants Shaman to start war. Does pony think ponies safe? That no pony die?" He leaned closer, both eyes boring into her. "Or is this lie you are telling Shaman?"

The mare glanced around. "That's ridiculous," she said, meeting his gaze. "There's no reason to lie to you."

"Perhaps wish to make Shaman feel safe," he growled. "Perhaps want Shaman's secrets for self." He touched her shoulder with his staff, the five horns hanging from it clacking against each other. "What does pony truly want? Tell to Shaman."

The mare's eyes shone with revulsion as the horns touched her flesh. Magically, she pushed his staff aside. "Right now I want you to return to Canterlot and teach us your spell. Then we can fix it, and you can start your war."

"'My' war, of course. All without killing ponies, yes? Very real, this war you want."

"Now is too soon," she responded. "If you killed somepony who saw you, you might very well remain a secret, but that pony would be found. The first time might only start a search for enemies in our borders, but if you kept doing it panic is sure to erupt. Either way, you'd be found and all of this would be for nothing."

"Pony think I am fool? Body vanish, never found."

"That might work in the Everfree, but this is Whitetail Wood. The most dangerous thing here is a termite. Ponies disappearing here would have the same effect as finding bodies."

"Then pony make good on promise. Keep other ponies away."

The mare snorted. "We don't control everything. Not yet. Listen, we can keep secrets well, but you need to follow our instructions and let us do that." She flicked her head toward the group of ponies she arrived with. "Now come; we must get back."

The Shaman leaned back, coming to rest against the tree behind him. The past few hours of quiet had done wonders for his thoughts, and now even the inevitability of his victory seemed tenuous. So much of it, too much, hinged on the goodwill of his enemies, and they had already admitted to keeping secrets. Before, he'd been lost, but now? He wasn't going to simply roll over and let these ponies have their way. "Is comfortable here," he said.

The mare let out an irritated whicker. "We'll get you a cushion if you want, but you're coming back now." At her last word, her horn began to glow. The air began to vibrate with the beginnings of a teleport spell, and the other unicorns quickly followed suit.

An explosive magic wave boomed out, knocking the unicorns to the ground and interrupting their spell. The squawking of birds filled the air as they were flung from their perches, and the rustling thunder of a thousand feathered wings taking flight filled the woods. The Shaman sat still, unmoved from his comfortable seat, the glow of his staff and its horns slowly fading. "No. Pony want spell?" He leaned forward, holding his staff between the mare and himself like a dividing line. "Pony learn here, not in city."

The mare struggled to stand again; the Shaman could smell fresh blood through the bandage on her leg. He could see that she was struggling to maintain herself, trying to act like she still had control. Maybe she does, he thought. Who knows what these ponies have hidden from me. His grip tightened.

"Why here? You can't stay; too many ponies come through these woods."

"City too noisy; can't hear spell."

A curious look came to her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a frown. She glanced around at her companions; her hoof tapped against the ground. "Go form a perimeter," she told them. "Stop everypony who comes near here."

The others hesitated. "Are you sure—"

"I said GO!"

Slowly, reluctantly, the others dispersed. The Shaman didn't bother watching them, all his attention focused on the mare in front of him. Then, with the backwards glance of the last of her companions, they were alone. They stared at each other, as if daring the other to break the silence first. Finally, the pony spoke up. "Well?"

The Shaman's staff flashed. The mare flinched and leapt back, her own horn bursting to life defensively, but nothing came her way. His staff held a constant glow as she regained her composure. "Here is spell," he said. "You hear?"

There was a pause, and then—curiously—she cast a scry. His head tilted slightly as he watched her, her spell quietly invading his. Strange markings, glowing in the colour of her magic, began to take shape, hovering in the air beside her. As she examined his spell, she would consult or alter these markings, or draw out new ones. The Shaman had never seen such a thing before, and yet these shapes looked somehow familiar.

His spell extinguished, and he gestured at the glowing shapes. "What is these?"

The mare stopped, halfway through drawing another symbol, and glared at him. "What is what?"

"These." He again gestured. "What is these?"

"The runes? You don't..." She glanced between him and the glowing shapes. "They're used for magical annotation. They... ought to be universal. You don't have anything like this?" He shook his head slowly; she looked utterly perplexed. "Then... what do you use?"

"I don't understand."

"How do you teach your magic? How do you learn spells?"

Again, his staff began to glow. "I show. You listen, you learn."

"But," she protested, "what about the more complex spells? Simple ones, sure, but how can you explain actual magic?"

The Shaman almost responded, but caught himself. There was a small whisper in the back of his mind; a thought almost forgotten. These ponies... they really can't feel the mana. He stared at her for a moment, then extinguished his spell again and pointed to the runes. "Teach, then."

"What?"

"Teach Shaman runes. Teach Shaman how you learn."

The mare paused. "Why?"

"Pony wants to fix spell. How will pony teach Shaman to fix if Shaman cannot understand your teaching?"

"Maybe we won't. Perhaps we'll be the ones casting the spell."

"I will not sit and let spell be taken from me," he growled. "You will teach, or I will not."

She was glaring at him, but it soon gave way to a smile. "Very well, Shaman. I'll teach you, but you'll have to return to Canterlot before I do."

"There is time now," he responded. "Your ponies keep other ponies away. Until sun sets, there is time."

"This is not negotiable."

He laughed. "It is. Pony calls Shaman mere convenience, but how long pony already been waiting? Does pony think it can wait enough for another convenience? Pony die first, I think. Pony dream wasted. But Shaman stands here now, and Shaman will help. All Shaman ask is trust." He gestured at the runes. "And these. Is good deal, yes?"

The mare didn't respond right away, preferring to limit herself to that same baleful glare. With a frustrated whicker, her hoof tapped against the ground and a glowing rune appeared before the Shaman.

The Shaman smiled.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

The mare entered the chamber through the hidden passage, blinking as the bright crystalline glow reached her eyes. The place was large, often accommodating the Cause members when they had to meet. Right now it was vacant, save for herself and the unicorn at the far end, occupying himself with some manner of report or another. A lot of wasted space for two ponies, she thought, but she knew it was necessary; there were few places in the palace that provided the privacy of these forgotten gemstone mines.

The other unicorn was standing on a crystal dais, his back to her as he studied the magical message displayed in one of the gemstone spires. She came up behind him and cleared her throat; he didn't turn around.

"Has there been any progress?" the unicorn asked.

She took a moment before answering. "Some."

"Anything is better than nothing."

She nodded. "It'll take time to fully extract his spell. The dogs, interestingly, have no runes. Instead, it seems that they somehow decipher a cast spell. Sounds strange, I know, but when we remember that Shamans can detect magic being cast—he uses the term 'hear'—it starts to make an amount of sense. Anyway, because of this, I'll be pulling the spell manually." She breathed a sigh of annoyance. "As I said, it'll take time."

"Can you tell me anything about it yet?"

"Nothing substantial; the Shaman is difficult to work with. When he's in the cells, his temper is short and he's unwilling to talk. He complains about the noise, so it might be he's 'hearing' all the magic we're casting, and... well, I guess that'd be like having someone yelling in your ear all the time—understandable if he's getting irritable. On the other hoof, when he ran to the woods he was calm and arrogant. I know Whitetail's well outside Canterlot, but surely the ponies in that area use magic of their own?" She paused. She knew Ponyville didn't exactly have a high unicorn population, but still... He would've heard something, wouldn't he?

She snorted lightly, remembering how he had sat there, arrogantly smiling, as his words filled her ears again. "He suggested that we needed him more than the other way around. The moment he saw me draw out the runes, he demanded to be taught, refusing to go further with his own spell until I agreed." She shook her head. "I'm not sure I like that."

"I wouldn't worry about it," he assured her. "He's just a dog, after all. What can he gain from it?"

What could he lose? She gave no voice to the thought, saying only, "He hopes that we can teach him how to fix his spell using the runes."

The stallion turned his head to face her. "Is that a problem?" She didn't answer, so he continued, "It would be unwise of us to be the ones casting his spell. We will help him, yes, but he's the one who'll end up getting his hooves dirty. Or 'paws,' in his case. He needs to learn his spell."

"What about his pride?" she asked. "If he keeps being difficult, we may not get anywhere."

He turned back to the spire. "I'll speak to him; perhaps remind him of his place. Go ahead and spend the next two days away from him. Hopefully that'll help show him we don't need him as much as he might think."

つづく
To Be Continued...