> Origin Story
>  by Kkat
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Forward
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


“Origin Story”







In the twenty-third year of the New Canterlot Republic, Golden Buckle Enterprises privately funded an expedition into the wastes of the Zebra Lands.  The purpose of that expedition, along with most of what they discovered, is still classified.  

In the course of that expedition, however, the following documents were salvaged from the Tenochtitlan Basin.  The bulk of the documents appear to be fragments from a rough draft of an intended prequel to the Daring Do novel series.  Each fragment of the novel which the expedition uncovered was coupled with an encrypted field report dating back to the final year of the Pony-Zebra War.  The fragments served as part of a rudimentary cryptography pad.  These, along with an algorithm obtained from the Final Echo numbers station at Shattered Hoof Ridge, allowed decryption of the military reports.

The nature and content of those reports have been analyzed and deemed to neither infringe on nor threaten the security or welfare of the New Canterlot Republic.  These documents, including the associated military field reports, have therefore been declassified and are now openly available to the public.

Telia Goldenclaw
NCR Council of Libraries




> First Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m at Yearling Manor.  The locals haven’t given me any trouble, but they’re keeping a close eye on me.  They don’t trust me, but it’s more than that.  They all know that the zebra military has started up operations deep in the basin, and they know that their treaty with Tragedy’s End and all their neutrality won’t be worth a donkey’s fart if the Legion decides they aren’t.

Or, worse, if the Legion takes offense.  

By Scorcherro’s claws, this place brings back memories.  Most of them bad.  I never wanted to return here.  But Equestria calls and all that.  They’ve boarded the place up so tight I think they put Wonderglue on the nails.  Fortunately, I know how to think outside the box.  I have what I came here for, safe and sound, and so on to the next objective.  This is where it gets tricky.

Reminds me, though, that I still have one more story left in me.  Since I’m supposed to add a “pad” with each of these for Final Echo, I might as well flesh out one last book.

This one will be different, though.  I’ll need a different sort of opener.  Not the big jump into action like the stories I used to write.  Maybe an entirely different tone.  Something formal.  Like how she would sound.

Ahem… rough draft, author’s notes, take one…

First Pad Begins








First Pad -- a rough draft of


Origin Story: Prologue


What you have in your hooves, dear reader, is the first and, by all intentions, final story in a long series of adventures that began in my youth.  For long-term fans, the generalities of most of these stories are exceedingly familiar, as I was driven to tell the tales of my own adventures, for reasons both obvious and heretofore obscured.  The true details are, however, unknown except by a small few.  (I will admit taking more than my fair share of artistic license in my writings.)  

Fans may find themselves jarred by the tone and vocabulary used within this book, for it does not match my earlier writings.  In younger years, I was quite a prolific writer.   I chose intentionally to mimic the style of the pulp adventure novels that had so shaped my earliest years, and which lent itself so well to not only the stories which I wished to tell but the conceit which I was constructing in their telling.  This book, however, I intend to write in a style more comfortable to the narrative of a confession… for that, in truth, is what this tale is.

It has been twenty-five years since I have lifted quill or tape recorder, much less put hoof to typewriter (or, rather, these new machines that have replaced them in the interim).  I was content to sit back in my home and allow the world to go by without me, satisfied that I had done my part and the world was better for it.  And, moreso, that the era of my adventures had come and gone, and that the torch had been passed to another generation.

Sadly, the word “retirement” is not sacrosanct to many a pony, not the least of whom being an old, one-time companion whose insistent knock on my door propelled me out of my comfortable solitude.  Nor is it to the specters of the past.  

The visit left me thinking of the words of one of my favorite professors: history is like a chain, each link following the last, irrevocably connected to it – no deed or event stands alone, without causes or consequences.  As of late, I have been taken with a different analogy.  History is alive – a monstrous mother, constantly spawning new generations of repercussions, each already pregnant and yearning to give birth to the next.  You cannot hope to cut the chain; you can only hope to corral the swarm.







First Pad Ends

Okay, that was awful.  If I tried to do the whole story like that, I’d probably go nuts.
> Second Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Look around you.  Where you’re standing is a symbol of all that’s wrong with this whole damn war.  This place used to be Phantasy Sinema, one of the first outdoor cinemas in the zebra lands.  Part of the great cultural exchange – they gave us drugs, we gave them movies.  

I remember my first outdoor cinema… flying my own little cloud up, parking it front and center.  I remember the kid who put his cloud right above mine kept dropping popcorn on me.  But I didn’t care.  I was too captivated by the huge silver screen and the adventures of Noir and Lace.

Now this place is a staging ground for the Legion.  No zebra parents take little zebra colts and fillies here anymore.  No images light up the grey screen.  Instead, there are robots and missile trucks and military zebras everywhere.  (I spotted a whole squad of them wearing wing-talismans; just flying isn’t enough of an edge in the Basin anymore.  Fortunately, I’m more than just a pair of wings.  I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.)  

It’s like we all woke up one day and decided we’d been too happy for too long and the world needs to suck now.

From here, they could secure Mwanzo Mpya in minutes, and they have enough forces to conquer Tragedy’s End.  Or obliterate it.  But I don’t think Equestria is their target.  At least, not directly.

I still haven’t found out what they are doing yet.  That’s going to require an excursion much deeper into the jungle.  But I have discovered that this operation is under the leadership of Legate Jua.  (Figures that striped witch would end up a Legate; I wonder how many corpses she had to climb to get there.)  And knowing her, I’m willing to bet she’s not in the Basin for kicks.  Whatever she’s up to, it probably involves the Amulet.  Fortunately, even if she’s found where it’s locked away, I doubt she has what it takes to get to it.

Of course, it could have nothing to do with the Amulet at all.  The Tenochtitlan Basin has enough other secrets that she could be after.  One way or another, the Legion is taking a very unhealthy look at the ruins.  Dash was right: this spells trouble for Equestria.  Maybe for everyone.

And now, the pad.  I tried the introduction in a more formal style, but it just isn’t the way I write.  Still, it really works for what I feel I need to convey.  So I figure maybe I should split the difference.  Start each chapter with a lead in, then change to something more comfortable.

Let’s try that.  Here goes: rough draft, chapter one, take one…

Second Pad Begins








Second Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from 


Chapter 1: A Most Peculiar Dinner



I first met A.K. Yearling in the sweltering summer ten years before the return of Nightmare Moon.  I had just completed my first year at the Baltimare University, where I was attending on a full athletics scholarship.  I had also been fortunate in that my high school had offered cooperative credit courses with the University, allowing me to start college with several of my general studies requirements already completed – primarily writing and arithmetic, the former because I took every class in it that I could and the latter because I made the effort to get those studies out of the way as swiftly as possible.  As a result, I was able to delve into the professional curriculum for my true passion – archeology – as early as the second half of my first year.  And this allowed me to join Professor Underhill’s summer travel study.    

I was one of five students privileged to join Professor Underhill and his teaching assistant Packer on their trip to the zebra city of Bahari Soko.  A.K. Yearling’s godfather, Goldentongue, was the current Equestrian Ambassador to the zebra nation, and invited us all to dinner at the ambassadorial manor in Mwanzo Mpya.    


~-------~ oOo ~-------~  


Severed and stuffed animal heads gazed down from their mountings, the faces of previous ambassadors and their families stared out from the portraits lining the walls, a trio of flies danced in the air above a table filled with fruits, breads and thickly-veined greens, and Daring Do was experiencing the strangest conversation yet in her life.    

Professor Underhill accepted a refill of wine from Mhudumu, Goldentongue’s zebra manor-servant, as he patiently tracked the conversation at the table.  Like most of the other student-archeologists, Daring Do was being reserved, not wanting to commit some unexpected cultural faux pas within her first night outside of Equestria.  But next to her, Fleetwing was bombarding the ambassador with enough questions for the rest of them.  Daring Do wasn’t sure if he was just that eager to learn as much as he could during this extraordinary opportunity, or if he was trying to impress someone.  Probably, Daring Do thought, a little of both.  As for herself, Daring Do just couldn’t keep her eyes on the young mare sitting at the far end of the table.  

At the end of the table sat a pretty mare – a pegasus like herself and about her age – hidden behind a flower dress and a pith hat.  Daring Do’s mother had once told her wearing hats at the table was rude.  Maybe it was different in the zebra lands?  She opened her muzzle, but her brain locked, unable to find a polite way to ask.  So instead she closed her mouth again and just watched her.  Or, that was, she tried to.  But it was like her attention just kept slipping off of her.  Everything else seemed so fascinating.  

Still, Daring Do decided to strike up a conversation when she noticed nopony else was paying the mare any attention at all, not even on the rare occasions when she spoke.  Worse, there was something sad about the way she talked, as if she’d already given up on being heard.  Daring Do, having never been particularly social herself, decided she wasn’t going to let the girl be alone in a room full of ponies.   

She had only gotten as far as “Hello” and “I’m Daring Do, what’s your name?” when the blurting of yet another random question from the pegasus beside her yanked away her attention.  

“What’s that hanging over the fireplace?” Fleetwing asked between mouthfuls of cheese, pointing a hoof towards the slender metal pipe with a wooden stock mounted over the mantle of a walk-in fireplace, beneath the four trophy hydra heads.  A carved horn hung beneath it, the end of the pipe bowed out like a bell, and there were odd mechanical pieces to it.  Daring Do found herself looking towards the strange thing, her own curiosity welling inside her.  

Goldentongue smiled.  “Ah.  That’s a blunderbuss.”  His horn glowed with yellow light as he lifted the thing from its mounting and floated it over the table towards Fleetwing, offering a closer look.  “It’s a zebra weapon, essentially a small cannon.  You fill it with explosive powder from the powder horn, stuff in a metal ball, steady your aim with a forehoof and fire it with the mouth-brace.”  Goldentongue gently rotated the blunderbuss before Fleetwing and Daring Do before letting it settle into Fleetwing’s eager hooves.  

“Is that safe?” Professor Underhill asked the ambassador in a hushed tone.  Goldentongue assured him that without being filled with the powder, the weapon was as harmless as a lead pipe.  

Daring Do and the other students joined Fleetwing in examining the strange zebra weapon.  She wanted to know what sort of monster it was designed to protect against; the only cannons she had seen before were used for parties, and the need to weaponize one struck her as alarming.  But Fleetwing had already launched into a dozen questions about how it was made, how it worked, and if he could get one to take home to his uncle who could totally make an even better one.  

Mhudumu brought out a bowl of branches laden with what looked like orange grapes.  

Daring Do once again turned to the mare at the end of the table.  “What’s your name?” she asked, then immediately regretted it.  There was a slightly pained look in the mare’s eyes, a touch of a frown on her muzzle, which told Daring that she had already given her name.  Daring had been too distracted to hear it.  

“Just call me A.K.” the girl said with a meek and slightly weary tone.   Daring winced, mentally kicking herself.  She promised herself to get the mare’s full name soon, and to use it.  But for now...  

“Is it used for hunting?” one of the other students, Bluebell, managed to slip in.  “It sounds like it would be really noisy.”   

Daring Do’s attention was once again pulled back to the blunderbuss and Goldentongue.  The mare named “A.K.” momentarily forgotten, Daring Do silently thanked Bluebell for getting in the question she herself had wanted to ask.  

“The blunder is more for defending,” Mhudumu explained, entering the conversation for the first time.  He looked to Goldentongue, who nodded approvingly.  “Its thunder monsters find offending.”    

“These lands are full of dangerous creatures,” Goldentongue added.  “The forests to the south are even wilder than the Everfree back home, and manifested spirits roam freely, especially in the jungle just beyond this village.”  He floated the blunderbuss out of Fleetwing’s hooves and set it back on its mounting.  “A lot of monsters, timberwolves for example, can be frightened off by loud noises when they cannot be fought off.”  

Daring Do made another attempt to strike up conversation with A.K., asking about the foreign fruits and leaves.  The mare blinked (was she surprised that Daring Do was still trying to talk to her?) and began to answer.  But she’d barely said a few words when a coughing fit from Fleetwing tore away Daring’s attention.  

Fleetwing had finally stopped questioning long enough to munch the strange, vein-y leaves that comprised the meal’s main course, and was quickly downing a glass of water, tears in his eyes.  (“I warned you they were a little spicy,” the mare in the flower dress and pith hat said softly.  Only, it wasn’t really that she said it softly, Daring thought later that night, so much as the words felt oddly inconsequential.)    

A flash of irritation passed through Daring Do.  She took pride in being focused.  The first few times seemed like coincidence, but now she was beginning to feel as if somehow the world was actively conspiring to keep her from having a conversation with this mare.    

Frowning to herself, she made another attempt.  “So, A.K., how long have you lived with Goldentongue?  I noticed you weren’t...”    

Daring Do stopped.  She had been about to say that she had noticed the young pegasus mare wasn’t in the portrait of Goldentongue and his family.  But as she looked across the table at the picture – Goldentongue and his wife standing in front of the ambassadorial manor – she realized that there was a third figure standing in front of them.  There always had been.  But, for some reason, A.K.’s image was oddly de-saturated, as if there was a fault in the film, and it made her difficult to see.  

The young Daring Do stared.  And for a moment, she was struck by the thought that someone or something had taken a pencil and tried to erase A.K. from the picture.   

Professor Underhill had meanwhile seized the opportunity to delve into professional matters with the ambassador.  “I had really hoped that, after the trip to the Bahari Soko museum, you could help me get the permits for an expedition I was hoping to make into the Tenochtitlan Basin next summer,” he said brightly.  (Fleetwing was staring pleadingly at Mhudumu as the zebra poured him a new glass of water.)    

“You hope to find the Tree of Life, yes?” Goldentongue asked with a chuckle.  “You are hardly the first.  But permissions have gotten harder.  The new local primi ordines, a rather ambitious mare named Jua, is making an issue over Equestrians rescuing Tenochtilian antiquities.  Apparently, she believes leaving them to rot in the jungle is more respectful than putting them in a proper museum.”  

Daring Do joined the other students in voicing frustration and disapproval.  Bluebell rolled her eyes, proclaiming, “Well that’s just silly!”  

“What’s the Tree of Life?” a teary-eyed Fleetwing managed to wheeze between gulps of water.  

Goldentongue steepled his hooves and looked to Professor Underhill with a smile.  The professor jumped to explain, “Have you ever been to the Equestria Games?” he asked.  When Fleetwood nodded, he went on.  “Then you’ve seen the ice archery competitions.  Ever wonder where those arrows come from?”  

Daring Do, as much as she wanted to try to talk to A.K., knew she couldn’t miss paying attention now.  She had no idea what ice archery had to do with the Tenochtitlan Basin, but if Professor Underhill was planning an actual archeological expedition next summer, she wanted in!  

“There are plenty of spirits in the zebra lands, some of which are very powerful.  We all know about manifested spirits, but sometimes spirits inhabit natural things..."  

“Like how nature spirits inhabit wood, making timberwolves?” Bluebell asked.  The professor nodded.    

“...and like how a powerful spirit of cold and hate, like a windigo, can make its home within a tree,” Underhill explained, “There is a grove of such trees just southwest of this village.  The trees change to reflect the spirit that has fused into them.  The wood, if you can really call it wood anymore, from those trees is used to make ice arrows.”  

“And the Tree of Life?” Daring Do asked, finally getting a question of her own.  “A tree with some sort of life spirit?  What would that be like?”  

“Yes!” Professor Underhill announced with a touch too much enthusiasm.  “Based on my research, such a tree exists deep in the Tenochtitlan jungle.  And I believe that the fruit of the tree would add years to a pony’s life.  A veritable fountain of youth!”







Second Pad Ends

Crap.  I’ve got to be losing my touch.  That would have to be the most boring start of a Daring Do book ever.
> Third Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I dared a high-altitude aerial recon of the Basin.  Probably shouldn’t risk that again.  The zebras have eyes on the skies.  But I was able to glimpse Legion activities around many of the ancient obelisks like this one.   To most, these obelisks would seem to be (at best) particularly evocative ruins; photogenic, the markings on their sides would perhaps be interesting to anthropologists or zebra historians, but the structures themselves of little consequence.  I know better.  These obelisks were built by Rasdon.  They are magical nodes, part of a web of spiritual energy laid across the entire basin.  

The Radiant Shield of Rasdon.  The Legion is trying to control the sun.

I’m going to assume that this mission report is being read by a group of military ponies in a bunker or headquarters somewhere in Equestria, and that at least one of you just scoffed.  But before you make a cough into your hoof that sounds suspiciously like “Celestia”, let me remind you that Celestia’s power is not supreme.  She’s been overpowered before.  Remember Chrysalis?  And her control over the sun has been successfully contested.  Remember Nightmare Moon?  Endless night?  

Spirits can be very powerful.  Observe Discord.  Powerful spirits, especially if they work in tandem, can be truly godlike.   There is a reason that the Elements of Harmony, fueled by the Spirits of Harmony, working together under the direction of those whose virtues resonate with Spirits of Harmony, are the single most powerful magical force in our world.  

The Radiant Shield of Rasdon is not the Elements of Harmony, but it is far more powerful than I suspect most ponies are willing to accept.  And its central focus is an enchanted object on par with one of the Elements.

Dash was right about this mission.  If Legate Jua takes control of the Radiant Shield, we’re all in trouble.  Unfortunately, this means we don’t have time to send reports and wait for the Lunar Army to come up with a plan.  I’ve got to intervene now, before Jua can get what she’s after.

Third Pad Begins








Third Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Chapter 2: Chase Across Bahari Soko


Over the next few days, I made it my mission to get to know A.K. Yearling and, if possible, become her friend.  I’d celebrate my rousing success, but truth be told, A.K. made it easy.  A.K. was a wonderful mare, once I started to pull her out of her shell.  She was reserved and proper (as, I assumed, an ambassador’s god-daughter ought to be), but within she held a vibrancy just waiting to express itself.  Not to mention an inspiring creativity.  We may not have had much in common, me being an athlete and aspiring archaeologist (or “treasure hunter” as she insisted on calling me) and her being her, but we bonded over a surprising mutual interest: a shared love of writing.

Despite obligations and scheduling both doing their best to keep us apart, A.K. and I spent a decent amount of time in each other’s company.  At one point, a zebra photographer was taking pictures of the Ambassadorial Manor, and I nudged her to shoot one of A.K. and myself that we could keep as a memento.  Well timed, as no sooner had the photograph been taken than Goldentongue briskly informed me that our departure for Bahari Soko had been moved up.  I had to break off my time with A.K. abruptly, having been given merely an hour to re-pack and join the others.

Bahari Soko was a large, seaside trading town and the true beginning of our summer adventure.


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


Daring Do swooped eagerly from the deck of the Mzigo Msichana and landed upon the wooden pier below.  The wind carried the scents and sounds of Bahari Soko – the smell of sweat, strange animals and foreign spices mixed with the splashing of waves and the creaking of ships, the trot of hooves and shouts in what (to Daring Do) was a most exotic tongue.  Her eyes took in the zebra city, stretching backwards from the sprawling ports and along the river.

Ships of all sizes carefully navigated the crowded harbor.  A coal transport was departing for Equestria, the zebras along its pier pulling up the ropes that had tethered it in place.  The docks were busy with zebra workers, some guiding ships to their piers, most loading or unloading cargo.  One nearby ship was dropping off cargo marked with the emblem of the Equestrian Games soon to be transported by train to Stalliongrad.   Another was loading up on crates of spiny, hairy fruits meant for Roam.

Along the far edges of the docks, between zebras working out of the backs of wagons, Daring Do saw waiting rickshaws, their drivers waiting in anticipation.  She suspected one of those was waiting for the ambassador.  She rather hoped others were waiting for the rest of them, as a rickshaw ride would be a new experience.

“I’ve sent word ahead to the primi ordines,” Goldentongue was saying as he and Professor Underhill trotted down the gangplank behind her.  “She is expecting your arrival.  Likewise, I have procured four hours for you and your students at Bahari Soko’s Hall of Exhibitions.”

“Excellent,” said Underhill.  “That will be a perfect start…”  

Daring Do missed hearing the rest, distracted by a loudly whispered “Psssst!  Over here!”

She turned to see a very large box set amongst many smaller crates.  A box with a canvas tied down over it.  There was a tear in the canvas, and a large, auburn eye was staring at her through it.

Daring Do looked around.  Zebras had rushed to the edge of the boardwalk, shouting and waving at a steamboat that had mistakenly turned to dock at the pier already occupied by the Mzigo Msichana.  Goldentongue and his assistants had turned to stare.  The professor was shouting at Packer to corral the rest of the students off the ship.  No pony was paying any attention to Daring Do.

Daring Do inched forward towards the covered box and the eye staring through the canvas.   A voice from behind the canvas called to her in a rumbling whisper. “Free me!”

Reaching the box, Daring Do bent down to look under the tarp.  The box was a metal cage, the door held closed by a padlock and chains.   Within was a creature with the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle – but Daring Do had seen griffins before and this was no griffin!  The creature was much larger, the size of a manticore, and her face was like that of a zebra without stripes.  

The creature turned her eyes on Daring Do, locking her gaze.  “My value becomes lesser with each who knows about me.  What am I?”

“What?” Daring Do blinked, befuddled by both the question and the questioner.  

Before she could contemplate further, another head joined hers under the canvas.  Professor Underhill smiled. “Ah, a sphinx!  Best move away, Daring.  They are dangerous spirit creatures, sphinxes.  Treacherous.  And their riddles are said to either bring great insight or drive ponies mad.”

The sphinx narrowed her eyes.  Glowering at Professor Underhill, she asked, “My value becomes greater with each who knows about me.  What am I?”

“Come along, now, Daring...” the professor began to say, only to be cut off by a resounding crash.  Daring Do’s head shot out from under the canvas at the sound of shouts and of groaning, splintering wood.  

The paddleboat had collided with the Mzigo Msichana, its prow tearing a swath from the side of the larger ship.  The Mzigo Msichana was leaning, supplies and student luggage sliding across the bow.  Daring Do saw Fleetwing swoop to capture some of them before they tumbled through the railing.  

A frightened squeal pulled her eyes upwards.  For some reason, Bluebell had been walking across the bowsprit like tightrope when the boats collided, throwing her.  “I can’t swim!” she cried out, dangling by a single forehoof from the rigging just beneath the tip of the spar.  Her grip was slipping.

Daring Do spread her wings and pushed off with a hard  thrust, shooting up to Bluebell and catching her just as her hoof slid free.  “Don’t worry.  I’ve got you!”  she said with a grin.  It felt good to save the day.  

Bluebell didn’t give her the response she expected.  Instead, Bluebell gasped, staring ahead.  

The steamboat’s engine hadn’t shut down, and the ship was now sliding along the side of the Mzigo Msichana, rending further along its side.  The hull of the steamship smashed into the pier, collapsing several meters of it, dropping ponies and zebras into the water.  Zebra dockworkers stopped shouting up at the steamship’s crew and ran back for the docks.  One of Goldentongue’s assistants yelped as the wood beneath her buckled and she fell with a splash.  The other grabbed the ambassador, hauling him towards safety.

Bluebell pointed.  Daring Do spotted several cloaked figures moving forwards across the steamship, two of them leaping the distance to board the Mzigo Msichana.  Another pulled something out of a saddlebag and tossed it onto the bow where it erupted in a wash of smoke.

The smoke grew, bellowing as it became an unnatural pitch-black wave that washed over both ships and swallowed part of the docks.

As Daring Do’s world was plunged into blackness, she could hear somepony cry out.  “It’s an attack!”

A single flare of light flickered in the darkness, growing swiftly larger, until the flame arrow struck into the jib less than a wing’s length from Daring Do.  The jib began to burn, the fire spreading to the nearby jibs and rigging.  Other flares of light slashed through the darkness.

Daring Do swooped towards the ground, hearing running hooves all around her.  Bluebell called out for the professor the moment her hooves touched solid wood.  

A light burst forth.  The black cloud was swept back, creating an eye in the darkness centered on Goldentongue’s horn.  Daring Do’s eyes widened as the expanding ring of visibility revealed a cloaked figure standing less than two meters behind the ambassador, a hoof raised.  Strapped to the zebra’s leg was a small, mechanical crossbow, the arrow made of flickering flamewood.

“Ambassador!” Bluebell cried in warning.  

The cloaked figure turned towards the voice.  Daring Do charged her without thinking.  The shot from her hoof crossbow went wild as Daring Do slammed into her.  The clasp of the zebra’s cloak caught above Daring’s left ear, slashing across her scalp.  The two crashed into one of the stacks of crates marked for the Stalliongrad.  Bundles of ice arrows and jars of crystal polish spilled over them in a wave of splintered wood and packing rice.  

Daring Do backed away, staring down at the would-be assassin.  The zebra was out cold, Daring’s blood dappled the metal clasp, looking like wet rubies against the stylized feathered serpent’s head.  Her gaze slid down to the crossbow.  Celestia’s army had swords and spears, but Daring Do had never heard of them using those weapons against anything other than monsters – at least, not outside of her adventure books.  Ponies (or zebras) attacking each other with murder in their hearts was the stuff of stories.  But this was real... and that made it altogether different.  

The screams behind her yanked Daring Do out of her momentary reverie.  She felt herself shaking.  Looking about, she saw that the attackers hadn’t killed anyone yet, but not for lack of trying.  Goldentongue and Packer were making quick work of the darkness.  The ambassador’s assistants (one of them quite wet) were engaged in hoof-fights with two of the cloaked figures while Professor Underhill hid behind the covered cage with several of the students.  

One of the cloaked zebras fired at Fleetwing.  The young pegasus blocked the shot with a rescued duffel bag which promptly caught fire.  Fleetwing spun in the air, hurling the burning luggage back at the assassin, who dove out of the way and into the harbor.

Flames were climbing over a small mountain of crates where the unconscious assassin’s rogue arrow had landed.  A pungent, peppery-sweet aroma filled the air as a box containing Roaman spice went up in a scarlet blaze.

Daring Do grasped an ice arrow and took to the air, dodging several flame arrows.  The scene below was desperate and frantic.  The ambassador and Packer were taking turns casting stunning spells at a pair of cloaked figures hiding behind a stack of barrels. The two unicorns were pinned behind dark wooden crates that resolutely refused to catch fire no matter how many flamewood arrows were shot into them.  Another cloaked zebra was stalking around the cargo behind which the professor was guarding the rest of the students.  She flew above them.  She couldn’t spot Fleetwing or Bluebell.  

No, wait, she spotted the tip of Bluebell’s tail.  She was hiding beneath an abandoned wagon.  One of the zebra assassins was standing on it, directly above her.  Daring Do didn’t really think the cloaked attackers were after a bunch of pony students – they couldn’t be, could they? – but she didn’t want to risk seeing what the attacker would do if he spotted her.  

The assassin moving towards Professor Underhill and the other students drew flush with the corner of the covered cage.  In a moment, she would round the corner and catch them.

Daring Do aimed with the ice arrow, tucked in her wings, and dropped from the sky.  The arrow snagged into the canvas, ripping downwards with ice forming on each side of the sliced cloth, and slammed into the padlock.  The metal of the padlock and chains turned frosty and brittle, then shattered in a burst of ice.  The assassin spun, aiming at Daring Do, only to be barreled over by the escaping sphinx.  The swinging cage door hit Daring across the face, sending her sprawling.

Shaking off the stars that danced on the edges of her vision, she looked up to see most of the assassins had turned to face the spirit monster unleashed in their midst.  The sphinx sent one flying with a mighty swipe of a paw.

“Follow me!” Daring Do gasped, getting back onto her hooves.  She swooped towards the wagon that Bluebell was hiding under, spinning to buck the sphinx-distracted zebra out of the back.  She landed and started strapping herself in, hearing the stampede of hooves heading towards her.  She could feel the weight as first Bluebell then several others clambered into the back.  The wagon quickly became too heavy for her to lift, but Daring Do didn’t have to fly to be fast.  She was an athlete.  She could run.

And she did run, from the moment she heard Professor Underhill shout “Go!”  Daring Do poured all the speed she could into her legs, leaving dust in her wake.  Five of the cloaked zebras ran after her, stopping to bully two of the zebra drivers out of the way as they claimed their rickshaws.  The chase was on.







Third Pad Ends
> Fourth Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you ponies back at HQ don’t mind that I’m keeping this informal.  I’m not military, and never learned how to speak stick-up-your-ass. 

Celestia, this temple brings back memories.  Granted, it is a little worse for wear since my last visit.  Filling the central chamber with lava isn’t good for the architecture.  Fortunately, being made of stone, these things are pretty amazingly durable.  Jua’s golems have their work cut out for them, though.  They’re going to have to carve their way through all the rooms filled with lava stone if they want to find what they’re looking for.  And they’re still not going to find it.

Right idea, but the princess is in another castle.  

Interesting note: there’s a whole network of tunnels under the Tenochtitlan Basin that run up to the volcanic mountains in the dragon territory to the southeast.  Whoever created these temples were engineering savants, and used those tunnels to create heated bathing pools, steam-powered stone elevators and the occasional lava-traps.  Also worth noting: the folk who built these places had a fetish for traps.  Seriously.  They’re not quite as over-the-top as in my books – artistic license – but they were still nuts.

Hope Jua has fun in there.

Granted, if they dig enough, they’re bound to wake up the Quetzalcóatl Empress.  The world really doesn’t need that kind of trouble.  So maybe I should do something to stop them.  After I’m done laughing.

As for gathering intelligence, I’ve been able to confirm what the Legion is doing in the Basin.  Their mission is to regain control of the Radiant Shield of Rasdon.  The Senate back in Roam has apparently succumbed to the insane notion that Luna is still Nightmare Moon and (my best guess) is just hiding Her true nature until She can dispose of Celestia.  Because that’s not crazy.  Legate Jua believes that if zebras can take control of the sun, they can lock Equestria in daylight and somehow that will strip Luna of most of Her power.  Because that’s not crazy either.

Thanks to Nightmare Moon, the zebras know how devastating it is to be trapped under unending sun.  They don’t seem to get just how bad unending night is, which is the situation they’ll be putting themselves in if they pull this off.  This plan isn’t good for anybody.  By Tartarus, it’s apocalyptic!  What is the point of winning the war if you wipe out everyone and everything you’re fighting for in the process?

So yeah, I’m not planning to wait and see if they find the Amulet on their own.  I’m going to do my best to stop them.  If I fail, as much as it horrifies me to actually say this, I have to recommend razing the Tenochtitlan Basin.

Hopefully, you have a way to do that.  Or a better idea.  

Anyway, here’s the next bit of rough draft scribbling to use as your pad…

Fourth Pad Begins








Fourth Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Chapter 3: In Trouble


There is a certain flawed (and one would even say racist) mode of thinking that has become prevalent in recent years.  Ponies have always been openly accepting of those who are different, but that has not protected us from a sense of superiority.  Throughout most of our history, this sense has been individualized, but that has not always been the case.  If we recall the stories of the three pony tribes from the Old Country, we are reminded that ponies of each race – pegasi, earth ponies and unicorns – each believed the others to be inferior.  Not by birth, but by culture and morality.

Each pony has her own opinions, and even though she may rationally acknowledge that the opinions of others are equally valuable, she does not truly believe that.  Her opinions are, after all, based on her own education and experience, which are necessarily correct; thus, her opinion is naturally superior to that of any who disagree.  And if a vast majority disagree, it is not because she is wrong, but because she is exceptional.

Differences are more easily accepted when the difference is academic or aesthetic, but not when the differences are in perceptions of proper and improper.  Or, worse, right and wrong.  When presented with a culture or morality that conflicts with our own, the pony mind is often swift to judge and, by nature of homocentric morality, finds anything different to be inferior and degenerate.  This leads some ponies to decry those who are culturally or morally different; it leads others of us to feel burdened with the responsibility of uplifting, educating or even “saving” them.

In the earlier decades of archaeology, this flawed mode of thinking permeated much of academia.  As much as I respect the intellect and instructions of Professor Underhill, his perceptions were deeply entrenched in the idea that the modern zebra is ill-suited to appreciate and properly protect the history of the continent’s grand past, and that it is the duty of the superior Equestrians to rescue the ancient artifacts of those cultures and put them in Equestrian museums where they could be properly appreciated and learned from.

To my shame, I too fell into such thinking in my youth, and I cannot blame it more than partially upon the Baltimare curriculum.  As I sat in the hall outside the primi ordines’ chamber, my mind was scrambling to reconcile the day’s events.  

The Legion had put a swift end to the assassin’s attack, and not without the shedding of blood.  One of the assassins had killed herself rather than surrender.  Life is precious and sacred; the idea of taking another’s was abhorrent.  No matter how bad or desperate the situation, it is neither so hopeless nor so important as to justify murder.  The idea of taking one’s own life was unfathomable.  As a young mare, I was appalled.  I clung to the hope that the assassins were sick, or at least barbaric outliers, and that the whole of zebra culture did not devalue life.  But then there was the sphinx.

If nothing else came of the day, at least I had freed the sphinx.  I couldn’t even wrap my mind around the concept of keeping another sentient creature in captivity, save in the case of imprisoning criminals.  But the sphinx had not been locked in a jail.  She was on the docks.  And she was not guarded as a prisoner, but rather kept as cargo.  I could not deny that my motivation for freeing her was more than just the desperation and convenience of the battle.  And in doing so, I had not only let the captive spirit free, but had saved the lives of my classmates as well.  Something which they had, at first, shown great appreciation for.

That would change.


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


Daring Do’s mind was going very dark places.  The docks had been attacked. They had been attacked; the zebra assassins had attacked students!  Not that Daring Do considered herself a child, nor the others, but she did consider them to be innocents.  Keeping that in mind made the situation all that much more appalling.  And worse, it seemed that they were in trouble for it.

Daring Do listened to Jua and Goldentongue argue fluently in the zebra’s native tongue on the other side of the door.  She and the other students sat with Professor Underhill and Packer outside the office of Jua, Bahari Soko’s primi ordines, the commander of Roam’s Legion forces in the city. 

“Dark empress’ cult with arrows of fire…”  Daring Do heard through the door as the Legion’s commander slipped into a strangely sing-song Equestrian.  “Whose foolishness has drawn here her ire?”

Arrows of fire.  The assassins had meant to kill.  And they had been quite successful in causing havoc and destruction.

She couldn’t even think of the mess.  The assassin’s ship and the Mzigo Msichana were dead in the harbor.  The pier where the Mzigo Msichana had docked was destroyed, the docks themselves were partially burned.  Celestia only knew how much cargo had been destroyed, or how valuable it was.  None of which, in Daring Do’s opinion, the Legion had any call to blame ponies for.

The shambles that Bahari Soko’s marketplace was left in, and the rest of the wreckage that they had left in the wake of their high-speed cart chase… maybe some of that could be laid at their hooves.  It had been her snap decision to try to lose the assassins by cutting through that thermae (a building that, at a dash, seemed like a cross between a spa and harem), although it was one of the assassin’s rickshaws that ended up in the pool.  And the Legion would probably blame her for the damage to that one rooftop that resulted from her ill-thought attempt to fly while carrying that much weight.  

The door opened.  Goldentongue motioned first for Professor Underhill, and then to Daring Do and the other students.  “The primi ordines wishes to see you now.”

Daring Do followed Professor Underhill into the stately room, decorated with suits of zebra armor, racks of weapons, and tapestries of white, red and gold.  She recognized the golden Seal of Roam on the wide, ornately-carved desk.  Rather than impressing Daring with her importance, the zebra behind it seemed to be made smaller by the grand show put on by the room.

Jua glared at Professor Underhill and began to speak – in zebra, to Daring Do’s surprise.  Jua could be thanking them or chewing them out; how would they know if they couldn’t understand her?  Did she think all ponies who came to the zebra lands could speak zebra?  Actually, now that she thought about it, Daring Do found this a logical assumption.  After all, if a zebra came to Equestria, Daring would expect her to speak pony.  Suddenly, Daring Do felt as if she had been unintentionally rude.

“The primi ordines first wishes you to know that she is happy that neither you nor any of your students were seriously injured in the attack,” Goldentongue stated the moment Jua stopped talking.  Daring Do quickly realized the ambassador was going to act as a translator for the zebra.  “And that she regrets that this was the first impression that you received of this normally peaceful and welcoming city.”

Professor Underhill nodded, not to Goldentongue but to Jua.  The Legion zebra spoke again, and the ambassador translated.  “The Legion has not yet determined the goal of the attack, but they suspect that it was meant to cause terror amongst the populace, and that anyone on the dock would have been a target.  It is possible that the Mzigo Msichana drew their attention because it bore a government flag.”

That made sense, Daring Do thought.  It was an ambassadorial ship, after all.  It certainly made more sense than a bunch of assassins wanting to take out a professor and a bunch of students.

“Still, the primi ordines insists on assigning you a Legion escort for the rest of your stay in Bahari Soko,” Goldentongue continued, frowning at what he would have to say, “And she regrets that your stay in the city must be cut short.  You and your students are to leave on the first suitable vessel departing for Mwanzo Mpya.”

“What?” Professor Underhill blurted in astonishment as the students around her gasped.  Daring Do felt as if the floor had dropped out from under her.

“Does this mean we have to go home?” Bluebell asked.

“This is horseapples,” Fleetwing protested with a flap of his wings.

Jua spoke harshly, and Goldentongue translated, “And I am afraid you will not be permitted to…”  Goldentongue paused.  “…explore the Tenochtilian Basin.  Your request has been denied.”

Professor Underhill’s face shifted from surprise to anger.  “You can’t do that!  We weren’t at fault.  They attacked us!”  He spun towards Goldentongue.  “Tell her that they attacked my students!  We have a right to defend ourselves.  She shouldn’t punish me… or them… for anything that we did to survive.”

“She’s well aware of that,” Goldentongue said, “However, one of your students unleashed a dangerous and volatile spirit on the town…”

“Damn it, if anything, it is the Legion’s fault,” Professor Underhill snapped.  “If they can’t keep these whoever-they-are from attacking… if they can’t keep the criminal element under control in their cities…”

“…and it has hurt people.” Goldentongue informed them, causing hollowness in the pit of Daring Do’s stomach.  “It will hurt more before it is recaptured.”  

Oh Celestia!  How many had the sphinx hurt?  How badly?  

“Professor…” Bluebell whispered, trying to calm him.  The looks that Jua was giving him could have burned through lead.  Daring Do suspected she knew more Equestrian than she let on.

The zebra glowered and spoke.  “You should be thankful that she has not revoked your visa to her country entirely,” Goldentongue translated.

“I cannot say that I much care,” Jua said, her Equestrian taking an exotic rhyming pattern, “for ponies traipsing everywhere, blundering where they don’t belong, thinking they’re right and we are wrong.”  She stared down the professor.  “You have no claim to what’s not yours.  You have no purpose on our shores.  And I for one will eat my shoe before the Basin’s open to you.” 

Professor Underhill just stammered.  Finally, he asked, “Permission to speak to you privately, primi ordines?”

In moments, Daring Do found herself and the students back in the hall with Packer.  There were voices on the other side of the door, but they were muffled, as if everyone inside was whispering just to make sure the students couldn’t make out what they were saying.  That made sense to Daring Do.  No point in kicking the kids out if you’re going to talk loud enough for them to hear anyway.

“Think the professor will be able to talk her into letting us stay?” one of the other students asked.  Daring Do doubted that very much.  

“I… was so looking forward to this.”

“Yeah, and now it’s over.  We didn’t even get a full day!”

“Thanks for that sphinx, Daring,” Fleetwing said.  “Because we needed that last nail in the coffin.”  Bluebell glowered at the pegasus and he shut up, settling for casting accusing looks at Daring.

A chill went through Daring Do.  This was her fault.  And worse, there were people injured because of what she had done.  When she released the sphinx, she thought she was being so heroic.  She was proud of herself for freeing the captive creature.  But now…

Now, she needed to know what she had done.  How bad it was.  Not that knowing would help anyone, but...  

The other students stopped talking as the door opened and both the professor and Goldentongue exited.  The professor pulled Packer aside and started speaking with him while the ambassador walked away.  About halfway down the hall, he broke into a trot.

“Tell the professor I’ll be right back,” Daring Do said to Bluebell.  She galloped after the ambassador.  Since Goldentongue knew that people had been hurt, surely he had the details and could tell her how bad it was.  As she ran, it occurred to her that she might be able to salvage the trip for everyone else.  She was the one who uncaged the spirit, after all.  Maybe if she volunteered to go back to Equestria alone, the rest of them could stay.

Goldentongue had disappeared around a corner.  Daring Do raced to catch up.  But when she turned the corner, there was no sign of him.  She stopped, staring in all directions.  Did he teleport away?  Surely, she would have seen the flash.  And he wasn’t far enough ahead of her to get away otherwise.

Then she heard him.  Not far.  He was talking to someone; she could only hear his voice, and she couldn’t make out what he was saying, but there were pauses that made her sure he was in a conversation.  

She looked towards the nearest door, then moved close and pressed her ear to it, just to make sure it was the right one.  She doubted that bursting in on a private conversation would endear herself to the ambassador, but she wanted to be waiting right outside when he was done.  If there was another way out of the room, she didn’t want to lose him.

“…not a complication.  She will be ready for you before the moon–”  Goldentongue’s voice cut off.  

All sound cut off.  

Daring Do had gone deaf.  Panic burst in her breast.  She stumbled back from the door.

The door opened.  The figure staring down at her wasn’t Goldentongue.  It wasn’t a pony or zebra at all!  It looked akin to a zebra, but was the size of Celestia.  It was gaunt and pale with a featureless face and no stripes nor mane nor tail.  From its back writhed tendrils of shadow.

Daring Do remembered nothing after that.







Fourth Pad Ends
> Fifth Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crap.  I messed up badly and now I’ve been caught.  Not on purpose this time either, although I think I’ll be able to turn this to my advantage.  The rank-and-file are looking at me like they want to turn me into a bloody smear, but they won’t.  Once she hears that I’ve been captured, Jua will want to interrogate me herself.  We have history.

Still, I shouldn’t have been caught.  And I should have been able to take this squad of Legionnaires down on my own with one wing tied to my side.  What happened to the Daring Do that could take out whole armies of bad guys with just her bare hooves and an attitude?  

She got old, that’s what.  Archaeology is a young mare’s game.  (As is, let's be honest, treasure hunting.)  I abandoned it for a reason.  But sometimes, the past just won’t stay buried, no matter how deep you dug the grave.

A younger Daring Do would have already reclaimed the Amulet right out from under Jua’s nose, and been back home by now.  Without it, Jua can scour the Tenochtitlan Basin until the end of the war and beyond, and it won’t do her any good.  But my bones ache, my reflexes are slow and the Legionnaires’ beating hurts more than they used to.  This Daring Do might not pull it off on her own.  And if this goes down bad, it will be up to you lot to find the Amulet of Atonement before she does.  Or, if she gets it first, fight your way to the center and take it back.

The Amulet of Atonement is locked away where not just anyone can get it.  A little trick I learned from the Tree of Life.  Those of you who read Daring Do will know it was a long time before I found that Tree.  Book Ten, to be precise.  Remember this:

“Only the remorseful one shall find the key.”

You know where I left it.  Think outside the box.  Good luck, RD’s speed, and may Celestia be with you.

Fifth Pad Begins








Fifth Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Chapter 4: Airship Attack


While there were several students who merited the privilege to join Professor Underhill’s summer travel study, I only formed clear memories of two of them: Fleetwing and Bluebell.  The understandable reason for this is that they were the only two to choose to accompany me on the flight back to Mwanzo Mpya.

A deal had been struck, allowing the rest of the students to stay and continue their summer studies abroad.  Only I was required to depart the country.  Nor was I to fly back to Equestria un-escorted.  I was grounded, under surveillance by a Legion guard.  Rather, the flight back was aboard the airship Uasi, a zebra dirigible piloted by Mhalifu – an associate of Goldentongue whom, I was told, was one of the few pilots brave enough to dare the skies over the Tenochtitlan Basin.

Packer insisted that it would be improper for me to make the journey without an adult and representative of Baltimare University.  However, Professor Underhill insisted that he could not spare the unicorn.  They got into quite a quarrel, but that stopped when Bluebell stepped forward.  I remember her words clearly.  They were strong, defiant and utterly bewildering to me. “You aren’t sending Daring Do home without sending me too.”  Bluebell stood with me.  And a moment later, to my even greater shock, Fleetwing did as well.  

The professor had to relent when Bluebell and Fleetwing insisted on joining my exile.  


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


Fleetwing was seething.  Daring Do watched him cross the deck -- back and forth and back and forth.  The pegasus had landed just so he could pace.

Daring Do stood in the shadow of an armored zebra, her Legion-appointed warden, and stared over the bow of the Uasi.  She had never been on an airship before, despite Baltimare having more than Fillydelphia and Canterlot combined; but she would still rather be flying, and was in no mood to enjoy the novelty.  She hated being grounded.

Worse, she was on her way home.  She’d been in Bahari Soko less than a day and had gotten to see almost nothing.  Her entire summer was ruined... and that was hardly the worst of it.  People had been hurt because of what she had done.  She thought she was saving a creature from imprisonment.  She thought she was being so clever.  And instead, the sphinx had gone on a rampage.  Before Daring Do boarded the airship, primi ordines Jua saw fit to tell her the sphinx had been “put down”.  Not that Jua needed to.  Daring Do had felt it when she heard the sharp crack of thunder.  She had wondered what kind of monster the zebras would need a blunderbuss for.  Now she knew.

The lush canopy of the Tenochtitlan Basin stretched out below and before the airship, an undulating wave of green broken by gouging ravines and the sporadic, upthrust shapes of ancient temples and obelisks, ziggurats and fortresses.  The basin was bordered on one side by the sharp, craggy peaks of the dragon mountains, on the other by the dazzling blue of the ocean.  North, on the far side, beyond the jungle, was Mwanzo Mpya.  Daring Do felt she had just left.

Daring fished something out of a pocket and looked down at it, trying to focus on the one small bright point in all of this.  On her hoof, she held two golden chains; clasped to each was one half of a broken coin – friendship necklaces, each bearing half of a whole.  “At least I’ll be able to visit with…”  Daring Do stopped.  The young pegasus grew alarmed when she realized that, just for a moment, she had forgotten the name of Goldentongue’s goddaughter.  Even though she had bought the necklaces while thinking of her, it took a forceful moment to remember.  “…A.K. again.”  

“I better be able to get into the summer expedition next year,” Fleetwing growled as he strode towards her.  Somewhere northward, the clouds over the basin rumbled with thunder.  “If you’ve screwed up that too…”

Daring Do stared into Fleetwing’s face.  “You didn’t have to come back with me.  Neither did Bluebell.  You could have been in Bahari Soko right now.”  Why in Tartarus did he come back?  Of all the students, Fleetwing had seemed the most excited, the most eager for this trip.  “And it didn’t sound like the Professor’s expedition was likely to happen with or without an excuse for the primi ordines to say no.”

“But you gave her one anyway, didn’t you?” he snapped.  

“By saving everyone’s lives,” Daring snapped back.  “All I remember you saving was luggage.”  

Fleetwing took a menacing step forward and looked ready to throw a few hooves, but a brisk voice snapped the tension.  “No roughhousing aboard my ship.  Save it until after the trip.”  

Both Fleetwing and Daring turned to see the zebra, Mhalifu.  She was a sturdy-looking mare who spoke Equestrian with a thick accent.  A nasty scar ran up the right side of her face to where her right ear had once been; and she wore a bandoleer of knives, a black pith hat, and a lasso on her flank.  Daring Do glanced around and noticed several of the deck-workers were also wearing lassos, although Mhalifu was the only one lethally armed.

“At least, not until my crew all gets...” Mhalifu said with a smile that the scar made crooked and ugly, “...the chance to size you up and place bets.”

Fleetwing’s contempt for Daring gave way to that incessant curiosity that he had displayed over dinner at the ambassador’s manor.  “I heard Goldentongue say you were one of the only airship captains willing to fly from Bahari Soko to Mwanzo Mpya.  Is that true?”

Mhalifu snickered, “The last anyone told me, I was one of only three.”

“Why’s that?” Fleetwing asked.  “What’s so dangerous about the Tenochtitlan Basin?”

Like Daring Do, he had taken note that they had traveled to Bahari Soko by boat over the ocean, taking the long way around the jungle.  Professor Underhill had pressured Goldentongue to arrange a faster transportation so that Packer, who had chosen to chaperon the three of them back to Equestria’s nearest train station, could rejoin him and the other students as soon as possible.  Daring Do wondered if it was because the professor needed Packer’s assistance with his work, or because he didn’t want to have to handle that many students all by himself.  Granted, if it was the latter, after recent events, Daring couldn’t exactly blame him.

Mhalifu’s smile vanished.  She seemed to appraise Fleetwing and Daring, as if determining whether to give them the same “Pray you don’t find out” answer that Daring had gotten when she asked one of the deck workers that same question earlier.  But something about one or both of them ignited a twinkle in Mhalifu’s eyes, and she decided to be more forthcoming.

“The Quetzalcóatl Empress, a dark and evil spirit who seeks to rule the jungle.  Zebras are right to fear it.” Mhalifu told them.  “Her cultists scour the basin for means to break her prison.  Tenochtitlan Basin will suffer if she’s risen.”

“And no one’s stopping them?” Daring Do gaped.  

Mhalifu scowled.  “The efforts of her cultists do not go uncontested.  Yet few are daring enough to stand against the Empress.”

Daring Do recalled the metal clasp on the assassin’s cloak: a feathered serpent.  “They were the ones who attacked us on the docks, weren’t they?”  Mhalifu nodded.  “What were they after?”

Before she can answer, a zebra voice called for Mhalifu; she turned away, barking orders.  Then strode across the deck, leaving the two pegasi alone again.  

After a few moments of silence, Daring Do finally asked, “Why did you come back with me?”

“It wasn’t for you,” Fleetwing grumbled.  Daring Do looked at him questioningly.  Then followed his gaze across the ship.  Bluebell was borrowing the telescope of one of the deck workers, gazing out at the dark shapes of the temples under the cloud-mottled evening sky.

“Huh?” Daring asked blankly.  Then it clicked.   Fleetwing and Bluebell?  Fleetwing and Bluebell.  They were more than just friends, Daring Do realized.  They might even be going steady.  “Oh.”  

“You saved her,” Fleetwing said bluntly.  “She wasn’t going to let you get kicked out alone.  And I wasn’t going to be able to enjoy this trip worried about her.”

Daring Do reflected on how Bluebell hadn’t seemed as curious as she or Fleetwing, although she had treated the trip as an adventure.  Daring had heard of ponies who, upon falling for another pony, changed their interests to match the other's.  She suddenly suspected Bluebell had done just that.

“Oh,” Daring said again.  She watched as Bluebell swung the telescope upwards, looking at the clouds.  Something she said caused the zebra to snatch back his telescope rudely.  Daring Do could sense Fleetwing’s mane bristle a little.

The zebra turned the telescope upwards, staring through it only a moment before spinning and shouting.  The strange zebra words were quickly echoed up and down the ship, shouted from one zebra to the next as they rushed to that side of the ship and stared upwards.  

Daring Do heard her guardian Legionnaire grumble and detach his spear from its holding brace on his armor.

“Not good,” she moaned and turned her head to the skies, looking at the clouds that were visible beyond the curving canvas of the Uasi’s balloon.  Almost immediately, Daring Do spotted several large, dark shapes moving towards them through the clouds.  

Creatures burst from the cloudy concealment – huge beasts the size of manticores with wings like bats and faces like monkeys.  “Ahools” the Legion guard said as he set his spear.  On the ahools’ backs road cloaked figures.

The zebras deck leapt into action, using lassos to try to catch and bind the ahools as the creatures swooped towards the deck.  Daring Do crouched, her heart pounding.  She was ready for action.  

Fleetwing stumbled backwards, crying out, “Bluebell, look out!”

Bluebell spun, her eyes going wide, as five ahools dove between the deck of the Uasi and its balloon above.  Bluebell threw herself behind cover.  

One of the great beasts’ wings snagged in the rigging.  Daring Do winced at the painful snapping of wingbones.  The monster plowed into the deck, scattering zebras and throwing its passenger.  

The ahools bore huge claws, easily the size of newborn foals and wickedly sharp.  They cut into the zebras as they flew overhead.  Daring Do’s readiness to fight evaporated, leaving cold shock at the sight of so much blood.  Beside her, Fleetwing panicked and flew.  She saw Packer cringe and toss up a magical shield as one of the ahools cut a swath towards him.  The monster’s claws tore through the shield like it was made of leaves.  Packer fell, blood spilling from the side of his head.

The zebras lassoed two of the ahools out of the air.  With practiced speed, they bound the creatures’ wings and claws while others fought to subdue the riders.  The ahools’ claws may have been sharp enough to make quick work of rope, but they lacked the manual dexterity to free themselves without causing egregious self-harm.  One tried to anyway, gouging great bloody tears in its wings as it slashed apart the lassos binding them.

A thought flashed through Daring Do’s mind: the ahools could easily tear the Uasi’s balloon to shreds, but their riders were directing them to attack the deck.  They wanted to take the ship in one piece.  But they definitely had no use for the crew.  Intuition told Daring Do that the riders were after something, and they thought it was aboard the Uasi.

The ahool with the broken wing started to claw its way across the deck.  Two more zebras attempted to stop it, catching it about its head with their lassos; but the beast knocked them back with a flailing sweep of its unbroken wing.  

Daring Do’s heart was pounding as the ahool lumbered towards her.  For the second time in a day, she was in mortal danger.  Her paralysis broke, adrenaline surging through her body.  Daring Do took to the air, flying out of its reach on the side of its broken wing, keeping the rigging between herself and the monster.

It kept moving across the deck, and Daring Do saw that she wasn’t its prey.  It was moving towards where Mhalifu was fighting the cloaked zebra that had been thrown from its back.  The zebra cultist fought with a mouth-held cutlass, Mhalifu with only a knife.  But Mhalifu was the more seasoned fighter, and the zebra had not landed well and was struggling with a limp.  After moments of furious clashing, both blades were sent spinning across the floor.  The ahool stumbled closer.

Daring Do caught sight of the ropes trailing behind it, the lassos still around the ahool’s neck.  She dove for the deck and caught the ropes in her mouth.  She landed behind the huge beast and pulled.  The ahool jerked to a stop with an enraged howl.

“No, your Empress will not win the fight,” Mhalifu spat as her right hoof slammed into the cultist’s muzzle.  “When her secrets are exposed to light.”  Mhalifu’s left forehoof slammed into his chin, the uppercut sending the cultist stumbling back.  Mhalifu spun to deliver a hard buck to the zebra cultist’s exposed stomach, driving the wind out of him.

The monstrous ahool struggled towards its prey, even with Daring Do trying to pull it back.  Her hooves slipped and slid in the warm blood coating the deck.

“You… fools… will expose... nothing!” the cultist gasped, curling up on the deck as the shadow of the ahool fell across him and Mhalifu.  “…we have… your sacrifice.”  The cultist spat.  “…and soon… we will have the Amulet…”  

Daring Do flew upwards, straining as the ahool clawed its way within arms reach of the Uasi’s captain.  The ropes tightened around the beast’s neck.

“No, you won’t.”  Mhalifu seemed oblivious to the ahool, now within claws reach, struggling to strike while it struggled for air.  The zebra captain’s attention was completely locked on the cultist.  She scooped up the fallen scimitar.  “In Ahuizotl’s name!”







Fifth Pad Ends
> Sixth Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn’t break.  Legate Jua got nothing from me.  She never will.  

The poisons she used to interrogate me still course through my body.  I don’t have an antidote.  I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I’m not counting on making it out of the Tenochtitlan Basin.  Have I mentioned that I hate this place?  

I don’t trust my escape.  It was too easy.  I suspect Jua is hoping I’ll lead her to the Amulet of Atonement.  If so, she has another thing coming.

Luna’s army will have to retrieve the Amulet of Atonement.  I’m leaving you a trail of breadcrumbs, and then I’ll deal with Jua myself.  

The Amulet is hidden in a unique chest locked with a very special lock, one that the Spirit who powers the Amulet created for me.  For specifics on how these locks work, read my book, Daring Do and the Tree of Life.  

Quick overview: Doctor Caballeron was after the Tree of Life, and he had the backing of Roam.  With the Legion of Roam at his disposal, he could blast and tear his way through the jungle to get to it.  The Tree was hidden in a sacred grove sealed behind a mystical lock that the Spirit of Life within the Tree had created.  The key was disguised as a historical artifact, and would only reveal its true form when brought to the lock by someone whose dominant virtue was ambition.  And that meant if I was going to get to the Tree of Life before Caballeron, I had to team up with Ahuizotl.

At least my fans enjoyed that.

I find myself wondering what things would be like now if I had chosen to team up with Jua instead.  Fortunately, the key to the Amulet’s chest requires a personality trait Jua is distinctly lacking.

Sixth Pad Begins








Sixth Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Chapter 5: Alea Iacta Est


As a youth, pulp adventure stories were my addiction, one that led me to invest in courses on literature and writing at Baltimare University.  It was during one such lesson, wherein we were studying a series of poetic tales based loosely upon historical events, that our teacher extolled a particular truth of storytelling: the story is in how we get to the ending, not the ending itself.  It is the engagement of the journey that enthralls the reader, even if the final outcome is known from the beginning.  

As is the nature of a prequel, long-time readers of my adventures will be a step ahead of the narrative.  Elements of this tale have made their appearances in previously written stories of Daring Do and will be familiar.  Few quotes have been the subject of as much conjecture amongst Daring Do fans as her comment in Daring Do and the Griffin’s Goblet when first the Amulet of Atonement is mentioned.

“I am familiar with it.”

There are moments in our lives that weigh heavily on us.  Events that forever alter the trajectory of our destiny.  They change us, and in doing so change everything.  No matter how much we attempt otherwise, we cannot fully sever their influence, nor escape the chain of consequences set into motion by their happening.

It was a muggy summer evening with twilight darkening the sky when I last saw A.K. Yearling.  


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


The front door of the ambassadorial manor hung open and askew, torn free from one of its hinges.  Daring Do’s heart sank in her breast as she landed before the violated house.

“A.K.!” Daring Do shouted as she raced up the path and through the broken entrance.  The Quetzalcóatl cultists had gotten here first!  She skidded to a stop, her eyes going wide at the sight of a cloaked body crumpled over a broken hutch table, surrounded by shards of pottery.    

The cultists were after an amulet, and if it had not been aboard the Uasi, then Daring feared that they would strike here.  She’d flown as fast as her wings would carry her, but it still wasn’t fast enough.  As she ran from the foyer into the dining hall, nearly tripping over another cloaked body, she heard a shout and the sound of heavy impacts somewhere upstairs.  

“A.K. hold on, I’m coming!”

As Daring charged into the next room, half of the dining table flew at her, bucked with great force.  She dove to the floor, feeling sharp shards of broken glass cut into her hooves and legs as the heavy wood smashed into the wall above her, pulverizing a brass candle sconce.  The table rebounded from the wall, bits of wax candles raining down, and landing with a thud next to Daring Do, between her and the attacker.  

Someone in the room spat out something spiteful in the zebra tongue.  

Daring Do brushed away as much of the glass as she could, then pushed herself out from behind the table.  

The dining hall was painfully wrecked.  Pictures hung askew or had been torn from the wall, their frames splintered.  The center table was split in two.  Chairs were toppled.  The only meager light came from the last rays of evening seeping through broken windows and tattered curtains.  The floor was littered with broken glass from the windows and pictures.  Dead ashes and charred wood scattered out from the fireplace.  The mounted heads of dead animals stared down in the darkness accusingly.

She spotted the zebra, his cloak askew, one eye bruised and bloodied shut, standing over the fallen body of a young mare in a floral dress.  Any another setting, Daring Do could believe she was just sleeping.  Her pith hat lay upturned nearby, amongst spilled fruit.  A sharp metal shaft jutted out from beneath the forehoof crossbow on the zebra’s raised hoof. 

Daring Do was just in time to see the zebra cultist plunge the blade of the dagger into A.K. Yearling’s breast.  The mare screamed.

“NO!” 

Daring Do threw herself at the cultist.  The two tumbled across the floor.  The zebra bucked Daring off, sending her flying into the fireplace mantle.  She dropped to the floor amongst the ashes, scattering them further.  The blunderbuss and its powder horn clattered to the floor next to her.

The assassin shouted something triumphant, turning back towards the moaning A.K. Yearling.  He was intent on finishing the job, a driven gleam in his eyes.  A loud, splintering sound from one of the rooms above distracted him.

Daring Do grasped at the blunderbuss and shouted, aiming it at the zebra.  The cultist turned to Daring Do, eyes wide.  Then laughed as Daring Do fumbled with the strange weapon, unable to make it work.  The zebra lifted his hoof, pointing the hoof-mounted crossbow at Daring Do’s neck.  The tip of the flamewood arrow flickered with bright orange fire.

Daring Do stomped, breaking off the cork of the powder horn, then spun, her tail whipping the powder horn towards the zebra.  Black powder flew into his face in a cloud, igniting from the fire arrow in an understated whoop and an instant blaze of light.  The cultist screamed as his face and breast were seared by flame.  He stumbled back, a foreleg lifting to cover his eyes.  His scream was cut short as Daring’s back hooves slammed into his underside, cracking ribs and sending him flying.  

Daring Do rolled onto her hooves, wincing as bits of glass pushed deeper, and dashed to A.K. Yearling’s side.  The mare was breathing raggedly, a great red stain spreading over her dress.  “Daring…”  she gasped hoarsely, her teary eyes focusing on him with difficulty.  “… friend… mine…”

“Yes,” Daring Do said, holding a hoof to her lips.  “Don’t talk.  I’ll get you to a doctor.  You’ll be fine.”  Daring dipped her muzzle into her breast pocket, pulling out one half of the friendship necklace.  “See, friends.  Forever.”  She put the necklace around her friend’s neck.  “Now you hold on…”

“Tell Goldentongue…” she whispered, blood bubbling up from her muzzle with every word, “…I’m sorry.”

“No,” Daring Do repeated.  “Don’t talk.   Just hold on.”  Even as she spoke, A.K. went limp, a soft gurgling sound escaping her.  “You’ll… you’ll be fine,” Daring told her again, tears streaming down her face.  She knew her friend couldn’t hear her anymore.

Daring Do held her friend’s body, crying over her quietly.

A resounding crash pulled her back from the depths of her mourning.  Two zebras smashed through the railing on the second floor hallway and slammed into the ground just beyond the dining hall.  One, another cloaked cultist, lay still against the floor, having taken the worst of the fall.  The other rose shakily to his hooves.  Daring Do recognized Mhudumu, Goldentongue’s servant.  His injuries looked severe.

“Daring Do!” he spoke in surprise.  “I am thankful to see you.”

Daring Do didn’t move.  “A.K.’s...”  It hurt to say the words, as if saying them made it real.  “…dead.”

“I am sorry, young miss Do.  I cared deeply for her too.”  He frowned.  “But right now the world needs you.  There is something you must do.”

Daring Do stared at him uncomprehendingly until Mhudumu pulled out a silver-chained necklace.  From it hung an amulet of dark metal with a star sapphire set into the center, surrounded by a motif of tears.  

Daring Do’s jaw dropped.  It was beautiful.  For a moment, a sad, deep light glowed from the center of the stone.  In that light, the pain of her friend’s death lost its sharpest edges, becoming more bearable.

“I serve the Senate of the Caesar’s Roam,” Mhudumu explained.  “To watch Goldentongue, I made this place home.”

Daring Do gasped.  “You’re a spy!”

“This is the Amulet of Atonement,” Mhudumu said.  “I’m in no condition to protect it.  To Quetzalcóatl, it must never go. Take this to my friend in Bahari Soko.”

Daring Do stared into the light of the Amulet and she understood.  This is what the cultists of Quetzalcóatl came here for.  This is why they caused so much destruction and pain.  She wasn’t about to let them have it. 

But, she realized, she had no idea how to find Mhudumu’s friend.  Or even who he was.  Couldn’t she take it to the authorities?  “How about the primi ordines?”

“Only if you must.  Your judgement I must trust.”  Mhudumu shook his head slowly.  “Jua’s loyalty is to the Legion, not to Caesar.  It would not be wise to give to her this much power.”

Daring Do nodded solemnly as Mhudumu passed her the Amulet.  It felt heavy in her hooves, like the metal and stone weighed much more than it should.  As she held it, a resolve passed over her, making her look down at A.K. Yearling’s body.  Her dress was almost entirely crimson from her blood.  Daring Do’s eyes moved to A.K.’s fallen pith hat.  Standing, Daring Do put the necklace around her neck, hiding the Amulet within her jacket, then scooped up the hat with her tail and placed in on her head.

“Daring!” she heard a voice call out from outside.  She turned towards the window in time to see Fleetwing land, setting Bluebell onto her hooves in the grass, the two of them barely visible in the descending dark.  They had followed her from the Uasi.  (She suspected Fleetwing would have beaten her here if he had not been carrying his marefriend.) 

“Soon more servants of the Dark Empress will surely appear,” Mhudumu warned.  “Bring my friend Imani the necklace.  You must not be here.”

Daring Do turned to Mhudumu.  “What about you?”  

“Miss Do, do not fear,” The battle-battered zebra gave her a smile of bloodied teeth.  “I will keep them here.”

“Daring Do!” Bluebell called from the broken doorway.  Daring Do swallowed and nodded, then lifted the body of A.K. Yearling onto her back with a wing.  Her blood was still warm, and began to soak into Daring Do’s jacket.  

Daring Do choked back another sob.  As she carried her friend’s body out of the room, she stepped across the crumpled body of the cult assassin.  She paused, staring.  The zebra didn’t move, but the gentle rise and fall of his breast betrayed that he was still alive, merely unconscious.

Part of Daring Do wanted to raise her hoof and stomp down on his neck.  End him, like he had ended A.K. Yearling.  But her better pony fought down the black urge.  Not even murder justified murder.  And the zebra’s death would not bring her friend back.  Or make the pain any less.

She turned and galloped out the door, passing a shocked Bluebell as she ran into the night.

“What in Tartarus?” Fleetwing shouted.  “By Celestia!  Daring Do!”  The pegasus immediately began to chase after her, followed by Bluebell.

Tears were streaming down Daring Do’s face again, blurring her vision as she hit the street and turned towards Mwanzo Mpya.  

Daring Do stumbled, wincing.  She spread her wings, lifting off the ground, then pulled a shard of glass from her left forehoof with her teeth.  She was bleeding from a dozen small cuts, and her body ached badly.  Three fights in one day was a record, and these hadn’t been schoolyard tussles.

Fleetwing took to the air.  He flew beside Daring, keeping pace as he stared at the blood-soaked body on her back.  “Who is that?  Is she dead?  What happened?”  

Spitting out the glass, Daring Do answered, “She’s A.K. Yearling.  She was Goldentongue’s goddaughter.  And my friend.”  She almost growled.  She felt like shouting.  Why did she even have to explain that?  “One of those cultists killed her, and I’m going to make sure…”  Make sure what?  That she got a proper burial?  

Daring Do’s mind conjured images of more cultists descending on the manor and burning it to the ground.  Or killing Mhudumu and leaving the bodies to bloat in the jungle heat.

“The ambassador had a daughter?” Fleetwing asked, confused.  Daring Do beat her wings forward, stopping to glare.   

How could Fleetwing not remember her?  Sure, he hadn’t spent hours with her under the ambassador’s willow tree fantasizing about futures involving establishing world-renowned museums or collaborating on best-selling novels.  He hadn’t flown high over Mwanzo Mpya, carrying her while she pointed out the distant ziggurats in the Tenochtitlan Basin, talking about them by name.  He hadn’t pestered a photographer into taking their picture.  He hadn’t even interacted with her at that first dinner.  But he had been there, and she had been there, and shouldn’t Fleetwing at least remember that?

Fleetwing shot past as Daring Do suddenly stopped.  He blinked, slowing to a hover, and turned to see Daring Do’s angry expression.  Daring Do wobbled in the air, A.K. Yearling’s weight heavy on her back.  As she opened her mouth to shout at Fleetwing, Bluebell caught up, panting.  She looked at Daring Do and the limp, scarlet-soaked mare on her back.  “Celestia!  Daring, I’m sorry.  I think...”

Whatever Bluebell thought went unspoken, or at least unheard.  Daring Do’s shout was likewise silent.  Even the buzz of the mosquitoes had vanished.  The trio of ponies looked around in alarm.  The street was dark, surrounded by blackest shadows on each side.  All sound had been wiped from the world around them.

From the shadows, a figure emerged.  Tall, gaunt, with a featureless face.  Tendrils of darkness writhed from its back, somehow darker than the utter blackness around him.  Those tendrils reached out towards Daring Do.

Daring Do dropped to her hooves, taking a fighting stance.  Her body protested.  She’d been through too much today already.  But she wasn’t going to let this thing take the Amulet of Atonement.

Utter panic flooded Daring Do when the tendrils of black instead wrapped around A.K. Yearling’s body and lifted her from Daring Do’s back.  She screamed silently as she felt the weight lift from her.

No!  You can’t have her! 

The faceless head of the slender, stripeless zebra seemed to stare into Daring Do, even though it had no eyes.  A rush of memories flooded up from her mind, jumbled and unbidden.

“But…” snapped Fleetwing as he confronted her on the deck of the Uasi.
“She…” said Goldentongue as he trotted down the gangplank of the Mzigo Msichana.
“Is...” Bluebell asked, looking at the blunderbuss.
“Mine...” whispered A.K. Yearling, dying.

No!  Daring Do repeated in a voiceless shout, wincing from the mental barrage.  She took a step forward, crouching to launch herself at the creature.  It seemed unconcerned.  What stopped Daring Do was the body of A.K. Yearling.  As it floated in the air between them, the friendship necklace dangling from around her neck, she began to fade.  As the trio stared, A.K. Yearling became translucent, then transparent. 

Then she disappeared altogether. 

A moment later, the buzz of the mosquitoes returned.  The sounds of the jungle and the scattered noises of the town ahead continued.  The slender, featureless zebra was gone.







Sixth Pad Ends
> Seventh Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This isn’t going to end well.

I never wanted to be here again.  Tenochtitlan Basin.  The Temple of the Quetzalcóatl Empress.  The last time I was here, the Cult of the Quetzalcóatl Empress had stolen the Griffin’s Goblet, and were using it to summon forth the Dark Empress’ power.  Blanketed the entire basin with Her dark magic.  Before Ahuizotl started to make his move.

I remember the fight on the rock bridge, above the Kutengwa Abyss.  Somewhere down in the bowels of that horrible chasm is the Griffin’s Goblet, hopefully dashed to pieces.  I remember seeing Quetzalcóatl’s face in that black void, staring up at us.  Greedy.  Hungry.  Envious.  

I swore that I’d never come back to this Temple.  It’s a cursed place.  But then, I swore that I’d never return to the Tenochtitlan Basin when I declared my retirement.  Yet, here I am, with a Roaman Legate hot on my tail.

Why am I even here?  What am I going to do?  This isn’t like one of my books.  I can’t just best Legate Jua and run off into the sunset while she waves a hoof and curses my name.  That never worked in real life.  I can’t beat her into submission and turn her over to the authorities.  She is the authority here.  My days of hoof-fighting are long behind me.  And the poison in my veins is burning away what little strength I have left.

I can’t kill her, not even if I could kill her.  I’ve gone this long without willfully taking a life, no matter what’s at stake, and I’m not going to start now.  

Unfortunately, she’s not going to have the same reservations.  If I want to stop her, I’m going to have to be smarter.  Face it, Jua and I are two old mares, well-seasoned but way past our prime.  Being smarter is the only edge left in our repertoire. 

Or I could turn around and walk away.  But I won’t.  Never have.  It would be a crap note to go out on.

Seventh Pad Begins








Seventh Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Chapter 6: Secrets


With all the events of the day, I had not given the riddles of the sphinx any thought.  Despite Professor Underhill’s warning, I was in no danger of madness.  The riddle the sphinx had given me was so obvious that I had dismissed it utterly.  And, in doing so, I had not taken the time to consider the value of it.

I had only known A.K. Yearling for a short time, but we had become friends.  Now she was dead, and her body had been spirited away… quite literally, right before my eyes and the eyes of my two companions.  

The last thing that I was thinking about was the danger of spreading around what I knew.  It was the gravest mistake of my youth.  The lesson that followed was hard to learn… and even harder to eventually unlearn.

My companions, Fleetwing and Bluebell, were understandably terrified and confused.  I had at least some grasp of what was happening, and I had a mission.  

I told them everything.


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


“We just got kicked out of Bahari Soko, and you want to follow her back?”  Fleetwing’s raised voice made Bluebell take a step back, but she nodded firmly in response.  Fleetwing waved his wings in exasperation.  “We’ll be arrested!  We could be thrown in jail.”

Daring Do groaned.  This argument wasn’t getting them any closer to Bahari Soko.  She felt an unpleasant energy nearly vibrating through her.  If she didn’t fly soon, she’d fly mad.

“The Roaman Legion is not going to throw students from Equestria in jail,” Bluebell responded, trying to sound reasonable.  “Especially not when we’re bringing them some super important amulet thing.”

“The Amulet of Atonement,” Daring Do repeated, touching the Amulet under her jacket.  She felt its cool light against her breast.  “And we’re not bringing it to the Legion.”

After everything she’d just been through, seeing her friend fade away was one cruel turn too many.  She should be completely losing it right now.  She felt the frailty of her mental and emotional cohesion.  Daring was certain that the Amulet was somehow helping her hold it together.  

Bluebell shook her head, “Daring, this is really something for the authorities.”

“Mhudumu doesn’t trust Jua,” Daring Do replied.  “He said to bring it to his friend, someone named Imani.”

Fleetwing flipped around in the air, rolling his eyes.  “Yeah, because the zebra who pretended to be the ambassador’s servant in order to spy on him for Roam really seems like a guy you can trust.”

“Look, neither of you have to come with me,” Daring Do said.  Enumerating, “You could get into trouble for returning.  It could be dangerous flying there, especially at night.  And I can get there faster on my own.”

“What a load of minotaur dung,” Fleetwing laughed.  “I’m way faster than you.  Even carrying Bluebell, I’m almost faster than you.”  Bluebell looked mildly insulted.  

“If it’s dangerous, then that’s another reason not to go alone,” Bluebell insisted.  “Oh, and in case you’ve forgotten, we’re not going to get into trouble because Fleetwing and I weren’t banished, Daring.  Just you.”  She shot Fleetwing a look.

Fleetwing closed his eyes briefly, shrugged as if to say that was that, and scooped up Bluebell.  “Coming?” he asked Daring Do as he shot ahead of her, heading towards Bahari Soko.

“Gaaaah,” Daring Do vented, taking to the air, feeling the warm night air in her feathers.  She tipped the pith hat forward on her head so it wouldn’t blow off.

They flew for over an hour without speaking, the wind and the sounds of the jungle below filling their ears.  

Daring Do spotted dark shapes flitting past the moon-silvered clouds.  “Whoa,” Daring Do said as she darted ahead of Fleetwing and Bluebell, stretching out her hooves.  

“What?” the two of them asked in unison.

“Ahools,” Daring Do warned.  She dropped down through the canopy into the jungle below.  

She heard Fleetwing drop through a moment later.  “We’ll be safe down here until they pass,” she said.  

At the roar of a distant jungle cat, Bluebell nervously echoed, “Yeah, s-safe.”  A moment later, Daring Do was blinded by a dazzling burst of light.  Bluebell stuffed the flashlight into her mane.  “So long as we don’t get eaten by whatever that was.  Or vanished by that... that thing earlier.  Wh-what was that?”

And what did it do to A.K.? Daring Do wanted to hear her ask.

“It was a spirit of whispers,” Fleetwing said knowledgeably.  Daring Do and Bluebell both turned to stare at him.  

“A what?” Bluebell asked.

“The Faceless.  It is spirit of whispers,” Fleetwing repeated.  “A powerful one, too.”  Then, as if reciting, he told them, “Originally native to the upper Zebricon, spirits of whispers are the keepers of secrets and sowers of omens.  Silence surrounds them; suspicions and rumors flourish in their wake.  If one is desperate to know a truth or hide one, she may seek a spirit of whispers and attempt to bargain with it.”

“How do you know all that?” Daring Do asked in disbelief.  She didn’t recall anything like that covered in class.

“Because while you were buying jewelry, I was buying this,” Fleetwing said smugly, producing a booklet titled A Pony’s Guide to the Spirits of the Zebra Lands.  On the cover was a cartoonish picture of a wide-eyed pony surrounded by strange creatures.  

Fleetwing held the booklet in one wing while flipping through the pages with his other.  Finding the page he was looking for, he held it up for Daring Do and Bluebell to see.  On the center of the page was a primitive drawing of a tall, slender zebra without stripes or facial features and black tentacles writhing from its back.  Around the picture were long strings of zebra glyphs with smaller Equestrian translations written underneath.  He had quoted it precisely.

“After Professor Underhill and the ambassador did all that talking at dinner about the spirits here, I thought this book would be a smart investment.”  

Maybe it was because she was grieving for her friend and Fleetwing’s jab about friendship necklace cut cruelly, but the pegasus’ know-it-all grin made Daring Do want to put a hoof in his face.  Just a little.

The screeching cry of an ahool cut the night.  The three ponies immediately fell silent.  Bluebell covered the end of her flashlight with a hoof.

No pony moved, each hoping the creatures would pass by without noticing.  Ears strained to catch any sound that would signal the ahools’ nearness or passing.  The air was filled with the sounds of night insects and the rustling of the canopy in the light wind.  

After remaining silent had stretched uncomfortably long, Bluebell whispered to Fleetwing, “What does your book say about ahools?”

“Bluebell, the book is about spirits,” Fleetwing whispered back.  “Ahools are monsters.”

“How can you tell the difference?”  

Daring Do thought it was a good question considering the spirits she had encountered.  Fleetwing answered something about monsters being from Tartarus and spirits being from the world, but Daring Do wasn’t impressed.  She was fairly certain that not all monsters were from Tartarus, and that didn’t answer the question of how to tell them apart.  “First the sphinx...” she muttered to herself.

“Spirit of riddles,” Fleetwing whispered informatively.  Daring Do gave him a flat look, mildly annoyed that he couldn’t see it in the darkness.  

“Sphinxes are spirits of riddles, or at least a breed of them,” Fleetwing elaborated in a low whisper, pausing briefly to listen for ahools.  “Like the Faceless is a spirit of whispers.  They’re all categorized in the book.”  Musing, he added, “Like pegasi, earth ponies and unicorns, I guess.   Different kinds of spirits kinda like how there are different kinds of ponies.”

Daring Do shushed at him.  

“Oh!”  Bluebell’s hoof fell from her flashlight as she turned wide-eyed to Daring, asking, “Did you get a riddle?”

Daring Do sighed and rolled her eyes.  “My value becomes lesser with each who knows about me.  What am I?”

“A secret,” Fleetwing answered.  “Everyone knows that.  Wow, if a sphinx gave me that riddle, I’d feel cheated.”  

Daring Do nickered.  Honestly, she did feel a little cheated.  What was the point of a riddle that everyone knew the answer to?

“Well, it is a classic,” Bluebell offered.

“Professor Underhill’s was better,” Daring Do admitted, “But it was just a variation on the theme.  ‘My value becomes greater with each who knows about me.  What am I?’”

Bluebell ooohed.  “So, maybe it’s a two-part riddle?”  Daring Do hadn’t considered that.

“Lies?” Fleetwing offered.

Bluebell cocked her head to the side, pondering.  “ehhh... Maybe, if it’s like propaganda.  But the more ponies know a lie, the greater the chance of it being exposed, right?   Doesn’t really fit, does it?  

Daring Do thought on that a moment.  “Truth?” she offered.

Fleetwing shook his head.  “What’s true is true.  It doesn’t care how many people know about it.”

Daring Do sighed, staring at the ground resolutely.  “It doesn’t matter.  I just want to get this Amulet to Bahari Soko and then find a way to get A.K. Yearling’s body back.”

“Who?” Bluebell asked.

“Wait, what’s this about a body?” Fleetwing demanded.

Daring Do looked up sharply.  What?  Seriously?  “A.K. Yearling...” she said slowly, barely reining in her anger.  “...Ambassador Goldentongue’s goddaughter?  The girl whose body that Faceless took?”

“When was this?” Fleetwing asked, concerned.

“The ambassador had a goddaughter?”  Bluebell looked and sounded confused.

Daring Do glared at them, her jaw working.  She turned away, spreading her wings.  To Tartarus with both of them!  She was going to go to Bahari Soko alone.

“Daring, wait!” Bluebell called out. 

“Why?”  What was wrong with those two?  Did they somehow not see what happened?  No, Bluebell had definitely seen her carrying A.K.s body.  Maybe they didn’t hear that weird, headache-inducing memory-talk that the Faceless had fed right into her brain, but they had to have seen what it did!

Wait.  Daring Do frowned, shaking her head and digging at the ground with her hoof.  There was something she was missing.  Something...

Daring Do felt like she had been splashed with ice water.

“It wasn’t a riddle,” she whispered.

“Huh?” was her companions’ confused response.  

Daring Do ignored them, speaking more to herself.  Working through it.  “The sphinx’s riddle.  It wasn’t hard because she wasn’t trying to confuse me.  It’s just how she can communicate.”  Daring reasoned that spirits, at least some spirits, can’t easily just talk to you.  Like the Faceless.  Being a thing of silence, it had no words of its own.  Instead, it spoke through the memories of words.  “It wasn’t a riddle.  It was a warning.”

Daring Do turned to face Fleetwing and Bluebell.  “Secrets!  The sphinx was trying to warn me about the spirit of whispers.”

Like a jigsaw puzzle, the clues began to assemble themselves in Daring Do’s mind. 

Hadn’t the primi ordines Jua suggested that Goldentongue was up to something?  Something that had enraged the Quetzalcóatl Empress enough for her cultists to come after them?  What was it she said?    “Dark empress’ cult with arrows of fire.  Whose foolishness has drawn here her ire?” 

The airship captain Mhalifu, an associate of Goldentongue, had said  “No, your Empress’ will not win fight when her secrets are exposed to light.” 

Fleetwing’s book had said:  “If one is desparate to know a truth or hide one, she may seek a spirit of whispers and attempt to bargain with it.” 

 “She will be ready for you before the moon,”  Goldentongue had told the Faceless.

 “You fools will expose nothing!”  the cultist had replied.  “We have your sacrifice, and soon we will have the Amulet!”   

Goldentongue had bargained with the Faceless for the Dark Empress’ secrets.  And in return, he had promised the spirit of whispers his goddaughter.  The value of a secret becomes greater the fewer people know about it… or in this case, her.  A.K. Yearling’s entire existence was being erased!

Daring Do made a strangled sound.

The canopy above them exploded with cultist-mounted ahools!







Seventh Pad Ends
> Eighth Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



A second voice is audible on this mission report.  We believe that this is the voice of Legate Jua.  In addition, a small portion of this recording was damaged by a severe spike in background interference.  We have done everything we can to restore as much of this report as possible.  Fortunately, the attached pad is completely intact.  However, we regret to inform you that the final portion of the mission report itself was unrecoverable.  

Telia Goldenclaw
NCR Council of Libraries







 “There is nowhere left to run, Daring Do.  Even if you could fly, there is no place left to go.  Except down, we agree.”

“How is my Equestrian?  I have been practicing.  No more rhymes.”

Come on.  Just a little closer.

“I will give you this, Daring Do.  You could not have chosen a more cinematic place for our final confrontation.  To face me above the great hole in the world.  But then, you have always had a flair for overly dramatic storytelling.  So why not stop hiding?  Come out onto the bridge and face me.”

“You ponies have such a place in your own homeland, do you not?  A cavity in the world, leading to where the worst of monsters are imprisoned?  In the Imperial Tongue, this place is called Cavum Orcus.  The common people call it Kutengwa Shimo.  Our zebra ancestors imprisoned the Quetzalcóatl Empress here.  Built this temple above it to seal Her in.  Until you ponies plundered the temple for its riches, and weakened that prison!”

I seem to recall you zebras doing your fair share of weakening this place, Jua.

“Ah!   A decoy.   Nice try.  Now where are you, really?  I weary of this, Daring Do.”

“Wait.  Did you actually go down the stairs?  Are you that eager for the end?  The poison must be agony in your veins.  You are too weak to fly.  Too weak to climb back up.  Unless…  Is this where you hid the Amulet of Atonement?  Are you hoping it will give you the strength to climb your way out again?  Or are you just hoping to drag me down with you into Orcus?”

That’s it.  Take the stairs.  Just a little farther.

“There is nothing sacred anymore.”

“The Senate speaks of the depravity of ponykind, trumpeting the hastening degradation of your social and moral values, as if they have kept theirs.  I remember when spirits were respected and feared.  Now we bind the power of spirits of rage to make our bullets burn and spirits of whispers to make our war machines silent.  This place was once held in reverence.  Now it is a resource for the war effort.  We are weaponizing Windigos.   The Legates listen to the likes of Xero.  Even the blasphemous horrors of necromancy are not above the Senate’s consideration.”

“If the citizens realized the full extent of what we have done, the Hidden Nightmare would not need to destroy us – we would tear ourselves apart for her.”

“Some zebra needs to remind everyone why we must respect and fear the old ways.”

By taking control of the Radiant Shield of Rasdon?  What are you really doing here, Jua?  Are you planning to lock Equestria in eternal day?  Or are you just planning to shut it off and open this Tartarus pit wide?

“What?  There you are!  Sneaky, Daring Do.  But not enough.  I will be up there in a moment.  Though, before I kill you, I have to ask: how did you stick yourself to the underside of the bridge like that?  You are no alchemist.”

Wonderglue.  Same stuff I used to glue all those explosives to the chasm wall beneath you.

“No!”

I will not kill you, but I will send you to jail.  Goodbye Jua.  Say hello to Cerber-  


>> File Corrupted.  Data unrecoverable. <<

Eighth Pad Begins








Eighth Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Chapter 7: Interrogation


I will not even attempt to transcribe the words spoken to me in the zebra’s native tongue.  

To my shame, despite all my years adventuring in the Tenochtitlan Basin, I only learned a passing amount of the language spoken in the rural areas and the outlying villages.  I schooled myself on the Imperial language – that spoken in the central cities – for it was the language of their government and military.  And as I had a penchant for finding myself in trouble with them, the ability to smooth-talk my way out of that trouble saved my feathers on several occasions. Likewise, I grew very adept at translating the ancient glyphs that were often the key to understanding the ruins and artifacts that were the focus of my endeavors.  

The zebras put us to shame by being more willing to learn our tongue than we were to learn theirs.  Within their trade centers, such as Bahari Soko, many zebras strove to learn Equestrian.  The method of education involved nursery rhymes and a rhythmic learning structure which is so at odds with Equestrian schooling that I cannot imagine how it would make learning our language any easier.  I would be hard pressed to consistently express myself in the form of poetry.

In younger years, it was exceptionally rare to find a zebra fluent enough in Equestrian to speak without rhyme.  Rarer still to find a pony fluent in either of their languages, much less both.  

In this era, I fear the art of language is slowly dying.  I have read The Principles of Proper Pony Speech, and I am aghast.  As a writer, I fear what we are doing to our own ability to express ourselves.  And if we have so little respect for our own language, what hope have we to respect the languages of other cultures?  Or to respect and strive to understand those cultures through learning their native methods of communication?  

What was rare then is scarce now.  The other nations have grown recalcitrant to learn Equestrian.  Perhaps they have finally grown tired and decided to adopt our exceptionalism-driven ignorance.  Or perhaps they have simply decided that the best way to protect their secrets is linguistic isolation.


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


Daring Do screamed as the pony in the red hat pressed the burning tip of the flamewood arrow against the base of her left wing and slowly dragged it across her flesh until it reached her feathers.  Bright, searing pain lanced through her brain.  Her body arched against the ropes binding her to the wooden rack.

The pony in the red hat lifted the flamewood arrow and Daring Do collapsed, unable to keep her tears from flowing or to stifle the ragged sounds in her every breath.  She fought the urge to look down and to the left, instead focusing on the pony in front of her.

The pony looked at her patiently, the arrow held in his mouth.  Daring Do took a deep breath and glared back at him.  He sighed.  Then lowered his head and pressed the burning tip against her flank, just an inch below her cutie mark.

Daring Do howled as he held it there.  One second.  Two.  Three.  Her body began to shake.  Four.  

“Stop it!” screamed Bluebell from her cage, her voice cracking.  

Finally, the pony in the red hat pulled the flamewood arrow away, tossing it into a barrel filled with its brethren.  He gave Daring a pitying look that she didn’t believe for a moment.

Behind him, two zebra cultists guarded the entrance of the cultists' storage room, now turned into a makeshift interrogation chamber.  They spoke to each other in hushed and, at least in Daring’s imagination, disapproving tones.

“Where is it?” the pony asked again, taking a civilized, conversational tone.

Daring Do spat.  “Under a rock somewhere.  I forget which one.  Try looking under all of them.”

“I have many ways of helping you remember.”  The pony shook his head.  “Why do you resist when it only hurts you more and delays the inevitable?” the pony asked.  “Sooner or later, you will tell me where the Amulet of Atonement is.”

“Never!” Daring Do hissed, forcing herself not to look down and to the left.

The pony tsk-tsked.  “Never?  In my experience, ‘never’ will come shortly after I stop hurting you and start maiming you,” he told Daring.  “Trust me, the ponies and zebras who speak sooner are far better off.”

“Why are you doing this?!” Bluebell cried out, sobbing.  One of the zebras spoke sharply to her.  Even without knowledge of the zebra languages, it was easy to tell he was ordering her to be quiet.  Or, perhaps, threatening her.

“Because the zebras have no stomach for the fine art of interrogation,” the pony said casually, turning towards Bluebell.  “Truly, it’s nothing personal.  I have no stake in the freeing of the Quetzalcóatl Empress.  It is a job, nothing more.”

Horror and revulsion and denial fought for supremacy in Bluebell’s wide-eyed expression.  She cringed away.  

Both the pony and the two zebras turned towards the entrance as voices, speaking in the zebras' tongue, carried in from outside the ruins that the cultists had taken over.  They listened carefully to make sure those outside were friend, not foe.

While they were distracted, Daring Do risked a quick look down and to the left, to where A.K. Yearling’s pith hat had been knocked from her head when the cultists dragged her in here.  It was a small miracle the blow hadn’t knocked the Amulet loose from where she had hidden it in the hat’s inner headband just before being captured.

Her blood ran cold as she spotted the silver chain snaking out from under the brim.  

Daring Do quickly looked back at the earth pony in the red hat and the zebras, praying that the pith hat remained forgotten.  

The pony in the red hat turned back to Daring Do.  “Perhaps we should just skip ahead,” he suggested, looking towards the rickety wooden table which held an ominous collection of tools.  He hovered a hoof over each in turn before stopping at the bonesaw.  “Maybe the removal of a wing will convince you to unshackle your tongue.”

Bluebell let out a panicked shout.  “No!”  Then followed it with forced bravery.  “You better stop!  Fleetwing got away, and when he gets here, he’ll be bringing the whole Equestrian army with him!”

The pony exchanged a glance with the zebras, one of whom said something Daring Do couldn’t understand.  The pony chuckled wryly.  “The pegasus who abandoned you and fled?  I seriously doubt that.  He’s probably hiding under a rock somewhere... if the ahools or couatls or jungle cats haven’t made a meal of him already.”

Bluebell sobbed, whispering insistently, “He didn’t abandon us!”

The pony in the red hat picked up the bonesaw in his teeth and looked towards Daring Do.  Then towards Bluebell.  He dropped the bonesaw back onto the table.  It landed with a clatter amongst his other tools of torture.  “On second thought...” he mused, trotting over to the barrel of flamewood arrows.  “I think I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

The pony barked an order to the zebras, and they descended on Bluebell, unlocking her cage and dragging her out.  The pony pulled one of the flamewood arrows from the barrel, its tip flickering with fire.  

“No!” Daring Do ordered, her voice hoarse from screaming.  “Leave her alone!”

The pony approached slowly, the tip of the flamewood arrow held before him, burning hot.  Bluebell screamed, pulling at the zebras who held her.  The pony in the red hat pointed the tip of the arrow at Bluebell’s right eye.  

Bluebell screamed again.  Daring Do screamed with her, shouting at the pony.  “Don’t!  In the name of Celestia, stop!”  

One of the zebras adjusted her grip to hold Bluebell’s head still.  Bluebell's eyes went wide as she tried to shrink back from the flaming weapon.  The pony stepped closer, bringing the flamewood tip close enough that the heat dried her tears.

“Daring Do has it!” Bluebell blurted.

Daring Do felt the world fall out from under her.

The pony took a step back, turning to stare at Daring Do.  Then he rushed to her, tossing the flamewood arrow back into its barrel as his hooves worked over her jacket again, being even more thorough than the first time.  Finding nothing, he started to check her mane and tail.

Bluebell sobbed.  “I’m s-s-sorry.”

Despite all the pain, Daring Do felt numb.  It was over.  Any moment, the pony would remember the pith hat, see the chain, find the Amulet of Atonement.  The Tenochtilian Basin, maybe even the world, was doomed.  

And Bluebell had broken before the pony had even touched her.  Somehow, that was the worst part of all.

The voices from outside got louder.  Three more zebras burst into the room.  Two of them were assassins dressed in cultist robes.  The other…

“Mhudumu?” Bluebell whimpered, then let out a cry of horror.

Mhudumu had put up one hell of a fight before they captured him.  He was covered in cuts and bruises, one of his eyes was swollen completely shut, and there was a stump wrapped in blood-soaked bandages ending above where his left forehoof should have been.

Daring Do stared, her heart bleeding for the brave zebra.  Her own pain suddenly seemed like nothing.  They had chopped off his hoof!  

The pony in the red hat began talking rapidly with the zebras – no doubt, Daring thought, informing them that he almost had the Amulet.  The two guard zebras dropped Bluebell, leaving her sobbing on the floor.  They took custody of the prisoner.  One of the zebras who brought Mhudumu in turned to speak with the pony torturer while the other zebra headed back outside.

“Mhudumu… not you too.”  Daring Do had never felt more hopeless.

Mhudumu looked at her with his one good eye.  Daring Do looked down, unable to meet his gaze.  She had failed.

The zebras pulled Mhudumu to a rack and started binding his forelegs to it.  They secured his right hoof, then paused, speaking to each other in confusion as they realized they couldn’t properly bind the half-missing limb.  

In one fluid, rolling maneuver, Mhudumu struck at the zebra assassin, bucking her with both hooves.  The assassin flew into the pony with the red hat, knocking both of them back through the barrel of flamewood arrows.  The barrel shattered, arrows spilling everywhere, as the pony and zebra crashed to the floor of the storage room.

One of the flamewood arrows fell into a stack of the cultist’s cloaks, and they immediately caught fire.

The two guard zebras grabbed ahold of Mhudumu, struggling to restrain him.  The zebra assassin clambered off the pony interrogator, getting back to her hooves.  

Daring Do looked down.  One of the flamewood arrows was beneath her, almost touching one beam of the rack.  She strained, trying to reach it with her tail.

The pony clutched his red hat (surprisingly still on his head) and rolled over.  His eyes fell on the discarded pith hat.  The silver chain snaking out from beneath it glowed in the reflected light of the spreading fire.

Bluebell, forgotten on the floor, scrambled for cover, cringing behind the cage that had recently held her.  Her eyes cast about wildly.

The assassin spun, lifting up her foreleg, aiming her crossbow at the struggling Mhudumu, who was being pinned against his rack by the two zebra guards.  The assassin shouted something at him.

The pony torturer dove for the pith hat.

Daring Do groaned loudly, her eyes clinching shut as she strained against her restraints, her limbs flaring with agony.  He tail tip barely brushed the arrow.

The fire licked upwards, climbing a set of hanging masks carved and painted as feathered serpents.  Flames tongued at the stone roof of the ancient room.  

The pony in the red hat knocked over the pith hat.  The Amulet of Atonement fell out onto the ground.  The silver and blue gold turned a hellish orange in the light of the fire.  The pony’s eyes went wide.

One of the burning masks fell from the wall, clattering onto a crate of alchemical supplies.

Three flamewood arrows floated through the air, wrapped in magical blue light, and sank into the calves of the assassin pony.  She crumpled to the ground just as she fired.  The shot meant for Mhudumu sank into the neck of one of the guard ponies holding him.  She stumbled backwards, clutching at her neck, blood running between her hooves.

Bluebell’s horn stopped glowing blue.  She shut her eyes tight, not willing to see.

The pony with the red hat stared into the sapphire that sat in the center of the Amulet of Atonement, caught by its inner glow.

Daring Do let out a scream, feeling something tear in her right foreleg as she forced herself to pull harder.  Blackness crept into her vision, but she forced herself to focus.  Her tail brushed over the flamewood arrow beneath her, then wrapped about it.

Mhudumu knocked the other guard zebra back and twisted about, biting at the restraints binding his right hoof to the rack.

The pony torturer scooped up the Amulet of Atonement with a triumphant cry.  He turned, galloping out of the room, trampling the assassin along the way.

Daring Do brought the flame arrow's tip to the ropes binding her left hindhoof.  The arrow burned through the ropes and they fell away.  She almost fainted as her leg was freed, radically changing the strain on her limbs.  Her tail whipped the arrow’s tip around and started burning through the ropes binding her right hindhoof.

The assassin, crippled and trampled, began to pull herself up on one of the crates.  She turned to see one of the guard zebras slumped against the wall, a river of blood from her neck.  The other guard zebra was pulling a small sword off of a weapons rack, his eyes fixated on Mhudumu, who had nearly chewed through the strap on his forehoof.

Daring Do freed her other hindleg.  Her eyes locked on the exit that the pony had just run through.  Her eyes narrowed, a fierce determination burning through her.  She curled her body upwards, her tail bringing the burning arrow tip to the ropes on her right foreleg.

The alchemy crate exploded!

The explosion sent shrapnel – wood and pottery shards – across the room and filled the air with odd, brackish smoke.  

Daring Do burned through the last of the ropes and dropped to all hooves, biting back a scream as agony ignited through her right foreleg.  She looked about, her eyes watering as much from the horrid alchemical smoke as from the pain.  

She stepped over the unconscious body of the assassin. 

A hoof reached out of the smoke and grabbed her.  She tried to strike out, but Mhudumu blocked the blow.  “Hurry,” he said, speaking in his heavily accented but non-rhyming Equestrian.  

Daring Do nodded.  Mhudumu was in no state to chase after the Amulet of Atonement.  It had to be her.  She bolted forward, only to stop at the doorway as Bluebell called out her name.

“D-Daring?”  Bluebell choked.  “I-I’m coming with you.”

Daring Do’s mind flashed to the image of Bluebell being held by the zebra guards, the burning arrow close to her eye.  She heard the memory of Bluebell’s words in her ears.

“No.”  

Bluebell stepped forward, reaching out a hoof for Daring Do.  Daring batted it away.  

“It’s not safe for you,” she said.  This was wasting time.  

“I’m s-s-sorry!” Bluebell said softly.  

Daring Do turned away and galloped out of the room.  Each fall of her right forehoof sent fire lancing through her leg.  She wasn’t going to be able to catch up this way.  She spread her wings, ignoring the hot pain where the firewood arrow had been dragged along the base of her left wing, and took to the air.  The pony with the red hat had a big head start, but she had gotten into Baltimare University on an athletics scholarship.  

“It wasn’t my fault!” she heard Bluebell call out behind her.

“No,” Daring whispered to herself.  “It was my fault.”  She told Bluebell about the Amulet.  She put the mare in that position.  She knew it wasn’t right to blame Bluebell for talking just because she wouldn’t have.  

Daring Do stopped when she reached a fork in the paths.  She landed, peering closely at the ground, trying to determine which way the pony with the red hat had run.  The passage was well-used, but most cultists would be walking these halls.  That pony was running; his gait was different.  

She spotted the tracks she was looking for.  The passage he had taken looked like it went deeper into the ruins.

Daring spread her wings again.  She glanced backwards.  Mhudumu would take care of Bluebell.  She was sure of that.  

She felt a sharp pang of regret.  Bluebell... she was a good pony.  Just not made of the stuff necessary to handle something like this.  She shouldn’t have put her in danger.  Shouldn’t have put the burden of keeping a secret this important on anypony other than herself.  

“From now on,” she resolved as she took to the air again, flying into the darkness, “I work alone.”







Eighth Pad Ends
> Ninth Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Legion has set up their base camp at Fortress of Talikon… or what’s left of it.  It’s the last place I ever expected to return to, but the chains forged in the past just won’t let me go.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think irony was conspiring against me.

Of course, I do know better.  They’re here because somewhere in the chambers beneath this fortress is the focal point of the Radiant Shield of Rasdon – a massive, basin-spanning artifact ignited through the Amulet of Atonement.  To the best of the Legionnaires' knowledge, that’s what they are here for.  Jua didn’t tell them about her mad plans to open Tartarus and usher a spiritual renaissance… or whatever she thought she was going to do.

The last time I was here, Rainbow Dash and I brought this fortress to the ground.  That was the day I finally broke free of the my self-imposed solitude.  That first lesson – the rule that I could trust no one else with my responsibilities – was the hardest to unlearn.  I can only guess what it cost me all those years in between.

Jua was never shackled by that lesson.  She didn’t work alone.  

The destruction of the ledge drew attention.  It took less than a minute for Jua’s elite guards to swoop into the Kutengwa Abyss – zebras with talismans that caused wings to burst from their backs.  (Jua owned such a talisman too.  Her “be up there in a moment” boast wasn't figurative.  But growing wings through those talismans is neither instant nor painless, and Jua’s had only begun to tear out of her body when the explosion was triggered.)  Jua’s elite guards swept the abyss for her, but there was no zebra, living or dead, to recover.  Jua is gone.

It took them only a few minutes more to find me.  They had to pull me out of my jacket; it is still glued to the underside of the bridge across the Kutengwa Abyss.

Some of them wanted to slay me then and there, but their tribuni decided I was too valuable to waste so quickly.  Whether as a source of information or an example, I can’t tell.  Either way, as the poison has left me too weak to escape or resist, and I will never betray anything I know, I suspect a quick trial and public execution are in my near future.  

Still, I’ve gotten out of worse.

Only one thing’s certain.  I’m going to Roam.

Ninth Pad Begins








Ninth Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Chapter 8: Reditus In Gratiam


Taking in evidence from the breadth of my travels, I have come to the conclusion that the practice of trade, the foundation of mercantilism as we know it, was first developed by the zebras.  I believe that the zebras were taught the power of barter by the spirits of their land.  In their assuredness of the distinction of Equestrian culture, those professors of my youth, Underhill and his lot, would have considered these notions scandalous.  

To claim that zebras “do not think as we do” is to invite prejudice into your heart.  Such statements suggest a difference in faculties; the gifts of thought, perception and imagination are shared by all intelligent creatures equally.  Yet it is true that those who live within a culture have values and conceptions that are molded by that culture, and the culture of the zebra lands places distinctive emphasis on duty, obligation, responsibility and ownership in ways that our own does not.  

For a pony to purchase, say, a rifle from Ironshod Firearms, that pony is merely purchasing an item, and the company is merely selling one.  There is no inherent morality involved in the sale.  The burden of responsible use of the item is upon the one who uses it.  But to the zebra, the transaction has a deeper layer: the seller is transferring responsibility, and buyer is taking upon herself accountability for the weapon’s use.  

Similarly, a Canterlot doctor who saves a life is not seen in our society as taking upon herself responsibility for the actions of her patient.  Nor has the saved forfeited their freedom.  Amongst the zebra, being released from a healer’s care is an implicit contract, absolving the caregiver of both liability and authority, and returning those to the healed.

While the end results may appear the same, the philosophical undercurrents of these interactions are starkly different, and must be understood in order for an outsider to truly fathom the harmony of the daily activities of the zebras around them, or to grasp the most esoteric elements one may find within the zebra lands.

Primi ordines Jua refused Professor Underhill's petition for an expedition into the Tenochtitlan Basin.  To him, she was a military bureaucrat blocking his life's work.  But to Jua, allowing him in would be to take the burden for everything he did within the Basin.  In my youth, I believed she exiled me from Bahari Soko as punishment for my actions.  I realize now that primi ordines Jua would have shouldered the weight of every further disaster I might have inflicted on the city if she had not.  After the sphinx, I would have done as she did.

To ponies, the term “atonement” means “doing what is necessary to make reparation for a crime, misdeed or injuring act you have committed”.  Atonement, in our cultural perception, is individual.  And, as such, it is difficult for us to imagine what power an artifact such as the Amulet of Atonement might possess.  How, we ask ourselves, does this magical thing aid us in fixing our mistakes?  

Nay.  But to the zebra, atonement is substitutive.  Atonement is an act performed by one on another’s behalf to commute or satisfy a moral debt.  An act of atonement is the paying of another’s ransom, to give of oneself for another’s release.  Within the courts of Roam, atonement is the means of securing the release of another, often a loved one, who has been sentenced for a crime – a practice that reflects the tradition of bartering with spirits to fulfill a shaman’s promise or debt.  But in dealing with spirits, how does one offer atonement if one isn’t a shaman herself?  A bridge is needed.

Once this is understood, the nature and power of the Amulet of Atonement become clear.  


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


Despite the pain, Daring Do’s swift wings carried her to the temple.  She could hear the rhythm of beaten drums rolling from the top of it like building thunder.  Low chants.  Haunting music as if from an ethereal pan flute.  The ritual was already under way.

Daring barely reached the amphitheatre that crowned the Temple of the Quetzalcóatl Empress when the whole world seemed to shift sideways.

Dozens of zebra cultists lined the steps that fanned upwards from the center stage.  Upon it, a raised dais overlooked a black well.  Obsidian stones ringed a hole that plunged down through the heart of the temple and the world.  What loomed at the bottom of that hole was a passage into Tartarus; the zebras called it the Orcus Pit.  A hot wind heaved and sighed up from it, like breathing.

The cover stone for the well lay not far from it, tangled in ropes.  The eight zebras who had pulled it from its place were still breathing heavily from the effort.  On the dais above the well, the Quetzalcóatl Priestess stood, adorned in robes of serpent scale and a headdress of brilliant feathers.  Daring Do was just in time to see the pony with the red hat pass the Amulet of Atonement to her, smiling with smug satisfaction.

“Stop!” Daring Do tried to shout over the beating of the drums.  But in that moment, as the Quetzalcóatl Priestess accepted the Amulet, the chants and drums fell silent.  Daring Do’s shout was the only sound, and it tore through the assemblage like a crack of lightning.

Everyone turned to face her.  Daring Do suddenly felt terrifyingly outnumbered.  She searched for something fearless to say.  

The Quetzalcóatl Priestess lifted the Amulet of Atonement over her neck.  “Upatanisho.  Mimi wito roho.  Reditus in gratiam!”  

The star sapphire in the center of the Amulet burst with light – a silvery blue light that washed out over the amphitheatre, enveloping the crown of the temple.  Within the light, things moved.  Shapes and creatures of strange substance and intent.  

The Quetzalcóatl Priestess was surrounded with a nimbus of light the color of tears, the Amulet of Atonement’s stone glowing only with a faint spark now.  All the other cultists seemed to fade in the light, the people and things of Daring Do’s world seeming less substantial in the waking dream that had swallowed them.  Only the Quetzalcóatl Priestess seemed truly there... and the pony with the red hat.  He shared the same aura, if much fainter.  And from the way he was staring at Daring Do, she didn’t have to look at her hooves to realize she was glowing too.  Within the last hour, all three of them had held the Amulet of Atonement.

The black well was also very real.  The darkness within it had grown more vibrant, a void pulsing in the light.  The wind from the pit had grown into a roar.

The pony in the red hat jumped from the dais, hitting the center stage at a gallop.  Before Daring Do could react, the things in the light lunged for the pony.  They took the shape of zebras... but with bodies made not of flesh but of brambles, knives and razor wire.  They fell on the pony with the red hat and he screamed and screamed.

The screaming stopped.  As did the roar of the wind and every other sound.  A shadow swam over Daring Do.  She turned to see the Faceless.

Daring Do’s grip on the world around her slid away as a barrage of memories flooded her mind.  A cacophony of voices from her past fought for dominance like a raging tempest in her head.  

Then the tempest quieted, the world stilled, and she was staring at the face of A.K. Yearling.  They were together, laying on the grass beneath the ambassador’s willow tree as they had that one afternoon, dreaming up the great novels they were going to write and the discoveries they were going to make.

“It... is... the... bridge...” A.K. Yearling said softly.  The words were oddly stilted.  In the back of her mind, Daring Do knew it was not A.K. speaking to her at all, but the Faceless.  “It... facilitates... the... trade...”  The spirit of whispers was putting her words together like a jigsaw puzzle.  “One... for... another...”  It was drawing from all the words A.K. Yearling had ever spoken, not just those from Daring’s memories of her.  “Atonement.”  The Faceless could speak with all the things she said that were forgotten.    “Back... into... favor.”

Why are you telling me this? Daring Do asked silently.  But even as her mouth formed the soundless words, she understood.  With A.K. Yearling’s words came a blossoming of knowledge, the revelation of secrets.  A.K. Yearling’s life, the memories of her, had been bartered to this spirit for secrets, and it was here to fulfill its part of the bargain.  

Daring Do knew, quite suddenly and completely, the power and purpose of the Amulet of Atonement.  Nor was she the only one.  By the provisions of the trade, the Faceless was sharing the secret of the Amulet with several chosen parties – somewhere Goldentongue, Mhalifu and Mhudumu were all learning the same, possibly others -- but not everyone learning this secret would be close enough to act on it.

It’s a trade! Daring Do spoke without sound.  The priestess is going to set the Quetzalcóatl Empress free by taking Her place in Tartarus!

“Atonement...” the memory of Mhudumu said.  
“Atonement...” the memory of the pony in the red hat repeated.  
“Atonement.” the memory of A.K. Yearling echoed.  

“Reditus in gratiam; redire in gratiam.”

Sound crashed back in on Daring Do.  The air was filled with shouts and screams.  Not the screams of the pony with the red hat; he was now nothing but a crimson stain.  The spirits had collected on the debt of his transgressions through agony to the point of death.  Instead, the cries were coming from everywhere around her.  The cries of battle.

Daring Do looked up through the silvery blue light.  Two airships hung above the temple’s crown.  One was the Uasi.  The other was a Legion dirigible.  Small cannons from the dirigible tore apart the clusters of cultists, carefully aiming clear of the center stage and its well, while armed and armored legionarre zebras descended on ropes.  On the bowsprit, Jua barked orders, a legion spear held aloft in her tail.  Next to her, a familiar young pegasus watched, scanning the milieu.

Fleetwing had gone for help.  And he had brought back the army.

Daring Do spun and charged through the air towards the Quetzalcóatl Priestess.  The priestess was nearly finished with her invocation to the spirits.  Her words filled the light-swallowed amphitheatre.  “Reditus in gratiam...”

An irrational but insistent thought burned through Daring Do’s mind.  She was going to stop this ritual, rip the Amulet of Atonement from the priestess, and use it herself.  She was going to trade places with A.K. Yearling!  She would be forgotten and A.K. would be remembered. 

The Quetzalcóatl Priestess turned to speak when Daring Do slammed into the zebra, knocking the wind from her and hurling her from the dais.  The Amulet of Atonement soared out of her grasp. 

Daring Do rose up over the priestess, looking about for the Amulet.  She gasped and dodged to the side as cultist archers filled the air where she had been with arrows.  Daring dove for the cover of the dais.

The dais began to fill with arrows. 

The Quetzalcóatl Priestess groaned.  Her headdress was askew, her mane sticking out in tufts on one side.  She cried out in alarm and rage as she looked at her hooves and found the Amulet was not there.  

From her cover, Daring Do looked about frantically for the Amulet of Atonement.  The priestess pulled herself to her hooves and began looking too.  Like a dream, the battle raged all about them.  Arrows flew and swords clashed.  Bodies were falling and blood was spilling.  Cannons tore into the temple steps, scattering enemies whenever they attempted to regroup.  

The Quetzalcóatl Priestess seemed to spot the Amulet first.  She broke into a mad gallop towards the well’s cover stone and its tangled ropes.  But several zebra landed upon it, drawing cutlasses and nets.  Crew from the Uasi.  They swiftly engaged her in battle, and those who remained of the eight stone-movers dove to her aid with hoof-bows and blades. 

With one canon blast, the flurries of arrows pinning Daring Do behind the dais stopped.

Daring Do vaulted from cover, skirting the edge of the melee, trying to spot what the priestess had seen through the fighting mass.

“...Redire in gratiam!” cried out a familiar voice, cutting through the sounds of battle.  

Daring Do turned, her eyes going wide.  Upon the dais, with the Amulet of Atonement in her hoof, stood Mhalifu, the captain of the Uasi.

“The trade is made,” she cried out above the din of battle.  “Ahuizotl!  My place for yours!”  

Mhalifu dove into the Orcus Pit.







Ninth Pad Ends
> Final Mission Report
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’ve devised an escape.  The lingering effects of the couatl poison have weakened me severely; I am not certain I’ll be able to pull this off.  

Either way, this is my final report.  You will not hear from me again.  I’m retiring.  For real this time.

The Amulet of Atonement is safe, locked away in a very special magical chest – a virtue chest, whose spiritual key is infused into another object, and will only be revealed when someone with the right dominant virtue brings the key's host-object to the chest.  Jua was closer than she ever knew to finding where the Amulet was hidden, but that wouldn't have helped.  Remember: only the remorseful one shall find the key.

On the off chance that the Tenochtitlan Basin ever needs another hero, again read my book Daring Do and the Tree of Life.  It will tell you everything you need to know about how these locks work.  The very first thing I did when I came back to the Basin was to hide the key-object in Yearling Manor, a place with every window and door boarded up so tightly it would take a wrecking ball to get inside.  So do as I did: think outside the box.

Farewell,
Daring Do 

Final Pad Begins








Final Pad -- a rough draft excerpt from


Epilogue: Fame


Several years passed before I again had the Amulet of Atonement in my hooves.  By then, my fever-dream desire to exchange myself for A.K. Yearling had been replaced with a more calculated plan.  I would not allow A.K. to be forgotten or erased.  Through her name, I would publish the stories of my own adventures – mostly true tales slightly retooled for the storytelling.  If I could, I would make that young goddaughter of an Equestrian ambassador, that quiet mare with a love of writing, known throughout Equestria.  I couldn’t give her back her life, but I could preserve her in memory.

I did not, in truth, seize upon the idea until I had a few more exciting adventures under my hat (or A.K. Yearling’s hat, as it were).  But I did depart the company of my schoolmates and fellow Equestrians with the drive to find a way to make right what I could.  A fire had been lit within me.  I had lived an adventure like those I had loved as a filly.  It was both more painful and horrifying than the carefree adventures taken when reading under the summer shade.  But more exhilarating by far.  Emboldened by a sense of purpose, I severed ties with my past and stepped into the jungle.  I could not imagine what life lay in wait for me, but I was eager to embrace it all the same.  

All I knew is that it would start with a stone.


~-------~ oOo ~-------~


Professor Underhill and Packer were bent over new charcoal rubbings and a pile of ratty journals sprawled across a stone table in the Ruins of Kaltion, quickly referencing one after another by the light of their lamps.  Daring Do could hear their muffled voices as she approached through the darkened hall, limping slightly.  The professor’s voice was flush with excitement, and she could have sworn she heard him shout “Eureka!” as she entered the ruins.

“So the Stone is the key?” Packer asked, looking over a few stray sheets once again.  “How exactly does that work?”

“Well, it... I don’t know exactly,” Professor Underhill admitted.  “But it seems clear from the writings of Kaltio that the key which opens the passageway to the Tree of Life is concealed within the Sapphire Stone.  Now, we just have to find where it is.” 

“Daring!” Bluebell shouted, interrupting.  She galloped over, throwing her hooves around Daring Do.  Bluebell hugged Daring so hard she knocked off A.K.'s pith hat.

Behind Daring, Fleetwing looked miffed that he wasn’t hugged first.  “Hey, I’m the one who saved the day.”

The students swarmed around them.  Professor Underhill and Packer dropped what they were discussing to attend to their returning students.  “Daring Do, it is good to see you whole and well!  When Fleetwing said you were captured, I feared the worst.”

Daring Do felt wobbly and not at all whole or well.  She suspected she was in shock.  The physical strain and trauma of the last day, piled upon the loss of her friend, was more than she was able to deal with.  Without a battle to fight, or a deed to do, she wasn’t left with any adrenaline-charged distractions.  The dust had settled, and now everything felt oddly numb and disconnected.

Professor Underhill pushed his way through the students and began examining Daring Do for injuries.

“Daring, you won’t believe it!" one of the other students exclaimed.  "We went to the forbidden ruins out by the lake, and discovered stuff about ancient spirit magic that could hide keys as things, and one of those keys can get us to where the Tree of Life is hidden!”

Daring Do looked up at the pony, trying to remember his name.  The others had their own adventure without her.  One, she suspected, that involved far less arrows.  She blinked, her thoughts feeling like molasses.  “...I thought the forbidden ruins were... forbidden?...” she said slowly.

“Professor Underhill says we don’t have to do what the zebras say,” another of the students claimed.  Professor Underhill shot him a silencing look.

“Huh?” was Daring Do’s only response.

“You need rest and medical attention,” Professor Underhill said.  “We’re too far from a proper Equestrian hospital, but I’ll ask Goldentongue if he knows any nurses he can trust.  Fortunately, we do have beds in easy reach, and you will start making use of one of them right away.”

Daring Do nodded.

Lowering his head and his voice, “I heard you found the Amulet of Atonement!  Amazing.  I’ve been on pins and needles waiting to see it.  A marvelous treasure, finally uncovered.”  

He held out a hoof, “Give it here, and I’ll see to it that it will be on display in the finest museum in Canterlot.”  He grinned, “I think we should call this the Underhill and Do Expedition on the historical registrar.  Student or not, you deserve the recognition.”

Daring Do stared at his hoof blankly.

“You... still have it, don’t you?” Underhill asked, a taint of apprehension creeping into his voice.

Daring Do continued to stare as she felt her mental fog begin to clear.  “No,” she said.  “Mhalifu... disappeared with it.”  

That much was true.  The zebra airship captain had been holding the Amulet of Atonement when she threw herself into the Orcus Pit.  Daring Do said nothing of the huge, blue, dog-like monster that had crawled up out of the well.  Or the silver chain she spotted dangling from something clutched in his strange tail-hand as he fled into the jungle.

Daring Do was beginning to suspect she should say nothing of that to anypony.  Especially Professor Underhill.

“Then it is missing?”  Underhill sounded deeply disappointed.  Daring Do couldn’t blame him.  No amazing museum exhibition was to crown this trip.  No plaque with his name under a prize.  That would have to wait, at least, until after his expedition next summer.

The expedition that he was clearly intent upon regardless of the dictations of primi ordines Jua.  

“Fame,” Daring Do said softly, but firmly.

“What?” asked Professor Underhill, turning back towards her.  Having heard she did not possess the Amulet, and having told her to get bed rest, her teacher had already turned his back and was almost back at the stone table when he heard her.

“Fame,” Daring Do repeated.  “That’s what you really care about, isn’t it?  Archaeology isn’t about history for you; it’s about making a name for yourself.  This whole trip was just for you to try to get permission for your next expedition,” she said, waving a hoof as she recalled the dinner conversation with the ambassador.  “And now that Jua has said no, you’re going to go ahead an do it anyway, because who cares what the zebras want?”

“Go to bed, Daring Do.  Now.”  Professor Underhill pointed a hoof back down the hall.  Daring and Fleetwing had passed the sleeping bags set up for camp on their way in.  “I don’t know what’s gotten into your head.  You’ve been through a trying experience, I understand.  But...”

“My value becomes greater with each who knows about me.  What am I?” Daring Do repeated dully.  “Fame.  It was your riddle.”

Daring Do put on her pith hat, turned and left. 







Final Pad Ends