In ancient Equestria, the Magus Doctor Dee seeks the truth of the universe to make his dreams come true- -until he encounters a powerful rival that threatens to cost him everything.
In the distant past of Equestria, the two races of ponies live in peace: the ruling class of unicorns, led by the immortal Third Horn, and the lesser class of hornless earth ponies. In this ancient world, the Magus Doctor Dee seeks to understand the true nature of the universe as he ruthlessly climbs the political ladder of the royal court with the intent of creating a new and better world for true users of the power of magic
Shortly after securing his future by marrying the princess Fyr'mond, however, he encounters an unanticipated threat: a powerful and impossible rival, the summoner Ward Kelley. As Kelley's power grows and Dee's life begins to unravel, the forces of their rivalry set in motion the beginnings of the destruction of Equestria and a war that will rage for countless eons
Based on the Iron Maiden song "The Alchemist" off the album "The Final Frontier", which is itself based off the real-life story of Dr. John Dee, Magus of the British Empire during the 16th century.
[Note: due to the timeframe of this story (extremely early Equestria), the majority of the cast will consist of OCs, some based on but not meant to resemble real historical figures. This story takes place in Seventh World continuity]
The great doors swung apart slowly, their metallic material pushed by magic as they moved with absolute silence. The slight jingle of a distant bell sounded, producing a crystalline note to indicate the presence of visitors and to signal for them to enter. Upon hearing that sound, the procession of ponies entered.
The Great Hall was, as always, darkened, lit only by the glowing crystalline lights that were suspended high in the walls, their blue light shimmering as though they were filled with water instead of eternal magical energy. The Hall itself was truly a sight to behold, a room of almost incomprehensible measurement. Even then, it was far from the largest in the Citadel- -but it was by far the highest, perched in the clouds over Equestria, built to a high by ancient claws and hooves with forgotten secrets that even the greatest unicorn architects could not begin to conceive.
Through the center ran a long, perfect path constructed from perfectly groomed sand, its grains in shades of red and gold that shimmered strangely in the blue-green light. The sand itself was enchanted, and the ponies that walked through it left no hoofprints.
Standing on either side were rows of perfectly spaced unicorn guardians, each dressed in identical golden armor. Each was masked, and each wore a hood of beautiful and indestructible centipede silk. Only their horns were visible, a sign that each of them was an unparalleled soldier, the descendants of warriors from as far back as the Choggoth War, and that their magic would be capable of rending apart any pony without hesitation in defense of their king.
The trio of ponies passed between the rows of guardians. One stood in the front, and two behind, their magic levitating a long, cloth covered table. The two unicorn mares who held the table were castle servants, and as such were dressed in identical robes. Despite their role, however, the pony who walked before them knew that they were higher born than any noblepony through the land. Only the most perfect and beautiful unicorn mares were allowed to serve the king directly, and to see that his guests were properly accommodated.
The pony that led them was far older, a stallion of expansive age dressed in voluminous brown robes that, though drab, marked his position of power and the mystery that surrounded him. Even in this place, he crossed the sand path with his head held high, taking each slightly limping step with absolute confidence. This was not merely a tribute to his position, but a calculated effort. To show demure nervousness in the presence of royalty would be a sign of profound weakness for one of his role.
The Great Hall was long, but in time, the elderly mage reached the end. There, beneath the highest part of the Hall where the ceiling and walls bulged outward into a nearly spherical shape, sat the throne of the king of all ponies, the monohorn Third Horn.
The throne itself was tall, lifting its occupant high above the Hall and the nobleponies who had assembled at the base of his pyramidal seat of power. Unlike the throne of a lesser being, however, that of Third Horn was not simply a chair. It encased his entire body in gold and precious metal, carved into an almost abstract system that made him appear to be growing from the floor itself, where rivers of luminescent magic flowed like water flowed into the base of the throne from the powerful golden-robed mages who were positioned on the arcane symbols behind it.
From the top, the face of an impossibly ancient pony looked down upon his visitor, his gray eyes sharp even after three thousand years of life. From the platform that contained the section where his body was entombed stepped a second pony who stood to his right: an unusually tall, green-coated unicorn, his silver armor- -though beautiful and glimmering with countless enchantments- -marking him as the only pony in the room aside from the brown-cloaked visitor whose veins contained not a single drop of noble blood.
One of the servants positioned near the rear of the throne stepped forward. She took a breath, and her clear and perfect but absolutely emotionless voice filled the hall.
“Announcing: the Magus of Equestria, Doctor Dee.”
Having his presence officially recognized, Dee lowered his head into a deep bow so low that his long beard nearly scraped the sand below. “Your majesty,” he said.
“Rise, Magus,” said Third Horn. As always, he sounded immensely, impossibly tired- -but also intrigued. “What is this you have brought with you?”
With a simple motion, Dee commanded the servants to step forward. They obeyed absolutely, pulling the table in front of him and standing at either side of it, still holding its rather substantial weight effortlessly.
“Your majesty, King Third Horn, I present to you these gifts!” With a dramatic embellishment but without moving his body more than a few inches, Dee grasped the cloth covering the table with his citrine magic and pulled it back with a single swift motion.
Beneath glimmered a number of bizarre and peculiar objects, each organized into perfect piles. Their diversity was significant, but from thousands of useless and dingy objects these were by far the most beautiful and mysterious. Among them was a large selection of unusual jewels and crystals, many of types that had never before been seen in Equestria. Beside them sat piles of coins, some of them oversized and marked with the ornate engravings of the trihorn, or with the barcode symbols of the ancient cerorians- -and some far smaller, their backs marked with a curious national symbol consisting of a pair of narrow-limbed unicorns that somehow appeared to bear bird-like wings, eternally circling tiny depictions of the Red and White spheres.
Far more interesting than gems and coins- -in Doctor Dee’s opinion, at least- -were the relics he had collected. One of them was the metal, skeletal head of what he hypothesized had once been a living statue. Although it had been severed by some unknown explosion, its large, glassy blue-green eyes still stared upward as if it might come to life and speak at that very moment. Beside the strange head stood a gilded cage, the sort that might be used to contain a canary- -but in this case, it held a single tetrahedral crystal that ran and jumped spastically under its own volition.
“These trinkets and valuables,” explained Doctor Dee, “have been pulled across time itself, from both the past as well as the future.”
Third Horn looked down at them, and then at Dee. “I cannot help but wonder, Magus. Though you have brought these great treasures, has your journey through time perhaps produced something of even greater value?”
“You mean knowledge of the future, my king?”
“Indeed I do.”
Dee shook his head, exaggerating his sadness. “Unfortunately, at present, no spell exists that can pull a pony through time itself- -or let alone even allow for simple divination. Though I can draw artifacts from distant eras, I cannot see more than a distant blur. Though I do believe that it may be possible. I simply need to elucidate a better understanding of the True Nature of the universe itself. With that, truly anything will be possible.”
Third Horn paused for a long moment. “I suppose it is for the better, perhaps,” he said, softly. “Perhaps no pony is meant to know such things. Not even myself. But in such trying times, I truly wish our future could be more transparent.”
“What troubles you, my king?” asked Dee, motioning for the servants to remove the table. They did so efficiently and silently, and Dee stepped forward to where it had been. There was no a direct line of sight between him and the third ruler of Equestria. He was well aware of the significance, and the honor of it- -and though Dee was terrified by being in this position, he felt truly alive and exhilarated by it.
“Times have grown difficult,” said Third Horn, his voice heavy with sadness. “With each passing hour, the Centaur Empire to the east grows stronger. They have already begun pushing against are borders, and I fear that war may be on the horizon.”
“Centaurs?” said Dee, stroking his beard. “They are indeed powerful warriors- -but they wield no magic.”
“That was what was once thought,” said Third Horn. “But intelligence indicates that their leaders have acquired an artifact, a Black Stone, and that Lord Secarac has gained horrible powers through its use.” He sighed. “But the centaurs are but one problem that plagues our land. The barbarian griffons gather in the frontier, and the raids on border towns have increased drastically. They are growing more bold. Sirens in the sea are destroying our ships as they try to sail outward. Our advancement into the swamps to the south has born nothing but plague, and our scouts to the north…”
The runes on the floor glowed, and an orb floated from a stand beside the throne. Dee peered into the crystal, and saw a recorded transmission from Hyperborea, a vision through the eyes of a unicorn explorer. It showed a bleak, empty world of ice, devoid of all live.
Then, suddenly, the image shifted. A pure white figure appeared from nowhere, and suddenly the image shifted, showing the rear of a unicorn’s coat as his head was twisted around. He twitched, and then fell, the transmission fading to black. Dee turned away- -he abhorred violence- -but was still intrigued. For one brief moment, he had seen the assailant: an extremely fluffy pony.
“Your power is great, your majesty,” said Dee as the sphere returned to its resting place. “And Equestria is the strongest nation in all of Panbios. With our magic and our strength, surely the Equestrian Empire will prevail.”
There was a murmur from the crowd of nobles. Nopony before had referred to Equestria as an empire. Dee was the first, and he had been waiting for an opportunity like this to display the term he had coined.
“Indeed, we shall,” said Third Horn, instantly silencing the nobles below. “But I fear the cost. Military expansion will require further taxing our subjects. Especially the earth ponies.”
“I see,” said Dee. Even he was aware that relations toward the lesser of the two pony races had been for decades in a state of decay, and that misguided revolutionaries had occasionally- -and inevitably futilely- -attempted to turn the population against their unicorn rulers. “But they are merely farmers. They are taxed with food. They can simply grow more.”
“The situation is more complex than that, I am afraid. Which is why I have summoned you.”
“Your majesty, I am not sure how I can help. I am no soldier. Just a humble sorcerer.”
“Which is what now is most needed. Magus, you are the most powerful among us, the greatest of unicorns. By my command, you shall perform a feat. I know not what; of that, you are free to choose- -but one that will show the power of unicorns, both to our enemies and to our own people, to rally them behind my power.”
The Magus smiled. “Indeed,” he said, almost overjoyed. “This is something I can do. And I may know just the thing. But, if I may be so bold, I am no more powerful than any other unicorn. It is my firm belief that no unicorn is born any more powerful than any other, that we are born equals. What is perceived as ‘power’ is simply the product of knowledge, dedication, and hard work.”
A collective gasp came from the nobles. What Dee had just said was, to them, the equivalent of heresy. Each of them assumed that it was because of their power that they were the ones chosen by the gods to rule Equestria- -even though most of them barely knew the simplest of philosophy. The move was a calculated measure, though. The unicorn nobles that gasped the most deeply were those who knew of the curse that had dogged the Horn Dynasty for two generations, and because of that knowledge, they were Dee’s rivals.
Of course, Dee knew the king’s opinions far more well than any of them. He watched as, for the first time since the start of the conversation, Third Horn smiled.
“Indeed, a noble sentiment,” he said, “and one I share as well. I only wish more your kind could be inspired by that fundamental truth.” He turned his eyes toward the green, silver-clad pony beside him. “Amddiffynnwr shall attend the event. With him shall be Fyr’mond.”
“My king?” said Doctor Dee, confused.
“If your chosen feat is truly worthy, Magus, then you shall be granted permission to court the youngest of my daughters.”
Amddiffynnwr’s eyes shifted, and his expression narrowed in the slightest hint of disgust- -but it quickly faded. “I shall ensure she is safe, my king,” he said in his heavily accented voice.
Dee was momentarily rendered speechless. Being granted permission for a grand feat alone was a major victory, a chance to further elevate himself over all other wizards- -but permission to court one of the princesses was a virtual guarantee of a marriage into the royal family. That came with its own set of political connections and a lifetime guarantee of patronage, as well as almost unfathomable status even greater than having been declared Magus. It took a considerable effort for Dee to remain composed.
“I thank you for your unmatched generosity, my king,” he said, bowing deeply once again. “And knowing that the young princess shall be in attendance, I shall strive to make my feat of power as beautiful as it is awe-inspiring.”
“She deserves no less,” said Third Horn. “But, a warning, Magus. Do not fail Equestria.”
“I never shall,” said Dee, smiling- -even through his gut-wrenching terror.
The wind blew quickly over the ocean cliffs, and Doctor Dee examined the sky closely, watching each cloud as it passed. The conditions were not ideal at all. There were far more clouds than he had initially anticipated, and in the distance, a storm seemed to be brewing out over the ocean. Such an event was an unexpected stroke of both good and bad luck: good, because it would provide a fortuitous backdrop for the day’s events, and bad, because it meant that he would need to start immediately.
He looked down from the sky and rubbed his eyes. In the past two weeks, he had received precious little sleep. Not because there was any rush, of course; being immortal, Third Horn was surprisingly patient and would have gladly waited as long as a month or even two, or even as much as a year. Rather, the sleep denervation came from Dee’s own excitement and his flurried preparations for an event that would not only secure his career, but his place in Equestrian history as well- -assuming it worked.
Dee straightened his robes- -the most wizardly set he owned- -and collected his scrolls. He took a breath, steadying his mind, and slowly started climbing the stares that led to the tall wooden stage that had been constructed at the very edge of the cliff. As he did, he could not help but feel as though he were walking up the scaffold of a gallows.
When he reached the top, the crowd below silenced in awe of his presence. They looked up at the Magus Doctor Dee, and he took a long moment to inventory who had attended. The crowd was indeed large, consisting of unicorns who had come from the nearby city that had been built in the shadow of the Citadel, all looking expectantly toward their hero. Behind them, in a separate section, stood earth ponies who stared up at him with dumb, confused expressions. Surely, Dee thought, they would have no comprehension of what was going on.
Farther back, a stand had been constructed to raise the nobility above the commoners. Two areas caught Dee’s attention immediately. The first was the shaded platform at the top of the structure, where Amddiffynnwr stood sentry beside a smaller, younger mare seated on a luxurious cushion, her body completely covered in thick and extravagant royal robes. She seemed intrigued and distracted by the crowd below alone, but Amddiffynnwr was watching Dee carefully, his dreadfully serious expression passing judgement with a tinge of something that might easily be mistaken for contempt.
The other group that was more important, however, were the robed figures below the royal box. Each of them was clad in brown, and each of them, Dee knew, was a powerful mage. They, as he was, were students of the arcane- -and he knew that each of them, were they given the chance, would not hesitate to slit his throat to take his place as Magus.
Before the attention of the simple-minded earth ponies could fade, Dee charged his horn and amplified his booming voice over the crowd.
“Ladies, gentlecolts,” he began, addressing the assorted nobility that sat on the wings of the stands above the commoners, organized by rank, “my brethren wizards, the unicorn citizens of Equestria, and,” he bowed slightly. “Princess Fyr’mond.” He paused, in part for effect and in part to collect his thoughts. Though public performance was certainly not new to him, he was striving for a tone of simplicity, seriousness, and dignity associated with his position. “I have been tasked by our glorious leader Emperor Third Horn to perform a feat that will demonstrate to you his power, and the power of Equestria.”
Dee raised his hoof toward the yellow sky. Far above the clouds sat the eternal spheres- -one burning perpetually red, and the other, on the opposite side of the sky, burning with crystalline white. Never before had he felt so nervous- -and alive. “The power of knowledge feeds the power of magic- -and on this day, I, Doctor Dee, shall move both the sun and the moon!”
A collective murmur rushed through the crowd- -but it was rapidly overshadowed by a chortle from the mages across from the stage.
“Such is impossible!” laughed an aged wizard, his unkempt beard so long that it nearly dangled into the earth pony rabble below. “What foolishness is this? The sun and moon are bound eternally to the firmament.”
“To move them- -ha!” cried another sorcerer, this one fat and balding. “No known force can defy nature! The theory is sound, Dee! You have reached beyond yourself!”
The crowd below did not seem to know who to believe, but even with their conflict, Doctor Dee only smiled. He knew the theories- -and knew that the mages that maintained them believed that knowledge consisted of nothing more than memorizing the contents of ancient texts, carrying their unfounded dogma with them at the expense of new ideas.
They had not heard what he had. The music that came from the Spheres, their call, their song. He had. Dee had spent his life studying that music, and the way the heavens moved. Staring into the sun through a telescope for countless hours had cost him the sight of his right eye, but the knowledge of the universal engines and mathematics of creation were priceless. He knew so much more than they ever would.
So without a word, he began the process to prove him wrong. He separated the scrolls he held, and each one drifted away from him into a circle around him, unrolling as they moved. Each one contained a powerful of his own design ingrained upon each one. The gold and antimony ink on one scroll alone was worth more than five years wages for even the most skilled of artisans, but not one drop had been wasted. Dee had painfully inscribed each of the precise runes, calculating their exact composition and required shape, etching them into the paper with a quill held in his mouth to avoid interference from his own magic. Now their time had come to shine.
Dee turned his head to the sky and closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the impossibly complex spell that was forming in his head. He had, of course, never practiced it- -but he understood the theory and the mathematics, and put absolute faith in his calculations.
Then, suddenly, with a shout, the glow of his magic poured inward on his horn, generating a sphere of energy that expanded outward like an explosion. The crowd ducked, but the blast never reached them: instead, it was stopped by the scrolls themselves as they absorbed the force.
Power surged through Dee as they processed the magic and began the preparatory phase. All around him, constructs of yellow spells formed themselves: gears and cogs, spheres and geometric shapes, each one a key component of an abstract machine, clicking forward as they processed the complex computations of the spell.
The wind began to rush inward, toward Dee, and he felt the power of the spell lifting him upward. He allowed it, and floated into the air. Inside, he felt as though his body were about to be torn apart. The magic was filling him to terrifying proportions, but he held onto it tightly, his logical mind biasing itself against every instinct his mortal body had and absorbing ever more energy.
Then he released it. From his horn, a powerful bolt of energy soured into the heavens, and he heard the music of the Spheres echoing through his mind. Their song was indeed a sad one: both of them called continuously, reaching out to something below, something that never responded to them.
Now it was Dee who responded. He grasped both of them in his power, feeling his mind wrap around their impossible dimensions. Unlike the fool wizards who now stared open mouthed, waiting- -and hoping- -for him to fail, he understood their nature. He had listened, and he understood.
Dee roared as a second surge of magic poured through his body. His body was beginning to overheat from the exertion, and he could feel his bones twisting under the expenditure of energy, threatening to snap at any moment. Even then, he knew that he must not fail.
Then, at his will, the Spheres began to move. At first, their motion was nearly imperceptible- -but then the crowd gasped in awe as the moon began to set, and the sun started to rise into the center of the sky. With the white light of the moon gone, the crowd and all of Equestria was cast by a noon as dark as blood. The earth ponies screamed in horror, and some wept- -and even the unicorns appeared terrified by this power.
With his power at its zenith, Dee held the sun aloft for several moments, and then started to lower it. The ponies below sighed in relief, not knowing what Dee had in store next. As the sun set, he once again raised the White Sphere. It rose in an arch across the sky, passing its original location, and progressed toward the zenith.
As the sun set, the white light of the moon dominated- -but the light of the moon, Dee had learned, was special in its own right. Instead of casting light, it cast darkness across the yellow sky. The perpetual light of above was replaced with perfect darkness, the only light being the cold glow of the moon above. Dee winced silently. Though the moon did not burn as much as the sun, his mind was filled with horrible visions of madness and disease. Only through his internal seals was he able to maintain his sanity.
Now the crowd started to panic, not understanding what was going on. They cowered from the darkness that surrounded them, fearing it and the madness of the moon instinctively but not knowing why or how to escape. Even the princess clung to the side of her escort, who watched the scene with keen stoic disinterest.
The magic around Dee suddenly shuddered. Feedback poured back into his horn. Most of it was buffered by the scrolls, but the amount he received hit him in the chest and mind like a hammer. The Spheres were beginning to buck, to resist his will. They did not deem him a worth, compatible user, and they were attempting to return to their original positions. Their song had become angry, as though they resented the defiance of their natural locations.
Before setting the moon, though, Dee performed one final feat. As the sun rose in the south, he pulled the moon behind him, and used its new position to shift the tide. Behind him, the ocean rose suddenly- -and burst over the high cliff, pouring behind him in a massive wave, showering the crowd in shining droplets, framing Dee in his mastery of the tides themselves.
Then he allowed them to return to their places in the sky, moving them slowly. The scrolls around him were burning to ash, their framework overloaded by the power of the spell. Dee himself already knew that he had suffered irreparable damage to his body and magic from performing the spell, but he had still survived. Gently, he allowed the Spheres to reset themselves, and then slowly lowered himself to the stage below.
He landed softly and hid his immense pain and breathlessness from the crowd. He stood high and stared the dumbstruck mages in the eyes- -and then bowed to Princess Fyr’mond.
The audience was silent for a long moment, many of them still shaking with fear. Then, all at once, they seemed to burst into applause and cheers of wonderment. Even some of the earth ponies joined in, whistling through their hooves in rustic appreciation.
Dee bowed once more, and then departed the stage with a smile on his face. As he descended the stares, he turned to one side and vomited blood. He could not believe he had attempted something so foolhardy, and he knew in his heart that he could not possibly repeat his performance again. He would not survive. No pony could. He alone could divide the night from the day, because any other being that attempted to do so would surely die. No such creature could possibly exist- -and if they did, they would surely be a terrifying sight to behold.
Several of his earth-pony servants reached out to steady him, but he waved them away. He wiped the blood away from his mouth, and continued to smile, even though all the pain- -because he was, in fact, happy. He had succeeded where others had failed, and proved his theories to be true. He was the most powerful unicorn alive, and, with this grand feat, had secured his destiny.
The structure of the Citadel was exceedingly complex, and within its ancient walls existed many features built by its long-forgotten architects that were mostly unknown to the outside world except through whispered rumors. One of these features was the complex and breathtaking system of indoor gardens.
These gardens were reserved strictly for nobility and for the exclusive use of the royal family. Even among them, though, none knew of their origin, their purpose, and few knew of their history. Through the endless ages, the art of growing many of the rare and exotic plants- -most of which were no longer found on Panbios, or at least anywhere in Equestria- -had been lost. The plants had receded and died, replaced by hardier and weedier breeds that could be cultured without such great care.
Still, many of the more delicate and stunning plants remained. Perhaps the most impressive of all were the eternal larch. In the millennia that had passed since their planting as saplings, the trees had only grown stronger, their trunks gnarled and twisted as they reached toward the crystal-illuminated ceiling above. These trees had existed longer than the Horn Dynasty itself, and longer than Equestria.
Beneath one of these trees, leaning against its rough and stringy ancient trunk, sat alone pony. Though the light from above was dim, she was reading a loosely bound and well-worn book, its title “The Life and Exploits of Single Horn, Eternal Queen of Equestria”.
As Fyr’mond moved to turn the page, she realized that she had been reading the same paragraph over and over again for close to ten minutes. This book was not new to her- -nor was it new to Equestria- -and she was, in fact, in the middle of her favorite chapter. It explained how Fyr’mond’s great grandmother, Single Horn, had discovered the Element of Generosity, the cyborg Tenth Sister.
Of all the six Elements of Harmony, Fyr’mond had always considered Tenth Sister to be the most compelling. She had been, according to the ancient tome, a mare of unparalleled beauty and grace- -yet, when her nine sisters were mortally wounded during the legendary Choggoth War, she had given them her body itself. She had been left with nothing, the remainder of her mutilated body encased in agonizing machinery, and yet, if the story was to believed, never once complained and never once was asked by any of her sisters for her sacrifice. Fyr’mond believed- -and had always believed- -that doing so was her true beauty after all.
Even though she loved the part about Tenth Sister, Fyr’mond still found still could not concentrate. Her father had made her aware of what she was expected to do, that she was to marry the Magus Doctor Dee. She had no choice in this matter, nor did she expect any. This was, after all, her destiny. It was what she had been born for, and her duty as a princess.
Many had come before her. She had so many sisters. There had been thousands of them going back millennia. Most of them were gone now, each of them having aged and died. Unlike their father, they were mortal. They- -Fyr’mond included- -would be born, live, and die, and have their names recorded in the archives. Some of the most loved might even get a portrait made and hung in some room of the Citadel, although even the paintings of Fyr’mond’s eldest sisters had aged to the point where they had become unrecognizable.
Throughout those endless iterations, each princess had served one purpose. All of them had been married off to different ponies- -to powerful wizards, sorcerers, soldiers, generals, to anypony with sufficient magical potential, really. The goal was always the same: to produce an heir that would escape their bloodline’s curse.
At first, Fyr’mond’s elder sisters had been able to bear children. Those that came, though, would never live especially long, or would always be in poor health. In recent times, her sisters that still lived and were not elderly all failed to conceive.
Fyr’mond knew that she was different, though, for two reasons. Firstly, she was the last. Her father- -their father- -had grown too old to sire more children. Second, the curse held her less tightly than the others. She was the most powerful Horn ever born, second only to Single Horn. Her magical potential was even greater than that of her father by far.
She set the book down, placing a mark on her page. Across from her, across the blanket on which she sat, was a bottle of golden apple juice and a set of small cups. She forced her energy into her horn and reached out toward the nearest of the cups. It shook slightly in her white magic, and lifted off the ground slightly before falling back to the cloth. Now tired and finding she had developed a slight headache, Fyr’mond simply reached out and poured the golden fluid by hoof.
As she sat back and sipped the exquisitely sweet fluid, she pondered her situation, wondering about the stallion that she was to marry. She had seen him nearly a week earlier on that eventful day. Not only had it been her first trip outside of the Citadel, but she had witnessed a feat that even the most fantastical of her books had not even thought to describe. The Magus had raised and lowered the Spheres, casting the world in light as red as blood and in profound darkness. Never before had she been more terrified, or more impressed. He had been a terrifying sight, his body pouring out seemingly limitless magical energy funneled through spells that Fyr’mond knew she could never even hope to comprehend. Yet, the whole time, she had not been able to look away. She had been mesmerized by his godlike power, the poise and confidence with which he reached out to do the impossible- -but that very same feature made him seem so unapproachable, so much larger than she was.
Even Amddiffynnwr had seemed impressed by the feat, even if he was still against the union in general. Fyr’mond smiled. Amddiffynnwr had been adopted by the Horn family at a young age, and he was only slightly older than herself. She had always thought of him as an older brother, even if he was from a lower caste, and she found it charming that he seemed to be looking out for her.
As she stared across the field and took a second sip from the tiny cup, Fyr’mond suddenly realized that the room had grown noticeably darker. She looked up toward the ceiling, wondering if she had accidentally ventured out during one of the automated rain showers that occasionally- -and sometimes violently- -swept through the gardens.
Her heart sunk when she saw the precipitation start- -but then her eyes widened. What fell was not rain, but tiny flakes of material.
“Snow?” she said, reaching out a hoof and catching a flake on her golden horseshoe. She looked at it closely, and saw that it was actually not snow at all- -though like snow, the material was golden and luminescent.
More started to fall, and Fyr’mond looked up in wonder as it drifted down slowly, some of it in swirls. Then, before her eyes, the gold shifted, forming abstract shapes that seemed to dance like fairies as they floated down and soared upward, all surrounding her.
Music seemed to play from nowhere at all, as if the air itself had suddenly begun to pipe a soft and distant symphony. Fyr’mond closed her eyes and listened. The sounds were strange and beautiful, the sort that no instrument could produce, each slowly shifting based on some carefully tuned system that her unconscious mind seemed to understand while her consciousness could not.
When she opened her eyes, a light was approaching her through the darkness. Fyr’mond released an unladylike gasp and covered her mouth at the sight of the pony approaching her. He was the same that she had seen that day, the pony who had moved the sun and moon- -the Magus Doctor Dee.
Fyr’mond felt her breath catch in her throat. He was not a beautiful stallion, by far, but he moved in such a way that showed that it did not matter, neither to him nor, truly, to those around him. He stood with his head held high, and each step he took was an act of absolute conscious will. He seemed to exude confidence, but what Fyr’mond might have otherwise considered to be arrogant was tempered by his appearance as a wizard: he was old and wizened, with a long but perfectly groomed beard. More importantly, though, his dark eyes- -which Fyr’mond could almost feel staring at her- -seemed as though he knew so much more than anypony else could even guess at.
As he moved, the plants shifted beneath his feet. They grew, propelled by his magic, and changed. Blue-green fungus and herbs sprouted to either side of him, their bizarre natural light framing him as he approached. Fyr’mond could not help but marvel at the plants that appeared to his sides, many of which had no doubt laid dormant for decades if not centuries in the synthetic soil.
Finally, he stepped over the small river that ran toward her larch tree and onto the small island where she sat. With what seemed like a passing glance, he noticed the water and smiled. Gently, he lowered his horn and tapped it against the surface. The water bubbled and rose, and Fyr’mond felt her eyes widen as the water floated into the air, hardening into gears and cogs of solid ice.
At the Magus’s command, the ice suddenly assembled into miniature models of ponies, each cast from frozen crystal. Fyr’mond squeaked with surprise when they immediately jumped to the ground and began to prance and play in the grass around her as if they were themselves alive instead of animated by magic.
She dropped to her knees and stared up at him as he approached. She did not know why her heart was beating so fast. Surely, she thought, this stallion could not be the one who she had been selected to marry.
The Magus smiled a soft, knowing smile, and then bowed deeply.
“Princess Fyr’mond o’Horn,” he said, his voice raspy and old but so much more gentle than it had been during his feat. “I am the Magus, Doctor Dee. I bid you good evening.”
As he bowed, so did everything else in his presence. The drifting golden creations from above momentarily slowed their flight, bowing as they swooped gently to the side. The ice ponies stopped and bowed as well- -even the plants did. The music momentarily shifted, and the Magus held out his hoof. The notes seemed to collect, pouring through the air and concentrating, assembling as though they were matter instead of force.
From the ether appeared a tiny and delicately decorated musicbox.
“A gift,” he said, presenting it to her. With shaking hooves, she took it. “Go ahead,” he said, almost chuckling. “If it is milady’s will, open it.”
Fyr’mond lifted the lid, and the sound that she had heard before poured out. From inside, a tiny mechanical pony looked up at here- -and then started to dance softly to the music.
“Does this please you?” he asked. Fyr’mond could only nod, and the Magus smiled. “Then I am pleased in turn. I can create all this at any time, and I shall, if only you ask. It was for you, my dear princess, that I moved the sun and moon themselves. Consider this all, and all that shall come, to be an expression of my undying love for you.”
“Doctor…” whispered Fyr’mond, the doubts she had felt before evaporating before her very eyes.
Dee looked down at the pony before him. Her eyes were opened almost impossibly wide as she sat on her knees. Though he maintained his smile and stance- -as he had grown accustomed to- -upon inspection, he realized that she was at best homely. Her face was excessively round, and her body thickened by a life of indulgence. Fyr’mond’s coat was the most boring color of light sand-brown, save for her ruddy and unattractive cheeks. Even her eyes were boring and gray, and her horn was childishly small.
Her intelligence, Dee knew, was also in doubt. He knew that she had virtually no magical potential, and even the simplest of tricks had seemed to astound her when magic was in fact so much more. The very thought of having to lie with such a fool repulsed him.
None of that mattered, though. He truly did want to marry her. Regardless of how she appeared, she was indeed a princess. With her at his side, he would be bound forever to the royal family, his place as Magus secured indefinitely. Fyr’mond was unpleasant, but what she represented was priceless- -and for that, he knew that he could learn to tolerate her. Perhaps, in time, he might even devise a way to love her.
“Wow…” Fyr’mond looked to the ceiling of the house, and suddenly felt dizzy. There were so many beams and joists and rafters above her.
“Yes,” said her new husband, sounding somewhat embarrassed. “I will admit, my home is not much compared to your royal standards, and I do apologize.”
“No, no,” said Fyr’mond, now herself embarrassed. “It’s just…I’ve never seen so much wood in one place!”
Dee raised one eyebrow. “Wood? Really?”
“Everything in the Citadel is made of stone and steel,” she explained, candidly. “But…wood, it’s just so much warmer!” She looked wide eyed at Dee. “Are all houses made of this material?”
“Many,” he said, dismissively.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said.
“Milady, may I take your coat?”
Fyr’mond turned and gasped, startling the servant who had addressed her. “An earth pony! A real earth pony! I’ve never met one in person before! You can- -you can talk!”
The servant looked confused, his eyes flashing to Dee and then back to his new mistress. “Yes, milady. Indeed we can.”
“What is your name, earth pony?”
The servant pony suddenly looked terrified, but did his best to hide the sudden surge of emotion. “My name is Upkeep, milady- -I mean, your highness.” He suddenly dropped to his knees in a deep bow. Dee rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, princess, I’ve spoken out of term, please forgive me!”
Fyr’mond did not understand. “You haven’t done anything wrong, though.”
He looked up at her, and she did her best to smile, even though she was deeply confused. Her unicorn handmaidens never acted this way. Then again, they almost never spoke.
“Her coat, upkeep?” said Dee, sternly. “Or are you going to keep me waiting all day?”
“Yes, Master Dee,” he said, jolting upright and gently taking Fyr’mond’s overcoat, folding it neatly. “And might I say, your majesty, it is truly the honor of my life to behold you. I congratulate you- -both of you- -on your wedding.”
“Stop wasting my time,” said Dee, now sounding threatening.
“Yes, of course Master Dee. Princess, I shall store this in your wardrobe.”
“Thank you, Upkeep.” He did not seem to notice as he scurried away, her complex and extravagant overcoat folded neatly on his back.
“Earth pony servants,” said Fyr’mond. “I did not even know such a thing was possible.”
“Yes,” said Dee, walking across the tile of his spacious foyer. “Unicorns would obviously be superior, but their inherent magic is detrimental to my research. My instruments are quite delicate. Of course, at present, I only have manservants. I will send word to have some females brought for your use. Or geldings, if you prefer.”
She followed him deeper into his home, and she continued to marvel at the various sights. It was nothing like the Citadel. The walls were bare, if not Spartan, and the furnishings were limited and oddly clean, as if they were never really used.
“You could, of course, wait in the Citadel for my return.”
“But you are my husband now. I should be where you are.”
They had only been married for a few days, but Fyr’mond was already falling neatly into the wifely duties that had been drilled into her mind since she was old enough to walk. Their ceremony had been exactly as she had anticipated: lavish, as was appropriate for a Magus and a Princess, and well publicized, but also just as hollow as she had expected. It was really just a ceremonial recap of what had happened to her living sisters so many times before her.
Dee continued to fascinate her, though. In private, she found that he was becoming increasingly comfortable with her. The confident outward shell he portrayed never left him, but sometimes it cracked just enough for Fyr’mond to see the pain beneath: that the limp he bore was more pronounced than he let on, that he sometimes collapsed into uncontrollable fits of coughing, or that he was quite possibly blind in one eye.
This house was just another thing she had learned about him. Fyr’mond knew that every Magus had an extensive office and living quarters in the Citadel. She had always assumed that they just lived there. Dee, however, had a secondary house far beyond the city.
The room suddenly grew brighter, and when Fyr’mond looked to the walls, she gasped. The entire wall of that room was built of glass, forming a set of large, perfectly clear windows that overlooked the lake below. Its shiny surface reflected the light of the Red and White Spheres, mixing their color with that of the yellow sky into something like a pool of liquid jewels. Around its edges grew pines taller than any three Fyr’mond had ever seen. Beyond those were endless green moors that stretched out to the mountains in the distance- -and, on that far horizon, she saw the needle-like tower of the Citadel rising into the upper atmosphere.
“By the Madgod,” she whispered, feeling tears running down here face. “It’s…it’s beautiful.”
“It’s a lake,” said Dee, barely noticing the view. “Like any other lake, I suppose.”
“I’ve never seen one before,” said Fyr’mond. “I’ve only ever heard of them from books.”
Dee’s gaze suddenly sharpened, and Fyr’mond shivered. She had seen that look in his eyes before. It was uncommon, and not unpleasant in and of itself. To her, it looked as though he had suddenly become interested. The reason she shivered was the implication that for the rest of the time, he had only been maintaining a façade.
“You can read?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” said Fyr’mond, embarrassed, realizing that she had let some unfortunate information slip out. “I…I can.”
“I was not aware of that fact,” said Dee, stroking his beard. “Most of the nobility never learn how. In fact, it would be rather frowned upon for someone in your position to take an interest in reading. It is a skill beneath you, for workers like myself.”
“I know,” said Fyr’mond, highly ashamed and hoping that her dishonesty had not destroyed their marriage before it even had a chance to start. “A princess should not need to know how to read…but I really do enjoy it…”
“Tell me, Fyr’mond,” said Dee. “What is your favorite book?”
Fyr’mond look up at him. She was confused, both to why he had asked the question and why he did not look cross. “Well… ‘The Life and Exploits of Single Horn’, I suppose.”
“Bah!” said Dee, waving his hoof. “Nothing more than propaganda and overblown legend. If you want to read her true story, it would be better to start with ‘La Biographie de la Jument Grise’ by Primary Source.”
“But…there are no copies left of that tome.”
Dee smiled. “Except for the one I own.”
Fyr’mond gasped. “You have a copy?”
“That, and of many, many more. My library is quite extensive, although, I admit, rather lacking in fiction, as it serves so little purpose. Philosophy, metaphysics, magical theory, history, science- -those are what truly matter. In fact.” Dee withdrew a key from a fold in his brown robe with his magic, and held it to his horn. A yellow spark clicked against it, and then he passed it to Fyr’mond. “I have given you access to the rooms of my Mortlake home, including the library. Many of the books, I’m afraid, will be beyond you, but if you choose to read them, at least try to be careful. They are very dear to me.”
“I will,” said Fyr’mond, accepting the key with her hoof. “Thank you, husband.”
“There is one condition, though. Please, and I do mean please, do not enter my study or my laboratory. My work is delicate and intensive, and I need absolute concentration to accomplish it.”
Fyr’mond thought that the request was strange, but knew that it was her husband’s right to make such a demand. “Of course.”
“I actually have some work to attend to now.” He waved his hoof, as if shooing her away. “You can explore at your leisure. The servants will show you to your room.”
“Don’t you mean our room?”
Dee’s gaze sharpened, and not in a good way. “I sleep in my study.”
“But…husband. If I may be so bold, part of the purpose of our union is to attempt to sire an heir to the Dynasty.”
Dee sighed. “Yes…well, I suppose I can get to that eventually. I’m far too busy now, though.”
“If I may ask…what is it you are working on?”
Dee stared at her for a long moment, as if she had overstepped her boundary with that question or were accusing him of a crime. “If you must know,” he said at last, “I am planning a research trip to a distant ruin.” He paused for a moment, and then sighed when he saw how interested Fyr’mond was in what he was saying. “I suppose you can come, if you desire.”
“Oh, yes, thank you so much!” she said. “I’ve never seen the countryside, or a ruin! It will be such a beautiful honeymoon!”
“Honeymoon,” said Dee, turning away unceremoniously and walking into the shadows of his house. “Sure. But first I need to work.”
Fyr’mond watched him leave, and then turned and sat in front of the great window. Before, she had only ever seen the world from high above. She had never had any idea that it looked so beautiful, that it was one endless garden with no walls or ceiling.
Never before had she been so excited- -and yet, somehow, she felt oddly sad.
Doctor Dee entered his study and closed the door behind him, locking it. He had not expected Fyr’mond to be so clingy. His original intention had been simply to marry her and then leave her behind at the Citadel where she could continue her life. That was, generally, what most princesses did, assuming that their husbands did not simply take up residence in the city-sized lower levels of the tower. She had instead insisted upon coming to Dee’s sanctuary at Mortlake.
That alone was annoying, but he supposed that her doing so was not entirely a catastrophe. She would simply populate the upper levels, which he had never really used anyway. The servants would take care of her needs, and though she was a unicorn her power was so insignificant that she could not possibly interfere with his work.
That, and she could read. That bit of knowledge had forced Dee to reassess her slightly. Initially, he had just expected her to be like any other princess: bred from an early age for no other purpose except to breed, to be compliant and stupid, just one of an endless series of substantively identical ponies. Her ability to read- -and her interest in doing so- -made her slightly more appealing.
Dee crossed the room, igniting the lamps with magical energy. The light that flooded forth from the stone and wood walls showed and endless array of stored scrolls, charts, diagrams, and books that he had borrowed from his storage library for immediate use. This was his study, which was in turn connected by a small door to his alchemical laboratory and by a narrow staircase to the observatory on the roof. The observatory was also accessible from the house, and Dee recalled that he had not expressly banned Fyr’mond from it. He paused for a moment over his desk, and, looking down at a chart of solar motion, wondered if she might actually enjoy looking through the grand telescope at the heavens above.
He shook his head, driving the thoughts from his mind. He needed to concentrate. Looking around the room, he found a spot on one wall that was, from his perspective, curiously bare. Other ponies might not have noticed it, but he always did, and always thought it looked suspicious- -even though no pony ever came here except for him.
As he approached the spot, he charged his horn and shifted the spell that coated that part of the wall. The magic that held togather the hundreds of tiny wooden squares that made up that particular segment shifted, and each one pulled apart from the others with mechanical precision, revealing a dark space behind them. Dee immediately stepped through, the gap closing behind him.
The choice of a house on Mortlake was not a coincidence. Nor had it been for the beauty of the lake. Through occult means, Dee had long ago discovered the presence of something buried deep beneath this particular section of the moor, a kind of underground castle. He was not entirely sure what it was, or what it had been used for, but it seemed to be one of many that surrounded the farthest perimeter of the Citadel- -and quite possibly connected to it through a series of complex pitch-dark tunnels.
Like so much of the previous world, these catacombs had been lost to history. Dee was the only one who knew of them. They were not particularly useful; upon excavating the chambers below, he had found a large quantity of large-scale magical machinery, but all of it had decayed far beyond the point of being salvageable. Still, the ancient castle beneath gave him a place to store his most crucial research.
Dee had no need for a torch as he descended the tight stone staircase. The golden light of his horn was more than adequate to light the way as he spiraled down into the depths. Light was not nearly as much of a problem as the scale of the stares- -they had been built by some race that was far larger than ponies, and descending them was challenging.
Eventually, though, Dee reached the bottom and moved quickly through the maze of tunnels to his key sanctum. As he entered, the presence of his magic caused an internal reaction in the systems that still remained from long ago, and several bright lights sparked to life, filling the long, arch-ceilinged room with light.
Dee smiled at the sight of his true research, his true purpose, and then bowed deeply.
“My Queen,” he said, fully aware that she could not hear him. Then he stood and approached her position of honor in the center of the room.
It was almost ironic that Fyr’mond had been so enamored with Single Horn. That made sense, of course, considering that the Horn Dynasty itself had descended from Single Horn- -but she had no way of knowing that her new husband shared that interest, if not more so.
What sat in the center of the room was not a pony, or at least, not just a pony. Rather, it was a large mass of enchanted, eternal frost. Through the dense walls of barely translucent ice, Dee could sometimes see the silhouette of what he knew it to contain: the tall, gray body of Single Horn herself.
“My Queen,” he said, rubbing his hoof against the frost, watching it start to creep over the surface of his own flesh. “My true Queen…”
He knew that it was all a farce. His allegiance to Third Horn was nothing more than a joke, as if a sorcerer of his might could ever be servile to a magicless charlatan like him. His true allegiance lied with the pony entombed within this ice. She was the first of their kind, one of the first batch of monohorns ever synthesized. Her body, her magic, her very being was perfect. It was said that in her life, she had used the magic of one hundred generations, to the point where it was all that remained of her- -and that that overuse of magic was the source of the Horn Dynasty’s curse.
Doctor Dee leaned forward and kissed the ice over her lips. Fyr’mond was his wife now, but his Queen was the only one he truly loved. Even against him, she was infinitely greater in strength and knowledge, and he owned her, or what was left of her, the pony who had faced and defeated Choggoth Void, the Element of Magic herself.
Dee took his lips away from hers, and cast his gaze toward the table that stood before her. On it, in a specially constructed case, sat six stone objects. They were what remained of the Elements of Harmony: Loyalty, Honesty, Laughter, Generosity, Kindness, and Magic. At present, they were nothing more than stone, considered lost to history for millennia. Only Dee knew that they remained, and perhaps only he could comprehend their power.
Though he did not know how to use them, or even remotely understand their limitless power, he had still spent so much of his life studying them, attempting to unlock their secrets. With that power, he would be unstoppable. He could not only restore his love to the realm of the living, but he would be able to reclaim what was rightfully hers.
The carriage trundled forward rapidly over the worn dirt path, drawn by four earth pony servants. The paved roads of the city had long since run out, and even the relatively smooth dirt paths that led outward on the path to distant places had faded into rutted, rock-filled, rural paths that could barely be considered real roads.
The repeated jostling of the ride was annoying and uncomfortable. Dee held a number of notes and charts on the table that sat between him and his wife, trying to study, but the cart would repeatedly bump just enough to move his eyes away from where he was reading, and writing was almost entirely impossible. The best he could hope to do was check his calculations, and even doing that was oddly difficult with the hard and uncomfortable seat that irritated his arthritis.
Momentarily, he glanced up at Fyr’mond. Although Dee had insisted on closing the curtains to the carriage to prevent him from getting carriage-sick, his wife was peering out a small gap between the rear of the cabin and the dark cloth. Her eyes were wide and her mouth nearly gaping as they passed through the fields and forests. Occasionally, she would gasp with surprise, usually when she saw any kind of bird or animal. Or even certain trees. To Dee, it was profoundly annoying. He greatly regretted allowing here to come.
Eventually, he could no longer tolerate her constant excitement. “Excuse me,” he said, looking up. “But could you please stop that?”
“Oh,” she said. “My apologies, husband.” Her eyes shifted back toward the opening, then back to the table, looking down at the notes that she could no doubt not even remotely understand. “It’s just that…all that land out there. All that space. My father rules over all of that?”
Dee looked up at her, and then shifted one of the pages aside. Beneath it was a map of the known world with parts of it etched over in ink notes. Before she had started to bother him, he had been reviewing an old calculation, an anomaly that he had realized when raising the sun and moon.
“This is Equestria,” he said, pointing toward the center. “That dot in the center is the Citadelic City.”
Fyr’mond looked down in awe. “So everything I’ve ever known…it’s only as big as that dot?”
“Smaller, actually.”
“And all this…” she gestured at the outline of Equestria, and Dee pulled the page away to keep her from touching it. “That is what my father rules? That land, and the skies above it?”
“Nopony can own the skies,” muttered Dee. “But yes.”
“And the rest of the world…it’s just so big!”
“Really,” said Dee, considering the idea for the first time. He looked down at his map, at the vast regions that nopony laid claim to, and the borders of the neighboring tribes and nations. “No,” he said at last. “This is all so small.”
“Small?” Fyr’mond seemed confused.
“Panbios itself is small. So very small. Nothing more than a spec, floating in a void that dwarfs it a hundred thousand times and a hundred thousand times again. So much lies beyond the impassible expanse of the sky.” He felt himself growing wistful as he thought of how truly large the universe was- -and how empty he knew it to be.
Fyr’mond seemed to notice. Dee had found that she was oddly perceptive, a trait that was both slightly endearing and highly annoying. He detested being analyzed, but it had been so long since anypony had even bothered to attempt to understand what he was feeling.
“You must know so much,” she mused.
“I do. It is why I am Magus.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“It must be so lonely.”
Dee nearly dismissed such a ludicrous idea- -but then realized that it was absolutely true. That thought had never even occurred to him, and yet she had seen it so clearly. “Hmm….yes,” he said. “I suppose, in a way. But it is necessary. A Magus is not like a College wizard. Our power comes from the fact that some secrets are ours alone to bear.”
“Well…at least we have each other now.”
Dee grumbled and went back to his papers. He felt himself blushing like a colt, but tried to hide it. Such was not proper for a Magus, and especially not regarding a pony like her.
They sat in silence for several moments until the cart began to slow.
“What is it now?” cried Dee, tearing open the shades and pushing out the window. “Why have you slowed down?” he demanded from the earth ponies pulling the cart.
“My apologies, Master Dee,” said one of the ponies. He was sweating, and his mane was disgustingly saturated. Behind him, Dee could see the other servants disconnecting themselves from the carriage and approaching a small bubbling stream that sat by the road. “We will be but a moment.”
Dee grumbled again, annoyed. He wanted them to keep going, but he was not a fool. He knew that they were living beings, just as he was, and that they too needed water. Were he to force them to keep going, one might collapse of dehydration and slow them further. So, as much as he disliked the fact that they had biological needs, he let them drink.
As he turned back to his charts- -now, for once, being able to scrawl several quick notes on a piece of parchment- -he saw Fyr’mond staring out at the stream and the earth ponies drinking form it.
“I have a question,” she said.
“You seem to have many of those,” muttered Dee.
“For a mage of your power, husband, would you not be able to create some manner of device that could power the cart?”
“An engine?” said Dee. He thought for a moment. “Yes. I could. Easily. But I see no need to.”
“But they look so tired,” she said. “Is not this strenuous for them?”
“They are earth ponies,” said Dee, looking up. “They are dull in mind but strong in body. Running does them no harm. And stop to consider what you are suggesting. Yes, I could built a magical engine for a carriage, but the energy still must come from somewhere. It would come from me, from my magic. And you also seem to be implying that my engine would pull both us, our supplies, and the servants.”
“I…I am.”
“Then you would ask me, their master, to pull them? Would that not be a reversal of the natural roles?”
“Well…I suppose so.”
“Still,” sighed Dee, reluctantly. “I suppose it is a good idea. I suppose unicorns could use it to move themselves if they are too poor for servants. I believe I will…invest some small modicum of thought into this engine. So…I suppose that means it would be proper for me to…thank you, or somesuch.”
Fry’mond smiled, knowing that she had helped. Dee was embarrassed, but he suppose no one needed to know that she had invented the idea. He would be the one doing all the work of invention, so it would be only right for him to take credit for the new magical creation.
The earth ponies finished drinking and dunking their heads in the stream, and then returned to their places harnessed to the carriage. Dee jotted down several reminders and a preliminary sketch as they prepared themselves, and then felt the carriage move once again as they started to trot.
There had been enough delays. They were drawing closer.
The carriage finally came to a rest. Dee was too excited to wait for his sweaty, foul-smelling servants to get the door. He opened it himself and stepped out into the light. His sudden motion caused Fyr’mond to awake with a start.
“Are we there?” she asked, confused.
Dee did not bother to answer, or to help her out. He jumped down and straightened his back. His whole body was sore from the journey. The ruins were a substantial distance from the Citadel, and he was an old stallion. The journey had taken nearly five days. He had slept little, in part because of his excitement and in part because even the luxurious, house-sized tent that he had kept compressed with him was still an uncomfortable and drafty tent.
Immediately outside the carriage, already waiting, were the representatives of the excavation crew. Their leader stepped forward and bowed. He was, like them all, superficially an earth pony. In terms of bloodline, however, he- -like all his associates- -were at least one quarter unicorn. Their crew had been assembled and served under the authority of Third Horn, but under the supervision and orders of the Magus Doctor Dee. Dee had chosen exactly who he wanted to assist in the process: no unicorns, who might carelessly ruin precious artifacts with their magic- -or worse, attempt to steal the magical knowledge of the ruin for themselves- -but also no dull, full-blooded earth ponies. Dee had no idea what such intellectually disadvantaged workers might attempt to do- -for all he knew, they might try to eat the artifacts instead of cataloging them.
“Lord Magus,” said the lead excavator, bowing his helmeted head slightly. Dee distantly remembered that he was called Dust Brush or had some other crudely conceived name. Brush’s eyes shifted toward the carriage, where Upkeep was assisting Fyr’mond step onto the dirt below. “And who might this be?”
“Oh,” said Dee, looking back. “My wife.”
“Wife?” said Dust Brush, raising an eyebrow. “Pardon me if I may be out of line, but you always seemed like one married to your work.” He looked at Fyr’mond, and then leaned close to Dee, “though, if I may, you have made an excellent choice.”
Dee just snorted in disgust. He did not much care for Dust Brush. Brush was indeed good at his job, but he was also a descendent of the old tribes and far more impudent than normal earth ponies.
“Greetings, milady,” he said to Fyr’mond. “My name is Dust Brush, supervisor of this archeological project by the Third Workpony’s Contingent of the Equestria Civil Legion. Might I be so bold as to ask you your name?”
“Oh, my,” said Fyr’mond, curtsying. “My name is Fyr’mond. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Fyr’mond?” said Dust Brush. “That is an unusual….” His eyes suddenly widened. “No…um, you would not happen to be Princess Fyr’mond, would you?”
“I am the same,” she said, blushing.
Every one of Brush’s assistants- -and Brush himself- -suddenly dropped to the ground on all four of their knees. “Please forgive our rudeness,” he begged. “I take full responsibility for being unaware that we were in the presence of royalty.”
“Oh my,” said Fyr’mond, looking terribly embarrassed. “I do not understand. Why are you doing this?”
“Because he is lazy,” said Dee, gently kicking Dust Brush in his side. “Stand up and get back to work!”
“Yes, right away, Magus,” said Dust Brush, backing away and conversing with his troops, delegating duties.
“I really do not understand,” said Fyr’mond, leaning close to her husband. “What was that? Why did they do that?”
“You are a princess,” said Dee, frustrated at how thick her skull seemed to be. Then, considering her situation for a moment longer. “Actually…you have been raised your entire life in the presence of nobility. Perhaps you never realized.”
“Realized what?”
“That your father is worshipped as a living god. By commoners, at least.”
“Oh,” said Fyr’mond, her eyes wide. “I had no idea.”
“Right,” said Dust Brush, returning to Dee as his associates split apart. “The path ahead is a bit rocky, and narrow in some places. I recommend that the princess stay down here.”
“I would rather like to see the ruin,” said Fyr’mond, sounding disappointed.
“Well then, your highness, you shall. If the path is gentle enough for an old stallion, a mare barely out of fillyhood should have no difficulty.”
He started to lead them up the path, and quickly proved to be correct. Dee rapidly became winded as he climbed the steep and rocky path. The soil- -if it could even be called that- -felt unpleasant against his hooves. Dee did not allow his weakness to show, however. Nor did he even much notice it. He was driven upward, as if the structures beyond were calling him.
The biome of the area was almost as inhospitable as the path. The whole of it was rocky, to the point where the soil was more gravel than anything else. What few trees grew were mostly sparse and heavily grizzled cedars that had somehow managed to make their home in the poor and dry soil.
“What is the condition of the ruin?” asked Dee, timing his words with his breath so that neither Dust Brush, his wife, or the two worker mares that followed behind them would notice that his advanced age was affecting his ascension up the hill.
“Remarkably good, considering its age,” said Dust Brush. “Several outer regions have been buried, but the inner area has mostly survived.”
“Do you have predictions of the extent?”
Dust Brush laughed. “Huge. Simply huge. Larger than any city I have ever seen. You’ll see.”
“And you were the ones who unburied it?” asked Fyr’mond.
“Oh, no, princess. Much of it was already exposed.”
“It’s hard to believe that nopony saw it, then, if it really is so large as you say.”
“Well…”
“Well what?” asked Dee, his gaze sharpening.
“The city is not entirly isolated. There is a nearby earth pony village.”
“They haven’t damaged the site, have they?” said Dee, suddenly nervous. “Please do not tell me that they are living in it.”
“No…but they have been using the stone from some of it as building materials for several hundred years.”
Dee groaned loudly. “Those ignorant fools! Do they have any idea the value of what they are so carelessly destroying? They surely have more than enough stone already!”
“Only a few of the outer structures were damaged, and only partially.”
“And if one of those structures were a tomb, or a library? A single tablet would be worth more than ten times their village!”
“Trust me, Lord Magus,” said Dust Brush. “When you see this place, you will understand. To be honest…I can’t help but wonder if the stories the villagers tell are true.”
“Stories?” asked Fyr’mond.
Dust Brush nodded as he continued his upward trek. “They say this is a bad place. Evil, cursed, even.”
“Curses are not real,” said Dee, dismissing the notion. “They are nothing more than false images posing as true magic. But…considering who built this city…”
“Who?” asked Fyr’mond.
As she asked, they reached the end of the path and the question went unanswered. Before them was the city, and words seemed to have escaped them all. Stretching out across the distance was a preponderance of towers emerging from the ground, each one of them higher and wider than anything anypony had ever constructed, seemingly carved out of monoliths of a strange, tan-gray stone that was resembled none of the rocks they had seen around them.
“After all these years,” whispered Dee, stepping forward toward the array of structures. “I finally see it…with my own eyes.”
The group walked into the city, down its wide streets, and Fyr’mond could not help but keep looking upward. All around them were the strange towers, arches, and aqueducts, all built from the same substance. The buildings were incredibly old, but at the same time, they seemed to hardly have aged. Though thousands of years must have passed, they looked almost as though they were a new in construction, ready for ponies to begin moving in.
Only a few features betrayed their true age. Where there might once have been windows, there were now gaping holes into the black hollowness of the structures. Their surface, likewise, was stained by ages of rain, discoloring the gray stone and watering the vines and moss that grew upward from the base. Some of the vines had stems as wide as tree trunks, and were laden in spiny, toxic fruit.
All of it felt wrong. Fyr’mond knew that it was a beautiful city, a marvel to behold, a privilege to witness- -but she hated those buildings. She did not know exactly why, and the more she thought about it, the more she only grew more confused and more nervous. They had an unnerving strangeness, as if they were designed by minds that were so vastly different from those of ponies that what had come out was incomprehensible and alien- -and threatening.
Fyr’mond recalled the story of Longquest, the ancient pony king-hero that she had read long ago. In one part, he had discovered the City of Chimneys, a scene that Fyr’mond had always found unnerving in the same way. In the City of Chimneys, it was said, there were no houses, no buildings. Every pony worked endlessly at a forge, toiling by day and sleeping in the open before the fires at night. The buildings of the city were nothing more than endless chimneys, some large and some small, all perpetually belching smoke and flame into the sky.
Though Longquest was a fictional character, Fyr’mond got the same feeling from these tall, empty towers. It was as if they were built for other purposes, strange purposes that were nonsensical and bizarre. Worse, they gave her a strange feeling, as if she were being watched. As if this place were haunted by spirits of unparalleled malevolence whose primary manifestation was absolute silence.
She clung close to her husband for security. She looked up at him, and saw that he was smiling broadly. It was not the smile that he often gave her, the subdued and manicured one which usually accompanied honeyed words- -this was a true smile, one filled with love, directed entirely toward the city.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, princess,” said Dust Brush ahead. “Nothing has lived here for millennia. Not a soul. But I still know how you feel.”
“What…what is this place?” asked Fyr’mond, nervously.
“It doesn’t have a name,” said Dust Brush.
“Yes, it does,” corrected Doctor Dee. “But it is in a tongue that no pony can do justice.”
“This place…how can a place like this exist?” Fyr’mond just did not know. By ‘ruin’, she had been expecting something ancient, crumbling, and primitive. Instead, she found herself in a city whose architecture and technology dwarfed the abilities of modern ponies. The backwardness made her shiver- -the idea that technology did not advance, as would be logical, but had actually decayed from a far more lofty state.
“This city is one of many,” said Dee, his tone reverential. “The remnants of the great empire that once ruled this land, long before there was an Equestria.”
“Before? What manner of ponies existed before Equestria?”
“Trihorns.”
Fyr’mond froze, stopping in the middle of the street. She recognized the word, if only distantly. She had, at her husband’s suggestion, been reading Primary Source’s first-hoof account of the life of her great grandmother, Single Horn. The language was different and hard to read, but Fyr’mond remembered the references to trihorns. They were never explained clearly, or completely, just simply mentioned. It was not the descriptions, though, that gave her pause. It was the way Primary Source had spoken of them. They were mentioned simply as “the bearers of three horns”, but never in good ways. Primary Source had been afraid of them, treating them like the numerous other monsters that roamed through modern Equestria as well as the many that had become extinct since his writing.
“But…they are a myth,” said Fyr’mond.
“Oh, no,” said Dee. “They most certainly were real.” He laughed, almost manically. “They were the first to use magic, and their understanding of it was beyond what even I can conceive. They knew the nature of the universe, and it brought them unlimited power. It is said that even children among them could perform miracles that are now thought wholly impossible.”
“Like what?”
“That they could cross Panbios instantly, with a thought, or turn lead into gold. They could fly, not just through the air but through the void to the distant spheres beyond. That they could resurrect the dead.”
Fyr’mond looked around her. “And that they could build this city…”
“Can’t you feel it?” he lifted his hoof to the air. “The sensation in the air? The tingle of long-forgotten magic, forbidden to us by nature and the short sight of the ignorant? Our birthright, the energy of our fathers?”
“Fathers?”
Dee smiled widely and nodded slowly. “It was the trihorns who created us. They built the first monohorns. In their infinite wisdom and generosity, they imbued simple ponies with magic, sharing their gift to children meant to carry on their legacy. Both of us, we are descended from creatures born into trihorn hooves.”
“But…if they were so powerful…where did they go?”
Dee’s smile faded. “I do not know,” he said, softly. “Nopony does. It’s as if they existed one second and were gone the next. They simply vanished, all at once. No stallion, mare, or filly survived some great catastrophe. Not even bodies remain. Even I do not even know what a trihorn looked like, aside from having three glorious horns.”
Fyr’mond did not know what her husband was picturing in his mind, but she knew that she was seeing something far different. She saw creatures that were as strange as the buildings that surrounded her: tall, wraithlike, with taught, sickly skin and oversized, piercing eyes, each with three long, curved, bladed horns protruding from their heads. The thought of these creatures wandering through the streets of this city, speaking in their unspeakable language about things beyond pony comprehension, was too much for her. Her apprehension of the city suddenly broke into fear, and the nameless thing that was watching her suddenly seemed to have a long-dead face peering down from every ancient, broken window.
“I don’t like this place,” she said, backing away, trying to resist the atavistic instinct to run. “Please. Can we leave, now?”
Dee sighed and turned away from her. “I knew you would disappoint me. Brush, take her back to the camp. I would like to be alone.”
Once they had gone, Dee walked slowly through the ruin, listening to the deafening silence. Not a single bird called, or a single creature stirred. This city had been empty so long- -far too long.
Not for long, though, he thought with excitement. His mission was ostentatiously to excavate, to attempt to salvage what his ancestors had left behind- -but there was more to it than that. Simply salvaging the ruins was not enough. He wanted to rebuild them.
The trihorn city, and those like it, would be the perfect sight for his glorious plan. In time, he would succeed, and the Frozen Queen would rise from her icy tomb. Restored to the world of the living, she would need a home, and empire to rule. Not just any empire, though. She was the rightful leader of the trihorns, their purest descendent. The only empire worthy of the rule of Single Horn was that of the trihorns who had in their divine benevolence given her the gift of magic.
Dee began to laugh, and to dance through the empty street. This place, these towers, it would be the new site of a grand new nation, one populated by only the purest of unicorns, dedicated to ascending to the ranks of their creators. There would be no foolish nobles, ruling simply because they had horns that they did not even know how to use, or earth ponies cluttering the streets with crime and squalor. There would only be seekers of the truth, of understanding.
With their power, they would slay the griffon menace and chain the centaurs as their slaves. Their power would last a thousand ages, and continue to grow, and throughout that eternal history, one name would be remembered, the name of he who had been first to understand what had to be done: the Eternal Magus, Doctor Dee.
Time had passed. Fyr’mond, as a princess, was incapable of growing bored. She had been trained from her earliest years to sit quiet and alone and entertain herself. It was not a princess’s place to demand entertainment or company; she existed only to provide them when asked.
Still, her husband had spent the last two weeks in the ruin while she had been in the camp outside. She missed him, and was lonely. Even if he was curt and often cold, she did like his company. That, and she knew that she needed to at least make an attempt to bear an heir, and she needed her husband for that. He had not yet even bothered to consummate their marriage, and Fyr’mond was beginning to have doubts about her father’s decision. She wondered if perhaps she was simply not worthy of him, if she was too ugly or unappealing.
So she waited. Sometimes she would walk through the forests around the camp, admiring the trees and how tenaciously they clung to their inadequate soil. Other times, she would watch the workers as they moved tools and recovered artifacts, preparing them for Dee’s study of for shipment back to the more civilized parts of Equestria. On occasion, she would speak to them. Few were willing to talk to her, as if she were frightening. Only a few had actually warmed up to her, and even then only slightly. Among them was a young mare named Little Duster, an overo girl who was apparently Dust Brush’s daughter. She, like her father, had a charming wildpony’s reluctance to accept authority, and it was only her who did not seem to be afraid of Fyr’mond’s position.
So, one day, Fyr’mond approached the younger mare with Upkeep at her side to ask a question that had been nagging her thoughts for the duration of her stay in the wilderness. Duster was in the process of carrying in another load of aromatic fresh cedar logs to be processed into lumber and firewood for the camp, and she momentarily removed her helmet to wipe her forehead.
“Lady Fyr’mond,” she said as Fyr’mond approached. “It’s only noon. I’m surprised to see you awake and outside.”
“Hello, Little Duster,” said Fyr’mond, curtsying instinctively and then remembering that it made Duster uncomfortable.
“Do you need anything?”
“Um…yes. There was something I meant to ask you.”
“Oh. Well, everypony does eventually.”
“Excuse me?”
“And because your my friend, I’ll tell you straight away. I do, in fact, prefer fillies.”
Fyr’mond blushed and sputtered. “But- -that’s illegal!”
“Not out here it isn’t!”
They both giggled slightly.
“No,” said Fyr’mond, wondering how exactly anything would work between two mares. “I was wondering if you could take me to the earth pony village.”
Duster’s expression suddenly became serious. “The village? That isn’t any place for a princess.”
“Well…they don’t need to know that I’m a princess, do they?”
Little Duster shook her head. “It’s not hard to tell, considering there’s only two unicorns here and you’re not an old wizard. They’ll know.”
“Well…I’d still like to see it. I mean, if you can.”
“I can. I just don’t know why you would want to see an earth pony village. Especially this one. There’s not much to look at.”
“Still, I’ve never seen one. I never even met an earth pony until a few months ago. I would like to see how your people live.”
Little Duster looked at the pile of logs that she had just dropped, and then at Fyr’mond, and then back at the logs. She groaned. “Alright, fine. I can’t technically refuse an order from a princess. Just let me finish my chores first.”
“Oh, thank you Little Duster,” said Fyr’mond. For the first time in weeks, she actually felt excited.
The path toward the village was almost as rocky as the one toward Dee’s ruin, but it was not nearly as steep and was somewhat wider. The rocks that made it up were larger, but many of them remained half-buried and rounded, like natural versions of cobblestones.
Little Duster was leading the way, and Fryr’mond followed behind her. Upkeep walked behind her, his saddlebags loaded with supplies that she doubted were not really even necessary for such a short journey. Dee had not yet had time to hire female servants, but Fyr’mond did not mind. Upkeep was gentle and pleasant, as were most of Dee’s servants, and she knew that she could trust him and all of the others.
“So,” said Little Duster, falling back and in step with the slightly taller Fyr’mond. “You’ve never seen an earth pony village?”
“No,” said the princess. “I have never had the pleasure.”
“Heh- -‘pleasure’. Well, I’ve never seen the Capital. I hear its large, and that there are always ponies on the streets, and that the buildings are bigger than anything I- -well, most ponies- -have ever seen! Shops and stores everywhere, where you can buy every kind of fruit and vegetable any time of the year, or artisans who make blades and clocks and doorstops- -it must be amazing living there!”
“I would not know.”
Little Duster nearly stopped flat. “But you’re the princess! Of course you know!”
Fyr’mond shook her head. “Unmarried princesses are not allowed to leave the Citadel. Even most married princesses don’t.”
“So…you never once left? Never saw the city for your whole life?”
“Yes,” said Fyr’mond, surprised by Duster’s expression and emotion. “Even now, I’ve only seen it in passing.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“For- -for what? You have not done anything?”
“No, not for me. For what happened to you. It’s like they imprisoned you or something! It’s terrible!”
Fyr’mond had never thought of it like that. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “The Citadel is very nice. I never went without food or water, and they gave me many fine clothes. I have never known want. My life has so far been perfect.”
“How can you say that? You were never allowed to live! Even with all the clothes and food in the world, I would never trade my freedom!”
“Freedom?”
“Yeah! To walk in the open land, to drink from rivers, to sleep wherever I choose. To climb trees and see Equestria, to walk through the city streets, to have friends and family.”
Fyr’mond smiled and shook her head. “That is not my destiny, Little Duster.”
“Then what is?”
Fyr’mond smiled. “The sole purpose of a princess is to be married, to love our husband, and to attempt to produce an heir. That was what I was created for. It is my only reason for existing.”
They started walking again, and Fyr’mond briefly saw Upkeep wipe a tear away from his eye. Little Duster just seemed angry.
“Well…can you at least tell me what the Citadel is like, then?” she finally asked.
“Yes,” said Fyr’mond, happy to talk about the structure that had been her home for nearly two decades. “It is as if a city were built within a city. The Citadel itself is a tower, an ancient structure- -but it contains within it a city that has grown vertically instead of outward.”
“Really? I had no idea,” said Duster. “I thought it was just a big tower.”
“It takes four thousand five hundred and ninety three steps to cross but one side. I’ve checked. So it is large.” She thought for a moment. “But I suppose most ponies do not know what it is like inside. Only nobility is allowed into the main body. It mostly consists of offices for my father’s administration, and quarters for the bureaucrats, but also homes for many of the nobles and halls for the grand parties they have.”
“And they do that…all the way up?”
“Oh yes,” laughed Fyr’mond. “The entire structure is populated, though only royalty has access to some of the levels near the top, or higher nobles with permission. And of course the Magus and the rest of the Upper Court.” Fyr’mond sighed. “One of the levels at the top has a balcony.”
“A balcony? That high?”
Fyr’mond nodded. “It’s so high that the air is always cold, even in the summer, and so thin that you can hardly breath without magic. The wind is always blowing, but on some days…sometimes on clear days, I could see forever.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“It was…but it all looked so small.”
“Small?”
“From that height, there are no buildings. No ponies. Just green and brown and mountains. Like I was above the world, but not part of it. That all this could be going on down there…sometimes I would wish that I had the wings of a griffon, that I might fly out to that land below.”
“A pony with wings,” said Duster, smiling. “Now that’s just ridiculous.”
They both laughed together for a long moment, and even Upkeep chuckled. As they did, a small pony came into view. She was standing on the side of the road, dressed in ragged and course, dirty clothing, picking at the berries of a juniper tree. She was no older than Little Duster, but seemed so much older and tired.
“Hello there,” said Fyr’mond.
The earth pony turned to her and gasped. She dropped her bag of small blue berries and cried out as she galloped down the path away from them.
“Oh,” said Fyr’mond, disguising the hurt she felt. She looked down at the sack and the berries that rolled through the dust. “I just wanted to say…hello…”
“Well, there goes a surprise entrance,” said Little Duster. She turned to Fyr’mond, and immediately saw through her mask of disinterest. “Don’t take it too hard, milady,” she said, “they would react the same way to any unicorn. They’re pretty rural. They’ve never seen one of you before.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” said Fyr’mond- -except that it did not. Even the ponies in the archeological camp reacted that way. They had worked with unicorns their whole life. They greeted her husband with a smile and a bow- -but they looked upon her with nothing but fear in their eyes. It was as though even after descending that tower, she was still high above Equestria, unseen and separate.
The trio arrived at the edge of the village quickly. At first, they passed through a number of farms. The plants growing in them were sickly and anemic, as were the ponies that attended them. All of them were dressed in the same sort of clothing: weathered, old cloth with coarse stitching to cover their bodies. Some were even naked.
As Fyr’mond passed, they all stopped what they were doing and looked up at her. She could hear their whispering, and see their fear- -although their fear was also tempered by something else. Wonder, she thought. Some even continued to follow her, forming a crowd at a great distance. None spoke, at least not loudly enough for her to hear.
As they were crossing past one of the lopsided stone huts, a pony actually started to approach them. Fyr’mond smiled, glad to see one brave soul, and stepped forward to greet her- -only to be nearly tacked by Little Duster.
“Get back, princess!” said Duster, drawing a dagger from one of the holsters in her reinforced clothing. Confused and nearly knocked down, Fyr’mond was about to protest when Upkeep joined Little Duster, forming a wall between her and the approaching pony.
“I don’t understand,” she said, still confused, not knowing why the two of them suddenly seemed so afraid. Then the pony approaching looked up from the layers of coarse cloth and bandages that covered her, and Fyr’mond gasped.
The pony’s face had been contorted by disease. Her nose had seemed to rot away, and the raw remnants of what remained dripped with thick yellow secretions. Her skin was covered in open soars that wept blood, and her bloodshot eyes seemed to weep crusting pus. The remainder of her body seemed to be impossibly thin, like a corpse, and as she moved she was wracked with shivering and silent coughing.
“Please…please help me,” she whispered, blood dripping out of the side of her mouth.
“Stay back!” cried Little Duster, brandishing the bronze dagger she held. “Please! Please do not make me end your suffering this day!”
The sickly pony looked at them, confused, and then turned away, as if she could not remember why she had approached them in the first place. She slowly walked out into a barren field, and both Upkeep and Duster sighed in immense relief.
“I am sorry you had to see that, mistress,” said Upkeep. “Are you unharmed?”
“She’s…she’s sick,” said Fyr’mond, recovering from the shock of seeing a pony in such a terrible state. She started to move toward the field where the pony was wandering randomly. “We have to help her!”
Duster put her hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do for her now.”
“But she’s ill! She need medicine, or a healer!”
Duster shook her head, and Upkeep looked to the ground. “There is no medicine that can help her, and no spell that can cure her. She has carries glanders.” She took down the berries that Fyr’mond was carrying. “That’s what these are for. They make medicine, but it can only slow the pain, make them not realize what’s happening to them…”
“And what is that?”
“Princess…”
“They are just sick. I’ve been sick before. They will get better, but a healer can help them! We have to help her!”
“There is no cure for glandres,” said Upkeep. “It is progressive, and always fatal.”
“Fatal,” said Fyr’mond, the weight of the word taking a moment to strike her. “You mean…she will die?”
“She will,” said Upkeep.
“But- -it’s just sickness! Sickness can’t kill you!”
“Out here it can,” said Little Duster. “Most of the diseases do. It’s not just glanders. There are so, so many of them. I lost my own mother to the horse-rinder. A lot of ponies here are very sick.”
“That’s terrible!”
“It is life out here. If you see a pony who is sick, you need to stay away. If they get near you, you can get sick too.”
“But- -but that means you could have gotten it!”
She was on the verge of tears, realizing that they had both nearly sacrificed themselves for her without hesitation- -and neither could meet her eyes. “We are just earth ponies,” said Duster. “We’re expendable. You are a princess. You are more precious than anything in all of Equestria.”
Fyr’mond was about to tell them that they were wrong, that every life was precious, and that they were just as valuable as her even if she was a princess, when a small group of ponies approached them.
The group was led by an exceedingly old pony who steadied himself with a gnarled cane. His beard was long and his eyes were white with near blindness. Those who followed him appeared to be ordinary villagers, each keeping back from Fyr’mond as if she were some kind of monster.
“You…you are the princess?” he asked in a cracking, exceedingly reverential voice, as if he feared the response.
“I am,” she said, trying to regain her composure as she was trained to. A key duty of a princess was the ability to shut down the appearance of emotions, to stop tears in their tracks and to smile when commanded to.
The elderly blue-gray pony bowed, his knees creaking as he did. The other ponies dropped to the ground as well.
“I have dwelt on this world for fifty three years,” said the elderly pony. “Never before had I believed that the gods would grant me permission to witness the Child of the Divine, a princess of our glorious Equestria. Truly, the gods have smiled upon us this day.”
“I thank you for your compliments, good stallion,” said Fyr’mond, curtseying as though she were meeting with a noble. The earth ponies seemed to recognize this and stood.
“I am Threadbare Jute, elder of this village,” said the old pony. “I apologize for our appearance. This place is truly not worthy to host a pony of your prestige, I am ashamed to say.”
“No, please,” said Fyr’mond. “I would have sent word if I had known.” She looked back to the field where the ill pony had gone.
“Ah, I truly, truly apologize,” he said, bowing. “I know that it is normal to run the ill out of the village, but…she is one of us. We tried, but even trying made our hearts weep.”
“Is it true that nothing can be done?”
He shook his head. “It is true, I am afraid.” He looked up at her. “But please, princess, do not worry yourself with our fate.” He turned to his compatriots. “My friends, on this day, we shall hold a feast, to honor our princess, and our glorious eternal ruler Third Horn!”
The ponies smiled, and some began to separate, each going their own way to prepare for the event.
“You don’t need to do that for me,” said Fyr’mond, somewhat embarrassed.
“You have come all this way to visit our humble village,” said the elder, “it is the least we can do.”
Fyr’mond was led by the ponies into the midst of the village. Toward the center, there were far more stone huts, each with a collapsing thatched roof. Some ponies stood in the doorways, watching her pass. With the village elder now near Fyr’mond, the ponies seemed less hesitant to approach her. Their fear had been replaced by awe.
At Fyr’mond’s side, a small colt approached her. He looked up with large, green-tinged eyes. Fyr’mond looked down at him and smiled. She had been bred specifically to have a love for children.
“Hello there,” she said.
“Gree- -greetings,” he said, suddenly seeming to panic. Fyr’mond noticed that he was looking up at her horn. Although it was far smaller than that of a normal unicorn, the colt- -and many others- -seemed intrigued by it beyond measure. “You’re…you’re a unicorn,” he said. “Is it true that you can use magic?”
Fyr’mond smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I can.” She reached into the bag she carried and produced a single tiny blue juniper berry. She held it low for the colt to see, and then held it up for the crowd. Then, with all her might, she focused the entirety of her magic into it. The air around the berry shimmered with white energy, and then it sputtered into the air.
The entire crowd gasped. Some jumped back, hiding behind the village well in terror, while other stared in awe. They murmured, and then went silent- -only for their silence to burst with clapping and cheers of amazement. The surprise caused Fyr’mond to drop the berry, but the earth ponies hardly seemed to notice.
“That was amazing!” cried the colt. “You moved it, but you weren’t even touching it! It just floated! Right there!”
“That is the power of unicorn magic,” chucked the elder. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, your mother needs help preparing the hall.”
“Oh!” cried the colt, looking to his friends. “Thank you, mister Jute! Guys, I have to go!”
“We’ll help!” they cried, racing after him toward the village center.
Fyr’mond was astounded. She had done nothing. Even with the full extent of her power, she had done a fraction of what a normal unicorn could, and these ponies reacted as though she had moved the sun and moon instead of lifting a medicinal berry. It occurred to her that it may have been the first time they had ever seen magic. For her, it was certainly the first time she had ever been able to show her magic without feeling ashamed.
The feast was held in the great hall, or their equivalent of it. The hall itself was a large stone building that stood in the center of the building. It appeared to be immensely old, far older than the rest, and some of the blocks that made up its foundation were a familiar sand-brown color that betrayed them as parts of the trihorn ruin. A large wooden table was present, and fires had been lit in the fireplaces at the ends of the room. The villagers had gathered to share in the feast, and the air was filled with a festive atmosphere.
Fyr’mond had been given the seat of honor at the head of the table. Upkeep and Little Duster sat beside her, a welcome change from their normal insistence on using her class as an excuse to force her to eat alone. The other ponies assembled against the rows of the table.
When everypony was seated, several ponies moved around the table, presenting them all with food. Fyr’mond watched as a large earthen bowl was placed before her. In it was a kind of soup. She could see the remnants of carrots floating in it. They were not like the carrots that she was familiar with; they were not straight, but crooked and homely, floating amongst the strange greens. The shape of the carrots did not concern her; in fact, the straight ones had always seemed somewhat unnatural. It was the smell that enticed her toward the soup. The scent was far more delicious than any of the fanciful but strange meals that she had been prepared in the Citadel.
“If it is not up to your standards,” whispered Upkeep, “they will understand if you reject it.”
“Oh, no!” said Fyr’mond, blushing as she realized that she had contemplated the beuty of her soup for too long. She picked up a spoon- -with her hoof, not her magic, as a spoon would be far too heavy to lift- -and prepared to start eating.
As she did, she looked out at the other ponies, and realized that their meals were not the same. Their bowls were far smaller, to the point where they could barely be considered more than cups. In each one of them sat a greenish fluid around a single object.
“What…what are you having?” asked Fyr’mond to Little Duster, leaning close to her.
“Rock soup,” she said, tilting the bowl toward Fyr’mond. As she did, Fyr’mond smelled it. Rock soup smelled exactly as it sounded- -and Fyr’mond realized that its name was a literal description of its contents: boiled rocks.
“You…you are all eating boiled rocks?” she said, turning to the rest of them. She looked down at her soup. “Why am I the only one with carrots?”
The earth ponies looked at each other, their festive spirit evaporating before Fyr’mond. None of them spoke, and Fyr’mond realized that she had said something terribly offensive.
“The soil,” sighed Threadbare Jute at last. “It is rocky, and it is harsh. Not much grows here aside from rocks. We work hard, tilling and preparing. Many generations have spent their lives just to make the soil as fertile as it is now. We tried eating the trees, but they make us sick after too long. Even grass does not grow at this altitude.”
“But I saw plants in your fields. Surely you have enough to eat?”
“We cannot eat what we grow. It is not meant for us.”
“Then for who?”
“For the taxes. Our price for permission to live in glorious Equestria. We cannot make much, and the prices are high. That bowl before you contains a quarter of our yearly crop.” His eyes widened. “But of course, it is more than worth it for a princess! We can manage. We will work harder, and pay our taxes this year, I assure you.”
The ponies around him nodded. “Yes,” one of them said. “Third Horn can put our crops to far better use than any of us can.”
Fyr’mond looked down at the bowl. She remembered her life in the Citadel, of the endless array of fruits and vegetables that had been provided. How barely a tenth of them would even be plated, and the remainder simply thrown out at the end of a grand party. She had assumed that food was simply plentiful in Equestria, that all ponies had enough. Now she knew that she had been a fool.”
“Please,” she said, pushing the soup away. “I cannot. I want to share the soup, with all of you.”
The earth ponies seemed suddenly to be on the verge of panic.
“No,” said Jute. “We cannot. That soup was made for you. We are not worthy of its contents. Not one of us here could eat it. It is our tribute to you. We have worked so hard tilling and clearing, growing the carrots with care, pricking our hooves on the nettles. All for you, a tribute to your divine nature. Throw away the soup, if it is your will, because that it your right. But it is not meant for us.”
They all looked at her, expectantly. She knew that she could not reject the meal, not with what they had put into it for her. Carefully, she pulled the bowl back to her and slowly dipped her spoon into it. The ponies around her watched hungrily as she raised the soup to her mouth an sipped it.
“It is good,” she said, smiling.
The earth ponies smiled, and went about eating their foul-smelling rock soup. Fyr’mond continued to eat her soup, forcing a smile and watching as her tears formed tiny ripples amongst the carrots and vegetables on its surface.
The carriage rolled through the cobblestone streets of the Citadelic City, and Dee was able to relax momentarily. Properly prepared streets did not have the same bumps and unevenness of rural, unmaintained roads, and for once the ache in his back was not exacerbated by sudden and random sideways motion. Soon, he knew, they would be back at his house on Mortlake, and he would be able to continue his work.
Across form him, Fyr’mond sat silently. She was no longer looking out the windows at the crowds or the city. Dee was glad that she had finally overcome her childish and pointless curiosity for the mundane, but somehow, she seemed immensely sad. She had been that way for their latter part of the stay at the ruin, and had said almost nothing on the way home.
Dee did not know why she was so sad. The trip had been a resounding success. He had collected several priceless trihorn tablets, as well as sketches of the diagrams engraved on the inside of their buildings and samples of the stone that the buildings were made of. He was overjoyed, personally, and almost salivated at the thought of returning to his laboratory to begin deciphering the detailed and immeasurably complex spells he had found.
Fyr’mond, perhaps, simply could not understand the significance of what they had gleaned from that beautiful and dormant city. Dee supposed that she was simply depressed from not having access to the lavish accoutrements of royal life that she was normally accustomed to.
Her mood was depressing him. In an attempt to cheer her up, he opened a small box and removed a narrow, perfectly grown carrot, one of several hundred that he had magically preserved before their trips.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, offering it to her.
She looked at it, almost terrified, and shook her head. Dee shrugged and began to munch it as he looked down at pencil sketches of the ruin’s overview. As he did, though, the carriage came to a sudden jolting stop.
“What now?” he said, pushing open the shades and allowing the light to pour in. Dee shoved open his window and looked to his servants in front, seeing that numerous carrages ahead of them were all also stopped. An immense crowd was also milling through the streets, far more than there should have been on a Tuesday afternoon. “Why did you stop? I have important business to attend to!”
“My good sir,” said a unicorn who was passing on the sidewalk below, his bags filled with spiky and unusual fruit for sale, “I’m afraid you will not be passing through for some time.”
“Why?” demanded Dee.
The unicorn vendor pointed in the direction of the traffic. “The Questlords are returning from their brave pilgrimage to the edge of Hyperborea, bearing gifts for our glorious eternal king. Their procession to the Citadel is blocking the streets. A festival has been declared in their honor.”
Dee looked into the distance, and recognized the banners that were flying over the crowd, decorated with the sign of a thistle. He cursed under his breath.
“Do you want to buy a spine-squash?”
“No I don’t want a spine-squash!” yelled Dee, waving his hooves at the unicorn outside. “Go away, peasant!”
“Well, you don’t need to yell,” mumbled the unicorn, wandering off to continue to sell his wares.
Dee flopped back into his seat, crossing his forelegs in a huff. With a parade crossing the key roads, it could take hours to reach his destination.
Fyr’mond did not seem to mind much. She leaned over to the window and, for the first time, looked out, staring at a crowd that had gathered around a street performer standing on a stage in a nearby plaza. Dee noticed as she smiled.
“Oh look,” she said. “That pony is doing magic tricks!”
Dee leaned forward, sighing at his wife’s ignorance. As he looked, he vaguely saw the shape of a pale blue pony at the top of the stage, casting surges of green fire and making the crowd gasp and cheer. Even with one eye blind, Dee noticed what to him was clearly obvious- -the pony had no horn.
“It is just an earth pony magician,” he said, sitting back. “That is no magic. Just illusions and slight-of-hoof. The fire is just distilled spirits and cuprous salt. All of it is fake.”
“Earth pony magic?” said Fyr’mond, beginning to sound excited. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“It isn’t magic. No earth pony can use magic. Just tricks.”
“Well, that makes it more exciting, then, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t. It makes it foolish and pointless. Dancing around pretending to be a unicorn…”
“Oh, Dee, he is just performing.” Then, pausing. “Can we go see?”
“You mean join that rabble?” Dee looked at the crowd. Although many were unicorns, there were a number of earth ponies mixed into the crowd as well. “Absolutely not.”
“But it would be fun,” said Fyr’mond. “And it would certainly be better than waiting here. If we are going to be stuck in a festival, we may as well enjoy it.”
Dee grumbled, not wanting to acknowledge that she was right. He hated festivals, crowds, and most other ponies. They were pointless frivolity, and they were noisy and smelly. He just wanted the quiet of his books. But he also hated sitting- -and, on some tiny level that he would never admit to, he wanted his wife to be happy.
“Fine,” he said, pushing open the door.
“Oh, thank you!” Fyr’mond nearly jumped out of the carriage. Dee followed, stopping to stretch his back as she trotted ahead. Almost every vertebrae he had popped and cracked. He hoped that the trihorn tablets included a spell to make him less old.
He slowly followed his wife, pushing through the crowd of filthy earth ponies and poor unicorns. Eventually he managed to stand beside Fyr’mond between two unpleasant creatures: a brown earth pony, his hourglass cutie mark lewdly exposed, wearing only a bizarre strip of green cloth on his collar, and his companion, a heavily cloaked gray earth pony whose golden eyes faced in to entirely different directions, neither or which seemed to be at the stage.
“Must be lead pipes in this region, methinks,” said Dee to himself.
He turned his attention toward where his wife was standing wide eyed. Up on the stage, he saw the blue earth pony standing on the stage. Now seeing him closer, Dee saw that he was a relatively young stallion, smiling at the crowd with the glow of a professional entertainer. He was arguably handsome, save for a severe and peculiar tattoo or ceremonial scarification that covered his entire right foreleg.
The performance seemed to have moved into its secondary act just as the crowd was solidifying in their position. The performer took the center of his makeshift stage. Around him, a second pony was carefully pouring out a small container of reddish powder into a complex shape onto the wooden surface. She appeared to be his assistant. Strangely, her entire body was covered in the garb of a nun, including her eyes, which were covered with a black blindfold of silky cloth. Despite being unable to see, however, her blindness did not appear to be part of the show, nor was it impacting her painting of the shape around the blue performer.
“Ladies and gentlecolts!” called the blue pony, causing the crowd to giggle at the ironic use of the terms. “Gather round! The aimless, the feckless, the lame! I, the great and powerful Ward Kelley, shall perform for you unspeakable acts of magic! By the power of the gods that has been granted to me and to each and every one of is, I shall heal the ill, the wounded, and the infirm!”
The crowd looked at each other and murmured. Dee rolled his eyes. He recognized a religious revival meeting when he saw one. He knew as well as any unicorn that most diseases simply could not be cured with magic; this was nothing but a futile exercise in faith healing.
“Nyar, is the spell prepared?”
The nun nodded and stepped back, descending the steps of the stage and standing beside it, watching attentively.
“Then behold! Earth ponies, unicorns, and gods above!” Kelley raised his tattooed leg to the sky. “Rylanokk, Hound of Tindalos! I summon thee! Come forth and serve your master!”
The scars carved into his foreleg suddenly glowed a hideous red, and he plunged his hoof into the center of the circle or red dust painted around him. The dust exploded in a plume of magical fire, and Dee winced in pain as the shock of the surge impacted his horn. That explosion had not simply been performed with powdered explosives: it had contained a profound amount of magic.
Space around the stage seemed to distort, and the immediate area darkened as though clouds had moved over head. From the stage, a long, narrow arm suddenly shot up from nowhere, and a ghastly claw tore at the stage. Then something pulled itself up, emerging into the space of the stage.
Dee could not comprehend what he was seeing. His mind did not seem to want to allow him to. A creature had indeed appeared on stage: a tall, distorted, angular thing that stood on an uncountable number of legs, looming high over the performer. Its body was not made of any obvious substance, and did not seem to move or position itself according to normal rules of physics and space. The legs it stood upon were far too thin, and its body seemed to shift shape entirely depending on the position it was viewed from.
The crowd screamed in panic, pushing backward. Two unicorn guards reacted instinctively, rushing forward and firing two beams of powerful magic into the creature’s body. Though their aim was true, the beams did not strike. Dee watched in confusion as the beams missed the creature where they should have passed through, as though they had been curved instead of straight.
“Do not fear!” cried Kelley, his voice booming over the audience. The authority in it was almost palpable, and they stopped. As they watched, Kelley raised his hoof, his foreleg still glowing with energy, toward the creature. It lowered itself, bowing, and nuzzled his hoof with one of its tentacle heads. “This creature is strange, and unusual, but my it obeys my command absolutely! By my word as a mage, no harm shall come to you!”
Dee almost screamed at him. His desire to shout down this charlatan was almost overwhelming. Although he did not know how the trick worked, he knew that this pony was no mage, simply a showman tricking the gullible with lights and strange images.
“Now,” said the performer. “This creature is dredged from the depths of the beyond, and she comes bearing great gifts. Come! Bring me the ill, and together, our power shall heal you!”
At first, no pony moved- -but then a pair of stallions pushed forward. They bore with them a bed, on which lay a thin, emaciated colt, followed by his mother.
“Come, my friends,” said Kelley, helping her onto the stage as the stallions carried the boy. “Tell me, what ills this child?”
“He is afflicted with myletic paralysis,” said the mare, wiping tears from his eyes. “He cannot walk. Please, mister Ward, if you can do anything for him…”
“Indeed I can. Curing him will be an easy feat indeed!”
“Now that’s enough!” screamed Dee, amplifying his voice with his own magic. The ponies stepped aside, and Fyr’mond gasped. “I’ve had enough of this charade! Summon tricks if you will, but I will not allow you to defraud these ponies! There is no cure for myletic paralysis! You cannot make that child walk! It is impossible!”
“Oh,” said Kelley, smiling and rubbing his chin. “My friends, a doubter, a skeptic! But tell me, friends…” he raised his hoof to the creature beside him, “would it not be so easy to simply say: ‘let this child walk’?”
The creature jerked forward suddenly, and pressed one of its thin legs through the colt’s body.
The crowd gasped, and the colt’s mother cried out at seeing her son impaled. The blind assistant, however, was quick to respond, ascending the stage and holding her back, keeping her from interfering as her son convulsed on the wooden stage.
The creature removed its appendage from the colt’s body, withdrawing it with no wound. Then the unthinkable happened. The colt opened his eyes, and, as shakily as a newborn foal, stood.
The crowd gasped, and then, as the colt took his first steps, they began to cheer. The mother was allowed forward to embrace her son, and even the strong stallions who had born him to the stage wept and joined in the hug. Kelley raised his hoof to the sky in victory.
“Imposter!” cried Dee over the crowd. “Cannot any of you see it? Are you all such fools?! That child is nothing more than a shill! He never was sick!”
Kelley’s eyes narrowed. “You try my patience, old stallion. Perhaps a more personal demonstration.”
He pointed his tattooed hoof forward, and the Hound responded. Its narrow legs moved in a parody of walking, and it stepped off the stage. The crowd pushed back from it, afraid and in awe of its touch, staring up at it in sudden silence and terror as it moved toward Dee. Fyr’mond latched onto her husband’s foreleg, but Dee did not back down. Though superficially frightening, he knew that the creature was nothing more than an illusion, conjured by powders and herbs, a trick of smoke and light.
The creature stopped before him, and lowered its body. He stared into its fungoid, toothy mouths as it lifted one of its legs, straightening it and pointing it at Dee. Then, without warning, it plunged the needle-like appendage into his eye.
As Dee had expected, there was no pain. Instead, he felt a bizarre energy. Something like magic, but closer to smelling something, something like terribly ancient rot. He felt his body shake, even as he tried to suppress the pain.
Then, as the creature withdrew its arm, the world seemed to change. It shifted from being flat and limited to being far wider, with the new half fading from black to yellow-gray, and finally resolving into an image of the world. Dee gasped and put his hoof to his eye, the one that he had burned into blindness with his studies of the sun. Its vision had been restored.
“The sick shall heal,” said Kelley, “the lame shall walk…and the blind shall see.” He grinned wildly, even smugly, and with a wave of his hoof dispelled the creature he had summoned, allowing it to shift into nothing more than smoke. “Now!” he yelled to the crowd. “Are there any more that do not believe? Are there any more that have been cursed by the limitations of modern medicine? Bring them to me, and through my magic, they shall be reborn!”
Dee grabbed his wife’s arm and led her away.
“But the show,” she said, disappointed.
“We are leaving,” he said harshly and pulling her sharply. “This is nothing more than a con! A trick for fools!”
Fyr’mond, submissive as she was, allowed herself to be pulled away. Dee knew that he was probably hurting her, but he did not care. He needed to get away. That blue earth pony, that Ward Kelley, he was something to be loathed. Dee did not know what had just happened, or even how, but it defied explanation by any known form of magic. It was wrong, perverse- -and utterly false. Earth ponies could not perform magic.
Still, he some deeply ingrained part of him was afraid. Terribly, terribly afraid.
The magical flames that lit Dee’s study flickered, and light danced across the indestructible stone tablet laid out before him. Its entire surface was covered with print so fine that he often needed a lens to see the detail of it. All of it was laid out perfectly, as if it had been inscribed all at once by some powerful spell without mistake or omission.
Deciphering trihornic was no easy task. Understanding the strange language required one’s mind to read three lines at the same time at different paces to fully understand what they said. In his youth, Dee had established a system of cyphers that required painstaking copying of the letters onto parchment; now, however, he had imbedded a magical version of that same cypher into his mind as a spell, allowing him to read the ancient language with only moderate difficulty.
This particular fragment was not a spell. At least not in a technical sense. It was part of a calculation for a spell. Apparently, it was part of a system designed for calculating the destination for a teleportation spell. Dee could feel himself shaking as he read it. Teleportation was one of several types of magic considered impossible, along with elemental transfiguration and resurrection, among others. According to what this tablet stated, however, it was not only possible but easy under the right circumstances.
Still, something bothered Dee. He stood up and crossed the room, taking down a rolled-up chart with his magic. He unfurled it and set it down beside his notes for the tablet, and considered for a moment if he had been wrong. The tablet concerned the wake pattern of Equestria itself: its imprint in the ether, or, functionally, its mass. It was a concept that Dee knew well, as he had discovered- -or rediscovered- -it. It had been the precision measurements of the wake pattern that had allowed him to move the sun and moon, navigating their own masses past Equestria’s.
What confused him was that the trihorn tablet indicated that Equestria was substantially lighter than his own measurements did. That, and the energy flowed completely differently through it. Dee highly doubted that the trihorns had been wrong, but he knew that his own measurements were not incorrect. The only explanation he could think of was that since trihorn times, something immensely large but unseen had come into alignment with Equestria, binding to it and parasitically feeding upon its energy.
Dee flopped down into his chair. Such a concept was as intriguing as it was unlikely. He looked down at the tablet, and then rubbed his forehead beneath his horn. The trihornic-reading spell allowed a pony’s brain to contort into ways that were meant for a superior type of mind, and even for him they produced a powerful headache. In light of this, Dee decided that it would be best for him to ruminate on the tablet while he went to the kitchen for some hay. Gently, he stood up and crossed the room, this time toward the door.
He pulled it open and suddenly cried out, jumping back. Lurking inches away from the other side was his wife, just standing there in the darkness.
“Fyr’mond!” he cried, putting his hoof to his chest, hoping that his old heart had not stopped. “Don’t do that! Are you trying to kill me?!”
“You said I wasn’t allowed in your study,” she said. “So I waited here.”
“Waited? How long?”
She shook her head. “It’s not important. I just wanted…to talk to you…”
Dee sighed. “I was taking a break anyway.” He looked behind him. “Actually…for this one instance only, I will allow you to come in.”
“Really?” she said, her eyes widening.
“Yes. But don’t touch anything.”
He held the door open and Fyr’mond stepped into the room slowly, even gingerly, as if her presence alone was enough to damage the contents of the room. Despite her unfortunate proportions, she was able to move oddly gracefully.
Her eyes immediately turned toward the tablet on the table. “Oh,” she said, backing away from it just slightly. “You have been studying the artifacts you recovered from the ruin, I see.”
“Yes, I have,” said Dee, pushing the papers off the sand-gray tablet. He gently held it up in his magic and showed it to her. “Do you know what this is?”
She stared at it closely, humoring him, as if she really could read trihornic. “A spell by somepony named Sundershift. Beyond that, I am unsure.”
Dee’s eyes widened. “You- -how did you read that?”
“It’s written in the third language,” said Fyr’mond, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s a room in the castle, part of my father’s quarters. It has different languages written on the four walls, but they all say the same thing. One of them is Draconian, which is easy to read, and one is like that.” She pointed. “I never could understand what it said, but names are easy to read.”
She was just full of surprises, and Dee cursed silently for the Horns having kept that room secret from him. An earlier understanding of trihornic would have saved him years of study.
“It is a spell,” he said, ignoring his anger. “Or rather, part of it. For teleportation.”
“Teleportation?” said Fyr’mond. She looked at the tablet. “So you mean, with that spell, a pony could go anywhere they want, whenever?”
“Perhaps,” said Dee. “But from the expenditure complex, it is unlikely that most ponies would be able to achieve it. Only mages, or those whose special talent is for it.”
“I suppose that would make things easier,” said Fyr’mond. “Ponies would be able to travel faster, and food and medicine could be moved swiftly.”
“Or entire armies could be materialized on the battlefield in an instant.” Fyr’mond stared at Dee, and he looked away. Perhaps that was not the proper thing to say to a sensitive lady. “Well…it’s not even the spell that matters. I care little for what it is used for, or if it is even used at all.”
“At all? You mean you uncovered an impossible spell…but wouldn’t use it?”
Dee chuckled. “Of course. The spell itself is worth almost nothing compared to what it means.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This spell itself is but pieces of something larger, a fragment of the universe. With it, I can learn more about the nature of how the unseen natures of Equestria interact. With the pieces drawn from this spell, imagine what would be possible! To know the definition of objects, the meaning of mass, the contortions of space beyond our mortal vision! And expanding it…what if a pony could move through time as they move through space? What if time itself could be bent to my will?”
Fyr’mond stared at him, and almost seemed somewhat afraid. “So…you only want to know the nature of the universe?”
Dee smiled, and adjusted his robe, displaying his cutie mark. “Do you know what this is?” he said, pointing to the glyph. Fyr’mond just shook her head. “I created this glyph when I was a boy. It represents all things in the nature of the universe. If the glyph could ever be completed, a pony would transcend mortal existence. It is my only purpose to discover that nature.”
“But what about using the magic to help ponies?”
Now it was Dee’s turn to stare. He sat down in his chair. “What do you mean by that?”
Fyr’mond looked away, and stretched one foreleg with the other. “I was just thinking…you are the most powerful of our people, the pony who raised the sun and the moon at his will. Could not magic be used to help ponies? I mean…for example, to invent spells to cure diseases, or to make the land fertile. Or to grow crops by magic.”
“It is not our province to grow crops. That is the job of earth ponies. To use our magic for such would be a waste, when the magicless can do the same job so easy.”
“But it isn’t easy! Ponies, they’re starving. They’re sick, and poor. Couldn’t we help them?”
“You mean like Ward Kelley?” said Dee, his eyes narrowing.
“No, I just mean- -”
“There is no point in doing what you ask. Those who grow sick are fated to die. Those who starve were simply too mentally inferior to grow proper crops. There is no point in wasting magic on such trivial matters. Those who become ill or fail to produce are simply weak or lazy, and deserve what comes to them. Their poverty is a direct result of their nature itself; it cannot be changed, not unless we want to become their slaves.”
“But it isn’t trivial!”
“But it is unimportant! Don’t you understand? Look at what I am doing, this work! I am uncovering the secrets of the universe, the nature of all things, the pure verities! Yes, I could devote my life to creating a cure for the sniffles, or a way to knit broken bones faster- -but what point would that have in comparison to this noble quest?”
“But they’re in pain…”
Dee stood. He felt angry, but he remembered that Fyr’mond did not mean to insult him. She was simply ignorant, unable to comprehend what he was doing. He calmed himself, and put his hoof on his wife’s shoulder. “It is not that I don’t care,” he said. “When I discover the secrets of the universe, I will be able to create a new land, a better one. Reality will be mine to contort. I will end sickness, pain, poverty. But right now I can’t waste time on treating the diseases of earth ponies, or making their jobs slightly easier.”
“But that stallion in the square…he could cure them…”
The anger that Dee had strived to suppress suddenly boiled over, and he brought his hoof against Fyr’mond’s cheek. Her eyes widened as her face was slapped to the side, and she was nearly knocked over by the force.
“Don’t mention that filthy con artist in this house!” bellowed Dee. “What he does is nothing more than trickery, an insult to our kind!”
“You…you hit me…”
“And I will again, if I have to! Now get out!”
Fyr’mond stood, and took a breath as she regained composure, assuming the blank stare of royalty as she suppressed her internal status. A red bruise was already forming on the side of her face, and Dee felt a twinge in his heart- -he knew that he had gone too far, taking his anger toward Kelley out on his otherwise innocent wife. She had only wanted to help the weak, and even as misguided as that was, she had not deserved to be slapped.
Before he could apologize, she turned and galloped out of the study. Dee was left alone, and he flopped back into his chair. He looked down at the tablet before him, but somehow, all the excitement about pouring over it had left him.
A storm was developing outside the Citadel. Through the great windows, made of a glass harder and more clear than any pony could generate, the shadows of distant thunderstorms drew closer on the horizon. The wind could be heard against the outer wall, distant and muffled but still so strong. The storm on the day of the raising of the sun and moon had just been the vanguard toward an inevitable seasonal shift toward darker times. Doctor Dee pulled his robes closer around his neck against the draft of the tremendous and empty stone hall.
Walking beside him, seemingly immune to the high-atmospheric cold of the glass-lined corridor, was a tall silver-clad unicorn. Dee had only taken time from deciphering his tablets and continuing his research into the Elements of Harmony with the information he had learned to present his progress to Third Horn, as he was expected to do from time to time. Third Horn, however, was almost always busy.
So, on unfortunate occasions such as this, Dee was forced to relay his progress to and receive his orders from Amddiffynnwr. Dee found it insulting that he would be forced to speak to a pony who arguably should have been little more than a servant, but he had grown to understand why it was necessary. Despite the impression of the general population, Third Horn was not truly immortal. In fact, he had been mostly dead for centuries. The throne he sat upon was part of a much larger spell, one constructed by a long-forgotten Magus under Second Horn. It required the sustained power of at least ten master unicorns to keep Third Horn alive, and he could not leave the perimeter of the spell. Even moving a single inch would spell disaster.
Amddiffynnwr, therefore, had taken on the role of the king’s metaphorical eyes and hooves in many applications. Dee could not fathom why.
“So,” said Amddiffynnwr. Even though he was not of royal birth- -or even noble birth- -his voice was heavily contorted by the royal accent. Perhaps, Dee reasoned, because it was the only way that the horribly guttural name “Amddiffynnwr” could be pronounced. “You have returned from surveying the trihorn ruin?”
“I have,” said Dee, venturing no further information.
“And does the analysis progress well?”
“It will take time,” said Dee, annoyed by Amddiffynnwr’s apparent lack of understanding of the art of magical archeology. “This is simply not something that can be rushed.”
“Time is something Equestria has little of.”
“I was under the impression that my demonstration was quite effective at quelling the heathen hordes at our borders.”
“It was. For now,” said Amddiffynnwr, glaring down at Dee. “But it is only a matter of time before they realized that it was little more than inconsequential trickery.”
“Trickery?” said Dee, stopping in the hallway. He felt his voice raising. Though he would never speak in such a way to Third Horn himself, he would not permit Amddiffynnwr to insult him that way. “I moved the sun and moon themselves! I did what the fools in the College considered impossible!”
“You made a change in the light,” sighed Amddiffynnwr. “Your spell injured you, badly, but it performed nothing. It was wholly impractical. Simply moving the moon, the sun, what does it do? Can it serve as a weapon against the centaurs? Can it even impact them? It was nothing more than one of your parlor tricks on a grand scale, Starswirl.”
Dee’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me by that name,” he hissed. There were few things he despised more than his former name.
“But my point still stands.” Amddiffynnwr leaned closer, his unblinking yellow eyes staring into Dee’s. “You expend a great amount of resources, yet you do so little.”
“Little! I am unraveling the fabric of the universe itself!”
“Which is irrelevant if we are enslaved by centaurs or devoured by griffons. Equestria does not need secrets. They are of no value. It needs weapons. Armor. Soldiers. Science is pointless without technology. You are wasting our time, Magus.”
“Really?” said Dee, smiling. He charged his horn, and there was a snap of energy as the magic engaged. Amddiffynnwr leaned back instinctively from the sudden yellow explosion, but nearly fell backward onto Dee, who had appeared behind him.
“How did you- -”
“Do you doubt the power of the Magus?” said Dee, putting his foreleg around Amddiffynnwr’s back. He put his other hoof against Amddiffynnwr’s shoulder, and with a different spell caused the magic that maintained Amddiffynnwr’s green coat to fade. The soft green surface split and faded, revealing the surface of black chitin beneath.
“Get away from me!” cried Amddiffynnwr, his emerald magic slamming into Dee and pushing him into the wall. Amddiffynnwr was surprisingly strong, and Dee was thrown painfully against the wall. He still smiled, though, watching as Amddiffynnwr restored the shapeshifting spell that made him resemble a true unicorn. Amddiffynnwr glared back at Dee, his pupils momentarily narrowing into thin slits.
“For a pony with ‘impractical magic’,” said Dee, standing and wincing at the great pain in his spine, “I do believe I could defeat you easily in public duel.”
“Is that a challenge?” asked Amddiffynnwr. “Surely you cannot be serious. You are far too old, and I am far too well trained in warfare. I would be forced to kill you.”
“I would surely die, yes,” said Dee, smiling broadly and sadistically. “But I would only need one blow to reveal what you truly are, that you are not even a pony. And with that, I would win, even in death.”
Amddiffynnwr and Dee glared at each other for a moment, and the wind picked up outside, pressing against the large windows. Below, lights were being lit in the city as the clouds poured overhead.
“That outcome would not be amenable to either of us,” said Amddiffynnwr. He sighed. “I really had hoped that our relationship could at least involve mutual toleration. The only one that truly loses in our conflict is my dear sister.”
Dee’s eyes flicked toward the taller pony. “You are aware that you two cannot possibly be blood relatives? And that claiming her as one is treason, grounds for execution?”
Amddiffynnwr stared out the window at the growing storm. “I would suffer that fate ten thousand times rather than to deny my love for her.”
Dee finally understood why Amddiffynnwr had led him to this secluded, empty section of the Citadel. “So you are in contact with her, then?”
“She is my sister. Of course I am in contact with her. We write.”
“About anything…in particular?” Dee knew that he had walked into a dangerous situation. He had only ever struck Fyr’mond once, but her mood toward him had changed drastically in the weeks since. She had become more distant, more submissive, and less annoying. Dee had declared that change a victory, that she was finally settling into existence as the kind of wife that he needed: a quiet and unseen one that did not get in his way. If she had told Amddiffynnwr of the situation, though, he could be in grave danger. Amddiffynnwr was notoriously difficult to read, and his actions tended to be unpredictable.
“Every letter, she proclaims her undying love for you,” said Amddiffynnwr, not looking at Dee. “And I know that she is sincere. She is trying to love you. But you do not share her feelings.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I can taste it.” His eyes shifted toward Dee. “You bear no love for my sister. This saddens me greatly.”
“I have no obligation to love her.”
“You sicken me, Magus,” said Amddiffynnwr. “Fyr’mond does not deserve this fate. Were it possible, I would have married her myself…”
“But she would have understood what you are, wouldn’t she have?”
Amddiffynnwr released a long breath, but did not answer the question. “Just treat her well, Magus,” he said. “I suppose I of all ponies have no right to ask that of you, but please. For her sake.”
“You are right,” said Dee. “You have no right to ask. Now, if you will excuse me, I think this conversation has passed beyond business and is no longer useful. Unless you have anything else to say, or to accuse me of?”
“There is one thing,” he said as Dee started to walk away. Dee turned slowly. “Are you familiar with the name ‘Ward Kelley’?”
“So you truly have been conversing with my wife. She seems to put undue and naïve faith in that…fraud.”
Amddiffynnwr shook his head. “She writes of him sometimes, but word of him has spread greatly, reaching even here in the High Citadel. While you have been buried in dust and clay tablets, he has accumulated a significant following in the City. And word of him is spreading quickly through all of Equestria. Third Horn would be interested in your opinion as Magus.”
“His ‘magic’ is nothing more than falsehoods and lies told to the gullible, ignorant masses. Even you surely don’t believe that an ill-bred earth pony can actually perform magic, do you? Or are you really that simple?”
Amddiffynnwr looked at Dee, and smiled. It was something so unexpected that it shocked Dee. Never once in the two decades he had known Amddiffynnwr had he ever seen the green unicorn smile. “Your species does not have the monopoly on magic that you think,” he said. “The winds are changing, Magus Starswirl. My advice to you is to begin producing, or be blown away in the storm.”
In the history of Equestria, and in the much longer history of Panbios itself, there had only ever been one instance of night. The sun and moon had burned together in the sky as long as anypony could remember. Yet, some years, their eternal light was blotted from the sky by extensive, ominous clouds.
Beneath these storms, the Citadelic City was cast in almost complete darkness. What little light came from above was filtered through the gray above, and rendered gray below, washing away what little color there was amongst the stone and brick buildings.
A carriage passed through the streets. Because of the rain, they were mostly empty, aside from a few earth ponies bundled tightly against the cold north wind that walked slowly along the sides of the streets. The carriage, pulled by a single pony, could move quickly, and in the darkness, it was nearly obscured. Even the sound of it trundling through the cobblestone streets was dampened by the rain, as though it were not even there.
The carriage slowly wormed its way through the narrow streets, and finally came to a stop before an ancient but sturdy stone building, a deep-set brownstone linked on both sides to other structures. What few windows it had were darkened and shuttered, perhaps against the storm, or perhaps against something else entirely.
The driver of the carriage, his mane soaked with sweat and rainwater beneath his coat, took a moment to regain his breath. He then walked back to the carriage, and pulled open the door. Fyr’mond stepped out into the rain.
“Please, mistress,” begged Upkeep. “I understand that this is important to you, but this area of the city is not safe. Not for you.”
“I will not reconsider,” she said, smiling up at him. “But thank you for your concern, Upkeep.”
“Mistress…at least let me accompany you. There is no telling what you might find inside.”
Fyr’mond shook her head. “No,” she said. “This is…this is something I chose to do. And I will do it myself. Would it be too much to ask you to stay behind, to guard the carriage?”
“It would be the least I can do, mistress,” said Upkeep, bowing.
Fyr’mond nodded, and then began her walk up the crooked stone path toward the building before her. She looked up at the high, wet walls, and felt herself shiver. Her response might have been from the cold, or from the dampness- -but there was something about the building itself that she did not like. It was too large, too tall, and too dark, as if it did not quite match the buildings that had been built near it. She did not dislike it because it was the house of a commoner, but because it seemed to have been designed with the intention of sealing out the world.
Still, she knew that it was the correct location. She trusted Amddiffynnwr absolutely, and his information had been gleaned from the best spies and informants that Equestria had to offer. This was the house of a pony who did not want to be found- -but nothing escaped the sight of Third Horn.
Fyr’mond climbed the decaying stone staircase that led to the wooden door. She lifted her hoof to knock, and then paused. This was her last chance to turn back. She knew what she was doing was wrong. She had not asked her husband for permission to leave their home, or to come here. He had not explicitly forbid her to do so, but she knew that she was going against his will. What she was doing was dishonest, and if Dee found out, he would be hurt by her betrayal.
At the same time, it felt strangely exhilarating, a sensation that left Fyr’mond feeling ashamed of herself. This was the first time in her life that she had made a choice for herself. By her will, this plan had come together. She had created it, and chosen her own destiny as if she had been born a real mare instead of a princess. The freedom that came with that idea alone pulled her forward, and drove her to tap her hoof several times against the door.
At first, nothing happened. Fyr’mond began to suspect that nopony was home. The windows were, after all, dark. The building could easily have been abandoned.
Then the door was slowly pulled open. A face appeared from the poorly lit darkness, that of a yellow earth pony mare dressed in a nun’s habit. Though her eyes were covered by a black, silken cloth, she still seemed to stare into Fyr’mond, as if contemplating why a unicorn had appeared on her doorstep.
“Your…your name is Nyar,” said Fyr’mond awkwardly. “I am…my name is Fyr’mond. I am here to see…to see Ward Kelley, if he is not currently disposed.”
The blind yellow pony stared at Fyr’mond a bit longer, and the air seemed to accumulate tension. Then she stepped back, gesturing for Fyr’mond to enter.
“Please, come in,” she said in a perfectly measured voice that was neither charming nor repellant.
Fyr’mond hesitated, and then entered. The door was closed behind her, and she was momentarily plunged into darkness. Then, slowly, her eyes became accustomed to the dim light of the long hall she found herself in. Though dark, the walls were lit by a number of small candles placed on sconces or recesses in the material of the walls.
“And you are correct,” said the nun pony, entering the areas of darkness that Fyr’mond’s eyes had still not become accustomed to.
“About…about what?”
“My name. I am, in fact, called Nyar.”
“That’s…that’s an interesting name for a pony,” said Fyr’mond, intending it as a compliment.
Nyar paused. “I suppose it is,” she said. They continued down the hallway. Eventually, Nyar spoke again. “Not many ponies are able to find this place,” she said. “It is purposely well hidden, so that the he might practice his craft in peace.”
“I am truly sorry if I shall be disturbing him,” said Fyr’mond.
“No,” said Nyar. “If you are hear, it is an indication that you and he are destined to meet.”
Silence once again fell upon the pair. As they continued to walk, Fyr’mond noticed a strange smell in the air. The building itself smelled like old stone, but the air around Nyar was thick with the scent of carnations. The spicy, sweet smell was so strong that it was almost sickening, and Fyr’mond wondered simultaneously why a nun would wear such a seductive perfume and where she had smelled it before. After a few moments, her heart dropped when she recalled the last time she had smelled that scent: it was the same smell as of the flowers at her mother’s funeral.
“You want to ask me,” said Nyar, suddenly.
“I, what?” said Fyr’mond, blushing and stepping back, wondering if Nyar had caught her continually edging closer in an attempt to smell her to confirm the source of the floral odor.
“There are two questions ponies always ask me. Which one will you choose to ask first?”
Fyr’mond thought for a moment, and then decided that she would ask the most burning question on her mind.
“How did you meet Ward Kelly?”
Nyar paused, and looked up at Fyr’mond. “Interesting,” she said. “That is neither of them. Ponies usually ask if I am truly blind, or if I am truly a nun. As if my appearance is nothing more than a lie.”
“Are you?”
“A nun? Yes. Blind? That would answer your question.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nyar held her hoof to the silken cloth that covered her eyes. “In my youth, I was blinded by a magical accident. Without my sight, I was considered a burden upon my family and ineligible for marriage. So I joined the convent and swore myself to the gods.”
“But you move so well.”
Nyar nodded. “Because of Master Kelley. He found me when I was lost. With his power, he gave me a new sight. Though my eyes are still blind, through his power I can see. Of course…his skill is still in progress. Though I can see, he could not repair the disfigurement to my face. Hence the veil.”
“I’m sorry…”
“You have no need to be. As trite as it may sound, it is again destiny. Were it not for my blindness and all that pain, I would never have met Master Kelley. I would never have known the miracles he can perform, what he can offer this world in service to our gods. I have sworn my life to his service that I might see his dream to fruition.”
“You love him.”
“I do…but…”
“But he does not love you.”
Nyar shook her head. “He values me, as an assistant, but…to him I am still a nun. He is the only pony for whom I would consider breaking my vows, but he shows no interest in doing so. I think…no, I know. He could have me, but he refuses to protect my honor. Because he is that kind of pony.”
“That’s a beautiful sentiment.”
“I suppose it is.” Nyar reached behind her and opened a door. With a gesture, Fyr’mond was led in. She almost gasped when she entered. The contents were by no means fancy, especially compared to what she was accustomed to, but they were unexpected. In this stone building, she had been expecting a kind of dungeon. Instead, she was greeted by a large, high-ceilinged room with comfortable carpet and wood-paneled walls. The room contained furniture that, though consisting of immensely old, worn, and mismatched heirlooms, was all of high quality. A fire was burning in the fireplace, dispelling the draft and chill of the damp stone that lined the bottom edges of the room. The remainder was lit by lamps hung from above.
“You may have a seat anywhere, milady,” said Nyar. “I shall fetch Master Kelley, and he will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you for your help, miss Nyar,” said Fyr’mond, curtseying instinctively and picking a chair upholstered in course but well-stuffed red cloth. As she sat down, she noticed that Nyar had not left.
“Forgive me,” said Nyar. “It is just that…you remind me a great deal of my own mother.”
“I…I do?”
“Yes. I have few memories of her…but I remember that she was beautiful, and kind, even when others were not. Your children are very fortunate to have a mother like you.”
“I…I don’t have any children,” said Fyr’mond, feeling her heart sink.
The corners of Nyar’s mouth moved slightly. “Is that so?”
“My husband…is not terribly interested in foals.”
“Well…I am sure that you will produce excellent children when the time comes.” She bowed, and then closed the door gently behind her as she stepped past the room.
Fyr’mond watched her go, and then proceeded to wait. Waiting quietly was something she excelled at, but this room made it easy. The fire was warm, and along with the dangling lanterns cast a pleasant orange glow throughout the room. Part of Nylar’s semi-unpleasant smell remained in the room, but the slight smell of the burning logs combined with the strange scent of pleasant, unusual spices. Fyr’mond wondered if Kelley- -or even Nyar- -cooked, or if the smells were used in Kelley’s spells.
As she sat and wondered, a turned her attention toward a shadowy corner of the room. She stared at the base of a sparsely populated bookshelf, and saw that a small creature seemed to have appeared. At first, she thought that it was perhaps a small dog, but on closer inspection she realized that she had no idea what it was at all.
“Hello there,” she said. The creature recoiled slightly, returning to the shadows. Fyr’mond extended her hoof. “You have no need to fear me. I will not hurt you. I don’t even think I could hurt an animal if I tried.”
The creature, oddly, seemed to understand. It pulled its way out of the bookshelf and began to cross the rug. Fyr’mond watched it in awe, because it was no creature that she recognized. The closest her mind could think of was a moth. It certainly had the appropriate wings, as well as fuzzy, jointed antenna that felt the floor before it like the front legs of a spider. Its body was covered in thick but soft looking gray hair, save for its rear, which consisted of a number of interlocking hard segments that led to a long forked tail.
The creature moved across the floor slowly, propelled by numerous unseen legs. Then, when it reached the edge of Fyr’mond’s chair, it jumped upward, fluttering its wings softly and releasing a small plume of soft dust. It landed on the chair leg, and Fyr’mond saw that it indeed had a number of tiny, greenish, chitinous legs beneath its fur. The creature looked up at her with four black, glossy eyes, and its fangs twitched slightly.
“My, what a strange creature you are,” said Fyr’mond, picking up the fuzzy animal and putting it on her lap. As she stroked it, it released a clicking, hissing sound and curled against her. “Aww…see, you don’t need to be scared.” She stroked the creature’s back. “I wonder what kind of creature you are.”
“It is called a varnaq,” said voice behind her.
Fyr’mond jumped, but only slightly, not even enough to disturb the varnaq on her lap. She turned her head to see a gray-blue pony standing in the door, dressed in a shirt and vest.
“Mister Kelley,” said Fyr’mond, trying to stand.
“Don’t get up, please,” he said, raising his tattooed right foreleg. He crossed the room and took a seat on a gray colored couch across from Fyr’mond. Fyr’mond had not realized that he was so young, or so impressive looking. He was certainly older than her, but he was also fit, and seemed far wiser than his years. He wore on his face a kindly smile, like that of an old man, but seemed to have the eyes of a child.
He pointed to the animal on Fyr’mond’s lap. “That creature, in its native realm, is considered a pest. There is no need for you to be alarmed, of course. In the wild, they are a dangerous parasite, but under my power…” he help up his hoof again. Fyr’mond now saw that the marks were neither tattoos nor scars; rather, they were more like burns, blackened into his skin by some unknown means. “…it is as gentle as a kitten.”
“I am honored that you would speak to me, mister Kelley.”
“Oh, no,” said Kelley, “it is I who am honored to be in the presence of the youngest of the princesses of Equestria. And, if it is not too bold, I would invite you to simply call me ‘Ward’. As you can tell,” he brushed his hoof through his hair, revealing that he had no horn, “I am not of noble birth.”
“How did you know I was a princess?”
“Princess Fyr’mond o’Horn, the eight thousand seven hundred and ninety sixth daughter of Third Horn. How could I not recognize one such as yourself?” He sighed. “No…I’m afraid I cannot keep up the charade. I would indeed not recognize you, had I not seen you in the crowd that day. I was immediately taken by your beuty…but no. Beuty is not the correct word. You are indeed beautiful, but it was more than that. Innocence, perhaps? Or the hope you looked to me with? By the angels, I cannot forget that expression.”
Fyr’mond blushed. She was used to compliments- -they were essentially a valueless commodity traded through the clenched teeth of nobles- -but when he said them, they actually surrounded sincere. No pony beside her father and Amddiffynnwr had ever called her beautiful and meant it before. “I really must apologize on behalf of my husband that day,” she said. “He interrupted your show.”
“Husband?” said Ward, leaning back, his eyes widening. “Forgive me, but he seemed a bit…old for a young mare such as yourself.”
“He is the magus of Equestria,” said Fyr’mond, suppressing her desire to be defensive even though Ward had clearly not meant to produce an insult. “His age does not matter to me. His work is exemplary, and I love him.”
“Because you choose to, or because you are mandated to?”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” said Ward, waving away his aside and smiling. “But tell me, princess. Why have you come to find me?”
Fyr’mond took a deep breath. “Your magic,” she said.
“You want to know if it is real, do you?”
“Oh,” said Fyr’mond. “No. I already know it is real. I saw it.”
Ward stared at her for a moment, and then laughed. “There is again! That face I saw in the crowd! Do you really look to me without an ounce of doubt in your eyes?”
“I do,” said Fyr’mond, this time unable to suppress her defensiveness. The varnaq seemed to sense it, and a series of spines on its pack perked up.
“Oh, princess, you misunderstand. I do not mean to insult you.” He sighed. “But when a unicorn encounters me, they always doubt my power. It is in their nature.”
The door to the room opened again, and Nyar appeared, bearing a tray with several cups and a kettle.
“Ah, the tea!” said Ward, reaching up to take the tray from his assistant. He set it on the table.
“What is ‘tea’?” asked Fyr’mond, watching as Ward poured a brown liquid into a cup.
“A drink, made from leaves. It comes from a land far beyond this one, at the edge of Equestria, beyond even my own homeland. Would you like some?”
“Please.”
“And Nyar? Would you care for some as well? You are welcome to sit with us.”
“Thank you, Master Kelley,” replied Nyar, “but I have some business to attend to concerning the ingredients.”
“You’re so hard working,” said Ward. “But do be careful in the rain. I would be lost without you.”
“Yes, Master Kelley. Thank you for your concern.”
Nyar backed away, and before closing the door, she smiled to Fyr’mond.
“She seems to like you,” said Ward, his voice shifting just slightly. He passed a cup to Fyr’mond, and she accepted it in her hooves. She looked down into the warm, steaming brown fluid and took a sip.
“It tastes like maple leaves smell,” she said. “When they are dry, in the fall.” She recalled the smell well. When the dwarf maples turned red and shed their leaves was one of her favorite times of year in the gardens, even though it always made her sad.
“I suppose it does,” said Ward, sipping his own tea. “But tell me, princess. You say that your husband is Magus of our land, and yet you come to speak to me of magic?”
Fyr’mond set her cup and saucer back on the table. “He is indeed powerful. It was him who raised and lowered the sun and moon.”
“I remember that,” said Ward.
“But I have seen his magic, and I have grown to know him. It is…” She tried to find a way to phrase the word so that she would not be speaking ill of her beloved husband. “Well…he cannot heal the sick, as you do, or heal injuries.”
“Most unicorns cannot,” said Ward. “Their magic is simply not suited for it. They are indeed powerful, your kind, but those who are most skillful tend to be the most limited in vision.”
“But you are not a unicorn,” noted Fyr’mond.
“Indeed I am not.”
“And yet you use magic.” Fyr’mond gestured to the mark on Ward’s forleg. “Is it because of that?”
“Perceptive,” he said, extending his foreleg. “Indeed, it is. Do you know how I received this mark?”
“How?”
Ward smiled. “It was given to me by an angel.”
“An angel?” said Fyr’mond, her eyes wide.
Ward nodded. “Yes. She came to me one night. She gave me this mark, and gave me the power to make my dreams come true.”
“Did it…did it hurt?”
“It always hurts. Every second of every day.” He his other hoof over the marks, and revealed that they were in fact not healed. “But it is worth that price, worth that price times one hundred thousand.”
“For your dream.”
“For my dream.”
“And…may I ask…what is that dream?”
Ward leaned back in his chair, and raised his marked leg, as if he were reaching for something. The marks glowed, and a tiny pentagram of light appeared above his hoof, and a book dropped out into his grasp. He passed it to Fyr’mond, and she took it with great care.
“This mark is a bridge,” he explained. “It connects me to another realm, one filled with marvelous and wonderful creatures of every shape and nature.”
Fyr’mond opened the book, and flipped through the pages. She quickly saw that it was Ward’s own notebook, and every page was inscribed with ink drawings of symbols and of various creatures. Many of them were frightening, and some horrible- -but every one of them was strange and alien. Text seemed to describe them, although much of it was in a language that even Fyr’mond did not recognize.
“These creatures,” continued Ward, “each have unique natures, unique abilities. And I can control them all.”
“All of these?”
“And more. I have only scratched the surface of what that realm holds.”
“But what do you want to use them for?”
“Simple. To benefit the ponies of Equestria.” The varnaq on Fyr’mond’s lab picked itself up, and fluttered to Ward’s shoulder. He stroked the base of its head, and several large, toothy mouths opened on the bottom. “An example,” he said. “This creature, this varnaq, feeds on the blood of ponies. Enough of them together could suck a pony dry, leaving naught but a husk.”
“That’s terrible!”
“It is,” said Ward. “I agree. But...given the right commands, the varnaq can be told to draw out only the poison from the blood. Septic infections, envenomation, poisoning- -this creature can treat them all.”
“Like that creature you summoned healed that boy.”
Ward nodded. “The Hound can repair the signals between the body, the nerves themselves. I also used it to repair your husband’s blind eye.”
“His eye?” Fyr’mond had suspected that Dee had difficulty seeing, but she had no idea that he had been blind in one eye. She wished that he had told her; reading all that fine print on artifacts must have been terribly difficult for him, and she could have helped.
“Indeed. But they can do so much more.” He smiled, and then stood, pacing in front of the fire. “With this power, this angelic might- -I can do anything! The limitations of natural law do not bind me! Nothing is out of my reach. Sickness, disease, war, famine, I can end them all, if Equestria will only give me the chance.” He looked at Fyr’mond, his body lit from behind by the fire. “Perhaps I can even help treat you.”
“But I am not ill,” said Fyr’mond, taking another sip of her tea.
Ward pointed. “And yet you use your hooves to drink tea.”
Fyr’mond looked down, and understood. The tea had been a test, and he had seen right through her to the one condition she tried so hard to keep hidden.
“A unicorn would never be seen using their hooves like that,” said Ward. “Is it safe to assume that your horn has been injured?”
Fyr’mond shook her head. “It is not. Please, on your word, do not relay this information to anypony. Not even Nyar.”
“But of course.”
“Your word!”
Ward bowed. “I swear upon my name, and upon the gift given to me by the angels and the gods, that I shall not betray your trust.”
Fyr’mond accepted his promise. “I have not been injured, no, but this curse has plagued my family for millennia. I am the first Horn since Single Horn herself that can use magic…and I would fail if I even tried to lift one of these cups. I am too weak.”
“So even Third Horn himself cannot use magic?”
Fyr’mond, ashamed, shook her head. “Which might be why my husband doesn’t see it. To him, unicorns are so much better than earth ponies, but to me…to us…we are the same.”
Ward dropped to his knees before Fyr’mond, and took her hoof in his. “Princess,” he said, “if only every unicorn could be as noble and kind-minded as you are. But my offer still stands. It would be my pleasure, and my honor, to assist a unicorn such as yourself in regaining your birthright.”
“You mean…you could give me my magic back?”
“I can. I can tell from your eyes that you share my dream, that we were meant to find each other this day. For a pony like you, I would gladly give so much more, were I able.”
Fyr’mond looked into his large, brown-irises eyes. She felt herself smile, but did not know why she was crying. No pony had ever looked at her like that.
“Yes,” she said. “Please, Ward Kelley. Help me, if you can, so I can help Equestria like you do.”
Fyr’mond lay on her back on the large bed. The room was dim, lit only by candles. The cloth beneath her felt soft, but cold. She did not know why her heart was beating so fast.
Ward stood above her, beyond the edge of the bed.
“You are going to need to remove your dress,” he said.
“My dress?”
Ward nodded. “For the procedure to work, we will both need to be unclothed.”
“Both of us?”
Ward smiled gently. “Do not worry, my princess. It is not my intent to commit any improprieties against you. I only want to help you.”
Fyr’mond took a deep breath, and reassured herself that he was right. He was going to restore her magic, to make her whole. With magic of her own, she would be able to be like him. So, putting absolute trust in him, she pulled away her dress. She felt the cold air against her coat, and shivered. Ashamed, she crossed her legs to hide the more unseemly parts of herself.
Ward began to remove his own clothing. “You do not need to be ashamed of your body,” he said. “You are a beautiful pony. And we are both ponies. Our bodies are of the same type, the same breed.”
With his vest removed, he climbed onto the bed. Fyr’mond momentarily glimpsed his cutie mark, a red pentagram. She also knew that he would be able to see hers: a delicate wisp of smoke. Slowly, he put his wait on her, covering her with his body. She felt her heart accelerate, and she tried to calm it but found she was unable to. She had never been this exposed or this close to any pony in her life. Her husband had not even yet taken her virginity, and she trusted that Ward would leave her intact as well- -but on some level, she wished that he would not.
She felt the warmth of him against her, and she held onto his body. Ward kissed her chest, and then raised his tattooed arm. The marks glowed, and a pentagram appeared on his hoof. Something came through.
Fyr’mond gasped in horror when she saw what it was. On his hoof sat a long, translucent grub, its segmented body covered in razor-sharp blades and pulsing setae, its teeth gnashing and extending hungrily.
“What is that?” she asked, backing away.
“It is a worm,” said Ward. “It is called a spornak. I am going to insert it into your horn. It will burrow into the core, and once there, its own magic will mix with your own. I will use it to cause your latent magical systems to reactivate.”
“You are going to put that in my horn?”
“Do you trust me, Fyr’mond?”
Fyr’mond looked up into his eyes, and felt her naked body quiver beneath his. She nodded. “Will it…will it hurt?”
“It will. For a moment. But just a moment.”
Fyr’mond braced herself, and took the stallion in her grasp. “Do it,” she said. “Put it into me.”
He nooded, and leaned forward. His face and hooves went out of Fyr’mond’s sight for a moment, and she felt him touching her horn. She moaned, both in fear and because, even though her horn was tiny and inefficient, it was still exquisitely sensitive.
Something wet dropped onto her forhead, and Fyr’mond squeaked as she felt the worm crawling across her skin. Then there was a sudden, distant pain that rose into one much sharper.
“Hold on,” said Ward, holding her tightly. “It will be okay.”
Fyr’mond held him back and grimaced against the pain into one of her most sensitive organs. The pain did indeed only last for a moment, but then she felt something far more unnerving. The worm was moving inside her, in the core of her horn, a place where she before had felt nothing save for the most distant tingle of magic.
“Ohhh…it feels strange,” she said, on the verge of panic.
“It is almost in,” said Ward.
The sensation in her horn shifted. The worm was now less apparent, but now Fyr’mond felt something else. It was a pulse moving through her body, traveling up her spine and from all her body, leading into her horn. At first she found it unpleasant, but as the waves washed over her, she felt herself growing to enjoy them.
She squeaked with the sensation, and held her legs against her body. She knew she was blushing, and she felt so ashamed feeling such impure sensations beneath a pony who was only trying to help her. The pulses were growing in strength and frequency, though. Trying to suppress them only made them stronger.
Fyr’mond groaned and twisted, trying to hold back what she felt was growing in her horn. For a few moments, she was able to, to force herself not to feel what was rising into her horn. Then, the pulses seemed to grow faster and faster, and she no longer could. A hot sensation filled the center of her horn, and all at once she lost control.
She cried out in pleasure and surprise as muscles and organs she did not even know that she had convulsed and squeezed within her, forcing energy into her horn. Unable to control it, a massive surge of pure white magic poured out of the tip of her horn. The entire room shook from the sudden explosive surge. Furniture was lifted in her magic and over turned, and the candles that lit the room burned white and went out.
Fyr’mond opened her eyes, but saw far beyond what they could see. Through them, she saw Ward above her, looking down into her eyes. Through her horn, however, she saw so much more. The entirely of his home, in exquisite detail, as if it had been lit by the brightest of days, as well as most of the neighborhood. She saw the rain, and Upkeep standing outside. She saw the ponies in the nearby houses, the adults sleeping peacefully in their beds but the children whispering to each other in the dark. Everything became apparent to her: their bodies, their thoughts, even the mice that lived in their walls. Unable to control her magic, numerous items within a half-mile radius of her were suddenly engulfed in white energy. Some were far heavier than any pony, even a unicorn, should have been able to lift- -but Fyr’mond moved them effortlessly. They lifted, twisted in the air, and suddenly dropped back down as the spasms of magic finished pouring out of her horn.
Her magical burst finished, she collapsed into the bed, breathing hard.
“I’ve…I’ve never felt like that before,” she gasped.
Ward smiled at her, and then leaned forward. She felt his tongue over the tip of her now much longer horn, licking away some congealed residual magic that she knew to be tinged with blood. Then he pulled back, preparing to stand, but Fyr’mond stopped him.
“Don’t leave,” she said, pulling his head against her rapidly rising and falling chest. “Not yet. Please stay.”
“Of course, my princess,” he said, wrapping his gently hooves around her, his weight making her feel so secure.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
He did not answer, because he did not need to. Together, they lay naked in the bed, each slowly drifting to sleep.
The translucent yellow cube drifted in the air, its facets and delicate internal machinery ticking as it followed Dee. Its light illuminated the equitably decorated walls of the Citadel, but Dee paid no attention to the paintings and stained glass, lit from behind by shifting, liquid magic. He could not look away from his creation, watching as it worked perfectly, recording his coordinates and mechanically calculating the response to them through the spells of his own design.
The cube, of course, was the logical conclusion to Dee’s research into teleportation. Short-range spells had become easy for him, allowing him to slip between relatively close locations at will. Longer distances, however, proved more challenging. They consumed too much energy, but more than that, the type of magic used for short spells became exponentially more complicated at long ranges. Rather than design a totally different spell, Dee had simply created his own type of spell to perform the calculations faster: hence the cube. Now, as he walked, he considered if it could be equipped for other purposes as well. Perhaps to take notes, or to relay information to him, or to contain other difficult-to-wield spells. He smiled, knowing that it would be the envy of the wizards who would never be able to replicate it.
Creating the cube, of course, had been a miracle in and of itself considering the way things had been for the past month. Dee had initially immersed himself in deciphering the trihorn tablets and cataloging the information in his extensive library, but he had quickly moved on to attempting to experiment with redesigning and recovering the pieces of the spells he had found.
Everything had gone perfectly, at first. Then something strange had started to happen. Dee’s instruments began to react badly, worse than he had ever seen before. He was not sure why, but delicate magical sensors were suddenly responding as if there were a tremendous amount of magic in the air. The intensity he was reading was incredible: it was as though an entire legion of unicorn soldiers were traipsing through his sitting room. He had eventually dismissed the phenomenon as something of natural origin, such as a tectonic shift in laylines or perhaps ionization from the stormy season- -or even high humidity.
The damage to his instruments had been expensive, but he knew that with his guaranteed patronage, they would be easily replaced. Though annoying, he was given an opportunity to focus on different tasks. With his work interrupted, he had finally found time to continue his work on the Elements of Harmony, and in doing so he had made several tremendous strides in deciphering them- -and opened so many more new mysteries in the process.
Firstly, he had confirmed to his amazement that they did not consist of any known material. They were not chemical in nature, or made of any known type of magic or energy. Instead, it was as though space itself had condensed into hard, stone-like objects. They were virtually indestructible, but at the same time impossibly fragile, not by any physical nature but because they could, theoretically, interchange nature effortlessly.
That led to Dee’s second and much more disheartening hypothesis. The stones that represented the Elements appeared to be dormant. Their magic was inactive and dark, not at all like it must have been when Single Horn and her comrades had used them last. The Elements almost seemed to be waiting, but for what, Dee had no idea. No spell he had tried to cast on them had succeeded in activating them, and no technique known by him or any sorcerer who had written the tomes in his library showed any promise. The enigma had eventually forced him to give up in a huff.
Now, even more annoyingly, he had been summoned to the royal court. Dee knew that it was his duty to attend court when called, but he had seriously contemplated not bothering. It took time from his critical research, and as much as he liked to explain magical principles to Third Horn and the other less educated ponies, he had much to do.
Still, traveling to the Citadel was far easier with teleportation. That, and Dee made a note to try to buy flowers in the city. Fyr’mond had been oddly quiet recently, and the few times Dee had tried to speak to her, to explain to her his new innovations and ideas or show her his cube, she had been gone, probably wandering the shore Mortlake in solitude. The thought of that made Dee oddly sad, and he was on some level starting to miss her company. He had been busy lately, and had perhaps neglected her too much.
Dee stopped in front of the primary door to the royal chambers, and momentarily flicked through a notebook, writing down his notes. Then he stopped, and looked up at the pair of guards that stood beside the great door. Instead of wearing the standard royal gold, they were instead wearing entirely different armor. It was made of a black substance, something like rough stone, that covered their bodies asymmetrically in almost organic forms. The armor on their helmets had been decorated with glistening red, round crystals that made Dee shiver. He did not like the new armor. It was disturbing.
Before he could come up with an adequately biting comment, the doors swung open. Dee composed himself, ensuring that his hood and robes were perfect and that his glowing cube was clearly visible. He waited, and when the bell chimed, he stepped onto the sand.
The room on the other side was curiously empty. As Dee walked down the path, he noticed that there were nobles present at the borders. Only the guards stood watch, their faces concealed by black armor and red crystal. Something felt strange, but Dee did not allow himself to show his concern. He was the Magus; he needed to appear powerful and in absolute control at all times, especially in the presence of the king.
Eventually, he reached the end of the path and bowed deeply.
“Your highness,” he said. “Empower Third Horn. I, the Magus Doctor Dee, your humble servant, have responded to your call. What is it that my lord requires of me?”
“Ah, the Magus Doctor Dee,” said a voice beside Dee from a pony that he had ignored upon his entry. “Once again we meet, my friend.”
Dee turned his eyes toward the unicorn standing beside him, wondering what pony would be impudent enough to stand beside the Magus in the presence of Third Horn. Then, to his horror, he realized that the pony beside him was not a unicorn at all.
“YOU!” he cried, staring at the steel-blue earth pony beside him.
“Ward Kelley, at your service,” said the pony, a taunting smile on his face.
Dee felt his rage suddenly flare forth. “How dare you defile this place with your filthy hooves?!” he screamed. “An hornless fraud in this most sacred of places?! You will surely be executed for this indiscretion!”
“No, he shall not.”
Dee turned and looked upward at the pyramidal throne of Third Horn. The area around it was dim, but high at the top, he could see the throne- -and saw that it was open. The front, intended to permenantly seal Third Horn into the enclosure that kept him alive, had been cut away and the wires and tubes inside taken away, reveling the ancient seat beneath.
From that open chair, a unicorn rose, pulling himself from the surrounding of gold. His gray colored body was narrow and tall, but strong and young. He wore armor that did not correlate to any of the known hierarchal metals: it was not gold, silver, or steel, but instead made from solid mother-of-pearl.
The pony took a step and began to descend the stairs. Amddiffynnwr, who was approximately the same height, followed him down from the right side.
“And who are you?” demanded Dee.
The pony stared down at Dee, and Dee gasped when he understood. Those gray eyes were unmistakable. Though his body was young and strong, they were the same eyes that had stared from their prison of gold and magic for millennia. They were the cold, hard eyes of Third Horn.
“But that’s…that’s impossible!” cried Dee. “You cannot leave the spell! You would die!”
“Not any longer,” said Third Horn, his formerly old and tired voice now young and strong, filled with clinical but almost homicidal vigor that made Dee shake beneath his robe. Third Horn lifted a white-armored hoof and gestured toward Kelley. “This pony has healed me, restoring the strength that I believed the ages had robbed me of. By his magic, I am young again, healed of death itself. I am now truly Eternal.”
“No!” cried Dee. “You can’t be! You were dying! On the verge of death! You can’t be cured! It’s impossible! This- -this is a trick!”
“Do you doubt the word of Third Horn?” hissed Amddiffynnwr, stepping forward aggressively. Third Horn raised a hoof, however, and his son instantly stopped his advance.
“Different ponies may react to the unexpected in different ways,” he said in a cold, measured voice. “But Dee, I did not anticipate that you of all ponies would respond with rage.”
“That is because this filthy farm pony is nothing more than a fraud and a liar! My king, he is an earth pony, and claims to wield magic! Such a thing is not possible!”
“Because it truly is something that may not be done, or because you were not the first to do it?” Dee sputtered, not believing how Third Horn could even accept the sight of a lesser being in his presence. Yet he seemed completely unperturbed, not even disgusted by being near a lesser species. “You of all my ponies know my predilections, Dee,” said Third Horn, glaring into Dee’s eyes. “I care not of a pony’s bloodline, or their origin. I care only of their skill, of what they have achieved through work and sacrifice. Earth ponies and unicorns are the same in the eyes of a true monohorn.”
“I should have known,” said Dee, angrily eying the insectoid abomination that was Amddiffynnwr, hidden beneath a thin veneer of false pony nobility.
“Yes. You should have,” said Third Horn.
“But he is not nearly as powerful as I,” said Dee. “It was I, the Magus, who divided night from day!”
“And he, Ward Kelley, who reversed my age. Who produced unbreakable armor for my royal guard. Who has promised me an unending army of immortal demon warriors. Who has restored my beloved daughter’s magic.”
“Your- -your what?”
Third Horn extended his hoof, and Fyr’mond emerged from the shadows. Dee saw that she was strange, almost a different pony. Her horn was no longer short and blunt, but long and pointed. Her formerly chubby proportions were starting to become gaunt, and her sandy coat was graying beneath the white dress she wore. Although her composure was perfect, she could not meet her husband’s eye.
Fyr’mond bowed, and Third Horn put his hoof gently on his daughter’s shoulder. She put her head against his pearl-clad chest, and he put his head over hers, embracing her for a moment.
“My dear daughter, now becoming the image of my grandmother, the venerable warrior Single Horn. It was her who brought the power of this mage to my attention.”
“He is no mage, my king!” cried Dee, trying desperately to convince Third Horn of what should have been obvious.
Third Horn stared at Dee, and then turned his gaze toward Kelley. “Kelley,” he said. “What say you to these accusations?”
“I say no, I am not,” said Kelley. Dee smiled, and Fyr’mond gasped slightly. “Though I perform magic, I am but a simple pony. I am not a seeker of secrets, but a seeker of peace and hope for Equestria. I only wish to bring all the ponies of this land the happiness that I have brought to my king and to the princess Fyr’mond.”
“A noble goal indeed,” said Third Horn. “It has been a long time indeed since I have stood beside an idealist.”
“My- -my king!” said Dee, feeling his breath catch in his through. “No…no! You can’t mean- -”
“I do not,” he said. “Not yet. But know this, Dee. Your position as Magus is in serious question.”
“You- -you can’t!” screamed Dee. “After everything I’ve done! After everything I have sacrificed for this kingdom, for you!” Or, rather, for the kingdom that he would produce, and for the Queen that would lead it.
“You consume funds endlessly,” said Third Horn. “And yet you produce nothing.”
“I- -I have this!” said Dee, grabbing his teleportation cube from the air. “I can teleport! To anywhere in Equestria, at any time!”
“So you have improved the spell,” said Amddiffynnwr, stepping forward. “But I do not recall seeing it submitted to the College for distribution.”
“I- -surely you can’t expect the Magus to share his spell with the COLLEGE!”
“Then what use is it? What need to we have for one elderly pony who can teleport at will, compared to an entire army that can shift-jump into enemy territory? And- -Magus- -let me give you one further warning: speak with that tone to our exhausted leader again, and I shall kill you where you stand.”
“There is no need for that, my son,” said Third Horn.
“Please,” said Dee, chaining his tone and behavior rapidly, realizing with horror that he had only made his situation far worse. He dropped to the sand below, begging. “My king, please! I only ask you for one more chance! I have been researching for my entire life, and there are many things that I know! Allow me just one more chance to prove myself!”
Third Horn looked down at the groveling pony before him, and Fyr’mond looked away.
“Because you have always served me so well, and because for now you are the husband of my most powerful daughter, I grant you this request.”
“You- -you do?”
“One chance. Perhaps I was not clear before, and your unfortunate fate falls on me. So I give you this. Return to me in seven days, and bring with you something that might rival Ward Kelley’s gifts. If I deem it worthy, you shall keep your position in this court.”
“And if not?” asked Amddiffynnwr.
“If not, I shall expel you.”
Dee shuddered, pressing his forehead against the sand at Third Horn’s hooves. He felt himself starting to cry, and could feel the knot of pain growing in his stomach. No Magus had been expelled in over six centuries. It was a fate arguably worse than death. All of Dee’s funding would be taken, as well as all his artifacts and research to be absorbed into the royal library. Even the College would not take him as a researcher. The disgrace would force him away from Equestria.
“I will not fail you, my king,” he promised- -even though he had no idea what he might possibly do to avoid that horrid fate.
“Perhaps you will not,” said Third Horn. “I truly hope the fates are with you, Dee. I truly, truly do.”
Dee screamed and threw pushed the contents of his desk onto the floor. A bottle of ink shattered, covering his notes with blue-black fluid, but he did not care. None of it mattered anymore, and he screamed as he picked up a vase of pens and shattered it against the wall.
He had been betrayed, and by his own wife no less. After everything he had done for her, after he was about to buy her flowers, she had singlehoofedly destroyed his future. She and that accursed Ward Kelley had somehow conspired to turn the court against him, and the favor that he had spent his life cultivating was now slipping through his hooves like sand.
Out of breath, Dee flopped down on his chair and pressed his head against his now empty and ink-stained desk. He was still seething with rage, but it was rapidly being replaced by fear. Third Horn was a fool. They all were. Dee had spent his life toward the goal of producing a better Equestria, a paradise for unicorn kind. They were just too simple to understand the nature of his work, and of his sacrifice.
They had all been deceived, turned against him by a lowly, genetically inferior earth pony. Dee did not know how he could have been so foolish to underestimate this threat, or how he could ever see something so impossible coming.
A thought suddenly occurred to Dee. He wondered if, perhaps, Third Horn was contemplating the unthinkable: that he might be intending to make an earth pony his Magus.
Dee shook his head and sat up.
“No,” he said. “I…that will not happen. I shall not allow it!”
Earth ponies were nothing more than a failed stage in evolution. This was a known fact, proven through endless research. While they had evolved in the forests of Equestria, eating dirt and mating with their sisters, unicorns had been lovingly tended and raised by trihorns, bred to perfection. They were better by definition. Dee was better than Kelley by definition, and he would not fail.
The question, though, came down to what he could possibly do in just one week. He had hoped that his teleportation spell would be adequate, but he knew that it was not. Even if he had desired in any way to share it, the spell itself was far too complex for a normal pony to master. Even though Dee had done the impossible, a military stallion like Third Horn would not be impressed.
He sighed, and looked down at the mess he had made. After staring at it for several moments, he began to pick it up. He lifted the ink-drenched parchment from the floor, using his magic to remove any wet ink and to place it into a new bottle. The pages were ruined, but at least the ink could be saved.
There had been several trihorn tablets in the pile, but of course they were undamaged. The material that they were made of was far harder than stone. Just to be sure, though, Dee picked them up and filed them into a special, custom-built shelf designed specifically for the purpose.
As he did, he stopped to look at one he was holding in his magic, knowing that if he were to fail, he might never have a chance to decipher the secrets that they held within. The thought of losing that when he was so close nearly made him weep.
His eyes lingered on this particular tablet, though. It had been one of the few that he had not paid much attention to at first. His interest was in trihorn spells, but not every tablet contained them. He had left most of their historical ones behind for later recovery, but he had taken several that he believed might make good wall art. This one in particular was a highly detailed anatomical representation of an Aurasus, a type of sentient, mechanical race of ponies that had coexisted with the trihorns. Dee found them elegant, with their sculpted bodies of metal, but he had determined that Aurasi had no natural magic. As such, he had dismissed them.
Looking at that tablet and at the diagram of the golden pony inscribed into its surface, an idea suddenly occurred to Dee. The epiphany hit him with the force of a hammer, and he suddenly broke into a wide smile. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded, and he wondered why he had not seen it before.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes!”
He quickly passed to his desk and picked up a fresh piece of parchment. With the ink that he had just returned to the bottle, he began to sketch down his ideas. They seemed to pour forth from him, as if his mind were vomiting forth the most perfect idea, the ideal solution to win back the royal court’s favor.
After less than an hour, Dee had performed the initial calculations and designed the preliminary spell architecture. It would need more work, but the spell itself was relatively simple in nature. He knew he could do it.
On several smaller pieces of paper, he had created hastily jotted lists of ingredients and orders. On one larger page, he had even drawn out a preliminary sketch, not of something magical, but of a piece of showmanship that would surely seal his position.
Quickly, Dee sealed the lists into envelopes and wrote their destinations in clear but elegant script on the front. He then summoned one of his servants by magic, and trotted to the door.
“Runner! Runner!” he cried.
A young stallion appeared near the door. “Yes, Master Dee?” he said, nearly out of breath.
“Take these,” said Dee. “Deliver them at once, as swiftly as your legs might carry you! I need these orders dispatched immediately!”
“Yff mrsr drr,” said the courier, taking the letters in his mouth and carefully inserting them into one of his pockets. “I shall have them delivered by the hour!”
Runner sprinted off, his hooves clicking on the stone floor as he ran toward the door. Normally, Dee hated running in his house- -but now he would have chastised the young stallion to not have moved as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence.
Dee turned back to his study, still smiling. He himself would also need to hurry. The spells needed to be finish, and the laboratory prepared. All the doubt that had filled him seemed to have evaporated. He now knew that he surely could not fail.
The laboratory was darkened, lit only by the harsh yellow glow of crystalline lights surrounded by polished mirror reflectors. Dee finished setting his instruments onto the hardwood rack: perfectly prepared tools of metal and delicately prepared scrolls. Looking at them glistening in the light made him shiver. The way the blades shined in the crystal light and the way the scrolls sat, perfectly folded, inscribed in a mixture of powdered bauxite and his own blood made it all seem too real.
Dee could almost not contain his excitement. He had spent nearly a day feverishly planning his spells, getting them ready. At some point, Fyr’mond had returned home, but he had ignored her. He was too busy: there was enough time, but he knew that hesitating for even a moment would be a terrible mistake.
A sound of a door unlatching in the distance made his blood race, and he covered the rack with a thin cloth. The door had not been the one to his study, but one from one of the service tunnels that led to his laboratory. They had originally been constructed to allow for the delivery of equipment or larger ingredients without the delivery ponies disrupting his home above. Which, he supposed, they were doing now.
From the tunnel, a trio of ponies approached. Two of them were tall, strong unicorns clad metal resembling plates of wrought iron. Their faces were nearly covered, and their horns glowed brightly, one pink and the other pale green. Between them was a third pony, his body covered completely with a dirty cloth.
“At last,” said Dee. “Put it here.”
One of the ponies pushed the covered pony into the direction where Dee pointed, and then brought his hoof down sharply on the pony’s back. There was a cry from beneath the blanket, and a jingling of heavy chains as the prisoner was brought to his knees.
“Bow before the Lord Magus,” growled one of the guards.
Dee approached, and grabbed the blanket with his magic. Swiftly, he pulled it away. When he saw the pony beneath, he gasped in delight.
In one set of his orders to Runner, Dee had made a request to the Equestria Central Dungeon. He had asked for a prisoner, and ordered that he conform to just two conditions: that he be an earth pony condemned to die, and that he be the most visually impressive stallion that they had in their inventory.
They had not disappointed him. The pony that kneeled in chains before Dee, though dirty and slightly bruised, was a brilliant cyan color. That alone was interesting enough, but the far rarer feature of his visage was his mane and tail: they were both long and colored like brilliant rainbows. It was uncommon enough for a pony to have bicolored hair, but this six independent colors. No other pony like him had ever been recorded in Equestrian history.
“Oh my,” said Dee. “He is indeed a handsome specimen.”
The pony glared upward at Dee with violet irises as Dee walked around him, examining him more closely. The guards had done excellent work; there were slight signs of pain spells burned into his flesh, but there were no marks of whipping or scars that might mar his appearance. The only mark he had on his body was an old scar running down his face, but that only made him more impressive.
Dee stopped at the pony’s cutie mark. Even it was complex enough to be impressive: a tri-colored vertical sword piercing a winged cloud. It was oddly appropriate.
“What is your name, earth pony?”
“My name,” he said, “is of no consequence.”
One of the guards, sensing his disrespect, shocked him with a pain spell, sending him convulsing. Even as he shook from what was most likely highly agonizing, Dee saw that the stallion was resisting, refusing to scream and letting out just a low moan.
“Enough of that,” said Dee, signaling the guard to stop. “Indeed, he is correct. His name does not matter here.” Dee gestured to the pony on his floor. “Stand, if you can.”
The earth pony took several deep breaths, and then stood. That alone was impressive; the pain spell should have rendered him partially stunned for several minutes.
“Look here,” said Dee. He pushed his cart forward, and quickly drew away the cloth cover. He saw the pony’s eyes dart toward it. Though the blue pony was strong and remained stoic, Dee momentarily saw his eyes glimmer with fear at the sight of all the surgical tools- -and at the pair of larger objects that sat in the center of the wooden surface.
“I am going to give you a choice,” said Dee. “So listen carefully, and choose well. I am not a monster. I abhor violence, and I despise the sight of blood. My intention in bringing you here is to make you the subject of one of my spells, a crowning achievement that will secure my own future. I do not claim to be altruistic, but I am honorbound to give you this choice. For me to proceed, I ask that I must have your permission.”
The two guards looked at each other, confused. They had never seen such compassion shown to a prisoner before; their own compassion had been taken from them long ago though modifications spells.
“And if I refuse?” said the blue pony.
“You are scheduled to die. I know not what crime you have committed, nor do I care, but if you refuse, you shall be returned to your cell, and in a fortnight, you shall meet your end at the gallows.”
“That is not much of a choice.”
“Yes, it is. You need to understand. This spell should work, but it will be dangerous. You may die, and if you do, you will die in exquisite agony. The gallows will be quick and painless. A simple drop and a snap.”
“But if I survive your procedure?”
“I am the Magus of the court of Third Horn. I can secure you a pardon.”
The pony’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt that even you, ‘Lord Magus’, can pardon my sins.”
“That is for you to take into consideration, rainbow pony. The decision is yours. But make it quickly. Before they spoil.”
The blue pony looked down at the table again, and at his potential future.
“I accept,” he said.
“Good,” said Dee. He made a motion to the guards, and they grabbed the pony by his shoulders. Dee pointed at a metal table behind him with leather straps. “Bind him,” he ordered, picking up a saw and a narrow fragment of a scroll. “Herbs to ease the pain might kill him. You two shall need to hold him down.”
The blue pony was slammed onto the table and strapped in. He struggled only slightly, as if his body could not allow what was about to happen to him to simply occur without a fight. With little effort, though, he was restrained.
Dee lifted the saw and coated it in yellow magic. He leaned over the pony’s back, and set to work.
Dee crossed the red and gold sand as he approached the throne of Third Horn. This time, as he approached, he held his head high, maintain just a fragment of a sincere smile upon his face. This time, he approached without fear and without hesitation. It had been so long since he been a showpony, but he channeled that long-abandoned self as he approached. Even the most complex of spells, he knew, could be dull and drab without the proper presentation- -something he had regretfully neglected for far too long.
This time, the audience was far larger. Third Horn sat atop his throne where he had once been imprisoned, and as always, Amddiffynnwr stood beside him. Lower and around him, however, sat many more ponies. They were nobles, invited to attend, to see what feat the great Doctor Dee might deliver. Many looked apprehensive, or excited, while others simply looked as stupid and bored as ever.
Among them, farther toward the center, Dee saw Fyr’mond sitting at her father’s side along with several of her elder sisters. They all looked truly similar, if not identical- -except that now Fyr’mond stood higher than them, her graying body and long horn making her look alien against her kin.
On the floor stood several more ponies. Most were black-clad guardians, lining the edges and standing before the nobles, but an equal amount were the robed mare servants of the royal court. Also among them was Ward Kelley, a hideous demonic moth perched on his shoulder, and his black-clad nun assistant beside him.
Dee only smiled to Kelley. This time he would maintain his composure. His motions would be exact, his behavior beyond reproach. Everything in his life was riding on this performance, and he knew that he would succeed. If anything, he found it exhilarating.
At the edge of the sand, Dee bowed deeply. “My lord Third Horn,” said Dee. “I have returned. I approach in humility, and, if I may be so impudent as to beg your forgiveness, I wish to apologize for my behavior at our last meeting.”
Third Horn stared down, his keen and seemingly unblinking eyes not wavering for a moment.
“I accept this apology,” he said at last. “I understand that you were distressed at the time. I do not claim to be a perfect ruler, but I like to think of myself as understanding.”
“Indeed, you are understanding, but in the eyes of us mere morals, you are more than perfect. You are our god.”
“Have you returned with anything more substantial than flattery, Dee?” asked Amddiffynnwr. “Or do you simply desire to waste his majesty’s time?”
“No, of course not,” said Dee, standing. From his side, the yellow cube of his magic approached him, ticking as it moved. “I do indeed bring you a new feat, one that I believe shall rival my rising of the sun and moon.”
“Your teleportation?” said Third Horn, unimpressed.
“That is but one of two parts, my king. I have modified the spell, changing its fundamental nature in ways that even the trihorn may not have conceived! Now, instead of teleporting only me, I can draw any object toward me at any distance, so long as I know where it is- -or move any object to any location.”
“Interesting,” said Third Horn, leaning closer, his white armor glistening in the blue light from the crystals above.
“Indeed,” said Dee. “With this spell, any powerful mage can transport soldiers and weapons into battle in the blink of an eye, past fortifications and walls that would take months of bombardment to break- -or pull away enemy leaders into captivity.”
Dee stepped back, gesturing toward the crowd. “But this is but a minor part of my gift, a byproduct of my research toward my true gift to you, my king. Behold!”
The cube suddenly shifted, expanding outward and folding in response to Dee’s magic, linking itself to a different location in space. The crowd gasped at how quickly it moved. Then, in an instant, it sealed closed, engaging the jump.
From behind and above, near the high sealing, the teleportation spell activated, producing a golden sphere that flooded the room with residual light. Dee saw the crowd’s eyes widen, and heard their gasps.
A shadow was cast over Dee, and with the fluttering of wings, the blue pony he had acquired hovered beside him, and then landed. He was now freshly washed, and his long hair tied back but still visible from beneath his open helm. His body was covered in black and steel armor of Dee’s own design, based on the surface exoskeleton shown on the tablet that had inspired him combined with fanciful armor of modern design. From the pony’s back protruded a pair of large wings, their feathers matching the coat of his body.
“My king,” said Dee, loudly, gesturing toward his creation. “This is what I bring you! A new kind of soldier! Not a horde of mindless, servile demons at the command of one pony, but an independent, lighted warrior to engage Equestria’s enemies from the air above, to descend from the clouds to bring your will across the land! Behold, the modern incarnation of the ancient Aurasi! I present to you this flighted pony: Pegasus!”
Dee smiled in the crowd’s direction, still motioning at the pony that had landed beside him. Pegasus’s wings flexed slightly, further drawing attention to him. The whole performance had gone flawlessly: Pegasus had entered by Dee’s spell, and looked more glorious than even Dee had imagined as he descended from the air above.
In the faces of the nobles, Dee saw the expressions of surprise. Some ponies reacted with disgust at seeing a chimeric creature formed from a pony and powerful magic. Dee only continued to smile, knowing that he had made an impact on them.
But something was wrong. They did not cheer, nor did the expressions of surprise lead to the nobles smiling. Instead, those expressions of surprise became fear and anger. They began to murmur amongst themselves, and that murmur grew into a roar. It only ceased when Third Horn stood and began to descend the stairs.
They all watched in silence as he approached. When he reached the sand below, the servants as well as Ward Kelley and his assistant bowed to him- -with Dee catching the wide, smug smile on Kelley’s face as he lowered his head.
Third Horn looked to Dee, and then to Pegasus.
“This is indeed an impressive feat,” he said. Then he sighed deeply, his eyes darkening. “I wish only that you had chosen a different pony for this experiment.”
“I can assure you,” said Pegasus, coldly. “I will use these wings to the best of my ability. I have never once waivered in my loyalty to Equestria…unicorn scum!!”
Pegasus leapt forward, charging at Third Horn with a scream, his wings spreading like those of a griffon during an attack. From the stands behind, Amddiffynnwr stepped forward and Fyr’mond stood. Both cast spell simultaneously, and a sphere of white and green magic surrounded Third Horn. Pegasus impacted it, and was thrown back into a heap.
The guards moved quickly, charging their horns and firing several lethal beams of energy toward the momentarily stunned winged pony.
“No!” cried Dee, shrilly. He could not allow his creation, his last chance at preserving his career, to be destroyed. Instinctively, he cast a shield spell. A yellow dome of magical clockwork surrounded him and Pegasus. Dee was no soldier, though; his spell was exceedingly complicated and unwieldly, far different from what the unicorn guards were accustomed to. When their beams struck it, the sudden surge of feedback poured back into them, sending them flying into the walls with sudden explosions.
The entire court silenced as Dee brought his shield down. Pegasus was safe, but Dee knew at that instant that he was finished. He had failed.
“I don’t…I don’t understand,” he said softly.
“That pony you stand beside,” said Amddiffynnwr, descending the stairs, his horn charged with green energy, preparing to attack. “Do you not know of his crimes? Are you that much of a fool, Dee?”
“I assume he has murdered somepony, but- -”
“ ‘Somepony’? That pony you just defended is the leader of earth pony revolution movement! He himself has slain over ninety unicorns- -mares, stallions, children- -and by his orders slain hundreds more!”
Dee looked at the Pegasus, who was now standing. Dee immediately engaged a restraining spell around him, to ensure that he could move but not attack. He did not understand how that was possible- -that there could even be such a thing as an earth pony revolt, or that this stallion had been responsible for it: or how, though his own decision, he had inadvertently destroyed any chance he had of maintaining his position in the court.
“That pony,” said Third Horn, “was to be executed for high treason. And you, Dee…you have given our greatest enemy wings.”
“Please,” said Dee, dropping to his knees. “Please do not destroy my creation! I- -I- -I have to succeed! I will take his mind! I will make him servile to your will, a perfect soldier! Yes! I will redeem myself!”
Third Horn stared down at him. “I give you permission to keep him alive, for now. Indeed, try your experiments. Do what you will to him, to show what becomes of my enemies. But you have failed me. I hereby strip you of the title of Magus, and transfer it to Ward Kelley. Now take that abomination and get out of my sight. You are a disgrace to your race, Dee, and by this treason, you are now my enemy. Should I ever see you in this Citadel again, you shall be slain where you stand. Now go.”
Dee took a deep breath, trying to hold in his sobbing. “Yes…my…king…”
As his tears stained and congealed in the sand below, he engaged the yellow cube near him. Dee and Pegasus were wrapped in a sphere of magic, and with a small explosion, teleported away.
A second teleportation spell engaged, and Pegasus felt himself drop to the ground. His hooves landed in thick vegetation, producing a hollow sound against the mossy berm below. The first thing that struck him was the scent of dirt and of decay, and as he looked around, he saw that was on a narrow path in a thick, dark forest.
“Where are we?” he asked, somewhat nervous. He did not like how dark the space between the trees was, or how there was a strange sensation that he was being watched and that many things were moving amongst the undergrowth.
In front of him, the Magus turned. Pegasus was struck by how old the unicorn suddenly looked. His eyes were sunken, and his skin seemed to sag as if he were on the verge of death. Doctor Dee only stared at him for a moment, and then his eyes drifted back to the path absently and he started walking in silence.
That made Pegasus even more nervous. Being in the presence of a powerful unicorn was not pleasant for him by any means, but something in the old wizard’s expression was disproportionately frightening. It was as though he had died inside- -and his intentions had, in the process, become completely impossible to read.
Still, Pegasus followed him. The winged pony took a few steps, and then felt his wings tingle. They spread, and he took flight, hovering just behind Dee. The attachment of the wings had been by far the most painful experience of his life. The spell had not simply bonded them to his body, but had fundamentally changed his nature. His earth pony strength had faded, but it had been replaced tenfold with speed. Pegasus’s bones had been made lighter and weaker, but his the wings fused to his spine were so very powerful. Every moment, he had the urge to fly, to soar into the heavens, to embrace the clouds as he passed over Equestria. This ran through his mind with a number of new thoughts, and new predilections. Even his mind had been altered by Dee’s magic. Pegasus had possessed a name before, but now he left it behind, having been reborn into something new.
Yet, he could not escape. All around his body, he felt Dee’s magic pulsing and surging. Though invisible and gossamer, so unlike the heavy iron shackles he had borne through his years in prison, it was inescapably strong. Dee was indeed a powerful mage, more powerful than any Pegasus had ever faced. His wisdom was indeed deep, and for the first time in many years, Pegasus had found a pony of whom he was afraid.
They moved through the forest, Dee leading the way and Pegasus following, bearing the saddlebags of his elder and the supplies within. As they moved, Pegasus became increasingly uneasy. The forest was moving around him, but Dee did not even seem to notice. It was the silence of the wizard, though, that was more frightening than anything else. Pegasus was still aware of Dee’s promise: to take his mind, to render him the ideal earth pony, a thoughtless, obedient slave. The thought made him want to flee desperately, but he could not. There was no escape. The path that had led him to his wings was still continuing, now through this forest- -and the remainder of his destiny still waited ahead.
Eventually, the pair came to a chasm. It was a great split in the earth, and dark below. Dee stopped at the edge and stared down, and for a moment Pegasus feared that the old pony would jump. Instead, however, Dee sought out a narrow staircase hewn into the stone itself and began to descend.
Pegasus dropped to the ground, spying a familiar wispy plant growing at the border of the ledge where a small stream trickled below. Just as Dee went out of sight, Pegasus carefully plucked the shoot and buried it into the saddlebag with whatever horrible supplies were waiting within. Then he spread his wings, and descended into the pit with Dee.
The former Magus reached the bottom, and slowly crossed the moist stone below. Pegasus looked into the darkness, and saw that Dee was headed for a cave. Pegasus immediately hesitated, not wanting to follow into that black void- -but felt the magic tugging at him, pulling him inward to whatever fate the doctor had planned for him.
At first, the cave was dark narrow. Moisture and mossy, unpleasant plants grew along the walls. Even though Pegasus had some trouble moving, Dee seemed to pass with ease. He knew every hoofhold, every dip, and every step to take within the cave, lighting his path with the golden glow of his horn and never once pausing.
Then, all at once, the cavern widened. The yellow glow of Dee’s horn was replaced with a new light, one far brighter and more pure. Pegasus lowered himself onto the stone, and looked in awe at the center of the room.
There, before him, was something resembling a tree of pure crystal. It was star shaped, with five main branches extending upward toward the ceiling of its residence while its roots dug into the rock below. The light of the tree filled the room with a soft, white glow that made Pegasus feel surprisingly at peace. He felt like the tree was watching him, and smiling upon him with love as he basked in its light below its stunning crystal beauty.
Many unusual, wispy plants and unique flowers sprouted around the crystal roots of the tree. One thing that seemed out of place, however, were a number of cables linked to the base of the tree. Pegasus followed them with his eyes, and watched as they connected to an object on the far side of the room: an upright container made of metal and stone, linked to the cables by machines that no pony could remember how to make.
There were several large rocks at the base of the tree, and Dee sat down on one. He motioned for Pegasus to move closer.
“The bags,” he said at last, his voice hollow and empty. It was no longer the voice of the stallion who had promised Pegasus wings, or the one who had defended him when others sought to kill him. Dee sounded so much older. “Open them.”
Pegasus pulled the bags off his back, carefully sliding his sensitive wings through the straps. He pulled open the straps with his teeth, and removed, of all things, a bottle of wine.
“What is this?” he said, reading the peeling and dusty label.
“You’ll find two glasses in there as well,” said Dee.
“Two?”
“Yes, two. Pour yourself one. Sit with me, and toast the death of my dream.”
“But did you not promise your king that you would make a slave of me? That you would take my mind, and render me servile?”
Dee chuckled. “What’s the point? He took my title. He accused me of treason. I am now an exile…no, less than that. I am nothing, stripped of everything. Hurting you more than I already have would accomplish nothing.”
Pegasus looked down at the wine. “This is a fine vintage, Doctor.”
“Indeed it is. I was saving it for when my Queen…well, a special occasion. But that day will never come now. So come sit with me, if I am even worthy of your company. It may be the last wine I ever have, and it was not meant to be taken alone.”
Pegasus no longer felt threatened, and he removed the two crystal glasses from the bag. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, and filled the glasses, careful to make sure that Dee was not watching as he did. He then took Dee’s glass in his hoof, and his mouth. He flew forward gently, and landed next to the wizard, giving the old pony the appropriate glass.
Dee took the wine in his magic and swirled it. He looked down at it for a long, long moment, and then took a small sip.
“Do you know how I got into magic?” he asked.
“I assumed you were born of noble blood,” said Pegasus, sipping from his own glass.
Dee chuckled. “You could not be farther from the truth. Not a drop of noble blood flows through these veins. My father was a courier. He spent his life in service to the court, running messages between the nobles and the king. I grew up in the base of the Citadel with the servants, destined to be my father’s replacement.”
Pegasus contemplated his wine. He knew that it was expensive and rare, but rather detested the flavor. His new body also seemed to react poorly to even the small amount of alcohol he had consumed. “But you are not a courier,” he said. “You are the Magus.”
“I was the Magus,” sighed Dee. “I am no longer. But I didn’t start out that way. Do you know what I did, Pegasus? How I began?”
“How?”
“I was a jester. ‘Starswirl the Youthful’ they called me. I would dress up in…in this robe and hat, all covered with bells, and I would dance for the court. I would perform trickery of light to entertain. They would laugh, and they would cheer…but I was nothing more than a clown to them, a toy of low birth.” Dee looked up at the tree. “Until I found her.”
“Her?”
Dee nodded. “I was on a courier run with my father through this very forest. But…we were attacked by timberwolves, and I was separated. I was lost, but then I found those strange stairs, and this place…this Tree. That day, it spoke to me. It told me of secrets, and of things I barely understood. Everything changed. I saw my first taste of the secrets of the universe. I received my cutie mark, and with that knowledge, I published my first work. I presented the very first copy to Third Horn himself. Then I spent the next century getting to here…”
“What is it, exactly?” asked Pegasus, looking up at the tree.
“Nopony knows, exactly,” said Dee. “It was said to have been recovered by Single Horn herself during the Choggoth War. She planted it here, and it bore her the fruit of the Elements of Harmony. I have spent my life researching the Tree, trying to get it to speak to me again. I have learned much about it, but…”
“It never spoke.”
“No. It only did once.”
Pegasus looked across the room. “And the box?”
“Another mystery,” said Dee, dismissively. “Something Single Horn left behind. It feeds off the power of the Tree, but no pony- -not even I- -have managed to open it. Some say that there is a dragon asleep within.”
The two of them laughed softly at the absurdity, and Dee took a much larger swallow of his wine.
“I wanted to see her,” he said. “One last time. To see if she would speak to me. But she has not…which I suppose I can accept. I was never able to understand the secrets that she gave me.” He looked into his wine, and then at Pegasus. “I…I just don’t understand. How could you do it? How could you turn against the unicorns, Pegasus? After all we’ve done for you, after everything the Horn dynasty has given your people? Why would you seek to destroy that?”
Pegasus sighed, and lay down on the rock, curling his legs beneath him. “What your kind gave to us,” he mused, softly. “Or what you took from us?”
“I don’t understand.”
“My story is not a pleasant one, Doctor Dee. Few have heard it in its entirety, but I shall tell you, if you wish it.”
“I have spent my life trying to understand the secret motivations of the universe,” said Dee. “But…I have never once thought to understand the motivations of a pony. Please. I would like to know.”
Pegasus sighed, and then began his tale.
“I was born in a distant village, high in the mountains. It was a place of unparalleled beauty, so high that on some days we might even touch the clouds, and pretend that we were flying high above the world. We were happy, but the work was hard. The land on the mountain was poor. Much of our income came from the wool of sheep, who lived alongside us.
“The winters were hard. One winter…especially so. Disease struck, killing many of our sheep. The crops, likewise, were poor. Despite this, Third Horn raised our taxes to pay for another one of his idiotic wars…or for more food for the nobles.”
“So you failed to pay your taxes?”
“Oh, no,” said Pegasus with a hint of pride- -and sadness. “We paid or taxes. The famine took half our village. I lost many, many friends, both ponies and sheep. I was just a colt, and I watched them get so thin, and I watched them die. I was helped dig the graves. But by the gods, we paid the taxes in full!”
“But if you paid the taxes…yes, I you sacrificed a lot. More than…more than I ever have. More than I ever will. But they died in service of our kingdom. They were certainly…heroic, I suppose.”
“Heroic,” laughed Pegasus, lightly. “My best friend watching his whole family starve before his eyes, and then dying alone in his frozen house…a heroic death…”
“I’m sorry,” said Dee. “I truly am…but that is not Third Horn’s fault.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Pegasus, his eyes narrowing. “I could have lived with that. Death is just part of being an earth pony. It was what came after that did this to me, made me like this.”
“What happened?”
“The soldiers came. Not for any reason in particular. Not for the taxes. Our village was just on the way to the front to fight our griffon neighbors. They stopped in our village…and…”
“And what?”
“They rounded us up. I think the adults knew what was coming. My father tried to resist, and they killed him. I watched him die. Then they took us...” he took a breath. “They did things to us. One after the other, again and again. I can still feel it. To this day, the sensation of having their horns shoved into my mouth. I can still feel the stallion’s hooves on my shoulders as they made me their mare. Again and again, each taking turns on me, laughing. Then the beat me and left me in a pool of my own blood.”
Dee stared in shock. The wine in his throat seemed to burn, and he felt the urge to vomit. “But you- -you didn’t do anything- -no! Even if you had! That…” there were no words. He felt more sick than he ever had. He wanted to believe that it was lies, or propaganda- -but he saw Pegasus’s eyes, and saw the pain and anger that he held. Dee knew this story to be true, and for the first time in his life, he felt ashamed to be a unicorn.
“Even that,” said Pegasus. “I would have suffered that humiliation ten thousand times…if it would have spared my sister.”
“Your…your sister?”
Pegasus nodded. “They killed my mother and older sisters, but my younger sister survived. Or…no…that’s not the right word. What was left of her was broken. What they did to her shattered her mind. She was just a filly! She didn’t even have her cutie mark yet, and those- -those monsters took everything from her!”
“Pegasus…”
“They gave her the swamp fever. Adults can survive it, but she was too young. I held her in my arms, I cared for her as she got so thin…as her skin got so gray…and then…she left me…”
“And that is what drove you to kill.”
Pegasus nodded. “The first one was the hardest. She was a mare, the one who ‘owned me’. I waited until she was asleep, and then I stabbed her in the throat. I still remember the way she looked up at me, like she just couldn’t believe that a little earth pony colt had killed her. Before she was even dead, I snapped off her horn, the horn she had shoved into my mouth and into…time and time again. I fashioned it into a blade. I killed most of the rest with that. Medea probably has it now.”
“Medea?”
“My second in command, and my lover. Her village was burned with the entire population still inside to make way for a summer home for one of the nobles. She leads the revolution now.”
“Revolution…”
“The things that your kind have done to us. Taxing us more and more as villages starve, robbing us of our fathers and sons to serve as cannon fodder in your wars, forcing us out of cities when we try to find medication for the diseases that you cannot seem to cure…I even met some survivors of an event where earth ponies are hunted for sport, and one whose leg was served as a delicacy at a unicorn banquet while he was forced to watch.”
Dee very nearly vomited, but managed to hold it down. He gasped and turned away. “Please…please stop,” he pleaded. Never before had he heard, or even considered, such terrible things. His life had always been so much less bleak: his “life and death” struggles merely climbing the rungs in a political latter. He had never faced disease, famine, or death, and had on some level ignored the fact that such things could even happen.
He now understood the reason for the revolution, and it sickened him- -not because of what Pegasus and his ilk were doing, but because of what he, Doctor Dee, had allowed himself to become. For his whole life, he had assumed that earth ponies were simple savages, that they deserved their fate for being weak. Now, though, as he sat beside one, he realized that they were ponies too. That they had fears, that they could feel pain.
Perhaps, Dee realized, now that he had nothing he was better able to appreciate the situation. He was the most powerful unicorn in all of Equestria, but even with all that magic, with all the secrets and mysteries that only he knew, he had still not been able to stop his fate. Now, sitting on a ledge with everything he had valued gone, he realized that magical power was not really the driving force of life. More magic did not make one superior, it just made one stronger. And he had used his strength wrongly, selfishly.
Dee drained the rest of his wine. “Why am I such a fool,” he said, setting the glass down. “Why didn’t I listen?”
“To whom?”
“To Fyr’mond…to my wife…” The meaning of that word too finally hit him. He had been given another opportunity, another one squandered. In seeking to climb higher in politics, to ensure patronage and ensure his dream of an eternal empire for his Queen, he had ignored her completely. If he had only shown her the love that Pegasus showed for his own people, she might be here beside him too. Even with everything gone, he might have still had her. “If only…I could have devoted my power to doing good. To helping…to…”
For some reason, Dee suddenly felt far more drunk than he should have after one glass of wine. The world seemed to swim around him, and he was terribly weak. He looked up at Pegasus, and saw the rainbow-maned pony looking down at him.
Dee suddenly jumped up and looked in the bottom of his glass, seeing the remnants of the leaves that had been placed there when his back had been turned.
“You- -you drugged me!” he cried.
“I did,” said Pegasus, standing. As he did, the magical binders that held him in place stretched and burst, dissipating as the winged pony was now able to move freely. “It is a powerful poison. It removes your capacity to use magic.”
“How…how could you?”
“Because the revolution must continue. For his crimes, Third Horn must fall.”
Dee tried to stand, but tipped and fell. Pegasus moved quickly, grabbing him and slowly lowering him to the stone below.
“That plant is a deadly poison,” he said. “But you saved my life, when no others would have. You listened to my story, and you understood. I think that perhaps you could have become my only unicorn friend. The dose shall indeed make you sick, but it shall cause no permanent damage.”
“I’m so…tired…”
“You will sleep,” said Pegasus. He put his face close to Dee’s. “But…because you are my friend, before you go, listen to this one piece of advice, that it might compensate you for my betrayal: you are strong, far stronger than Kelley ever will be. He knows but one spell, and not even how it works. If one like you were to learn it, your power would be unfathomable.”
Dee felt his eyes starting to close, and the world was fading. Pegasus seemed so distant.
“And…if you get that chance,” said a distant voice. “Think of my story when you choose to use it.”
Fyr’mond’s body shook rhythmically against the sheets of Ward Kelley’s bed. She watched as her sandy gray rear hooves moved back and forth with each of Ward’s thrusts. He groaned as he pushed into her again and again, and Fyr’mond felt herself moaning as her heart began to pound faster.
She lifted up her forlegs and tried to wrap them around him, to embrace him as they made love- -but instead, he pushed her down against the surface of the bed, holding her shoulders and dominating her instead. He closed his eyes and cried out as he pushed forward and suddenly stopped. Fyr’mond gasped as she felt the surge of warmth as he finished deep within her body.
Ward gasped for a moment, catching his breath, and then withdrew from Fyr’mond, leaving her empty and unfinished. He flopped over beside her, propping himself against the pillows of his bed. Though Fyr’mond was now taller than he was, she curled her body against his, putting her forehead against his side.
She wanted to reach out, to connect to him, and to be as close to him as possible. Inside, she felt afraid and sad. She knew that what she had done was wrong, that she had not been meant for him. She had married Dee, and been meant for him. Dee had been expelled from the court, but Fyr’mond still loved him. Instead of being at his side in this time of need, she was giving herself to his rival. She could not help but feel that she had betrayed him.
“You’re thinking about your husband,” said Ward, putting his left foreleg around Fyr’mond and holding her naked and sweating body close to his. “Do not worry, my princess. I have spoken to my angel, and he says that you have not betrayed him. Our union is permitted by the gods, and was ordained in the distant past to occur.”
“But I can’t stop thinking about it,” said Fyr’mond.
“Did he ever once attempt to lay with you?”
“No,” whispered Fyr’mond. “He never did…” But there was perhaps more reason for it than she had thought. In her ignorance, she had blamed herself for being too ugly, too fat, too stupid- -but with her magic, she had seen what Dee’s nature was, what his body had suffered beneath his gruff exterior. She had not seen the blindness in his eye, but there was so much more she had missed as well. How the magic of raising the sun and moon had shredded his insides, or how the legs on his right side were nearly non-functional, afflicted by a progressive disease that he could slow but not cure. She had forgotten that he was an old stallion, that lovemaking might be painful for him, or even impossible in his advanced age.
“My princess,” said Ward, putting his hoof on Fyr’mond’s chin and lifting her sight to his own. “You have done nothing wrong. We have done nothing wrong.”
“I know,” she said, holding him tighter. “I know.” ` “We are ponies that share the same goal. We share a dream. It only makes sense that we share our bodies.”
“That dream...when will we begin?”
Ward’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Begin what?”
“To make the world a better place. To cure the disease, and end the famine. My power is getting stronger every day. Please, Ward. Let me help you on your divine mission.”
Ward smiled, and stroked Fyr’mond’s rapidly graying mane. “My princess...I must first fulfill my obligations to your father. Raising a demonic army will not be easy. It will consume much of my power, and my time.”
“But that isn’t what you wanted…”
“Isn’t it? With an army of demons at my command, would not our soldiers no longer need to die? They would not be put in any danger, would they?”
“No,” admitted Fyr’mond. “But the other side…”
“Could always surrender. Fyr’mond, recall, this is your father’s will.”
“I know…”
Ward sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. “Of course…no…”
“What?”
“I do not want to burden you with it.”
“Please,” said Fyr’mond, crawling up Ward’s body. “We will serve Equestria together. Let me share the burden with you.”
Ward smiled. “I truly do love you, princess. But I am afraid that this problem will break your heart.”
“My heart is harder than you know.”
Ward looked down at her, his eyes meeting hers for a long moment. “The problem is your husband.”
“My…” Fyr’mond could not say the word, not while she was lying beside another stallion and filled with his seed. “Dee…he is no longer Magus. You are.”
“In the eyes of Third Horn, yes,” said Ward, “but the problem is that the royal court is not as absolute as you would think.”
“But my father’s word is law.”
“Not to nobility. Nyar was listening. Many of the nobility share your husband’s thoughts and ideals. They detest him, but they would sooner die than give the title of Magus to an earth pony. Hyemale, the patriarch of the Polish Cartel, has already expressed a desire to provide patronage to Dee.”
Fyr’mond felt her breath catch. She may not have known much about the world, but she knew the nobility. The Polish Cartel were a merchant group whose fortune came from the growing of a certain plant used to produce polish. They were one of the most deadly groups in Equestria.
The nobility, as Fyr’mond well knew, were not bound by normal rules or laws. Their world was messy and violent, with assassinations and subterfuge being commonplace. Little of that reached as high as the royal family, but knowledge of it was commonplace.
“I am afraid they will not accept me,” said Ward. “They will not take me as Magus. Even with Third Horn’s declaration, Dee is still my rival. As long as he lives, my life is in danger.”
“No! They wouldn’t! I…I won’t let them! I will protect you!”
“I’m afraid you cannot, my princess. They simply do not see the world as you do, where the two races of ponies might be equal.”
“But what…what can we do?”
Ward raised his right hoof, and the marks glowed. The region around the bed suddenly shifted, and Fyr’mond held him closer as a number of spiny tentacles rose around the border, seeping out from some terrible and unseen source.
“There can only be one Magus,” said Ward. “And that Magus shall be me.”
One of the tentacles shifted forward, and Ward took a glass from its grasp. He swirled the orange liquid, and Fyr’mond could smell the scent of freshly pressed carrot juice. Ward drained the glass, and slid his free hoof between Fyr’mond’s legs, rubbing it against one of her mammates.
“You know what we have to do.”
Fyr’mond closed her eyes, and buried herself in Ward’s coat, hoping that he would not see the tears she was shedding. “Yes,” she said. “Yes…I do…”
It was a dark night. Most ponies had long since retired to their beds. Few populated the streets, aside from those who had nowhere else to go. Even then were braced with blankets against the oncoming storms.
Through the dark, narrow streets walked a nun. Nyar moved quickly, her saddlebags filled with ingredients for Master Kelley’s spells, as well as food that she would prepare into dinner for him and the princess Fyr’mond, who had been staying with Kelley for some time now.
The sky continued to darken, and thunder was audible throughout the streets. Nyar looked to the sky with her blind eyes, and knew that she did not have much time. She quickened her pace, not wanting to get caught in the cold rain.
In the darkness, she did not see the shadowy figures moving around her, watching her, waiting until she crossed the threshold into their ambush. Nor had she even realized that she of all ponies would be a target.
Then, without warning, several cloaked figures jumped out of the shadows. Nyar cried out in surprise, but she was not strong enough to resist being shoved through an opening into a long-abandoned building by three large earth ponies. As she was thrown to the dirt floor, a fourth appeared, this one far more heavily cloaked compared to the others. He closed the door behind him as he entered.
“What are you doing?” cried Nyar, sounding panicked. “Please, let me- -”
Her words were interrupted by a sudden blow to her lower chest, just beneath her sternum. The air immediately left her lungs, and she fell to the ground, the contents of her bags scattering over the floor. The three earth ponies immediately descended upon her, slamming their hooves into her body again and again. She tried to shield herself, but it did little good.
The one pony that did not participate in the beating looked on from beneath his hood. Nyar looked up at him, only to have a hoof brought down on her face.
The hooded pony pulled back the cloth that covered his head, revealing his blue face and rainbow colored mane.
“Stop,” he ordered. “We need her conscious.”
Pegasus looked down at the bruised and broken nun beneath him. She was breathing heavily, gurgling through the blood that filled her mouth and nose. The nun turned over slightly, and spat blood and teeth onto the floor beside her.
“What do you…what do you want from me?” she asked, wincing and crying out at the pain that came with just speaking. It was a feeling that Pegasus knew all too well.
“This is her,” said Pegasus. The nun looked up at him. Her eyes were covered with black cloth, so she could not see, but Pegasus still felt like she was looking at him.
“Wings,” she said. “You have wings…you were there that day, with the Magus…”
“You are the nun who is associated with Ward Kelley,” said Pegasus. “Are you not?”
The nun nodded weakly. “Please,” she said. “Please let me go…I’m badly hurt…I won’t tell anypony, I promise…”
“I am afraid we cannot,” replied Pegasus, trying his best to remain neutral in the face of this pitiful sight before him. “We require your master’s power.”
“To…to what end?”
One of the earth ponies leaned forward and kicked the nun in the chest. Pegasus winced as he heard her ribs crack, and she rolled over in pain, writhing as her blind eyes cried. “Please, please stop!” she wheezed.
“We want what he has,” grunted the earth pony. “What the horn-heads don’t have.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand!”
“Magic,” said Pegasus, simply. “We need magic Kelley has that power. I know he does. We need it. For the revolution.”
“He will never help the likes of you!” cried the nun, defiantly. “He treats the sick, the ill, not thuggish- -”
Another hard blow to her chest silenced her, followed by a second blow to the head. Pegasus turned away, unable to watch. He could not help but see his own face on hers, back when it had been unicorns who had done the same to him.
“Stop hitting her,” he demanded. He then gestured for them to lift her. Two of them did, until she was at eye level with Pegasus himself. “You do realize that we can take your life? I do not want to. I really do not. But if you do not help us, you are a traitor to your people, and an enemy of the revolution. You will tell us how Kelley performs his magic. You will take us to him, and he will do as we say if he wants you to live. Or we kill you.”
“I would rather die than betray Master Kelley,” spat the nun.
One of the ponies holding her dropped her into a bloody heap onto the floor.
“This isn’t working,” he said. “What threat is death to a nun? I have a much better idea.”
The earth pony moved behind her, holding her shoulders down, and lifted the back of her dress. The nun cried out in terror, and Pegasus felt his hoof grabbing the earth pony’s foreleg.
“What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.
“She does not value her life,” hissed the pony. “So I’m going to take something that does matter to her.”
“No,” said Pegasus, revolted at the red-pink earth pony towering over him. “How dare you?”
The pony pushed him hard in the chest. Pegasus’s comparatively light frame was thrown back easily.
“You’ve grown soft, Sic’Semper,” said the pony. “I’m only doing what has to be done.”
The other two ponies gathered around, pushing Pegasus back, excited to watch. The pony behind the nun grabbed the bottom of her dress and tore it, exposing the parts of her he needed access too.
“No, please!” cried the nun in absolute terror. She pressed her rear against the ground, trying to defend herself. “Please! Kill me, if you have to, but please, I beg you, don’t take my chastity! Don’t break my vows!”
Pegasus looked at her terrified face, and then turned away. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“He’s not in command here,” said the pony behind the nun, forcibly lifting rump by pulling up her tail, causing her to cry out in pain. He grinned as he looked down at what he was seeing. “Besides…you’re going to like it. By the gods, its been so long since I’ve had a virgin.”
“Please, Pegasus!” cried the nun, clawing at the ground but unable to escape. “Please! Don’t let him hurt me! I beg you!”
The pony behind her lifted his weight onto her. She was small and could not support his weight, and was pressed against the ground. “Come on don’t be a prude,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m going to fill you up with nice, strong earth foals. Assuming we don’t just kill you after I’m done.”
The nun was now crying, but she was no longer resisting. She seemed to have accepted her fate.
Pegasus took a breath and held down his vomit, and then pushed past the two earth ponies who were watching in anticipation. Pegasus crouched in front of the nun, and was almost overwhelmed by a sudden powerful scent of carnations.
“Just give us his magic,” he said.
“Nev- -never,” she sobbed.
Pegasus sighed. “Then there is nothing I can do for you.”
A thought suddenly occurred to him as the pony on top of her pushed himself against her. He found himself suddenly reaching up with his hoof. Something seemed strange about this pony, but he did not know what. He realized that he needed to see what was behind that blindfold, to know what she was behind that satin veil.
With one swift motion, he pulled it away from her, and then froze. He could not fully comprehend what he was seeing, or how it was possible that there could be a pair of eyes so large and so red. The nun stared back at him with pure red orbs devoid of pupil or white- -and then she smiled, her lips pulling back from a far too large number of highly pointed teeth.
Pegasus’s eyes suddenly shifted to her torn dress, to where her rump had been exposed. Her cutie mark was that of an eye- -but to his horror, he saw the eye shift, its black pupil suddenly turning toward him. He saw the surface of the mark glisten, and realized the ghastly truth: it was not a cutie mark at all, but a real eye imbedded in her flank.
“No!” he cried. “Get away from her!”
He was too late, though. The pony on top of her smiled as he finally found his target and prepared to enter. That smile rapidly shifted into fear and agony, though, and he immediately released the most bloodcurdling scream that Pegasus had ever heard.
“Gotcha,” said the nun. Without warning, her entire back half split down the middle, separating her into two halves. Her vagina burst forth as a jaw filled with teeth and wrapped it around her attacker’s pelvis, crushing it in a single bite, pulverizing his lower back and upper legs.
The earth pony gasped and screamed as he fell onto the floor. The demonic nun passed toward him, her rear half now a mass of teeth and chitinous, clawed legs with too many joints, all pouring out from within her. Her gentials opened like a flower, and several long, strap-like appendages covered in barbed, bladed teeth began to pour out.
“No, please, oh gods NOOOO!”
The pony with the crushed pelvis was torn apart as the mouths and teeth descended upon him, tearing apart his body, shoving it into the back of the nun. Pegasus stepped back, frozen in horror as he watched his friend disemboweled and shredded.
“Sic’Semper!” cried the pony, vomiting blood. He reached up, but his limb was severed with a sudden burst from one of the tentacles and crushed between the seemingly endless rows of snarling teeth. A pair of long chitinous legs then crawled over his face and, upon twisting his head into the correct position, plunged into his eyes. The straps then poured down his screaming throat, and Pegasus watched as returned bearing his lungs.
“Kill her! Kill her!” cried the other two, drawing their swords.
The nun smiled, and as her body snapped back instantly into its original conformation she raised a hoof toward them. Both ponies cried out in pain as they burst into flames. Pegasus ducked away, covering his face from the heat. He watched as those two burned from within and listened as their screams were distorted by the superheated air around them. Then he saw them fall, now little more than skeletons and ash- -and yet they still writhed in pain on the floor as they continued to burn, unable to die.
“Pegasus,” said the nun. Her voice was different; it was no longer pleasant and measured, but now seductive and cruel. Pegasus looked up to see her lying in the entrails of his friend. She rolled in them, and then separated her legs, exposing herself to him through the rip in her dress. She struck a pose, and smiled. “Please ravish me,” she said, running her blood-stained hoof down her waist and to her inner thigh. She laughed. “Please. Come to me. Force yourself into me, hold my head into the gore of your comrade and force me to choke on it as you violate my vows.” Her already unblinking eyes seemed to widen. “Come here and help me blaspheme against your pitiful gods.”
“What- -what are you?” said Pegasus, stepping backward. He looked behind him, trying to find the door- -but saw that it was gone. The walls that should have been wooden had been partially replaced by some kind of gray stone, and by an inky void shrouded by mist. Some still stood, like reminders of the sane world where he should have resided, but the rest was different, as if he were partially elsewhere. He realized that he had been led into a trap.
The nun sighed, sounding immensely disappointed. Then she rose, climbing from the bones and shredded remnants of the pony she had taken inside her. She smiled as the clothing that she wore began to change. Wherever her habit touched her skin, it burned, charring away to smoke. Wherever it was covered in blood, it rotted, putrefying and dripping away.
As her clothing vanished, her hair flopped out. It was long and deep crimson, the same color as her eyes. Her body was yellow, and as it became less clothed, Pegasus saw how perfect it was. She was an earth pony, and the ideal of all feminine beauty. Some part of him wanted her- -but far more of him reacted to her as if he were seeing a living corpse rising from its grave.
“What am I?” she asked, almost rhetorically, her mouth extending into an even wider smile. Pegasus gasped as he thought that for just a moment he saw her shift, as though instead of perfectly straight pony teeth he had seen a smile with thousands of translucent needle-like teeth. “I am the most beautiful pony!”
“You are no pony.”
In an instant, she was within inches of Pegasus’s face. Her red, unblinking eyes were just inches from his, and he saw her beautiful face- -and choked on the stench of rotting, putrid flowers and burning flesh. Before he could back away or stop her, she pressed her lips against his.
Pegasus tried to scream as several long, forked tongues were shoved into his mouth. She tasted far worse than she smelled, and her appendages reached deep within him. They twisted down his throat, into his lungs and stomach, and one went upward until it protruded out of his nose.
Then she released him, and Pegasus collapsed onto the ground, gasping and choking.
“What am I?” mused the yellow pony. “Such a question…” She smiled caringly, and then sardonically as she looked down at the coughing pony below her, and then at his still writhing immolated comrades. “Mortals have no words for my nature, or for what my kind are, if there are really any left. I am your light, your happiness, a pure and beautiful angel. I am the turtle on whose back Tartarus lies. Can you comprehend my meaning, mortal?”
“You…you are a demon,” said Pegasus, wiping away the blood from his mouth. “This was one of Kelley’s tricks- -”
The yellow pony appeared behind him suddenly and leaned forward. Her female form was gone; now she was a tall and perfectly sculpted stallion.
“Ward Kelley is a fool,” he said, running his hoof over Pegasus’s back until it reached the gap between his wings. Pegasus felt his wings involuntarily extend. He was breathing faster, not understanding what was happening- -or about to happen. “He did indeed summon me…but his mind so small, so arrogant that he does not understand the implications of what he has done, of what I am.”
The yellow pony reached forward and, ever so gently, put his lips on Pegasus’s wing. Pegasus closed his eyes and tried to remain composed as the other pony moved his lips and tongues over the feathers. It felt good, as pleasurable as sex- -but it was wrong. Pegasus knew that he was being violated, but once again, he did not have the strength to run.
Then he felt the yellow ponies long, barbed, prehensile penis wrap around one of his rear legs. Feeling that horrible impossible feeling seemed to break the spell, and he jumped away.
“Stop that!” he bellowed. “Or I will- -”
“Hit an innocent mare?” she said, now behind him once again. Pegasus turned sharply, and for a fraction of a second saw her, her bones exposed and rotting flesh dripping away from her body, forming a pool of blood and organs beneath her that squirmed with maggots. He blinked in terror, and she was restored to perfect beauty. “You know you would like it. To raise your tail to me, to let me give you what you want. You liked it then, too, didn’t you?”
“No,” whispered Pegasus, backing away. “No…how do you know…”
“Because I have been watching you. I have been watching them all. All these…ponies. Their violence, their lust, their perversion…” she smiled widely, and then broke into feminine laughter. “I have wandered for what must seem to you like eternity. I have crossed so many words. So many were empty. Some were Ordered. Some were terribly dull. Most, though,” she lifted her hoof. “They burned at my touch. Their remnants ride my back as you ride this word. My children….but this word…” her eyes flicked to Pegasus. They had no pupils, but he could tell where they were focusing. “This impossible word…a reality that survived the grip of the Soth. How could I have known what I would find. These ponies…mortals with souls, with minds, writhing in eternal sin and anguish. Never in eternity have I witnessed such beings, have I felt such pleasure. Even if you are so…” she gestured toward the heap of flesh behind her and the pair of still burning ponies. “…so very fragile.” An idea seemed to occur to her. “Perhaps I will make my own version. Yes…ones that are a bit more durable…but in time.”
Pegasus stood, folding his wings against his back. She watched, bemused, as he took a defensive stance. “I will fight you, if I must,” he said. “I cannot die here. Not now. Not yet!”
“Nopony dies here,” whispered a voice. It did not come from the yellow pony, and Pegasus turned sharply- -and felt his heart nearly stop. “No…”
From the mist, unicorn appeared. Her skin was pale, sickly violet, and she bore the rotting remnants of armor. Her eyes had long since been whitened by the cast of death, and the blood that stained her coat from the wide slit in her neck had long-since dried. She stared at Pegasus, and saw the empty socket in her forehead, the skin pale and torn around where her horn had once been.
“But I killed you!” cried Pegasus, stepping back. “You are dead!”
She nodded. “We’re all dead here,” she said in reply. Black, semi-liquid blood bubbled from the hole in her throat as she spoke. “And yet…”
“We remain,” gurgled a second voice. Pegasus turned to see the remnants of his comrade start to rise. His pelvis had been crushed, and his rear legs and lower body had been reduced to frayed flesh and entrails. His lungs, which protruded from his mouth, tried desperately to inflate, and yet somehow he spoke- -and stood on his remaining leg.
“It’s so…so cold…”
The last voice made Pegasus shiver and he closed his eyes. “Please…please gods no…not her.”
“There is no God but me,” said the yellow pony. “Look at her, Pegasus. Look upon your sister.”
Pegasus gasped and opened his eyes. The world was distorted through his tears, but he looked down and saw her. A little, pale filly standing beside him. Her coat was darkened by death, and her eyes blind.
“Brother?” she said. “I…I can’t see. Where am I? I don’t know where I am…”
“Brother,” she whispered. Her voice seemed distant, as if she was confused. “I’m so cold…why am I cold? Why does…it hurts. It hurts so much…”
“No, it will be okay. Don’t worry, we’re together again…”
He reached forward to take her in his forelegs, but before he could reach her, she was pulled back into the shadows. She did not even scream- -but she did not have to. The look of despair on her face carried far more emotion than any scream could.
“NO!” cried Pegasus, trying himself to run into the shadows, only to run into the legs of the yellow pony. “Please, give her back! She’s just a filly!”
“The dead are my property,” said the smiling yellow pony. “By my power, I shall siphon them from this word for all eternity, taking them within myself. The fate of all mortals, at their end, is to see what lies behind the this veil of death.”
She knelt down, and ran her rotting hoof through Pegasus’s rainbow mane. “You will, one day, love me too, child. Never for one moment believe that death will bring you any peace. It only brings me.” She stepped away from him, allowing him to wallow in his own sorrow. She stopped for a moment to contemplate one of the burning ponies, staring at it with a light, feminine smile as though she were contemplating fine art, taking in the suffering and pain.
“But you came to me for a reason,” she said, crossing the room further and putting her hoof beneath the squirming heap of entrails that had once been an earth pony. “That is why I allowed you to bring me here. Surely you did not come here simply to attempt to mate with your one true Goddess. What would you ask of me, mortal?”
Pegasus looked up. He was shaking, and his mind was on the verge of being broken- -but he knew that he had heard her right. After all that she had done, she was now offering to help. The pain she had caused had no purpose, aside from her enjoyment; she had always been intending to do what they asked.
Slowly, Pegasus stood, and the amber colored pony turned to stare at him, waiting. “We want Kelley’s magic,” he said, simply. “Can you give us that?”
The demon laughed. “Is it so difficult for your mortal minds to comprehend?” she asked him. “I have already told you. Ward Kelley has no magic. No earth ponies do. He is nothing more than a fraud.”
“But the rumors…my soldiers have seen his feats, with their own eyes! He can summon demons of great power from the ether beyond.”
“Did you actually believe any of that? Ward Kelley only ever succeeded at summoning one demon. ME. It is I who raise my children to this word, and I who control them, to make them appear to do his bidding. I do not even believe the fool realizes his exact role in this charade…he may even believe that he is actually performing spells. But I assure you, he is not. I am.”
“Then your magic must indeed be powerful.”
She smiled at the flattery. “I am what your Doctor Dee seeks to become. I am that which understands the secrets of the universe…but unlike him, I dismiss them as lies. Reality itself is mine to pervert.”
“Then can you serve us, instead?”
She shook her head. “Firstly, it does not work that way. I serve no one. You would be serving me. Second, my plans in this world have almost drawn to a conclusion. My time here is short. I do not wish to remain behind for your revolution…I have a prophecy to fulfill. BUT…if you have a request, I can achieve it.”
“So you could resurrect a dead pony? Any of them?”
“I could…but be very careful with such a request.” She smiled. “Those who have passed the veil, and seen what lies beneath…they do not return whole, or the same. It is…an unpleasant fate. But I will still do it if you wish.”
“No,” said Pegasus, shaking his head. The choice weighed heavily on his heart, but he could not use this boon selfishly. “My apologies, Pandora,” he whispered. Then he looked into the eyes of the devil. “Wings,” he said.
“Wings?” she replied, as if confused.
“Yes. I ask you, my goddess: mark those soldiers who stand loyal to Pegasus, and loyal to Equestria. Give them wings, as I have, so that we might take to the air in our battle against the unicorn foe.”
“An army of winged horses,” mused the yellow pony. Then she grinned. “Yes…that will do nicely. It will be perfect…it is done.”
“What- -done? So quickly?”
She gestured downward toward the pair of writhing burning ponies on the floor. Each of them now had a pair of skeletal, flaming wings. “The new pony race is marked,” she said. “Your kind is a new race. You and your descendants shall bear these wings for all eternity. The mark of Pegasus.”
“And…the cost?” he asked. He took a deep breath, prepared for what he must give to her.
“Cost? There is no cost. Not yet. The results alone will be adequate.”
“But…”
“You assumed that I would want something in exchange? To ravish your glorious rainbow-tailed stallion body, perhaps? Or your soul?” She laughed. “Your soul is neither fully corrupt nor perfectly innocent. It is worthless to me…at the moment. And in all honesty, I rather prefer white unicorns…”
She looked down at the mess near her feet. The word suddenly shifted. The gray-blue rocks and mist vanished, replaced with the dingy, moldering room that they had been in before. The two burning ponies extinguished and were restored to flesh- -although their ordeal had been too much for them. They stared blankly into space, their minds having been shattered by mere minutes of torment. Their friend had not been so lucky. His corpse remained, and his soul had been pulled back to the realm of demons.
The yellow pony’s flesh seemed to distort, and the habit she wore returned to her, complete with a tiny silver cross that sat around her neck. Searching the floor, she reached down and picked up the blindfold that had been the only fragment of her clothing that had survived. Her wide, demonic eyes contemplated it for a moment, and then she smiled. Not a demonic smile, but a calm, motherly one, the sort that would be proper for a nun.
“Yes,” she said. “I do like that metaphor.” She turned her gaze toward Pegasus. “If you ever asked what you witnessed this name, provide this name. Know that I am Satin Veil.”
She folded the cloth and replaced it around her eyes, covering them perfectly. She replaced her red hair under her habit, and then picked up her bags. She turned to Pegasus and bowed.
“I am afraid I have tarried too long,” she said in her perfectly measured nun voice. “Master Kelley is waiting on these ingredients. So I am afraid I must depart quickly, Lord Pegasus. Please forgive my rudeness.”
She trotted past him and opened the door. “May the gods be with you, and may our shining Goddess bless your every endeavor.”
Pegasus heard her hoofsteps as she trotted off through down the cobblestone street, and listened until they were no longer audible through the sound of heavy rain. Then, when he was gone, he collapsed to his knees. His shaking legs could simply no longer support his weight, and he needed to rest. He knew that he had succeeded, but he could not help but wonder if, like Kelley, he was working with dark forces whose sinister motives he could not even hope to comprehend.
The clouds pressed around Pegasus as he ascended rapidly. His wings pumped again and again against the air, and he felt his heart racing. Never before had he felt so free, and never before had his mission been so clear.
In an instant, he burst through the cloud and soared vertically into the yellow sky above. With the rush of countless wings, hundreds of his followers burst through the clouds beneath him, following his lead upward into the sky. They swirled around him in a vortex, and he could feel their combined strength pushing the entire flock upward toward their goal.
The air started to grow thin and cold. Pegasus felt his breath accelerating as he tried to bring more oxygen into his body. Even with his modified lungs, the edges of his vision were beginning to gray. He felt his wings icing, and wondered for a moment if he could even keep going.
Then he drove upward even faster, pumping his wings against the gravity that had for so long bound his kind to the world below. He pierced through the frigid, rarified atmosphere, ignoring the pain within his body. He could not turn back, not with them counting on him. Not when he was so close.
Behind him, numerous ponies started to fail from the altitude. Some could no longer keep up, and they turned back. Others continued to push themselves after their leader, to the point where they exceeded their own abilities. They passed out and fell, their descending comrades catching most of them as they dropped.
Out in the distance, Pegasus became aware that he could see all of Equestria stretching out below him. It curved out into the distance to the seemingly endless round horizon where it met the yellow sky, which faded to blackness beyond. His eyes continued to scan forward, though, searching the haze of the firmament for his target.
His course was perfectly selected, and he cut through the high-atmospheric winds with precision and strength. Not all were as strong as he, though. Some of those who had survived the thin atmosphere and bone-chilling frost were blown off course, toward the Spheres that sat on either side of Pegasus’s course. Those who flew to close to the sun watched as their wings burst into flames. They fell, burning, to the earth below, plummeting to their deaths. Those who were drawn too close to the moon, likewise, were afflicted with its madness, driven insane by its crystalline white light. Many simply closed their wings and fell, laughing with manic delight and absolute terror as they fell to their demise.
Then, all at once, the air suddenly seemed to vanish. There was nothing left to breath. What had been left in its place was a powerful lack of pressure, and Pegasus felt it pulling at his eyes and flesh. Yet, still ponies flew beside him, unwilling to leave their leader on his destined course.
For a moment, Pegasus began to lose hope. He saw the firmament that made up the border between Panbios and the void beyond, but he did not see what he had come so high to find, what the ancient legends had spoken of. In that moment of panic, he wondered if he had been wrong, if he had expended the lives of his compatriots and dear friends for nothing.
Then, suddenly, he saw it. His keen vision detected the tiniest of distortions against the firmament, and he took one final breath of what little air he could gather and raced toward it. As he did, he saw the speck expand, and the joy at the sight made him rush forward even faster in one final sprint.
There, high in the sky, was a large structure of yellowish steel and gray synthetic stone, a windowless city of machines imbedded within the firmament itself. It was just as the stories had said: that the stars that might occasionally be seen on clear nights were, in fact, the vestiges of a long-extinct civilization.
Pegasus and his comrades descended onto the city. They folded their wings behind them; with such thin air, there was little need for them. Now free of gravity, though, they simply drifted through the massive towers in the sky, grasping the smooth sides of the angled machines until they found the doors.
Near the base, Pegasus found his. He pressed his hoof into the panel on the side, and the circular door shifted, its convoluted but elegant mechanical systems unsealing the space within. As it opened, Pegasus extended his hoof and helped another pony: a mulberry colored mare who had held firmly at his five position during the entire ascension.
Once inside, the door behind them closed. It shifted, and air hissed around them. Pegaus gasped, releasing the breath of air he had held for too long. The air that surrounded him was by no means of good quality: it was more frigid than the coldest mountain nights, and it reeked of metal and oil and the ancient staleness of a long-forgotten tomb.
The second door suddenly engaged, its revolving mechanical components shifting. Then it swung open, revealing a long, straight hallway beyond. Pegasus finished catching his breath, and then entered.
As he did, there was a clicking sound as the systems within the satellite began to activate. There were a series of distant mechanical sounds as the U-shaped lights that were spaced in the wall of the corridor ignited with electrically driven energy.
The pony beside him stepped forward beside him, and shook away the ice from her wings. She looked down the hall with suspicion, but without a trace of fear. Her cropped black hair seemed to glisten in the artificial light, and in that moment Pegasus wished he knew how to paint, to capture Medea’s visage as she stood there in this ancient installation. The severe burn scars that covered much of her upper body and half of her face only made her look more beautiful.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“A relic of a more advanced age,” said Pegasus as he started to walk down the hallway.
“An empty city, built in the furthest point of the sky? Empty? I do not like this. It reeks of sorcery.”
Pegasus smiled. “I assure you, it is not.”
“How did you even know about this place? None of our intelligence recovered any mention of this, or anything…” Medea looked at the metal-plated walls and the conduits that ran through them. “Anything remotely like this…”
“There was a legend in my village,” explained Pegasus, “passed down from the ancient times through my people. Through my family. The stories spoke of the cerorians, and of their deeds.”
“Cerorians?”
Pegasus nodded. “They were the contemporaries of our Aurasus ancestors, and great allies with them. Like the golden-winged ponies of old, the cerorians bore no magic.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” grunted Medea, her inky eyes shifting around the hall before her as their hoofteps against the metal below echoed through the emptiness. “Considering our current location.”
“No,” said Pegasus. He gestured to the base around them. “Not one piece of this facility was built by magic, or with magic. The cerorians were inventers, engineers, makers of technology beyond any pony’s wildest dream. More than that, though. They were proud, brave, noble soldiers. With their technology, they were able to overpower the ancient trihorns, and with the Aurasi, to keep the users of magic at bay.”
“Clearly they did not do a terribly good job,” muttered Medea, not nearly as enamored with the idea of noble warriors as her lover was. “Considering that there are none of them left.”
“Because they were betrayed. The trihorns knew that they could not defeat the cerorians directly, so they instead turned to subterfuge, just as they used trickery to destroy the Aurasi. They incited civil war within the cerorian society. The cerorians ended themselves.”
Pegasus stopped at an area he knew to be a door, labeled with a barcode. He pressed his hoof against the manual activation panel, and the door clicked from within. Then it slid open.
On the other side, more lights ignited, filling the armory within with light. Pegasus and Medea stared in awe at the weapons before them, and at the armor, built of thick gray material for quadrupedal creatures far larger and wider than any living race of pony. All of it was aligned and ready for deployment, as it had been countless millennia. Weapons specifically intended to slay the users of magic.
Behind them, a pony appeared in a nearby hallway. He fluttered through the cold air, and then came to a rest on the metal plated floor, held firm by artificial gravity. His poorly built artificial leg clicked as he looked to the two ponies before him. One of his golden eyes looked at Pegasus, while the other looked in the vague direction of Medea.
“Derpus Maximus,” said Pegasus. “Have you inspected the facility?”
“I did, Commander,” said Maximus, one of his eyes shifting slightly and his prosthetic limb releasing a puff of coolant gas. “The central core mainframe is still fully operational. We have recovered the locations of the other facilities.”
Medea turned to Pegasus wide-eyed. “There are more of these?”
“Yes,” said Pegasus. “Some still survive on the surface, buried and forgotten. The unicorns destroyed a great many of them.”
“Why?” asked Maximus. “Why destroy this? With what it can give us?”
“Because they fear what they do not understand,” spat Pegasus. “Because even the shadow of the truth is seen as heresy amongst them.”
“The truth?” asked Medea, raising a black eyebrow.
“That the magic that they claim makes them superior is actually worthless. Only by making those without horns weak can they make themselves strong.” Pegasus’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Maximus. “As for the device?”
Derpus Maximus nodded. “It is indeed here, as you predicted…but…”
“But what?”
“This entire place is impossibly old. The weapon has degraded, badly. And even if we can repair it, the munitions are almost entirely depleted. We can only fire one barrage.”
“We only need one,” said Pegasus, putting his hoof on the older pony’s shoulder. “I trust that you can repair it. And when you have, lock the targeting coordinates on Equestria’s zero point.”
Maximus’s eyes widened. “Yes, Commander Pegasus,” he said, hesitantly. He then spread his wings, and flew down the oversized hallways to oversee the execution of Pegasus’s orders.
“You do understand the implications of what you asked,” said Medea. “The city has a heavy population of earth ponies. If you fire it, many of them will die along with the unicorns.”
“The earth ponies are no longer my concern,” said Pegasus, harshly. “The power that gave us wings gave it to all of those who would stand beside me, to all of those who are truly loyal. Those who do not have wings only demonstrate their complacency to unicorn rule. They are traitors to our revolution, and they will die. Only the Pegasi matter to me now.”
Medea wrapped her hooves around Pegasus and kissed him. He kissed her back.
“Now that is the pony I fell in love with,” she said. She reached into a holster that was attached to her body and produced a narrow blade cut from spiraling bone.
“My dagger,” said Pegasus.
“Take it,” she said. “Take it, Pegasus, and rule the our new race.”
Pegasus contemplated the blade for a moment. A relic from the first unicorn he had slain. Then he took it, promising himself that the next unicorn whose blood it would taste would be that of Third Horn himself.
The children of the Aurasi with the technology of the cerorians, declaring war against the spawn of the trihorn: Pegasus knew that it was now time to end the tyranny of magic and finish what the ancient races had started. With the Pegasi at his side, he knew that nothing could stop him from building a new and just Equestria atop the ashes of unicorn civilization.
A break had formed in the storm, and the bright yellow sky momentarily shone through the clouds onto the wet earth below. In the eternal light of the sun and the moon, Fyr’mond looked out at the placid water of Mortlake as it reflected the images of the trees that surrounded it. It was still as beautiful as the first day she had seen it, but now instead of wonder and awe it brought her only sadness.
She paused and watched for a moment, and then continued down the gravel path that walked along the lake shore, joining Ward Kelley and Nyar as they made their way toward Dee’s home. months had passed since Dee had been stripped of his title, and this was the first time that Fyr’mond had returned to Mortlake. She had wanted to come, to see him, but had never managed to find the courage- -both to face him, and to do what Ward told her needed to be done.
For a time, she had hoped that this day might never come, that she could hide away, that this event might fade to time and never occur. Then the letter had come. It was sealed in a simple envelope, sent without any seal more than a simple blob of unstamped wax, but it bore her husband’s handwriting. In it had been a simple letter, one that Ward had perhaps known would be coming to him eventually. Fyr’mond had not been permitted to read it, but she knew what it said in general: that Dee was requesting their presence.
Fyr’mond did not know how to feel, nor did she know what to expect. She looked to Ward to understand, clinging desperately to the hope that she had held when she first met him. He seemed as confident as ever. He did not expect a trap, or some kind of bizarre duel- -but he still somehow approached his plan with neither fear nor remorse.
As they neared the house at the edge of the lake, Fyr’mond looked out at the smaller building on the edge of the nearby forest. It, she knew, was the servant’s quarters, where they lived and where carriages and equipment were stored. One of the youngest of them, barely out of colthood, was chopping wood. Seeing him reminded Fyr’mond of the servants, of Upkeep and the others. They were her friends. They had smiled and helped her when there was nopony else for her- -and now she was about to betray them.
Fyr’mond stopped, and tried to regain her composure. Ward, not noticing, continued onward. Nyar, however, fell back and stood beside Fyr’mond.
“Is something the matter, princess?” she asked, shuffling the weight of her saddelbags. Fyr’mond looked down at the yellow pony, and then cast a spell to make her burden lighter. Nyar looked surprised. “Thank you, princess, but that was not necessary. I am stronger than I look. But why do you hesitate?”
“I can’t…I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t go through with this.”
“Because you do not wish to see your husband again?”
Fyr’mond shook her head, but realized that on some level Nyar was correct. “I…I abandoned him. And now I come back, for…for this…”
Nyar put her hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. The smell of flowers surrounded Fyr’mond thickly, like a cloud of essence. Although she had grown accustomed to that smell, Fyr’mond still felt her breath slowing as she tried to avoid breathing it, as if it were somehow toxic. “You did abandon him,” she said, simply. “But that is not bad.”
“But he needed me. How can that not be bad?”
“He had abandoned you long before you left him. Some things…they simply cannot be, no matter how much we want them. Some things must be left behind if we are to move forward.”
Fyr’mond sighed, and then looked at Ward, who had stopped ahead, waiting for them but allowing them time to complete their conversation. He was, indeed, patient. Perhaps even too much so.
“Nyar,” asked Fyr’mond. “Do you ever doubt Ward?”
“No,” said Nyar. Her tone was neither judgmental, nor accusing. “I do not.”
“But…he has been Magus for months now. The performances have stopped, but…he has not healed anypony. He has not helped the farmers. I know he can. I believe in him, Nyar, I truly do…but…”
“He has been assembling an army for your father,” explained Nyar. “That surely takes great energy.”
“But he never tires. He never seems to work, at all. He summons them…but…”
“But is a war truly what you think he wants?”
“He could do so much more. But he…” He did not seem to care. Fyr’mond could not bring herself to say that, to speak what she knew would be an insult to the dream that they both shared. Ward spoke endlessly of that dream, of a world where nopony was hungry or sick or poor, and explained in great detail how it would be accomplished- -but never performed any actions to indicate that he was moving toward that goal.
“You have to consider the grandeur of the task you ask of him,” said Nyar, putting her hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. “It is indeed a large task, one that he only barely yet knows how to begin. He is a kind and just pony, one of very few. We need to trust his judgement. He will bring peace and prosperity to this word, and you and I will stand at his side as he does. That is the dream that the three of us share. To spread holy light across this world. Surely you, my only friend, can understand this.”
Fyr’mond wrapped her forelegs around the smaller pony, ignoring the unpleasant smell of flowers and hugging her tightly. She felt her tears falling onto the nun’s shoulder, and found herself wondering why Nyar felt so cold.
“You are my best friend,” said Fyr’mond. “I would be lost without you, Nyar.”
“I know…I know.” They embraced for a long moment, and then released. “You know what needs to be done,” she said. “We need to unite the royal court under one Magus. I know it will be hard for you, but hold Ward’s dream within your heart. We are doing this for a better world.”
Fyr’mond wiped away her tears, and nodded. Then she inhaled, and regained her composure. The two mares then followed the path toward rejoining Ward ahead.
The windows in the house were dark as the three approached the door. They climbed the steps onto the wide porch, and Ward paused for a moment before knocking on the door. He looked to his two assistants, making sure that they knew the plan, and why it needed to be done.
Fyr’mond nodded, using the fullest of her princess training to suppress all emotion. Ward smiled back, and then knocked his hoof against the door.
At first, nothing happened. Then, with a creak the door swung open, revealing the darkness on the other side. Fyr’mond barely suppressed a sudden gasp when she saw her husband’s face in the narrow beam of light cast by opening the door instead of that of a servant. All the confidence and power he had borne before seemed to have left him, leaving nothing more than a withered old stallion. For the first time, she became fully conscious of just how old he was- -and now saw that he was in even far worse condition than before.
Dee was gaunt and unkempt. His beard and mane were disheveled, and his coat seemed ashen. He appeared like a pony on the verge of death, the opposite of the young, vigorous stallion he now faced. It was as though the transference of his title had also transferred his youth along with it- -or, as Fyr’mond suddenly realized, his sense of purpose.
“Ward Kelley,” said Dee. His tone was dry, but not filled with any kind of anger as Fyr’mond had expected. He just seemed tired, and his dark eyes shifted to the other two. “Your assistant…and princess Fyr’mond.”
Dee stepped back without another word, and the swung open as he backed away. Ward looked to the others, smiling smugly, and entered the house.
In the darkness within, the first thing that occurred to Fyr’mond was the fact that the house was no longer neat and sterile. Instead, it was filled with boxes and crates, all neatly labeled in Dee’s hoofwriting. Some were open, and Fyr’mond saw that they were packed with scrolls, books, artifacts and equipment.
“Are you moving?” asked Fyr’mond.
Dee looked back at her expressionlessly. “No,” he said. “I have been permitted to keep this house. I intend to live out what little time I have left here.”
“Then why the boxes, and crates?”
Dee looked at the boxes, as if he was seeing them for the first time. “Property of the government. I am no longer Magus. I no longer have the right to my life’s work. But I still have one final duty to attend to. I will ensure that my knowledge is not lost. That my work shall be given to the next Magus…” he looked at Ward. “And passed down to further generations. This is the last thing I can do. I only pray that they use the power of these scrolls better than I have.”
“You did not request my presence to carry boxes, though,” said Ward. “You could just as easily use your servants to do that…and say, Doctor, do you not still have that curious winged creation of yours? Is he around here, perhaps?”
“I released him,” said Dee.
“You what?” stammered Fyr’mond, surprised. “But- -he was a criminal!”
“Would you have me keep him here, princess?” asked Dee, his voice becoming somewhat more sharp than before. “Perhaps in a gilded cage near my desk? Or perhaps I ought to lobotomize him, as your father seemed to prefer?” Fyr’mond was shocked, and Dee seemed to realize it. His expression softened, and he looked away from her, ashamed of himself. He then turned to Ward. “But before he left…he gave me a piece of advice. One I intend to act upon.”
“Oh? And what was that?”
Dee sighed. “I am not Magus anymore. And now that I have thought about it…perhaps I never should have been. I cannot help the ponies of Equestria. I am not the wizard they need. My talent, my ability, my dream…it has only ever been to understand the nature of the universe. Try as I might, I am just not able to apply that power. Perhaps all I am meant to do is to record it for a younger mage to act upon…”
“And you want my power,” said Ward, flatly.
“No,” said Dee. “I want your understanding. You can have the title of Magus. I shall not contest you. In fact, after thinking long on it…yes. You are better for it than I. The power you have is great. Please, Ward Kelley. I am an old stallion. Please, let me study your magic. Do not allow me to leave this plane with that one mystery left unsolved.”
Ward smiled. “A unicorn, begging an earth pony for his magic?”
Dee did not react to what was meant to be an insult, and Fyr’mond was somewhat shocked.
“I no longer care,” said Dee. “Earth pony, unicorn, winged pony, none of it matters. None of it ever did, not to me. It was just the secrets, the mysteries of the universe. I see that now. I must pursue the knowledge, regardless of who wields it.”
“Well,” said Ward. “You are in luck. After considering your request, I have decided to grand your request.”
For the first time in a long time, Fyr’mond saw her husband’s eyes light up. “You…you will?” he said.
“Indeed, I shall. I have no qualms about helping my predecessor, especially when he shows such noble goals.” He motioned to Nyar. “My lovely assistant and I will need to prepare an appropriate place first, though. If we may.”
“There is a room over there,” said Dee, pointing. “My servants…I wonder where they’ve gone…”
“It will not be a problem,” said Nyar. “I can see the way.”
As they left, Nyar gave a gentle smile to Fyr’mond. She tried to smile back, and almost succeeded- -until she realized that she had been left in the foyer with Dee.
They stood together in silence for several minutes. So much had happened, and Fyr’mond simply could not bring herself to speak, to try to explain what she had done. She did not have to, though: it was Dee who spoke first.
“I am sorry,” he said, simply.
Fyr’mond was surprised, to the point where she could not respond immediately. She had not known what to expect, but an apology the last thing she had anticipated.
“For…for what?” she asked. In her mind, it had been she who had wronged him, and was about to yet again.
“Why?” asked Dee, as if speaking to an empty picture frame on the wall instead of to her. “Why was I such a fool?”
“You are not a fool,” protested Fyr’mond, approaching him but stopping as he turned slowly toward her. “You…you are the smartest pony I have ever known.”
“No,” said Dee, shaking his head. “I was blind. I should have listened. You were there, beside me. A light to lead me out of the darkness…but I dismissed you. I labeled you an idiot, simply because you had no magic.”
“And are you apologizing only because I have magic now?” Fyr’mond spoke sharply, releasing some of her pent-up anger toward her husband, and her frustration from having lived with him.
The look Dee gave her defused the anger instantly. Instead, she only felt pity for the broken mage.
“No,” he said. “You were intelligent. You still are. Through my own ignorance, my prejudice, I refused to see what you truly were. You gave me your love and I…I rejected it. No. I twisted it. I used you as a tool for my own gain. I make myself sick.”
“But you’ve learned,” said Fyr’mond, jumping forward, speaking quickly. “You can still change! Join us, Dee! Together, with your power, we can make Equestria a better place!”
Dee sighed deeply, and was silent for a moment. “If only I had listened. And if only I could have seen what you saw so easily when I was young and truly strong.” He shook his head. “It is too late for me. I cannot change this world. I have lost everything.” He looked in the direction Ward had gone. “And I have, though my own failures, lost you as well.”
Dee crossed the room, and put a narrow hoof on Fyr’mond’s shoulder. He reached up, his joints grinding as he did, and kissed her forehead, just below her long, pointed horn. “Please, Fyr’mond,” he said, softly. “Use your power well. Do what I could not. And do not let Kelley become like me.”
“I promise,” said Fyr’mond, putting her hoof against his gaunt, pale cheek. “I promise.”
The interior door creaked open, and Fyr’mond entered the room that she had Dee had given her. She looked around at the place where she had spent so many nights alone, at the canopy bed and the ample, curving walls. She crossed the room to the window and looked out at Mortlake below. He had even chosen to give her a room with an ideal view.
Fyr’mond turned back to the room. There was furniture, all of it impeccable and old, things that Dee had purchased for her but had never himself used. She herself had hardly used them. As a princess, she was simply an extension of the government. Her clothes, her possessions, all the luxury she had was nothing more than an illusion. None of it truly belonged to her. It was simply applied to her or put around her, or dispensed to her, as if she were nothing more than a feature of utility.
The only piece of furniture aside from the oversized, lonely bed that she had used was the small writing desk near the window. She has spent many hours there, painstakingly writing letters to her brother, assuring him that everything was going well when in her heart she knew that it was not.
Her eyes crossed from the desk to the sparsely filled bookshelves, and to the barren dressers. One object, however, caught her attention. A sad smile appeared on her face, and she approached that one item.
There, sitting upon an otherwise dusty and empty dresser, was a small golden musicbox. She remembered it well; it was the first gift that she had ever been given. Gently, she flipped open the lid, using her hoof instead of her immensely powerful magic out of habit. As she did, the music played, exactly as it had on the first day that she had met Dee. The tiny mechanical pony that the box contained peeked out of its home and stared up at her. It then leapt out and its tiny metal hooves pattered over the wood of the dresser as it danced for her.
As she watched it move, Fyr’mond smiled, and felt the tears running down her face. Then she began to weep, putting her head down and sobbing silently next to the musicbox. The tiny pony continued to dance, but then, seeing that she was sad, slowed. It crossed the wooden surface and tried to comfort her, to no avail.
“Mistress?” said a voice from the door. Fyr’mond picked up her head, and tried to clear away her tears. She turned away quickly so that Upkeep would not see her. Then she stood and approached him.
“Upkeep,” she said. “I’ve…I’ve missed you.”
He looked up at her and smiled. “Mistress…you certainly have grown.”
She laughed halfheartedly. “I have…I suppose I have…” Then she took a breath. “Upkeep. I need to give you an order. Can I do that?”
“Of course, Mistress. It is what we exist for.”
“Take the other servants,” said Fyr’mond, unable to meet the stallion’s eye. “Take them and leave. Go to the servant’s house. Then leave.”
Upkeep shook his head. “I cannot do that, Mistress.”
“But you have too!”
“I cannot. I have served here at Mortlake since I was a colt. I cannot leave this place. Nor can I leave Master Dee. Not like this. He needs me. He needs us.”
“You will not reconsider?”
“Never, milady.”
Fry’mond sighed, and with tears in her eyes, charged her horn. Power flowed through her body and mind, and she reached out with a mist of white magic, stretching her will into not just Upkeep’s mind, but those of all the servants as well. Once inside, she inserted herself deeply into them and began to strip away their memories. She took everything that they remembered of Dee, burning away so much of their lives but sealing the would such that they would never notice.
Upkeep’s expression went blank, and his eyes momentarally shifted to white. “I…who are you?” he said, looking up at Fyr’mond, confused.
“A friend,” she said, softly, trying to smile just to reassure him. “My name is Fyr’mond.”
“Fyr’mond…I remember that name from somewhere…do I know you?”
Fyr’mond shook her head. “No. You don’t. But I need you to take the servants, and leave this place. Go to the City.”
“Yes…milady.”
In his daze, Upkeep turned and began walking away down the hall. Fyr’mond knew that it would be the last time she would ever see him.
The room originally been intended to entertain guests, but Dee had never once had cause to use it for that purpose. It was a kind of long hall that made up the center of his home, an architectural means to contain a surplus of empty space. The trusses overhead had been constructed to be artful in and of themselves, and for the first time, Dee realized just how pleasant they were. In retrospect, he wondered what he might have used this room for. Its size was certainly large enough for a significant table; perhaps he could have held debates with the College wizards, or perhaps taught students. It was far too late for either now, though.
Instead, the room had been cleared of all furniture. Only the book-filled shelves remained, serving as an extension to Dee’s adjacent library. Most of his books had been lovingly stored away, ready for transport to their new home at the royal library, but he had not yet managed to attend to these with the care they deserved.
“Ah, there she is,” said Kelley as Fyr’mond approached from his left. Dee looked up, and saw that his former wife had been crying. That only made him hate himself more. He had been blind to so many of her tears, but now he saw just a fraction of those which he himself had caused. He had made her cry once again.
“Now we can begin,” said Kelly. He approached Dee, Fyr’mond and the nun by his sides. Kelly held up his foreleg, the one covered in tattoos. “Do you know what this is?”
“A rune matrix,” said Dee, examining it closely. “It was clearly carved into you by a magical source, but…the syntax is completely foreign to me.” Indeed, that mark alone was a mystery that piqued what was left of Dee’s curiosity.
“This mark is the source of my power,” explained Kelley. “I received the knowledge of its construction from an angel.”
“An angel?” asked Dee. He wanted to be skeptical, but the idea was simply too tantalizing for him to reject outright.
Kelley nodded. “Indeed. I summoned it, and it spoke to me. Told me of a way to great power. I know not what the angels are. Not in form, at least. But I understand their truth. They are knowers of all, the bearers of the fundamental knowledge of reality itself.”
“You mean…”
“What I mean is that if an angel could be summoned to mark me, then one could surely appear to speak to you. You are only limited by the questions you can conceive. All will be answered.”
“And…how can I speak to your angel?”
“Simple,” said Kelley. He opened one of Nyar’s saddlebags and produced an object. Gingerly, with the greatest of care, he passed it to Dee, who took it in his hooves, knowing that his magic might disrupt the spells contained within.
Dee looked into the object. It was, he realized, a mirror. Not one of glass, but of a kind of dark colored material. Its top surface, though perfectly smooth, had been etched with a complex seal, a symbol built around a five-pointed star.
“What is this?” he asked.
“A beacon,” said Kelley. “A way to call the angel to this room, so that we might commune with her.”
Dee looked down at the dark mirror, and at the reflection of an impossibly aged stallion sitting beneath its surface. More than anything, he wanted to believe, to think that there really could be an angel within, a creature that he could summon that would, in the twilight of his life, provide him with the knowledge he had failed with a full lifetime to find.
“How do I use it?” he asked.
“It is really quite simple. You need only direct your magic at the center of that seal. The mirror will do the rest, and if it is her will, the angel will appear to you.”
Kelley and Nyar stepped back, joining Fyr’mond at the edge of the room. Dee looked down at the mirror. A strange, sickly floral scent filled the air, mixing with the scent of old wood and books within his home. Dee knew what he had to do. He charged his horn, and directed raw magic directly into the symbol carved into the mirror.
The effect was immediate. As Dee realized that he had been betrayed, the mirror responded with a massive feedback wave, detonating fiercely in a sphere of fire. Dee felt his horn fracture and his eyes melt from their sockets as he was thrown backward onto the floor.
For a moment, he thought he had died, and he shifted between a dark, empty state and life. He was not sure how long he was unconscious, lying in a broken heap on the wooden floor. It was imposible to know with his mind threatening to depart at any moment. Then, slowly, he became aware again. The first thing of the world that returned to him was the pain. Even the slightest movements were excruciating, and he realized that most of the front half of his body had been badly burned.
The blast had taken his eyes, but the rune that had been used had been poorly conceived. There had been more magic within it than Kelley had been predicted. Though blinded, Dee realized that he was still able to see, to perceive the world as it truly was.
All around him were flames. Above him, the timbers of his house were blazing with flame. Everything was wrapped in an inferno: the crates of books, the scrolls, and the knowledge within them were burning, the knowledge within being reduced to ash and choking smoke.
Dee turned his head to where Kelley had been standing, and saw the three ponies standing amidst the fire, surrounded by a shield of white magic projected by Fyr’mond. She gasped and clung to the new Magus, who was smiling over Dee’s dying body.
What terrified Dee, though, was the other creature that was adhering to Kelley. Where before he had been foolish and ignorant enough to see a simple blind nun, his newfound sight now proclaimed the truth. The that Dee saw- -if it could even be called that- -was a thing of unimaginable horror. Had Dee been any other pony, the mental perception of that monstrous thing might have driven him insane. Even glancing at it half-way, like an eclipse through a frosted lens, was causing his mind to begin to unravel.
In that instance, Dee knew how Kelley had received his power, and knew that both of them had been betrayed. There was no way Kelley could have known what he had done, what the “pony” who now leaned against his body seductively truly was, or what its intentions truly were. At the same time, Dee saw the folly of his own existence: that creature was indeed the angel he had so foolishly sought, a creature who understood easily the verities that were not meant for mortal eyes.
“No!” coughed Dee through the smoke, trying to stand. “Fyr’mond! Get away from it!”
“She will not listen to you, ‘Magus’,” spat Kelley as the wood of the house began to collapse around him. “She is mine now. Not yours!”
Dee felt the rage burning inside him, giving him energy even as his life was slipping away. The fool refused to see, to understand- -and had destroyed so much. All the knowledge that might have been used for Fyr’mond’s dream: Kelley had destroyed it, simply to slay his rival.
“I curse you, Ward Kelley!” cried Dee through the flames. “I curse you! For this betrayal, for eternity you are damned!”
Kelley only smiled. He raised a hoof, and Fyr’mond changed the spell that surrounded them. The sphere imploded as they teleported away, vanishing from the flames.
Once again, Dee tried to stand, but found that he could not. All around him, his house was burning, falling in upon him. All of it was already gone. There was nothing he could save. Kelley had taken the last thing that had mattered to him. His works had been destroyed entirely, and his horn had been fractured. He would never again use magic.
As such, Dee simply laid back onto the floor, feeling the heat from around him cutting at his flesh, choking on the smoke. There was nothing left for him. He had resigned himself to death.
Then, suddenly, he heard something. Something from deep below his house suddenly hummed to life, a kind of spell he had only ever witnessed once before. A pulse of energy filled him, and he awoke to hear the voice whispering to him once more.
In his mind, Her voice began to connect thoughts, to whisper things as it had all those decades ago in his youth. In an instant, he understood what he had never been able to before. Everything became clear.
Summoning his last strength, he stood, crying out from the burns and the pain of his broken body.
“No,” he said, as if challenging the flames. The had taken his books and his works, but the knowledge had not been destroyed. One vessel still existed that contained that information, and that vessel was him. “I will not die here. Not now. Know me…I am the Magus…DOCTOR DEE!!”
With the last magic he possessed, Dee summoned a powerful spell. His fractured horn could not take the strain, and it shattered, driving a pain infinitely greater than his burns directly into his skull. The spell still engaged, though, exploding outward from his body.
All around him, the elemental nature of the fire shifted, and it was converted into a forest of frost. The heat was replaced with cold, and all at once the inferno was vanquished. Dee looked out over the remnants of his now ice-filled house, and smiled as his vision faded.
Drained and now forever devoid of magic, Dee collapsed to his knees, and then fell to the icy ground below, his mind drifting into unconsciousness.
Kelley felt his hooves fall back to solid ground. He was momentarily disoriented by the powerful spell, but as he looked around, the world began to steady. As his vision cleared and the nausea passed, he realized that he had been moved back to his ancestral home.
From his side, he was almost knocked over as he was embraced by Fyr’mond. She buried her narrow head into his vest, soaking it with silent tears.
“There there,” said Kelly. “There is no need to cry.”
“But his face,” said Fyr’mond. “By the gods, I shall never forget that, as long as I live!”
“He was already dying,” said Kelley. “Yes. I will not lie. He may have suffered, but he is surely dead now. His pain is ended. And we are free.” He took Fyr’mond’s hoof in his own, and wiped away her tears with the other. They looked into each other’s eyes. “Now the path is finally clear. I know that this was hard for you, my beloved princess…but now I truly am Magus. None can defy me. And none can stop me as I make our dream come true.”
He wrapped her in a hug, and she returned it.
“Not even yet twenty, and I am a widow,” said Fyr’mond in a wavering voice.
“But you are free. And now we can be together at last.”
“You- -you would have me?” said Fyr’mond, her eyes widening as though it were a surprise to her.
Kelley bowed before her. “If you agree, of course. Together, we shall bring Equestria into a new age. The two of us, standing at each other’s side.”
“Three,” said Fyr’mond, softly.
“Three?” said Kelley, confused.
Fyr’mond put her hoof to her belly, compressing her dress enough to reveal the growing bulge. Kelley gasped. “You’re…you’re pregnant.”
Fyr’mond nodded. “With my magic, I can see him. Feel his magic growing inside me.”
“Him?” said Kelley. “He…he’s mine?”
Fyr’mond smiled so very softly. “You are the only one I have ever given myself to. This is our foal. A male heir to take the throne. Equestria will call him Forth Horn, but I have already chosen a different name.”
“A name?”
“Avalon. If you approve, that is.”
“Of course I do,” said Kelley, embracing her. He smiled, and laughed. “I’m…I’m going to be a father. I’m going to have a son.”
“We are,” said Fyr’mond, taking Kelley’s hoof and leaning back. Even after everything that she had seen, and everything that had happened, she still had found some good in the world, some hope.
Then her expression changed slightly. She frowned, as if something were not quite right.
“My princess,” said Kelly, still smiling but mildly concerned. “Is something wrong?”
Fyr’mond opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, in a burst of violent force, her body was torn apart. Her skin was flayed from her form, and her muscles ripped at every tendon and ligament. Each and every one of her bones was shattered, and her entrails poured onto the floor as she burst open into a mist of blood and shredded tissue.
Kelley gaped wide-eyed as what had once been a beautiful pony now collapsed to the floor as nothing more than broken bones and raw meat. He himself was covered in her blood, and he could smell it. It smelled like metal, and like her- -and like carnations.
From the shadow at the edge of the room, Nyar appeared. Kelley looked up at her, and felt the world seem to shift around her, as if the shadow that she stepped from was something far more than simple darkness. Kelley also saw that her eyes were exposed. He had always known what they were, what she was- -but now the look in that eyes made him unsure.
Smiling, the nun approached the remnants of Fyr’mond. As casually as flipping over a stone, she turned over the ribcage and rummaged through still twitching muscles and intestines. After a moment, her hoof suddenly stopped, and she smiled far more widely than any pony should have been able to, revealing far too many teeth.
Then she lifted her hoof from the steaming waste. Though the blood could not adhere to her golden coat, something else did. Kelley stared dumbfounded as she held out what she had withdrawn. There so many emotions that he could not understand them, that they all crossed and left him feeling nothing but disbelief, as though none of this were happening, as though it was all a dream.
The object on Nyar’s hoof, though, was indeed real. Ward Kelley found himself looking at his son, a tiny and mostly hairless fetus barely big enough to span Nyar’s hoof.
The foal twisted in response to being born far too soon, waving its tiny hoof in the air. It suddenly released a peeping sound, like that of a baby chick, and Kelley saw the nub of its underdeveloped horn glow with a crisp blue sparkle.
“What…what have you done?” he whispered to the demon that stood before him.
“Oh, come now, Ward Kelley,” said Nyar, almost laughing. “Surely you do not expect me to believe that you truly loved her. All your honeyed words, all those false promises you made to her, those lies about a ‘better Equestria’. You were just using her to get into the royal court. You only took her into your bed because you could, to claim her as a trophy.” The amber nun sighed, and looked down at the mess on the floor beneath her hooves. “Except perhaps her brother. Or sister, as the case may be. Her father traded her in exchange for the hope of an heir; Dee married her for little more than to secure funding, and you used her to undercut Dee…Even I’ve used her, too.”
Nyar looked down at the tiny, peeping fetus on her hoof.
“Please,” said Kelley. “That…that’s my son…”
“Not anymore,” said Nyar. She stretched her rear legs behind her, and her dress tore as a gaping, tooth-lined maw sprung forth from her belly. Gently, she placed the fetus into the center of that mouth, and her rotten, mutated flesh sprung up around it. Kelley reached out in vain as it chirped and peeped loudly in protest of the new womb that was growing around its body.
Then, in an instant, Nyar’s body snapped shut, and her clothing vanished as smoke. Now a tall yellow pony stood before Kelley, smiling as her red eyes stared into his.
“I promise you, Kelley. This foal will indeed be born, and he shall never know death. His soul shall be pure, and innocent- -and I shall force him to burn in agony for all eternity. And then, when his mind is broken and his white soul completely corrupt, he will impregnate me. His seed shall grow inside the immoral womb that gave him birth, and from our union a new life will form: a Beast of unparalleled cruelty, of sadism and hatred that dwarf even my own. And that child shall reign for all eternity over this land of ponies!”
“No,” whispered Kelley. Without thinking, he raised his marked arm and pointed it at Nyar. The marks glowed red. “You will not! Bring her back! Return my son!”
Her eyes narrowed, and she raised a hoof. Kelley was suddenly thrown backward, slamming into stone wall behind him and held there by his marked foreleg.
“This- -this isn’t possible!” he cried, struggling unsuccessfully to free himself. “I summoned you! I command you! It is my magic that makes you possible!”
Nyar stepped forward over the corpse of Fyr’mond and chuckled. The chuckle grew into full-blown laughter. It was not the sort that was meant to punctuate a point; instead, it was the truest form of all, as though she had been suppressing it for so long in the face of something overwhelmingly amusing.
“You called my name in the dark! I simply chose to appear, to produce this pony avatar for you! You have no power, Kelley. You never did!” She leaned close to him and licked his nose with her forked tongue. “Or did you not know that you speak with demons you cannot command?”
“And I pulled her soul into myself. I have it even now in my grasp. I can hear her screaming at this very moment.”
“But she…she wasn’t evil! She wasn’t corrupt! She was kind and gentle, generous and loving! Yes, I used her! Yes, I pleasured myself on her body when I didn’t truly love her, but she does not deserve this!”
Nyar glared into his eyes. “Do you think that this is the face of justice?” she asked. “Do you think I am an agent of cosmic morality? That I torture only ‘evil’ souls? Can you really be that foolish?”
“But- -”
“All souls fall to me. The innocent, the pure, the righteous- -I rend and tear them, and devour them into myself for all eternity. There is no good or evil left in this universe, and every god you had is dead.”
Kelley felt himself breathing harder, and his rage finally boiled over. He drove his free hoof into Nyar’s face- -but it never touched her. Kelley screamed as his hoof and foreleg were vaporized, the skin muscle and bone reduced to nothing more than thin wisps of smoke.
“My leg!” he cried, holding the stump to his bloody chest. Fyr’mond’s blood, he remembered.
Nyar raised her hoof to Kelley’s marked one, and forced the runes implanted there to glow. Kelley cried out as the stump at his chest seemed to boil, and then he watched as new bone sprouted forth, surrounding itself with new muscle and flesh. In seconds, his limb had returned.
“Why would you strike me?” asked Nyar, feigning innocence. “I only gave you everything you ever wanted. You asked for power, and I gave it to you. You asked for a mare, for a position in the royal court- -and I gave it to you.”
“You killed her,” said Kelley, struggling against his binding. Quickly, he was finally realizing the truth: that he had been given everything he had ever wanted, and that it was all lies. “And you…I never had any power. Not of my own.”
“No.”
“Then I refuse!”
Nyar paused, taken aback. Then she smiled, amused. “Refuse what?”
“This lie! This power you gave me! I refuse it!”
“Oh really?” Nyar leaned closer, and Kelley choked on her scent. “Well, then. Let’s make this interesting!”
She jumped back and danced in the blood and organs that covered the floor. “A choice, Ward Kelley! I give you two options.” She stopped, and then leaned forward, rubbing her chest against his. “The first is to follow the path you are on.” She pointed at his foreleg. “That mark is mine. I created it, and bound it to you. But it is more powerful than you know. If you keep it, you shall never die. You shall exist on this world forever. My power shall be yours. You will be a king…a god. You will rule this land. And every second, you shall serve me absolutely.”
Her head descended his chest, and Kelley winced as she violated him with her forked tongue.
“I own you,” she said from his crotch. “I possess your body, your mind, your soul. You will serve me- -” Kelley felt a sensation of sharp teeth biting down, not enough to penetrate his skin but enough to make him cry out in fright. “And you will spread violence and perversion throughout this land for all eternity.”
“And the second choice?”
Nyar appeared across the room from him. “The second choice you already know. It is the one you offered to take. You no longer serve a purpose to me. The second option is that you die. Here and now.”
“I summoned you to serve me, demon. I…I will never serve you!”
Nyar smiled, and Kelley was released. “Then the choice is made.”
As Kelley watched, the final layer of Nyar’s appearance vanished before him. The veil that surrounded her was stripped away, and he was allowed to see what lay beyond. In that instant, he witnessed her true form, the two glowing spheres whose light Dee had only glimpsed through reflection and shadow.
Kelley now saw the true form of Satin Veil, and his immortal soul itself shattered at the sight. For a moment, his mind persisted in the husk that remained of him. It lasted just long enough to fully understand the nature of existence without a soul, and to realize that he had made the wrong choice.
Then it snapped. The dry, empty husk of an old stallion fell lifeless to the floor.
A storm cloud drifted high above the Citadelic City. Below, ponies trudged through the rain, but above, the sky was clear and bright. Pegasus looked down over this land. From where he stood atop a cloud, even the Citadel seemed so small.
He was dressed in new armor, forged by his blacksmiths to Doctor Dee’s design out of cerorian material. The Pegasi had worked without rest for the past months, hammering the immense suits of armor down into light, effective shells for ponies. They had sought out the remains of Ceroria, and they had rebuilt what they could. The weapons were ready. The time had come.
For a long moment, he pondered the city below, and what he was about to do. Then he looked down at the dagger in his hoof, at the golden ring that surrounded its base and the carved mauve hornbone that made the blade.
Carefully, he slid the blade back into its holster, and drew his rifle. Then he spread his wings, and descended from the cloud.
The ponies of the City looked up at the sound of an explosion. Above them, the saw the atmosphere ripple with an explosion of rainbow color beneath the storm clouds, blanketing their land with color. Some looked on in awe, and some cheered, believing that the unicorns had prepared a display to cheer them up in the dark stormy winter.
Then, with the rush of ten thousand wings and a cry of war, the Pegasi descended from the clouds. The unicorns were not prepared. Some did not even recognize that they were being attacked; the very idea that the seat of the Equestrian Empire could ever be attacked.
Pegasi poured through the streets, their wings carrying them forward, and they opened fire on any unicorn they saw. Bullets screeched through the air, and powerful lasers cut through those who tried to flee. The unicorn defenders reacted bravely, leaping forward into the fray, casting shield spells to protect themselves. They were the best magical soldiers that Equestria had to offer, warriors who had dedicated their lives to training in the art of combat.
Their training, however, had been under the assumption that the only force that would ever present any real threat would be magical in nature. Their shields were indeed powerful, but they were designed to block the spells of other unicorns. Bullets passed through easily, ripping apart their bodies with ease.
The forward force descended into the streets, led by Medea. As her hooves touched the ground, a powerful blast struck her armor. She was knocked backward, but a force that should have turned her to ash produced only a dent in her cerorian armor. She lifted one of her blade-covered wings and returned fire, pounding a phosphorous bullet into the unicorn’s chest. As he burst into flame, the Pegasi behind her opened fire with heavy machineguns, cutting down the traitorous earth ponies and noncombatant unicorns as they tried to escape the justice of Pegasus.
Then, from above, the machines arrived, descending from the clouds. On all sides, the Citadelic City was suddenly surrounded by floating warships. The cerorian battleships themselves had been too old to take flight, but the Pegasi had done their best to improvise. Instead of great ships of metal, they were made from clouds, their surfaces dotted with the still operational guns and armor of the cerorian skyfleet.
High in the air, the Pegasi operators turned the guns on the city below. Like thunder from the storm, the artillery burst forward in a rain of steel and tactical warheads. The ponies below had no concept of firearms, of guns, or of atomic death; they could only watch as their bodies were ripped apart by shrapnel and as their neighborhoods were shelled to dust.
Though the unicorn defense was powerless against the Pegasi, the Citadel itself was not. Ancient systems that had lain dormant for millennia suddenly charged and sprung to life. Those who had constructed the Citadel had died suddenly, and its automated defense response had never been deactivated. For centuries it had waited quietly, always active and always watching, prepared for a war that had ended in ancient times. Now it recognized the presence of unidentified aircraft, and its internal systems reached as though the last bastion of Panbios were under attack from the Choggoth horde.
The Citadel hummed to life, and its surface shifted. The protective shields deployed, surrounding its surface with unbreakable plates of steel. Far below the surface of the City, the defense systems engaged. The ground shook, and the city was torn apart as massive antiaircraft batteries pushed up through the streets and through buildings that had been carelessly built over the long-forgotten guns
The ponies caught near the guns were thrown into the air, or were pulled into the resulting sink holes that formed as the batteries destroyed the wealthiest districts of the city nearest to the Citadel. The guns automatically pointed to the sky, forming barrels out of burning light. The union of cerorian technology and Draconian magic opened fire with resounding force, pouring laserfire, flak, and bolts of magic into the sky above.
Hundreds of Pegasi were torn apart by the surge of metal from below. Many of their cloud fortresses erupted in flames as they were ripped apart by surface-to-air defense. Several lost lift, and the heavy guns fell through the clouds into the city below, exploding with tremendous force and flame.
The antiaircraft batteries were old, though. Many of them had decayed. One of them attempted to fire, but it had been too badly degraded. Instead, its power reactor detonated. Every building and pony within its blast radius was vaporized instantly in the plasma explosion.
On the ground, Pegasus fired his laser rifle into the chest of an oncoming unicorn, turning his upper body into dust. More converged, but he moved swiftly, slashing a mare’s throat with his wing-mounted blades and grabbing another by the neck. Her magic tore at his armor to no avail, and with one swift motion he snapped her neck and let her twitching corpse fall to the ground.
Above him, he saw the bolts of magic pouring up into the sky. He saw winged ponies dying and falling into the city below. He looked up to the Citadel and saw it armored and defended, coated in an impenetrable shell. The Pegasus advance had been stymied; the charge had lost its momentum.
He knew that there was only one option, one that he had hoped he would not need to use. Pegasus linked his helmet radio to the command network, transmitting on all frequencies.
“Derpus!” he cried over the sound of artillery and pony screams. “Fire the weapon!”
“Roger that,” said Derpus Maximus high above the battlefield. He turned to the consul of liquid stone that sat before him and entered the firing procedure, watching as the cerorian barcodes flew past his face. The entire satellite installation vibrated and shook as the ancient mechanisms engaged.
Beside him and his assistants, the machine engaged. Through the window, he a robotic lift lowering a pointed violet crystal the size of a pony into position. Maximus engaged the loading procedure, and the crystal was shoved forward into the barrel of the cannon along with eight others in remote locations.
“Orbital strike inbound,” he said through the radio. He put his eyes to the scope, even though neither one ended up looking into the eyepiece. “Firing!”
He clicked forward the mechanism to activate the device. As he did, the lights flickered and went out. The vibrations of the satellite stopped; not just the guns, but the reactor and the air handling system too. The entire station sat in darkness and silence.
Derpus looked around, and turned to one of his assistants who shrugged. He knew this was no time to panic, but the weapon had not fired. Derpus looked back to his consul, which had gone flat, its lights extinguished and its readings gone.
“I just don’t know what went- -”
Derpus Maximus was interrupted by an explosion so powerful that it threw him out of his seat and against a wall, rendering him deaf on one side. The entire installation shook as it channeled the full force of its might into the orbital guns. Every pony within grabbed ahold of the nearest thing they could, or each other, each fearing that they were about to be destroyed by a failed firing attempt.
Then the satellite stopped shaking. The launch had been successful.
As the unicorns watched, the winged ponies suddenly shot into the air. Even those who had been winning their local street-to-street battles turned and retreated to the clouds as quickly as they had come. The battered unicorn soldiers watched, surprised and confused. Then, as the last of the winged ones disappeared into the clouds, a cheer broke out through the Citadelic City. They had repelled the invaders; they had won.
Then a tremendous explosion shook the ground. Above, the storm clouds were split open, dissipated in wide circles by nine glowing streaks of light. The indestructible crystals hit the City at nearly the speed of light, burrowing into its surface and transmitting an unfathomable amount of kinetic energy into the soil. Each explosion produced no sound; instead, they only produced a shockwave that expanded through any material substance nearby. Every pony and every building within miles were shattered instantly and blown away; then, from below, the solid of the earth caught up with the wave through the fluid air. The resulting earthquake caused the land to rise up, and to engulf and crush anything in the tidal wave of solid and liquid rock that poured out of each impact crater.
Two of the stones struck the Citadel, piercing through its seemingly inviolable surface as though it were paper. The Citadel leaned, and started to tip, but it did not fall.
Pegasus looked down, and saw that the guns had been destroyed- -and that two holes had been cut into their primary target. The city lay in ruin, but for a moment, Pegasus thought that far below he saw a yellow earth mare standing atop the steeple of a ruined church, laughing and cheering for the destruction before her. Pegasus spread his armored wings before the ponies who flew beside him.
“CHARGE!” he cried, leading the force toward their true enemy.
With Medea at his side, Pegasus swooped downward into the Citadel. The unicorns were stronger there, and some of his Pegasi fell. They still fought on, though, with him leading them into the ancient hallways. Many of the ponies within were not soldiers, but nobles instead. The Pegasi cut them down with their guns.
A number of nearly identical sandy colored mares attempted to flee, unable to use magic to defend themselves. The Pegasi leapt upon their backs and slit their throats.
“Kill them all!” cried Pegasus. “Leave no heir alive! Every princess must die!”
Beside him, Medea gutted one of Fyr’mond’s elder sisters. “You have no need to worry, Pegasus. On this day, the Horn dynasty ends!”
The Pegasi nearby responded by cheering in unison. They spread their wings and rushed the Citadel, taking great pleasure in murdering the unicorns who had oppressed and hurt their kind for so long.
Pegasus himself fell back, watching them pass into the complex structure of the Citadel. He had a different target. He turned away, and began to move upward, toward the royal chamber.
Third Horn cried out in pain, and started to collapse
“Father!” cried Amddiffynnwr, holding the older pony and preventing from falling entirely. Third Horn looked down at his hooves, and saw them changing. Where his skin had formerly been firm and tight, it was now graying and wrinkling. Where once had possessed strong muscles, he was beginning to atrophy. Inside him, he felt himself reverting, and he knew that he had been betrayed. The spell that kept him young was failing. He was beginning to age three thousand years in a single minute.
All around him, he was surrounded by the screams of his royal guards. Before his vision started to fade, Third Horn was treated to the sight of his closest and most loyal servants being torn apart by their own armor. The black material that covered them separated, pulling and tearing their flesh away and then moving independently, clicking across the tile of the floor as they moved to devour the still-living bodies. The red crystals became the eyes of crab-like creatures; with no power to control them, they turned against those who they had been bound to serve before slipping into the deepest of shadows, carrying both the corpses and the screaming into the beyond where they had come from.
Third Horn dropped to the ground, and looked up into his son’s eyes. He gasped as his lungs began to calcify, and grabbed Amddiffynnwr’s leg.
“Father,” said Amddiffynnwr, “we need to get you back to the chair, to the spell- -”
“No,” wheezed a now tremendously old Third Horn. His body was now centuries older than any normal pony, and he was continuing to age. “There is no time.” With his last bit of strength, he pulled his son’s face close to his. “Amddiffynnwr! Please…I shall die this day, but Third Horn must survive! The unicoirns need a leader, to defeat this foe, to rebuild from the ashes of Equestria!”
Amddiffynnwr held his father closely, watching his face grow thin and skeletal. He nodded in understanding, and he felt the love of the dying pony flowing into him. His surface shifted, and the form of Amddiffynnwr faded. Where he had once been a tall green unicorn, he became gray. His proportions changed, until all that remained of Amddiffynnwr was his gold-colored eyes.
Third Horn smiled. “My son…my beloved son…rule well.”
With one last rattling breath, Third Horn’s life ended. Amddiffynnwr was left holding the skeletal remains of a pony who he had loved, and who had loved him. He pulled the body of his father close to him. Third Horn was so light, and so cold, and his pearl armor fell away from him. Alone in the failing, lurching remnants of the Citadel, Amddiffynnwr wept, both for his father and for Equestria.
“There he is!” called a voice from behind him. “That’s Third Horn!”
Amddiffynnwr’s eyes narrowed, and he felt his illusion slip in those eyes as they became slits. Slowly and gently, he laid his deceased king to the floor, and he stood. He turned to see two armored Pegasi standing at the end of the hall.
They raised there under-wing guns, but they were too slow. Amddiffynnwr rushed forward, plunging a blade of green magic into the chest of one of them. Powerful magic drove into the center of his body, and he exploded from within, covering the room with the blood of a traitor.
The other looked on in fright. She tried to raise her gun, but Amddiffynnwr grasped her in his powerful magic. As she screamed, he tore her wings away, and then took her in his hoof.
With her eyes wide, Amddiffynnwr let his form slip away. The gray hoof that held her throat became black, its form hollowed by numerous holes. His coat was replaced by plates of chitin, and his long horn became angular and gnarled.
“What- -what are you?” she cried, struggling to escape.
Amddiffynnwr changed again. This time he grew smaller, his body becoming narrow and lighter. His horn vanished, and a pair of wings sprouted from his back.
“I am you,” he said, staring back at her with her own eyes. Then he poured magic into her, and allowed her to disintegrate into dust.
As Amddiffynnwr flew away from the Citadel, he saw the machines of the Pegasi converging on it. He turned to watch as the cloud-mounted guns opened fire on its structure, tearing into it at range with violent nuclear blasts. The air shook, and then so did the Citadel. As Amddiffynnwr watched, it started to drop. The ancient tower, the center of Equestria, collapsed and fell, breaking into pieces as it went.
The sight was horrible, but Amddiffynnwr forced himself to watch it. As he hovered in the air, he burned that image into his memory. That day, Equestria had fallen- -but he knew that he would restore it. Third Horn would live on through him. He would gather the survivors, the remnants of unicorn society that could still fight. He would stand amongst them, and lead them in their vengeance against the Pegasus race.
First, though, he would need to escape. The battle had taken them by surprise, and though the unicorns held superior numbers, they had not had the necessary counter spells to fight the strange and forbidden technology that the Pegasi chose to use. Soon, though, they would. Not only that, but they would take the technology for themselves. They would do what they had to in order to win the war.
For a moment, Amddiffynnwr found himself thinking of his sister. He looked to the ground, and wished that he might find her out there somewhere. Somehow, though, he knew that she was no longer with them. The distant light of her love had gone out. He was now alone, but he still held out hope that perhaps someday they might meet again.
He turned and began to fly away. He passed the Pegasi, but none of them seemed to notice or care that one of their own was travelling in the wrong direction, or that he did not join in their cheers as the remnants of the Citadel thudded against the burning city below.
He watched them, and on that day he made a promise. Unicorns and Pegasi could not coexist. Never would Equestria know peace, and never would his soul rest, until every one of those accursed winged abominations were exterminated and the power of unicorns returned.
This, the new Third Horn swore, would come to pass. The destruction of the Citadel had been just one battle. The war itself, though, had only just begun.
Even at such a great distance, Dee felt the ground shake, and he was nearly knocked off balance as he descended the stone steps to the darkness below. With his enhanced sight, he saw the horrors that befell Equestria. He saw the Citadel fall, and the City in flames. There was so much death, and so much pain, and he knew that it was his fault. It had been his sin that had allowed this to happen.
High above him, his house had been destroyed. Most of it had burned to ash, and what little remained had been soaked into ruin as the ice he cast had melted while he slept. Now, no doubt, those explosions had destroyed the rest, shaking the weakened timbers to the point of collapse with the distant artificial earthquakes.
There was nothing he could to do stop it now. Equestria was dying, and he did not have the power to save it. His magic had been taken from him, and his life was fading. Even descending the stone steps was agonizing and slow, but he forced himself to continue, to follow the voice from below.
It took all the effort he could muster, but eventually, he made it to that final room. On one end, he saw his Frozen Queen, dead but still dreaming, waiting for her return. He had hoped that he would be the one to usher in her return, but he now understood that he never could have. She simply would not have awoken for a pony as cruel and arrogant as him.
Before him, though, he saw the Elements of Harmony. Where before they had been stone, they now seemed to glow with energy, speaking with the voice of the Tree of Harmony. Dee looked upon them, and all at once he understood. Kindness, Generosity, Honesty, Laughter, Loyalty, bound together by a spark of Magic. They were not a tool, a device, or a weapon. They were a living thing all their own, a kind of magic so very different from anything that Dee had even conceived of. He had wasted his life trying to measure and count and decipher their meanings, when the truth was so much simpler, so much easier to find.
Dee smiled. If only he had learned of their true nature earlier, instead of in his last moments.
“The Elements of Harmony,” he mused, coughing suddenly through his smoke-burned lungs. “I know everything about you. Every mathematical feature, every secret…except the ones that were staring me in the face the whole time.”
The Elements were placed on small stone podiums, and Dee crawled his way to their center, finally collapsing in the center. Then he spoke to them. “Elements of Harmony…I cannot wield you. I never could. I see that now. If Doctor Dee…no, if Starswirl must die this day, so be it. I am old, and ready for that fate…but I weep for Equestria. Please, Elements: do not let my knowledge die here. Let it survive. Take some part of me forward, to the time when this war has ended, to when Equestria needs you the most. Let me find one who might understand the meaning of Harmony, and let me help that pony undo my failures.”
The Elements looked to him, and then responded. The podiums that they stood upon sank into the ground, and each Element hardened itself into a cocoon of stone a physical body to protect the spirit that they held within. They retreated into the ground, and then a ring of light surrounded Dee.
Harmony rushed into his body, and the pain of his burns began to fade. He felt the leakage of his life-force stop, and felt new energy flowing through him, making his strong.
Around him, the air swirled and shifted, and the view of the room in the dark and ancient castle was replaced by a vision of the past. There, around Dee, stood six ponies: three unicorns stood beside a tiny earth pony, an enormous cerorian mare, and a cyborg. Leading them was a tall mare. Everything about her was gray: her coat, her mane, even her eyes. She did not even bear a cutie mark. Though her body had aged long past her natural life, her powerful magic kept her standing, defending her kingdom and her friends against the oncoming enemy.
The image shifted again. Two creatures stepped forward. They were ponies, but they were unlike any that Dee had ever seen or known to exist. The pair of sisters each bore a pair of wings, and each one also possessed a horn. The elder of the two, a pure white mare with a mane of ephemeral magic, stared forward into the face of battle with the hardened eyes of a pony who had seen all too much death. The smaller, a dark blue mare, looked forward as well, masking her fear and pain with confidence in her sister, even as the black infection that surrounded her crescent moon cutie mark was eating into her soul itself.
Once again, the scene changed. Now, Dee was shown an image of six ponies, but a different set than before. Two were unicorns, two of earth heritage, and two bore wings. Dee gawked at one of them, a blue mare with rainbow mane and tail, an almost exact female replica of Pegasus himself.
Then, as he watched, one of them stepped away from the rest. She was a violet coated mare, and Dee could feel through the Elements that she was indeed a powerful sorcerer and a lover of knowledge, just as he had been. Before his eyes, her form shifted, and a pair of long violet wings sprouted from her back as her friends watched on, smiling.
Dee turned back to the mare Pegasus, but saw that she had changed. Where there had been a young pony, there now stood a mare with a broken body, two of her legs replaced by machine and her wings distorted by golden mutation. Dee looked around in a panic, and saw that the only other pony that remained in the vision was a thin yellow pony with gleaming red eyes that had neither pupil nor white. Both of them stood together, wielding the Elements through a power not their own, and for the first time Dee could feel the enemy that they were facing.
Suddenly, the room around him burst into scarlet fire. Dee looked up in terror at the creature that the vision projected to him. Floating above him was a tall, narrow pony, her body encased in metal and impermeable cloth, her legs dangling uselessly below her. Her face consisted of a steel mask carved in the shape of pony’s face, and from her forehead sprung three long horns.
For the first time, Dee felt as if one of the visions were looking at him, or looking into him. This horrible tall creature stood over him, watching, and Dee saw all of Equestria burning in her horrible red magic.
Then, as quickly as they had come, the visions were gone, replaced only with light. Dee looked down at his hoof, and saw that his body was disincorporation. The elements were funneling their power into him, pulling away the corruption of his body. His burns faded as they were pulled from his body as golden dust, and he watched as his cutie mark disconnected from his body, evaporating in the light as his destiny was reset.
“This is my promise,” he said as his body painlessly vanished. “For now, I shall sleep for one thousand years, but know this: I shall return to this land. I shall correct the mistakes that I have made, and undo the shadow I have cast. This I swear.”
Then, in one final stroke, his body was fully removed from existence, consumed by the fire of the Elements of Harmony. The room around him darkened, and went silent. No pony apart from Dee had known about that place, and about the location of the Elements. None would come seeking them, and none would find them. Not until they were needed, and the Tree of Harmony beckoned once again.
As Equestria burned overhead, the Elements- -and Dee with them- -slept, waiting for their time to rise once more, to return Harmony to the land.
The still and silence was disrupted by a sudden surge of magic. The plates of metal that held the castle sealed shook, and then collapsed into liquid under the heat of solar plasma. Her horn still burning from the trivial expenditure of magic, Celestia stepped through into the dark halls beyond.
Carefully, she surveyed the area, and then released a small piece of magic from the tip of her horn. It floated into the blackness and erupted into a tiny star, filling the halls with light that somehow still failed to fully penetrate the darkness that crawled within this ancient space.
As the white alicorn entered, a second, smaller alicorn entered behind her. Although both of them had lived and ruled for nearly three thousand years, Luna had aged slowly. Even after millennia, she had barely progressed from a small filly into a blue-maned teenager on the cusp of marehood.
Luna looked into the darkness, her eyes far better suited to peirce the blackness than Celestia’s.
“What be this place?” she asked.
“I do not know,” said Celestia, proceeding into the dark hall slowly, the shoes of her golden armor clicking on the floor, the sound seeming to vanish upon the dark walls without an echo. “But this is not a good place, sister.”
“It is only a darkened castle, sister. Nothing more.”
“No,” said Celestia, shaking her head. “Can you not feel it? This place reeks of dark magic. These walls have seen secrets that no mortal was meant to know…”
“Neither of us are mortals,” noted Luna.
“True,” liked Celestia. Indeed, she believed that she herself might never face death, but her dear sister Luna already had. It was only a miracle that she could not remember it, or the lives that they had lived during the War.
How this place even existed, though, was a mystery to Celestia. It had been buried for a tremendous amount of time; from the architecture, it was apparent that it predated ponies significantly. What truly worried Celestia, though, was how close it was to the City of Ruin, how it had escaped her sight for centuries as she reigned over Equestria from the ruins of the ancient Tower, her first castle.
Those had been dark times, and even being this close to the Tower filled Celestia with dread. That City was drenched with eons of pony blood. For hundreds of thousands of years, ponies had fought over that place. It was impossible to even the shallowest grave there without striking the bones of ponies. Millions had died in the War of the Seven Races, and yet no one had managed to claim the fallen Tower- -until Celestia had taken it with ease.
From that site, she had ruled all of Equestria with little Luna at her side. As a soldier in the War, she had seen terrible things, and done far worse, things that haunted her whenever she slept. What she had done as Princess had been far worse. By her power, she had ended the War- -but at a cost. She had singlehoofedly exterminated two of the seven great pony races, and murdered ninety percent of what remained. All alone, she had slain the armies and battled legions. She had crushed all resistance, and tortured any dissident who dared to stand against their immortal Princess, all in the hopes of creating a better Equestria.
And she had succeeded. Now, in the time since then, she had retired. Her and her sister had constructed a new castle, one where they could live together in peace. The politics were left to the puppet states that Celestia had created. Only in dire times would the two alicorn Princesses ever need to interfere.
This, she believed, was one of those circumstances. For the past month, Luna had been plagued by strange dreams of a crystal tree and of glowing lights. Celestia had eventually scoured the land, and found a source of magic emanating from beneath the shore of a dry lakebed. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, and she could hear it calling to her. She knew that anything that powerful must be dangerous, and that it must be crushed for the good of Equestria.
They passed through the dark and ancient halls, feeling the eternal silence surrounding them, pressing in as though it were attempting to drive them away. Eventually, though, they reached a large, wide room.
Celestia moved her light to the center. Against one wall, she found, was an overgrown mass of crystal, which she realized was ice. Even the heat of her plasma sphere seemed to have no effect on it, aside from illuminating the silhouette of a cryogenically preserved pony within.
The ice, however, was not the source of the magic. Whatever lied within there was long dead. Rather, the magic came from the center of the room. Five narrow stone cylinders stood, each holding a stone of a different shape. The stones seemed to be lit from within, producing a beacon, a kind of call. The light was not visually perceptible, but instead, Celestia felt it inside her mind. She could feel that they were indeed powerful, perhaps immeasurably more so than even her own alicorn magic. At the same time, she felt calm, knowing that they were not a threat.
“Sister, look!” said Luna, pointing to the base of the podiums.
Celestia looked down, and saw what she at first thought was blood. As she looked closer, though, she realized that it was some kind of viscous black substance, like tar. More threatening, though, was the fact that it had been streaked across the cold tile floor, toward the darkness at the corners of the room.
Slowly, Celestia moved her light in the direction of the streaked substance, and suddenly saw something move. Both of the alicorns immediately charged their horns, preparing to attack. Then Celestia saw what her light was illuminating.
“Wait!” she cried, putting her hoof on Luna’s silver armor.
Slowly, Celestia stepped toward the thing that had moved, and positioned her light over it, revealing a tiny, pale colt barely out of foalhood.
The colt cried out as if he had never seen light before, and scampered across the ground, hiding behind an outgrowth of frost, whimpering in terror.
“A child,” said Luna, looking wide-eyed at her sister. “How is this possible? Perhaps he hath entered this place to find shelter?”
“Impossible,” said Celestia. “This facility has been sealed for almost one million years. Nopony could have gotten in…or out.”
Luna looked up at her sister, confused by the final whispered phrase of her statement.
Celestia attempted to approach the colt, but the child cried out and squeezed himself even tighter against the wall.
“Please,” he squeaked in a tiny voice. “Please, do not hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” said Celestia, hurt far more than she should have been by his words. Ponies still looked upon both her and her sister with fear, but not the terror that this child beheld her with. His expression and wavering voice reminded her of the fear that she had once seen in the eyes of her subjects during the First Era, so long ago- -a fear she had at first basked in, but now resented with all her being. “Why would I…”
Something crackled against her hoof. Celestia stepped aside, and below her, she saw the half-melted remnants of a metal toy. She lifted it in her magic, causing the child to cower even more deeply in fright, and examined it. It seemed to be a tiny mechanical pony. Its parts were corroded, and its body broken, but the craftsmanship was magnificent.
Celestia smiled at the brilliance of its design, and then charged it with her own magic. The parts of its body that were broken were replaced with constructs of solar light, and the tiny pony opened its detailed mechanical eyes. Celestia set it on the ground, and it began to dance, its tiny hooves clicking on the tile floor in an out of toon song. It slowly jumped over toward the colt, and he watched it. Seeing it calmed him, but something in his eyes also became immensely sad.
“How did you get here, child?” asked Celestia.
“I…I don’t remember,” he said, pausing as if confused by that fact. “I…I woke up here. And it was dark. I was afraid.”
“You have nothing to fear now,” said Celestia, smiling and bending down toward the colt. He gasped and recoiled, but not as strongly as he had at first.
“Careful, sister!” said Luna.
“There is no need to fear,” said Celestia to both of them.
The colt’s eyes widened. “You…you are the ones…from the back of the coin…”
Luna and Celestia both looked at each other, not understanding. Then Celestia turned back to the colt. “Tell me, child. Do you have a name?”
The colt seemed to think for a moment, as if he could not really remember. Then he seemed to recall.
