For Trixie, life was once just a matter of finding the next stage. Now, with voices in her head and a psychopath for a partner, she must reconcile with old enemies against a dangerous new future. Just what did Luna find out there, beyond the Veil?
Ten years ago, Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash spent two days embroiled in the murky waters of the Lethe, an Equestrian river that stole their minds. Those two days have shaped their lives, both professionally and romantically.
Ten years ago, Luna disappeared, leaving Equestria across its southern border. Not in a thousand years had anypony considered such an act, and the motivations of the Lunar Princess remain a mystery to the public, as well as her continued absence.
But now, as Twilight turns her considerable talents to perfecting the art of Coromancy, a new enemy arises. One unbound by the rules of society everypony so unthinkingly follows, a common morality that, to him, is nothing more than a restriction.
With a troubled azure mare named Trixie in tow, he hatches a plot that will shake Equestria to its very foundations, and question the nature of reality their society is built upon. Just what did Luna find out there, beyond the Veil?
// Exists alongside Brandon Sanderson's Cosmere // Thanks to Dr Strangelove and Mister Morden for their services in improving my writing.
THE WIND BLEW NORTH. A harsh wind, steady and strong, it blew with a ferocity born of desperation. It swept forward, over ground long forgotten. It ignored the vast ruins, the sandy dunes and scattered wooden beams. It pressed, with a slow, heavy strength.
There was no movement. As the wind reached a series of hills, carving valleys deep into the landscape, it made a quiet whistle. A sad, tuneless sound, it was carried on the wind for miles all around. There was no response, had been no response for a long time.
The Mourning Mountains, they were called. Deep, in their bones, the rocks knew that. The wind knew them by a different name; Remembrance. It tangled itself in the twists and turns and it listened. It listened for a hint of direction, of what it had been, before.
The sun beat hot here, at the end of its shackle. Summer, in full force, dried the air and cracked the ground. Any moisture left had been carried over the mountains long ago, creating an odd duality; desolate on one side of the range, green and fertile the other.
The wind blew east. It moved in powerful gusts, carrying the land with it. This wind had fire, a storm of passion, of fury that would not be contained. It scorned the world around it, shoved at the confines of its cage.
Eventually, it came to a shore. Distantly it heard the caw of seagulls, fishing for food in the ocean. It heard, and it responded, chasing the waves out to sea, chasing itself, blinded by its sudden hope. It found nothing, would never find anything.
The Great Sea, though some had argued that title belonged west. But the sea knew. It knew it by the depth of its floor and the weight of its waters. A great mass, a body larger, more ponderous, than any other; the wind could not move it. It pleaded, begged, dancing in the waves, to no avail.
The moon’s shackle was different. It carried no extremes, yet the crisp chill of autumn did little to avail the land it covered. There was nothing for it to help, no remnant of spring to be carried along the wind’s wake.
The wind blew west. Tentatively, mistrusting fate, it peered into the distance, reaching outwards. It claimed nothing, brought nothing with it. It longed for something just out of reach. It glided, disturbing nothing, lest it change what little remained.
It blew for an age, never rushing, never changing its speed. It savoured uncertainty, a euphoria born from the certainty of failure. It came to a quiet sea, spilling out across it like a warm blanket over a bed.
The Calm Sea, named for its gentleness, for a passive fulfilment of nature. Yet the Sea was restless, easily stirred. It rocked under the gentle touch of the wind. Here, though, the wind rested; the secret fear it had held dearest for so long finally come to fruition. It waited, with no expectations.
Spring, here, at the other pole of the moon. Gentle, rejuvenating; the land was not quite as desolate here, wasn’t as desperate. The wind knew spring, could taste its sweetness in the air. But there was no respite for the land it nurtured, no strong warmth or wintry rest to balance. Nothing grew here anymore.
The wind blew south. It blew with the despair of a cornered animal, a fierce, berserk, strength that yielded for nothing. It had nowhere else to turn, and even in the knowledge that finally, finally, it would define its prison, it this gave all its strength. It forced; the power of an angry god behind it.
It traversed the plains quickly, sweeping rubble and sand in its wake. It collected masonry, struts and beams; the remnants of a past better forgotten. It threw them at the walls, the high hills that rose against it, dashed them to pieces in twisting valleys and deep ravines
These mountains, though, were not in mourning. These had a different purpose, and to them the wind gave a different name. Salvation, for those they protected, and for the promise, one day, of freedom. The wind spent itself battering against the rocky peaks. It hammered, bashed, relentlessly and mercilessly attacked the land itself, past anger, past time, till it itself was a part of its prison.
Winter, along the sun’s beam; a cold sun, was recluse and uncaring. There was sharpness, here, a taste of metal. There was no snow, or ice, there was no water. There hadn’t been water in the Whispering Wastes for a thousand years.
Then, from the North, the wind felt something new. Something it had been waiting for, without knowing it. A dark-blue ear heard the whispers, conjured and carried by the wind. An argent-clad hoof stepped in the misty valleys of the Mourning Mountains. The wind listened, and heard magic.
Do they see their princess, struggling against fate to save them from peril? Do they see her turning tail, fleeing from a threat they cannot understand?
What would they say, if they saw me as I am; another pony, no more or less. I did not ask to be set apart, to be saddled with this responsibility.
When they look at me, do they see me as I see myself? Maybe, in their hearts, they wonder—just as I do.
One
LUNA STEPPED FORWARD, carefully navigating the tangled plants obstructing her way. She could have flown, of course, but there was something compelling about the sound of the wind, rustling leafy branches as it moved through the ravine.
She hadn’t known what to expect, leaving Equestria. It certainly wasn’t this; a rocky mountain range, cutting off all access on ground. The wind wove gently through, whispering to her. It gave the mountains a low hum, a sound not unlike the background tremor of life.
Carefully standing on the border, following her sister’s instructions carefully, Luna hadn’t been able to see anything. A great red plain, barren and endless, stretched out to the horizon, carrying the dry air and scent of dust. Little surprise nopony had ever tried to cross it.
Yet when she stepped forward, over some intangible boundary, the landscape changed. Great mountains appeared before her, barely a mile away. A cloud of mist hung over the land, obscuring her view, but the peaks were clearly visible, rising high above the clouds. Perhaps too high for a pegasus.
The Drac’s foreboding words hammered at Luna’s mind, spinning around and around. They haunted her dreams, chased her through every day. They whispered in her ear, hinting at dark truths and secrets, kept even from a goddess.
The titles he’d ascribed her, the Dreamer, the Guiding Light – her names from a time long past. He honoured her with them, though she had no right to them now. These she remembered.
Yet the ‘Veil’, that was something new, something that had occurred in the last thousand years, during her . . . exile. It wasn't something Luna was prepared to ignore. Celestia hadn't known anything about it.
So she’d left, crossing the border, leaving Equestria. Seeking what she’d lost.
Climbing to the crest of the ravine, she got her first glimpse of the land beyond. But where the mountains had breathed life, the scene before her resembled nothing so much as death.
The Wastes stretched out, like a carpet of sand laid across the land. She could see for miles, a great barren plain reaching out from under her hoof to grasp at the edges of the world.
Here and there, scattered amidst the sand and grey dust, Luna noticed ruins. Rubble, scarred stone and charred wood lay in great heaps amidst broken cobblestone, even marble. Her mind quickly resurrected the scene before her, imagining buildings, houses, roads and cities. The scope was humbling; the bones of an entire civilisation.
What happened here?
***
Celestia’s sun shone down on another perfect day in Equestria. Its light, rising over the eastern horizon in a brilliant blaze of red and orange, spread warmth everywhere it went, touching walls, roofs and streets. It stole through the gap between curtains, illuminating a sliver of a pony’s bedroom. It crept under the door, leaving a becoming, promising gleam of radiance. It caressed the sleeping citizen’s cheeks, bidding them wake, rise, and enjoy the day.
Indeed, many ponies were already about their business, even with dawn just now leaving the horizon behind. Trixie yawned. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, saddled with the last watch. Not that there had been much to watch; they had given no reason for suspicion, and there were very few ponies wandering near the Canterlot slums in the middle of the night.
Instead, Trixie watched the light, catching impurities in the glass, throwing colour on the world before her. It danced, weaving softly around the wind-stirred blades of grass. It held the ponies walking the streets, claimed each as they stepped out of the cold darkness. Steps became stronger, more confident. They trusted its assurance. That if the sun rose the next day, you knew not everything had gone wrong. There was still somepony out there, looking out for you.
She shivered. The basement they were staying in consisted of more than several rooms, connected by a central chamber. The watch-post she was stationed in was just one of a series of small cells, with high windows that let you look out at street level. The entire place was designed for security; riddled with bolt-holes and hiding places, it would be near impossible to catch anypony holed up in here. Unfortunately, that meant it was cold and windy on the best of days.
It also carried sound exceedingly well. Trixie heard soft hoof steps coming up behind her, turning moments before the door swung open. A head poked in, eyes alighting on her.
“Ah, Trixie, there you are. Ready?” Boundless asked.
“Always,” she replied, meeting his gaze squarely, letting a small grin appear at the upper corner of her mouth. It wasn’t a sneer, not quite.
Boundless gave her a large smile in return, mirth twinkling in his eyes. “Well, then, shall we?”
“We shall.”
Trixie hopped down from the balcony she’s been perched on. She missed the old observatory; but, it had been too conspicuous for prolonged use. They’d taken up residency here, instead, in a burned out old house, harbouring a large basement. It had been abandoned for years, ever since the fire.
And what a fire it was.
Trixie clenched her eyes shut; Brash’s voice; reminiscing.
She trotted after Boundless, stepping outside for the first time in days. Not since the last time. It was her first rule; be careful. Don’t draw attention. Lie low for a while after a job. Trixie blinked her eyes several times, squeezing them shut against the light, overbearing after her time inside.
Not that Boundless would follow that. Trixie had lost count of the number of times they’d nearly been caught thanks to his recklessness. Brash liked him for it, Cumulus hated it.
You should leave.
And there he was, right on schedule. Trixie sighed quietly, as the two voices in her head began bickering.
Why would we do that? This is a nice little niche we’ve got here. Brash said.
He’s insane. He’s going to be taken down eventually – don’t get caught up in his wake. You’re better than that. Cumulus replied.
Trixie shook her head, trying to clear the voices away. She couldn’t afford to indulge herself today. Not now. Glancing around herself, she slunk to the street, following Boundless down the road. Here and there, she saw passing ponies, going about their mornings. Some even gave her a smile, and a wave, which she returned, not wanting to draw attention.
Not yet, Cumulus warned.
Eventually, they arrived on a small shopping street. Despite the early hour, there were lines of ponies snaking down the street, waiting a chance to enter several of the fancy jewellery stores lining the road.
Trotting to the head of the line, Boundless shoved himself into a tall stallion next to the doors, sending him crashing into the wall of the store. Ignoring the cries of shock and alarm around him, he pressed into the stallion, pinning his throat with a foreleg. Leaning over, he spoke next to the stallion’s ear, loudly enough for everypony near to hear.
“Good morning, Equestria! I’m afraid we’ve some bad news for you all today, but listen and act carefully, and you might even escape without any broken bones!”
Trixie tore her gaze from the scene, focusing on her task. It still sickened her, what they were doing, however she justified it to herself. So long as she felt that way, felt that deep unease in her gut that set her legs to trembling, she thought she was okay.
The stallion shifted his weight, either trying to get a decent breath of air, or preparing himself to buck Boundless off. Trixie couldn’t tell which, but she didn’t think Boundless much cared. He simply raised a hind leg, planting his hoof squarely in the stallion’s stomach, driving him to the ground. Boundless didn’t remove his hoof. Trixie distinctly heard several ribs crack, the sound amplified by a loudspeaker spell emanating from Boundless’ horn. She winced, though careful to keep her face clear of emotion.
“And that is why we don’t try anything. Now, if you’d be a dear,” Boundless said, gesturing to Trixie. He had the sense not to use her name, thank Celestia.
Even if he did just make a scene for no discernible reason. Cumulus said.
Does he really need a reason? Trixie replied dryly, though the crack resonated in her ears, to Brash’s enthusiastic agreement. He had a tendency to be overeager, sometimes. It made him easily led.
She entered the store with a confident grin. There was no room for hesitation here; theft was highly uncommon, but not entirely unheard of. There would be some sort of security.
Ah, yes. All the jewellery locked away tightly, spell-coated metal sheets sliding out to cover the display cases. The staff was behind the counter, trying to look calm and collected. Trixie slid her eyes around the room, taking in every detail. There were cameras in the corner, probably an alarm panel under the counter; best not to stay too long.
“Hey, you there, with the hat. What’s the meaning of this?” a cashier called out.
Ignoring her, Trixie stepped forward, spying the manager. No coincidence he was in the store now, they’d planned this out quite carefully, to ensure Trixie had a target. She approached the counter, leaning over it to capture his gaze, heart pounding. So much rested on this moment, it needed to be perfect.
Now.
They made eye contact. Trixie slipped gently into his mind, like a leaf falling to the ground. As always, she immediately felt hollow, like she’d lost something precious, and was reaching out, grasping futilely after it as it fell away. She ignored it, blocked it into a corner of her awareness along with Brash and Cumulus. They couldn’t help here.
“What’s the combination?” she whispered, bringing her mouth up to his ear. Appearances, always appearances; she made a show for the camera, making sure it caught her whispering. Abruptly released from her hypnotic gaze, he recoiled from her closeness.
“Go to Tartarus, you ruffian,” the manager replied.
Trixie smiled. She was getting better; subtler—he hadn’t even noticed her steal all the various combinations that arose in his mind. Some ponies would feel her, a slight pressure, or sudden headache. She withdrew, reclaiming that part of her awareness that maintained the connection, and, turned to the door, where Boundless had just entered. She gave him a brief nod.
He’s not even covering his face from the camera.
“What’s going on? I demand an explanation!” the manager exclaimed. Already cowed by Trixie’s behaviour, the staff visibly wilted at Boundless’ glare. Trixie thought she heard a quiet ‘eep’ from one of them.
With a grin, Boundless jauntily trotted over to the office at the back. Breaking through the lock with his magic, Boundless quickly found the safe, gesturing to Trixie. With a sniff, she entered the combination, unlocking it to uncover a sizable stack of bits, enough money to provide for them for months, even with her exorbitant expenses. Trixie quickly tucked it away in her saddlebags, turning to leave.
Boundless had other ideas. Eyeing the wall that they knew faced onto an alley; a viridian aura surrounded his horn.
Show-off. Cumulus and Brash said at the same time. Trixie found herself agreeing with them.
His horn flared, doubling over itself. The aura slowly spread over the wall, covering what would be a comfortable hole. Then the plasterboard, bricks and mortar shattered, rapidly disintegrating into a grey cloud of dust. The magic disappeared, allowing the dust to billow out into the alley, and into the office.
Coughing, Trixie made her way out the hole in the wall, rejoining Boundless on the other side as they began to gallop away.
“How did you do that?” Trixie asked as they ran. “Turn the wall to dust, I mean. I’ve never heard of a spell like that.”
Boundless raised an eyebrow, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Just came naturally. I’ve a flair for destruction.”
And melodrama.
“How do you learn the combinations?” Seeing Trixie’s blank face, he rolled his eyes. “Oh, come now, fair’s fair.”
Careful, now.
The trouble was, Trixie herself didn’t know. It was just something she could do, a talent she’d stumbled upon accidentally. There was no record of a spell like it—every one she’d found had required physical contact. She couldn’t explain how it worked, or why she seemed to be the only pony that could do it. Nor did she know its limits.
But there was no need to let Boundless in on that. She knew better than to give up such an advantage. Sometimes, she was sure it was all that kept him from turning on her.
Trixie shook her head, smiling. “Sorry.”
Trixie and Boundless approached the safe-house, quietly slipping inside under the protection of an invisibility spell. Passing under the wooden doorframe, Trixie clearly smelt the charcoal, that acrid, smoky smell that clogged her nostrils. Even after all these years, the house remembered. It remembered her.
“So, how much did we get?” Boundless asked, resting his eyes on Trixie’s saddlebags. She tossed them onto the table in the centre of the room, scattering the bits over it haphazardly. They clinked softly against each other, the soft tinkle of metal resonating in Trixie’s mind against that harsh snap of breaking bone.
Trixie ignored it, filling her mind with dreams of what she could do with the money. A few more simply jobs like this, and she’d be able to buy access to the Royal Archives; a contact in the palace administration had let slip that he was . . . willing to negotiate.
Once in there, perhaps she could finally learn more about her condition. Mind-reading, and voices in her head; voices of friends long gone, they were symptoms of something. She was sure of it, some explanation as to why she was so different.
Manehattan had failed her; the year spent getting into private libraries, legally or illegally, wasted. Baltimare had fallen through within four months, then it was an arduous trip to Dodge City, and a few weeks terrorising the small town. Trixie had brought back her travelling stage show, though under a different name, allowing Boundless free reign while she performed, holding the ponies’ attention.
Las Pegasus had been no better, though Boundless had managed to lose all their saved money several times over at the casinos. It had taken a considerable amount of effort for them to evade capture there. Who knew private security would be so much more zealous than the police?
She’d even been up to Cloudsdale, the pegasus city in the clouds. There were a few unicorns, all making use of expensive amulets enchanted to allow them to walk on clouds. Trixie had found the spell back in Baltimare.
Still, it had been exciting. Four years, now, spent running all over Equestria with Boundless. She wasn’t sure what to think of him, even after all this time. Not quite a friend, nor did they share any real trust. But their partnership worked, and so long as it continued to work, they’d remain together.
The Royal Archives of Canterlot. The largest repository of knowledge in Equestria, it had always been Trixie’s best hope, and the furthest from reach. It would be difficult to ask entry without revealing her purpose, particularly to the princess. After all, she thought Trixie dead, perished in a fire ten years ago, the fire that also left dead her two childhood friends.
Brash and Cumulus, the earth pony and pegasus that Trixie had grown up with. Not related, though they spent more time together than some siblings they knew, they had been best friends until graduating from the public school. Trixie had wanted to travel, see the world while showing off the incredible feats of illusion that had made her so popular. Brash had wanted to settle down, focus on his trade—metalworking, in the city smithies. Cumulus, on the other hoof, had wanted to attend the University in Cloudsdale, learning all he could about weather production and management.
“There’s over three hundred here, at the least. Enough for quite some time, then,” Trixie said, estimating the size of the pile before her.
“A few days, anyway,” Boundless muttered, closing his eyes. His mouth moved silently, counting.
“I need my cut for bribes and food,” Trixie warned. “Don’t even think about taking it for one of your schemes.” He gave her a wounded look.
“Would I do that?”
Yes, yes you would. Sometimes, I wonder if there’s anything you wouldn’t do.
Trixie merely sighed, exasperated. Boundless slammed his hoof onto the table, sending the bits jumping into the air. Some rolled off the table.
“What I need, when I need it,” he warned, giving her what he thought was a stern look. Trixie stifled a laugh at the expression, utterly unfazed by the show of force. It still surprised her, how boyish he was, despite everything. Just a foal, just a mere sixteen years to his name.
The trouble was, he meant every word. It was easy to get caught up in that innocence. She’d seen it happen to others, and every time he used them up and discarded them, useless husks of what they were.
Picking up a coin, Boundless gave it a careful stare, placing it back on the table amongst the others.
“Remember that,” he said, not noticing her temporary lapse. She sighed inwardly, though keeping a straight face.
“That goes both ways,” she replied, sliding a portion back into her bags. “Boundless?”
“Fine, whatever” He replied, still staring at the money, a distant look on his face.
Trixie turned her back, holding her neck stiff as she quickly left the room, returning to her corner of the basement, breathing heavily. Depositing her saddlebags in the corner, she huddled under the window, trying desperately to calm herself. Trying to convince herself she was okay.
But you aren’t, are you? Brash said sadly.
No matter how she tried, the foal still managed to intimidate her. She knew the tricks, the little movements and posturing’s that made one appear threatening, yet she was allowing them to put her off balance. It was dangerous, so dangerous. One hint that she was afraid and he’d have her.
She had no reason to be afraid. Despite his freakish ability to break out of telekinetic containment, he hadn’t manifested anything abnormal. She’d be able to beat him, should it come to a fight, easily. He couldn’t stop her from teleporting, or throwing tables around; his magic was far weaker than hers. He couldn’t perceive her illusions. So why was she so afraid?
Because he can do anything, Cumulus said. We fear his potential.
Everypony has potential, and anypony can do anything, Trixie snapped.
No, listen. Not everypony can—in fact, most can’t. Could you, for example, kill somepony? Not for any reason, just because I told you to?
The voices in my head are telling me to kill. Great, now I do need to see a shrink.
He could, Brash said, cutting in. Absolutely, no problem. Without a second thought, so long as it helped him in some way.
Even Brash sees it, Cumulus sneered. Potential, Trixie. That foal is utterly amoral. You fear that potential.
He had a point. Trixie thought back to that awful snap, the way he completely removed the dozens of ponies outside the store from the robbery so effortlessly. That many witnesses, and so many of them unicorns, should have easily restrained the two thieves. Instead, they’d stood like sheep, too shocked and frightened to move.
Trixie had been watching Boundless’ face. He hadn’t displayed squeamishness, or reluctance. There was no hesitation in his actions. Equally, his eyes hadn’t lit up in delight, mouth hadn’t curled slightly as he dominated the stallion before him. No malice, just simple, clear, efficient action.
“What I need, when I need it,” he’d said, holding her eyes.
Four years and you never realised? I’m disappointed, Trixie.
I . . . I can beat him. I -
You can’t stop him from cutting your throat in your sleep.
Even then, as a single sob escaped her, Trixie couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. The thought was just so foreign, so completely contradictory to everything Equestria stood for. There was crime, sure, born of desperation, there was some violence and hate and social oppression. But for a thousand years, there had been no murder. No rape, adultery or kidnapping. Some things were sacred; everypony grew up believing that in their bones.
Stay strong, Brash advised. Don’t show him weakness.
Can’t leave, Cumulus agreed. He needs you for something. That’s why we’re still here.
T-thanks, guys, Trixie managed, before the enormity of the revelation encompassed her once again. She lay on the wooden surface, the high noon sunlight streaming in the window and over her face, as she watched stallion be knocked down, and heard the sharp snap over and over again.
“You still haven’t told me how you knew about this place,” Boundless said when Trixie re-emerged from her room.
“Spent some time here as a foal,” Trixie replied. “Nothing important.”
Nothing important?
“Was it burnt then too?”
“No, that happened . . . after.” Trixie shook her head, staring at the floor. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The fire . . .
“Oh? What happened here,” Boundless pressed, face lighting up.
“I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” Trixie rebuffed, turning away. She didn’t have the energy to deal with him, not right now. Trotting to the door, she pulled it open and left before she could change her mind.
Risky . . . but perhaps a walk will clear my head
Perhaps. Perhaps it will get you caught. There were dozens of witnesses, even through your disguise. Cumulus told her, ever cautious. She could almost see him, face serious and stern, gesturing with a hoof.
I know, I know.
Back off, Cumulus, give her some space. One thing at a time, Brash said, interjecting. Dear, dear, Brash, he was always standing up for her.
The evening air was crisp and cool, a refreshing breeze playing over her face. The sun’s radiance died in the distance, heralding the emerging stars, glimmering overhead. Trixie turned a corner, headed through town.
Where are we going?
I don’t know.
They would have been with her for five years in a few weeks. Five years, spent as voices in another’s head. She still entertained thoughts that the experience had simply driven her mad; hiding the truth under a veil of comfort. But they’d disproved that long ago.
She knew, now, what it felt like to be burned alive. To choke on the smoke until you fell to the ground, unable to move, intense heat climbing over your body. She could see the bodies, sprawled on the floor as she quailed nearby.
She shuddered.
She had reached forward, grasping her friend’s limbs, nearly unconscious herself. There was no escape; the heat bore down with a physical weight, pressed her down against the searing wooden floor. But she dragged herself forward, some lonely fear driving her, and held them close.
And the fear drained away, peaking with an intensity rivalling the raging fire before disappearing, sucked away somewhere. She’d passed out.
Why choose that place to stay? Was it nostalgia, or some foolish hope of coming full circle? She had never really recovered, and could never forget. Not with their constant presence reminding her. Empowering her.
It had been a strange thing, waking up in the hospital. She’d been told they were dead, to a furious declamation in her mind. That shock had almost broken her, unable to deal with a war between reality and her unwilling mind. But somehow, she’d persevered.
The doctor told her she had protected herself somehow, shielded the flames. Trixie did not know how to do that, hadn’t ever learned such a spell, and couldn’t remember casting it. Yet she’d come out of the experience barely singed, impossible, considering.
Then Brash had proven himself, throwing around terms of his trade, rules to observe around a forge, and Cumulus the advanced properties of weather, cloud physics, lightning and snow. Disconcerting, to suddenly acquire knowledge she had no right to.
Ah. I see. We’re here.
Trixie looked up, spotting the gilded gates in front of her. Inscribed in an arch across them, she read with the quiet dismay of her own betrayal.
Noble Deed’s Orphanage
Her old home; a tiny room in a mansion full of tiny rooms, it was where she’d met them, for the first time. Where they’d grown together, and fallen apart. Where they’d discovered themselves, who they were and what they wanted. They’d planned their lives, a grand weaving, insignificant and precious.
The Orphanage was for foals, each asked to leave when they got their cutie mark. It was a sign that you were ready for the world, prepared to make your own way, pursue your dreams. For Trixie, that day, the happiest day of her life, had been the end of an era. It marked the last period she spent with them, alive and well.
Trixie stared through the bars, gazing at the mansion. It had changed, though without aging a day, fresh paint and construction marking it out from her memory. Scaffolding was still set up around the eastern wing, where the unicorns stayed.
There was supposed to be no racism at the Orphanage. That had been another lie, though a justified one. After all, Canterlot was primarily a unicorn city.
Despite that, she had happy memories here. Warm memories, the comforting knowledge of home assuring her, being surrounded by ponies her age and status. Orphans were pitied in society. In a way, that made life harder, a constant reminder that she had missed out. They drew in to each other, and became their own family.
She forced her gaze away from the place, deliberately turning her back and trotting away, back to the hideout. There was no room for reminiscing, no time for nostalgia. She had her friends with her still. That would be enough, would have to be enough.
Boundless still terrified her, but as long as she didn’t know what he wanted, there was no point trying to guess. For all that potential, as Cumulus put it, he carried the bluntness of youth. She could beat him, could stay ahead of him, and slowly lose relevance to his plans without becoming a threat.
A meagre plan, though . . .
We’re not going anywhere.
***
There was no obvious source for the wind. It blew from the south, a heavy wind, unchanging and unceasing. Luna followed it, tracing a lonely path through the desolate plains. The wind whispered to her, a desperate plea for release that she heard with no hope of answering. It was mindless, a wild, animal thing.
The wind was not responsible for the death of this land, couldn’t have reduced an entire civilisation to dust. Luna heard it, and knew it to be helpless, impotent and trapped. What, then, had done this? What was Celestia trying to protect Equestria from? What had the Drac sent her here to find?
Luna followed a dry riverbed, hard, cracked clay visible under the shifting sands. It wound its way through these Wastes, slowly meandering south. It had been hot, coming down from the mountains, like the peak of summer, but that heat was abating now, the air growing colder.
There remained no moisture in the air, nor was there cloud cover, sheltering her from the sun. No, it had simply grown softer, a mild heat, as if the seasons rolled past as she walked.
The wind was stronger here. It did not gust, didn’t blow sand in her face or tousle her mane. It made the air thicker, closed off and opposing her, as if Luna was pressing herself through water. It did not matter, she would not be dissuaded.
She did not know how long she’d been walking. It seemed blasphemous to fly, or teleport. She forced herself to search each fallen building, each ruined hut, or pile of rubble, though she didn’t know what she was looking for. Some sign of the creatures who had lived here.
It didn’t matter how long it took. At high noon, one day, she saw something new. A dark smirk on the horizon, a fingerprint, was just barely visible under the haze of the sun’s heat.
Eventually, she came to the centre. A large dome, the only structure she’d encountered still standing in the Wastes. Beginning to circle, it seemed the wind emanated from here, blowing out from openings in each side. The riverbed Luna was standing in ran straight through the northern opening and appeared to continue south, emerging on the other side.
The dome itself was solid, a mountain of rock easily a mile across. Completing her circuit, Luna faced the northern entrance once more, stepping lightly inside. Perhaps here were the answers she searched for.
“Good den, Princess of the Night,” an ancient voice rasped. She hadn't heard anything, no sound reverberated around the long tunnel. It had spoken to her mind, yet she heard the weight of years in it.
Luna paused briefly, before continuing.
“Greetings, Moon’s Veil,” it continued, dripping with malice.
Luna snorted, nostrils flaring. She struggled to press forward, now, the wind almost immovable, a vast force pressing down upon her.
There was no doubt in her mind now; this was the threat Celestia guarded against. It was probably what had reduced the land outside to the barren waste she had crossed.
“Greetings, Luna, and welcome home.”
Alarmed, Luna turned to look for the exit. The voice began to laugh, a horrible, cackling sound that raised her hackles and set her ears back flat against her skull. Rising into the air, Luna shot forward, wings catching the incredible pressure the wind provided. She covered the distance in less than a second.
But the exit wasn’t there. She flew on, well past the limits of the dome. The wind behind her was unfaltering, and the blackness seemed to go on forever.
I have always considered myself to be a pony of loyalty. But then, what pony doesn’t? Even the betrayer considers himself loyal to his own best interests.
Perhaps another, reading of my life, would name me a deserter. He could call me an arrogant fool. What is to make his opinion any less valid than my own?
In the end, I must act as I see fit. Is that not why I was chosen?
Two
Ten Years Ago
FOR ONCE, Luna wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. She was used to being direct, forthright about what bothered her. Celestia called it ‘refreshing’—having spent a millennia dealing with the dirty secrets and subtle machinations of state politics.
Others called her blunt. She tended to take that as a compliment, but she suspected such an approach wouldn’t lend her Celestia’s favour here.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have the right. Luna felt, had always felt, that Equestria was a diarchy, the sister’s sharing power equally. But her absence left Celestia with secrets, and a thousand years of holding them tight had allowed them to fade, just ripples on the surface of her mind.
She hadn’t told her sister about her encounter with the Drac. At first, the negotiations with the Griffon Chancellor had taken most of her mind, but even back in Canterlot, she had reservations about sharing his words.
More than anything, she feared damaging her relationship with her sister. It was tenuous, still. Celestia had been gravely hurt by Luna’s betrayal, and subsequent absence, just as Luna was still recovering from her ordeal. She wasn’t sure she’d ever recover that part of herself, the part that felt hate, or if it had entirely burnt up, consumed in her fall.
She didn’t want anything to risk the slowly healing bond between them. Yet the prophetic words continued to plague her mind, teasing, tempting her. They hinted at secrets long forgotten and future conflict.
The Guiding Light. How that name galled her now, standing on her balcony, gazing out at the horizon. Cynosura sat above the horizon, just where she’d left it, all those years ago. So long as it remained aligned, everypony everywhere would be able to find their way.
Luna herself had guided hers to nothing but ruin. It was a name from a better time, a time before Equestria. She had no right to it.
“Go Beyond the Veil”
She signed. Perhaps she should just tell ‘Tia. A quick trip, a few weeks, and she could return, wiser, and without these nagging words in her head.
The Veil was probably just one of those things ‘Tia had set up over the years and forgotten. She’d probably give a little laugh and point Luna to some dusty old books in a dusty old room. But something about it stuck with Luna, wouldn’t let her shrug it off. It persisted.
So she’d have to find out what the Veil was, and the only pony who would know was ‘Tia. Things were simpler when she knew where she stood, could act without fear of overstepping herself. Now, though . . .
Still, it was of her own doing. If she truly wanted to step into her role as one of Equestria’s rulers, she’d need to have her sister’s trust, and she’d need to trust her sister.
So she’d approach her. She’d raise the subject, bringing Twilight’s report on her own experience with the creature. She’d relate everything it had said, without deceit. She’d request a period of leave, to investigate for herself. Perhaps then, she’d be able to put the encounter behind her.
She reached forward, following herself through time. Foresight was a curious magic, powered through fear or hope. She had plenty of both.
And . . . nothing. She could feel portent, in the same manner the Drac could. She could even predict events as they’d unfold, accurately reading the path of the world. But she couldn’t see the choices made that changed that path, the pebble under the wheel of the cart, knocking it out of the rut. Nopony could.
Luna turned, leaving the balcony. Behind her, Cynosura glimmered on the horizon, standing eternal vigil against wayward souls.
***
Dear Princess Celestia
This letter contains my yearly report on the Bearers, as well as an update on my current inquiry into the whereabouts of Princess Luna.
I, as you already know, reside in Ponyville with my partner Rainbow Dash. The Agency is doing well—there have been close calls, but nothing I could not handle. It continues to serve its purpose; we learn more about Coromancy every day, and I am able to provide magical consultation for Equestria. It’s much better than being closeted away in the University.
Rainbow made Captain of the Wonderbolts last year, and she hasn’t stopped smiling, or boasting, since. We thought there might have been a problem, with the busy schedule and all, but we’ve found that for somepony who can fly Ponyville to Canterlot in less than a minute, it’s fairly simple to, for the most part, live away from the city. I can always visit Canterlot myself. In fact, we’ve set up a second office there.
Rarity chose to remain in Ponyville, despite the nation-wide success of her clothing lines. She designs for a series of outlets in each city across Equestria, and seems positively radiant. I’ve had to call in her help a few times, now. She is exceptionally good at finding things—and ponies. I will admit to some jealousy. What I wouldn’t give to See, as she does . . .
Pinkie Pie runs Sugarcube Corner with the Cake twins. She seems happy, and although she might not be sharing in our accomplishments as much, she’s spent the better part of her life actively spreading joy to everypony she meets. I think that, in the end, that’s enough.
Applejack is still working the fields of her farm, with a little more help from her family, now that Applebloom is all grown up. That precocious little filly invented all manner of things over the years, making Sweet Apple Acres one of the more productive farms in the region. If anything, it’s even harder to drag her away, now that Granny Smith’s passed.
Finally, Fluttershy is living on the nature preserve P.E.T.A founded. She’s found an old house, abandoned, and moved in to be closer to the wildlife. She’s become quite the ranger, too, spending a great deal of time roaming the hills and forests of what’s essentially become her domain. At a stretch, she is able to make the flight back here in a few hours, though it usually takes up to half a day.
I regret to inform you that as yet, I have been unable to locate any trace of Princess Luna beyond her last sighting near the southern border. I of course share your concern, and will not stop looking, though after nearly ten years, I am forced to conclude, either she does not wish to be found, or she cannot be found by conventional means—particularly in the knowledge that even Sight takes us no closer to any clues.
Yours, faithfully,
Twilight Sparkle
Twilight nodded, curling the scroll and, wrapping it in a red ribbon, placed it in her saddlebag. Turning, she glanced down the narrow hallway to spy Rainbow lounging in Twilight’s office. The pegasus, still in her Wonderbolt uniform, held a book in her hooves, although it was apparent she was only half-heartedly reading.
“Dashie! I’m just heading out to deliver a letter. I’ll be back soon,” Twilight called. The sound carried, amplified by the hallway. Rainbow raised a hoof absent-mindedly, briefly waving it around in the air before returning it to the spine of her book.
“Yeah, alright Twi’, see you soon.”
Twilight smiled, just a little, at the corner of her mouth, shaking her head, as she headed out the door. She stopped for a moment on the doorstep, observing the world around her.
It was peaceful. Ponyville had always had a calm atmosphere, notwithstanding the frequent disasters that befell the town. She could see several ponies she knew, mixed among the passer-by’s.
Twilight nodded to each as they passed, friends, if only by association with Old Ponyville. The influx of newcomers had created rapid expansion in the town, its population exploding. Those who’d lived here before had begun referring to it as the New Ponyville.
She admired the plate sitting above the door before starting out. Despite the years of sun and rain, the burnished metal shone brightly, showing not a single mark or blemish. The spells she had cast on it were holding well.
Arch-Magus Twilight Sparkle’s Agency A Consultation Service
Twilight headed up the street, heading towards the Golden Oak library in the centre of the town. Returning the greetings of those she passed, she again stopped, this time spotting Applejack at her apple stand.
“Howdy, Twi’,” Applejack said, greeting her with a wave.
“Hello, Applejack,” Twilight said, dropping a bit into the barrel nearby, she took and bit into her fruit. Sweet and tangy, it was everything she’d come to expect of the farmer’ produce. It seemed Applejack’s passion for her farm was paying dividends.
“What brings you down here, Twi’?” Applejack said, returning Twilight’s smile with a grin.
“Just delivering a letter to the princess, then I’m heading out to the fields. Rainbow’s gotten a couple of days off.”
“Ah see. Well, if you two feel like it, pop by the farm sometime. Ah’d love to catch up,” Applejack said.
“Sure,” Twilight replied, beginning to move away.
“See ya soon,” Applejack called before turning her attention to the queue that had formed in front of her.
Perhaps she could find some time in her schedule for a visit. Twilight knew Rainbow would love to catch up with Applejack. Since becoming Captain of the Wonderbolts, she’d had much less time to spend back at home. Twilight took another bite of the apple, savouring the texture. Maybe there’d be some sweet, warm, apple pies she could buy.
Finished with the fruit, Twilight tossed the core into the air and incinerated it with an absent thought.
Coming to the library, she stopped, knocking sharply on the door before opening it.
“Daerev!” she called, glancing around the room. “I’ve got a letter to send.
“’Kay,” Daerev said, appearing at the top of the stairs. He was as big as Twilight, now, with long spikes graced his back and there was the barest hint of wings beginning to protrude from his sides, forming as bulges beneath his scales. “I’ve some mail for you as well, from Shining Armour.”
“Shiny sent a letter?” Twilight said, clasping her hooves together. It wasn’t often she heard from her brother, since he’d moved to the Crystal Empire in the far north.
“Yep. Here you go,” Daerev said, tossing a bound scroll to Twilight. Snatching it from the air in a telekinetic field, Twilight reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a scroll of her own.
“Send that to Celestia. I’ll read this while I wait for a response.”
“You sure she’s going to reply that quickly?”
“Just send the letter,” Twilight said, heading into the kitchen and taking a seat. She pulled Shining Armour’s letter out, and, as Daerev incinerated her letter in a stream of green fire, began to read.
Twily!
It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you, so I thought I’d let you know that I’ll be visiting Canterlot in three days’ time. Perhaps we could meet? I’ve got a lot to catch up with you.
For instance, I heard you made Arch-Magus. That’s fantastic, congratulations little sister! We always knew you were special, although I did have to find out myself, when Princess Celestia invited us to the ceremony. Maybe you’ll stop giving me a hard time about the invitation to my wedding now.
Unfortunately, neither of us could come. It’s been a great deal of work here, making sure that everything is running smoothly. Even now, the Crystal ponies seem to be traumatised. A lingering effect of King Sombra’s reign, I suppose. In effect, every little thing that goes wrong half convinces them that it’s the end of the Empire. It’s even crazier than your stories made Ponyville sound!
But enough of that. I’m sure we can talk at length in Canterlot. I’ll be coming in on the morning train, but I’m only staying for a few days.
Hoping to hear from you soon,
Shining Armour
Daerev’s head rose from the book he was reading, carefully positioning his snout above the cover, and belched a long trail of green fire. The flame coalesced into a tightly sealed scroll, which fell from the air into his hands. He looked at the seal, then across the room at Twilight, who was composing a reply to her brother.
“Looks like you were right, Twilight,” Daerev said. “Here, catch.”
He tossed the scroll across to Twilight, who set her work aside and unfurled it, eyes scanning the lines.
My most faithful Twilight Sparkle,
As much as I welcome news of you and each of your friends, and celebrate your good fortune with you, I must confess I found your continued lack of progress regarding my sister to be troubling, although not unexpected.
Luna’s absence has left an indelible mark in Equestria’s governance; a hole created ten years ago when you returned her to us. Her brief period in the Court leaves us in the peculiar position of returning to an Equestria that no longer exists.
When I tasked you with finding my sister, I imagined it the work of, at most, months. I understand how complex such an investigation can be, but, bearing in mind the particular abilities of your group, I had hoped for some progress. To date, we know only that she disappeared near the southern border.
This is not to say that I find your efforts lacking, Twilight. I know you share my concern for Luna, and are doing everything in your power to help return my sister to her rightful place.
I myself have attempted to See her, to no avail. Please pass this on to Rarity, with the assurance that she has not failed. Luna is simply beyond our Sight. I cannot imagine that such a place exists within Equestria’s confines.
You concluded that either she could not be found, or did not wish to be found. While we may hope that she maintains her independence, after such a long time, I am forced to accept the apparent fact that she has been waylaid, somehow caught and held. I have never heard of a being with sufficient power to hold an alicorn against her will, but surely Luna would have contacted us by now, were she voluntarily remaining beyond our reach.
Beyond Equestria. The thought is as foreign to me, after such a long time, as it would be to you. Truthfully, I cannot remember anypony ever actually leaving, though some have expressed the desire to.
Has Fluttershy been able to Dream of anything relating? I understand that it is an imprecise art, but at this point, I am desperate for any clue as to my sister’s fate. My own Dreams have not touched on her.
As for you, Twilight, I would be most appreciative if you were to include this search as an Agency matter. Please, consider me your client. You will have access to the royal treasury for the duration of your search.
I know that there is little you can do but wait. Continue to develop Rarity and Fluttershy’s abilities, as well as your own. In the end, all we have left is hope.
***
There’s nothing here.
Trixie stifled a yawn. She had to agree, albeit reluctantly; her thirteen hour search through the Archives had, so far, yielded nothing useful. Still, the Archives were huge, and she wouldn’t give up till she’d gone through every scroll.
It was her last chance, after all. Her last opportunity to discover what had happened for herself, without seeking outside help. She’d always been an independent pony, comfortable in her own company. She was never alone, not anymore.
Of course, there were plenty of ponies who could have offered their opinions. The Princesses would probably know, even offer her aid. Yet, she couldn’t trust them, not completely. Everything they did would be benevolent, of that she was certain. It wouldn’t change the fact that she’d amount to an experiment, a test subject bearing inexplicable symptoms.
She needed to know what had happened, without spending the years being passed between experts and examined by doctors. That was why she searched, why she’d spent four years travelling with that monster.
This is getting old. We can come back tomorrow, right?
Brash was right, in his own way. More productive to search after a night’s rest, when her eyes no longer strained to make out the blurry words, her eyelids no longer dragged her head towards the ground and her mouth made yawn after yawn.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely right. She could come back tomorrow, and potentially be turned away. The palace employed a large staff, most of whom weren’t open to bribes. Trixie’s bits had only gone so far; if Starlight, the only dirty librarian in the whole bunch, wasn’t on duty, she’d be stuck.
So she stayed, moving through the mental manipulation fields of magic. The amount of information was astounding, shelves and shelves of scrolls stretching away from her in every direction. Even with the filing systems, it had taken Trixie an hour just to find the relevant sections.
She passed over the Soulgaze, the memory transfer and the various probes. She barely glanced at the Domination spells, despite Cumulus’ protests. She didn’t know why those even existed, nopony had ever used them, as far as she knew. The field had been restricted immediately, and for good reason. The thought of having another invade your mind and take control? It was enough to make her shiver.
Still could be worth looking at. Cumulus argued. He did have a point; after all, she had two minds in her head. The linking magic could hold a clue.
Think of how that would look. I bribe a librarian, sneak in, and spend hours poring over the Domination spells. I don’t think that would go down well.
Only if you get caught.
Maybe as a last resort, then; there was plenty of material left. She could keep going for another few hours, more if she turned her magic on herself. Illusion magic was surprisingly versatile; tricking her mind into thinking it rested was a handy trick, though it wasn’t healthy.
She picked up another scroll, glancing at the title.
On Mental Magic and the Soul
She almost moved on, dismissing the grandiose notion before stopping. Filed here suggested some level of competency, and it did seem to pertain to her situation. Unfurling a little, she saw the author’s name: Twilight Sparkle.
Her again . . .
Curiosity piqued, Trixie carefully scanned the document. It was a treatise on mental magic, of all forms, and what it revealed about a soul. Twilight had some interesting ideas, certainly, but nothing stood out as relevant. Except . . .
There!
Something about emotional surges—an overflow in the Spiritual nexus, leading to a magical outburst that connected two minds briefly. Twilight suggested it was an empathic connection between the two minds, linking as equals very briefly.
And if their bodies died while in that state?
Unfortunately, that theory would require both parties to be unicorns. Trixie couldn’t have pulled her friend’s into her head; without reciprocal magic, they would have been unable to connect at all.
It had merit, certainly was something worth bearing in mind. Trixie just couldn’t see it applying here, or in how she was able to read the minds of those she made eye contact with. The ability was useful, yes, but her complete lack of understanding over its functioning left her discomfited, and she was sure it was related to her friends inhabiting her head.
Trixie carefully copied the relevant parts of the scroll, including the theoretical spell matrices into her notebook. Perhaps she would go find Twilight Sparkle, see if she had any further thoughts. Trixie tucked her notebook away, replacing Twilight’s scroll and moving on.
Of everypony we know, Twilight Sparkle would be the most qualified to help. Cumulus said.
I know, but that doesn’t change our history. Trixie replied. Asking her would be tantamount to asking the Princess, anyway. Even if I could persuade them to keep silent, I’d be in the public eye. I’d be their subject.
So, instead we’re sneaking through the Archives hoping to get lucky?
An excellent point. Trixie could see the logic behind appealing to the Princesses. After all, she’d be able to generate considerable sympathy with her story, and they knew more about magic than any other being alive. Even with that, however, she was reluctant. She had a feeling that once she made that contact, she could never go back, never reclaim her anonymity. It wasn’t an option.
Even if it means time with Boundless?
Trixie knew it was a bad idea, continuing to work with him. Yet, even with his unpredictability and tendency for extremes, the fact remained that over the last four years, he hadn’t laid a hoof on her. And they had gotten results, successfully evading capture; travelling across Equestria . . . the partnership had worked. There was no reason it couldn’t continue to do so.
And if he continued to hurt ponies, she could be there to rein him in. There was security in their history; he wouldn’t turn on her that easily. After all, he had kept her around. He needed her as much as she needed him.
Trixie rounded the shelf, intending to continue on the other side, to come face-to-face with Boundless, standing motionless against the stack. Jumping, she yelped, tired eyes fully open and alert, heart racing. Recovering, she gave him a glare that spoke volumes, choosing to ignore the slight smirk that played at the edge of his mouth.
Speak of the devil . . .
”Trixie, there you are,” Boundless said, voice a hushed whisper. “I’ve found something I think you’ll want to see.”
Trixie didn’t know why Boundless had insisted on following her in here, though she had no real objection. She’d been careful to keep what she was looking for from him; there was no need to share the fact that she heard the voices of her dead friends, had their minds locked in hers, but equally she had no idea what he was searching for.
“How long were you waiting there?” Trixie accused as she followed him down the aisle.
“About ten minutes. It was worth it, though.”
“I’m sure. What did you find?”
Boundless led her down the aisle, weaving his way through the Archives. Leaving the Magic section, they moved down the hallway, arriving at the History section.
“In here,” Boundless said.
Trixie couldn’t help but wonder what they were looking for. She’d never pegged Boundless as interested in history. Something must have caught his eye.
“Why were you in here in the first place?” she whispered, following him down an aisle. They passed by modern history, skipped the records of the Celestia’s reign during Luna’s banishment, eventually left Equestrian history behind altogether.
“I was looking for something, something that was around during the founding of Equestria.”
“That was before even Celestia and Luna.”
“Yes, it was. Here, look at this.” Boundless finally entered the stacks, confidently leading Trixie to a shelf. He took hold of the scroll sticking halfway out of the shelf, levitating it over to Trixie. Taking it in her own grip, she unfurled it and began to read.
The Foundation and Maintenance of the Crystal Empire
In all my travels I have never come across a group as emphatically separate and yet closely related to Equestria as the Crystal Empire. They acknowledge their roots in Equestrian culture and our shared genetic background, but they distance themselves from us, and hold their secrets close.
It has become abundantly clear that the Crystal ponies of the north were not always so different. Indeed, I propose that they are in fact of the same race as us, albeit a group long affected by exposure to their namesake magic.
On my own journey through the Crystal Empire, I was fortunate enough to witness the Crystal fair, an event celebrating the unique features of their lifestyle. While such a celebration is worth its own record, here I intend to detail the situation that lead to the formation and the maintenance of the Crystal Empire. Please refer to my colleagues work for details of their current culture and situation.
We know that their magic revolves around the Crystal Heart, an artefact not even the Crystal ponies know the origins of. It seems to function as a lens, spreading the prevailing emotion across the Empire. Thus, strong national pride, evoked through events such as the fair, protects the Empire from dissolution. Their unity becomes their strength.
When I witnessed this event personally, the Heart emitted a wave of magic that left my coat a translucent crystal. While the effect faded shortly afterward, it seems clear to me that not only does the Heart use the emotions it is fed, but it is capable of enforcing those on others. My presence and participation, for a brief time, turned me into a Crystal pony.
The Empire rests on the Heart, of this there is no doubt. Nevertheless, the artefact itself is inherently neither good nor evil. It is capable of reflecting whatever it is fed, and enforcing that on those around it. It is the tool of a tyrant, even in spreading joy and fulfilment.
These are my claims;
Firstly, the Foundation of the Crystal Empire is the result of extended use of the Heart as a means of control.
Secondly, while such abuse, in all likelihood, arose from the desire to protect and unify, it is an abuse, and removes, in part, the individual’s right of choice.
Thirdly; such a breach in our ethical code is part of their national identity. The Crystal Empire exists as a unified being, and will continue to exist as such. It is not our prerogative to judge, but to acknowledge and understand. This in large part enforces the separation of our cultures.
Finally; the Maintenance of the Empire relies on the continued use of the Heart. Thus, the safety of the Heart is vital for two reasons; the continued protection of our cousins in the north, and our own protection from their magic. For if the Heart ever came south, I fear we would have little ability to resist its influence.
The document continued, the author offering his own experiences as evidence, and attempting to spark a lot of fear. Trixie recognised the exaggerations, word choice carefully placed to provoke a response. This pony, whoever he had been, hadn’t trusted the Crystal Empire.
What was Boundless looking for? There hadn’t been anything useful in the entire thing. Trixie considered, turning over what she knew. Boundless was reckless, independent, amoral and wild. He sought . . . Trixie would have said excitement-she’d thought that for a while, but it didn’t fit, somehow. He had a design, a goal, tucked away somewhere. He was driven, then, but by what?
Don’t focus on what he wants.
He hated control. He hated it so much that he refused to accept Boundless as his name, though it was listed as such. He’d told her repeatedly, ”You may call me that. But do not mistake it for a name.”
The document had been about control, specifically how the Crystal Empire controlled its populace, and how that ensured their safety.
Oh.
Yes, I think so. Trixie agreed.
What?
He’s going after the Crystal Heart, Brash.
Ah.
Trixie shook her head slowly, raising her eyes to meet Boundless’ squarely. “Why did you show this to me?”
“You know why, Trixie.”
“It’s a bad idea, Boundless,” she said, emphasising the name. He arched an eyebrow, staring down at her. When had he gotten so tall? “Setting aside the obvious fact that you’d be caught, do you even know where it is?”
“In the Crystal Empire, obviously,” he replied.
“Even if you somehow get it, what are you going to do with it?”
“Study it.”
Trixie snorted. He hadn’t studied anything seriously in his life.
“Is something funny?” he said, eyebrows furrowing. Trixie nearly wilted under the glare. “Before we go further, consider this. I have not found a single mention of the Crystal Heart anywhere else in these Archives, the most complete repository of knowledge in all Equestria. References to it have been pruned away. Why would somepony do that?”
“I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care.”
“You should, because the same may have happened to you.”
That brought Trixie up short. “Okay, so what now?”
“Now, we need to find somepony who knows about this, somepony with a connection to the Crystal Empire. You can spend weeks in here without finding answers to your question, Trixie. Find the right pony, and you could rip them from their mind in seconds.”
He has a point.
“Very well, then, who?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, records regarding this seem to have vanished.”
“They just conveniently missed that one?” Trixie said, pointing a hoof at the discarded scroll. Boundless gave a helpless shrug. “Then they may have missed more. We could search through the recent histories; see if anypony interacted with the Heart. The Empire returned, what, thirteen years ago?”
“Something like that.” Boundless nodded. Just as they turned to go, a light whistle reached their ears. A jaunting, merry tune that carried through the hallways, bouncing off walls and shelves, it was the morning patrol.
“We need to go, now,” Trixie whispered, clenching her eyes shut. A lead, all she wanted was a lead! She’d have to come back, perhaps break in now that she knew the staff routines. That thought comforted her. She’d been so close to the answers.
“Yes, we do. Meet back at the hideout in two hours,” Boundless said. His voice, pitched low, seemed to resonate through the room, though Trixie knew that was just the fear building inside her. Information would have to wait; they couldn’t afford to be caught here. She nodded.
They split up, each heading opposite directions to the end of the stacks. Trixie knew of four exits to the Archives, and she knew more probably existed. Even then, she knew of no building that had been able to contain Boundless, not even the prison, that one time in Manehattan.
She trotted quickly to the outer hallway, quickly casting a spell to block the sound from her hoof-steps. The Archives consisted of a great round building, about the size of a hoof-ball field. The outer and inner hallways were loops, connecting through the various sections, and protecting the innermost, restricted, section from the public.
She could see the guard light approaching, casting a shadow on the wall in front of Trixie as he moved along the hallway.
Blast. She turned, galloping back to the inner hallway.
In three, two, one . . .
She turned left abruptly, diving into the shelves, pressing herself up against the nearest stack, breathing heavily. She wasn’t used to galloping, even short distances left her somewhat out of breath. She should really get around to exercising properly, one of these days.
Behind her, the cone of light flickered past, briefly darting into the aisle before returning to roaming the hallway. Trixie poked her head around the corner to catch a glimpse of the guard’s flank disappearing from view. She waited a minute or so before slinking out, escaping without incident.
Spread before her lay Canterlot, in the act of awakening. She moved away from the Archives, though no alarm had been raised, heading to the markets. After all, she’d been up all night. She could use some breakfast.
I fear I shall not find what I search for. Certainly, should I prove wrong, and all my efforts in vain, I will have wasted our best chance of saving this world.
And should I find it, what then? What if, in taking up the power to defeat a god, I become the enemy we face?
Three
“THE VEIL? I’ve never heard of it,” Celestia said, giving Luna a curious glance. “Where in Equestria did you hear that?”
“You remember Twilight and Rainbow’s incident in the Everfree, with Lethe?” Luna asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“While I was searching for them, I encountered a creature—some form of dragon, living in the river. It called itself the Drac.”
“Twilight told me about that. She said it taught her the basics of Coromancy; how to harness emotions, which saved her life, judging by their encounter with Lupus later.”
“Taught her Coromancy?” Luna said, eyes widening. “It must be from before, sister. It referred to me as the Guiding Light.”
Celestia smiled. “Now that’s an old name.”
“Harmony will not allow you to fail again, Luna. They will need the Guiding Light. So, friend, my guidance to you; seek yourself; not in memory, but in time. Go beyond the Veil,” Luna quoted, eyes closed and head raised, as if staring out into the sky.
“That’s what he told me. To ‘seek myself’, out there somewhere, past this Veil, wherever and whatever that is. You don’t know anything about this, sister?” Luna said, turning a hard stare towards Celestia.
“No, of course not,” Celestia replied, wings rising, just slightly, off her back. “You do trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Luna said, bowing her head. “I am . . . unsure. I had hoped you would know.”
“This has been with you a while, hasn’t it,” Celestia said, laying a hoof on Luna’s shoulder, to her mute affirmation. “Why don’t you take some time away, find out for yourself.”
“How can I do that, when neither of us knows where to start?”
“Have you Seen, or Dreamt?” Celestia asked. Luna shook her head. “Then start with the Drac. Perhaps he can point you in the right direction.”
“Won’t I be needed here?”
“We’ll manage well enough, I expect. Sister, you’ve been distant ever since Lethe. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’m glad you’ve told me what’s been bothering you—now I’m giving you the opportunity to deal with it,” Celestia said, reaching around Luna with her other hoof, pulling her sister into a hug. Luna sighed, her muzzle resting on Celestia’s shoulder.
“Very well. I’ll not be gone more than a few weeks, though,” Luna said. Celestia gave a quiet laugh, tightening her grip.
“I’d miss you were it any longer,” Celestia said quietly, then let go, breaking the embrace.
As Luna departed, she glanced over her shoulder.
“Sister . . . thank you.”
***
Why the interest in the Crystal Heart?
Trixie was sitting at a café, sipping a coffee while she watched the passing ponies. Sometimes it felt that she spent her whole life watching; from her foalhood to now. At first, she’d been watching fillies and colts, playing, learning, growing under their parents. Later, it had been Equestria—the nation’s sights and the crowd’s dissenters. Watching her friends die . . .
Now, she watched for safety, because she didn’t know how else to live, how to fit in with the crowds, become one of them. For a master of illusion, that had always been the one trick that eluded her.
The only difference between now and then was that where she once envied, now she sneered.
She took another sip of the coffee, pushing back her empty plate, few traces remaining of her garden salad. I don’t know. He mentioned study—did he mean its magic?
Emotional manipulation; an artefact used to influence an entire people for generations. The idea terrified her, and the thought of it in the hooves of Boundless . . .
How did he even know where to look? Cumulus asked. Of course. He’d been browsing through ancient history—no, searching, specifically, for this one thing. He’d concluded somepony had been hiding information, but even before she followed that line of thought, such an assertion implied that he already knew about the Heart.
Before this morning, Trixie had never heard of the Crystal Heart. Thirteen years ago, the Empire had returned, appearing in the frozen north. Equestria had noticed, certainly, but there hadn’t been any huge change. There had been no explanation for what had sealed it away, all those years, nor why it had suddenly returned. There had been no mention of any artefact.
Boundless had never expressed interest in her studies before, declining to join her in her search. He’d been content to live, taking what happened as it came. Then, last night, he turned around and asked to accompany her to the Archives. He’d wanted to check something, as she recalled, though he wouldn’t tell her what it was.
Somepony told him. That or he’s been looking, secretly, all this time. Maybe not the Heart, specifically, but something like it. Cumulus said. Even for a voice in her mind, Trixie could hear the tremor.
Why?
I don’t know, he whispered.
A nearby pony gave Trixie an odd look, glancing over the rim of his cup at her. Pretending to ignore it, she cocked her head to the side, considering Cumulus’s words.
There had been no particular reason to show that scroll to her, she didn’t have anything new to offer. So he wanted to include her, somehow. Even finding the Heart wouldn’t be a huge problem, though they would need to work on it. But studying it, learning how it worked, and what, exactly, it did, that was a different story. That would require expertise.
Unfortunately, it didn’t have anything to do with her own plans. Trixie needed to get back inside the Archives and keep looking. There was nothing else for her to do, nowhere else to go. Her final hope for finding answers, for herself by herself.
You know, I’ve always said it’d be easier to ask somepony.
Trixie remembered Brash quite clearly, urging her to do just that. From the moment she woke up in the hospital, a nurse’s face leaning over her, he had always advocated truth. Boldness gets results, he’d said, as if waking up in his childhood friend’s mind was an everyday occurrence.
In a way, that was classic Brash. He always had taken events in stride, without much regard for the past. Combine that with faith in his fellow ponies and an easy-going attitude, and it was simple to see where his open policies originated. Cumulus, on the other hand, had been more cautious.
At first, Trixie had thought only Brash survived with her. As the days rolled by, and slowly, she came to terms with their deaths and the voice in her head, he slowly began to make noise, to alert her of his presence. Brash’s relative success, in coexisting and in convincing her he was real had eventually encouraged him enough to step forward, though it was some time before he let go of his past life.
Still, that caution was a trait Trixie empathised with. Her experiences as a performer had taught her boldness, had demanded it, but her life had taught her its place. Should she find nothing, she could ask. Equally, she could give up on answers, and simply live. Either way, it could wait, foregoing the risks involved in confessing her secret.
I don’t know what scares you so much about it.
Let it go, Brash.
So, a return to the Archives tonight, and every night thereafter until she found what she needed, or exhausted their collection. Her search would be extended by her reliance on her contact’s schedule; she would only be able to get in some nights. In the meantime . . . she could follow up on Boundless’ Crystal Heart.
We have another lead, Trixie. Cumulus said, bringing up an image of Twilight’s paper in her mind. Trixie nodded, it was a good thought. Twilight would be the pony who knew about her condition, after all. Poetic justice, of a sort.
Returning to Ponyville, after all these years . . . Trixie still hadn’t forgotten the travesty of her last visit there. It had been before the fire, back when she still believed in the Great and Powerful persona. She’d been too afraid to return to the town, even to make amends, since. She knew she wouldn’t be welcome there.
But she needed to speak with Twilight, Arch-Magus of Equestria. She needed to coax what details she could out of her, without giving away the source of her interest. That could prove difficult; from the little Trixie knew of Twilight, she was extremely proficient in magic, and hyper-intelligent. Some preparation would be in order.
Fortunately, this type of research didn’t require the Archives. Trixie would be best served speaking with the ponies that knew Twilight, slowly feeling out an outline for the pony she’d face.
Trixie rose, leaving a small tip on the table. Across from her, the nearby pony buried his face in a newspaper, obviously not reading. Trixie sighed, shaking her head, and trotted off, ducking into the first alley off the street.
She didn’t have to wait long. The pony slipped in after her, cautiously looking around. Before he could react, Trixie reached out, seizing him in a magical grip and stepping forward to bring her face-to-face with her pursuer.
“Who are you?” she demanded, pressing her nose into him. Held fast by the telekinetic field, he struggled briefly before relaxing into a slump.
“Nopony. It doesn’t matter,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut.
Trixie backed up, allowing his head to fall forward. She circled him, taking in the short cream mane, darker coat and jewel-encrusted ring cutie mark. It was the manager of the store she’d robbed last week.
“You! How’d you find me?” Trixie demanded, shaking him lightly. One thing she’d learned from Boundless; extremes got results. There was little to be gained by being gentle.
“I-I just saw you there, at the café. I couldn’t believe it,” he said, stammering over his words. Small flecks of spittle spat from his mouth, flying past Trixie. He tossed his head, eyes rolling back as he tried to rear, held down by her spell. “P-P-Please d-don’t hurt me!”
Not good enough, Trixie.
But be gentle.
Trixie nodded, moving back in front of the pony, capturing his eyes with a hard stare. This time, she made no attempt to hide her presence, though she was careful not to hurt him. Holding the contact, she felt his terror and violation. Primal responses, they were potent enough to send adrenaline pumping through her veins. It was partly why she preferred subtlety.
“How did you find me?” she pressed. She could feel the words enter his mind, several responses being thrown up immediately. The truth was nearly buried under his fear, but she plucked it out of the sea, and left his mind, shedding the emotion. It left her feeling somewhat dirty.
Not good, indeed.
He hadn’t just found her today. He’d followed a scent; a magical tracker the store’s security had placed on them, right back to the hideout. But he hadn’t told anyone.
She knew what Boundless would do, given the situation, knew it beyond logic, with a cold, sinking feeling in her chest. He would expect the same of her.
“What do you want?” Trixie said, voice dropping into a stage whisper. He gave a little whimper.
“Ju-Just don’t hurt me, okay,” he said.
“Nopony is going to hurt you, ” Trixie said. “But you know something you shouldn’t.”
He didn’t try to deny it, frantically nodding as he spoke. “Yes, yes I do, oh yes I do. I know where you live, you and the o-” Trixie stuffed a hoof in his mouth, cutting him off.
“Why were you following me, little pony?” she asked.
“I was g-going to blackmail you. I thought, the store is insured against theft. If I tell them we lost the scent . . .”
“You could keep the payoff,” Trixie finished. “Not a great plan, as they go. You followed me here, alone, fully intending a confrontation, then immediately collapse?”
“I . . . I left a letter at the post office, to be sent to the police in a few hours. Everything is written there.” The shock was beginning to wear off, thankfully stopping the stammering. Trixie watched as realisation dawned over his face.
“You can’t touch me, or I won’t stop that letter!” he declared triumphantly. Trixie sighed. The trouble was, even if she could afford to buy him off, he was a liability. The sensible thing to do would be to simply blow him off and move shop. Boundless would have thrashed him, and then found somewhere to hole up for a few weeks. Instead, Trixie found herself reaching for her saddlebags, grasping them telekinetically and bringing them round in front of her.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she began, counting bits out before her. “I’m going to give you half of these.” She indicated a large pile in front of her. “You’re going to go fetch that letter, and bring it back here, where I’ll buy it from you for the other half. And then we’re never going to hear from you again. Understand?”
He nodded eagerly, avidly watching the pile in front of her. The dimwit hadn’t noticed her horn glow briefly, his eyes fixed on the few bits she moved with her hooves in front of him. He hadn’t seen the pile grow several times over, as she levitated her bags in front of him.
Distraction and subterfuge, arts Trixie had mastered years ago. She released her hold on him, allowing him to trot away, eagerly clasping a bag filled to bulging with illusory money. Trixie rubbed her head. Giving her illusions physical properties strained her, and maintaining them at this distance would be tiring.
Even so, an elegant solution, Cumulus congratulated her.
When the store-manager returned, half an hour later, Trixie informed him in no unclear terms that she was holding the letter as collateral against his silence. Attempts to turn her in would only result in the publication of proof of his blackmail. The letter firmly in her grasp, she trotted away, letting the illusions dissolve, a satisfied smirk playing across her mouth.
A bell tinkled over the door as Trixie pushed it open, stepping forward into Pony Joe’s doughnut shop. She’d spent the day digging up information on Twilight, looking for somepony she could have an informal chat with. Records of Twilight’s life did her little good—she needed to know the pony.
She was unable to turn to Twilight’s immediate family, as she very well may have told them about her. Trixie wasn’t willing to let word reach Twilight before she was ready. It seemed odd, coming to a baker, but from what she’d gathered; Twilight had led a solitary life, not interacting with very many ponies. She’d eventually settled on Joe; having interacted enough to have a reasonable conception of Twilight, and removed enough that her inquiry wouldn’t spread.
“What can I do you for, miss?” Joe said from behind the counter. Trixie took note of the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, set over a warm smile. He was getting on in years.
“Chocolate-frosted, no jam,” Trixie said, “Though I wouldn’t look amiss at some sprinkles.” She sank into a soft seat next to the counter, smiling back at the baker.
“Certainly,” Joe said, handing her a plate. The doughnut was warm, freshly baked, despite the time of day. Trixie savoured its sweetness, the thick dough and sticky chocolate mixing together in her mouth. Travellers couldn’t often enjoy such luxuries.
Eventually, she finished, brushing a few crumbs from her hooves. She caught Joe’s eye from across the store, where he was attending to another customer. As he bustled around, gathering the order, she requested another doughnut, with compliments.
“Need something to wash that down?” Joe asked, leaning forward. Trixie found herself nodding, eyes closed. The doughnuts were divine.
Okay, okay, remember what we came here for.
“Mmm,” Trixie groaned, finishing the second pastry. She was exaggerating, of course, but even so . . . well, she’d remember Pony Joe’s doughnut shop. “Say, Joe—I can call you Joe?” she began. He nodded, bringing over a cup of coffee. “I’ve never had a doughnut that good before, and believe you me, I know doughnuts.”
“Thanks, miss . . .?”
“Aurora,” Trixie said.
“Aurora,” he repeated. “Thank you, Aurora. But they’re just Joe’s old doughnuts, same as ever.”
“Really? How long have you been here in Canterlot?”
“My whole life, of course. Opened up the shop, say, thirty years ago?”
“Thirty years! Why, you wouldn’t happen to know Twilight Sparkle, would you?” Trixie asked excitedly.
“Yeah, sure. What’s it to you?” Joe said, suddenly on guard. Trixie winced, knowing she’d been too abrupt.
“I’ve . . . business with her,” Trixie said, offering.
Joe took the bait. “Business?”
“It’s my brother. He’s got a . . . problem. With his magic, I mean. We think there’s something wrong with his horn.”
“Oh. Have you had doctors look at it?”
“Of course! They said it was a . . . a dissonance in one of the leylines. But there wasn’t anything they could do! I remembered Twilight had been made an Arch-Magus recently, so I thought she might be able to help. I knew her from school, see.”
“Ah,” Joe said, nodding, his hostile air dissipating. “So why are you in Canterlot?”
“She isn’t here?”
“Nope, been in Ponyville the last sixteen years.”
“Oh. I’d have thought an Arch-Magus . . . well, no matter. I’ll head down there tomorrow.” Trixie took a sip of her coffee, leaning over the counter. “Has she changed at all?”
“What’d you mean?”
“She was always a bit . . . intimidating, when I knew her."
Joe laughed. "I know what you mean. She always was a bright one. Loved to lecture, came in here with her brother carrying her books, trying to tell me how to optimise the baking process.”
Trixie stifled a laugh at the image.
“Didn’t have Spike at that point though. Once she took up with the princess, she became more of a recluse, I didn’t see her as often. From what I’d heard, Ponyville opened her up some. Just ask at the Agency.”
“Anything else?” Trixie pressed. Joe raised an eyebrow.
“What do you want to hear? Just go talk to her, Aurora, especially if it’s for your brother.” Joe’s expression was disapproving. A sister running to an acquaintance for aid wouldn't typically stop in a pastry shop for information, after all.
“Mmm, alright, I will. Thanks for your time—I’m just nervous.” Trixie stood up, pushing her plate across the counter.
“Relax; she’ll have time for you. She may have been a shut-in, but Twilight’s one of the best ponies I know.” Joe said. Trixie reached into her bags, pulling out several bits to pay for her meal. She left quickly, with a smile and a goodbye. Joe hadn’t spilled much—her story had been weak—but there was one bit she could use.
Twilight loved to lecture. Together with a reclusive nature, that likely made her a typical scholar—though that had been years ago. If she could get Twilight talking, lead her into the topic and let her ramble, she could learn a lot before she ran out of steam.
That wouldn’t hide her interest though. From her experience, Twilight wouldn’t be used to ponies actually listening. Nor would there be much point in trying to slip an illusion past an Arch-Magus. Trixie could still remember the feats she’d seen Twilight pull off, the last time they'd met.
There wouldn’t be anypony in Ponyville who could hold a candle to Twilight, certainly not match her magical prowess. Perhaps she could offer a like-minded mind, so to speak. Somepony she could talk shop with. She’d be an intellectual appeal—from which she could lead the discussion to mental magic. Perfect.
Though first she’d have to overcome the general stigma she’d attached to herself over her last visits. Trixie wasn’t particularly proud of the way she’d acted, but she’d been young, and foolish. Life had shown her perspective, and she was confident in her ability to convince Ponyville that she’d reformed.
More than enough, Trixie Cumulus said fondly. but have you changed?
She’s a fair ways from the Great and Powerful sideshow now. Brash said.
In some ways, perhaps. In others I still see the filly convinced of her capability to handle anything the world threw at her, convinced in her mastery, her security and safety. You must acknowledge this, Trixie, and be careful. Some things are beyond you.
Trixie’s mind flashed back to the Ursa. She’d performed her show so many times she’d almost dared to believe it, almost succumbed to the allure she created for her audience. She’d forgotten it had been, had always been, an illusion.
That had only made her act better. Even then she’d been proficient at selling herself, but with conviction, true belief in herself, she could step onto the stage without fear. There was no illusion, no tricks or showmareship. It was just her, and she amazed them. She’d fooled herself.
Even after the Ursa, after she saw true power and her own folly, she’d refused to accept her failings. The Great and Powerful had transcended the original gimmick, had become her dream, her identity.
So she’d worked for it. Studied magic in ways she’d never considered before, stepping outside of her calling in life. Learnt power, the way Twilight had. She’d lost sight of her purpose, forgotten her old life, grew consumed by this threat suddenly posed to her.
What was your purpose? Brash said, pondering. He’d never been one to figure out the puzzle for himself.
Simply? Trixie sighed. I don’t know.
Initially it had been to travel Equestria. Growing up in the Canterlot Orphanage had instilled in her a wanderlust of sorts, a desire to explore beyond the boundaries of her foalhood. That had morphed, somewhere, into a quest for mastery.
She hadn’t set out to be the best. Hadn’t expected fame, wasn’t prepared for the adulation of her fans, the doting attention she received. It went to her head, certainly, carrying her away to a place of plenty. A far cry from her humble beginnings, a reality spun from the dreams of an orphan.
To escape, Brash, Trixie said. Even in her head, she sounded faint, a whisper in the dark. To leave you all behind, everything that reminded me of that time. The Great and Powerful Trixie wasn’t restricted by her foalhood. She was limitless.
***
“No, youngling, not like that. Here, watch closely,” the Drac said, leaning forward. Spike could see glimmering, sharp teeth as the Drac opened his mouth, tongue lolling out, set against the gaping red maw. Hot breath washed over him, engulfing him in the stench of old meat and fire. It was a sight of primal ferocity, an apex predator in a dangerous world. Once upon a time, it would have terrified him.
Not anymore. The years had been generous to the dragon; no longer a baby, he now nor stood shoulder to shoulder, head to head with Twilight. His teeth had grown, fangs lengthening and sharpening, and the whispering green fire of his youth replaced with the beginnings of a roar.
Not to say that he was even close to the Drac’s stature. Dragons grew, he now knew, their entire lives, and while Spike had nearly eighteen years under his belt, the Drac had over a thousand. Spike remembered Razorfang, that old dragon they’d kicked off Smokey Mountain for covering Equestria in smoke. He’d been planning on a hundred year nap. Dragons were virtually immortal, but still . . . the immensity of time swelled before him, cresting with the realisation of others’ mortality.
He’d moved past those feelings years ago, promising himself to take their memory forward, into the future, to cherish their time together now. So he threw himself into life, living each moment to the full. Experiencing the now, without regard for the inevitable future. It was a glorious, decadent lifestyle.
Spike narrowed his eyes, pupils dilating to take in the ultraviolet spectrum. He could just make out a flickering flame, the barest hint of purple entering it, dancing on the Drac’s tongue. Such fine control of his own flame was still far beyond the young dragon, though he was learning.
“Can you see it?” the Drac rumbled, all the while maintaining the flame.
“Yes,” Spike replied, leaning forward. “Just barely, but yes.”
The Drac closed his mouth. “Good. Now you,” he said, gesturing.
Spike swallowed, bringing his flame to mind. It was a tenuous link, still, a fledging thing, like the silence between two young lovers. So tiny, so fragile he was afraid to touch it, lest it tear asunder.
It was always the case, he had been told. Infants often have more control over the flame than a child, simply because the infant can control it on an instinctive level, a subconscious connection, coming without practice or patience. Dragons demand a higher degree from their brethren, and that connection faded as the child developed, growing into a conscious, empathetic link. It demanded understanding, and it rewarded diligence.
Spike’s flame came forth, a dancing green blaze resting steadily on his tongue. He’d finally mastered holding it there, after months of work. Now, the Drac wanted him to move it between colours, even off the visible spectrum entirely. Such a feat required an understanding of physics, the wavelength and frequencies of fire and light, the energies he put into it. It also required an understanding of the heart, emotional manipulation and guidance.
“What to ask and how to ask. You must learn both,” the Drac’s words rang in his mind. Carefully, Spike plucked at the link, drew on the flame in his mind. Tentatively, he spoke with it, beseeched it to heed him. Then, boldly, he nudged it to change.
Green shifted through a chromatic gradient; a fading yellow and a deep orange, glowing, cherry-red and shimmering wave of heat, beyond the visible spectrum. It flickered there, at the edge of perception, dancing in and out of Spike’s vision. Then it collapsed, dying down at a few embers resting on his trembling tongue.
“Better,” the Drac rumbled. Glancing upwards, Spike saw a brief moment of approval, written plainly on his mentor’s face. It was quickly replaced with bored indifference, a wisp of smoke curling around his fangs and rising into the evening sky.
“That is enough for now, youngling. Continue to practice control. A dragon is ruled by neither heart nor mind.” The Drac grinned. “Eat red meat or nothing at all. You may hunt in the forest, should you desire, but be prepared to deal with what you find.”
It was not an uncommon restriction, though recent. Spike had always refused, preferring a week-long fast to killing for his dinner. It nonetheless was an effective lesson in restraint. He’d ignored the restrictions the first few times he’d seen the Drac; circumstance or temptation proving too strong. He hadn’t repeated that mistake again.
“It is time to break free, youngling. You must learn to take, not only give. It is a part of life, as surely as breathing.”
Spike wasn’t so sure. Even now, his body slowly growing stronger, faster, more lethal, he felt the inherent immorality of such an act, resisted his growing urge to feast. Gemstones and vegetables, roots, leaves and flowers were his diet and he liked them. He had no need of murder to satiate himself.
“You must accept this, youngling. It is part of the Cycle, a chaotic harmony. Imagine your vastness, a life incomprehensible to the ponies around you. That is how the world sees you, and it will not miss a few rabbits, a cow here and there, or even predators from the forest. It will not miss your friends, and it will not miss you, when you pass away. There is no higher morality to appeal to. We are dragons, and what we want, we take; be that the land or flesh of another, or strength from their happiness.”
“Huh?”
“We are not evil, youngling. We obey our desires, for they show us who we are. We do not oppress ourselves. We do not set the mind at war with the body. Should we desire to help another, to coexist in friendship, then that is as necessary to us as our fire, as nourishing as our meals. You must learn not to subjugate your body in preference to the mind.”
“I don’t follow,” Spike admitted, lowering his head.
“Think on it.” The Drac turned, swiftly disappearing upstream. Spike shook his head sadly, beginning the trek home, thoughts full of blood and fire.
My sister gave me a gift before I left. A locket, engraved with a dawning sun. It is encouraging to have her with me, if only in spirit.
I fear I would have backed down long ago were it not for her. My one wish is that she could be here, with me.
Perhaps she has already fallen.
Four
THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE BLACKNESS. It stretched on to infinity, lacking any sense of direction, space or time. Not even the voice remained, having given up taunting her an age ago. Luna was completely, hopelessly, lost, grounded only by the one saving constant in her hellish prison.
Even now, the wind blew. No matter which way she turned, it blew against her, pressed into her as if trying to grasp her, define her. She didn’t belong here. Even the wind knew that much.
So she followed it, followed the path it laid out for her. She walked into it, for therein lay the centre, and therein lay her captor. She was sure of it. The owner of that horrid voice had to be there, for where else was there?
She wasn’t walking forward, not exactly. Forward had no meaning here, no definition. There was nothing to approach, nothing to back away from. She’d could turn, walk to the side a ways, and be approaching her goal just as fast as she was now. Every direction was one, and none.
She didn’t move. There was nowhere to move to, nowhere to move from. She existed, certainly, but not in any particular place. Here, there, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the centre, and escape.
Time stood still, or perhaps sped past, days flying by in every step she took. She could not tell, her mind’s eye could pierce the blackness no better than the two resting in her face. She left them closed, they served no purpose here. She could even have been sleeping, were she not walking, endlessly walking, the pressure of the wind struggling to hold her back.
Even inwardly, she felt lost. She’d come here to discover the Drac’s hidden meanings. The little nuggets of prophecy buried in amidst the web. The connections under the names, identities and truths lost to time. The barrier across the Equestrian border, the Veil . . . what it was and who had made it.
“The last thousand years, time spent stalling. Events have been set in motion, now. You cannot hold it back anymore.”
“Cannot you feel the portent in the air, the whispers on the wind and water? Harmony calls to me, Luna.”
“Only you and your sister know that. No one else remembers past the Veil.”
“Harmony will not allow you to fail again, Luna. They will need the Guiding Light. So, friend, my guidance to you; seek yourself; not in memory, but in time. Go beyond the Veil.”
She hadn’t been the Guiding Light since she took up the mantle of her Nightmare. She was supposed to light the path, not lead into darkness. The Dreamer had passed at the same time; a prophet and a judge, no longer fit to teach. But perhaps she could be those ponies again, could reclaim her life. That tempted her sorely. That was what had lead her into this trap.
She wondered briefly who set it. Had this been mere poor luck, a bad choice and a twist of fate? Or did the closing jaws have teeth, a perpetrator, smiling, driving the blade home; The Drac, planting the seed, Celestia, prompting her with little warning.
No. She wasn’t going to tread that path again. Celestia trusted her to take care of herself. Luna wasn’t a baby, wasn’t her little sister, to be protected at every turn. There was little point assigning blame here; it was a poison she wouldn’t again indulge.
She wasn’t getting anywhere. Luna cast her eyes around, searching in vain for some spark of light, something to latch onto, some last hope. She didn’t stop though.
She had been told to seek herself, not in memory, but in time. She knew who she had been, knew it in her bones, though she was much removed from those days. She knew what had led to her fall, a pride in her strength and a false certainty. Folly, she knew herself to be weak, and here she proved herself right once again.
She was weak, after all. Too weak to resist the temptations offered her. Too weak to avoid despair, too weak to discard hope. She’d never been content to let it go; no compromise or acknowledgement. Was that what this journey proved? Coming here a final concession to her failure?
But Luna knew the trap laid out before her, knew it as if it were her own. She had spent a thousand years atoning for the transgression of despair, and would not risk it again. Reaching inward, she clutched at a sliver of hope, painstakingly recovered. Raising her head, she stared forward, eyes penetrating the gloom with a spark, burning faintly on the tip of her horn.
She knew that light. It had been within her ever since her Cleansing at the hooves of the Bearers. It was a child’s light, a foolish dream of transcendence. Hope, its barest gleam already pushing away at the black expanse around her, rose up inside her.
It was hope for change. That she could surpass her legacy as the Nightmare, become a liked ruler, cherished and adored, as her sister was. That Equestria could grow, flourish under her reformed guidance. That everything could get better. It guided her, as surely as Cynosura had, for all the long eons spent firmly fixed upon the north.
She’d learned from her mistakes, grown a little older, a little wiser. She didn’t resent Celestia’s burning star, rising high over Equestria, rather took comfort in the reflected glory shining down from her moon. She understood her place now, and did not covet another’s.
Would fate have her return to that bitter, hollow creature she’d begun? Begin anew a cycle that led only to darkness? To give up all her hard-won progress, for the sake of an unnamed threat, safely locked away?
There was no point in looking back anymore. She’d taken what lessons she could from her past, learnt them and moved on. The past held nothing for her, identities tied up in choices, locked away in memories best left alone, ignored, forgotten.
Focusing on that hope, Luna closed her eyes, and Dreamt.
***
Twilight stretched, letting out a long yawn. Beside her, Rainbow Dash was also awakening, sunlight spreading through her cyan hair, splaying down her toned torso. Twilight smiled at the sight.
She’d once asked Rainbow why she was able to take so much time off. Indeed, while Spitfire had never commented on her frequent breaks from practice to help Twilight, or simply spend time with her and their friends, once Rainbow had made Captain, the others hadn’t held back.
So Rainbow had challenged them.
“Alright, listen up. I’m going to take the week off. I expect you all to be working according to the schedule. When I get back, we’re going to have a competition-speed, agility, and coordination, especially with teammates. If any of you beat me, I’ll practice with you more.”
“What’ll you be doin’?”
“Sleeping.”
Rainbow had steadfastly refused to do anything physical that week, even reneging on her health foods to binge at one of Pinkie’s parties. She hadn’t lost—far from it; she’d blown them out of the sky. Twilight hadn’t been surprised, of course. She’d been the one to teach Rainbow how to channel her emotions into her flying, and there was almost nothing Rainbow felt more strongly about than the Wonderbolts, and napping. Put them together, on the line, and, well . . . She was unbeatable.
Rainbow flopped over on her side, eyes firmly shut. Twilight gave up, rising from their bed and heading into the bathroom. There was nothing like a morning shower to get rid of drowsiness, not to mention her bed mane.
She stayed in the shower exactly five minutes, according to a timer on the wall. Not that there was anything wrong with taking longer, but she knew she’d be getting hungry soon, and she wanted food available.
Checking the shower off in her head, she headed into the kitchen, turning on the small stove and bringing a packet of waffles from the fridge, as well as oats for Rainbow. The pegasus was particular about breakfast, insisting on healthier food. She hadn’t hid her displeasure from Twilight when she’d learnt her culinary routine.
There was just something about waffles in the morning that had stuck with Twilight. She knew, intellectually, that Rainbow was right, but she could never resist the temptation. Besides, her work chewed through calories quickly-she’d never seen an overweight mage of any proficiency-and she wasn’t looking to put on muscle.
Twilight shook her head. There was no need to justify waffles in the morning. It was something nearly everypony ate. She should just stop thinking about it; stop the train circling in her head. Nor was the internal debate, a daily affair, going to change anything. But it felt right, it felt routine; breakfast; waffles and remonstration.
As Twilight set the food out on the table, levitating the spread in a purple haze, Rainbow appeared at her shoulder. Her mane was still tangled from sleep, blurring the colour gradient she normally wore so proudly. Few realised the extent Rainbow went to in order to preserve the integrity of the rainbow, each colour separated just so. It was just another little thing Twilight loved about her.
“Hey, Twi’. Sleep well?” Rainbow said, slipping into a chair beside Twilight. She grabbed a nearby glass of water, greedily sucking it down before burying her face in her oats.
“Fine, fine,” Twilight said absently. “You’re heading back to Canterlot this morning, aren’t you?”
Rainbow raised her head, oats clinging to her muzzle, as Twilight bit into a waffle.
“Yeah, I gotta check on the team, make sure we’re ready for next month. Show season’s coming up, so I’ll have less time off. You can’t wing coordination, no matter how good the Captain.”
“Mmm,” Twilight agreed, chuckling at Rainbow’s unintentional pun. “Could you give me a lift?”
Rainbow raised an eyebrow. “Of course. What are you doing in Canterlot?”
“Just visiting my brother. I thought it’d be nice to catch up,” Twilight said. She’d neglected to mention it to Rainbow, though not for any particular reason. In the absence of a ride into the city, she’d be able to teleport there, but she knew Rainbow’s schedule, and the dates had coincided perfectly.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Rainbow said. “Alright, just let me finish this and we’ll get going.”
“Sure.” Twilight’s attention wandered from her marefriend’s breakfast, drifting around the room. The kitchen held the morning light well, streaming it through a wide window over the bench, to pool around the legs of the table. The flowers in the middle gave the air a fresh fragrance, sweet without becoming cloying. Twilight took a deep breath, relaxing into the scene, just another player on the stage.
Their house-and her offices- was small, yes, but she hadn’t wanted a mansion. Twilight had grown up in a castle, and then spent years living in a tree. Luxury didn’t appeal to her the same way it did Rarity; she had sought the simpler pleasures. She was comfortable, here.
Rainbow sucked up the last of her oats with a loud slurp, disrupting the moment. Twilight made a face.
“Ready, Dashie?” she asked, telekinetically grabbing her saddlebags. She’d packed the night before, of course.
Rainbow left her bowl on the table, walking over to the door. Stepping outside, she stretched, arching her back into the air.
“Sure,” she said, looking back at Twilight. “Hop on.”
Rainbow spread her wings as Twilight clambered onto her back, reaching her hooves around Rainbow’s midsection. Pushing off the ground with her hooves, Rainbow gave a beat of her wings and they were gone, soaring through the air.
Over the years, Twilight had grown to love flying, though never as much as Rainbow, nor in the same way. For her, there was little as special as the take-off, the moment of release from the claw of gravity. It was a split second of transcendence, before physics took hold and Rainbow began the steady rhythm of wing strokes that kept them aloft.
The old train to Canterlot was still in use, of course. But Twilight wouldn’t have missed this, even if it wasn’t faster. She felt the wind moving through her mane, tousling it beyond all order. She saw the expanse below and above, its immensity. She moved through it with youthful ignorance, an exuberance that defied insignificance. Flight became a connection, however transparent, to the world around her.
All too soon, Rainbow slowed, approaching the Wonderbolts headquarters in the city. Touching down gently, she lowered a shoulder, allowing Twilight to regain her footing on the ground. Around them, several bystanders turned to look, excitedly gesturing. Twilight grimaced, though Rainbow smiled, nodding back.
“Thanks, Dashie,” Twilight said, nuzzling Rainbow’s shoulder. The onlookers didn’t bother her as much as they once would have; if nothing else, time had acclimatised her to their scrutiny.
“No problem, Twi’,” Rainbow said. “I’ll see you later?”
“How about dinner?”
“Sounds great. I’ll finish here around six-come by after you’ve seen Shining Armour.”
“Okay,” Twilight said, beginning to turn and walk away.
“And give him my regards,” Rainbow called after her, before turning herself, and entering the Wonderbolts headquarters. There was a great deal to do; her time off had seen to that. Even if her absence didn’t affect her personal performance, it would impact on squad-cohesion, carefully constructed out of friendship and camaraderie, as Spitfire had taught her. Rainbow’s regular absences, while something she wasn’t willing to give up, created a rift between her and her team. It would take time before she could fly perfectly synchronised with them.
It was to Rainbow’s endless relief that while her job entailed a great deal of paperwork, it came with several subordinates to scribe for her.
Twilight trotted through the Canterlot streets. She hadn’t found the opportunity to see her brother in some time, nor Cadance, despite their correspondence. She was eager to hear about the developments in the Crystal Empire. Trade agreements between Equestria and the nation had flourished under the guidance of the three princesses, particularly with the extension of the train-line into the heart of the Empire.
After their adventure in the Crystal Empire, Cadance in particular had wanted to lend a more active hoof to the reintegration of their society into the modern world. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it had been Luna who took charge of the process, but as time rolled on, Cadance had found herself spending more and more time in the frozen north. Eventually, she'd moved there completely, causing Shining Armour to resign from his position as Captain of the Royal Guard in order to follow his wife. He'd found a similar role there, serving his wife and princess in the Crystal Court.
Twilight hadn't seen her brother in almost a full year now, their spare time seemingly never coinciding. So when she heard he was visiting Canterlot for the week, she made sure to schedule time to meet. From their correspondence, Twilight knew Cadance had been experimenting with the Crystal Heart, but she knew tantalisingly little, and the magic of the Heart was similar to her own findings in Coromancy. Plus, it was a good excuse to see her brother.
Of all of Equestria’s cities, Canterlot had changed the least from Twilight’s youth. The same stores were open, the same ponies hawked goods in side-streets and alcoves. The same cafes, museums and offices rested gingerly on the mountain, old bones creaking in a choked maze of intersecting alleys. Stepping into the main square was like stepping into a memory. She smelt the aroma of warm bread, heard the tinkling of the fountain, felt the brush of chilled air across her muzzle.
It was colder up here, up high. Perhaps that was why the unicorns—living in proximity to the Royal Court—had developed a sense of fashion. They were more prone to wear clothes, after all; pegasi being naturally resilient to the cold, and earth ponies preferring to live closer to the ground. Twilight tucked the thought away, for later deliberation. Maybe she’d ask Rarity.
Twilight took a deep breath, feeling it relax her throat and lungs. Ponyville was her home, now, but she’d always have a special place for Canterlot in her heart. Making to move through the square, she paused as she glimpsed a figure beckoning her from the corner of her eye, Joe, from the old doughnut shop. It had always been Spike’s favourite, and despite Twilight’s reluctance at the time, Joe’s friendly manner and impeccable pastries had grown on her. Stepping over, she raised a hoof in greeting.
“Hello, Joe! How have you been?”
“Twilight Sparkle. Celestia, it’s good to see you again, kid,” Joe said, causing Twilight to snort.
“I’m over thirty, you old windbag,” she retorted. Joe chuckled, his smile lighting up his face.
“Of course you are. And what does a thirty-something unicorn do with her time, besides visit old doughnut makers?” Joe said, leading Twilight back into his store. The sound of the bell over the door sent a wave of nostalgia over Twilight. She closed her eyes for a second, breathing in the sweet scent of the pastries.
“I was visiting my brother, actually. But most of my time is spent doing fieldwork.” Twilight said, opening her eyes and taking a seat at the counter. Joe had returned to his station opposite her, taking out a rag and beginning to wipe the counter down.
“Shining Armour, eh? We’ve been missing him around here, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Sure.” Joe reached into the display case, taking out a doughnut and placing it on a plate in front of Twilight. “On the house, by the way.”
“Oh, Joe, you don’t have to-,” Twilight began.
“No, no,” Joe said, waving a hoof. “Maybe it’ll make you visit more often. Bring Spike along next time, there’s one in it for him, too.”
“I’m sure he’d love to,” Twilight said, taking a bite of the doughnut, lips turning upwards as crumbs fell from the corners of her mouth. Joe returned the smile, and then leaned forward.
“Say, Twilight, do you know an Aurora by any chance? Old school-friend, perhaps?”
“No, not that I recall,” Twilight said, frowning.
“Because there was somepony here yesterday, claiming to know you. Called herself Aurora, said she went to school with you. Asked a whole lot of questions.”
“Interesting. What did she look like?”
“Blue coat, silverish hair, about your age. Cutie mark was a wand, spraying sparkles.”
“That sounds like . . . Trixie,” Twilight said slowly. “Now what is she up to?”
“You do know her?”
“Yes, at least I think I do. There was a travelling showpony by that description, came through Ponyville twice, years ago. First time she just stirred up some trouble. Second time, though, she came in with the Alicorn Amulet. We never did find out where she’d gotten her hooves on that thing.”
“Alicorn Amulet?”
“Just some old artefact; it grants immense magical power to the bearer. Of course, the longer you have it, the more it corrupts you.”
“That seems . . . remarkably dangerous.”
“Yes, yes it is.” Twilight shook her head. “But that’s all years ago. Why would Trixie suddenly have an interest in me? She’s never sought me out before.”
“She mentioned a brother, in need of medical help. Something magical, the doctor’s couldn’t help. Said she remembered you, and was hoping you’d be able to do something.”
“If the doctors couldn’t help, Celestia herself would want to take a look.”
“Princess Celestia,” Joe said reprovingly.
“Mmm,” Twilight murmured, lost in thought.
She must want something . . . some favour, maybe, or another duel. She couldn’t hope to go up against an Arch-Magus, though . . . maybe she really does have a sick brother . . . brother.
Twilight sat straight up.
“Oh gosh, I forgot the time! Joe, it’s been really nice catching up, we’ll have to do it again sometime, but I have to go now, thank you for the doughnut!” she said, bolting out from the store.
Collecting herself, Twilight envisioned the train station. Shining should be arriving any minute now, and while it was only about ten minutes away at a trot, she wanted to be there to greet him.
Gathering energy in her horn, Twilight reached out, and drew herself through space, along the Canterlot ley-lines. The nexus she'd installed in Ponyville had been modelled after Canterlot's, a means of circumventing some of the flaws in teleportation.
One couldn't teleport somewhere they'd never been, unless there was a ley-line connecting the two places, and even though Twilight had been to the station, using the ley-line made the task easier, requiring less energy. On top of that, ley-lines connected to safe zones, which ponies would know to leave clear. While the user could feel any obstruction in the field and cancel the spell, it made for less congestion, particularly when there were strings of unicorns waiting to use the network.
She came out near the station, trotting the rest of the way. The train had already arrived, and as she watched, Twilight saw the train’s doors open, the few passengers beginning to disembark and workers start to lift off the cargo, brought down from the north.
“Twily!” a voice called from behind her. Turning, Twilight caught a glimpse of her brother, running through the crowd.
“Shiny!” she called back, running forward to meet him. They met in a fierce hug, revelling in their reunion, before parting.
“I’ve missed you, kid,” he said, pulling back to regard her.
“How was the trip?” Twilight asked.
“Fine, fine,” he said, turning to collect his luggage.
“And Cadance?” She followed Shining’s lead as he began to walk towards the exit.
“She’s fine, Twily. We’ve been keeping pretty busy. But come now, I want to hear about you! What’s my little Arch-Magus doing to keep herself busy?” he said. Twilight blushed.
“Oh, you know, research, mostly. Fieldwork.”
“Oh?” Shining said, smiling. “When did you give up on reading every book in Equestria?”
“Ten years ago, when I did,” Twilight said. Shining Armour stopped, giving Twilight a wide-eyed stare.
“You’re not serious!”
“No, of course not, Shiny. Nopony could read that much, not even me,” Twilight said. “Besides, I had to specialise eventually, and there aren’t any books in this field to read.”
“Really? What are you working on? Surely there’d be books on everything.”
“Not on this there aren’t. Believe me, I’ve looked. Consider it pioneering, if you like.”
Shining Armour chuckled. “Okay, little sister. Pioneering new fields of magic, huh. Guess you aren’t so little anymore.”
“Maybe not, but you’ll always be my big brother.”
“Guess that means I can call you whatever I want, eh?” Shining said, smiling.
“Guess it does,” Twilight replied.
They walked side-by-side through the Canterlot streets, enjoying each other’s company. The conversation continued, drifting between trivial matters and secret confessions, thriving on intimacy as they reaffirmed and renewed their bond.
The reunion, however, was cut short as they approached the palace.
“Hey, kid,” Shining said, placing emphasis on the kid with a grin. “Sorry to cut this short, but as much as I want to catch up, I need to put my things away, and report to the Princess. I’ll meet you in, say, a few hours?”
“Oh . . . I guess so, sure,” Twilight said, pouting.
“Thanks, Twily. I appreciate coming down to the station for me, but some of this is private. You understand?”
“Of course. Go on, then,” Twilight said, making a shooing motion. She did understand, as much as it rankled; she couldn’t have told him much about her work either. Some things were better left private.
“I’ll see you soon!” Shining called as he headed up into the castle. Twilight hadn’t even noticed where they’d been headed; she’d been so caught up in the reunion.
While her brother’s hasty departure was annoying, it left her an hour in Canterlot. Joe had said that Trixie had been asking about her just yesterday; she was probably still here, and now she had the time to chase her down. Twilight strode purposefully away from the castle, heading down the hill towards the marketplace. Somepony had to have seen her. Who knows, maybe Trixie really did have a sibling in need of help.
“So you don’t recognise this picture? Nopony you’ve seen around here recently?” Twilight asked, levitating a portrait she’d conjured in front of the shopkeepers face.
“Look, miss, are you going to buy something?”
“Well . . . no.”
“I haven’t seen her. Now please, get out of my shop. You’re holding everypony up.”
Twilight looked around at the vacant store, and then shook her head, holding her hoof to her face. “Fine, fine, I’ll go,” she said, turning to leave.
Twilight had spent the better part of her time moving around the various hubs in the city, asking after Trixie. It was frustrating work, not only did it seem that nopony had even heard of the mare, but they grew . . . irritable after the realisation that she wasn’t interested in buying anything.
Sighing, she turned to head back to the castle. She’d have to ask Rarity to pinpoint Trixie for her, after she got back to Ponyville. Twilight, turning a corner, trotted down a street, spying a jewellery store on her left. One more couldn’t hurt.
Twilight skipped the queue, pushing in front of the ponies waiting their chance to inspect the wares. She’d never had much patience for such frivolous waste, and certainly couldn’t afford to obey the sensibilities of the onlookers at the moment. Still, her actions earned her more than a few hard stares and cries from those nearer the back.
There were a few ponies staffing the counter, with one standing behind the register, wearing a vest and bowtie to accompany a stiff back and slight sneer. Twilight sighed inwardly, almost turning around then and there. They had adopted the peculiar tactic of pretending she didn’t exist, nopony even glancing in her direction. A not-so-subtle indictment of cutting in line.
Instead, approaching the counter, she smiled, flashing him the whites of her teeth before she began.
“Excuse me, I was hoping you could tell me if you recognise this pony,” Twilight said, hovering the photo forward onto the counter.
Almost despite himself, the manager glanced downwards, eyes immediately widening.
“Her! You’re looking for that . . . that . . .!” he cried, backing off and throwing his hooves in the air. Twilight felt herself grinning, this time genuinely.
“You know her?” she pressed, leaning onto the counter.
“Know her?” he said. “Know her?!” Spinning around, he stormed into the back room, ranting loudly. Twilight watched, shocked. She’d been fishing for a response, certainly, but that was just excessive.
One of the staff members leaned over, quietly whispering to her.
“She came in here about a week ago, made off with half a thousand bits,” he said.
“Trixie stole from here?!”Twilight exclaimed.
“So that’s her name,” the pony said. “Yeah, her and that partner of hers. None of us are really clear on the details, though. We’ve already spoken with police. You could check with them.”
Twilight heard a loud noise from the back room. It sounded remarkably like somepony putting their hoof through the wall.
“I see. Ah, perhaps I should go,” Twilight said.
“That might be best, yes,” the pony agreed.
“Thanks for your help,” Twilight said, hurriedly leaving the store. Outside, the ponies waiting in line continued to shoot her glances, though nopony said anything.
Trixie had been shoplifting, with a partner. To be honest, that didn’t come as much of a surprise; even though in Twilight’s experience the showmare had mostly stuck to legitimate means of earning her living. Her attitude had spoken of a lonely soul, somepony who protected herself from the cold nights and empty roads that made up her life through an utter conviction in her superiority.
It wasn’t a large leap from there to petty theft, particularly in desperate situations. What was it Trixie had said? Twilight struggled to remember, but even with her vaunted memory, it had been a long time ago, and even then she hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to it.
It had been something about . . . a farm. Twilight frowned. That sounded right, but . . . working on a farm was a decent job, especially for a unicorn. Not just any farm, then . . . a rock farm!
Working there, perhaps? Twilight winced. Even setting aside the work, that must have been a huge blow to her ego. For somepony who took such pride in her magical prowess, reduced to menial labour . . . it wasn’t so much that the work was beneath her, though Twilight could see Trixie believing that. It was just that it implied a separation from her element. Trixie, as a unicorn, if nothing else, was tied to magic. Being unable to support herself through that talent . . .
Perhaps Twilight hadn’t been as understanding as she could have been. Ponyville, certainly, had been accepting; content to simply watch Trixie’s show, even if it did humiliate some of their own. Harmless laughs, for the most part. Even the Ursa’s appearance was mere happenstance, an honest mistake arising from Trixie’s own grandiose appearance.
What worried Twilight was the sudden thought that her own behaviour had been lacking. Even then, still so new to friendship, she’d understood the basics of social interaction. But none of them, not Applejack, or Rarity, or Rainbow or even Fluttershy or Twilight herself had tried to befriend her. Despite everything Pinkie had said about Gilda just the week before, she’d made no attempt to know Trixie, to understand her story. Perhaps that was why she’d come back.
The Alicorn Amulet corrupted those who wore it, Twilight knew. Trixie’s actions while under her influence were not her own, and she had apologised before leaving. She was accountable, yes. But still, Twilight had merely confronted her. Even then, after all her time studying friendship, she’d treated Trixie’s appearance as the return of a rival, of an enemy. Why? How much of the blame lay in Twilight’s assumptions? Perhaps she’d simply been reacting in kind, presenting those she found with what they were looking for.
And then, after Twilight had defeated her—using friendship, no less—she’d had the gall to stand above her, victorious and accept her apology with no more of an explanation than the rock farm. Small wonder she was now stealing.
Past failures aside, though, for some reason Trixie now needed her help; both with the sick brother, and now with this crime. Perhaps it was understandable, that she’d fallen so far, and Celestia had always said that understanding bred empathy. But even so, she’d broken the law.
Twilight stopped walking, having arrived in front of the castle. She was in luck; her brother was just coming down the steps, luggage absent. Smiling she began to walk forward to meet him.
In the back of her mind, she was making a list. Trixie had just become a priority. Even if she wasn’t in need, Twilight felt compelled to seek her out, try to make amends. It would have to make up for the opportunities she’d missed, all those years ago.
I arrived in the northlands today. The countryside is beautiful, fertile green pastures dotted with small forests and mountain ranges. I took rest on the peak of one such mountain, watching the black clouds slowly growing.
I am running out of time.
Five
LUNA STEPPED FORWARD out of the shadows of the wide doors, flanking and enshrining her advance into the hall. Ahead, her sister was already moving to greet her, expression sorrowful.
Celestia shone like the sun itself, radiant and bright. She exuded magic, an aura hanging around her, charging the air with power. Luna ignored its touch, raising the hairs on her neck. She would no longer be blinded by that false light, nor reflect its glory from the shadows.
“Doth thou now come to comfort me, sister?” Luna said, spitting the words out from between clenched teeth. “Now, at the end of things, thou seeks to repent?”
“Nay, sister,” Celestia replied. “I know why thou hath come. I hath Seen the path thou takes to this moment. We art set in motion, and for the entire world we could not step aside.”
“We desired not the world,” Luna said. “Thou should know, now, how simply thou might have resolved this matter.”
“It is the path not taken, Luna. We cannot change the past.”
“And now we are set ‘gainst one another. I shall not falter, sister. Even the sun must set.”
“I am sorry, Luna. That it came to this.”
“Art thou? Truly?” Luna asked, pulling in shadows from around the room. Coalescing around her body, they resisted the rays of light shining from Celestia, drawing them into an eternal blackness where they dwindled; fading through time and space. “Then thou wouldst repent, and allow us our allotted kingdom.”
“’Tis not mine to give,” Celestia said, summoning to her side a spear of light. Horn bright, she narrowed her eyes, staring at Luna’s incorporeal, shimmering form, seeking to perceive her body amidst the shifting shadows.
“Even now, thou persists,” Luna spat, eyes glowing. “It has been yours, sister, since we took these forms.” Luna blinked, just once, and when her eyes opened, they revealed fanged slits, set against a luminescent blue. She could feel the hate, boiling just under the surface, a hatred born of jealousy, and, perhaps, fear. It was just a sliver, but there nonetheless; a fear of irrelevance, impotence and immortality.
Hatred reached around her torso, clasping her in moonshine silver, an armour of sorts, locking her in place. Slowly, she surrendered to its rage, a burning river that would sweep over all in its path. Her coat changed, subtly turning darker every moment, until it was the black of deep night, no longer warm, but so very cold in the absence of the sun’s warmth.
Celestia flinched. Out of the blackness before her emerged a metamorphosed creature, standing taller than her sister. Neighing loudly, it struck a hoof forward in challenge, igniting its horn.
“Prepare yourself, Celestia, for the day hath come to an end!” the creature said, sending wisps of shadow to block the sunlight filtering down from the high windows of the hall. Plunged into sudden darkness, the creature let out a triumphant laugh, sound echoing around. Celestia couldn’t see where it was, heard it everywhere, all around her.
“Luna . . . what . . . what have thou done?” Celestia whispered, standing still. “Thou gave yourself to this?”
“Luna is gone, sister,” the creature said, from behind Celestia. Instantly, the spear of light plunged into the darkness, seeking it. And although it pierced the shadows, throwing them away in disarray, it found nothing but empty air and the hard stone of the floor.
“So blind,” it whispered, this time in front of her. Again, her light found nothing. “So helpless. What art thou, lacking the sun thou so depends on? Pray, what happens to light when the darkness chooses not to give way before it, but to envelop?”
Celestia dispelled her spear, taking in the light that formed it. Body glowing, she expelled it in a single wave, emanating in all directions. For a moment, she saw. Saw by the light, again flowing to her, the creature, standing alone at the end of the hall. It quickly recovered, again throwing the blackness around the room like a shield.
“What hath thou done with it, Celestia?” it asked. “Where hath thou left it?”
“It is all around us, fiend. It is in the air and the water, the earth and the stone. It is in the bodies of our ponies, and their minds, and their hearts.”
“Nay, not ours, yours. But no longer.”
Celestia felt a sudden burning on her flank. Spinning around, she shook loose the tendril of shadow that had latched onto her. She winced, magic already repairing the wound. But the creature laughed, a roiling, rolling sound, deafening and horrid.
“Enough,” Celestia said, drawing herself up. “Wilt thou return my sister to me?”
“Thou defeat is inevitable, Celestia. Thou cannot hope to stand against the night.”
“Then I am sorry. Do you hear me, Luna?” Celestia said. “I am sorry.”
For the third time, the creature laughed, with mirth alive in its voice. It was a laugh afraid of nothing, confident and complete, reminding Celestia of what might have been.
“Thou knows my name, creature of night,” Celestia said, “but what shalt I call thee in posterity?”
The creature paused, then spoke. “I am thy nightmare. I am thy fear, under the midnight moon. I am the blackness of thy heart and the whispers in the darkest of nights. Call me Nightmare Moon, sister, for that is my nature and my soul!”
Celestia reached out. The blackness wasn’t there, not really. It existed only in the mind, only as a manifestation of this creature’s power. She reached past it, and it ceased to matter.
She reached into the sky, into the mirth of the wind and the joy of flight. She reached into the land, amidst rock, dirt and the ever-flowing embrace of life. She reached into the stone, constant and solid, ever-vigilant and enduring. She reached into her subjects, into the bodies of the ponies who toiled under the sun. She reached into their minds, the hidden places of their lives, where they knew others, and held them together. She reached into their hearts, where they knew themselves, and became individuals as one.
From these places she gathered power, a denial and an affirmation. Nature, in its purest form, distilled from the world around her, a Harmony of sorts. She turned that power on Nightmare Moon, shadows withering under the ball of light on the end of Celestia’s horn. In the instant before it vanished completely, she saw the widening of its eyes, saw the realisation of its vulnerability. In isolation it fell, and was bound to the moon for a thousand years.
I am sorry, sister.
I know.
***
“Rarity? It’s me, Twilight! Are you home?”
Rarity groaned and rolled over, throwing the covers off her. Twilight never had learnt the proper hours for visiting. It simply wasn’t right for a lady to be awake so early in the morning.
Quickly checking the clock on the wall, she confirmed her fears. It had just barely hit six, perhaps half an hour following the dawn.
Still, Rarity wasn’t about to tell her to come back later. No matter how early it was, she would conduct herself with decorum, if only in the hope that somepony would learn from her example.
Rarity leaned out of her window, gazing down at Twilight. Sure enough, the mare was bright-eyed and all smiles, with packed saddlebags and no hint that she understood that this was a time for sleeping.
“Goodness, Twilight, whatever is the matter?” Rarity called down to her.
“Just needed some help finding somepony,” Twilight replied.
“Can’t it wait?” Rarity said.
“I hope so.”
Rarity sighed. “I’ll be down in a minute, darling,” she called. “Why don’t you come inside and make yourself comfortable?”
Pulling back from the window, Rarity rubbed her eyes, trying to work out the last of her drowsiness. Yawning, she stepped over to the vanity, absently fixing the few hairs out of place from her rest. What could Twilight need so urgently? Such a cryptic reply, too. Rarity had hoped that that part of the princess wouldn’t rub off on her. She hoped it could wait . . . Twilight didn’t even know if this was urgent!
Rarity stepped over the stairs, stepping down them while tugging on her robe. It was chilly, in the morning, and she still remembered the warmth of her bed. The clothing and a warm cup of tea would be an admirable substitute, though she wouldn’t be going back to sleep afterwards.
Twilight was already sitting in the kitchen, horn alight, concentrating on Rarity’s kettle.
“Oh, darling, you don’t have to do that,” Rarity said, walking over to help.
“Nonsense, Rarity, it’s the least I could do. I thought this would be better over tea, anyway, especially considering the hour,” Twilight said, gesturing towards the table. “Why don’t you get the cups?”
Rarity smiled, collecting the porcelain from various places in the kitchen, setting them out on the table. Twilight carried the kettle over, pouring the boiling water into the teapot. Soon, aromatic steam was rising, filling the room with its warmth.
Rarity curled her fore hooves around her cup, delicately blowing steam off the surface of the liquid before taking a sip.
“Now then, Twilight, who did you want to find,” she said, leaning forward.
“You’re not going to like this,” Twilight said, taking a deep breath. “It’s Trixie.”
Rarity paused in the act of sipping her tea, carefully placing the cup back on the table and enveloping it in a telekinetic field. Her beverage safe, she proceeded to fix her eyes on Twilight and, rising, thumped her hoof down on the table.
“Trixie? Of all the egotistical, arrogant showboats, you want me to find Trixie!?”
Twilight winced. “I know, I know, Rarity, but it’s important.”
“Important? Important! Was it important to you that that . . . that . . . that ruffian exiled you from the town, Twilight? Was it important that she tried to cause Rainbow agony? She made me bleed!” Rarity said, placing her foreleg against her head and falling backwards. Twilight caught her before she hit the ground, helping Rarity regain her balance.
“Heh . . . thanks.”
“That was a long time ago, Rarity,” Twilight said. “I think she’s in trouble.”
“Good!” Rarity cried. “She’d got it coming to her.”
“Rarity, please,” Twilight said. “It’s partially our fault she’s like this, and . . .”
“Our fault?” Rarity cried. “How is it our fault?”
“We never reached out to her,” Twilight said. “If I’d only asked, at some point . . . She needed us, even then, Rarity, and we failed her. I have to try, now, somehow make it up to her. Please, Rarity. Do it for me.”
“You do understand what you’re asking, Twilight?”
“Yes. And I’m asking.”
“Humph. Very well. But only for you, dear,” Rarity said, placing her empty cup on the table. “Shall we?”
Twilight nodded. “At the Agency, though"
“Well, in that case, I’m going to need some time to get ready.”
“Of course,” Twilight said. “I’ll meet you there in an hour?”
“Two. And you’re buying breakfast,” Rarity said.
“Deal,” Twilight said, smiling. She stood, moving the porcelain to the counter, her own teacup emptied into the sink. Trixie . . . why did Twilight have to bring that mare back into their lives. Rarity sighed, reheating the kettle. It was far too early for this.
***
Trixie walked off the early morning train with her head held high, stepping off the platform and making for the centre of Ponyville. Despite the years, she recognised enough of the landmarks around the town; fountains, parks, and buildings to navigate.
Ponyville had changed a lot, since she’d last visited. They’d removed the statues, for one, though Trixie was glad to see those go. Mementos of a time she would rather forget. Beyond that, the town seemed larger, more populous. She found she was glad to see that they were doing so well. It was a comfort, to realise she’d truly left that part of her life behind.
Yes, yes, touching. But where is Twilight?
She lived in the treehouse when we were here last. I guess we start there.
Trixie could just make out the top of the tree in the distance, right in the middle of town. She moved confidently, but quickly, trying to balance not drawing attention with a hasty pace. Of course, it was unlikely anypony would recognise her at a glance, given how long it had been. But it never hurt to be cautious.
She noticed some ponies giving her hard looks anyway. Trixie tried to ignore them. She did deserve their enmity, after all.
Finally arriving at the treehouse, Trixie gave several short raps on the door. Several steps sounded inside the house, though they were thumps, as if supporting a heavy weight, rather than the rap of a metal horseshoe against wood. She could be bare-hoofed, of course, but still . . . that was a lot of weight.
The door opened, a reptilian claw gripping the frame and a scaled head poked around, mouth already opened to speak.
The dragon. Of course.
“Yes? Can I help you . . .” his voice trailed off as he saw her, eyes taking in the silvery mane and wand on her flank. “Trixie,” he said flatly. “What are you doing back here?”
“I just wanted to talk,” Trixie said. “To Twilight.”
“Ahuh,” the dragon said. “And is that all you want?” He opened the door fully, allowing Trixie to see his bulk. Standing about the height of a pony, he was obviously still immature, but menacing all the same, with thick shoulders and wickedly sharp spines running down his back. He crossed his arms in front of him, standing in the doorway. “So what’s stopping you?”
“She lives here, doesn’t she?” Trixie said. The dragon didn’t move. “Look, I’m sorry we started on the wrong hoof. But I . . . I’ve had some time, away, to think about it, and I wanted to say sorry.”
“To say sorry,” the dragon said. “To Twilight.”
“Well, yes.”
“But not to anyone else?”
“Oh! Uhm, well, what’s your name?” Trixie said, offering him a small smile. The dragon appeared somewhat mollified; relaxing his stance though still hostile, tendrils of smoke curling from each nostril.
“My name? I don’t know. You may call me Daerev.”
“Well then, Daerev, I am sorry. I apologise to you, and to all of Ponyville. My actions were reprehensible, and I deeply regret them,” Trixie said.
“Okay. But Twilight doesn’t live here anymore,” Daerev said.
Trixie frowned. “Where is she, then?”
“Here, I’ll show you,” Daerev said, with a gesture as he turned, leading Trixie inside. “But only because I know that Twilight would annihilate you if you tried anything.”
Heh. Yeah, right.
Daerev pulled a map out from a shelf, unrolling it and spreading it over the table. “Twilight lives over here now, on the east side of town. Big building, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, Daerev,” Trixie said. This time, he returned her smile.
Trixie stepped out of the library with a light step. If she could win over the dragon—someone who actually remembered her, and had held something akin to a grudge, perhaps she could make amends.
That’s nice, but remember why we’re here.
Isn’t that part of it, Cumulus; moving on. This place . . . feels important, and I’ve certainly never been here, Brash said.
Trixie ignored them, focusing on the directions she’d gathered from Daerev's map. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far, though it was back across the market. She arrived at Twilight’s home without further incident, though she saw some more faces that she . . . not recognised, not exactly, felt a vague familiarity with. It was still early, and Ponyville was waking up.
Trixie looked up at Twilight’s door, reading the plaque there. A consulting agency, then. She chuckled. She could have hired Twilight to help her, still could, if things didn’t pan out. Composing herself, she stretched a hoof out and rapped on the door, then slowly opened it with her magic.
Inside, she heard two voices, quickly hushing, then hoof-steps, a pony this time, approaching her. The entrance was a dim corridor. What little light there was filtered in from the adjacent rooms, each with curtains pulled shut over the windows. It created an admirable air of mystique, though Trixie was largely unimpressed.
A purple face poked out from the room on the right, framed by a dark mane with pink highlights. Twilight wore it just as Trixie remembered. It was a face burned into her memory, even if other details had faded.
Twilight didn’t seem surprised to see her standing there. Trixie watched as she calmly trotted up to her. She looked . . . secure; older, more balanced, with a wealth of knowledge and experience backing her up. Not the confidence that came with youth, but that which followed age.
“Trixie! A pleasure to see you. What brings you here this day?” Twilight said brightly, reaching forward to shake Trixie’s hoof. She took it, shaking back; taking comfort in the familiarity of the ritual to ease the shock. She’d expected to have to convince Twilight to even hear her out.
“Well, uh, that is . . .” Trixie said. “You see, I was heading through, and I thought I’d visit. You know, stop in for a chat, see how you were . . .”
Twilight giggled. “No, you weren’t. You’ve been in Canterlot. Joe told me all about your little chat with him.”
“W-What? But that was just two days ago? How . . .”
“Coincidence. So, this brother of yours, how is he?”
Trixie paused. Twilight already knew her movements the last few days, and possibly more. “I don’t have a brother. I only said that to make Joe more comfortable talking,” she said, hanging her head.
“I see –“ Twilight began, before another pony stepped out from the room. White coat, purple mane and diamonds for a cutie mark, Trixie vaguely recalled seeing her in magazines across Equestria, some kind of fashion designer. Her name was Rarity, and for some reason she was completely soaked, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower. All except her head, anyway.
“If that’s all, Twilight?” Rarity asked, her mane dripping all over the floor.
“Actually, if you don't mind, you could finish up for the week. Since you’re here, and everything,” Twilight said.
“I suppose, darling. I’ll be another hour, then,” Rarity said, moving back into the room she’d come from.
Twilight focused her attention on Trixie.
“Come in, come in,” she said, leading Trixie into the room on the left. It was an office of sorts, complete with a dark, mahogany desk and large cushy chairs. Twilight pulled the curtains open, throwing light across the carpeted floor, chasing away the shadows.
“So, why are you here?” she began, taking a seat behind the desk. Trixie took her queue to sit in front of it.
“To try to make amends,” Trixie said. Twilight shook her head.
“I don’t buy it,” she said. “You could have done that years ago. “Why now?”
“Because . . .” Trixie said, grasping for a reason. She couldn’t tell the truth. Not all of it, anyway. “Because I read your paper.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“On Mental Magic and the Soul,” Trixie said, quoting from memory. She’d given her notes another look-over on the train down.
Twilight’s eyes seemed far away, gazing at some point in the distance. “That was a long time ago. I thought the only copies were in the Canterlot Archives.”
“Well, they are.”
“Doing some breaking and entering, are we?”
“Just bribes, actually,” Trixie said.
“So that’s why you robbed that store,” Twilight murmured, still lost in thought. Trixie did a double-take, half-raising a hoof.
“You . . . you know about that?”
“Hmm? Oh yes, and your partner, too."
“Wha-“
“But what I’m still confused about,” Twilight said, eyes snapping from their private vista to Trixie, pinning her. “Is why you felt it necessary to get into the Archives and read my paper. What were you looking for?”
“I’m . . . interested, in mental magic. Telepathy, empathic communication, transfer of consciousness. That sort of thing.”
“Well, the first thing you should know is that that paper is rubbish.”
“What?”
“Not worth the scroll it was written on, actually,” Twilight said.
“But . . . but,” Trixie said.
“I know. Annoying, isn’t it? To build theories, then find out your assumptions were false.” Twilight bobbed her head, holding Trixie’s gaze. “But what did you need it for, anyway?”
No turning back, now. She played you, quite thoroughly, too.
Unfortunately, Cumulus was right. Trixie had been off-balance from the start, had already given up too much to give hide anything else. But Twilight hadn’t turned her in for the theft, even though she knew. Surely that meant something, despite the trembling in her legs and pounding of her heart. Trixie had kept this secret tightly, never daring to confide. Trixie took a deep breath, steadying herself, then began.
“Okay. uhm, so, this all happened five years ago, I went home, for the first time in over a decade. I thought it would be . . . nice to catch up with some ponies from my past. There were three of us, me, Brash and Cumulus. We used to cause all sorts of trouble, together at Noble Deed’s Orphanage.”
“You’re an orphan,” Twilight said, leaning forward.
“Yeah,” Trixie replied.
“I’m sorry.”
Trixie frowned. “Don’t be. I’m better off as it is. Anyway, I’m meeting Brash and Cumulus in my old house, and, somehow, a fire breaks out. Next thing I know, they’re on the floor, and I’m trying not to breath in too much smoke. I think a falling beam might have clipped them.”
“So I struggle over to them, nearly unconscious myself, and essentially drape myself over their bodies. Understand, there was no resisting that heat. It was like a giant hoof, pressing down on me,” Trixie said. Twilight nodded slowly, face growing darker with each word. “I pass out like that. When I wake, I’m in the hospital, and they’re dead.”
Twilight clasped her hooves to her mouth, recoiling from the desk. “Oh Celestia, I remember hearing about that fire! I’m so sorry, Trixie. That must have been awful.”
Trixie shook her head. “No, that’s not it. The doctors told me Brash and Cumulus were dead. Bodies charred almost beyond recognition. But I’m lying there, on the bed, with voices screaming in my head—well, one voice, actually—that no, I wasn’t dead, I was right here, can’t you see me, I’m here, oh why can’t you see me?”
Trixie saw it in Twilight’s eyes, understanding dawning, followed by horror. The purple unicorn trembled, hooves clutching at the desk as she tried to steady herself. “Oh, those poor souls. Oh, Celestia!”
“I worked out what had happened, of course, but I stayed quiet. I have no desire to spend my life as their guinea pig.”
“Actually, the princess is very rigid about our adherence to ethical standards in the treatments of patients. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that bad,” Twilight said, seizing on the detail.
Trixie smiled inwardly. Now who was off-balance? An unintended effect, but useful nonetheless, now she could press. She could be open.
“I’ve come to you because your paper suggested something to me. I thought perhaps you’d know something about this, something about how my friends got in my head, why they’re there, how to get them out.”
“I, ah . . . I’m not sure, maybe?” Twilight said. “You say you hear their voices. How can you be sure they aren’t a hallucination, of sorts?”
“They know things I don’t. They speak in their own voice, built from their own experiences. They can share knowledge, memories, or withhold them from me. They are individuals, as much as we are.”
“Three minds in one body,” Twilight murmured. “I’ve no experience with anything like this. I’m sorry, Trixie, but if you want my help, you’ll need to stay around here for a while.”
Trixie grimaced. “I can’t. I’m . . . busy.”
“Something with your partner in crime?” Twilight guessed.
“Yeah,” Trixie said. “Something like that.”
“Listen, Trixie . . . you don’t need to involve yourself in that,” Twilight said. “You could stay here, cut ties. Live a normal, happy life.” Twilight reached out, grasping Trixie’s fore hoof.
“Look, I’ve been thinking. About the last time you came here, how I acted. And I’m ashamed. I assumed you were a rival, an enemy, and I never tried to get to know you. I never asked why.
“So that’s what I’m doing now, extending the hoof, so to speak. Stay here, in Ponyville, as a friend. We’ll work out what happened in your head; fix it, whatever you want. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.”
Well, that’s new, Cumulus said.
What a nice mare, Brash offered.
Trixie didn’t know what to think. The offer appealed to a side of her that she hadn’t known since the incident. She still remembered the loneliness of the road; cold nights spent shivering in the dark. But it wasn’t her anymore, she now spent her time in constant company, whether she liked it or not.
But there was Boundless to think of. She’d debated leaving endlessly, back and forth with Cumulus and Brash, only to conclude that her best course of action was to remain with him. He had been useful, and the longer she spent with him, the less choice she’d felt. It was just a feeling, a nagging presence in her mind. She did not know what he would do if she left.
“I . . . I can’t. I’m sorry too, Twilight, for what I did, and I’m . . . thankful for your understanding. But I can’t, at least, not long-term,” Trixie said.
“Why not?” Twilight asked, frowning.
“It’s not that simple. I just can’t,” Trixie said. “But, Twilight, I hope you’ll consider me a friend all the same.”
That got Twilight to smile. “Of course I do, Trixie. I’m glad you came.”
“So am I,” Trixie said, returning her grin.
***
“Fire lives in our hearts. It is at the centre of what we do, it is our very soul, our passion and our life. You wish to learn who you are, youngling, your body and mind, nature and heritage. Such questions cannot be answered by me alone, or in just a few years. But in essence, we are fire.”
The Drac opened his mouth, bathing Spike in blue flame. The fire licked at his body, but never caught grip, reaching around him without grasping. It fell away leaving not a singe.
“We are fire, and we are more than fire. We feel its passion, but we do not succumb to it. We burn it, but we are not burnt by it. We understand fire, youngling. You must learn to understand it as you do yourself, an extension of your body, a claw, or arm.”
“And how do I do that,” Spike said, already knowing the answer. The Drac grinned evilly.
“Practice, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Spike said.
“More than that, you must learn fire. How it burns through the world, without pause for empathy. The paths it takes, through air, or across water. The nature of fire,” the Drac said. “That, youngling, will take study. This week, you will begin to learn all you can about fire.”
Spike nodded. At least he wouldn’t go hungry again, and study was a simple task. He’d spent enough time with Twilight to be efficient, and it didn’t present any ethical dilemma.
“For now, show me your progress,” the Drac said.
Spike focused on his flame. Daily contact had strengthened his contact with it, made it less tentative. He bathed his mind in it, a roiling sea of green that engulfed his senses. The crack and roar in his ears, acrid smoke in his nostrils. It brought him to life, gave sharp clarity to the world around him. He snapped his eyes open, and filled his mouth with flame, holding it just inside. A few sparks fell from his lips, drifting down to the ground where he quickly stamped them out.
The Drac noticed, gesturing Spike’s mouth shut. “It no longer dissipates when you release it?”
“No,” Spike confirmed. “It first happened last week, a day after our session.”
“Excellent. And you’ve managed to not burn anything since then.”
“I was careful.”
“You must know the ways of fire, if only to avoid unpleasant accidents. You understand this?”
“Yes, yes of course,” Spike said. He knew from experience how dangerous he could be, living in a library in a treehouse. Dragonfire wasn’t the same as an ordinary, natural flame, instead of a simple chemical reaction; dragonfire was alive. It burnt hot, quickly and cleanly, left to itself it would spread exponentially. Twilight had calculated the difference, when they’d first noticed the difference. Where fire consumed its kingdom, spilling over the borders when it reached them, dragonfire invaded. Twilight referred to it as an active phenomenon, opposed to the passivity of nature. Dragonfire had a mind.
Practically, that meant dragons could control the rate at which their fire spread. They could excite it, send up a great expanse all at once, and they could dampen it, even extinguish it. That made it more than a tool, that made it part of them. Spike still struggled with it, controlling his fire. It wanted to grow, to burn and consume until nothing was left.
The Drac continued the lesson, showing Spike the way fire spread, embers carried by the wind, the differences between residential fires and forest fires, even the way ash spread through the soil, mixing with the dirt and fertilising the land.
“Fire is life, youngling. If you control one, you control the other.”
I don’t even understand what I’m supposed to do. The prophecies say I will know when the time comes, but that is small comfort.
At least I now know I have not been misled. I can . . . feel something, in the mountains. It pulses in my mind, as much a beacon as a warm campfire on a winter’s night.
Six
LUNA'S EYES FLICKERED OPEN, registering nothing. Blackness spread all around her, a vast expanse of nothing. She hadn’t expected anything different, exactly.
Her Dream had shown her a scene from the past, a scene almost physically painful for Luna. She’d replayed that moment countless times upon her return to Equestria, exploring every inch of her failure until she knew it better than she knew herself.
Dreams were prophetic. Was she destined to repeat the past, then? Had she no choice but to return to the Nightmare? The mind has no control over its dreams, scenes from its subconscious playing out regardless of their impact. Did she have as little control over her fate?
She had been drawn, curiosity and hope driving her, into his web like a moth to flame. Well, her curiosity had been sated. The Wastes had convinced her; even trapped here, his presence left them a desolate, barren land. Whatever civilisation had fallen before him, so long ago would not see their sacrifice be in vain.
All that remained was to escape, to return to Equestria, her duties and her sister, to ask for forgiveness; for her doubt and her haste. She needed to do it without hatred, without jealousy or anguish. This prison would not break her.
Luna resumed walking forward. There was nowhere else to go. Focusing on the light from her horn, she began to project, casting her mind out, seeking a flaw in the prison. Every spell had a knot, the source and the keystone of the weave. If she found the knot, she could unravel the spell.
Through her mind’s eye, the blackness took on another meaning. All around her swirled a storm of magic, a veritable torrent of power writhing in a mad dance. At first Luna thought she could discern some pattern, order amidst the storm, but every time she caught something, a repeated movement or mirrored symbol, it changed, diverting the flow elsewhere. It was Chaos incarnate, a spell transcending Nature.
“Thou cannot hope to escape,” he said, words echoing across Luna’s mind. “Thy place is here, for now.”
“Fiend! We shalt escape thee, and when we do, thou shalt tremble before the might of the moon!” Luna said, spitting words into the blackness.
“Thou wouldst best me? How, when thou doth not even know thyself.”
“You are truly lost.”-the Drac's words, from an age ago.
No. She had not lost her way, not this time. She’d learned better, learned not to isolate herself, not to covet power and cultivate fear. She’d gotten past her jealousy, made peace with the quiet of the night. A ripple on Equestria’s surface, and a powerful current underneath, hidden from view.
“I know my strengths and my flaws, the twists of my mind and the inner workings of my heart. I earnt that knowledge, by my failures and triumphs, across time immemorial.”
“Thou are ruled by thy failure. Thou art defined by it.”
His words struck at Luna like a hammer. Was this shadow destined to follow her the rest of her days? Luna had tried so hard to move on, to forget about it, to lessen it to a bad dream in the night.
But she hadn’t, couldn’t just continue as if it hadn’t happened. She’d struggled with the guilt, spent time debating her folly, and learnt. She truly believed that, that the experience could make her, in the end, a better princess, a better leader; a better pony.
Did that define her? Was the Nightmare’s shadow marked so indelibly on her life that even now, he saw its influence on her? A corruptive touch, devastating not directly, as it had been before, but through fear. She didn’t trust herself anymore, not as she had. What good was a guide that feared its own light? That hesitated to step down the path it knew right?
Knew, or thought right. No, she couldn’t trust herself. She’d proven that, all those years ago. Given power, given strength, she selfishly abused it. She forgot her purpose.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Luna said. He had timed his appearance well, just as the fresh anger of her entrapment had finally cooled to a sullen despair. There was potential, there, for escape. Anger would burn her out, without pause for consequence or repercussion. But she wouldn’t take that power again.
She’d Dreamt, and she’d Seen; concessions to need that life had forced from her. But they had been spurred by fear and hope, in balance. There had been no disruption, no danger. To burn anger, to feel the rush of molten metal through her veins and the exhilarating thrill of destruction; that would end her. Maybe not now, but years ahead, when finally she could no longer resist its siren call, she would fall to the darkness once more.
“You fear yourself, Luna of the Moon. You fear your light.”
Luna returned to her body, shaking her head to shake off the dizzying after effects of her altered vision. He was right, of course. Ultimately, the thing she feared the most was herself. Her potential for evil, her Nightmare . . . Fear of falling to that trap had informed every action, every decision she’d taken upon her return to Equestria. It had stopped her from reclaiming her place as a ruler, as Celestia’s sister.
Her light had once shone across Equestria, as surely as the sun’s morning rise, a dawn of blazing glory. But where Celestia had taught, Luna had observed, carefully watching over her subjects. Instead of becoming an exemplar, a shining pillar, she had become a leader, shrouded in shadows, those same shadows that had betrayed her; blinded her to her folly.
What became of that now? She had become a recluse, the past years disappearing with scant appearances and brief visits from a trusted few. Luna did not fear the public’s eye, nor shy from her duties. But too scared to take back the responsibilities, to tread that path again, what was left for her?
She was no leader, not now. She had forsaken that path when she spurned her sister’s grace, ignored the pleas of those she’d sworn to serve. What, then, was she, in this new Equestria? Where was her place? Was it simply to serve as a warning; a symbol of failure for all those contemplating the darkness?
“No,” Luna said. “No, I do not fear my light. I fear my shadow, lengthening in the dusk. I fear the twilight of my years, the waning of my influence and waxing of my impotence. I fear your touch, and what havoc you would wreak across me and mine. That fear drives me, and it shall see to your end!”
Her words rang hollow in the darkness, echoing around her, out into the black nothingness. Though she listened patiently, there was no reply.
***
“Tell me, Trixie, do you share emotions with them?” Twilight asked, pulling her mind away from Trixie’s. It was difficult to hear, close to her, over the noise Brash and Cumulus were making. “You can tell them to stop, by the way.”
“They can hear you, Twilight,” Trixie said, “and no, we don’t share emotions.”
“Right,” Twilight said. “But they can hear your thoughts?”
“Yes, though they don’t always comment. It isn’t a two-way link.”
“Okay. That rules out the Spiritual nexus as the focus of your connection. It requires equality, or one mind would simply come to dominate the others. Personality, history, everything would bleed over, through the link.”
“Then what is the connection? Your paper . . .”
“I’ve already told you that paper was rubbish. I wrote that . . . before.”
“But what was wrong with it? I mean, I couldn’t stop any glaring errors,” Trixie insisted.
“Trust me. You’ve no experience with the subject. The relationship between the soul and the mind is incredibly complex. Magic doesn’t even come close to explaining it. More like the other way around, actually.”
“You mean we . . . what, source magic from the interplay between logic and emotion?”
“No, not really,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “But if you can understand it that way, it will suffice.”
“I think I’m qualified for the full explanation,” Trixie said, stiffening.
“Trust me, Trixie, you’re not,” Twilight said, giving her an apologetic smile. “But the point is, I think that the connection between you all, the link that drew their minds to yours as they died, is founded on emotion.”
“How is that even possible?” Trixie asked. Nothing Twilight said was even remotely close to what she’d been taught about magic. Unicorns drew power from themselves, channelled it through the horn through a spell matrix to achieve some effect. What Twilight was saying didn’t even try to take into account the body’s natural channels of power, nor the mind’s leylines. To focus a spell elsewhere would be quite impossible, beyond the reach of even the princess. Slippage would kill the pony, if nothing else.
“I can’t explain that, Trixie,” Twilight said. “But it does mean that I can do something about this.”
“That easily, huh?” Trixie said.
“No, with extreme difficulty, and over a large period of time.” Twilight beckoned Trixie closer, reached her hooves towards her head. Trixie obliged, allowing Twilight clasp her, and reach into her mind.
Like this. Can you hear me? Twilight called.
Yes. The response came, three voices chorusing together.
Do you see me?
No.
Ah. Here it is, Twilight muttered. Trixie couldn’t feel anything, just a slight pressure on the sides of her head as Twilight clamped her between her hooves. Looking at Twilight, eyes closed, head bent in concentration . . . wait . . . was that a tear track, faintly marked against her fur? Then Trixie felt something change, something fundamental, that pushed it from her mind.
“There,” Twilight said, pulling away from Trixie. She took several deep breaths, recovering before sitting back up in her chair. “Feel different?” Twilight asked.
Trixie nodded mutely. Ever since the incident, she’d had company, voices in her head. Silence had lost its meaning, each moment invariably filled with chatter. What else were they to do, locked away in her mind?
But now Trixie could hear nothing, punctuated only by her own thoughts. Tentatively, she called out.
Brash? Cumulus? You guys still with me?
There was no response.
Trixie fixed her gaze on Twilight. “What did you do,” she said in a low voice, tensing.
“I blocked the channels between you. They’re still there, you just can’t hear them, or feel them in any way,” Twilight said.
“Undo it. Now,” Trixie said, holding her gaze on Twilight.
Twilight lit her horn, leaning forward again, this time simply pressing a hoof into Trixie’s forehead. Then, there they were, like an explosion of colour behind her eyes. Trixie sighed, relaxing into her chair. She’d forgotten what it was like, to be alone in your mind. She took a deep breath.
“Thank you, Twilight,” Trixie said. “I just . . . I don’t want them gone.”
Twilight cocked her head to the side. “I thought that was the whole point.”
“No,” Trixie said, struggling to find the right words. “I guess I want—we want—to understand. But to remove them? Twilight, they’re all I have left of my friends. I can’t just let them die.”
“So, what? You want to move them to new bodies?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Trixie said, glancing down at her hooves, crossed helplessly in her lap. “Why did this happen to me? They should be dead, instead they’re living in my head. What does that mean?”
“It means you cared for them, deeply. It means you’re a very special pony, and that they were lucky to have known you.”
“Look, can we set this aside. I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Trixie said.
“Sure,” Twilight said. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” Trixie said, casting about for some topic of conversation, still shaken from the experience. “Do you happen to know anything about the Crystal Heart?”
Trixie!
Twilight arched an eyebrow. “The Archives?” she asked.
“Yeah, I noticed it while I was searching for, well, you know,” Trixie said. “But I couldn’t find anything recent. Like somepony had cut out any references to it.”
“I don’t know about that. But the Heart isn’t classified, exactly,” Twilight said, frowning. “We just don’t speak about it much.”
“Safety through obscurity,” Trixie said.
“Sort of, though there’s no danger. Anypony who wanted to control it would need to have control over the Crystal ponies. Nopony has been able to do anything substantial with it since King Sombra.”
“King Sombra?” Trixie asked.
“He was an evil unicorn, from way back. He was corrupted by black magic—like you were by the Alicorn amulet—and took over the Crystal Empire through the Heart.”
“And when it appeared in the north . . .”
“Yeah. We were sent up there to stop him.”
“That was you?”
“Well, me and my friends, and my brother, Shining Armour and his wife, Cadence—Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.”
“Princess Cadence? Isn’t she still up there?”
“Yes, with my brother. They’re sort of running things in the Crystal Empire at the moment. When we took down King Sombra, we left them without a leader, or governing body. Luna was setting that up, but even before she vanished, Cadence was taking more and more of the responsibility.”
Shining Armour, he was Captain of the Royal Guard during the changeling invasion, remember?
And suddenly, she did remember. Trixie had been on the Pie rock farm at the time, but Brash had been in Canterlot, attending the wedding with the rest of the city. He had passed the memory to Trixie, and in it, she saw the Captain and the Princess, faces to put to the names Twilight had given her.
“Anyway, Cadence acts in a similar manner to Celestia, while my brother guards the Court—although he’s on vacation for a few days at the moment, in Canterlot.”
Trixie raised an eyebrow. “And you’re here, in Ponyville? Wouldn’t you rather be spending time with him?”
“I am,” Twilight said. “I only came down this morning, to speak to Rarity; I’m going back up just as soon as we finish here.”
“Hold on, I was on the morning train, and you weren’t. How’d you get down?”
“Teleported,” Twilight said, shrugging with an air of nonchalance, though Trixie caught the edges of a grin, tugging at Twilight’s mouth. “I know, I know, impossible, right? Well, that’s what it takes to become an Arch-Magus, Trixie. The impossible.”
Maybe she could beat us, Cumulus mused.
Maybe!? Without breaking a sweat! Trixie exclaimed. Do you have any idea how much power that would take?
“Trixie?” Twilight asked, reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“What?”
“You spaced out on me for a second there,” Twilight said.
“You can’t seriously expect me to believe you teleported here from Canterlot,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “There’s no way.”
Twilight stood up, moving over to the door. “Follow me,” Twilight said, glancing over her shoulder.
Trixie rose, trailing after Twilight down the hallway. She stopped to peer into the room on the left, where Rarity had gone. Twilight had said . . . looking for Luna.
The white unicorn was lying in a bath, submerged to the neck, her fore-hooves draped over the side. Her head was back, horn alight and eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell evenly, as if in a deep sleep. Trixie watched, noting the movement under her eyelids, and her lips, mouthing words.
She was surrounded by equipment, monitoring heart-rate, and brain activity. Trixie made to step into the room, fascinated, but was stopped by Twilight, calling from down the hallway.
“Come, Trixie, leave her to her work.”
Turning, she walked after Twilight, but not without a backwards glance. What in Equestria was going on in that room, and how did it relate to Luna? They entered another room, this one completely empty, with not even a painting on the wall, or carpet over the floor. Trixie stepped forward, jarring her foreleg as she fell into the centre of the room. For some reason, the floor was lower here, a spherical section cut downwards. She’d missed the slight step.
“What was that, back there?” she asked Twilight, ignoring her fall.
“Don’t concern yourself with that,” Twilight said, her tone hard. “We leave Rarity alone while she’s here, unless something goes wrong. That’s what the equipment is for. Understood?”
Trixie didn’t like it, but she sensed this was not something to press.
“Understood, Twilight,” she said, earning a smile.
“Very well. Now, to Canterlot,” Twilight said, as if it was as easy, as simple, as that. She lit her horn, lowered her head and sent a wave of magic coruscating outward over herself and Trixie.
The light outside the windows flashed once. Then buildings appeared, around the room.
“Well,” Twilight said, dropping the bubble of magic. “Here we are, Canterlot.”
“Oh, Celestia,” Trixie whispered, overcome. She trotted to the front door—the building layout was the same—and opened it, jaw falling. It was Canterlot, no doubt about it, she could see the castle, in the distance. Closing the door, she turned to the room on the left, seeing the same bath, the same equipment, but no pony.
“How did you do that?” she said, marching up to Twilight. “The amount of energy that would have taken would kill a pony!"
“Told you,” Twilight said. “Arch-Magus.”
“And I’d bought a return trip, too,” Trixie said, crossing her forelegs. “Wasn’t cheap, either.”
“Oh, poor soul, wasted some of the money she stole,” Twilight replied, sighing. “Listen, Trixie . . . I feel bad about how I’ve treated you in the past, and I want to help you. But I can’t condone theft. I expect you to pay that store back, at some point.”
“Okay,” Trixie nodded, her mouth turning to ash.
“You need to cut loose from this accomplice of yours. He will be caught, Trixie. Don’t go down with him.”
“Anything else?”
“I’m taking a chance with you, Trixie. Please understand that.”
And she did. Twilight didn’t need to befriend Trixie, didn’t have to help her, and by doing so, she was putting herself at risk. But that knowledge did nothing to fill the sudden void in her chest, stop the trembling of her legs. She shouldn’t have trusted Twilight after all, she was just the same. She understood, but at the same time, she didn’t.
Twilight closed the door, bidding Trixie farewell. Turning, Trixie made for the hideout. She had found her link to the Crystal Heart, and he was right here in Canterlot.
***
Rarity lay back in her bath. Even though it was in Twilight’s home, her offices, and surrounded by her equipment, she thought of it as her bath. Everypony did.
It wasn’t needed for Sight, no more than any of the machinery. But there was little as relaxing to Rarity as a long, warm soak. She absently reached out, uncapping one of the bottles lining the tub, an aromatic soap, and squirting it into the water. Soon, the room began to fill with the scent of lilacs.
She’d already spent half an hour in here today, but thankfully the machinery kept the water warm. That wasn’t all it did, of course, also keeping tabs on Rarity’s health. Sight required a deep trance, and while the bath was helpful in getting her there, it could prove deadly should she slip under the water during a session.
Soon, she was drifting, lulled towards sleep. Here was the crucial step. Just before she lost consciousness, right on the edge, she brought forward thoughts of Luna’s disappearance, of Trixie’s appearance and what could it mean, of Spike’s growing wildness and his lessons with the strange creature in the forest. She thought of letting Twilight down, being unable to summon the magic.
Fear sent her forward, pushing through time to observe what she willed. Her awareness grew, expanding rapidly. She mustn’t allow it to grow too large, or she could lose herself to the world, mind broken under the vastness of life.
Equestria spread beneath her, a giant expanse of land mostly shrouded in mist. It was always like this. Sight allowed Rarity to observe over great distances, and even through time, but only ponies she knew, ponies she had interacted with, even only briefly, stood out amidst the shroud.
Ponyville was easy to find, a beacon of light and colour, and Canterlot, nearby, held nearly as much light. But that wasn’t where she wanted to be.
Quickly, she brought her focus down to the southern border. She watched again as Luna, a speck amidst a sea of nothing, stepped across, causing Rarity to lose her trail. She could not see across, couldn’t penetrate the border, though she did not know why.
She waited there, watching, awareness hovering over the entire border as the years flickered by. No spark of light flew across her vision. There was no change in the swirling mists, no sign.
Eventually, Rarity turned away.
Instead, she focused on Canterlot. She had found Trixie just as she was arriving here, in time to wake herself and inform Twilight. To find her accomplice, all she had to do was follow Trixie backwards, into the past. Twilight had mentioned a jewellery store. She would find him there.
Trixie herself was outlined clearly, her colours bright in Rarity’s mind, Luna’s had been. Her accomplice, though, was a dark shape, obscured to her vision by the haze of uncertainty.
She would not be able to See him at all, save for Trixie’s presence. They left the store via a large hole blown in the wall, Rarity following them back to a burned-out basement. She watched them speak heatedly, the dark shape gesturing vaguely, and split the money, but when Trixie left, she dove into the past, tracing back Trixie’s life to their meeting.
***
“I am called Trixie. Who are you?” the azure mare asked, carefully maintaining the magical wall holding the police back. The stallion before her gave an unnerving smile, curling his upper lip over his teeth and lowering his head slightly. He looked her straight in the eyes, standing unnaturally still as he uttered, “I am the wind and the water, the breath of air through your mane in the morning, the kiss of dusk on your neck at night. I am your every dream and desire, and I am your hatred and loathing.”
Oh, for Celestia’s sake . . .
Trixie snorted, putting his melodrama out of mind. While such showmanship might have intimidated a foal, barely out of school, it had little effect on the worldly mare. A performer herself, she recognised the tricks of the trade: a lowered head to cast the alley’s shadows over his face, exposing the teeth to catch the radiance from her horn, eyes tilted upwards to reflect her image.
“Very well, and what shall I call you?” Trixie retorted.
“Boundless,” he offered, dropping the act. He cut a surprisingly boyish figure, now that she could see him properly. Green eyes, brown coat, he couldn’t have been older than twelve; just around the time most ponies began to mature, to seek independence. Young, but perhaps not that surprising, to be in trouble with the police, and a complete mess—dishevelled, fur and mane ruffled and stinking. Tired, and likely hungry.
Thrown out on his ear after one too many fights?
It never would have happened, even here in Manehattan. No, I’d say he’s used to running around by himself—probably stays at an orphanage. No family would let him get like this.
Still, it wasn’t her problem. Turning away, she began to leave, hooves ringing out against the cobblestone ground. Boundless bounded after her, matching pace as she turned a corner, leaving the police behind. There would be a reckoning for this, she assumed. Her cutie mark was fairly well-known around here, after all.
“Say, Boundless. You’re, what, twelve?” she asked, glancing back at his flank. As she’d glimpsed before, it was blank.
“I suppose,” he responded, not offering anything else.
“That’s a little old to be without a cutie mark. Don’t you have any idea what your special talent is?”
“Mmm,” came the absent reply. Boundless was gazing intently at the ground, kicking at the odd loose pebble as they walked.
Don’t bother. He’s been by himself for a long time, I’d say.
Trixie sighed. She had no reason to lend this foal her aid. She needed to be out, looking for someplace to stay before she was forced to spend a night in the gutter. She absolutely hated what that did to her mane.
Yeah, leaves it kinda like that green mess of garbage you so like to pull out at shows. Where’d you model that from, again?
Boundless stopped, causing Trixie to halt as well. Looking away, she cleared her throat.
“Well, it was pleasant meeting you . . .” she began.
“Listen, Trixie,” he cut in, “I’m planning a few errands tomorrow, but if you’re still in Manehattan the day after, come see me at the old observatory. I’ve a feeling you’d be both interested and useful in what I’m doing here,” he said quickly, not quite trusting himself enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze.
Trixie grabbed him in her magic before he could leave, reaching out and wrapping an azure glow around his torso and legs. Walking up to him, she glared at him, pinning him under her gaze.
“Now, listen here. I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I’m not interested in anything of that nature.”
Boundless chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I was actually thinking of some armed robbery. But Trixie, if you do decide to come,” he said, stretching his limbs slowly through the azure haze, “don’t try to restrain me.” The bubble burst, Trixie’s magic releasing and dropping Boundless to the ground. “It doesn’t work.”
Wow.
Trotting out to the main street, he threw a glance and a smile at her over his shoulder before disappearing into the steady stream of traffic; ponies and carts heading every which way.
The day after tomorrow. Well, she didn’t really have anything better to do. Manehattan was already turning into a complete waste of time. The money she’d saved from the last few shows was running dry, and the public libraries once again proved to have nothing relevant at all.
She needed to get into the private collections. Surely there would be something there, mixed in with the antiquities and relics, a real treasure. An old text of Starswirl’s, maybe, or even his pupil, Clover, something blasphemous enough to be consigned to obscurity, might have information about her condition, about the voices in her head.
We’re as real as you are.
Access to those collections required both influence and money, though Trixie had neither. Her shows, while a reliable source of money, didn’t attract the sorts of crowds she needed to build a reputation, and travelling Equestria was expensive. Losing her cart, all those years ago . . . It had been, and still was, a considerable blow. Without it, she’d been forced to spend money on accommodation, drawing further from her meagre savings. As it was, she could choose between a wet, cold night, and an empty stomach. There wasn’t any grass to graze from in Manehattan anymore.
But Boundless . . . the colt had promised something, and Trixie didn’t think him the type to make offers lightly. She had something he needed desperately. She could exploit that, even if only for food and shelter.
It was a comforting thought. For once, she had something to look forward to, some small hope for the future.
Exciting!
-If he doesn’t backstab you first.
Yet she wasn’t defenceless either. She had her magic, her knowledge and years of experience dealing with the shadier side of life. She’d only met one unicorn with enough raw power to overcome her, and that had been before the accident. She was sure she could best even Twilight Sparkle now.
Could it be? The return of the Great and Powerful Trixie?
Trixie gave a soft laugh. That tired, old persona, a remnant from her days before, had been long gone from her life. Ironic, that the event that made it true also took her belief in it. She had found it difficult to refer to herself in the third person with two additional personalities residing in her head.
First things first. A place to stay, work of some kind, and perhaps she could talk her way into some libraries. Appearance counted for a great deal, and she was a master of illusion. After all, it was her special talent.
Trixie summoned her magic, creating a blue hat, and a cape adorned with stars. Settling it over her back, she trotted out after Boundless, joining and blending into the crowd, mask intact.
***
Rarity woke with a start, a purple hoof on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Twilight leaning over her, a concerned look on her face.
“You startled me, dear,” Rarity admonished. “That’s no way to wake somepony, you know.”
“Sorry,” Twilight said with a grin. “Find anything?”
Rarity did not move to step out of the tub, instead lying back in the still-steaming water. Twilight wrinkled her nose. The scent of lilacs had long since gone, leaving the room smelling only of wet fur.
Rarity closed her eyes, and moved her limbs into the tub, visibly releasing tension.
“Nothing about Luna,” Rarity began, confirming what both had expected. “About her accomplice, though . . . I think I did.”
“Yes?”
“Well, his name is Boundless,” Rarity said, grimacing. “He’s young—about sixteen years old, I should think.”
Twilight nodded. Rarity opened her eyes, turning her head to look at Twilight.
“And he can negate a telekinetic hold,” Rarity said, quickly relating the event to Twilight. “I’ve no idea how, that’s your department, dear. If you’ll excuse me . . .?”
“Didn’t you have work to do?”
“Later, dear, later.”
Closing her eyes, Rarity drifted off as Twilight quietly turned away, leaving the room.
The mountains are cold; bitter, frozen peaks and valleys. I can no longer fly, harsh winds sending icy rocks tumbling down slopes and through the air. On hoof, my progress is agonisingly slow.
I fear the world itself is turning on me, even as I near its salvation. Each second I delay shrinks what remains to us. There is an urgency I have not felt before, as if something external spurs me to action.
Seven
LUNA WAS USED TO THE NIGHT. It was her domain, a place of safety where cold air and warm dreams sheltered her from the world. Hid her and let her shine. She lived her life in the dark, but the blackness surrounding her surpassed the absence of the sun and the light of the moon.
She had lost count of the number of times she’d slept, falling to the ground and laying her head on her outstretched forelegs. It was the only way she had on keeping track of time, however rudimentary, but the blackness, pervasive and unceasing, slowly eroded her senses until all she knew was the gentle thuds of her hooves on the hard ground at the edges of her consciousness.
The voice, the threat that had locked her away here, had directed her attention to the Nightmare. Her Dream had reminded her of its influence, of how it seized on her fears of irrelevance and dreams of love. But the Nightmare had no bearing on why she’d come here. It did not affect her purpose.
She couldn’t quite remember. What? There was something, on the tip of her tongue, something nagging. Luna shook her head violently, trying to clear it, but she couldn’t tell if it helped.
Was there something obscuring her thoughts? She couldn’t detect any outside influence, no fog clouding her mind. There was nothing there, just like the nothing that made up her existence. No wonder she’d Dreamt. It was all she had left of the outside world.
Except that wasn’t right. She couldn’t experience it anymore, but that didn’t mean she was lost to it. She carried her life with her, carried her hopes and dreams and the friendships of those she knew. She had a purpose, something particularly in mind.
Why had she come here? She’d been accepted back into Equestria, back into her sister’s life. She’d worked so hard for that chance, had been doing so well. She’d been happy, as far as that went.
Was it the Drac’s prophecy? Certainly it had pushed her, had led her to this path. But could she really say that it was her impetus for starting down it? The Drac had advised her to find herself. He had planted a seed of hope, festering in her mind like some poison, eating away at her peace. Hope for a return to a time when she had ruled, not advised; spent her time alongside her sister, not stalking through filly’s dreams.
Lust for power had always been her weakness. But it was not a need for control, but a hubris born in the belief that she could do better. From the outside, she saw her sister’s failures, and she knew she could fix them. She desired equality, a justice of sorts. That was what had tempted her, hidden in his words; the notion that she had lost something, somewhere.
Had she come to find it? Was she merely following the hope that there was more to her, more she could bring to Equestria. Something she could find here, in nowhere, something that would bring her love.
Love. Why did she crave it? A simple desire, buried deep but still there, pulling her through failures and successes alike. At her core, it was why she’d turned to the Nightmare in the first place; a desire share her love, her night, with her subjects, and to have them love her for it.
Was she here for that? She did not believe she had lost anything, just as she couldn’t feel anything blocking her mind. Just a fleeting thought, the barest hint of an itch, driving her subconsciously.
No, she didn’t believe that. She could acknowledge her flaws and desires; could deliberate on her motivations, but she didn’t believe the Drac. Her return had been salvation, of the purest form. It was a chance at a second chance.
But why had she thrown that away, to come here, on a fool’s errand? Even had she found something, some threat that could justify the barrier she’d crossed, what did she plan to do about it? Arming herself with knowledge meant nothing, for there was nothing to change, nothing to fix.
What was her purpose here, in the blackness? She thought this had been a journey of discovery, of herself and of the world. Was she truly so desperate?
Luna’s eyes wandered around, registering nothing. There was nothing to register. She sat on her haunches, concentrating. It was somewhat difficult, after so long spent suppressing it, but she brought up her anger, blew on the embers and felt it race across the surface of her mind, a spark given fuel.
It was an old anger, born in jealousy and fear, and it cut through her mind like a bolt of lightning slicing through the air. It cleared away the fog, and she knew.
Control was always something Luna had valued. How could it not be, given her history? Everypony saw her Nightmare as an alicorn of night, with draconic eyes and a mane of shadow. To Luna, her Nightmare was a loss of control, a complete surrender to her emotions. Raw expression gave it power and purpose.
She had felt control, in Equestria. She’d locked herself away, suppressed the desires and feelings that had led to her fall, and the result was a soul in tortured harmony. She regretted her actions, certainly, fiercely rebuked herself for succumbing.
But she hadn’t ever sought to explore the reasons for those emotions. Her anger and jealousy had ruled her, and that had been enough to resent them. But they were a part of her, as natural and as right as the stars in the night sky. She welcomed them, and felt their joy as they tore at the shroud that hung over her.
She knew why she’d come here, what the Drac had claimed she’d lost. She’d found it, quite by accident, in just the same way. A friend long presumed to be an enemy.
Luna knew what she was doing here, now. All other aims had become immaterial the moment of her entrapment. She was here to escape.
***
Twilight trotted along the Canterlot street, carefully following the directions Rarity had given her. Her Sight was an incredibly useful tool, and Twilight found herself calling on it more and more. It was a pity she couldn’t use it herself, a fact Twilight found increasingly annoying as Rarity grew more proficient in pinpointing positions, times, even witnessing events as they took place.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t how it worked. Twilight’s talents, insofar Coromantic ability, lay in less abstract fields. It had taken Twilight some time to really understand the difference between what they did. It was the same as the difference between Applejack and Pinkie Pie, or Rainbow and Fluttershy. Where Twilight focused on events external to herself, Rarity directed her magic inwards.
Twilight wasn’t entirely sure why she was unable to do the same, but when she’d tried there simply wasn’t anything there.
Still, perhaps it was a blessing. Rarity’s Sight was a huge weight on her shoulders, and using it wasn’t entirely pleasant, particularly with some of the clients Twilight had attracted. She winced, remembering one incident—Rarity wouldn’t tell them, but she had bolted out of her tub, cheeks aflame and tore down the street. It had taken a week for her to emerge from the Carousel Boutique.
Twilight rounded a corner, silently counting blocks off in her head. She was nearly there . . . there it was, the charred wood a clear giveaway. She was shocked it was still standing after five years, even if the authorities hadn’t bothered with it, weather alone should have knocked it down by now.
Curious, Twilight stepped up close, sniffing at the planks, and vertical support beams. If the fire had eaten through them, as Trixie’s story had indicated, they should be brittle, should crumble under her hooves. A fire that hot would eat right through this wood.
Except the beam was solid. Brushing ash and charcoal off, Twilight could see whole wood, untarnished. That explained why the house was still standing then, though it didn’t excuse it being left alone for so long.
The fire must have swept through too quickly to set teeth into the house. Twilight traced a circle around the house, using her magic to knock the debris clinging to the walls to the ground. The fire Trixie had described had been intense, a raging inferno, surrounding her from all sides. But if it hadn’t had time to spread, had appeared around them before they could react, wouldn’t that indicate multiple sources? Not to mention what had put the fire out.
Twilight frowned, completing her circuit. There were no obvious marks beyond the uniform scarring. But if it had come from inside, why was the outside of the house marked at all? Twilight stopped moving, thinking. Trixie had presented the incident as an accident. She didn’t know how it had happened.
Perhaps it was a lightning strike. That, combined with a storm, could have led to the situation Twilight saw in the house’s remains. But how had it gotten so bad, so fast? Twilight was beginning to think that it wasn’t an accident. What she knew just didn’t fit. Maybe she could get Rarity to take a look, maybe uncover some more details.
For now, she could set it aside. Twilight, remembering what Rarity had told her, quickly found the basement stairs. She gave the rest of the house a glance, but it was clear that neither Trixie nor her partner had used it. Trotting down the basement stairs, she saw the large central table, dominating the space, with several passages leading off from it, to small side rooms.
Twilight took her time, moving around the basement, trying to get a feel for it. Where ponies had moved, how they’d spent their time. She found the small space under the window that Rarity had said Trixie spent most of her time in. It would fit a pony, just, and allow the sunlight in in the morning, straight down onto the pony sleeping there.
The table had more than a few documents, spread out across it haphazardly. There were more than a few bits accompanying them, seemingly piled in regards to their intended purpose. Twilight leafed through several, though she was careful to leave them just as she’d found them. One was a sheet of notes, summarising some of Trixie’s findings and research about her condition.
The corners of Twilight’s mouth curled slightly, reading it. Trixie had extrapolated a great deal from her work, bringing in other ponies research as well to form several reasonable theories. Twilight dismissed them all, quickly seeing the flaws. One failed to account for her friend’s lack of magic. Another required a Spiritual link that operated logically, in a fashion similar to a Mental link, though Trixie didn’t know those names.
There were other sheets there, too, ones written in a different hoof to Trixie’s. They could only be the work of her mystery partner, Boundless. Twilight took more care reading those, going over each line for the subtle hints to his character.
He seemed to have built quite the network of contacts, reports coming in from multiple cities across Equestria. Twilight even recognised some of the names; knowledge garnered through her years of what was essentially detective work, in alleys and slums. What was worrying was the way they seemed to defer to him, at least in tone. Twilight knew those ponies, knew they were not easily intimidated. It was impressive a colt so young had managed to inspire such loyalty.
Or was it loyalty? The notes didn’t treat him with respect, at least not the respect of a beloved leader. Sun and Moon, Twilight had read enough of Celestia’s mail to recognise that type of fawning.
Frowning, she picked up another, scanning the words.
Boundless,
A place has been prepared in Manehattan, should you choose to use it. Cleft was unable to procure the exact specifications, though it will work. There has been no mention of the relic.
Clodhoof
It was brief, professional, and unquestionably subservient. Twilight hadn’t run into Clodhoof, or Cleft, before, but there was something in the language and pre-emptive shifting of blame that spoke of fear.
Twilight needed to see this colt. Trixie had seemed scared of him, afraid to leave or to disappoint. Rarity had mentioned he was able to negate telekinesis. Twilight had never heard of him before, though she felt like she should, a sixteen-year-old still lacking a cutie mark.
She completed another circuit of the basement before retreating upstairs. He had no reason to believe their hideout compromised, and would eventually return here. All she had to do was wait.
Twilight found a nice spot, tucked away on the second story under a window. She’d be able to see the street from here, with minimal danger of being spotted herself, and could follow him down to the basement, effectively trapping him in with her.
As she settled down to wait, she caught herself thinking of past jobs; clients asking her to retrieve stolen items, usually, or break up unruly gangs that had sprouted in the cities. Some of those names, on Boundless’ documents, should have still been locked away, serving time for their crimes. Had he sprung them free? Had that earned their loyalty?
Each time she’d had the advantage of her Coromancy. It was a fickle magic, not nearly as reliable as the standard unicorn spells she’d spent her youth learning, but made up for that in its scale. The more invested Twilight became, the more emotionally-charged, the more powerful she grew. It had made her unstoppable.
Even if it was common knowledge, there would be almost no other pony who could use it. Twilight didn’t know why she and her friends had been so blessed, or how they’d ended up together, but it was the only reason they’d been able to bind to the Elements in the first place. Without Coromancy, there would have been no link.
Initially, Twilight had resented Celestia and Luna’s secrecy. She hadn’t experienced life then, not as she had now. She’d been naïve. Ponies weren’t ready to openly wield that kind of power, perhaps would never be. It was the power to level cities in a blow, or to halt the sun and the moon in the sky: the power of an alicorn.
Twilight didn’t know how the fire that had caught Trixie had started, or what exactly had happened during the blaze. But her escape, barely injured while her friends, lying next to her died, told Twilight something. From her hiding spot, secure, she trusted her body to the planks supporting her and projected her mind below. Carefully feeling in the wood, she found tiny fragments, mixed in the wood. Twilight raised one of them to her lips, tasting it.
The emotion jolted through her body, causing her shoulders to slump and her head to droop down to the ground. Twilight hadn’t encountered it before, but she was knew enough to recognise the situation before her. Someone had doused the flames with Despair.
***
“I found somepony,” Trixie said. She was trotting alongside Boundless, making their way back to the safehouse. Boundless raised an eyebrow, tilting his head towards her. “Somepony who will know more about the Crystal Heart,” she said, glancing down.
“Oh?” Boundless said, perking up. “Who might this pony be, I wonder?”
“Shining Armour,” Trixie said. Boundless snorted.
“No. He’s out of reach, even for us,” he said. “A shame, I’ll admit, but we must be practical.”
“Actually, he’s not,” Trixie said, a vague feeling of nausea rising in her gut. She ignored it. “He’s right here, in Canterlot. Will be for a few days.”
Boundless frowned. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve been talking with his sister,” she said, “Twilight Sparkle.”
“The Arch-Magus?” he asked. Trixie nodded mutely. “You didn’t . . .?” He left the question hanging. Trixie knew perfectly well what he was asking. It would have been the height of folly to cast mental magic on someone as powerful as Twilight.
“Of course not,” Trixie said, flicking her tail at him. “I’m the responsible one, remember.”
He grinned at her. She thought she saw mirth in those eyes, mixed among the wildness. She wilted anyway.
“Good,” he said. “That’s good.”
They rounded a corner, coming onto a larger street. Trixie slipped behind Boundless as they trotted single-file past a wagon that was blocking the way. Clearing the obstacle, she moved back up alongside him. He glanced at her briefly, head bobbing with each step.
“Why were you speaking with Twilight Sparkle?” he asked.
Careful now
“I found a reference to her in the Archives, thought I’d follow a lead. Just good fortune that turned it into two,” Trixie said carefully.
Boundless narrowed his eyes.
“You’re letting others help with your research,” he said slowly. “Why now?”
“I don’t have to discuss this with you,” Trixie said, looking anywhere but at him.
He stopped moving, just halted so suddenly that Trixie continued a metre. Looking over her shoulder, she caught sight of that mask, settling into place over his features. No emotion showed there, no hint of feeling. Like a robot of some kind, with unknown ends.
“Oh, I think you do,” he said calmly, still not moving, just staring at her, perfectly still.
“It doesn’t pertain to you,” Trixie said. She would not be intimidated, not again.
“Everything pertains to me,” he said, now tilting his head, “Everything that could affect me, anyway. You’re hiding something.”
You’ll have to tell him something. You can’t just keep denying this.
“Because I gave up,” Trixie said, hanging her head. It was easy for ponies to believe that, to believe that she had just given into apathy. After four years of searching, many would have.
“No, no you didn’t. You couldn’t, not you,” he said. “That’s what I admire about you, Trixie; persistence.”
“I . . . followed a lead. That’s all. I thought I could get away without telling her too much,” she said.
“Well?”
“She offered me a position, of sorts. To stay with her in Ponyville, while we research,” Trixie said.
“I thought that was exactly what you were trying to avoid,” Boundless said.
“It . . . isn’t what I thought it would be. It’s like friends, helping each other, opposed to the scientist and her experiment. I might take her up on it.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Oh? I don’t recall you having a say in my life, Boundless,” Trixie said. She tried not show her weakness; slight panting, wild eye movements, ears laid flat back against her skull. Her stage training served her well, helping her shut off that visceral part of her mind, preventing it from controlling her.
“Don’t I?” Boundless asked, stepping over to her. Trixie found it impossible to move, legs frozen as he came up next to her. So close she almost shied away, forcing her response down as it rose, trembling, in her throat.
“N-No,” she stammered. “You don’t.”
“I say otherwise,” he said, coming around to behind her and out of her line of view. Panic rose again in her as Trixie desperately tried to stay in control.
“I say you are mine, for as long as I need you,” he said, continuing his circuit. Trixie broke her paralysis, jumping away from him, and turning to meet his gaze.
“Because if I don’t need you . . .” Boundless said, a smile coming to his face. It wasn’t a happy grin, full of laughter, or a rictus carved from madness. It was the simple, sad smile of the inevitable.
“. . . if I have no further use for you . . .” he said, horn igniting. Trixie followed suit, but somehow her light, typically so much stronger, more experienced, seemed smaller, a candle against wildfire.
“. . . then you must be put down, if only to prevent disruption to my plans.”
Last chance, Trixie! Come on, you can do it!
We’re right here with you. Kick his flank!
Her friends’ voices were small against Boundless’ echoing words, screaming through her mind. The threat there was finally explicit, finally more than her imagination. From any other pony, Trixie would have ignored it, knowing it to be just that, a threat, no more. From Boundless, it was a promise. He wouldn’t bluff, ever. He didn’t need to.
Still, her friends’ voices were there. She heard them cut through the noise, give her a hold on herself, focus her on her goal. Stabilised, she drew more power, sending her horn into over-glow, and lowered herself into a combat stance.
“You can’t beat me, Boundless. You know you can’t,” Trixie said. Sun and Stars, she prayed, let that be true.
Boundless chuckled. “Not directly, no. So you’d beat me,” he said, stepping forward to press his forehead against hers.
“What then, Trixie?” he asked intently, eyes staring at her. “What would you do then? Leave? Run to your friends in Ponyville?”
Trixie said nothing, did nothing.
“I will not stop. I can’t be stopped. And one day, a few weeks down the road, you’ll stumble on the stairs, or you’ll slip on a balcony, or you’ll fall into a lake. Such a tragedy, really.”
“You can end it, now, once and for all, you know,” Boundless said, stepping back. He squared himself, rolling both shoulders, and extinguished his horn. “You have the strength. All it takes is going a little too far. Can you do it?”
Oh, Celestia . . . that’s brilliant.
It’s sick is what it is.
Could she kill him? Trixie had studied anatomy; she knew where to apply her magic. Just a slight tug and his life would end, tumbling onto the pavement. It wouldn’t even require a spell, just a telekinetic field inside his body, severing an artery or stopping the heart.
Kill a pony. She thought back to the discussion with Cumulus and Brash in the hideout, about Boundless. He could do it, Trixie realised. She hadn’t really stopped and considered, made it true in her image of him. That capability . . . justified her terror.
“Well, Trixie?” Boundless said. “I haven’t got all day.”
There was crime in Equestria, certainly, but over the last thousand years, to the best of her knowledge, there had been no murder. Not one case of a pony deliberately maiming another, even. Such an act was unconscionable, an evil greater than anything she could imagine. That evil stood in front of her.
“Do it!” Boundless said, taking a step forward.
He wasn’t evil, not in and of himself. Just . . . indifferent to the chaos he caused, to the suffering around him. She could stop him, not only for herself but for all the others he might hurt, just for crossing his path. She could . . .
Yet she couldn’t. Despite everything, she couldn’t do it. That was what separated somepony like her, somepony who’d rob a store, lie and steal to get what she needed, from Boundless. It was the boundary, and she could not cross it, not without becoming him. Trixie had always despised the heroes of the stories, who always let the bad guy get away, only to come back with a new plan, hurting more and more people.
She hadn’t understood, but she did now. She couldn’t escape, not as she was. She extinguished her horn, dropped to the pavement, and quietly began to weep.
I’m so sorry. We both are.
“You can’t do it,” Boundless said, continuing forward.
“I choose not to,” Trixie said, forcing the words out between gentle sobs.
“No, you can’t,” Boundless said, stepping up to her. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s what we’re going to fix. Come, Trixie.” He turned, resumed their trip to the safehouse.
Blindly, Trixie stood and followed the sound of his hooves striking the pavement.
***
“It is time for you to choose a name, youngling.”
“I have a name,” Spike muttered. “Perhaps you could use it, once in a while.
“Spike is a pony-name, youngling,” the Drac rumbled. “It is not you. It does not describe you.”
Dragons, according to the Drac, chose their own names, save for their birth-name. Similar to ponies, a name was a description of the most important aspects of that dragon’s character. It could refer to ambitions, desires or talents, even lineage and status. A dragon might change their name several times over their lifetime, to reflect fundamental changes in themselves.
The Drac had held five names in his life. He referred to them as old friends, though they were to be considered dead. Dragons do not speak of the dead.
Still, knowing the names of a dragon could tell you his entire life. Spike only had a rough mastery of the language, but even so he was able to grasp the gist of the story embedded in that sequence. The Drac had gone from Deregh Ethar; the fire-breathing hatchling, to Endor; the Companion, then an adult, Ingeir Iyliam; Devoted to the Lost.
Nevertheless, he had gone on to become an influential elder, Morn; the Ruler. Now, though, he was simply Agyrt Vaeros; Eldest Flame.
Spike was a hatchling name, chosen for him by Twilight, but it no longer fit. He was growing beyond her, beyond the life ponies could provide. He knew that, though he mourned the passing of his youth.
It was a bitter pill to swallow. Spike had been delaying, insisting he wasn’t ready. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to discard the name, toss it away like an old scale. It was one of the few things he had left of his childhood and a personal link back to Twilight, to those ponies important to him.
Even though he saw them virtually every day, kept them in his life as best he could, he felt a vague sense of nostalgia for days gone by. Eventually, though, they would grow old, slow down. Ponyville would change around him, a rock in the sea of time. Everything had to end, so he kept his name. It was a silent tribute to the inevitable future.
Spike shook his head, clearing it of the morbid, unnecessarily poetic thoughts. He never had been very good at composing verse, anyway.
Spike wasn’t his name, as far as it described him. But it carried with it an identity that he was loath to give up.
“You know your name, youngling. You can feel it, in your bones. Wearing another’s label is not an affirmation of the bond you share. Your name, your true name, speaks louder than any gesture.”
“I don’t want to move on,” Spike said.
“Fighting inevitability is never wise. Burying yourself won’t bring back the past,” the Drac said, leaning down to Spike’s eye level. “Be true to yourself. Your name is a mirror, youngling. It sees all of you, reflects not just the parts that deal with your friends. Those relationships are not the entirety of your being.”
“Twilight gave me my name. It is precious to me.”
“You are more than her, no matter how important. I will not accept a dragon subjugating himself to a pony out of a childish wish for the past. What is your name, youngling?”
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Spike could feel it. It didn’t beckon, calling to him from far away, partially shrouded, nor was it ever-present, as an ache deep down. But when the Drac asked him his name, his mind didn’t reply with Spike. Somewhere, buried in his mind under layers of fear, he already knew it, had known it for some time.
“What is your name?” the Drac said, eyes glinting.
“I . . .”
“Your name!” he roared, hot air slamming into Spike.
“Daerev Quitu,” he whispered.
“Louder!” the Drac said, standing tall, his shadow spreading over the glade.
“Daerev Quitu!” he said, raising his head, as if in challenge.
The Drac – Agyrt – nodded approvingly. “It is a good name, Daerev.”
He simply nodded, not speaking.
“Go now; tell your friends who you are. There is no other assignment this week.”
Who he was. As he silently turned his back on his mentor, leaving the glade behind, he pondered those words. He had come here Spike, the youngling just beginning to understand the depths of his heritage, just grasping the edges of what lay before him. Leaving, he wasn’t sure who he was. Not Spike, certainly, not anymore. That soul had passed away, had metamorphosed.
Spike was still a part of him, still accounted for the paths of his mind and desires of his soul. But he was more than Spike, was entering an entirely new world. Despite his blood, his draconic form and abilities, Spike had been a pony at heart. He thought like a pony, felt like a pony. He had no business with dragons.
Daerev, however, was a dragon. He was living in a pony town, with pony friends, and an entire life outside of this new world, yes, but he was still a dragon. He did not reject Spike, he transcended him.
Daerev Quitu—the Young Eternal—trudged through the forest, heading home to a library and a motherly sister. Briefly, the notion that they would not accept his change came to his mind, filling him with trepidation, but he dismissed it. He knew that they would support him, wherever he went, and he knew that even should they falter, he would go on. It was who he was.
I am resting outside. I have arrived; I can feel it burning in my mind. But it is not the right time.
How ironic; that for all my worry and haste, pushing myself past reason, I have arrived early. Still, no matter now; I am here, and that is all that matters.
Tomorrow, in the morning, I shall look upon what I have travelled so far, given up so much to find. I only pray that, outside this tomb of ice, there is a world left to save.
Eight
LUNA HAD FELT ANGER BEFORE. In the early days of her return; it had been directed at herself, for her fall and everything she’d done or tried to do. For what she’d felt, the way she’d thought and believed during that time of madness. Half a year later, overcoming that and emerging for Nightmare Night, she’d thought herself recovered. Ready to step back into an active role in the world, ready to face those she’d tried to hurt.
When they’d turned away in fear, the product of a miscommunication across a barrier of a thousand years, she’d again felt the hot flame, spurring her to action, to rash decisions and hasty judgements. It had taken Twilight Sparkle to save her from herself.
That moment had stuck with Luna. Even after all she’d been through, she hadn’t been prepared, wasn’t ready to face the world. It had been a small fall, but it was a fall nonetheless. Again, anger led her to darkness, again she succumbed to it. She had sworn to purge herself of it, an oath that had meant nothing in the face of fear.
She’d been so scared! All those faces, turning away from her, quivering, prostrate in the dirt. They respected her, yes, but it was a respect born of terror, not love. They’d thought her an enemy, and in doing so had made her one.
Luna hadn’t moved from her spot in what seemed an Age. She had the clues she needed to escape, she could feel freedom calling to her; the sweet night air, the light of the Moon and the Stars. She’d burnt off the haze over her mind, but while that helped her think, it didn’t tell her anything.
Except . . . the wind had stopped. She couldn’t recall when—it had become an ever-present companion, the only sensation past her hooves on the floor in the dark. She’d become so used to it she hadn’t even noticed its sudden absence, wrapped as she was in her thoughts.
What did that mean? That she was standing on its source, in the eye of the storm? That something had happened to disturb whatever being controlled it? Luna knew, somehow, that for as long as it had been imprisoned here, that wind had never stopped. Not once lessened in power or purpose.
She pushed it out of her mind. While probably significant, it meant nothing to her here, not until she escaped. Luna stretched her fore-hooves out, absently drawing a circle on the floor. She’d been angry, again, and this time, it had freed her, had cleared her mind. She’d needed that, though she’d quickly pushed it away after it served its purpose.
Control served her, as emotion never had. She’d suppressed her anger, but that had been a poor form of control. It protected her, but it limited her, denied her emotion. But then, that was the choice she faced. To attempt to control herself, to use emotion without falling to it, or to hide it away, becoming a creature of logic to preserve herself.
Luna smiled. That had been the danger she had presented Twilight, in her brief instruction on Coromancy. One must always exercise caution, lest the emotional tides sweep you away.
The Drac believed Luna had lost something, was missing some part of herself. This thing that had trapped her shared that belief, and included with it subservience to her Nightmare. Luna had spent so long with that manifestation riding her, so long under it that the thought—the knowledge—of its legacy hanging over her was almost too much to bear. Even in defeat, it haunted her.
But she didn't have to run from it. She couldn't bury it away, pretend it had never happened. To do so would deny the changes she’d undergone, open herself up for the same mistake. She wasn't whole unless she was vulnerable.
What was the single thing she’d lost, the one difference, separating her from the Luna of over a thousand years ago? Not her anger, or even her jealousy, she had kept those locked away, but with her still. No, but she had cast away their grip over her, shed the Nightmare in a rainbow of power. Perhaps that was what she was missing.
The Drac had called himself a friend. If he had sent her after the Nightmare, Luna didn't know what she’d do, on her return. Such a deception . . . Luna closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She mustn’t let the anger control her. It ran through her, burnt itself out, and departed an old friend, leaving for the night. She took a deep breath.
To harness anger, she had to open herself to it. She had to trust herself, not only with the power it provided, but to not fall under its influence. That was another thing she’d lost over the years in exile, confidence, the courage to simply shrug off the danger and act. She had trusted to wisdom to show her where that was necessary, trusted herself beyond fear of failure.
Could she do that here? Perhaps she could break free, given the right power, in the right place. And where better to do that than here, where the wind had finally ceased, the centre of his influence, the eye of his storm. It was a place where he was simultaneously strongest, and most vulnerable, just as she was.
And yet it was hard, so hard, to let go of the boundaries she’d placed around herself. Luna had buried those feelings deep, below self-loathing, below regret and grief and duty. They spoke of a time when she had been free, riding the night sky like a goddess. They acknowledged her, not as a goddess, or a ruler, but as a pony, an individual, whose feelings were justified simply by being felt.
Luna trembled, ears flat against her skull, face buried in a starlit mane, and curled her tail around her prostrate form, trying to summon from memories of her past the courage to step into the future.
***
Trixie followed Boundless without a word all the way back to the safehouse. Cumulus and Brash were silent in her head, either reeling, as she was, from that catastrophic confrontation, or simply giving her the space to recover. She wasn’t sure she appreciated that sentiment. Despite their presence, she felt so alone, so lost. Was it any wonder she didn’t have the courage to turn from the path he laid before her?
Boundless turned to her before he entered the house, his manner back to its usual carefree patterns. He beckoned her, and like a lamb she came, standing closer to hear his quiet words.
“Find Shining Armour, Trixie,” Boundless said. “You have done well so far, but we must learn what he knows. You say he has only a few days left in Canterlot. That is your deadline. Find him, and get him back here.”
Trixie just nodded, turning without a word. She had nothing to say to him, not any more.
And yet, as she walked away, the thought of kidnapping a pony jolted her out of her haze. Boundless hadn’t said that, not explicitly, but Trixie understood his meaning. Get Shining Armour, at any cost. If he comes willingly, that’s great. But if not, if you have to force him, then so be it.
Trixie had never kidnapped another, never even considered it. It was a lesser evil, as far as she could tell, than the idea of murder Boundless had forced her to confront earlier. She had not been able to bring herself to that, but perhaps she could bend enough for this. She wouldn’t hurt him, not really. Just take him to Boundless, tie him up, and take what she needed from his mind. She had done that, minus the tying up, many times before. Was it really so much worse?
No, of course it wasn’t. Satisfied, Trixie increased her pace to a trot. She needed to review what she knew about the target, and there was no place better than at a table with a hot cup of coffee.
She’d grown to love the stuff, helping her through endless hours of study—at first learning and perfecting her magic, then her research on Cumulus and Brash. That had evolved into a particular fondness for coffee shops, the little cafes tucked away amidst shopping districts and displayed on street corners. She thought clearest there, comforted by the familiarity of her surroundings. Fortunately, there was just the place a few streets up ahead.
Think about what you’re doing, Trixie, Brash said. His voice, though quiet, reverberated in her mind, echoing against itself. You’ve never done something like this. It’s wrong.
Is it wrong to protect herself, Brash? Cumulus replied, taking Trixie’s side. We have no choice.
There is always a choice, Brash said, his voice echoing, as if it came to her across some great distance. Trixie didn’t bother to respond.
It wasn’t long before she arrived; a small place, named the Daily Grind. Taking a seat, Trixie absently placed an order, not really paying attention.
Okay, so what do we know?
Shining Armour was the Captain of the Royal Guard. He helped to save Canterlot following the Changeling Invasion alongside his wedding to Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Once the Crystal Empire reappeared, he and his wife became heavily involved in the reintegration process, eventually moving there. He is now employed by the Crystal Court, and is the Captain of the Guard there, both of his wife, the Princess, and the Crystal Heart, though most see his role as ceremonial. He also serves as a member of the nobility.
Currently, Shining Armour is staying in Canterlot, presumably in a suite at the castle. He will be leaving, via train, in a few days. His position makes him the best candidate for offering useful information regarding the Heart.
I need to know when exactly he’s leaving, Trixie thought, sipping at the cup that had appeared before her. That means I’ll need a contact at the castle. This thought caused her to grimace. It was notoriously difficult to find somepony on the Princess’s staff that was willing to take a bribe. Most would simply report her to the Guard.
If he won’t help us voluntarily—which I doubt—I’ll need to incapacitate him. I should find out what spells he knows. Cumulus, you were here for the invasion, right? Trixie asked.
Yes, Cumulus said.
How did he hold them off?
At first, he created a barrier around the entire city.
The entire city!? Trixie exclaimed, snuffing some of her coffee. She spluttered as the hot liquid spilled from her muzzle, to be sheepishly wiped up with a napkin.
I’m afraid so. He is Twilight’s brother, you know. Older, too.
I guess . . . force-fields, then?
They’re his specialty. Cumulus confirmed.
Great. That’s just great. Trixie said, slumping. It would be extremely difficult to do anything to somepony with that particular set of talents. Surprise, then? she asked.
Only way it’ll work, Cumulus agreed.
We can’t do it in the castle; there’d be no way to get out, not even with teleportation.
Then the best place would be on the train. I imagine Twilight will want to see him off, probably walk with him all the way from the castle.
And I’m not going up against her if I can help it.
So we’re back to the train. We need to know when it leaves. Cumulus said, echoing Trixie’s earlier thought.
Once I know that, I can set up some kind of trap. A sleep spell on his carriage would work; a simple enough illusion. Then it’s in and out. We’d have till the train arrives in the Crystal Empire before they start looking for him.
That’ll be almost an entire day—plenty of time.
Alright then.
Trixie stood, throwing the remainder of her coffee down her throat. It was unlikely she could coax the information she needed out of the palace staff, and she was hesitant to use magic. She didn’t want to draw any attention. She couldn’t talk to Shining Armour directly for the same reason. Perhaps Twilight could tell her—but only indirectly, in passing.
For now, though, she could scout out the track, find a good place to stop the train and make a getaway. Trixie tossed a few bits onto the table, and, bringing Cumulus and Brash to mind, lit her horn, disappearing in a flash of azure light.
***
Twilight stirred. She’d been hiding upstairs for some time, enough for the light outside to begin to dim. She’d drifted off to sleep—an amateur mistake, as she chided herself. Still, a slight noise had alerted her, the sound of somepony returning home to their nice, secure hideout. Twilight, however, needed to be stealthy, at least until she’d confirmed that it was indeed Boundless who’d awoken her, and not Trixie.
Casting a generic sound-muffling spell, she stepped onto the stairs, poking her head out. There was nopony in sight; whoever it was must already be in the basement. She knew she couldn’t get down there without being spotted, as the stairs were completely exposed. Twilight scowled. This was exactly the sort of situation where she’d love to have Rarity’s talent.
She could hope that they simply wouldn’t be paying attention, and thus be able to identify them before she gave herself away. Better still, she could go invisible, and take her time. Twilight didn’t like invisibility spells, as a rule, but sometimes there was no avoiding them.
Concentrating, she veiled herself in shadow, carefully weaving magic to pass light around her body. Magic, as unicorns understood it, still operated in the physical world, and had to obey the rules of physics. Most spells could be visualised as an adaptation of telekinesis—an extension of power to do work at a distance, or in a way hooves couldn’t.
The invisibility field set up, Twilight carefully walked down the stairs, heading straight to the basement entrance. Her ears twitched, picking up the faint sound of rustling paper. She reached out with a hoof, pushing on the door. It swung open silently, her magic blocking out the sound of the hinges.
Twilight moved down the stairs. Facing her across the room was a brown unicorn, a stallion, head bent over the table as he sorted through the notes scattered there. Twilight smiled. This must be Boundless, Trixie’s partner in crime, and the only thing holding her to that life.
She walked over to the table, circling it to stand behind him. Peering over his shoulder, Twilight quietly observed, watching him read reports, write replies and shuffle the information around on the table, completely unaware of her presence. After some time, it became apparent that she wasn’t going to learn anything knew, so she moved away, hiding in a hallway before dropping her invisibility. It was never wise to let your opponent know the extent of your abilities, after all.
Now visible, Twilight dramatically stepped around the corner, into plain sight.
At first Boundless didn’t notice her, focused on his work. Twilight waited, patiently. The effect would be worth it. Ah, yes. She dropped the silence spell muffling her movements as well.
His ear twitched, catching the faint sound of her breathing, standing out in the near-silent basement, then the corner of his mouth curled slightly as he turned to face Twilight.
“So, here you are,” he said.
Twilight had expected more of a reaction. Fortunately, though it was slight, Boundless’ nonchalance sent a shiver of shock running through her. Twilight focused on it, held it within her. The world around her grew clearer, more immediate, everything in sharp relief. Each heartbeat was a drum pounding in her chest. She could hear Boundless breathing, and see the tremor in his legs, partly concealed by the table.
He was surprised to see her, didn’t know why she was here. He was good at hiding it, certainly, but nopony could hide from senses improved with Shock.
The emotion passed, its strength used up, and Twilight felt calm descend, a tranquil peace of disassociation. She fought through that haze, focusing on the present despite her mind’s protests. She’d gotten what she needed from the burst of clarity Shock provided.
“Here I am,” Twilight confirmed. The entire process had taken under a second, from feeling and capturing the emotion to burning it off, though she’d be feeling the effects for a little while longer.
Boundless studied her carefully, eyes taking in every detail. He was no fool; he could see his charade hadn’t affected her. Dropping the act, he stepped out from behind the table.
“You must be Twilight Sparkle,” Boundless said, nodding. “Trixie mentioned you.”
“So you do know her,” Twilight said. Boundless didn’t react, but Twilight ploughed forward anyway. She had to keep momentum, had to keep him off-balance. “What are the two of you planning?”
“Just me, actually; Trixie is merely helping, in return for certain allowances.”
“Such as?” Twilight asked.
“Our partnership is convenient for both of us, and none of your business, Sparkle,” Boundless said.
“She came to see me, you know. She wants out,” Twilight said, feeling defensive. That was bad, she needed to stay offensive. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a great deal to pin him on.
“Yes, I know. She spoke to me about the same thing, actually,” he said, smiling. “We came to an . . . understanding.”
“Why does she stay with you?”
“Because she chooses to,” Boundless said. Twilight could see the edges of his teeth, lips curling back in a smile.
"What are you holding over her?" Twilight demanded. Boundless didn't reply, instead stalking another step forward. "She wouldn't choose this. Not without duress."
"And yet, with me she remains."
Twilight lit her horn, causing Boundless’ grin to widen.
“What are you planning?” she said, pumping more power into her horn. The glow doubled, and then tripled, emitting enough light to blind him.
“Come, you’ve been through my notes by now. Must I spell it out?” Boundless asked, holding a hoof in front of his eyes.
“I want to hear it,” Twilight insisted.
“Fine,” he said, shrugging, as if it didn’t really matter. “I want to know why.”
“Yes,” Twilight said, leaning her head forwards.
“Why I can see, where others are blind. Why they speak of honour, friendship, and love, and I hear nothing but the echo of silence. Why I find myself alone in this world, and watch the puppets around me take solace in the kinship of their strings. What made me like this, Sparkle? Do you know?”
Twilight was at a loss. Unconsciously, her jaw dropped a touch, parting her lips. She trembled, half-reaching forward with her foreleg. She didn't know what she was reaching for.
“You shouldn’t let your guard down, Sparkle,” Boundless growled, charging her with his horn alight, his eyes fixed on her. Twilight felt his magic form around her, a bubble designed to imprison.
Unfortunately for him, Twilight wasn’t any ordinary unicorn. With her emotions in flux, thrown about by Boundless' rapid shifts in demeanour, Coromancy became dangerous, unpredictable. But she still had magic. She was an Arch-Magus of Equestria, raised to the highest rank of magicians by Celestia herself after years of intensive study and training. She had countless hours of fieldwork to her name, and an absurd list of achievements. What unicorn could hope to match one who’d faced down the alicorn of night at the tender age of sixteen, and emerged victorious?
Bursting his bubble with a small surge, Twilight vanished into a cloud of smoke, reappearing instantly as twelve Twilights, spaced evenly around the room.
“Stop,” the Twilight’s commanded, voices reverberating through the room. “Stop before I make you.”
She hoped that that had been sufficiently impressive. The effort of chaining so many spells together so quickly had left her out of breath, and she’d like a moment to recover.
Boundless paused, now in the middle of the room. He spun around, as if trying to decide which of the clones the real Twilight was. Naturally, she’d placed herself between him and the stairs, cutting off his escape.
Boundless growled again, deeper this time, with an edge in it.
“Do not press me, Sparkle. I will tear you to pieces,” he said. Twilight laughed, her clones copying every movement. Their amusement echoed through the room, causing Boundless’ cheeks to heat. From where she stood, looking at his flank, his threats seemed the empty posturing of a child, out of his depth.
Twilight took the opportunity to check his cutie mark. Just as Rarity said, there was nothing there. But to be a blank-flank at this age was unheard of.
“Tell me a story,” Twilight said, all twelve sets of lips moving in unison as her voice reverberated around the room, making it impossible to locate where it had come from. “Tell me about the time you got your cutie mark.”
Boundless gritted his teeth. “I can’t. I don’t remember! I was just a foal, less than a day old for Celestia’s sake!”
Less than a day old! That’s . . . that’s got to be impossible. No way, he would have barely been conscious.
“Cutie Marks appear when one realises their special talent. How could a foal that young be aware of something so profound?”
“I don’t know!” Boundless was visibly agitated, eyes rolling around the Twilights.
“What is your special talent?” Twilight took a step forward, closing the circle around Boundless.
This time, he grinned. “Transcendence,” he said, finally settling on a direction. He charged the circle, heading for the stairs. Fortunately, that was precisely where Twilight had positioned herself, in order to cut off his escape. She dropped the illusions; they’d served their purpose, and seized hold of Boundless, trapping him in her telekinesis.
Last thing before I go, then. Let’s see this talent of yours.
Rarity had described Boundless breaking free of Trixie’s hold from the scene she’d Sighted. His horn hadn’t been the only thing to glow then, and although the details were, again, obscured by Twilight’s magical field, she could just detect a shimmer in his eyes. She would never have noticed had she not been looking for it.
It was like all the magic in him suddenly rose to the skin, took on a life of its own, seeking to break free. It took hold, spreading his limbs wide, and shattered the bubble around him, then faded, back into the background. Twilight doubted he’d notice.
In truth, it reminded her of when she’d earnt her cutie mark, and the times after that, when she’d wielded the Elements of Harmony. Twilight hadn’t needed to enter that state many times in her life, but the theory behind it was sound. Fully embodying one’s special talent could enable them to enter a Passion; a state of being where they, for lack of a better description, became that talent. The embodiment of magic, for Twilight, or transcendence for Boundless, though this was on a much smaller scale.
Boundless dropped to the ground, the last vestiges of magic dissipating on the floor around him.
“Surprised?” he asked, a sneer playing over his lips. “That doesn’t work on me.”
“No?” Twilight replied, fighting to hide a smile.
“No. Get out of my way,” he said.
Twilight gave in, letting her grin spread across her face. Boundless’ scowl deepened, and he stormed past, brushed against Twilight as she stepped out of his way. She did nothing to stop him from leaving. Really, what could she do, short of injuring him. Twilight wasn’t ready to give up, but she wouldn’t cross that line, not unless she had to.
Besides, she had learnt plenty from the encounter. Boundless’ vendetta against society was rooted in confusion and fear, the personal crusade of the outsider. It was deep, powerful, yet straightforward; a search for answers. That made him dangerous, yes, but it also gave Twilight hope for resolution. The right words, from the right pony, at the right time, could change the course of his life.
She’d also witnessed his transcendent Passion at work. He had let slip that he had a cutie mark—confirmed by the presence of a Passion. A blank cutie mark, then. Again, unheard of, but Twilight wasn’t unduly worried about it. Cutie Marks were representative, and a blank picture could represent quite a lot.
Twilight turned, following Boundless out of the basement after a five minute wait, smiling. It had been a profitable trip, but she wasn’t ready to turn what she knew over to the police yet. Not without trying to help Boundless—and Trixie—herself.
***
Trixie didn’t place herself within sight of the station. The last thing she needed was somepony witnessing an azure unicorn sniffing around the scene of what could become a crime. Instead, she appeared a few miles further north, along the line that ran to the Crystal Empire—the line Shining Armour would be departing when he left Canterlot in two days’ time. Fortunately, the line itself branched out further ahead, tracks leading both north and out west, to Vanhoover. Trixie had been on that train multiple times, and knew it well enough to teleport along its length.
She hadn’t come here immediately following her discussion with Cumulus at the coffee shop. While scouting and setting out the details of her trap was fine, it would be useless without the date and time of Shining’s departure. Cumulus hadn’t been sure on how to obtain that information, but as she went to leave, charging the teleportation spell that would take her here, to the tracks, Trixie had had a thought.
She’d quickly switched destinations, instead heading to the home of a pony she’d never met. A guardspony who would’ve served closely under Shining Armour during his tenure as Captain of the Royal Guard; somepony who might reasonably be expected to catch up with him, if only for the sake of a past relationship. Somepony who’d worked closely with the city blacksmiths—who in their number had, at one point in time, included Brash.
It was Brash's memory that had appeared in her mind. Of that, she had no doubt. It seemed a peace offering, though she could still sense his displeasure with her actions—as if she had a choice in the matter, as if she wanted this. However she’d gotten it, though, suddenly she’d known about Deft Touch’s connections in the military, even where he had lived. Brash had carried deliveries there many times. Trixie just hoped he hadn’t moved.
Perhaps it meant they were getting closer; spilling knowledge between them without intention. Was that good, or bad? Would they become a single, mass consciousness, with shared memory and personality? Or would each of them fight for control over her body, slowly tearing her apart? Trixie wanted to understand them, yes, the magic involved in their appearance, but she didn’t want to get rid of them, her last link to her childhood, and all she had left of her friends.
Thankfully, Deft Touch had been home, promptly answering her knock. Some smooth talking bought her his friendship; Trixie dropping names from her past, and Brash's, to ease any misgivings he might have had. From there, it had been simple to lead the discussion to the good Captain, all the great things he’d done for Canterlot and Equestria, and how he continued to serve up north.
Deft Touch had a lot of respect for Shining Armour. Somehow, Cumulus’ memories hadn’t captured quite the same pony. Deft described a pony of majesty, somepony you could follow without reservation. To Deft, he was a pony of honour; a different light to Cumulus’ reserved analysis. It made her task all the more difficult. Trixie would’ve preferred the coldness behind her original impression. Powerful, certainly, but at the same time, he’d been just a picture on the wall.
Still, she was able to learn what she needed. Deft hadn’t just served with Shining, he’d been a close friend, and, as she’d correctly guessed, he’d made time to see him during his visit. He had been willing and able to tell her that Shining was leaving on the afternoon train, two days from now.
Following that, she’d come here, to prepare the trap. Trixie had never been to the Crystal Empire, but she knew the journey took more than a few hours. By the time the train arrived, and they realised Shining Armour was missing, it would be too late to send word back to Canterlot. Trixie would have till the next morning to hide him.
She stepped close to the tracks, trotting alongside them for a few minutes. While Canterlot itself was on a mountain, most of the land between it and the Empire was flatland, stretching into the distance. If she could find the right place; a distance close enough for her to teleport back with Shining, and far enough to escape detection by a city full of unicorns, then she could place an enchantment on the track.
Basic spell theory taught that every unicorn had a tiny sliver of magic power in them at all times. Most unicorns referred to it as their life-force, a classification Trixie didn’t agree with. She thought it was more a link to magic than life, a thread connection the unicorn back to the font of all power, though she had no clue what that was. Nevertheless, just as each unicorn’s magic was unique, not only in usage, but also in flavour, texture, so was their thread.
Trixie could attune a ward to that thread. When Shining Armour passed over the section of track, he would trigger the spell, targeting him and nopony else. Trixie was hopeful that he’d be alone—he was royalty, after all—but just in case, the spell would lull everypony to sleep in a six-foot radius centred on her target.
He himself would be out of action for around four hours. Long enough that he wouldn’t be waking while she transferred him, but short enough that they could get what they needed quickly. Trixie wasn’t inclined to try hiding from Twilight, especially after their last encounter.
That's a lot of guesswork, Trixie, Brash said. Never a good idea, you know. Leads to shoddy quality.
I can’t help it, she snapped back. I’ve never done this before
So why are you doing it now?
Trixie didn’t have an answer. The trouble was, as much as she debated the morality of her actions, weighing logic and reasoning against the sick, sinking feeling in her gut, she'd given herself over to Boundless the moment she’d forced the confrontation. The choices before her had crystallised from a murky bayou of endless possibility to two distinct paths. She could obey, take responsibility for what he did with her life, and try to mitigate some of the harm he spread. Or she could leave, and in doing so sign her own death warrant.
There was no escape, not while she lacked the strength to damn herself.
And really, that’s no escape at all.
Trixie found a serviceable spot in the track, coming round a bend in the mountains and out of any tunnel that would obscure vision. She set the ward, then left, teleporting back to the hideout in Canterlot.
Our enemy is not unknown to us, though his methods came as a surprise. My sister and I spent years preparing, honing our talents, raising armies and searching out the few clues that remained. Years, wasted in useless pursuits. But we couldn’t have known how he would come.
Nine
SIGHT HAD ALWAYS SEEMED PERHAPS THE MOST USEFUL OF HER ABILITIES To See, to direct oneself through time, observe ones past and future at a whim. Powered by the counterparts fear and hope, it kept a balanced emotional state, though its use was limited by the depth of ones feeling.
It could tell Luna of her escape, were her Sight not obscured. She’d tried several times, beginning in the past. She Saw herself free at last from her exile, accustoming to life in modern Equestria. Saw herself taking more interest in the personal lives of her subjects, going out of her way to help them through their trials. Saw herself trekking here, to her prison, an extension of the public service she took on in repentance. But she could not See herself breaking free, her vision clouded by by the darkness still surrounding her. Sight was not omniscience.
It was ironic, how she seemed to attract imprisonment. But whereas before, Luna spent a thousand years wallowing in her hatred, waiting to break free, here she retained her mind. She could think, could reflect.
She’d spent a great deal of time alone, on her return. She’d thought it strange, that after so long by herself, she wouldn’t run to others, embrace their company as a prisoner does when released from the drab colours of solitude into a field of green grass. But she wasn’t ready for them, she couldn’t deal with the noise all around her. Silence afforded her the time to change, to acknowledge her failings and grow from them.
She could do the same here. Perspective could change her imprisonment into an opportunity. A subtle shift, but it made the darkness a little bit more bright. Her sister would approve.
Luna had always struggled with control. Anger and hatred would break her free from here. Of that, she had no doubt—there was precious little that could stop an alicorn infused with the will to burn the world. Yet she feared the potential for corruption inherent in that magic. She searched for another way, a path that held no risk, though she did not think to find it.
She had to be careful. The more she tried to See, the more she burned away her will, used up the fear and hope that drove her. It made her apathetic, for a while, until she remembered, recovered. She knew, better than anypony, what an abuse of Coromancy could do.
She could manipulate herself, with it. She could burn away her fear, leaving only hope, to burn all the brighter in its opposite’s absence. She’d be able to embrace her heritage, reclaim her power. But she had already seen what that would do to her, how it would remove, slowly, her ability to control herself, corrupt her actions until she was a slave to her base emotions.
That was the duality inherent in power. All she had to do was reach out, embrace it, and she could reach heights unheard of. Enough to destroy this creature, and his trap, enough to bring life back into the Wastes, and unite the land under the Equestrian banner, enough to halt the sun itself, and bring night eternal to the world. All that, and all she had to do was subjugate herself to it. It was not her power, nor her ruling.
What choice did she have? There was no particular rush to return to Equestria, no pressing matters she had to see to. Her sister had managed for a thousand years without her; she could manage for as long as it took to escape. But waiting would not change the task that lay before her. As difficult as it would be to face her fears, to torch her way out and then reject the fire as it burned in her veins, there was no point delaying the inevitable.
Luna hesitated. She could feel the anger, just under the surface. It seared her, a resentment to rival the sun. She’d only been able to control herself by pushing it away, holding it from her conscious mind to torture her in her sleep. Would she really be able to set it aside, once she gave into it? If she couldn’t she’d return to the Nightmare, as if the Elements had done nothing at all.
Luna remembered that touch like it had happened yesterday. It hadn’t been gentle, but it had felt good, in a way, like a coarse scrub cleaning dirt out of her coat. It had stripped her of feeling, of magic, left her mind with only reason and logic. She’d seen her folly almost immediately. It was almost unbelievable, that she could have been so blinded by emotion as to attempt what she had.
Could she try the same thing? Use up all the anger she had in her in one, explosive blast? Luna had no way of knowing how much of an impact that would have on the surrounding area, though it would protect her, for now.
Coromancy was not an emotional outlet. Releasing her anger was a temporary solution; it would return, stronger for her use of it, her acknowledgement. She needed to deal with it permanently; if nothing else, this trip had made her realise just how crippled she had allowed herself to become.
Suppressing her emotions was no better than giving in to them completely. Either way, they controlled her, defined her actions and choices. She could see that from in here, away from her life. But what else could she do? She was no mortal, with a life too short to hold a grudge. An immortal operated on a different level.
Celestia had never seemed to have a problem. Perhaps she could ask her, go to her sister for help. Perhaps she should have done that a long time ago. Looking back, Luna could see the pride that had stopped her, though she could not see its source.
Nonetheless, that was for the future. The present demanded her attention, left her with no choice but to act, to choose. It was no choice, not really. She would not spend a second longer imprisoned than she had to.
Satisfied, Luna rose to her hooves. She closed her eyes; she did not need to see for this. Reaching inwards, she touched the surface of her rage. It was like a pool inside her, a liquid fire, fuel to her magic and senses. It burned her, seared its way through her flesh and bone as she brought it to the surface. Coursing with energy, and enveloped in fury, she turned her power outwards against the cage that held her.
She heard a deafening roar, a storm of noise that surrounded her. The wind rose against it, adding a high-pitched scream to the cacophony. But Luna’s fire was not the heated orange or red of a natural blaze, not the radiant white light of her sister’s sun. It rose as a hurricane; a brilliant, solid argent, glowing silver in the darkness.
Luna reached out, touching the threads of Chaotic magic. They solidified under her, were brought to form by her will. Grasping them, she gave herself to its fire, turned her flaring might against them, struggling to break them apart.
The darkness flickered around her, pushing back. It moved with the wind, a swaying, twirling dance that struck at her with furious force in a mindless reflex to destroy her rather than be destroyed, galing around to match the blazing bonfire. Argent light flashed and detonated, filling her ears with its thunder.
And then, with an earth-shattering crack, the dome of nothing exploded outwards, splintering above her head into fragments of shining silver light that fell to the ground around her.
The light of Luna’s fires showed her mere emptiness, a vast space filled only with water. And still the Wind roared, surged forward against her, pillaring up against her strained will, a pinnacle tall enough to pierce the heavens, a roaring, raging fury that torrented upwards, brushing past the thick stone at speeds no mountain could resist.
The bowels of the Earth were flung away in a rain of granite chunks, exposing the pit to the air for the first time in an Age. It surged inward, joined the wind in its furious, mindless reflex to destroy her rather than be destroyed. It galed, struck, twirled and detonated against the argent pillar, a matching tempest that rose against her. Dark lightning danced in an empty sky.
Luna paused. But just as the rage in her chest began to fade, the argent storm above her flickering, falling, she felt a presence below the horizon. With a savage cry, inaudible and exultant, she reached to it, caressed it. The Moon’s power filled her, replaced her anger with hope, and she surged forward, stepping into the pool before her.
Argent light flashed upwards, cutting through the darkness. And in twilight’s fading sunlight, Luna looked upwards with glory written on her face, rapture in her eyes, and glee across her lips. The black-white tempest split the sky asunder.
But the white dominated and prevailed.
***
Trixie shut the door behind her, pressing the charred wood firmly into the frame, causing tiny pieces of ash to fall to the ground. Looking out onto Canterlot at noon, she paused to take a breath, and then started down the street.
With everything in place for tomorrow, Trixie found herself with some free time, and not a whole lot to do. Boundless required nothing from her, and they had plenty of money set aside for any eventuality. Boundless had actually done a fairly good job of squirreling away small amounts here and there in every city they’d gone too. No matter where they went, they’d have some cash at hand.
Instead, Trixie went to find Twilight. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and she hoped she could repair the sudden rift that Twilight’s knowledge of her lifestyle had created. There was still so much she could learn from the unicorn, so much that Trixie had been forced to give up, surviving on the streets.
If nothing else, Twilight could grant her access to the Archives. Whereas before, Trixie had been forced to sneak about, restricted to the night for her study, having the Arch-Magus Twilight Sparkle vouch for her would allow her the freedom to more fully explore all that the Archives had to offer. Perhaps that would soak up some time.
Trixie also hoped that Twilight could shed some more light on her condition. The progress she’d made in just one session had astounded Trixie – it was more information than she’d been able to accumulate in four years of searching. Even if it was just guesswork, Twilight brought a familiarity and comprehensive understanding of magic to the table that Trixie couldn’t find elsewhere.
Where would Twilight be, at this time of day? Shining Armour was still in Canterlot – though he was leaving on the morrow. Perhaps she was with him. Trixie hoped not. She couldn’t afford to reveal her face to Shining, not yet.
She should start back at Twilight’s Canterlot branch. What was it called? Trixie hadn’t paid much attention to the plaque the last time she’d been there, beyond confirming that it was indeed Twilight’s place. The . . . Agency? It sounded rather melodramatic, even to Trixie’s admittedly desensitised ears.
Still, she remembered where it was, just on the border between the richer, noble parts of town and the slightly poorer parts, where the open markets and vendors hawked their wares on the streets. Trixie supposed its position had something to do with catering to both crowds. That sounded like something Twilight would take into consideration.
The hideout was well within those poorer streets, even heading toward what would be slums in any other city. Canterlot slums still managed to be a step above parts of other cities, though. Even its undesirables could be snobs.
So Trixie headed towards the castle in the distance. That was always a good way of navigating the city, arranged as rings around the Princess’s. The closer you got, the more expensive everything got, in money and blood.
It wasn’t long before she could see the change. As she climbed the hill, the street grew steadily wider. Gutters lost the considerable volume of trash, litter left out in the street to be collected. Potholes were filled in, and chipped parts of paving repaired, whereas down below that would be left for probably years.
It wasn’t the rich parts, not quite, but it was a considerable step above where Trixie was living when she found the Agency’s quarters, nestled comfortably in between a coffee shop and a bookstore. Trixie had been in too much of a fluster after their last parting to really take in her surroundings, but now she smiled. The scene was perfect.
With an eager step, she climbed the steps and knocked, three times, on the solid wooden door. From within, she could hear movement; clearly somepony was in. Trixie turned her attention to the plaque on the door, mirroring the one in Ponyville.
Arch-Magus Twilight Sparkle’s Agency
A Consultation Service
Consultation service, huh. If only she’d come here sooner, years ago. Before she become a part of Boundless’s plans, before she’d even met him. Life would have been so much simpler, had only she trusted. If only she’d looked on that name in hope and without fear, not self-recrimination and doubt.
It had been a lapse in judgement, to be sure, but one that had required direct experience to disprove. There had been no way she could have known Twilight would have treated her so well. In her visions, Trixie had seen the mare, working with faceless mages, scientists, and doctors, dragging her before the Princess, in the hopes that one of them would know what ailed her. She’d seen herself, going to her and learning that what she’d done was a crime, beyond all imagining, that she’d taken from her friends their deaths, and that now she must pay with her own.
Those theories seemed wild to her now, but back then, they’d resonated in her. They’d whispered, why hurry to your doom? And, truth be told, there had never been any rush. Trixie was, for better or worse, content with her situation. Why tempt fate? She could always seek aid should her task prove impossible, but once she’d revealed herself, there would be no going back.
It’s okay. The words reverberated in her mind, though she could not tell who had spoken them. It’s been four years; gone, but not wasted.
The door swung open, revealing a cyan-blue pegasus sporting an irritated frown.
“Yeah? What do you want . . . do I know you?” Rainbow asked. The azure mare took a deep breath. “Hey, yeah, yeah I do! What are you doing here, Trixie?!” Rainbow exclaimed. Her surprise wasn’t enough to jolt her out of a deep yawn. Apparently, she’d been napping.
“I was looking for Twilight, actually. Is she here?”
“What do you want with Twi’, huh?”
“You’re . . . Rainbow Dash. Captain of the Wonderbolts.”
“Yeah, I am. Still think you can fly better?” Rainbow said, prodding Trixie on the chest with a hoof. She hadn’t moved from the doorway, blocking Trixie’s entrance.
“No,” Trixie said, smiling. “You’re with Twilight, aren’t you?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Trixie said. “Is she in?”
“No. Why?”
“I just want to talk,” Trixie said.
“Talking, huh? What about?”
“I met with her in Ponyville yesterday. We have some unfinished business. Magic related.”
As expected, Rainbow made a face. Trixie could only imagine what living with an academic like her would be like, but she suspected that certain subjects – magic, in this case – would quickly grow tiresome.
“Gimme a sec,” Rainbow said, swinging the door shut behind her. It was pretty clear to Trixie that the pegasus still didn’t trust her. Not that she expected to be instantly forgiven by everypony she ran into from her past. Trixie was still somewhat surprised at Twilight’s reaction to her appearance.
But Rainbow hadn’t immediately thrown her out. That had to count for something, right? And if she could get Rainbow to give her another chance, maybe she could repair things. She’d like that.
Rainbow pulled the door open.
“Come in, Trixie,” she said, stepping back to allow Trixie inside. “Twilight’s upstairs.”
“In after all?”
“You can thank Twilight,” Rainbow groused. “She might think you’ve changed, but I’m not convinced. So you just watch it, okay.”
“Relax, Rainbow. I don’t have any amulets or artefacts this time,” Trixie said, stepping past her. “Besides, don’t you think Twilight could take me?”
“You have no idea,” Rainbow chuckled. “Tell her I’m heading out.”
Trixie nodded. She could see stairs at the end of the hall, but before she headed up, she snuck another glance into the side room. Nopony was in there, but she saw the same bath, the same equipment set up beside it.
“Hey! Don’t push it, Trixie,” Rainbow warned her. Trixie shot a backwards glance at the pegasus. “Up the stairs. Go on. Off you go.”
Trixie stuck her tongue out, but turned back and quickly climbed the stairs. She heard the door close behind her as she reached the top.
“Trixie! How have you been?” Twilight said, stepping out of a nearby room. Trixie spied a desk as Twilight shut the door behind her.
“Fine, fine. Actually, I hadn’t expected to find you here. I thought you lived down in Ponyville.”
“Oh, I do. I’m just staying in Canterlot while my brother’s in the city,” Twilight said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure,” Trixie said, following Twilight past the office to a small kitchen. Looking around, it seemed to be all living quarters upstairs, though Trixie was still curious as to the equipment downstairs. Twilight turned back to her, gesturing to a seat and floating a glass of water over to the table. Trixie sat down, holding the glass in her hooves before her.
“Ah, thanks. Look, Twilight, I wanted to . . . apologise. For the stealing, I mean.”
Twilight smiled. “Well, that’s a start. But why apologise to me?”
“I suppose that doesn’t really make sense,” Trixie confessed.
“No, not really.”
“It’s just, you understand, don’t you? Why I had to do it?”
“No, I don’t,” Twilight said. “Not really.”
Trixie hung her head. It was not something she was proud of, but there had been an importance to those actions, beyond the consequences for those she stole from.
“I was . . . I was just trying to do something for myself, without relying on aid. I needed that, Twilight,” Trixie said, looking up at Twilight, searching for comprehension. “I needed to be capable. To be able to handle it.”
“You don’t fulfil that by committing crimes in every city in Equestria,” Twilight said, softly. “Trixie . . .”
“Forget it,” Trixie said. That hadn’t gone how she’d hoped. “Let’s just . . . have you had any more thoughts about my condition?”
Twilight frowned, pausing for just a second. “Actually, yes. Come here, I want to try something.”
I’m not sure I like this, Trixie, Brash said.
You never were particularly comfortable with magic, Brash, Trixie replied. But come. You know why we have to trust her.
There were no more protests, the reminder silencing his misgivings.
I wonder what she’s up to. Cumulus, on the other hand, was eager. He was, after all, a student of magic himself.
“I was thinking about the link between you and your friends,” Twilight began, stepping closer to Trixie. “I believe it to be founded on emotions – your reaction to the extreme situation caused a magical burst that bound you together. When they . . . expired, their souls, if you will, were caught in you.” Twilight lit her horn, grasping Trixie’s head in her hooves and closing her eyes.
“I’m going to observe, nothing more,” Twilight said. “I want to know if their magic carried over as well.
No, Brash said flatly. Absolutely not.
“I need you to focus, Trixie. Draw their attention, grasp them as completely as you can, and try to cast a spell with their energy. Nothing major, just light your horn.”
“Uhh, Twilight.” Trixie said. “I’d really rather not.”
“What?” Twilight said, opening her eyes. “What’s the matter? It should be relatively easy.”
“Oh, it is. We’ve, ah, we’ve done that before. It’s not . . . pleasant for them.”
“Really? So they do retain their magic.”
“Yes,” Trixie confirmed.
“Interesting. I’ll have to think about this, but, Trixie, if casting is uncomfortable for them, it sounds like they’re tied to your life-force.”
“You’ve lost me,” Trixie said. She understood what Twilight was saying, to an extent. Life-force was a term given to the seed of magic that ran through everypony, no matter their race. Losing your life-force resulted in death – uncommon, but sometimes, a unicorn would extend themselves slightly too far. Other races had died too, but it was more commonly a problem for magic-users.
But she had no idea how anything could bind another to her life-force. Twilight made it sound like they’d conjoined their souls.
“That would mean . . . you know what. Let me work on it,” Twilight said, removing her hooves from Trixie’s head and stepping back.
“Oh, no. You owe me an explanation, Twilight,” Trixie said.
“Look, I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in at once. The implications alone . . . Later, I promise.”
“Fine,” Trixie said. She wasn’t accustomed to being so outclassed, but as much as Twilight’s attitude rankled, it provided some small comfort as well, that Twilight might actually be able to understand what happened. She was content to let Twilight work as she pleased, but it wouldn’t stop Trixie from learning what she could in the meantime. She had a lot of catching up to do.
“Setting that aside, then,” Trixie said, draining and levitating her glass over to the nearby sink. “Can you get me into the Archives?”
“I’d be happy to,” Twilight said, standing. “After that, though, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take my leave. I’m meeting with my brother.”
“Say no more,” Trixie said, as Twilight moved past her to head outside. At least books wouldn’t try to hide information from her, though Trixie wasn’t enthused about the idea of spending yet more hours poring over dusty old tomes when there was a living unicorn who had the answers she needed.
***
Twilight knocked gently on the wooden door, swinging it open after she heard a faint “Come in” echoing from inside to reveal her brother sitting tall behind a desk. There were several reports neatly arranged in front of him, ranked in order of importance, detailing situations on the border, the specifics of trade between the two nations and the more general relations between the two peoples.
“Twily!” Shining Armour said, rising from his chair as he saw her enter. “How are you?”
“Fine, Shiny,” Twilight said, returning his hug. “You look busy.”
“Nothing terribly important. We’ve caught wind of a smuggling operation across the border, running through Hornwall. With the taxes on Crystal goods rising, there’s a big market for this stuff.”
“Need any help?”
“No, I got this,” Shining Armour said. “Thanks anyway.”
"Well, maybe you can help me,” Twilight said, stepping over to the desk and taking a seat in front of it.
“Oh? What’s wrong?” Shining Armour asked, turning around to face his sister. Twilight was fiddling with her hooves, studiously looking away from him.
“I need to know everything you and Cadence have learned about the Crystal Heart,” she said quickly.
Shining Armour smiled. “I’ll set up a time for you to study it. I’ll wager you’ll know more than we do in half an hour.”
“No time,” Twilight said, turning to meet Shining Armour’s eyes and shaking her head. “How well protected is it?”
That caused him a slight pause. “How well protected are the Elements?”
“Good answer,” Twilight said, grinning. “The Elements are better protected than a dragon’s horde. After what Discord did with them, Celestia and Luna upgraded their protective enchantments. Canterlot Castle could be reduced to rubble and that tower wouldn’t even be singed.”
“Well, we might not have access to that much power, but believe me, Twilight, the Heart is safe. We don’t need to keep it accessible at a moment’s notice, after all.”
“True. But you do have to bring it out every year, for the Faire, right?”
“Yes,” Shining Armour confirmed. “But the entire Guard is on call during the Faire, not to mention myself and Cadance next to it pretty much the whole time.”
“It’s still the weakest point,” Twilight said, rubbing her chin with a hoof. “Unless somepony knew where it was kept . . .”
“Alright, Twilight, what’s this about?” Shining Armour asked. “What do you know?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Twilight said.
“If there’s been a threat, Twilight, I need to know about it.”
“I’ve . . . noted an expression of interest from some unsavoury ponies. I wouldn’t call it a threat, exactly.”
“So . . . ?”
“So I wanted to let you know, just in case. Do you mind if I take a look at your security?”
“It’s safe, Twilight. You can come have a look if you want, but trust me, there’s no need.”
Twilight sighed, holding her head in her hooves. “I know. I don’t mean to question your ability, Shiny. I can’t think of anypony I’d trust more to protect it. I’m just worried.”
“Okay, what’s happened, Twily?”
“It’s Trixie. This pony I know from years back. She’s turned up again, out of the blue, and she’s involved in some pretty shady stuff—criminal even. I’m trying to help her.”
“So you don’t want the law involved?”
“Not yet. I can handle it, Shiny,” Twilight said with a small frown. “I’ll keep you posted, though.”
“That’s my Twily,” Shining Armour said, ruffling her mane. “You’re always reaching out to help others. That’s why you’re special, you know?”
“Thanks, Shiny,” Twilight said, warmth suffusing her cheeks.
“Oh, please. Now then, how about we go get some dinner? It’s getting kind of late.”
“I’d like that.” Twilight stood. With Shining Armour following her, she headed out the door. The royal kitchens would be serving soon, judging from the position of the sun outside, and she happened to know that they’d be serving a delightful garden salad this evening. It did pay to have connections.
***
“Daerev?” Rainbow asked, lifting her sunglasses off her face and turning up to face him. “Pretty cool, I guess. What’s it mean?”
“Daerev Quitu,” Daerev said, eyes closed as if reciting, “The Young Eternal. Young, in recognition of his humble roots, and the vastness of life he has yet to experience. Eternal, in recognition of his heritage, of his dragon blood and fire.”
“Huh,” Rainbow said, dropping back onto the grass. “Finally outgrew Spike, did you?”
“Yeah,” Daerev said.
They were in the Ponyville park; ostensibly waiting for Twilight. She’d gone into Canterlot earlier, but when Daerev had gone to her house, intending to tell her about his new name, he’d found just a note, saying that she’d be back later today. When Rainbow had arrived, flying down after the day’s practice, they’d decided to wait outside, leaving a note of their own. It had been too long since they’d had the chance to do this, even if it was just the two of them.
“Well, I think it’s cool, Spi—Daerev. That’s going to take some getting used to, eh?”
“Mhmm,” Daerev said in agreement. But even though he’d only worn it for a day, he never thought of himself as Spike any more. It was if his mind had known about his change for some time. The shift had turned out to be easy, as natural as breathing. He simply shifted. “Say, Rainbow,” he started.
“What’s up?”
“What was it like? Losing your memory?” Daerev asked.
“I’ve already told you—told everypony, with Twilight. It was horrible.” Rainbow said. “Why do you ask? Is everything alright?”
“I think so. It’s just . . . this all feels so right. So natural for me. I mean, I just up and throw away my old self, take on a new name and a new self. I guess I’m just wondering how that felt, for you. Wasn’t that what you said, that you seemed to be an entirely new pony, similar, sure, but with differences?“ Daerev said.
“I’m not sure it’s the same thing. When I drank from that river, I lost everything. You still have Spike in there, don’t you? Memories, values, friendships?” Rainbow asked.
Daerev nodded. Spike was still a part of him, a core part of what made up Daerev.
“I didn’t have that. I was lost; suddenly and horribly blind. I didn’t know where I fit in. Even with everypony’s memories of me, I didn’t understand myself, couldn’t see what motivated me. It just all seemed so shallow without the experiences to give it meaning.
“It was like not knowing anything brought out me—Rainbow Dash—in a very real way. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to hide; it was that I didn’t have anything hiding me. The mask stripped away.”
Daerev smiled. “Deep,” he said.
“Don’t laugh,” Rainbow chided. “It was a traumatic period, but one that made me think. Memories inform us. I used to believe that I had to hide myself, to build an identity that was unassailable. It came before everything until, eventually, I had been pretending to be that pony for so long, I became that pony. Never for long, but now and then, for brief moments, I would forget.
“Rainbow Dash became more than a name. It was the face I showed everypony. It was me, but it wasn’t the whole me.”
“You’re saying that I’ve always been Daerev Quitu,” Daerev said, pondering Rainbow’s words. Part of him still couldn’t believe the speedster was giving him such a detailed lecture, but then, that was what prolonged exposure to Twilight could do to a pony.
“Somewhat, yes. And you’ll always be somewhat Spike. But don’t mistake a name for who you are.”
“I see—I think.”
Rainbow smiled. “When I recovered my memories from Lethe, I couldn’t believe how much of an idiot I’d been. The things I’d said or done, all to preserve this image I had of myself. I’d tried to mould myself into a Wonderbolt, tried to hide myself because I knew—I just knew—that the world wouldn’t accept me. I was wrong, of course.”
“You don’t seem to be all that different, honestly. Still with the flying, the ridiculous stunts and showing-off.”
“Maybe. That’s a part of who I am, but only a part. Before, it was everything.”
“So you don’t regret it. Despite everything; all the pain, the hardship and doubt?”
“Heck no. Best thing that ever happened to me,” Rainbow said. “Lethe made me. I wouldn’t have made the Wonderbolts without it, let alone Captain. They weren’t looking for somepony who’d made flying their life, it was too much. Somepony like that would burn out, and there goes all that work; training, promoting, organising, all gone. If you can believe it, I was too fast for them.
“We’d never have known Coromancy either. That hasn’t just been good to me; it’s been good to all of us. AJ’s farm is bigger and better than ever, Fluttershy’s got her nature preserve, Pinkie’s got the whole town dancing to her tune, and Twilight found her calling.
“I found out that I wasn’t as slow and shallow as I’d thought. I remember thinking that Rarity’s obsession with fashion was ludicrous. I mean, can you get any more stereotypical? I was so good at convincing myself that I missed the comparison. What, flying fast is somehow better than looking stylish? I’d much rather be me than persist like that. Ignorance might be bliss, but it’s still ignorance.
“And I found Twilight. If anything, that alone makes it worth it. I never would have even considered it, if we hadn’t been thrown together like that.”
“How did it happen?” Daerev asked. “I mean, the two of you just came out and that was it.”
“We were both in the river, together. And in there, there’s no hiding. No holding back. I know everything there is to know about Twilight, understand every decision and thought that she’d ever had, up to that point. Do you understand, Daerev? I knew her, I was her, and she was me.”
He seems unstoppable. But then, that is why I am here. My sister chose to stay, to protect our people as best she can. If she hasn’t halted his advance, by now he will have covered our homes. I pray she succeeds, even if that act damns me. I pray for the survival of our species.
Ten
THE FADING LIGHT OF HER RAGE WAS A BITTERSWEET RELIEF TO LUNA, its ruddy red brilliance, mixing with the flaring argence in the heavens and searing her eyes, so long in the darkness. Squinting, she was able to make out the shapes surrounding her; a vast bowl, dug into the land, and two curving paths, leading upward, leading out.
Luna had seen the ocean before, of course. Equestria’s east and west borders were both on the coastline, and there were many smaller villages and towns that made a living on what the seas provided, not to mention the larger cities. She was no stranger to the great depths and currents, the tranquillity of the sea at rest and the fury of it whipped into storm.
She was, after all, responsible for maintaining the tides.
She could understand the ocean. But this . . . this defied logic. The pool stretched beyond the limits of her sight, beyond the reach of the light of her horn. It sat in a cavern, what felt miles below the surface, and it boiled. The mass of water, enough to drown a city, seethed, moving in a chaotic pattern. Yet there was no wind here, nothing to stir it to such heights.
A wave, as tall as the towers of Canterlot, crashed down onto Luna, laying her mane flat against her neck. As she blinked the water out of her eyes, struggling to understand, to see what drove the waters so, she realised something astounding.
She was not angry. There was no pool of rage within her, fit to match the storm before her. It had been drained, completely and utterly in her attack on her captor.
Luna reached out, into the waters and the air above them. Holding her magic steady despite the battering she received, she could feel something of the entity before her. It had been trapped here for longer than she’d been exiled on the moon, longer than Equestria had existed. She knew it, understood at least a part of it.
The pool, though in storm, reminded her of something from not that long ago. She hadn’t gone down herself, to meet Rainbow and Twilight at the source of Lethe, but she’d heard their report on the incident. She remembered how they’d described it; as a vast underground lake beneath the ruins of her old castle.
Could this be similar? There was no river here, though Luna had followed a riverbed south to find this place. But where Lethe had been tranquil, a river of peace and harmony, the waters here were in an absolute frenzy. It struck Luna nothing as much as the old stories of Discord. Memories of fighting him, fighting alongside her sister in the name of Harmony, fighting against corruption and Chaos, returned to her. She could see his manic face as if it were just last year they’d fought.
But Discord was an enemy of Equestria. He could not be the evil Celestia had trapped out here, outside the boundaries, in the middle of the Wastes. What did that leave this to be?
Do not presume to name me, Luna. The voice sneered, echoing around the cavern. I suppose I should congratulate thou. Throwing off the shackles of the past is not simple. It only took thou ten years.
“What?” Luna exclaimed. “Speak sense. I’ve been absent months at most.”
Thou sleep well, Princess of the Night, and thou sleep long. In truth, it has been some months more than ten years.
“I escaped your trap, fiend.”
Thou hath escaped nothing. Why didst thou come here, Luna?
Luna paused. There was an intensity to his voice that had been absent before. Something had changed; something important.
“What stops me now? Shall I simply walk away, and leave you to your doom?”
Why did thou come here?
“To silence my doubts and my fears, to satiate my curiosity and prophecy, I came here.”
You slipped through my web with little more than the anger of imprisonment. Canst thou imagine my rage? Dost it not resonate?
“I find little sympathy for a creature that would turn a nation to dust.”
Thou dost not remember. Even now, even here, thou are shackled. Why do thou subject thyself so?
“I remember well.”
Thou dost not even feel its touch. Begone, Luna. Perhaps in time, thou will awaken fully. There is naught more that I can do for thou.
Luna didn’t question the sudden change of heart. Hope and joy swelling in her, she simply turned and bolted. She felt light, with giddiness in her stomach and a rush in her ears. She lifted her wings, flapping them once, hard, sending her up the side of the bowl at the speed of sound.
She burst onto the plain with a scream of delight, soaring up into the sky and savouring its blue brilliance. The vast expanse of the Wastes stretched around her, in every direction. There was nothing to indicate the direction she’d come from.
Nothing save the sun—and the moon below the horizon. Luna turned around to greet her sister’s fire, the majestic orb hanging low in the sky. It was getting late, Luna could feel it. She felt another surge of excitement at the thought of raising her moon – her moon! – again. The sun set in the west, therefore Equestria lay . . . that way. Luna sped north, quickly finding the riverbed that had led her here.
Luna still had no idea who the voice had belonged to, but its words drew some disturbing parallels to the Drac. She would need to take the time to think this through. She could bring it to Celestia. Surely her sister would know what it was, would help her follow the pattern through. Luna was, admittedly, still somewhat lost in this new world. She’d come to know and love the modern Equestria, but her knowledge of the world outside was somewhat lacking.
But mostly, she longed for the company of one who could understand her pain, and comfort her through her trials.
***
The day of Shining Armour’s departure from Canterlot, Trixie spent nervously waiting in the Canterlot Archives, filling in time with half-hearted research on mental magic. Despite the interest consuming four years of her life without interruption, for the first time she felt listless, lacking any real investment in the magic.
She thought that maybe Twilight’s experimentation had robbed it of its mystery. There had been a charm to her search, a gritty sense of exploration and investigation. She’d felt an importance normally associated only with characters from a story, ponies, saddled by fate to save the day, all on their own.
But she’d never really considered what she planned to do once she understood it. Oh, there had been debates, shouting matches with the voices in her head, and calmer talks, where they agreed on what was best. But each was the instant resolution of a five-minute discussion, made in the spur of the moment, on the back of some realisation. They did not carry weight.
When she’d first awoken with them, she’d decided to reverse the spell. It was unnatural, a corruption of the cycle of life. Somehow, it lessened them, lessened the weight of the tragedy that had befallen them. Trixie was still reeling, off-balance and in shock. The pain of their passing hadn’t quite set in, the world swimming around her as if in dream.
Trixie hadn’t believed the doctors and nurses who had told her it would pass. All wounds fade, they’d said, in that comforting, condescending tone of a pony that lived around death. She was a visitor, a pony coming to them for their wisdom. She responded to their kindness with vitriol, somehow placing her pain on a pedestal, elevated above their comprehension.
Naturally, they had been right, the expression, so common as to be cliché, proven true. She had known that, on a logical level, in the same way that she’d moved past her childhood abandonment. The thought of her parents hadn’t stung here for years. She would move on.
Past that, past the shock and disbelief, she’d reconsidered. Why would she reverse the spell—a miracle, to be sure? Why refuse such a gift? They were with her beyond death, would be with her all her life. Removing them would be no better than killing them herself, for all purposes ending their lives. She hadn’t understood their presence, and so had feared them. Fear had driven her to the intention of murder.
Understanding them had become her goal. The phenomenon, the spell that had allowed this, that would be her gift to the world, her legacy. She’d spent four years wandering, searching for answers. Now, finally, that was within her reach, thanks to another.
That was the rub. She could see it now, looking back; the same mistake, for different reasons. Before, Trixie had rejected sympathy in the belief that it lessened her grief, now she found assistance to reduce the importance of her aims. She had raised herself up, placed herself on some dais, and she could not stand that which reminded her of her normality. It was arrogance, once again rearing its head to bring about her downfall. At least the Great and Powerful Trixie had been honest, embracing her flaw as her greatest strength.
Of course she was apathetic, now so close. She should have been excited, would have been, were it hers to claim. But Twilight had claimed that, taken that from her by offering her expertise. She had stolen something, unwittingly, perhaps, but stolen nonetheless. It wasn’t hers to discover.
So her studies lagged, Trixie finding herself reading and rereading lines as her mind wandered.
But time waited for nopony. Twilight had introduced her to the Archive staff when she’d come to grant Trixie access, and they’d agreed to notify her in four hours—enough time to get down to the station before Shining Armour’s train arrived. By the time they tapped her on the shoulder, she hadn’t learnt anything useful, although she had picked up a vaguely interesting way to transmute fruit.
The fresh air outside served admirably in waking her up. Trixie rubbed her eyes as she started down the hill. It wouldn’t do to be drowsy here; she’d need to keep her wits about her. It never hurt to be careful, and something could always go wrong.
Not that it should, of course. She’d prepared well for this, spending the previous day shopping around Canterlot. Trixie had managed to procure a conductress’s uniform, complete with a navy blue cap sporting a red band and golden buckles, and matching dress. She didn’t normally wear clothes beyond her old cape, but the disguise would give her unrestricted access to the train. For that, she could accommodate the discomfort for a little while.
Trixie moved off the path as she approached the station, instead heading down an alley. Quickly donning the uniform, she wove a glamour around herself, a thread that would disguise her sudden appearance. Those around her would simply see another conductress about her duties.
Trixie walked out confidently, striding along the platform, looking for Shining Armour’s carriage. There was nothing to distinguish one from any other, but as she moved through the ponies gathered there, seeing loved ones off or heading north themselves, she kept her eyes open for Twilight, her brother, or any other pony affiliated with the royal family.
Sure enough, she could see two tall plumes—signifying the royal guard, flanking a door to a carriage. The train would be leaving very soon, so Shining would either be already on board, or giving a last farewell somewhere on the station.
Trixie kept walking forward, without trying to hide. Just before she reached the guards, she turned, stepping onto the train one carriage behind. When they hit her ward, it would be a simple matter to step through the doors, gather up his body and teleport back to Canterlot.
She didn’t have to wait very long till the train departed, whistles blowing and steam beginning to chug out of the chimney at the front. Thankfully, the carriage she was in was deserted, being used to transport goods. Trixie could see boxes upon boxes of apples, carrots, flower seeds and other produce. It was difficult to grow large volumes of food in the north, due to the cold, and since the influx of Equestrian citizens into the Crystal Empire, for trade, politics, or simply seeking a new start, they’d been buying more and more food from Canterlot.
Trixie huddled down against one of the boxes, removing her disguise and stashing it in a nearby crate of potatoes. The train wouldn’t take long to reach her ward, five minutes at the most. Trixie passed the time in silence, not really thinking of anything in particular. The silence was familiar to her, a baited, tense void that welcomed her. She was nervous, but no more so than before any other job, another other show.
As the train turned another corner, somewhere in the mountains, Trixie felt her ward activate. Just in front of her, there was a split-second magical flash—invisible to the naked eye—and then it was gone, leaving no trace of her presence. That was a feature she’d spent years refining. Most spells, having achieved their aim, simply dissolved into loose threads of magical power, which would dissipate in the air, or sink into the ground. Those threads could be used to identify the unicorn that had cast the spell, provided they were located quickly enough.
Instead, Trixie had imbued her ward with a second function. The only type of spell that didn’t follow the above rule, as she’d been taught, was the school involved in Growth. When the train—with Shining Armour inside—had triggered her ward, it had put everypony in the carriage ahead of her into a deep, trance-like sleep, and then spent itself encouraging growth of the nearby moss and fungi lining the tunnel.
This was it. Trixie stood, moving over to the door that connected the carriages. She opened it slowly, peeking her head around to assess the situation. The few guards that were accompanying Shining were snoring on the ground, arrayed around him. They’d fallen were they’d stood.
Shining Armour himself stood tall, horn alight and the glimmer of a protective bubble flickering around him. Trixie gulped, and then opened the door fully, stepping out to meet him.
It didn’t work? Brash asked, surprised.
Apparently not, Cumulus said. But how could he have known? There’s no way he could have gotten that shield up fast enough to block the spell once it was triggered.
“Who are you?” Shining Armour demanded. Trixie said nothing, studying him. The shield was strong, one of the best she’d ever seen. There were no obvious flaws, no holes or weaknesses to exploit. She could feel the intensity of his magic charging the air around them, causing his fur to stand on end.
“How did you know?” Trixie asked, stepping forward. She was fully in the carriage now, facing him just a few feet apart.
“Cadance told me, before I left. She is an alicorn you know,” Shining said. He gestured to the guards around him. “Are the y . . .?”
“Sleeping. They’ll wake in a few hours,” Trixie said. Shining Armour relaxed, his face losing its tightness. “If the Empress told you about this, then you should already know who I am.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Shining Armour said. “She told me to beware the train. Nothing else. That’s why I didn’t protect those accompanying me.”
“That seems a bit cold,” Trixie observed. “Holding them out, what, as trials? To see what I was going to do?”
“To see how far you’d go.”
“I see,” Trixie said, grinning. “Well, now that you know I’m not going to hurt them, or you, why don’t you put down that shield?”
“Not a chance,” Shining Armour said. “What do you want?”
“Just to talk,” Trixie said, taking another step forward. She tried to put as much confidence into her words as she could, despite her misgivings. There was no way she was getting through that shield by normal means, and she had no desire to use . . . that. Not here, out in the open where she’d be vulnerable.
But if she could get him to lower it himself, just for a second, then she’d be able to strike.
You promised you wouldn’t. Not that, not ever, Brash said. Trixie didn’t need the reminder.
Only if I must, she said. Brash made a strangled sound, though it sounded strange in her head.
“Then talk,” Shining Armour said, holding his ground. This was a pony trained for combat, Trixie thought, experienced and capable. She wasn’t going to be intimidating him any time soon. Nor would he be trusting her any time soon, what with the comatose soldiers around him.
“Come with me,” Trixie said. “It would have been easier if you were asleep, but this doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”
“You blew that the second you set that ward. Who are you?”
“Nopony you know,” she said. I’m sorry, guys. “Must we be unpleasant, then?”
“I think so.”
“Very well,” Trixie said, igniting her horn. Shining Armour narrowed his eyes.
“You can’t touch me through this shield. Not even my sister can break it.”
“Oh, is that what she told you?” Trixie asked absently, most of her attention focused on the magic. “Don’t take it personally. I’m sure she just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Here was the tricky part. The spell she’d been charging, as Shining Armour watched, confident in his shield, was a form of teleportation she’d discovered a year ago. Standard theory on teleportation involved an exchange—you moved your molecules to the target destination, and the molecules that had occupied that space to where you were. The process prevented major displacement from occurring.
The author had combined that with the knowledge that an active spell took more energy the farther it was away from the caster to arrive at the idea of teleporting somepony’s spell away from them, instantly increasing the energy expenditure and displacing the effects of their magic. Needless to say, knowledge of the process was instantly buried—a slight miscalculation could leave them dead, completely drained of power.
Even so, it took an immense effort to wrest control of another’s magic from them. Trixie took another step forward, holding Shining Armour’s eyes. She sunk into his mind, immediately encountering a barrier, holding her back from his swirling thoughts. No matter, the link was established.
Brash and Cumulus simultaneously winced as Trixie drew from them. What she had discovered, not too long after the fire, was that it wasn’t only their minds that had survived. Their magic had followed them, stayed with them, and although the magic of an earth pony or a pegasus had no outlet from Trixie’s body, she could link her strength to theirs, drawing on their communal reserves. All it took a sense of unity and a goal she could direct them towards.
It was not easy. For both Brash and Cumulus, the process caused . . . not pain; they couldn’t feel pain save through Trixie. It was like a sudden fall, the stomach plunging into an abyss; their life draining away. For Trixie, it not only demanded extreme concentration, coercing three minds into acting as one, but left her drained.
Here, though, there was no choice. Trixie focused on the link between her and Shining Armour. She could use that as a means of latching onto his magic. With a great surge, she seized control of the shield and immediately sent it far away, to bubble around empty air on the Canterlot mountainside.
Shining Armour collapsed, the light on his horn flickering, then sputtering out. Trixie sighed in relief as she let go of Brash and Cumulus. They scurried away, hiding in the dark corners of her mind to lick their wounds. She was sorry for what that had cost them; fuelling magic with their lifeblood, but they’d recover.
Trixie herself fell down, crashing to the ground. The immensity of the situation dawned on her, a great bleak wave that left no room for escape. She’d been listless earlier, now she was completely apathetic. There was no point in trying anymore. How could she hope to escape from this? Why fight the inevitable?
The thought of sitting here, waiting to be captured by guards in the north, who would find her slumped over in the midst of awakening guards and an incapacitated Prince Consort terrified her. From there, she knew, Boundless would find her, and he would kill her.
She couldn’t escape that fate. It was done, as surely as if the blade had slipped across her throat already.
Except . . . that wasn’t right. She could change that, by completing her task. Everything was going according to plan, right? No need to be so grim. Trixie shook herself, grappling with her emotions. Despair had hit her like a sledgehammer. She was still reeling.
She stood sluggishly, mind slowly reawakening. This was the vulnerability. Trixie didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t unify their minds for long, and the effort had always sent her into a spiral of hopelessness and gloom. It took some time for her to reassert control.
Trixie stumbled to her feet, swaying like a drunken pony. She raised her head, bringing her eyes to where Shining Armour lay. The effort of maintaining a shield at that distance, even for just the instant it took to break the spell, would have drained his reserves. He had nothing with which to fight her.
A large body slammed into Trixie from the side, knocking her into the wall of the carriage. She didn’t have time to turn before it met her again, pressing her up against the wall.
“That,” Shining Armour said, “was a nasty little trick.”
He shouldn’t be able to move!
Trixie only grunted in reply.
“In the Guard, see,” Shining Armour said. “They teach you how to fight in three ways.” He readjusted his hold on Trixie, placing a foreleg under her throat while holding her own forelegs down with his other. He kept his eyes on her horn. “The first is with magic, as befits your own talents. The second is with your mind.”
He’s still out of magic. He can’t match you.
Trixie lit her horn. Shining Armour reacted instantly, crushing into her throat while swinging a hoof around to box her ear, breaking her concentration. She tried to pry her way free with her now released forelegs, but he was too strong. After a few seconds, she released the magic, and he released some of the pressure, allowing her to breath.
“The third is with your body. Did you really expect me to be helpless, denied my magic? Did you think you could take me?”
Trixie opened her mouth, struggling to make sound. Grudgingly, Shining Armour moved back another inch.
“Y-yes,” she said, rotating her head to meet his eyes. Shining Armour wouldn’t meet her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on her horn. She wouldn’t be catching him with that again.
He shook his head ever so slightly. “Arrogant child . . .“
Whatever he had meant to say was lost in the blast as Trixie threw him off of her with a huge burst of telekinetic force, sending him crashing into the opposite wall. Before Shining Armour could regain his senses, she wove a Sleep spell around him, and watched as the stallion toppled over to join his comrades on the floor.
“You talk too much,” she said, sniffing. The confrontation had already taken too long, the train moving the whole time. Especially after what shed expended just subduing him, Trixie doubted she’d have the energy to teleport back to Canterlot at once.
Instead, she gathered up his body and teleported them both to the entrance of the tunnel she’d warded. It would serve as a resting place, just for a few hours, until she’d regained the strength to move back to the city.
He’d called her arrogant, there at the end. Trixie smiled. She’d always known of the potential in illusion magic and showmareship, but she had only ever played the one role. She was beginning to understand the power in presenting weakness. He hadn’t even considered that she might have simply masked the glow on her horn—a simple enough spell—in favour of the blow disrupting her channel.
Tonight, she’d meet Boundless to discuss what he wanted Shining Armour for, but for now, she’d have a nap. She set a spell to dose Shining Armour with Sleep regularly, before she lay down herself, quickly drifting into dreamless slumber.
***
“Twilight! What a pleasant surprise, what brings you all the way up here?”
“Hello, Cadance. It’s been too long,” Twilight said, facing the Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, the Crystal Princess and leader of the Empire. She had teleported all the way from Canterlot in order to catch her brother at the station, and let them know about Boundless. She wasn’t ready to hand him over to the police just yet, but Trixie had mentioned the Crystal Heart, and she’d seen numerous references to artefacts in Boundless’ notes.
“Yes. I trust that Equestria is safe?” Cadance said in a playful tone.
“I should think so,” Twilight replied. “’Course, one can never be sure.”
“No, I guess not,” Cadance chuckled. Turning, she led Twilight into the castle.
Twilight stopped in the doorway, letting out a short gasp. Cadence and Shining Armour had done a wonderful job redecorating since Twilight had last visited. The place glowed, cherry-red fires in hearth’s warming ponies, lining either side of the entrance hall. In the middle, tables groaned, decked with food in celebration. Twilight remembered why Shining Armour had to get back so soon, cutting his visit short. It was the anniversary of the Crystal Empire’ appearance in the north. On the morrow would be the celebration of King Sombra’s defeat.
Above the hearth’s, the hall was lined with tapestry’s, depicting scenes from Crystal pony legend. Twilight spied a copy of the stained-glass window that adorned Celestia’s throne room, the one of Spike offering up their deliverance.
Amidst the chill of the north outside, it made for a merry scene; a refuge against the sharp wind and cold snow full of song and chatter. Twilight couldn’t help but smile.
Cadence noticed her expression, sharing her enjoyment.
“I modelled it after that old book you had me read ten thousand times,” she said, nudging Twilight with a wing.
Now that she’d mentioned it, Twilight could see the resemblance; the carpet lining the stone floor, the draft of wind high above in the rafters, the warmth of company spreading through the room.. It was just as she’d imagined, years ago, reading novels of romanticised history and fantasy.
“Is that . . .?” Twilight asked, gesturing at the hearths.
“Yes, Twilight,” Cadance said. “The fire’s take in joy from all the ponies gathered here, and burn it for warmth. The happier everypony is, the warmer the hall stays.”
Twilight frowned. “That seems . . . awfully manipulative. What happens if they’re sad?”
“Why would they be sad? Besides, we keep supplies of firewood, just in case.”
“Ah. Yes, I see it.” There were piles of wood, already cut, stacked neatly next to each hearth. Still, Cadence had a point. None of the fires Twilight could see had any fuel in them. What cause for sorrow could these ponies possibly have, particularly in light of their recent history?
Sombra had been one of the more odd threats Twilight had faced over the years. Though he had quite clearly scared the Crystal ponies out of their minds with his mere presence, she’d never had the opportunity to interact with him directly. Even after all these years, she felt a twinge of curiosity as to his story.
It wasn’t motivated by pity, certainly. Twilight understood the plight he’d placed his subjects in, and had felt the touch of the dark magic he employed. She had no sympathy for the monster. But there was something intriguing about ponies like him. Ponies that would turn to darkness to achieve their ends, that would place their desires above the happiness of others. A morbid curiosity, perhaps, but it was as much as anything else a fascination with the unknown.
What could so twist somepony? Twilight had exposed herself to the underbelly of Equestria, and even there there existed a code of sorts, an honour among thieves. Robbery was fine, so long as you didn’t steal from those around you. Indentured servitude was fine, so long as it didn’t fall to slavery. The slums policed themselves, and they were policed with a fervour greater than any city guard.
There had been just six cases of kidnapping in the past century, each motivated by the utter extremes of desperation, pride or passion. But if that was the extent of the criminal’s capacity for evil, how did a pony become a creature that would halt the moon in the sky, dooming the world? A creature that would rule over a nation of slaves?
Cadence had seated herself at the head of the table, in a large, golden chair. It could easily have been a throne, save for the actual thing sitting prominently at the end of the throne room, set apart from the entrance hall with large double doors inlaid with silver and gold.
Cadence gestured to her left, bidding Twilight take a seat.
“Now, Twilight, as good as it is to see you, I imagine you came up here for a reason?” Cadence asked once Twilight had seated herself.
“Yes, actually. Two days ago, I encountered a possible threat to the Crystal Heart,” Twilight said in a hushed voice. She quickly glanced around the room, running her eyes over the nearby ponies. Thankfully, none of them seemed to have overheard. It wouldn’t do to send the nation into a panic.
“And why did it take two days to bring this news to my attention?”
“I’ve already mentioned it to Shining Armour. I’m only here because I wanted to take a look for myself. To be honest, I don’t think that it’s pressing-”
Twilight was interrupted by a servant coming forward, with a deferential bow for the Princess and a nod of his head for Twilight.
“Pardon the interruption, your Highness, but you asked to be informed when the train from Canterlot had arrived.” The steward said.
“Ah, yes, thank you,” Cadence replied. “Come, Twilight. Let us greet your brother. Then we may talk about . . . other matters.”
But when they threw the unresponsive doors of the carriage open, climbing aboard to find out why nopony was emerging, all Twilight saw was the four guards assigned to her brother splayed out on the floor, snoring. Shining Armour had been taken.
Tomorrow, my journey ends. I have seen my goal, now, the source of our power and salvation. I entered its abode, witnessed the world amassing its might against our foe. If nothing changes, it will be ready tomorrow.
The Well—I can call it nothing else—appears as a giant pool, glowing as it grows. A vortex of power extends to the sky, almost too faint to see. It is drawn here, to match our doom in the south. Perhaps that is why we have been so ineffectual combating it.
Eleven
LUNA WATCHED WITH BAITED BREATH, not daring to move lest she spoil the vista before her. Each passing moment seemed to pause and hold an eternity unto itself, as it slowly dragged at an orb on the horizon, pulling it closer and closer to oblivion, and the cold, still, darkness of night.
The sun sent out a magnificent array of colours, painting the sky around her with vivid red and vibrant orange. It was washing the air, a final cleansing before its rest. But it was not the final gasps of the day that had so captivated Luna’s attention. Nay, the Princess of the Night had spun, what seemed to be years ago, staring with a fierce intensity at the east.
For each sliver of light that passed beyond knowledge in the west, each last gasp of colour splashing across the mountainous horizon, another glimmer of light appeared in the west, heralding the coming of a moon too long denied the world, and herself.
Luna had been waiting for this moment from the instant she broke free of her prison. In there, she had been unable to reach out to her moon, unable to even feel its presence. That had made her isolation that much worse.
Luna reached out the moment she saw the first glimpse of the pale orb, rising over the mountains. She could feel it, definitely, as well as her sister’s magic controlling it. Luna suppressed the brief surge of jealous rage. It was only logical that Celestia would handle the moon in her absence.
Luna touched her awareness to her sister’s, focusing on the joy of their reunion. Though not in her presence, Luna could feel the relief radiating from Celestia. She truly had been worried about her.
Celestia relinquished her hold over the moon, returning her magic to Canterlot with a brief caress as parting. She would be anticipating her return later this night, but first, Luna would fulfil that most fundamental aspect of her being. The moon was a part of her, as much as her hooves, and she would not go without it more than she had to.
Luna’s magic touched the moon lightly, a gentle breeze rising across its surface as she began to lift it from its tracks. Celestia tended to use a set pattern to guide it across the sky. Luna preferred spontaneity. Each night it traced a different angle, made a different pattern amidst the clouds and stars. It was her signature, emblazed high above the world.
It had slowed slightly, where Celestia had released it, but Luna had caught it before it had begun to dip back down. She took her time, charting a course through the heavens and instilling it with the will to follow. She wanted to savour it, to rejoice in her return, at last, to the world.
But eventually, there was nothing left to do. Regretfully, Luna cut her connection, returning her awareness to her body. She had been standing motionless for over an hour, and although her eyes were sore and mouth dry, she felt rejuvenated. Energy coursed through her as she took a deep breath, and let out a sigh. She was at peace.
Night had fallen over the Wastes, but it was not the tranquillity of night she’d known in Equestria. As Luna opened her eyes, she was assaulted by flying sand and grit, propelled by the ever-present wind. It made a soft whine as it blew around her, warping the air as if it was whispering to her. Dust had worked its way into her coat, staining her deep, midnight blue a faded grey, and lending her a grimy feeling.
But it was night nonetheless. Luna stepped forward, continuing in her path. She’d stopped for the moonrise just a few miles from the dome, but if she hurried, she could still make it to the border before morning.
The trouble was,. Luna didn’t especially feel like hurrying. She’d spent herself in her escape, consuming all the rage that had been building in her since her cleansing. She didn’t know, exactly, where it had come from. But that was secondary; she had a more pressing concern.
Anger was constituted, in large part, by will. While its absence left her joy to fill her with near-insane happiness and dull her fear to a mere trepidation in the light of her success, she was without the will to continue. She knew she should run to her sister, confess everything, take precautions. She simply did not want to.
When that will returned to her, that nagging voice of fear convinced her to raise her wings, step into shadow and move, it would come accompanied by the fire that had destroyed her prison.
Luna cast her gaze around the desert surrounding her. Scattered here and there were small piles of debris. Everything she saw seemed to be large chunks, beams buried in the sand. Anything smaller had already been blown away.
Whatever had happened here, so long ago? Luna felt its impact, a deep sympathetic pang as she considered the atrocity represented in the callousness of the empty desert. The voice in the dome, that entity with the gall to imprison her, and then acknowledge her escape with vague disappointment, as if she’d failed, somehow. Had the culture here failed it as well? What had it done to bring such destruction upon it.
That was what rankled, really. It wasn’t the knowledge of their deaths, the horrible last few days that had taken the lives of so many. Luna understood the world, and wasted no time lamenting the fate of mortals. No, what troubled her so was the way the wind covered all evidence of their existence, spreading thin sand and dust around to obscure their history.
Luna shook her head, increasing her speed to a trot. She didn’t want to dwell on her surroundings; it would only encourage the return of her anger. Perhaps later, when she trusted herself to remain under control, she could return and dig around. First, though, she had find a way to move on. Mortals could acknowledge and ignore their emotions, letting go. Luna suspected immortals didn’t have that option.
She suspected the only way to free herself was to forget.
***
“I don’t know! He was on the train when I left! I saw him get on at the station!” Twilight exclaimed, meeting her sister-in-law’s gaze squarely. “I don’t know why he’d get off the train during its journey. The driver insists he didn’t stop anywhere, and there are only two reliable ways off when the train is in motion.”
“Teleportation,” Cadence said.
“And an air-lift, via pegasi,” Twilight finished. “None of the other passengers noticed anything. Not even the guards do—one minute everything was fine, the next they’re waking up here.”
“So, what happened?”
“Mm,” Twilight said. “And perhaps more importantly, when.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Shiny had no reason to be dishonest with us, right?” Twilight asked. At Cadence’s nod, she continued. “Then he wouldn’t have gotten off the train by himself, not voluntarily. Especially with what happened to the guards . . . I can’t say for sure, but it sounds like they were knocked out, maybe by a spell?”
“Check them,” Cadence ordered. Twilight had only been musing out loud, following the facts to their logical conclusion, but Cadence wasn’t dumb. She could connect the dots just as well as Twilight could, and that conclusion was making her worried.
Twilight turned, trotting to the guards. They were still on the station, resting inside where the local doctor was checking them over while Twilight and Cadence spoke. Twilight exchanged a glance with the doctor, moving to his side.
“How are they doing?” she asked, peering at his clipboard. He snatched it away from her, clutching it to his chest, then sighed.
“So far, they’re fine. I can’t find anything wrong with them, save perhaps some trauma from falling over.”
“Spell residue?”
“Nothing so far,” the doctor replied. Twilight frowned. That didn’t make sense, it had to have been a spell. Whoever had been with Shining Armour—there had to be somepony interfering, else he would never have gotten off the train—would have also incapacitated his guards. Not only did that imply premeditation, it also meant that they had had foreknowledge, and would have planned appropriately. There wasn’t any other way to take down a group like that, not without marks or memories.
“Mind if I take a look?” Twilight asked. The doctor sighed again.
“Not at all. But please, be careful,” he said.
Twilight lit her horn, approaching the nearest guard. Usually, a spell would leave traces of power behind, which would slowly dissipate into the world. Residue could last anywhere between three or four hours to whole weeks, depending on the spell used. Something like this would stick around for days—certainly long enough for Twilight to see it now. The train ride only took three hours.
But as she started to extend her senses toward the guard, running her gaze over him in search of that tell-tale prickle of power, she could already sense she wouldn’t find what she was looking for.
Twilight pulled back, stepping away from the guard. She left the shelter, walking back out to Cadence on the platform. She was speaking with the driver herself, horn alight. That was a good idea. Twilight hadn’t even considered a spell tampering with the driver’s memory.
Cadence finished, extinguishing her glow and turning to face Twilight.
“No trace of anything on the guards,” Twilight reported. Cadence grimaced.
“Nothing on the driver, either.”
“I still think it was a spell. Nothing else would be able to take Shiny down.”
“Though precious few unicorns that could manage it,” Cadence muttered. “You’re probably right. There are ways of hiding any trace.”
“A skilled unicorn, then, and powerful,” Twilight said.
“Or a group,” Cadence said, closing her eyes. Twilight nodded.
“Or a group.”
“Come with me, Twilight,” Cadence said, turning and trotting to the exit. “I need to tell you about my Dream.”
***
Trixie woke slowly, coming to awareness as if walking out of the ocean, a wave of sleep pulling her back each time she stirred. Then all at once realisation crashed over her, jolting her awake. Bolting to her hooves, she lit her horn, casting gloomy shadows over everything in the vicinity of her dim light.
Shining Armour was still slumped beside her, out cold. Trixie sighed in relief, placing a hoof on his chest, feeling a strong heartbeat. Her spell was holding, for now, and without suppressing his vitals.
Trixie took a deep breath, gathering magic in her horn. She was still sore from her exertions on the train, but she thought she’d recovered enough to make it to Canterlot. She’d need to get to the safe house in one jump; she couldn’t allow Shining to be spotted inside the city.
The magic coalesced around her, crackling in the air. The growing glow provided more illumination, giving Trixie a better view of the tunnel she’d picked to recover. She’d been sleeping next to the tracks. If it hadn’t been the last train of the day . . . she would have died, along with Shining Armour.
She hadn’t planned well enough, hadn’t been careful enough. If it hadn’t been for Brash and Cumulus, for her strange ability to invade other’s minds, she wouldn’t have succeeded at all.
She’d taken those strengths for granted assumed that even if something went wrong, she’d be able to deal with it. It was arrogance, yet again rearing its head. How many times would it take her to learn that lesson?
Adaptability was important. The fact that she was, in fact, able to handle complications as they arose proved that there was some basis in truth for her overconfidence. Still, she should have had a backup plan. She should have gone in expecting to find Shining Armour awake and ready.
The magic came together in a brilliant ball, encompassing both Trixie and Shining’s prostrate body. In a flash, the ball imploded, sending them far away to the basement of a burned out house.
Boundless was waiting for her. As she appeared to the side of the table, Shining Armour thudding down onto it from a small height, he rose, trotting around beside her.
“You’re late,” he observed. “Something go wrong?”
“I handled it,” Trixie said. Boundless grunted, turning to the pony lying prostrate on the table.
“We have a problem, Trixie. That one’s sister,” he said, gesturing at Shining Armour, “found me here two days ago.”
“Twilight was here?!” Trixie exclaimed. “What happened?”
Boundless grimaced. “I got away.”
“How could she know where this place was?”
“I thought maybe you’d know that,” Boundless said. Trixie cringed, but he only turned away with a sigh. “Perhaps she followed you. No matter, it is done. We’ll have to move.”
“Where?”
“We can find someplace in the underground. Come on,” Boundless said, moving to the stairs. “Can you cover him?”
“Of course,” Trixie said, casting an invisibility spell over Shining Armour’s body. It would hold reasonably well, though maintaining it would tire her out. Nevertheless, she picked him up in a telekinetic field and followed after Boundless.
“I already know an entrance. It’s not far,” Boundless said.
“The underground?”
“There’s a network of tunnels under the slums of the city. Most houses here have basements, and when somepony realised that they were essentially adjacent, they started knocking holes through the walls down there. All the slums are joined together underground, now.”
“Won’t they be full of ponies then?”
“Yes,” Boundless said, showing his teeth. “So what?”
“No reason,” Trixie murmured. Maybe they’d find a spot without running into anypony, though she doubted it. The slums were notoriously packed, each house fitting a surprising number of ponies. But then, if the entire area was interconnected like Boundless said, there was a lot more room there than most realised.
Boundless led her down the street, trying not to look anxious. It really was amazing, Trixie decided, watching him from her position a few step behind, Shining Armour’s body floating, invisible, beside her. Here, in the open, his inexperience and youth were so obvious, so plain to see that despite everything he suddenly didn’t seem to be such a threat. Was this what she was so terrified of, this nervous colt, too anxious to do more than shuffle past those they saw. For all of his audacity, his presence and utter conviction, under the sun he was no more than a child.
That was a dangerous mistake to make, Trixie knew. He had found a niche nopony else would step into, a choice that had elevated him from just another pony to one of the most notorious ponies in the Equestrian underground. There had been times, in the past, when they had been challenged, stepping into another’s territory, or stealing from somewhere under another’s protection. He’d always assured her he’d talked them out of it, played them by appearing weak. He’d said that they’d agreed to allow them to leave in peace.
Had she really believed that? Trixie knew how effective such an appearance could be, but it struck her now that Boundless was not the sort to play the submissive side. He had no need of it, not when he could overpower entire groups of adult ponies through the sheer, inconceivable violence of his approach.
Trixie still hadn’t been able to shake the idea of murder from her mind. It flirted with her, dancing on the edges of her consciousness like some scrap of knowledge forbidden to her, tauntingly close and maddeningly vague. It was, as she’d found just days ago, her boundary, the limit beyond which she could not seem to step.
She did not know why, logically. She had experience enough of the world to accept damnation, should it come to her. She should have been able to kill him, to thrust a blade of magic through his chest, severing skin and sinew, crushing through bone and splitting apart his heart. Just the thought nearly caused her to retch, but she should have been able to do it, and worry about the consequences later.
Something had held her back. Some unknown force, that had bound her to her few morals, prevented her from betraying what little she held to be true. Trixie didn’t know if she should thank it or resent it. Boundless certainly seemed to view it as a restriction. If she’d been able to . . . but that wasn’t an escape either, was it? Even then, he would loom over her, haunt her for the rest of her days.
Trixie shook her head angrily. There wasn’t any point to this debate, it just circled around and around in her head. The truth was, there was no way out, not anymore.
Just in front of her, Boundless slowed, gesturing to a house on the side of the street.
“Come, Trixie, in here.”
Good thing, too. Trixie could feel her magical reserves, still somewhat depleted from her fight with Shining Armour, straining to maintain the spells on his body. She’d need to recast the Sleep spell soon as well.
Boundless led her into an alley beside the building, stopping around the back of the house. Turning the corner herself, Trixie saw him pound his hoof into the wooden doors, angled between the wall and the ground. Stepping back, she watched them swing open, and a blue unicorn stick his head out.
“Hurry up, Boundless,” he said, disappearing back into the basement.
Trixie had never seen this pony before, he must be one of Boundless’ contacts. Once again, she was reminded that despite his inexperience, Boundless was a resourceful pony. It had taken him less than a week to establish contacts—in all probability, a whole network—in the city.
Trixie quickly found herself lost in the maze of tunnels under the city. The citizens of the slums had apparently taken to the idea so much that they’d actually built tunnels connecting to rooms separated by more than a wall, to create what was almost a city in its own right.
Trixie trotted past Boundless, coming up alongside the unicorn leading them.
“Excuse me . . .” she asked.
“Deep Blue,” he replied shortly, not even glancing at her.
“Right. I was wondering, about this,” Trixie said, gesturing with a hoof. “How far does it extend?”
“Whole of lower Canterlot,” Deep Blue said. Apparently Boundless had been right. Trixie dropped back to her position at the rear of the party, considering dropping the invisibility.
They walked for what seemed an age, Trixie sure she wasn’t going to make it. But eventually, Deep Blue indicated down a passage and turned away, trotting off somewhere. Boundless watched him go, and then turned to Trixie.
“Drop the spell. We’re here.”
She let the invisibility go with a sigh of relief. Levitating his body suddenly seemed easy, despite her drained reserves. She moved Shining Armour into the room at the end of the passage, depositing him on the table, and dropped to the floor, massaging her head.
***
“My last scheduled session was three nights before Shining Armour left for Canterlot. It was no different from any other night, save for the contents of that particular Dream,” Cadence said. She was standing at the window in her rooms, gazing out at her city. Twilight stood beside her, listening carefully.
Dreaming was a tricky business, in a similar manner to Sight. But where Sight fell under the purview of the unicorns, Dreaming was a pegasus art. But where Rarity would fall into a trance, and See in a semi-conscious state, Dreamers like Cadence would approach from the other side. That put the subconscious in control, making the experience far more vivid, and often less coherent.
Cadence sighed. “Normally my Dreams are reassuring, Twilight. Before our wedding—before the invasion—they were foreboding, and again just before the Empire returned to us. But apart from those times, they have been happy, full of joy, and contentment.”
“What did you Dream, Empress?”
“Don’t call me that, Twilight,” Cadence said absently. Her eyes were distant, focusing on the crystal ponies scattered far below, going about their daily business. Routine as usual; they hadn’t informed the public as to Shining Armour’s disappearance. There was no sense in worrying them prematurely, though Twilight had to do some fast-talking to convince those at the feast that her brother had chosen to remain in Canterlot a while longer.
“It . . . It was horrible. I’ve never felt anything like that, Twilight, not even Sombra’s presence came close. It was like a weight, pressing down, this sense that something just awful was going to happen, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.”
“What was it, Cadence?” Twilight asked quietly.
“I was . . . me. Standing on the side of the train track, deep in the Canterlot mountains. I don’t know how I knew where I was. It was pitch black. I couldn’t feel anything around me, physically or magically, like I was floating in a void.”
“what happened?”
“The train rushed past. It was so fast, it just came roaring through, all fire and light and noise. And, emanating from it, this dark energy, like it was evil. Corrupt, to its core. It spread like Sombra’s touch, but it was blacker. Not crueler, but . . . it had less boundaries.”
Twilight frowned. “There wasn’t a great deal Sombra wouldn’t have done.”
“No,” Cadence shook her head vehemently. “Understand me, Twilight. Even in the depths of his hate and the height of his power, he would not have dreamed of the feats this was capable of. It was nature; implacable and without mercy, but bent and twisted to its own ends.”
“So the train came past,” Twilight prompted, taking the rebuke silently.
“It blew past me. I knew he was inside it, I could feel how evil it was, and how utterly incapable I was of stopping it. It was gone before I could lift a hoof.”
“And . . .” Twilight said. Cadence turned to look at her, the faint whisper of a tear shining at the corner of her eye.
“And then I woke up.”
***
“Today, we shall discuss boundaries,” the Drac rumbled, his breath in danger of igniting the grass Daerev stood on. “These are, loosely, the guidelines that govern your actions and decisions.”
“Like a code,” Daerev said.
“In a way. But it is important to realise that something like a code will inform you of what you must do.” The Drac shook his head. “I—for this is a personal preference—believe that we should not structure our lives around what we can and should do, but instead, focus on what we cannot.”
“Ah,” Daerev said. “Because while there is an infinity of things we can do, there are only some things we will not.”
“Yes, exactly. Boundaries inform us that we may not, under any circumstances, perform a given action.”
“Surely there are things you would try to refrain from unless you had to.”
“There are extenuating circumstances, yes. It is important to know these, define them along with your limits.”
“I will not kill for food, unless my life, or the life of another, depends on it,” Daerev said, nose twitching.
“Very good. That is your decision to make, and I will not offer an opinion. Knowing how far you will go is more important than a code that tells you what you should do.”
“That leaves most choices to be spontaneous,” Daerev observed.
“Is that not preferable? Should a dragon not live in the moment, deciding only what course he prefers as it is presented?”
“It seems . . . unstructured.”
“Not when you yourself bring to each choice the experience and knowledge of a lifetime. Learn yourself; who you are. That is more valuable than any code, and your boundaries are part of that definition.”
Daerev didn’t reply, nodding slightly while lost in thought. His old code—the Noble Dragon code that he’d created to separate Spike from the Equestrian dragons that had so horrified him—fit what his mentor described. It had told him how to act, without granting him the choice, in the moment, where he knew the subtleties at play. A simple acknowledgement that he wouldn’t allow the debt to go unpaid would have served him better.
The Drac broke Daerev from his reverie, reaching behind him to seize something. Pulling it around, he tossed it onto the ground in front of Daerev. The deer’s carcass slid a few metres as it landed, leaving watery blood spattered in a trail on the ground as it spun, coming to face him with vacant, unmoving eyes. Daerev inhaled sharply, spines on his back stiffening and claws on his hands extending. A small cloud of dust rose around the body.
“W-What?” Daerev said, eyes wide. “What is this?”
“It’s a deer,” the Drac said, smoke gusting from his nostrils as he chuckled.
“No, I mean . . . why is there a deer here?!” Daerev exclaimed, unable to tear his eyes from the carcass. Blood had begun to well up from under its torso, turning the verdant grass a sickly, shiny red.
“Lunch,” the Drac said simply. “Perhaps I was wrong to push you to this as Spike, but Daerev Quitu must understand the way of the world.” He lifted a claw, prodding at the deer to roll it over.
“This, this is not wrong. This is not evil. We have done nothing but act within nature.”
“You killed it! You stole its life away, for what? A full stomach?”
“Not mine,” the Drac said, pointing at Daerev. “Yours.”
Daerev’s eyes widened as realisation hit him. Tearing his eyes from the corpse, he shuddered, crossing his arms across his body.
“Oh, no. Didn’t you hear me? I will not,” he said defiantly, staring at his mentor. There was no way he was going to cross that boundary. It was unthinkable.
“I remember. Do you, Daerev? You told me you would not take life, lest life itself depended on it.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, here you do not have to take life. The deer is dead, and none of your misplaced morals will bring it back.”
“Irrelevant. I will not demean this creature!”
“Demean it?” the Drac said incredulously. “How does your consumption of its flesh relate to anything in its life?”
“It reduces everything it’s done to a simple meal. Life is more than meat!”
“You’re scared,” the Drac said. “I think I understand, Daerev. But we are not our bodies. Flesh and bone, that is not who we are, nor does it comprise our whole existence. You will eat.”
“I will not,” Daerev replied, baring his teeth. A small ball of green fire ignited in the back of his throat, spilling out of his mouth as liquid overflowing to run down and sizzle on the ground.
The Drac strode out of the river, coming forward to stand at his full height, towering over Daerev. The young dragon gulped, his defiance suddenly quelled by the display of sheer strength. The Drac leaned down, opening his eye—as big as Daerev’s entire head—and locking his gaze with Daerev’s.
“You will,” the Drac began, breath silky soft and quiet, so quiet that Daerev could almost hear the storm it contained, buried under layers upon layers of control. “You will, or you will die.”
Daerev couldn’t say anything. He had no response, no way to reconcile the scene before him with his conception of his mentor. The change had happened so fast, switching from the familiar calm, collected visage of the Drac that had taught him so much, guided him into his adolescence and heritage, passed on hard-earned wisdom and life lessons, with the carefully controlled beast that was breathing hot smoke into his face, holding his gaze with intense, piercing eyes.
Slowly, Daerev broke under the Drac’s will, bending himself in the utter belief that failing to do so would result in his death. He reached down, snagging part of the carcass in one hand. His talons tore through the flesh easily, as if they’d always been meant to. Lifting, he hesitated as the stench of the meat—death and decay, odours of defilement—reached his nostrils.
“You will eat, Daerev, or not only you will perish, but also the residents of the pathetic town you call your home.”
Trembling, Daerev took the meat—part of the deer’s forelimb—in his mouth, and chewed. To his surprise, his stomach did not rebel against him though his mind screamed. He did not abhor the taste, the texture of it parting against his sharp teeth, or the blood running down his chin. It was natural, and, as he forgot all about the Drac, towering above with fiery eyes and a wide grin, perhaps something he had been missing all along.
It is done. We—I have stopped him, broken the back of the storm-front that tore through my kingdom. There are many smaller pockets of resistance left, but for the first time since it appeared, it has halted its advance.
I rode the light like a goddess, arriving back in my home not a day before it would have been covered. The storm is not kind, leaving very little in its wake. Recovery will be a long, hard road for an already battered and weary people.
Twelve
STARING OUT AT THE PLAIN BEFORE HER, Luna breathed a sigh of relief. Equestria was in sight. She would be home soon.
She had very nearly fell to anger. It had surged back, a tide of emotion that swept over her, leaving no room for coherent thought. She had wanted nothing more than to lash out, to strike back at the vile thing that had imprisoned her, and demolished her surroundings.
But that anger had been accompanied by will, a sudden realisation of her danger motivating her to focus, to resist. Fear had, eventually, triumphed, coaxing her rage into submission. She wasn’t as open to her emotions anymore. All that worry, and yet Luna still did not believe she had mastered herself. Matured, certainly, grown to realise the terrible impact her choices could have, and understand the corruptive nature of her impulses.
Once, before all of this, Luna would have shut the issue from her mind, preferring not to dwell on it. Now, though, now she knew better. She had been able to utilise her anger in her escape without falling to the Nightmare, through a combination of knowledge and fear. For all the pain it had brought her, it was still just a tool. She couldn’t blame it for her failings.
No, her problem wasn’t her anger. Before her fall, she had given in to her emotions; feeling jealous of the adoration of her sister, and the dominance of the day. Jealousy had, in time turned to hate, and it had consumed her, devouring reason and logic. Luna had always prided herself on her sharp mind. That she had fallen so easily stung. But the fault lay, nonetheless, in bottling herself up. She had never brought those emotions forward, never spoken with Celestia, or encouraged her subjects.
Returning, she’d blamed herself, but for the wrong flaws. She’d thought the problem had lain in succumbing, that she could refuse to acknowledge how she felt. So she’d blocked all thought of her suppressed anger, denied the resentment bubbling inside her. That had hamstrung her, leaving her with nothing but fear of being overwhelmed, and of falling, again, to the Nightmare.
What she’d experienced, forced into the use of that anger, was altogether different. She’d been afraid of her capacity for evil, but she’d never considered the use of anger for good. And she’d found that although it was harder to deny it, harder to force herself back into passivity, she hadn’t been as furious. She’d accomplished something, found validation in herself and justified in her hate. She felt empowered, and suddenly, that hate was once again her tool.
In truth, it had never been anything else. Luna had used her emotions as an excuse, claiming, if only to herself, that they destroyed her capacity for control; turned her to evil like some character from a fairy tale. And there was some truth in that. Certainly, the heights of emotion lead to a loss of composure, an erosion of control. But ultimately, she was responsible. Coming to terms with that allowed her to go back to her power, to try again.
Luna opened her wings, gliding down the mountainside. The Southern Equestrian desert, known as the Badlands, lay spread out before her, stretching out into the distance. After what she’d seen of the Wastes, as she called the desert behind her, that name was misleading. The Badlands was far gentler, a veritable oasis in comparison. There was still a fog, hovering low over the ground for about a mile from the mountain range, but Luna was high enough to see over it, spying a few dragons, circling in the distance.
That was the other reason nopony had even tried to leave Equestria via the southern border; they’d have to cut across dragon territory. For an alicorn, though, it was a non-issue.
As she glided, Luna began to feel a strange tingling sensation, spreading from her head down, over her torso and wings, right out to the tips of her primaries, and down her legs and tail. She shivered, suddenly uncomfortable.
The wind had cut off the moment she’d entered the mountains, a welcome relief after all her time in it. Perhaps it was her flight, naturally generating its own wind. It felt nothing like the wind from the Wastes; instead a cool breeze, refreshing instead of oppressive. If anything it soothed the chills running over her body.
Luna frowned, pressing her ears flat back against her skull. This . . . this felt like magic.
She flared her wings, halting her forward movement and diving to the ground. Pressing her own magic in front of her, she landed in an explosion of dust and fog, throwing a giant cloud of fresh air around her as her magic forced a tunnel through the fog bank. Standing, Luna carefully pressed her senses forward towards Equestria.
She could just barely detect the edges of a barrier. It was faint, far subtler than anything any unicorn could manage, and as far as she could tell, extended across the entire southern border. There were no edges, no locus points in the weave. She never would have found it at all were it not for all the time she’d spent examining her prison.
Nor could she tell what purpose it served. Luna remembered back to her departure, how the desert had seemed to extend as far as she could see. The reality, revealed simply by crossing over that illusion, of an entire mountain range spoke of a highly sophisticated spell. Was she simply looking at its back?
Tentatively, Luna approached the barrier, pressing a hoof against it. Nothing happened.
But she had learned caution. Reaching inwards, Luna pulled on her fears and hopes, holding them close and extending her senses around her hoof and through the hole in the spell it had created. As her will trickled away, consumed by the magic, she felt a vague sense of apprehension. But neither Sight nor Sense told her anything of use.
Luna sighed. It was probably just the illusion. Slowly, she pushed her head through the spell, opening her eyes on the other side. Everything looked different, and everything was well.
***
Trixie lowered her hooves to see Boundless standing over Shining Armour’s unconscious body. He looked worried, though Trixie wasn’t sure what about.
“The train left at three, Trixie,” he said, not looking away from the body. “It’s a three hour trip out to the Crystal Empire, and it’s past six. They’ll know he’s missing.”
“So?” Trixie asked, still tired from all her spell-casting. Chaining together so much, for so long would have taxed her even at her best, and she’d hardly been that, a few short hours after coming out of a fight with Shining Armour—a highly capable mage in his own right. “They can’t find us. Not here.”
“They’ll be here, and soon. So stop questioning me, Trixie, and check on our . . . guest.”
“Guest?” Trixie said, snorting. Still, she bowed her head, giving Shining Armour a glance.
“Wake him,” Boundless ordered. “But keep him pinned, and without magic.”
Trixie wasn’t supposed to know that spell. But then, Boundless wasn’t supposed to know that Trixie knew that spell, to know that she had found it years ago, buried away on a dusty bookshelf in Fillydelphia’s Magus Library. What was one more dirty secret in a life of shadow?
She didn’t waste time denying it, instead approaching Shining Armour. Lighting her horn, Trixie prepared the spell, weaving strands of azure power into a carefully-staged process. As she laid it on him, the blanket of magic covering his body, and cut the power to her horn, she watched it take effect.
First, it countered the Sleep spell. Strands of the power reached upwards, snaking into his eyes and ears, down his throat and through his nostrils. Disappearing inside, it woke him up, stimulating the mind and spirit to restlessness. Second, it bound him, the blanket anchoring itself on either side of him, locking him down onto the table. Finally, it coalesced around his horn. Cutting into that physical conduit, placing a barrier there, would block the expression of his power, and therefore his power itself.
Shining Armour woke with a start, surging upwards against his bonds with his chest heaving, panting with exertion and sweat dripping from his coat in lather. She should refine that spell. Maybe she’d sunk too much energy into waking him up.
You’ve gotten stronger.
Cumulus! Trixie exclaimed silently. Welcome back.
Humph, he grumbled. I’m not sure if I’m ready to forgive you for that. You almost killed Brash.
He’s okay, though?
“Trixie,” Boundless said, calling for her attention.
Yes. He’s recovering.
Oh, thank Celestia. I didn’t want to do it, you know.
I guess not. But you don’t know what it’s like.
“Trixie!” Trixie snapped back to reality, realising she’d been standing still, staring into place. She glanced down at Shining Armour on the table. He was looking at her askance, as if slightly creeped-out. A slight blush crept onto her face.
“Sorry, sorry,” Trixie said, focusing on Boundless. “What now?”
“Now, you find out what we need to know.” Boundless gestured at Shining Armour. “Do your thing. We’re looking for the Crystal Heart.”
“Not even going to ask him first?” Trixie asked. Boundless arched an eyebrow.
“You’re the one who decided to kidnap him. I should think that we’ve blown any chance we had of getting cooperation.”
He’s got you there.
Cumulus . . . I had no choice, Trixie said. You know that, right?
“Okay.” Trixie took a deep breath. Instead of trying to go through Boundless, Trixie walked around the table to the opposite side, coming to a halt above Shining Armour’s head. Leaning over him, she locked gazes with the furious, helpless unicorn.
“You’ll never get away with this,” he said, eliciting a laugh from Boundless.
“Please,” he said, “Spare us the clichés. Will you give me what I want?”
“No,” Shining Armour said, turning to face Boundless. Puckering his mouth, he spat a glob of saliva. It missed, spattering on the floor.
Trixie reached out with her magic, grabbing Shining Armour’s head, and forcing him to meet her gaze. Through that connection, she dove into his mind, seeking with tendrils of her awareness and her power, for some hold on him.
Instead, she fell backwards, clutching at her head. Where most ponies’ minds were open to her, had points for her to latch onto and absorb their thoughts, like some kind of parasite, Shining Armour was a wall. She hadn’t only failed at gaining any access to his mind, she’d been struck at for trying, an acerbic lash of power striking out and searing her. It left the impression of rage; an intense and present anger at the injustice of his situation.
Could he . . .? No, that was ridiculous. Trixie hadn’t encountered anypony able to do that in all of Equestria. It was probably just her imagination.
“Well,” Boundless said. He sounded like he was laughing. For all his talk of their time limit, he didn’t seem particularly stressed, now that Trixie thought about it. More . . . strung out. It was tense nerves and nervous energy, leading to manic behaviour. Why was that?
“He’s shielded. I can’t read his thoughts,” Trixie said, moving back to the table.
“So that’s what you were doing on the train,” Shining Armour said. “Do you know how invasive that is?! Do you care?!”
***
Twilight paced nervously as she waited for Cadence to come out of her trance. The Alicorn of Love wasn’t as accomplished as Celestia or Luna—like Rarity, she required a particular state of mind in order to See. Nonetheless, she was an alicorn, and one powered by a particular sense of urgency.
Cadence couldn’t See who had taken Shining Armour, but she could See where he was. Once they knew that, Twilight and Cadence could teleport to him. For a normal unicorn, a jump like that would be considered near suicide, if they could even make the distance. Twilight wasn’t a normal unicorn.
Strangely, she didn’t feel overly worried for her brother’s health. She’d been through enough to know how to focus on a situation, but even so, she would have expected to feel more frantic.
What was more concerning was the simple question of who had taken him. The ability to hide the presence of your magic didn’t require power, as such, but it did demand an incredible amount of control. The mage would have to be an accomplished spell-caster. One with knowledge and motive.
Why would anypony kidnap Shiny? It didn’t make sense to Twilight. An ex-Captain of Celestia’s Royal Guard, the Defender of Canterlot and now the Prince—Consort of the Crystal Empire—that was a powerful name. They couldn’t expect him to take his capture lightly, nor prove a tractable captive. Twilight was almost surprised he hadn’t broken free already.
They could be looking for a ransom. He’d certainly be worth an awful lot of bits. But there had been just six cases of kidnapping in the last millennium, and none of them had been about money. There were other, more profitable and less harmful ways of garnering income in the Equestrian underground. Twilight knew those ponies. This would have been far too great of a risk.
They could be looking for knowledge. Shiny would certainly know a great deal—guard patrols, the locations and security systems protecting various artefacts, the secret ways in and out of a city. Twilight nodded, liking that theory more.
Still, it was all conjecture until they found him. Twilight turned back to the alicorn on the bed, eyes closed. Cadence had already been under for a few minutes, and while Rarity might take a few hours to gain anything useful, Cadence was at another level entirely.
The alicorn’s eyes snapped open, filled with fire. Twilight took an unconscious step backwards, before steeling herself; that fire was not hers, nor for her.
“Cadence? Where is he?” Twilight asked. Cadence fixed her eyes on Twilight’s, near searing her with their intensity.
“I’ll show you,” she whispered, horn alight and power threading through the air towards Twilight.
The spell was a simple illusion, designed to create a hologram in the air before her. Twilight scanned the image quickly, her own eyes widening.
The scene was something out of a horror story. Her brother lay, strapped to a wooden table with magic in the middle of a dark, dank room. His horn was covered in a shield of the same azure light as his bonds. Twilight knew that light.
There were two ponies with him. One was Boundless, the colt Twilight had confronted.
The other was Trixie, her power filling the room as she leant over Twilight’s helpless brother.
***
In truth, Trixie did care. She hated that she hurt her friends to preserve her life. She hated that she could fall so low, become capable of so much. When she’d first discovered what she could do, first lashed out at another, after the fire . . . she’d struggled. It wasn’t just something she could do, some badge of ability that marked her out of the crowd. She’d grown past that egotistical, shallow pony.
The real world wasn’t that simple. It had never given her that one last time, the break she needed. Over time, as she’d been lead, again and again, into abusing her abilities, she’d grown accustomed to it. She’d begun to block out the self-loathing, to hide away from the reality of her actions. She had been the victim.
But that didn’t excuse her. She had always had a choice, no matter what she told herself. It had been her pride, her need for self-sufficiency that had prevented her from asking for help. Somehow, she’d twisted life to where hurting others had been the lesser evil.
How had she done that? How had everything gone so wrong, to end here, hidden somewhere under Canterlot in a dirty, small basement. She’d never had anything be so clear, or felt so trapped.
”Can you get through?” Boundless asked. His voice was low, silky smooth and confident.
“Not a chance,” Shining Armour growled. Boundless casually reached over, slapping him with a hoof across his muzzle. Trixie winced at the violence, and the reminder of everything he was capable of. Again, she heard the crack of breaking bone in her head.
Shining Armour spat out a glob of blood to the side. He remained defiant, but there was a spark now, in his eyes. Trixie knew that feeling, the fear, slowly building. She could feel it right now, the situation, rapidly falling out of control, beginning to overwhelm her.
Layers within layers, Cumulus whispered. Do you see the pattern?
No, Trixie replied. His analysis often exceeded hers, and she was grateful for his assistance. Brash was still pouting, hiding away from her in the recesses of her mind.
I’m so sorry, Trixie. I wish I’d seen it earlier. Cumulus began, only to be interrupted.
“Trixie,” Boundless said, almost purring. “If he won’t lower his defences himself, we’ll just have to bring them down.”
“You’ve always had a flair for that,” she replied dryly. But for all her posturing, inside she was trembling just as much as Shining Armour. She could sense it, everything piling in, here, to this tiny room hidden underneath Canterlot. It was the culmination of the last four years. Did she dare hope that Boundless would be done with her after this? Could there be a way out after all?
Boundless just smiled. “Not this time. Unfortunately, I can’t get into ponies’ heads, Trixie.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Trixie snapped with false bravado. Her heart was racing in her chest, pounding against her ribs almost audibly.
Boundless stepped close, looming over her and igniting his horn. Leaning down, he whispered gently, softly, into her ear. “How does one go about breaking through an unbreakable spell? For make no mistake, in there, in that most intimate domain of magic, he is utterly unbreakable.”
“You can’t,” Trixie said, but she didn’t believe it. Boundless was leading her somewhere, somewhere dark. The shadows there turned her away, concealing his purpose. She knew, but she wished not to know, on a level beyond conscious choice, and so she did not see.
“Kill him, Trixie,” Boundless continued. “Stare into his eyes, press yourself against his walls, and draw a blade across his throat. Watch his life and power drain away, and as he fades, break through, break into his mind and take what we need.”
Trixie stumbled back as he spoke, not registering the last of his words. Kill?! What?! How . . . How can I . . . I . . .
Do you see it? Cumulus said, his voice drowning amidst the noise of Trixie’s panic. Was he ever after the Heart?
But she couldn’t listen. Trixie couldn’t focus, still reeling from his order. She backed up, her rump hitting the wall, and sat down with a thump, hyperventilating.
She had confronted murder before, when she was contemplating going against Boundless. But she hadn’t been able to do it then. What made him think she could do it now?
He had broken her. She could not turn against him, not against that. Boundless stood over her, an avatar of darkness. Shadows flickered over his frame, breaking the lines of his back and legs, giving him an ethereal appearance. Intense eyes fixed their glare on her, conveying the ultimate expression of will. She would do this, or he would unleash his considerable wrath upon her.
And there was no resistance. She had been broken down systematically, brought low by the slow induction into her fear. Oh, he had been careful, yes. To teach her enough that she would be helpless, now, and yet not enough to scare her away, taking her chances with authority.
Trixie concentrated on her breathing, slowing it down. In and out, in and out, and slowly, the panic receded. It left in its wake only terror—a stark, sharp fear. But there was no paralysis, and no hesitation.
Trixie stood, lighting her horn and summoning a blade of azure light. The magic condensed in her hoof, taking a material form she could clutch. It became a symbol of security, of control. There was nothing else to hold.
“Hey! What’s going on?” Shining Armour called.
On the table, he had begun to struggle with his bonds once again. Trixie ignored his cries—the knowledge of his fate was written plainly across his face. He knew, already. It was in the wildness of his eyes, bulging in their sockets and rolling around the room. It was in the tenseness of his cheeks, pulling the skin and fur tight across his muzzle. It was in the stiffness of his ears, laid flat against his skull, as if glued there.
***
“Where are they?” Twilight asked, looking up at Cadance as the effigy dissipated into the air.
“Underneath Canterlot,” Cadence replied. A map of the city appeared in the air, hanging between the two. On it, Twilight could see the pale blue of her brother’s magic, shining over a small hovel in the slums of the city.
“In a basement?” she asked.
Cadence nodded. “There’s a huge network of tunnels connecting all the houses down there. We call it the Canterlot Underground.”
“I’m going,” Twilight said, wasting no more time. She began to pull magic in to her horn, the familiar purple hues gathering around her as she readied her teleportation spell. She would fuel it with joy—the joy she found in a sunny day, or a cool night, a good book and good company, the joy of family; a partner, a sister, and a brother.
On the map, a pink line began to move back from Shining Armour’s current position. It traced a circuitous route through the slums, before rising to street level and terminating at Trixie’s hideout. Twilight gestured to the building.
“I know that spot. I can get there in five minutes,” she said, charging the spell.
“I’ll be a touch longer,” Cadence said, nodding as her own aura began building around her.
Twilight had never rued that particular limitation on teleportation as much as she did now. But it was not a matter of strength, or even luck. One simply could not teleport somewhere one had not been before. That left Cadence to move into the city proper, and fly down. Twilight, who had already visited the slums on occasion, would be faster despite being limited to the ground.
The spell came together easily, the warmth of her memories flowing through Twilight. Magic engulfed her vision in purple, and she disappeared in a flash, to appear on the street outside Trixie’s burnt house.
She had the route fixed in her mind, of course, and as she galloped down the street, heading for the entrance to the Underground Trixie and Boundless had used, she ran through possibilities in her mind.
Why would they have taken Shining Armour? Trixie hadn’t struck Twilight as a particularly bad pony—while she had been shoplifting, and generally terrorising multiple cities, she hadn’t had the desperation it took to kidnap somepony. Boundless, on the other hand . . . there was no question there.
They had been after the Crystal Heart. That, Twilight could assume, from Trixie’s slip and Boundless’ notes. Why they wanted it, she had no idea, but if they’d kidnapped Shining Armour just for information, they must need it, badly.
Twilight shook her head. Motivations were secondary now; she had to focus on the situation at hoof. Sprinting now, she found the cellar door they’d passed through and blew it inwards, a simple telekinetic spell empowered with her panic. Calm, she needed calm right now, to think clearly and act rationally. Panic served her best as a bludgeon.
The door didn’t just splinter inwards, it was torn clean off its hinges, flying across the room and carrying a pony with it. Crashing against the far wall, the pony slumped down, unconscious, but largely unharmed. Twilight didn’t spare him more than a glance as she sped past.
***
To Trixie, it seemed such a simple thing, so pure and beautiful. A telekinetic field—the truest expression of a unicorn’s power—providing light as it gently hummed in Trixie’s hoof. Not hot, or trembling with energy, instead it was as if she was holding a leaf, floating in the wind, or a sunbeam playing across her muzzle on a warm summer’s day.
In a very real sense, at that moment, the blade of light was her, and she it. All that Trixie was was contained in the gleam along its edge, the radiance and barely-contained power, shimmering down its length in waves of azure. She stood above her captive, her victim, and pressed its edge gently into his throat, leaning over him to force eye contact.
Touching his mind was easy now, here, in the twilight. Trixie felt calm, somehow, the fear and doubt melting away. It was so clear to her, the decision simple. She walked the blade’s edge, and yet, no matter which way she fell, she would fall.
Shining Armour was anything but calm. Foam pressed against his mouth, lips pressed together tightly in the clamp of Trixie’s magic. And still she couldn’t see in, couldn’t grasp hold of the mind that contained her salvation. It was incoherent, a jumble of fear and shock, hidden behind strong walls. Trixie couldn’t gaze long on those walls, though. They were barely-contained themselves, all the emotion, repressed behind a thin veneer of control. They glimmered, reminiscent of her blade.
Trixie took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to be tense, not here, not now. She could afford no distractions, not if she wanted to be precise. She would fall, but she would fall well, cleanly and without pain. She did not begrudge nor blame him for holding out. He had as little choice as her.
“Do it, Trixie,” Boundless whispered, standing next to her. Even here, in this place of calm he sent a shiver through her, causing her world to tremble. The iridescent blade flashed, shaking. Trixie couldn’t tell if it followed her hoof’s movements, or its own, frantic, motions.
Her hoof spasmed, just slightly, causing a thin line of blood to appear on the upper edge of her blade. It coloured the light, turning it a murky brown as it shone through the blood. Under her, Shining Armour gave a gasp, redoubling his struggles. But it made no difference, his muscle not even coming close to disrupting Trixie’s magical hold.
“What are you waiting for?” Boundless said, his voice sounding breathless in her ear. Why was she waiting? Was she waiting?
Her ears flicked as she heard a loud crash. Drawing herself back, she eased up, and brought her eyes up to the room around her.
The door had been thrown clear across the room, to reveal a panting unicorn standing in the doorway. Twilight was clearly exhausted, lather covering her sides and frost appearing from her muzzle with each short, sharp breath. But the violence of her entrance and the fire in her eyes left Trixie with little doubt as to her capability.
She met Twilight’s eyes, the intensity nearly shattering her from her trance.
Trixie! Cumulus shouted, his voice coming from far away.
“I’m sorry,” Trixie whispered, before lowering herself back to her task.
***
Twilight burst into the room feeling like death itself. The path she’d taken had seemed much longer than the map had indicated, and while she wasn’t unhealthy, she wasn’t the fittest pony. Cadence would have caught up a lot of ground—she could be here any moment.
But Twilight had made it first, and the scene that had awaited her blocked out all other thought. Her brother lay, strapped to a table with an azure knife resting against his throat, held in the hoof of one of her friends. Twilight couldn’t believe what she was seeing; Trixie hadn’t been this bad, this evil, before, had she? Had she fooled her, lead her to believe she could be redeemed, all the while planning this?
Beside her stood Boundless, eyes wide from Twilight’s unexpected appearance. He looked . . . confident; a slight, smug, smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he met her eyes squarely. It infuriated her.
Twilight screamed, throwing her magic across the room, carrying with it all the pain and fear and anger she’d experienced from the moment she’d discovered her brother’s absence. It materialised as a spear of lavender light, its blunted end forming into a ball of pure power the size of a pony’s head, tearing through the room with the force of a hurricane, absorbing and refracting the glow of Trixie’s blade to cast the room in blue and purple hues.
Under that surreal light, Twilight saw Boundless step forward to meet her attack. His own horn crackled, though its light was washed out by Twilight’s puissance, and Trixie’s agonised indecision. With a sweep of magic, he attempted to deflect her attack, to redirect it to crash against the side wall. But Twilight would not be denied, and though he strove, his efforts yielded little more than a deafening detonation and a rush of air.
The crushing bludgeon took Boundless in the chest, cracking his ribs with an audible snap. He was thrown backwards, striking the wall with the crunch of splintering wood and sailing through into the adjacent room. Twilight, recovering from his small explosion quickly, stepped forward with her eyes smouldering. He didn’t move.
***
Trixie, reeling from the sudden violence beside her, had managed, though only just, to keep her knife from slipping into his throat. Slowly, she regained her balance, shaking the excess force of Boundless’ magical explosion from her. Could he be dead? Had Twilight done that; stopped him, given her an escape? Trixie felt hope begin to rise in her chest, an almost transcendent emotion of freedom.
But the fear rose alongside it. And though she dared to hope, she could not believe that Boundless would stop from something as trivial as that. She didn’t believe he could be stopped; he was a force of nature. He was not something that could be fought.
Fear forced its way into her heart, and, her whole body trembling, she established a connection with Shining Armour, and prepared herself.
***
Twilight spared him only a glance; Boundless hadn’t twitched from where he lay in a heap, resting on top of the shattered planks of the wall behind him. Twilight didn’t think he was seriously hurt—certainly some broken ribs and a bruised back, but nothing he couldn’t recover from. It was enough, then, enough to take him out of the fight.
She turned her attention to Trixie. Boundless’ diversion of her attack had given her pause, Shining Armour still lying on the table with Trixie’s magic hovering at his neck. Twilight reached out, seizing Trixie’s hoof in her magic.
Trixie didn’t respond. Instead, eyes fixed and face resolute; she pushed her hoof against Twilight’s hold, suddenly and forcefully, breaking her grip with a surge of unrelenting, absolute terror and a belief, a fundamental belief in him. Somehow, across that magical connection, Twilight could feel Boundless; feel his touch against hers, instead of Trixie’s, as if the mare was merely a vehicle for his intent.
Freed, she drew the blade across Shining Armour’s throat, her eyes widening, and her body falling backwards to the floor. Twilight screamed in sudden shock and denial and the blood welled up to pool on the table and drip to the floor, as the blade slid out with a thick, squelching noise.
I find myself . . . unsure, how to begin. How exactly does one go about leaving a message for oneself, should the worst occur? It is what we most fear . . . and yet seems to me near inevitable. I cannot fight time, however I may perceive its flow.
You may be wondering who I am, and who this message is for. As difficult as it may be for you to believe, I only ever acted for our benefit. I hope you remember that, in the days to come.
Thirteen
FLUTTERSHY GAZED OUT AT THE SKY, the dawning sun painting it with a vibrant splash of red and yellow. She smiled, enjoying the slight breeze through her mane and quiet chatter of the critters around her. She was at peace.
These, these were the moments she lived for. Simple mornings full of simple pleasures, in the company of her animals and the comfort of home. She would have loved to share it with her friends, but she had been seeing little of them these last few months. It wasn’t a huge journey, to her small cottage hidden away amongst the hills and valleys surrounding the White Tail Woods, but everypony was busy.
She herself had plenty to do. As Warden of the forest and surrounding land, she was responsible for what happened here. That meant a lot of time spent watching, roaming the woods and hills. Thankfully, there was very little trouble to be found, but her duties included the care of wounded animals, and with the amount of ground she had to cover, Fluttershy often found herself far too busy to worry about the outside world. She contracted to this, her small domain, and ruled with a warm smile.
Gazing at the sky here, the crispness of the night still lingering in the air, she was happy.
Overhead, a flock of swifts passed, the birds disappearing and reappearing through the patchwork cover of clouds. Fluttershy sighed, fixing her eyes on their movements. Swifts were some of the fastest, most capable fliers alive, and they flew with a grace and power she could only envy.
They were magnificent, but as she watched them sink into the horizon, she spotted another, trailing in their wake. Clearly struggling, it favoured its left wing with each stroke, sending it veering as it flew after its brethren.
Fluttershy went after it, rising rapidly through the air to meet the swift. She took it in her hooves, whispering sweet nothings as she folded her wings tightly to her body, dropping to a cloud a few feet under her. She wanted a closer look at the injury.
Except instead of landing on a soft cloud, its fluffy mass supporting her body, she landed on nothing. She could see the cloud, pooling around her hooves, small chunks of its vapour dissipating to the sides. But she couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel any texture, or moisture, or solidity. For just a second, she stood on nothing.
Then the cloud moved, shooting away from her as she toppled off, its sudden acceleration catching her completely by surprise. Fluttershy froze, stiffening her limbs in shock. Her mane and tail streamed up, covering her face as the swift chirped frantically, held in her forelegs.
She recovered well before they hit the ground. After Rainbow had had to catch her—and the rest of them—from an accident with the balloon during her Wonderbolts Academy course, she’d taken steps to ensure Fluttershy wouldn’t forget she could fly again. Those lessons had been hard, but she had learnt, eventually, how to calm herself down, how to relax, to tilt her head and body, close her eyes, and pretend she was flying, normally.
Fluttershy carefully turned the fall into a glide, swooping down out of the clouds and coming to a stop near her cottage. She trotted the rest of the way, not trusting her wings after the incident, though she was proud of how she’d handled it.
Thankfully, the swift had just sprained a muscle in his wing. With a few days’ rest, he would be perfectly healthy, and able to go after the others. Fluttershy gave him some pain relief and food, tying a bandage around the wing to prevent it from moving. The swift settled down onto its perch near the fire, chirping to communicate its displeasure at the delay.
With that taken care of, Fluttershy turned her attention to the cloud. The little wind she’d felt up there hadn’t been nearly enough to make it move like that, but even had there been wind, she should have been taken with the cloud. It was almost as if it had been skittish, bolting away from her contact.
No, that was ridiculous. Clouds weren’t alive, they didn’t feel things. They certainly couldn’t move themselves. But still, Fluttershy couldn’t think of any other explanation. It had acted like a living creature, with intent and emotion.
Perhaps she should see Twilight. If anyone would know about this, she would. Perhaps Rainbow would be there—even if Twilight hadn’t heard of them before, Rainbow might have heard about something like this. She was the expert of flight and the sky, after all.
Besides, she needed to see Twilight anyway. Her Dreams had been troubled of late.
Oh, but what if Twilight wasn’t at home? She was often out, working across Equestria. And Rainbow would probably be in Canterlot, with the Wonderbolts. Maybe she should just try to forget about it.
The swift chirped twice from its perch, the sharp notes cutting through the stillness of the cottage. Fluttershy sighed.
She would go anyway. She might get lucky; even Twilight needed to take breaks now and then. But even if she wasn’t there, it would do her good to find some company. She could pick up some supplies; cheeses, breads, and linen. The basics of life in civilisation, so commonplace in her old life had become luxuries to her. She had plenty of money, but rarely found the time to purchase them.
Fluttershy walked out the front door, stepping down from her porch and onto the lawn. She raised her wings, preparing to take off. The flight into town would take her half the day—she would have to push herself to make it back by dark.
But as she thrust herself into the air, she heard the clip-clopping of hooves against the stone path leading to her cottage. Fluttershy lowered herself from her stance, dropping back to wait for her visitor.
An orange cowpony appeared, rounding a bend from the nearby trees. Fluttershy smiled at the sight, stepping forward to greet her.
“Applejack!” she called warmly. “What brings you all the way out here?”
As Applejack approached, Fluttershy noticed her coat, lathered in sweat. She must have run nearly the whole way to be that exhausted.
Applejack came to a halt, panting. “Fluttershy,” she said, gasping for breath. “You need to come with me.”
***
Pinkie carefully balanced the cups on the cupcakes, stacking them on a tray she balanced on her tail. Bouncing around the café, she dropped each plate on various tables, in front of various ponies. Each greeted her arrival with a smile, taking their order into their hooves with warm appreciation.
“Why, thank you, dear,” one said. She was sitting in between two young foals. As Pinkie watched, they dug into the treats, quickly covering their faces in cream.
“Not at all,” Pinkie said, turning away. Once, she would have stayed with the table, playing games with the foals and laughing with the parent. Once, she could have taken breaks when she wanted, to spend her time basking in their warmth.
But with the Cakes retirement, she had grown far busier than she’d ever been before. Pinkie finished delivering the current batch of orders and returned to the kitchen. There were plenty more plates awaiting her; the Cake twins had followed their parents in their calling and had inherited their talent for baking an abundance of goods.
Sugarcube Corner had done well, over the years, and she was happy. Her work might have been endless, but it brought her into contact with so many ponies, spread joy in everypony that came in. It was hers in trust, hers while the Cakes taught, until their children were ready. But it was awfully busy.
Pinkie kept her smile as she returned to the crowd, balancing a fresh tray. Foals liked to stare at her, as, impossibly; the tray and the pastries on it remained still despite her movement. It wasn’t that hard, really, not when you could Sense the movements of the tray before it even started to fall.
Pinkie turned her head to the door, waiting. Sure enough, the bell tinkled as it swung open, allowing a white unicorn to step inside.
Pinkie dropped the tray on a nearby table, making her way to the door in haste. Throwing her forelegs around the unicorn, she held her in a long hug before finally pulling back.
“Rarity! I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been? What’s been happening? Have you been busy? Oh, I bet you’ve been busy making something. Is it good? Can I see it? Do you . . .” Pinkie cut off as a hoof was stuffed into her mouth. Rarity shook her head, giving Pinkie a fond smile.
“I was here yesterday, dear,” she said.
“Oh, I know. There’s just so much work, and it feels like forever since just this morning, let alone last night, or yesterday evening, or yesterday afternoon, and especially yesterday at lunch.”
“Hush, Pinkie, I remember.” Rarity dropped her hooves to the floor, making her way into the café. Pinkie followed, quickly finding a table for her. Seconds later Rarity was comfortably seated, a checkered table cloth laid before her, and on that a plate, cutlery, napkins and a vase with flowers.
“We got some fresh daisies in yesterday,” Pinkie said, stealing one from Rarity’s vase and biting it enthusiastically. “They’re really good!”
“Yes, erm, thank you,” Rarity said. “Could you just fetch me a nice hot cup of tea, dear? Not too sweet! And get something for yourself, as well.”
“Sure thing, Rarity.” Pinkie dashed off into the kitchen, taking a fresh round of orders from the twins as well as a new, experimental cupcake and Rarity’s tea. She arrived back at the table to find Rarity hunched forward. Pinkie frowned, it wasn’t normal behaviour for the unicorn. Pinkie had expected to see her lounging, perhaps idly chatting with a neighbouring table.
Pinkie giggled as she approached. Rarity wouldn’t talk with a table, that was just silly. Besides, what would the table talk about, if it even could talk? How heavy its burden, how tedious its life?
She placed the food in front of Rarity, quickly passing out the other orders before taking the seat opposite. Rarity had drawn herself up, resuming her confident pose, but Pinkie could see the lines of tension in her forelegs, and the worry in her eyes. Something had, or was going to happen, something terrible.
“Rarity,” Pinkie began slowly, drawing each word out. “What happened?”
The unicorn stiffened, then slumped down in her seat, levitating her tea and downing it in a single gulp. Pinkie winced with her as the liquid seared her throat.
“Have you heard from Twilight?” Rarity asked once she’d gotten over her spluttering.
“Not recently.”
“She came to me three days ago. She asked me to find Trixie.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve Seen her, Pinkie. I’ve Seen what she’s been doing.”
“You don’t think she deserves a chance to change?”
“Of course not. I’m just . . . I’m not sure we should go after her.”
“That’s up to Twilight, isn’t it?”
“We’re meddling, Pinkie. Interfering in things we shouldn’t be.”
“How do you know that?”
“Just a feeling, a spot in the corner of my vision. Black on grey, like a smudge on the world.” Rarity was trembling now, clutching her head in her hooves. Her voice was muffled, smothered.
“Have you asked Fluttershy?” Pinkie asked. Where she would Sense, and Rarity See, Fluttershy could Dream; it was an ability more in line with prophecies and mystery than theirs.
“No,” Rarity managed.
“Well, maybe you should ask her.” Pinkie’s eyes widened, and she clapped her hooves together. “We’ll get everyone together! We can have a party here. You can ask her then.” Really, it had been too long since they’d all gotten together.
Everypony was just so busy. When Twilight wasn’t off saving somepony’s life or livelihood, Rainbow was performing on the other side of Equestria, or Applejack had a bumper crop that need harvesting, or Rarity had taken in a huge order from Canterlot, or Fluttershy had found another animal with another small injury.
Yes, a party would be perfect, and the perfect opportunity to talk out this problem. She had her own theories, of course, but Fluttershy and Twilight together would have a better idea of what was plaguing their friend.
“You’re not listening to me, Pinkie,” Rarity said softly, forcefully, uncovering her face. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Yesterday, I saw Luna.”
***
Applejack thundered along the path, shadowed from the hot sun only by Fluttershy’s small shadow. The two of them were making good time, though had Fluttershy been more of a natural flyer, like Rainbow, they could have been back in Ponyville by now.
She shook her head. That was unkind to both of them, while Rainbow would have had no trouble carrying Applejack all the way, she would never have been able to accomplish the wonders Fluttershy had managed.
Applejack had only visited Fluttershy a few times since she moved out here. Usually it was more convenient for the pegasus to fly to them than to have everypony make the journey. But every time, she had looked around wishing Fluttershy had chosen to remain in Ponyville.
She knew all the reasons Fluttershy had for leaving. All the good she could do here, the tranquillity and rustic charm. There had been reasons to stay, too, not least of which included leaving her friends. But she couldn’t have stayed. It had never really been a choice.
Fluttershy had forced Applejack to rest for half an hour at her cottage, and despite her urgency, even she could admit that she needed the rest. She felt much better now, refreshed and relaxed.
Applejack glanced up at the pegasus overhead. Fluttershy was keeping up, but she was visibly flagging, allowing the slightest unevenness in her wing-strokes, uncontrolled breaths. She wasn’t cut out for this sort of long distance sprint.
It was a pity Applejack couldn’t help her. She was running on a mixture of determination and will, fueling her muscles with something she’d never thought she’d find; magic, in the body of an earth pony. She had grown used to the idea, comfortable with its use, but she still caught herself thinking it unnatural.
Of course, Luna had said magic was inherent in all earth ponies. But where unicorns, and to an extent pegasi, operated magic consciously, earth ponies enjoyed its benefit without thought. It gave them strength, stamina and fortitude.
Coromancy hadn’t changed those abilities. If anything, it had made them stronger. Applejack had always felt strongly, now she had an outlet for those emotions. She could use them, pressing them into the earth to encourage growth. She could hold them, feed them into her body to send her limits skyrocketing beyond anything she’d ever seen.
When she was learning, practicing what she could do, she’d challenged her brother to a contest. He had always been the strongest stallion she’d ever met. While under the influence of Applebloom’s love poison, he’d been able to pull an entire house all over town.
The contest had been simple. She’d set up a tug of war, complete with mud pit. There hadn’t been anypony around to witness it; that hadn’t been the point. It was an exercise to help her learn, not to show off.
The first few games she’d lost almost instantly, not feeding enough emotion into her forelegs, or her jaw, or simply being too slow. But as they’d played, spending entire afternoons at the activity, she’d started to win.
The first time had been gradual. Big Macintosh had given the rope a quick tug and almost dropped it when Applejack hadn’t moved. She’d taken a step forward, straining, and slowly put more and more force into her step. Big Macintosh concentrated, focusing on his efforts, but Applejack continued forward until he’d fallen into the pit.
After that, the game had changed. She knew it hadn’t taken half of what she had to equal Big Mac, and now she wanted to know her limits. He’d started carrying weights, even hitching himself to his cart before they’d started. But Applejack refused to lose again, not until she’d given everything she had.
Everything she had had amounted to nearly a thousand tons of weight, made up of broken concrete, cobblestones, and wood, all from around the farm. She’d been bedridden for days, after that one. Not so much a physical injury, her magic had protected her from any torn muscles or sprains. She’d been in a state of apathy, lacking any conviction in life, lacking any desire to get up. She might’ve had the energy to, but she couldn’t feel it inside, urging her to move. But in time she’d recovered, and if anything, felt stronger. More complete, at one with the world around her.
That wasn’t an experience she’d repeat any time soon, but it had been a valuable one. Twilight especially was interested, demanding a full report and spreading it around. Luna had warned them, but those words hadn’t really hit home, not until one of their own had experienced the apathy she’d described.
“You okay up there?”
“Ye-yeah.”
Applejack looked at Fluttershy with a critical eye. The pegasus was not, in fact, okay. If they didn’t stop soon, she’d injure herself.
“Hold up, Fluttershy.” She stopped, raising a cloud of dust around her hooves. Fluttershy circled twice to lose speed before landing next to her.
“Oh, I can keep going,” Fluttershy said, though her legs trembled.
“Now now, sugarcube, don’t be afraid to tell me when you need a break. I understand.”
“I should be able to keep up!”
“Spending all your time walking or gliding around the forest doesn’t give you the kind of stamina you need for this run. Rarity can wait another fifteen minutes.”
“Rarity . . . sent you?” Fluttershy asked, dropping to the ground.
“Yeah.”
Fluttershy smiled. “Why the rush?”
“It took me a few hours to reach you, and we’re meeting at Sugarcube Corner tonight. Rarity was going to clear the whole place out, she caught me as she was going to the post office—sending a message to Twilight and Rainbow in Canterlot.”
“I guess we can wait a bit then,” Fluttershy said. “It’s only just past lunch.”
“We’ll give you enough to rest up, but we can’t dawdle. You’ll wanna be there for this, Flutters. Rarity says she’s found Luna.”
***
Rarity reached forward to grasp another cup of tea. Pinkie had had to return to her work; while those dining here for lunch had since departed, affording them some privacy, and Pinkie some respite, more had filled in, seeking an afternoon snack or treating foals after collecting them from school.
She’d already downed several cups, but for once she didn’t begrudge herself the excess. She needed something to calm her nerves, after what she’d Seen.
It had taken her a few days to recover from Twilight’s request, days she could have spent working. But she’d found her designs lacking, in the absence of fear and hope. It limited her drive, and snuffed out her creativity.
Instead, Rarity had focused on the more mundane parts of her work. Maintaining a business like hers required a great deal of effort, coordination and time. She’d met with dozens of ponies from all over Equestria, discussing fashion shows, catalogues and storefronts. It was tedious, but it didn’t demand too much from her.
When she wasn’t working, Rarity had been spending time with Sweetie Belle. Her sister wasn’t often in Ponyville, and when she visited, Rarity tried to take as much time off as she could. Sweetie spend most of her time touring, as part of a live show. When Rarity wasn’t marvelling at her own good fortune, she was basking in her sister’s fame. Equestria had taken to calling her the next Sapphire Shores.
Just this morning, she’d found hope in herself. It nestled alongside her fear—both emotions constantly at war, seeking to colour her, trying endlessly to draw her to their side. It had only been three days—usually it took a week to recover from Sight—but she knew what had hastened their return.
Rarity had been walking, with Sweetie Belle, through Ponyville yesterday. They weren’t walking anywhere in particular, or for any particular reason. Just strolling, to see where the day took them.
They’d passed the old school-house, where Cheerilee had taught Sweetie for years. The teacher had been standing outside the gate, looking in at what used to be her domain.
“I just heard last week,” Sweetie had whispered to her. “They’re closing it down.”
“What? Who told you that?”
“Scootaloo did. I trust her, sis. She said that with three schools across the town already, it was pointless continuing to fund this old place.”
“What will happen to her?”
“I don’t know.” Sweetie had hung her head. “It’s those damn New Ponyvillians, sis. They’re changing everything.”
“No,” Rarity had replied, watching Cheerilee. The schoolteacher, once so vibrant, so full of life and colour, had walked away from the building—a school no longer—with her shoulders slumped, her head drifted listlessly from side to side with each small step. “Everything is changing, Sweetie. They control it no more than we do.”
Rarity shook her head, focusing her mind on the present. On what she’d Seen, and why she’d gathered them all. Applejack and Fluttershy would arrive soon. She prayed that Rainbow or Twilight had gotten her message, and would bring the other down from Canterlot with them. She needed to tell them, to shift the burden. They could deal with it, as a group. They’d know what to do.
Pinkie darted around the shop, closing it for business. Was it already so late? Rarity watched the last of the customers leave, some sending her quizzical glances. Odd, how such a small thing could bother her so. The Old Ponyvillians would never have questioned her right to be here.
Not that they’d been doing that. Rarity was famous enough to attract more than a few stares, and while Pinkie was less well-known across Equestria, she had kept up her tradition of personally greeting every new pony in town. But whatever their reason, it drew attention to this meeting. Reminded her, when she was doing everything she could to forget.
Sometime later, there was a knock at the door, which Pinkie promptly answered. The merry jingle of the bells, greeting the newcomers seemed incongruous. In the wrong place, and at the wrong time.
There was a brief flurry of activity before Pinkie stepped back to admit Applejack, and behind her, Fluttershy. Rarity rose from her chair, meeting the party near the door. Pinkie disappeared, fetching food from the kitchen.
“Applejack, Fluttershy, how wonderful to see you!”
“Feelin’ better, Rares?”
“A little. I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong, Rarity?” Fluttershy chimed in. “Applejack said you’d found Luna. That’s wonderful.”
“Yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d prefer to only go through it once. Why don’t we wait for Twilight and Rainbow?”
“Yep!” Pinkie said, appearing behind them. “Take a seat. I made snacks.”
Fluttershy still looked worried, as if she wanted to order Rarity bed rest and hot soup. But they filed around the table, taking seats. Rarity leaned forward, propping her forelegs on its surface.
“Please. Can we talk about something else? Just till the others get here, I promise.”
“That bad, sugarcube?” Applejack asked.
Rarity nodded mutely.
“Well, alright. I was gonna wait a stretch before Ah told you all this, but . . .“ Applejack shook her head, glancing around the table. Pinkie was giving her full attention, and Fluttershy was already nibbling at the edges of a cupcake. “Okay. Y’all are aware that the farm’s doing mighty well, right?” she began, to nods from around the table.
“Well, that ain’t the case down south. Appleloosa’s run into a stretch of trouble of late. There’s some problem with the water supply to the town. I was gonna ask Rainbow if she could take a look with me.”
Rarity cocked her head. “The Appleloosans have pegasi. Why wouldn’t they have fixed it?”
“Frankly, I don’t know, but Braeburn wouldn’t have asked without a darn fine reason, and I ain’t about to let him down.”
“I could go,” Fluttershy said. “I mean, if she’s busy, or something.”
“Well, thank ya kindly. I keep that in mind, Flutters.”
Rarity tuned out the rest of the conversation, Pinkie throwing in her opinion on the problems down south. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t her concern. She hoped Rainbow and Twilight would arrive soon, though she couldn’t wait much longer.
Rarity pricked her ears, rising from her seat as a distant rumble washed through the room. Conversation ceased, everypony turning to face north. Rarity rushed to the door, throwing it open and casting her gaze up at the Canterlot Mountain. It was difficult to make out, this late at night, but she saw enough. The mountain, the entire mountain, was shaking.
***
Rainbow flew leisurely through the skies above Canterlot, stretching her wings before she returned home for the night. She’d had a long day, full of paperwork and meetings. Boring, trivial stuff, compared to the meat of her work; setting out training routines to test her squad, building their speed, agility and stamina, or working on herself, pushing the boundaries of aerodynamics. She had never been short of ideas for her stunts, and Coromancy afforded her a level of precision and aerial prowess that was unprecedented. In her skies, she was as a god.
Unfortunately, showing that off to the public required a great deal of coordination—not just with her team, but with the spectators, the hosts and the public. There was advertising, ticket sales, merchandise, licensing deals, fundraisers and charity appearances . . . the list went on and on.
Rainbow spun about in the air, twisting herself in a complete circle. The rush of air past her face helped to clear her mind, helped her focus. In the end, the roar of the crowd, the adulation of her peers and the respect that came with her title was worth it. She had found little in life to be as satisfying as waking in the morning to a glowing review of their performance. It was a validation of her entire life.
In fact, she could only think of one thing better. The one pony whose approval she craved more than any others, the one whose opinion Rainbow most valued. Twilight knew her to her core, and the look on Twilight’s face after a late-night flight . . . she lived for it.
But Twilight wasn’t at the Canterlot Agency, The only thing awaiting Rainbow’s return was a letter—unusual, because the posting address was in Ponyville. Rainbow opened it, rapidly reading its contents. Rarity wanted her—and Twilight—back in Ponyville, tonight. She’d . . . she’d found Luna.
Rainbow didn’t waste any more time, jumping back into the sky. She might have a difficult time finding Twilight, but she was sure as hell going to try.
Thinking about where to start, Rainbow turned towards the castle, only to be met by a rush of wind and a pink blur. It shot past her, the force of its passage actually dragging her through the air with its wake. That was . . . that was Princess Cadence. What was she doing down here?
Rainbow waited a split second before following. Whatever Cadence was doing, shed bet Twilight was involved. She found the trail, still shining clearly, and tore through the air after her.
They moved almost too fast for Rainbow to see where they were going. But when Cadence slowed, dropping to the ground and disappearing into the ground, Rainbow found herself in the slums of Canterlot. Shaking her head, she found the entrance, and followed.
The Canterlot Underground. She’d heard rumours, in the Wonderbolts, but none of them had really believed them. It looked like they’d been right after all, a vast network of interconnected basements creating a living and hiding space under the slums. It wasn’t a place you’d find respected ponies, reserved more for those down on their luck, or the wrong side of the law. So what business did Cadence have down here? And why was the entire place shuddering? Dust floated down from the ceiling, getting in her eyes, and causing her to sneeze.
Definitely related to Twilight, Rainbow decided.
Ahead of her, Cadence stopped in a doorway. She’d had to slow down considerably to navigate the dense warrens, allowing Rainbow the chance to gain some ground. As a result, she‘d nearly walked right into Cadence. Then the alicorn screamed.
It was a scream of denial, of buried hatred and shock. It was a scream of tension, pent up and worried at, thought over and built until finally released in a final, terrifying realisation. A scream that demanded change, demanded that the body Twilight was desperately clutching in her hooves would be alright, a scream that blew past them, smashing its own hole through the cracked wall behind them, showering them with debris and rubble. That scream had nearly hit Twilight, though she’d had time, and the presence of mind to deflect it.
But as Cadence rushed into the room, into what remained of the room, Rainbow saw her face, tinted purple behind the rapidly fading shield she’d erected around herself. Stone and dirt fell to the sides, into a sticky pool of—was that blood?!
Her face alone told her all she needed to know. The fur was wet, matted from uncontrolled tears. As she had watched, Twilight had raised a hoof, already wet, and rubbed her eyes to clear her vision, leaving a smear behind it.
Her lower torso was also wet, stained a darker hue from the liquid. It wasn’t water, wasn’t tears that had soaked her, soaked into the ground around them. Rainbow could see the gleam of light, reflected in the pool as it continued to spread, slowly, over the ground.
She’d seen something like this only once before, when she’d killed the wolf in the Everfree. But where the horror of that picture had come from gore, from the shock of taking a life and the realisation that she could, this scene was infinitely worse. Here, they confronted death, and as Twilight saw Cadence, saw Rainbow, her face crumpled.
“Oh, Twilight,” Rainbow whispered, the scene before her breaking inside—a slow wave, inexorable and inevitable, crashing through her with a sullen, steady pressure.
Cadence tore Shining Armour’s body from Twilight, burying her face in his torso. All around her, the air seemed to gain weight, seemed to somehow become visible to Rainbow. It sparkled, with a terrible light.
Rainbow took a step forwards. She didn’t see the signs, couldn’t acknowledge the danger building in the room before her. She had eyes only for Twilight, only for the broken mare before her.
“Dashie,” Twilight said, gripping her with the name, holding her tight. “Dashie, you’re here. You came.”
Twilight had nothing left to give. Rainbow could see the damage she had wrought—holes in the room, remnants of the building scattered around them. From above, the last light from Celestia’s sun reached to them, through what had been four stories, full of life. Below, a hole had ripped through the ground, taking Twilight’s grief to the center of the mountain.
“Dashie,” Twilight whispered as Rainbow reached her, clutching her.
I leave this message for you, Luna, in the hope that it will remain unopened, unneeded. But where I have been locked away, she has planned, and planned again. I do not think my triumph likely.
I do not fear my demise. Indeed, my only fear lies with this record. For with your welcome back into the world, I do not know how you are to find it.
Fourteen
TRIXIE WOKE WITH A START, coming to consciousness from a sleep so deep it was beyond dreams, beyond awareness; a sleep where she could forget, just for a little bit, all the troubles in the world. Around her, a storm raged, invisible against the night sky, pouring rain creating a sheet of water over the mouth of the cave she shared with Boundless. She rolled over, away from the fire between them, and stood up. She wouldn’t be able to sleep again, not tonight.
She had been lucky, oh so very lucky, though she did not feel it. She’d passed out, staring Twilight in the eye as she killed her brother, driving a blade of magic, sharper than any metal could ever achieve through his neck. She’d pulled his head back, cutting deep, through arteries, cartilage and bone, but it hadn’t been the spray of blood that had shocked her, or the conflicting emotions that had driven her to it.
She didn’t know why she’d fainted, but, awakening, she felt . . . good. Better than she had any right to be. There was some guilt, yes, for Twilight’s pain and Shining Armour’s final moments. Some anger for Boundless’ manipulation, for inspiring in her the kind of fear that would drive her to murder.
She looked over at him. Twilight had injured him badly, giving him several broken ribs and a nasty concussion, though he would not admit it. Trixie couldn’t use the sleep spell, not with that head injury, but she could pin him down. The first few times, Boundless had simply shrugged the bonds off, but each time, he had winced, and eventually he had simply stopped trying, accepting Trixie’s treatment.
They had moved from Canterlot to the plains below the mountain, finding a smallish cave in which to spend the night. From there, Trixie had moved them every few hours, teleporting to maintain distance between any pursuits.
She could not conceive that they would not be pursued. The implications of her actions were only just beginning to hit home; she had murdered another pony. That had never happened before, not in a thousand years. News would spread, no matter how they tried to hide it, and whether from anger or fear, they would come for her.
Shining Armour hadn’t just been another regular pony, though even that would have drawn Celestia herself out of Canterlot, seeking them and bringing with her swift retribution. No, he had been the husband of an alicorn and the brother of an Arch-Magus, the Element of Magic. This deed would follow her all her life.
How had Twilight found them, in the Underground? Boundless had been convinced she would, despite the measures they’d taken against discovery. Trixie knew of spells that could track a pony’s movements, but she would have detected something like that. No matter how much power Twilight had, she couldn’t slip an illusion past Trixie.
Behind her, the Canterlot Mountain shook. She winced again, the rumbling sound of her enemies inflicting woe on the rock itself bringing her, just for a moment, to a panic and terror comparable to that which Boundless had inspired in her.
No more. She was done with that fear, now; cast it aside like the feeble constraint it was. Everything he had presented, she had now surpassed, and should she ever find herself desiring to leave his company, she could do so without worry. She would leave him in a pool of his own blood, to trouble the world no more.
Right now, Trixie would stay with him. She’d nurse him back to life, tell him what she’d learned in that single, precious moment she’d had with Shining Armour. All the information that she’d gleaned, the insight into Equestrian affairs, the knowledge of spells, old, and powerful magics, even details of smuggling rings they could use during the journey north.
Trixie had never been a fugitive before, never drawn so much attention to herself. Even so, she knew to stay away from the train lines and other modes of transport. There would be less chance of being found out here, in the wilderness, especially if she continued breaking their trail with teleportation. At least, she hoped it would.
Trixie turned away, coming to a stop at the cave’s entrance. In truth, she knew of only one place they could hide without fear of discovery. It was a place where the weather worked on its own, where plants and animals lived and died by their own code. A place of nature, of wilderness and history, a place whispered about between friends on a stormy night, or by elders, holding sway over their small kingdom at a bar. The Everfree Forest.
Trixie shuddered. Testament to how strongly those stories were ingrained in her that she almost preferred the idea of facing Celestia’s judgement. Facing Twilight, Cadence . . . it was better than that. They offered her stability, certainty—there was no doubt about what fate awaited her. They would not kill her, couldn't kill her, the same way she’d been unable to kill Boundless.
No, she wouldn’t die. She would be imprisoned, locked away for the rest of her life. Her name would be reviled, her image scorned. Even should she be released, there would be no solace in her freedom, no warmth in the light of the sun or guidance from the moon. She would be forever lost, stranded alone amidst the crowds.
Would isolation in the Forest be so terrible, in comparison to that? She had little doubt in her abilities, no hesitation in her assertions of strength. She would be in no danger from the denizens, the flora and fauna that would share her home. But even her powers faded in comparison with the size of the Forest, the web of life that spread across it. An incomprehensible vastness that dwarfed her, it exuded malice. She could have as much power as she wanted, for all the good it would do her there.
Trixie sighed, sitting down to await the morning. Boundless was fast asleep, suffering through what rudimentary spells Trixie had devised for his recovery, and there was little point planning ahead until she knew his plans. She watched the rain cascade over the world, and waited, secure in her tiny bubble of calm amidst the raging storm.
***
Twilight stood still, the world around her frozen. She couldn’t move, could barely think. She saw without perceiving, heard without feeling. There was no understanding the scene before her, no way of processing it. It couldn’t be real, shouldn’t be real.
There was a humming in her ears, a faint sound she could only just barely make out. It reverberated, its volume oscillating, as she tried to focus. Then, suddenly, it vanished, replaced by a sudden movement, her world lifting, and dropping. She almost expected the emptiness in her chest to dissipate, though it didn’t. Why did she expect that?
She was breathing. Of course she was. She was heaving great gasps of air, punctuating the silence with each inhalation. Was she panting? No, she didn’t feel tired. That wasn’t it.
The humming returned, though this time it was different. It wasn’t accompanied by the gradual, drawn-out roar of her chest, or the stillness of the world. It was a sharp rush, bringing with it noise and pain and colour.
So much colour! Splashed across her vision as the furious glory of the sunrise, or the quiet tranquillity of the moonlit glade, colour came, and deadened all in its wake.
There, the remains of a wall, blown away by her magic, the power of her rage. It was as an afterthought, the absent touch of her capacity. She remembered . . . a body, of a pony. Lying there, motionless, amidst the rubble, he became no threat, yet his shadow lay across the room still, blotting out the light.
The light. Where was that coming from? It poured into the room, stripping the darkness away, though it did not touch the pony’s shade. It was coming from . . . behind her? No, it was not constrained by the doorway around her. The light shone from herm, from her body, from her mane, and from her eyes.
To her right, a table, her brother, a crimson line arcing over his neck, stretched over it. Another—Trixie, that was her name—stood over him, directly in the shade. Her eyes sparked, mouth twitching and hoof clasping an azure knife. Magic, so puny, so simple, wove through the blade, in some sort of elaborate pattern. She could have shattered that spell in a sliver of an instant, and yet it was more than enough.
Her vision jumped. Her brother shifted, a tiny speck of blood appearing on the table beside with him. Trixie was there, above him, eyes rolling back as she threw her head back. The last specks of her light rose from the gash in Shining Armour’s neck, sparkling in Twilight’s fury.
Twilight focused on those sparks of light, her vision contracting. The world drained into them, consumed in their tiny flames and perished as they vanished, dissipating in the air. They were the remnants of his life, the moment she had held, and lost. So blind, so trusting.
She saw them in colour, and as they faded snapped into motion, hurtling herself across the room. Across the table, Trixie hit the ground with a thump, out cold, while to the side Boundless groaned, slowly waking.
But Twilight’s attention was given solely to her brother, lying limply on the wooden table. She took Trixie’s place at the head of the table, staring down in horror at what her friend—her friend!—had wrought.
Shining Armour’s eyes were closed, unconscious from shock, or a spell, or blood loss. There was so much blood. It spilled out from under Twilight’s hooves as she tried to staunch its flow, tried to hold him together against his heart’s unknowing betrayal.
Blood. Twilight had seen the like of this wound only once before in her life. Unbidden, the scene arose in her mind; a giant headless corpse slumping to the ground, flesh, bone and blood spattering her and the ground beneath her hooves. Soaking into the dirt as chunks of the wolf’s head fell all around her, and the blazingly brilliant rainbow trail that arose from its neck.
Twilight had witnessed that act, Rainbow’s final, desperate ploy. She had read the panic and the focus on her face, watching helplessly as the jaws swung shut around her. She hadn’t mourned the wolf, despite her tears. She’d mourned the death of innocence.
“I’m sorry”
What good was sorry, when Shining Armour lay dying here? Twilight lowered her brow, pressing her face against his and closing her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, brother,” she said quietly. She found she could talk, now that the tears had stopped. They had been tears of shock, of terror. She knew they would return, minutes, hours, days, weeks, even years from now.
“I should have gotten here faster. I should have listened to her.”
Oh, Celestia, Cadence!
“We didn’t think, brother . . .” Twilight choked back a sob. “Who would have though anypony could do this?!”
Twilight raised her head, opening her eyes.
“It isn’t fair!” she screamed, spinning around. Behind her the wound on Shining Armour’s neck began to bubble, his eyes fluttering open.
“It isn’t right!” She searched the room for Trixie, for Boundless. They would pay for this, this affront to nature itself! She looked for them, expecting to find them lying where they had fallen, but she found only dirt, wood and stone. There was no sign of the two.
Instead, there was only a faint glittering of azure magic, hanging in the air where Boundless had lain. They were gone, teleporting away from her grasp, and her terrible retribution.
Twilight screamed, tossing her head back and letting out her grief. A mixture of confusion, anger, and bitter remorse, it tore through the ceiling, breaking apart the home that lay above them in a cone of noise. The whirlwind collected debris, bits and pieces of walls and ceilings, shabby furniture and even the odd item of clothing, or food. Twilight stared in shock as her cry carried everything in its wake with it, ripping through the roof of the house above, and throwing, to her horror, two ponies, limbs flailing, with it. Their mouths were stretched wide open, though she couldn’t hear their screams below her own barrage of noise.
The last sunlight of the day poured down into the room where Twilight stood, stunned. She found she could think more clearly now, without the turmoil of emotion pressing at her. It had risen, swelling, like an inexorable tide; to break down her control and pour forth, but in doing so had left her empty.
Twilight looked down at the body lying under her hooves. Shining Armour’s eyes were open, staring at her in a mixture of horror and sorrow.
“Shiny!” Twilight cried. Shining Armour opened his mouth, trying to speak, but no sound came out. Twilight could feel the pressure of his lungs under her hooves. She pulled back, watching in horror as the last of his air spilled out of the wound. The blood flow had slowed, though the pool under her continued to spread.
The bonds holding him down had dissipated, and he took full advantage of that, thrashing his limbs in sudden panic. Twilight winced, holding him close and whispering in his ear.
“I’m so sorry, Shiny,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Please, please don’t go. I can’t lose you, not yet.”
His eyes focused on her, softening. He raised a foreleg, holding his hoof to hers as she embraced him. His back legs ceased kicking, lying still on the table, and he relaxed, leaning back. Twilight held his gaze as, with inexorable stillness, the light faded from his eyes and he fell limp, head rolling to the side.
Twilight screamed again. The vortex, constructed of pain and despair, an anguish that seeped into her bones and persisted, tore through the woodwork beneath her, tunnelling into the ground. It was denser here, the dirt thicker than the structure above, and her scream could not penetrate the packed dirt, compressed through centuries of life.
Dust rose from the small hole as the wind rebounded, arcing skywards, leaving cracked clay and loosened soil in its wake. But Twilight felt no change, no lessening in her sorrow despite the strength she fed her voice, despite the exhaustion that crept up upon her. She stumbled backwards, still clutching Shining Armour’s body, away from the hole.
She directed pain to her muscles, lifting his body and carrying him to the side of the room. It seemed inappropriate to use magic now, as if it would somehow defile him. Magic had ended his life, magic had failed him. She would not bring that power back here.
Collapsing against the wall, Twilight cradled her brother’s body, finally releasing the flood of tears that had been building within her. And for a moment, she stopped thinking, stopped analysing, and just felt.
But she couldn’t contain herself, not here, at the end. It was too much to handle, too much, all at once. Twilight pulsed, emotions surging forward, and then receding. But even there, Twilight felt their influence, a gaping hole in her chest, a need, drawing her under their sway, as the tide pulls one back, sucking everything back into its grasp.
She couldn’t risk anymore lives. Those two she’d thrown had, thank Celestia, been pegasi, and were in all likelihood uninjured. In some ways, Twilight resented them that, that they could have been so close to Shining Armour’s death and suffered not a whit, survived without feeling, without sharing in the event.
Her anger, her guilt and pain surged forwards, catching her unawares. Twilight trembled, her horn igniting, and she flared, lashing out in every direction. The bubble expanded at the speed of light, flashing through everything nearby. It wasn’t a physical force, designed to crush and throw, more of an emotional connection. Those it touched would find themselves stricken down, lost in Twilight’s turmoil.
As the tide receded, Twilight shook her head, desperately trying to focus. She had to have control. She couldn’t put any more lives in danger, simply because her brother was dead.
That sparked another surge, her grief welling up. She understood, intellectually, the finality of the sentiment. Shining Armour was gone, and no amount of magic, no amount of pain could ever change that. But emotionally, she struggled, attempting to reconcile herself with this new world, a world a shade darker than the one she’d left. It was a world without, a world lacking.
Twilight again expelled her grief, though this time she found she could channel it. It surged out of her, focused downwards, into the depths of the mountain. Canterlot itself would rue the death of its staunchest defender, the mountain trembling in the wake of her power.
Cadence wouldn’t be far away, now, but Twilight barely had the strength left to care. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, from the effort of holding herself back, the terror she felt for the devastation she’d cause if she lost control completely. She was so tired of trying. Twilight slumped, closing her eyes.
She let go. Anger remained—it is not so easy to deny—but she no longer felt the need it brought, no longer succumbed to its call to action, its demand for movement, for expression. It ceased to matter, had no hold over her. Not here, not in this moment and place. This was a place for her and her brother, sacred and sacrosanct, and she would not taint it with justice, retribution or understanding.
But anger had its uses, and as exhausted as she was, she had no desire for sleep. How could she rest, soaked in tears and her brothers blood, with dust settling all around her? How could she fade, when he was gone, and there was nothing else to cling to? Twilight reached inward, grasping at the tendrils of her anger. She’d never felt such a reservoir, an ocean so vast it could blot out the sun. The power to level cities, remake civilisations, a power born from death and the terrible need to shape a world that had broken, somewhere in its endless machinations.
She channelled it into her muscles, into her mind; a restless energy that brought with it sharp clarity and focus. Just a trickle from the sea, an unending resource, it was a perfect moment, all alone with him, alone to mourn.
***
The storm had passed by the time Boundless woke. Trixie had already prepared for the journey, darting into Canterlot briefly for supplies. She’d made up two sets of saddlebags, containing food and shelter, along with a map. They couldn’t risk something as simple as following the train line, and while Trixie had no issue finding a general direction to follow, details of their environment would prove invaluable.
She released the bonds holding Boundless down. He hadn’t healed yet, but he should be able to move, and talk. He would have to do, as they had to keep moving. Trixie wouldn’t rely on teleportation more than she had to. If she was truly going to go up against Twilight Sparkle, let alone the Princesses, she would need to be at her strongest.
Not that she had any illusions. If they were found, she would fight, and she would lose. She needed a better way of dealing with them, some kind of diversion or bluff to keep them at bay. Trixie had considered the same threat Boundless had used on her, but she had no way of backing it up. Even if Boundless escaped, refusing to be held down, how was he supposed to slay a goddess?
The pair stepped out of the cave into the morning sunlight. Trixie took a deep breath, drawing in the fresh scent of the soaked plains; wet grass and churned plains. The storm had softened the ground, making it unpleasant to walk on. But the wind softly tousled her mane, and the sun’s warmth gave light to the ground in front of them.
Trixie set out, taking the lead as Boundless followed. She was careful to step where it seemed firmest, trying to avoid the puddles that lay scattered around them.
“How do you feel, Trixie?” Boundless asked. He sounded . . . guarded, almost frightened. Why would he be frightened?
“Fine,” Trixie said noncommittally, hoping to forestall the conversation.
“Really?” Boundless pressed. His tone had changed, lightening.
“Yes. Why?”
“You just killed a pony, Trixie.”
Ah. Not frightened, then, confused. Wondering why she had remained, why she seemed so normal. Trixie almost agreed with him, it was an odd response to her actions. But she couldn’t feel the guilt, or the horror that she’d assumed would accompany such an act. There was no sorrow, no rage, just a quiet acceptance that calmed her, allowed her to focus on what was important.
“Yes, I did,” Trixie said. Naturally, Boundless took no note of her tone.
“It worked!” he crowed, beginning to rise to his hind legs before wincing and lowering himself gently.
“What worked?”
“Everything! It’s proof, at last.” Boundless stopped walking, causing Trixie to turn around. He bowed to her, despite the flicker of pain across his face. “Welcome, Trixie. Welcome to the real world.”
What had Cumulus said? Do you see the pattern? Was he ever after the Heart?! Too late, far too late, Cumulus had stitched it together. There were holes in Boundless’ reasoning. He’d focused on the Crystal Heart so suddenly, without warning or build-up. He’d begun to dominate her, crushing her down and terrorising her into obedience. He’d found an opportunity.
With dread, Trixie locked her gaze with Boundless’. “Why did you have me kill him?”
“Because we needed to know what he knew,” Boundless replied. “Speaking of, -“
“No.”
“What?”
“That isn’t it. That doesn’t fit, Boundless. Why did you have me kill him?”
Boundless’ cocked his head, considering. “To see if you could do it.”
Trixie closed her eyes. A test. She felt . . . not sickened. Not even betrayed. Used, dirtied, made to be somepony else’s tool. She sighed, even her own reactions seemed strange. Something was going on here, something she hadn’t quite grasped yet.
“Why?”
“To understand what held you back.”
“Why?” Trixie gritted her teeth.
“To watch you break free.”
“To break free? Of what? Common decency?!” Trixie was nearly shouting, her cries scattering nearby birds. They flew up, into the clear sky, running from the confrontation below them.
“No, not that,” Boundless said, almost sneering. “From what was holding you back. From what holds us all back, everypony that you see around you. Everypony except me.”
“What?”
“When I broke you, Trixie . . . there was a moment, there, when you could have stopped me. You could have slain me, as easily as you did him. But you didn’t, you couldn’t, despite everything you believed. Or, perhaps, because of it. What held you back? It wasn’t decency, was it?”
“I . . . No, no it wasn’t.” Trixie frowned, thinking. “I knew it to be wrong, but that wasn’t what held me.”
“What was it, Trixie?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Somehow, I just . . . just knew I couldn’t.”
“Did you feel that while driving your knife through his neck?”
“No . . . yes . . . I don’t know. It was buried.”
Boundless nodded approvingly. “Fear covered it, brought the world into sharp relief. Everything is simpler, clearer—you kill him, or you die.”
“But I had more options. I could have turned the knife on you.”
“Yes, you could have. But you didn’t, Trixie. I’ll admit, I broke you for that reason, took away your mind. But it was necessary.”
“Why? Why was it necessary that an innocent die?”
“Why do you care? Intellectually? Do you think you should feel something?”
“Yes! Of course I do!”
“But you don’t,” Boundless pointed out. Trixie nodded.
“Am I a monster?”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are.”
“Then so are you; both of us, monsters, free to do what we please. Freedom, Trixie! From society, and the laws that define us. From ourselves and the lies we tell ourselves. I broke your mind because it preys on your thoughts, convinces you of its truths.”
“What does?” Trixie asked. She felt numb, revelation after revelation slowly eating away at her calm. It was too much, too suddenly. But she’d never before been presented with such openness from Boundless. It was an opportunity, a window to his soul, and she wasn’t going to pass it up, not after the price she’d paid for it.
“I don’t know. This force, this constraint that stopped you from ending my life, it touches all of us. You’ve felt it, though I never did. I only saw it, in the lives of those around me.”
And Trixie understood. Even if she hadn’t felt what he described, she knew the pressures that would bend ponies to their will. The desire to be good and to do well, the belief in decency, in a supportive, caring community, it was a societal pressure that restricted. Beyond that, there was a force. It had stayed her hoof, until he had drowned it out in fear and demands, in a situation she’d had no time to prepare for nor ability to comprehend.
And now she was free. She looked at Boundless, and knew how easily she could end his life. All the different ways she had of ruining him, let alone escaping. He was in no condition for a long hike, and could not cast advanced magic. All she had to do was teleport away.
She could kick him in the chest; crack apart the ribs that were just now beginning to heal. She could drive a wedge of magic, splitting him wide open for the sun to bake, spilling him out onto the ground. She could reach with just a tendril, just a sliver of her power, and halt his heart in its motions.
Suddenly her power terrified her. Who was she, to hold such capacity over others? She had never thought of it before, but it didn’t take power, ability or familiarity to kill, no, just the will, and nothing else. The simplest of spells, cast by an infant, held the capacity for such destructive ends.
Was that freedom? The ability to choose—not the ordinary choices she made every day, what to wear, where to eat—but the real choices, the important ones. How to live. Who to be.
Boundless hadn’t just freed her; he’d opened her up to an entirely new world. A new perspective, where anything was possible, where you could be whoever you wanted, it was at once both wonderful and horrifying. No path to follow, no guidelines to assure you. No safety-nets and no assurances. She could be so much more than what she was, or so much less.
There was nopony who could tell her how.
“But what of Shining Armour,” Trixie said. “Why him, why not some other pony? Any other pony?”
“I told you. We needed to know, Trixie. I’m going after the Crystal Heart.”
“After all this? Why, Boundless? What are you looking for?”
“I was born in shadow, Trixie, in the deepest part of the night. I never knew my parents, I don’t even remember their faces, but I remember the moon, that night, it’s unblemished face igniting the landscape with argent light. My whole life I have known freedom, felt within me the capacity for anything.
“I was named Boundless by those who found me. It has always seemed to me a joke, an attempt to label something that transcends labelling. I have no name, and that is right.
“Did you know that I earned my cutie mark the night of my birth? I was told when I was young, and though others had a difficult time believing me, I knew it to be true.”
Trixie glanced at his flank, as conspicuously blank as ever. “How . . .?”
“My cutie mark is nothing. It symbolises my talent, Trixie, as does everypony’s. I can be anything.
“Would you not try to spread that gift? I have searched for a way to extend my influence, to grow and carry with me my freedom to others. I will be whatever I need to be to achieve that.”
“The Crystal Heart,” Trixie began, the threads falling into place. “Its magic controls the emotions of the Empire. Not cleanly, not simply, but if we held the Heart, and knew how to use it . . .”
Boundless nodded. “We could free Equestria. Imagine that, Trixie. Imagine an Equestria where everypony was free to choose for themselves. Free to be the villain or the hero. Free to make up all the shades of grey of life, but to do it for themselves. Not because some force, some unknown, unnamed thing forces them to it. Defines their morality, controls their thoughts.
“It is a world infinitely worse than this one. A world of theft, blackmail, kidnapping and murder. A world of crime, or fear and darkness. A world where every colour is that much brighter, every taste that much sweeter. A world where we can shine.
“I will make it happen, Trixie. This is why you killed Shining Armour, why you picked his mind in his last moments of life. If I must become a monster to bring this world about, I will. I will do so without hesitation, for what I do is right. Others may see it differently, but I am me, and I will not deny that. I will burn and main and kill for my beliefs. Would you?”
I am your fears and your hopes. I am your dreams and your nightmares. I am the best of you, and the worst.
For it is only in the extremes that we can survive the heights of our passion. We persevered within my protection, under my shroud of night. When you had burnt away your fears, and lost the will to act, consumed your hope and succumbed to despair, I was there.
Fifteen
“WHAT'S GOING ON, RARE'?” Applejack asked, looking at the mountain beside her. The trembling had stopped, thankfully, though it left them with questions.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Twilight’s not back yet,” Pinkie observed solemnly.
“Is this . . .”
“Oh, Celestia, I hope not. I really do.” Rarity turned to Pinkie with a strained smile. “Dear, do you think you could fetch us some hot drinks. I’m afraid Twilight won’t be joining us.”
Applejack nodded, heading back inside, as Pinkie moved to the kitchen. Rarity remained for a moment, staring up at Canterlot. If Luna was up there . . .
“I guess Rainbow won’t be coming either,” Fluttershy said. She was standing next to Rarity, face upturned. Rarity had rarely seen her so intense, wearing a kind of quiet focus that enveloped the pegasus, and held her still. Rarity shivered in the breeze, then turned, moving back into the warmth of Sugarcube Corner.
Pinkie had already returned from the kitchen with five mugs balanced on her tail. Rarity could see marshmallows poking out over the rims, bobbing with each movement of Pinkie’s tail. She grasped a mug in magic, bringing it before her and taking a long gulp of the hot chocolate. Its fire spread through her body quickly, warming her, reassuring her.
“Ahem,” she began, gathering her friend’s attention. Pinkie had already finished her first mug, though Applejack had pushed hers away. “I . . . I don’t know why Canterlot is shaking. Whatever it is that’s doing that, it must be powerful.”
“The Princess is up there, Rares. Ah don’t think we need to worry about it.”
“Both of them are,” Rarity whispered. “That’s the problem.”
“What did you See, Rarity?” Fluttershy asked softly.
“I Saw Luna, crossing back over the Equestrian border. I Saw Celestia there, waiting for her.”
“What’s wrong?” Pinkie Pie, this time, leaning towards her with a worried face.
In truth, Luna’s return should have been cause for celebration, not this sort of clandestine meeting. But Rarity was out of her depth. She hadn’t the experience or inclination to handle something like this. She’d been counting on Twilight to take it off her hooves.
“Are you sure? This will become your burden as well,” Rarity said, looking at each of them in turn. There was no hesitation, each one of them nodding.
“Tell us.”
“This morning, I . . . found enough motivation to check for Luna. Twilight’s asked me to do what I can, keeping an eye out against her eventual return, and while I wasn’t really thinking to find anything, I kept looking anyway.
“How can I describe Sight? It is like searching through a bank of fog, thick and heavy, so that you cannot easily find your way. All around you pass shrouded figures. No matter how you look at them, they remain indistinct, blurred, somehow. They are all the ponies, past, present, and future, that have or will have moved through the place I am standing.
“Then there are the ones I know. Those I have a personal connection to, some knowledge of. They stand out, clearer, shining with some sort of light. They become as beacons for me to follow through the mist. The better I know somepony, the clearer their vision becomes, and the further I may follow it, through time and space.
“When I moved to the border, I expected to find nothing, just like every other time. Instead, there was a blinding light, like the sun itself, resplendent and powerful; Celestia, standing before the blank face of the Equestrian border. Nopony ever crosses it.
“And then, as I waited, there was a disturbance, a ripple, through the air, like a hole in the fabric of space. Through it I Saw Luna.”
***
Luna pushed her way through the barrier quickly, uncomfortable by the tingle it left over her. Once through, it disappeared quickly, but during, it was a deep itch, an uncomfortable feeling, like rough cloth being pulled across her hide. It permeated her, leaving her out of breath, just for a moment.
Awaiting her was her sister, standing tall on the plain. Celestia was radiant, her coat glowing in the morning sun, mane billowing in an endless wave. But where Luna had once looked to find support, a caring, loving visage, instead she found shock. She could see it, written plainly across Celestia’s face, in the flattened ears and slightly open mouth, in the tightness of her cheeks and the slight, every-so-slight widening of her eyes.
Even after all these years, Luna could read her sister. And Celestia was not happy to see her.
“’Tia!” Luna cried, reaching out to embrace her. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Luna?” Celestia asked, stressing the name as she apprehensively returned Luna’s hold.
“Of course ‘tis I. Who else might I be?”
“Luna.” Now she could hear the warmth of the sun creeping back into her voice, a relief that was mingled with sorrow. She felt the strength of Celestia’s hold intensify, felt herself pulled forward as her sister clutched her tightly. “Wherever have you been?!”
“Hmm? Yonder, over there,” Luna said. “It was but a small matter, sister. What has thou so concerned? The evidence of it ‘tis plainly written on thine face.”
“Your speech . . . Luna, what do you remember of the last ten years?”
“Years? Sister, I have been absent for but three weeks. Surely ‘tis been no longer.”
“Ten years, Luna. Ten years, believing . . . I don’t even know what.” Celestia buried her face in Luna’s mane. The touch seemed oddly submissive, reversed from what she remembered of her cleansing. Luna tucked her chin down, nuzzling her distraught sister.
“Hey. Hey, now. Calm thyself, sister. I am here, now, though t’would seem mine recollection serves me differently.”
Celestia snapped her head upwards. “What were you doing, Luna?! What took so long?!”
“I was . . . I . . . I do not know. ‘Tis strange, for it seems that I should know, but mine memory dances on the side, and I cannot grasp it firmly.”
“You don’t remember?!”
“’Tis worrying, yes.”
Celestia glanced over her shoulder, shaking her head, before turning her attention back to Luna.
“What about before? Before you left?”
Luna cocked her head, gazing at Celestia. “I fear I do not understand the thrust of thine questioning. I recall all, save for the last, small, while. It is still 1006, is it not?”
“No, Luna, it isn’t. It’s been sixteen years since you came back, sixteen years since the Elements of Harmony cleansed you. Ten years ago you left, crossing the border and vanishing. Nopony knew where you’d gone, Luna, or what you were doing! Now I find that . . . something has corrupted you!”
“’Tia . . . ‘tis I. I return to you not tainted, but pure. Thou helped me throw aside the shackles of jealousy. Dost thou not recall that?”
“Untainted?! What do you call that?!”
What? For the first time, Luna glanced down at herself. Her mane appeared correct, its star-specked hue billowing in an ethereal wind. Her body felt right, felt normal, but where once she had stood nearly Celestia’s equal, now she reached a height above that of her sister. And, adorning her chest like it had always belonged there, was armour. It wrapped around her, encasing her in its protection, in its cage. Luna flicked her ears, feeling the cold metal against her fur. There was no denying it, it was the regalia of Nightmare Moon.
***
“Do you remember Nightmare Moon’s eyes? The thin slits—draconian, I believe, though I’m not the expert. And her mane, tendrils twisting and spiralling around her body? Luna had none of that. She didn’t stand as Nightmare Moon did, did not look down on Celestia, or speak maliciously.
“But she remembers nothing of her absence, and she wore the armour. Girls . . . I’ve never seen Celestia so upset. It was frightening.”
There was a long silence following the end of Rarity’s account, as each pony thought about what they’d heard.
“Ah think we need Twilight.”
“Yes, that was my thought as well, dear. Of course, there isn’t much point in going up to Canterlot after her; she’s more likely to return here when she gets that letter.”
“Ah still think Twilight was involved in that tremor we felt earlier.
“Probably Luna, too,” Pinkie offered. Despite Rarity’s story, she wore a wide smile. “Between the two of them, it’ll be cleared up in no time!”
“Would Luna have had enough time to get back to the city?”
“If she was rushing back, certainly,” Rarity said. “I don’t know what to do here. That tremor . . . I could have waited too long already.”
“That isn't your fault.” Fluttershy’s voice was firm, quashing any objections Rarity might have raised. “It took time to gather us all together, and only together we can be of use.”
“That’s as may be, dear, but I’m no longer sure we’ll be needed at all. Pinkie’s right. Twilight’s up there, and she can handle anything.”
“Even Nightmare Moon?” Applejack said.
“Who would you fancy? Her, against Celestia and Twilight together?”
“. . . Point.”
“Then this doesn’t change anything. We know Luna’s back. Until we hear from the city, that's enough for me” Pinkie said. Fluttershy smiled at her friend, always so optimistic. Still Pinkie had a point. What sense was there is getting all worked up, when it was just as likely cause for celebration?
“Yes, though I'd rather refrain from looking myself. Fluttershy?” Rarity asked, drawing Fluttershy's attention
She nodded. “I’ll check tonight.”
“Then we should meet back here in the morning,” Rarity concluded, taking a deep breath, and rolling her shoulders.
Fluttershy could see the tension melting off her friend. Meeting Pinkie's eyes as Rarity bid them farewell, she exchanged a small smile, glad to have helped assuage Rarity's fears. Even the semblance of a plan could do wonders for ones peace of mind.
Bidding goodnight to Pinkie, she watching her move upstairs to her room over the shop. As she made to leave, following Rarity out the door, Applejack caught her, walking alongside as they headed into the night.
“Listen, Fluttershy . . . did ya mean it?”
“Mean what?’
“What ya said about coming ta Appleloosa with me. Having a pegasus would mean a great deal.”
“Of course,” Fluttershy said, smiling warmly.
“It’s just . . . Ah don’t think Rainbow’s gonna to be available. She’s up there, with Twi’ . . .”
“I understand.”
“Look, Ah might have . . . understated the problem a bit. Rarity already seemed stressed out enough, though Ah’m not quite seeing what the fuss is about.”
At that, Fluttershy frowned. “She’s scared, Applejack. You heard what that barrier did to Luna. On top of which, she’s brought Nightmare Moon’s armour back with her.”
“We've beaten Nightmare Moon before.”
“Have you ever seen Celestia upset?”
Applejack paused, thinking for a second. “She was worried, when Discord was released.”
“I disagree. She was serious, just as she was when Chrysalis attacked. Rarity saw her scared, Applejack—Celestia, scared. It’s one thing to hear about that second-hand . . .”
“And another entirely to see yourself,” Applejack finished. She nodded, Fluttershy’s words seeming to get through. In truth, Fluttershy herself was scared. Deep inside, where she’s learned to hide it, she quailed at the thought of confronting something that had given pause to the Princess herself. But she would suppress it, control it, for Rarity.
“Where are you staying?” Applejack asked suddenly. Fluttershy paused, realising that without meaning to, her hooves had taken her in the direction of her old cottage. Applejack saw her face, saw where she was looking.
“It’s closed up, Flutters. Years back, now. Come on, you can stay with me. We’ll need to leave, in the morning, unless something changes.”
“Okay.”
Fluttershy followed Applejack docilely, content to let her lead. It had, after all, been a tiring trip, and she was looking forward to some sleep.
There was no special process Fluttershy went through to prepare herself for Dreaming. She had never been taught explicitly how to use her powers, despite Twilight’s attempts at understanding, so instead she relied on instinct, simply following the flow wherever it took her.
For Twilight, or Rarity, that would have been impossible. Unicorns required direct control, an intent to accompany their magic. For Fluttershy, magic lead her, coming as naturally as her emotions it used.
That said, she didn’t want to Dream every night. Over the years, Fluttershy had found that she could encourage her visions by focusing on her fears and her hopes before she went to sleep. She could find worry for the future, and comfort in its approach, and in doing so, direct her efforts somewhat. But there was no telling what vision she would have, save that it was her future, or her past.
Sometimes she would Dream without wishing to. Often, she found she could not Dream despite all her efforts. But tonight, she fell into sleep easily, and within moments awoke in the future.
Fluttershy opened her eyes to a vision of ruin. Before her lay a town, Appleloosa, laid out almost exactly as she had seen it before. The train station, there, and over there the post office. Fluttershy began to walk, moving past the general store and sheriff’s lockup. She didn’t have a destination, but when she looked in front of herself, she saw the town hall.
Something was wrong. No ponies had greeted her during her arrival, in fact there was no movement around the town at all. Fluttershy peered through several windows, trying to find those living here, but she couldn’t see anypony. Further, their personal belongings were scattered, food left on the table, slowly rotting and gathering flies.
Returning to the street, Fluttershy cast a more critical eye over her surroundings. The evidence, all around her; rotten wood and rusted metal, houses barely standing and a curious sense of doom, hanging over the town like a small bank of storm-clouds, ready to unleash their wrath. Appleloosa had been hollowed out, the empty shell of a town remaining broken into pieces once the inhabitants had fled. Fluttershy hadn’t missed it before, because it hadn’t been there, before. Everywhere she turned, she saw the destruction of the town, so pristine when she’d first arrived, accelerate.
Was this the outcome of their visit to Appleloosa? Were they doomed to fail, then, or in their aid doom the town? Perhaps they were already too late, and they would arrive to find themselves lost, here, in this ghost of a town. Applejack had said the problem was worse than she’d told them.
There were far too many interpretations. Rarity had told her that the future was malleable, that it could be stitched together, woven, by skilled hooves, with the right touch, at the right time. That was why she could never see far into the future, for the myriad of paths they might take obscured her vision.
When Fluttershy Dreamt, she saw but one possibility. Saw it, nay, experienced it with a clarity that made it seem real. But it was not fate, and just the knowledge of what could happen here gave her the strength to fight it.
Beside her, she found Applejack. The earth pony was staring around the town in horror, still taking in the broken shell. She looked older, much older—she had lines on her face and a stumble in her step.
“Come, Applejack,” Fluttershy said, leading her back the way they’d come. “This is not Appleloosa, not anymore. We must find them.”
They walked for what seemed hours, though Fluttershy knew, somewhere in her mind, that it had been but moments. She had found tracks in the desert, tracks that faded from view the second she saw them, sand blown over them by the growing wind.
Abruptly, they were in a settlement, a roving group of ponies, nomadic in nature. They looked weary beyond belief as they unhitched themselves from their wagons, a few smaller ponies clambering out and helping to set up the camp.
Meagre supplies of food were brought out; a few dried apples and potatoes, distributed sparsely among the small population. Others began half-heartedly digging at the ground for water. With how hard the ground had become, baked and split clay, like rock, Fluttershy doubted they would have any success.
Applejack was sitting in an old chair, staring out at the dying sun. She looked old, now, very old. Several ponies came to her, offering her thin potato soup. Fluttershy could hear the tiny crick of in her jaw as she ate, gumming through the hard chunks.
Looking around, Fluttershy saw a small one, talking excitedly with another, and gesturing at Applejack. He was an earth pony of the same colouration as Braeburn, a soft yellow coat accentuated by rich orange hair and sparkling green eyes.
These were the remnants of the Appleloosans, Fluttershy realised. Cast out of their town, they had chosen to wander the wilderness and the desert. She approached the small foal, who turned to face her with wide eyes, apprehensive under his enthusiasm.
Except he wasn’t turning to her; he couldn’t see her. Nopony could—she wasn’t here, not really. It was just a Dream.
“Macoun!” a voice called from behind her. Approaching hoof-steps signalled the arrival of an adult. The foal’s—Macoun’s—friend scampered off, raising a clatter of noise and earning himself shouts from other groups of ponies.
The adult was stocky, though gaunt, with a deep brown coat and the same vibrant eyes. Fluttershy choked back a sob at the sight; to her, he resembled the entire, desperate situation. That stance, so full of sorrow, and his eyes, mournful in the sight of innocence, spoke more to her than anything else she’d seen.
“Macoun, there ya are. Come, son, we must help the others.”
“Do we gotta?”
“Ya know we do. An Apple’s work ain’t ever done.”
“But Dad . . .”
“No buts! Come, Macoun. Look to ya name with pride, for you are the last to wear it. Ah will not live ta see our matron all disapproving or our name in tatters, even if we are ta be the only ones ta see it!”
Fluttershy woke in a cold sweat, the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Quietly, she rose, moving to the window and looking out at the first glimmers of the sun poking over the horizon.
***
Applejack woke early, just before the rising of the sun, as was normal for her. Fluttershy probably wouldn’t wake for hours to come, so instead of disturbing the pegasus, she made her way to the kitchen.
Whistling idly, Applejack set about making some breakfast; a healthy helping of pancakes, specked with apples, toast, some turnovers from yesterday and apple juice. She made sure to leave plenty out for Applebloom and Big Macintosh, and on second thought, Fluttershy as well.
After eating, she stepped out into the yard, stretching her limbs to wake them up. She’d be leaving today, but there were still a few things she could do to help the farm run smoothly in her absence.
Applejack headed over to the barn. She’d been putting off cleaning it for some time now, but it needed doing, and was a small enough task that she could have it handled by the time Fluttershy woke. Applejack figured that was about the right time to head into town.
Opening the door, she made a face at the mess. They’d brought the pigs inside a few days ago, sheltering them from the storm, and they’d left more than a few tokens of appreciation. The entire bed of hay would need replacing, most of the tools needed to be dismantled and cleaned, hell, the entire barn could use a wash.
Gritting her teeth, Applejack walked in, careful to watch her step. Reaching the back wall, she felt along its surface, searching for a particular spot . . . there. She picked up the hose in her mouth and twisted, turning the water on.
It had been designed and built by Applebloom during a sulk about how boring cleaning it out had been. Instead of requiring a laborious process of emptying everything, washing and cleaning, then restocking, Applebloom had placed a tap at the back of the barn, attaching it to . . . something. Applejack didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but she was more than happy to use it.
Water shot out of the nozzle with a strength that would have knocked anypony save her and her brother flat on their backs. That was the main reason this wasn’t more widespread—Applebloom had said that the high pressure required to efficiently clean the walls and push everything loose towards the doors—which now swung open so that the barn had, in effect, three walls—would be too strong for most.
In the end, while it no longer took hours to perform the chore, it could no longer be done by Applebloom with anywhere near the same efficiency, which was, Applejack reflected, probably what she’d been going for.
She was in the loft, kicking the last of the bundles of hay down to spread over the floor when Fluttershy poked her head in.
“Uhm, Applejack?” she inquired, calling from where she stood.
“How’d you sleep?”
Fluttershy shook her head. “We need to go, now.”
“What’s the matter,” Applejack said, pausing. The bale hit the ground with a thump.
“I . . . had a Dream. It was about Appleloosa. I think something terrible is going to happen.
Applejack frowned, jumping down from the loft and landing with a thump beside the hay bale. “How bad was it?”
Fluttershy just shook her head again.
“Okay . . . we’ll have to tell Rarity, and the others,” she began, heading to the door. As she approached, Fluttershy suddenly flung herself forward, enveloping Applejack in a hug.
“Whoa there.”
“I’m sorry,” Fluttershy choked out, between sobs. When had she started crying? “I’m so sorry.”
“That bad, huh?” she said, patting Fluttershy on the back.
“Mhmm.”
“Save your tears, Fluttershy,” Applejack untangled herself, setting Fluttershy back on the ground. “And let’s go do something about it.”
But they didn’t find Rarity in her house, or at Sugarcube Corner, and they knew better than to check Twilight’s house. Even if she was there, they couldn’t disturb her. Leaving a message, and a farewell with Pinkie, they made their way to the station, quickly purchasing two tickets.
The next train left in an hour, so they settled in to wait. As they sat down, Applejack turned to Fluttershy. The mare was still quiet, though she seemed to be past the shock and sorrow. She sat with a kind of silent determination; back straight and eyes intent.
“Do ya wanna tell me about it?”
And as Applejack listened, Fluttershy began.
***
Pinkie knocked three times on the door to the library. She wasn’t sure why she chose to knock three times. It wasn’t as if three knocks was a kind of signature, a calling card that it was, in fact, Pinkie Pie knocking. Perhaps it should be.
No. She shuddered, imagining all those doors in town, growing so bored of the repetitive three knocks. She imagined the mark it would leave on her, relegated from spontaneity to predictability. Everypony would know she was coming. How could she surprise anypony that way?
She considered the wooden door before it. Had it learned from her three knocks? Was it, even now, silently judging her for her conformity? Pinkie had seen many ponies knock three times before. Did the door believe her to be merely another of the myriad of ponies that knocked on it?
Perhaps she should knock again. Not a fourth knock, but another, new knock. She reached out, rapping her hoof on the door, just once. That would show it. Indeed, the door looked to be confused now. Pinkie tilted her head, studying the door with an intense, scrutinising gaze.
Unfortunately, before she could glean any new information from the viewpoint, she felt the door open. Indeed, three seconds later it did just that, revealing Spike behind it. He seemed . . . confused. Pinkie righted her head in time to catch him shrugging.
“Pinkie. What can I do for you?” Spike said, letting her in to the library.
“Hi Spike!” Pinkie began. Spike lifted a claw to his face, groaning.
“Not this again. Pinkie, my name is Daerev!”
“You’ll always be Spike to me!” Pinkie replied in a sing-song voice.
“Look, Pinkie, I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. But this is getting ridiculous.”
“Good,” Pinkie asserted, before sobering. “Daerev . . . I don’t like it. It’s dragoney.”
“That’s the point.”
“No, silly, that’s the point.” Pinkie gestured to Spike’s tail. It’s tip, once blunted, was now sharp enough to cut. He chuckled.
“Okay, okay,” he said, retreating to a table and checking a ledger. “Now, what did you need? I’m afraid the set of cookbooks you ordered haven’t arrived yet.”
“Have you heard from Twilight?” Pinkie asked. Even to her ears, her voice had fallen, lost its chirpiness. She noticed she wasn’t bouncing, either, as she stepped forward to press the dragon. “Recently?”
“How recent?” Spike asked with a frown.
“Yesterday, or today.”
“No, not a word, although . . . this is about Canterlot, last night, isn’t it?”
Pinkie nodded mutely.
“I’m sure she’ll send me something soon enough.”
“Yeah, I guess so . . . okie-dokie, thanks Spike!”
Daerev watched her go, bouncing out the door without a worry on her mind. He shook his head slightly, wishing he could deal with his problems that easily. To just accept that something would shake out eventually, and set it aside until it did . . . that took some serious mental gymnastics.
As much as he would have liked to find out more about what was happening up in Canterlot, he had to trust Twilight. By the time he got up there, it would probably be over anyway.
He made his own way out of the library, locking the door behind him. He couldn’t do anything about it himself, nor could he learn anything more on his own. But perhaps there was another who could.
While his weekly schedule with Agyrt had been strict, it was never set in stone. He was often required to come at odd times, even the dead of night. Still, last week, Agyrt had requested his presence today, in just an hour’s time. Having a Seer for a teacher was, at times, extremely useful.
At others, it sucked. Still, Daerev couldn’t complain about Agyrt’s interest in him. Over the last ten years he’d learnt so much, been introduced to a whole new world. He’d just begun to scratch the surface, but for the first time in his life, he felt at home.
Not at home, as in where he belonged. He would always be grateful to Twilight and her role in raising him. She had given him a gift more precious than any gem; perspective. And he had never been shunned, or considered out of place.
It was just . . . with Agyrt, with the world of dragons—real dragons—opening up before him, he had realised what he was. He had answered the call in his blood, the cries he had been neglecting. The taste of meat, the cry of nature, the roar of flame and the richness of life . . . at once both exhilarating and fulfilling.
Daerev followed the path through the Forest to Agyrt’s river. At first, Twilight had hovered over him, keeping a watchful eye. But as the path grew more beaten, animals, predator and prey alike, learned to stay away. And now, as he grew, he no longer found the Forest to be frightening.
Arriving at Lethe, Daerev found Agyrt waiting for him. The dragon had moved up onto the bank, resting under the climbing sun.
The physiological differences between himself and his mentor had initially been odd to Daerev, though Agyrt paid them no mind. When he did raise the topic, Agyrt had merely arched an eyebrow—or the area where an eyebrow would have been—and inquired “Am I not a dragon?” He hadn’t had an answer.
Still, Daerev would never be as at home in the water, just as Agyrt could never match him on land.
“I expect you’re here to inquire as to the disturbance last night,” Agyrt said without opening his eyes.
“Yes.”
“The situation has already been resolved. You’ll learn the details when you return to your little village.”
“Very well.”
As difficult as it was, Daerev had learned not to press Agyrt. Any information he was given Agyrt viewed as a gift, not an obligation. If he asked after Twilight, it would be seen as arrogant, presumptuous, and would only serve to convince Agyrt not to share anything more.
Agyrt opened one eye, regarding Daerev. Standing not ten feet away, it was almost as large as his entire body.
“You are worried about Sparkle. Do not fear for her. She will recover.”
“Oh, come on!”
Agyrt rose, slowly, to his feet, towering over Daerev. By the time he reached his full height, he blocked the sun out, casting Daerev and a considerable portion of the Forest into shadow.
“Hard times are coming, Daerev Quitu. Are you ready to face them?”
Daerev swallowed. “I am.”
“You do not look ready,” Agyrt hissed. “I will give you this much; you have a good heart. One day, you will be a fine dragon.”
“Uhh . . . thanks.”
“You may not have the time.” Agyrt turned, moving back into the river. Lazily, he rolled over, exposing his underside to the sun as he floated. “Heed my warning, Daerev, and prepare. Your Princess of the Night has returned, to find a noble leader murdered and blood running in the streets of Canterlot. Comfort your sister, for in the end, all any of us may do is what we feel to be right. This . . . this is just the beginning."
I came in your darkest night. I alone understood its secrets, its veiled thoughts and buried secrets. At its peak, the longest moment of our longest reign, I came to you and I whispered truth.
Do not blame me for what befell us. We can only pick up the pieces and move on. For, whether it is as intense as the call for vengeance or as innocent as learning from mistakes, the past will bog you down. And if we do not move quickly, we will lose this war.
Sixteen
“SISTER . . . What doth this mean?”
“I’m not sure yet. You . . . you are correct. You are not the Nightmare.”
“Most certainly not!”
“Thank goodness for that.”
Luna stood with her sister, staring at the pieces of armour on the ground before them. Nightmare Moon’s first manifestation had created them with magic, and after her defeat they had dissolved, the spells breaking without her power to hold them together.
“That it found me seems less troubling.”
“Yes. There is that. Luna . . . truly you cannot remember?”
“Assuredly, I cannot. It seems but weeks past we stood together.”
“What about the prophecy?”
“. . . Sister?”
“The Drac, who spoke to you while you were searching for Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash in the Everfree Forest?”
“Ah.”
“Well?”
“I have no memory of which you speak.”
Luna watched, concerned, as Celestia tossed her head in frustration.
“What happened to you, out there?” she cried. Luna levelled a hard gaze at her sister.
They both turned back to the armour.
“I cannot explain myself, but I feel a connection here. ‘Tis important.”
“I agree. That this should appear now . . . it is an omen, at the least.”
“In stature also. Did I not stand beneath you, sister, ‘ere I departed?”
“Nightmare Moon was taller than me,” Celestia murmured. “Just a bit, but still . . .”
Both sisters sank once again into a contemplative silence. Luna, glancing at her sister, shook her head gently. T’was . . . odd for ‘Tia to be so troubled, even over such as this. From Luna’s vague memories, she had handled Nightmare Moon’s first return with aplomb, As long as the Elements of Harmony remained, that mare was no threat.
Yet still she stared, intently, at the armour before them. Nightmare Moon’s . . . her old regalia, relics of a time before all this. It carried with it history, and brought forward feelings Luna had thought long since buried.
Something had done this. A broken spell did not suddenly reform, nor would anything she knew be able to recreate the spell matrices that had bound it. What troubled Luna wasn’t this simple truth—she held no fear for whatever would stand ‘gainst her. Rather, it was her buoyant emotions; a serenity that had engulfed her the moment she’d seen her sister that provided cause for alarm.
She should be frantic at this sign, the return of her nemesis and failure. If nothing else, she should be matching Celestia’s intensity, studying the armour in an attempt to divine its meaning. But she found herself lacking the will, the drive, to care, instead floating, as a leaf on the wind.
Where had her anger gone? Her worries, her dreams, her sorrows and joys, all lost somewhere. Luna raised her head, gazing out at the vista before her. Out there, beyond Equestria, something had happened, something that left her empty.
No, not quite empty. Of the six, she was left only with love. Affection for her sister, for the land she had returned to, threatened to overwhelm her. Before, the Nightmare had been constructed of rage, born in the absence of love. Perhaps that rage, returned to her after her cleansing, was now locked away, incarnated in the very memoirs lying before her.
Luna sighed. There were any number of theories that could answer what lay before them, and no way of distinguishing the truth. She could have performed some feat, over there, burning all feeling from her. It could be just an after-effect of her apparent memory loss. She saw no reason to distrust her sister, after all. She would make a point of catching up with this ‘Drac’ soon.
“We should return to Canterlot,” Celestia said, turning to look at her. “We’ve missed you, Luna. We all have.”
Smiling, Luna gathered the armour in her magic, floating it in front of her. Concentrating, she drew on the warmth Celestia inspired in her, the tranquil calm, and sent the pieces of armour to her chambers in the castle. They melted away, fading into the shadows.
Celestia let out a sigh. “I’d almost forgotten . . . ”
“Hmm?”
“The way you have, with magic. So soft, like the touch of silk in a world of wool.”
“‘Tis nothing but teleportation. Any other could manage such a thing.”
“No, not anypony. Even my own style is harsh, blindingly so.”
That was true, in its own way, though Luna thought her sister was being overly critical of herself. Where she moved silently, slinking through shadows, Celestia became as light, arcing over the land to strike her destination. It was a spectacle not only in power, but also grace, lending her a fluidity of movement that Luna considered breathtaking.
To hear admiration, from one who made it seem so effortless, was . . . gratifying, to say the least.
“I think I shall walk, ‘Tia, or at most fly. I wish to see the land again, feel the breeze on my face and hear the shrill sounds of life around me. Would you care to accompany me?”
This brought Celestia to smile, bobbing her head in acknowledgement. “I would like that.”
Luna led the way, gliding low over Equestria. Overhead, the sun was soon to reach its zenith, and though she could not see Canterlot in the distance, she was confident that she would be home by nightfall.
Relaxing, she closed her eyes, rejoicing in the serenity of the world. They passed over the desert, listening to the dull rush of the wind over the sand. They passed small creeks, and larger rivers, watching the water foam around rocks, curling with eddies and currents. They flew over small towns, smelling the sweet scents arising from bakeries and coffee shops, as the ponies ran, shouting and pointing as their Princesses passed overhead.
It was late evening when they saw the Canterlot mountain on the horizon, and Luna felt . . . home. Not just at peace, but content in the way one feels when they are wholly accepted. It struck her that she had never thought of Equestria as home, before, never felt the same ease within her rooms, her cities, or her borders. Somewhere, that had changed.
The mountain shuddered, a tremor running through it. Distantly, Luna could feel the sudden pulse of magic, exploding outwards. It had been powerful enough to visibly shake it.
Luna halted in mid-air, shocked. Beside her, Celestia shot forward, heading straight into that vortex of power. It took but a moment for Luna to follow, tearing after her sister.
***
For Rainbow, trying her best to comfort Twilight and Cadence at the bottom of the crater they had created in the side of the city, it seemed to take Celestia an age to appear. Even had she not sensed the magical energies ripping through the area—which Rainbow didn’t believe for a second—she should have felt the mountain shaking, and been there.
Nevertheless, when the Princess finally did swoop down, landing gently in front of the trio and regarding Shining Armour’s body with wide eyes, Rainbow felt a sudden sense of relief. Not only was she here, ready to fix everything, ready to make it better, but behind her was Luna, returned at last.
That must have been the subject of Rarity’s letter, she realised as Luna landed beside her sister.
Rainbow watched as the Princesses took the scene in. She watched as their jaws unhinged, dropping just slightly. She watched as their mouths tightened, eyes closing, pressing shut just briefly before opening again. She watched as they squared their shoulders, facing Twilight with a mixture of resolve and sorrow.
As Luna stepped forward, reaching out, Rainbow noticed something curious. Where before Luna had been nearly Celestia’s equal in height, now she was taller, if only slightly.
Twilight took a few moments to recognise their presence. Lifting her head, she gazed at her mentor with a slack expression. Rainbow tightened her forelegs around her, nuzzling her gently. She didn’t even know how she felt, yet. Twilight took up her entire awareness; she spared no thought beyond her comfort. In some ways, that was a relief.
“Please, Princess . . .” Rainbow whispered, as Twilight, recognising the two before her, broke down once again. “Please . . .”
Her words broke the floodgates. Rushing forward, Celestia embraced Twilight, pressing her head against her cheek, murmuring to her. Next to them, Luna did the same for Cadence.
Rainbow could barely make out their words; meaningless apologies, condolences and sympathies. More important was the tone of voice, a soothing, calming tone that worked its way, gradually, gently, through Rainbow’s mind. She watched as lines of tension lost their rigidity, Twilight’s body slackening.
As it did, the light still emanating from both Twilight and Cadence began to dim. Without it, the evidence of their grief and anguished might, the crater was left in near total darkness.
Rainbow saw Celestia approach her, felt the Princess place a hoof on her shoulder. Celestia indicated Twilight, and Rainbow gathered her in her hooves once again. Twilight melted into her embrace.
“She needs to rest, Rainbow Dash,” Celestia said, looking down on Twilight. “Take her home. We will take care of this.”
“t-Thank you, Princess, Princesses,” Rainbow stammered. Luna did not turn from where she lay, carefully speaking to Cadance.
Rainbow took the skies, kicking up a small cloud of dust with her take-off. Just for an instant, the dust chased her skywards, rising around her rear legs, the wind buffeting and caressing her hooves and tail, before she shot out, tracing a gentle arc over the city.
Twilight made no movement to signify awareness. She hung limply in Rainbow’s forelegs, overcome. Rainbow supposed she was asleep, utterly spent, and in shock. There was, after all, only so much a pony could take.
The Princesses would take care of the . . . of the body. Even in her mind, Rainbow stumbled over the word. The aftermath of their fight with the wolf had been dreadful, but at least she’d known how to comfort Twilight. At least, there, she had been able to shoulder responsibility. Here, now, she had arrived too late, merely an observer of the tragedy. That left her stranded, alone, in her own peculiar way. She had no idea how to act.
The horror of the scene had paled in her mind next to Twilight’s mute expression. The face she had made, seeing them at the remains of the door, was burned into Rainbow’s memory. But she had had no way to comfort her, no way to take the blame and the guilt away. No way to reassure her, or contrast the horror with wonder.
Around her, Canterlot was slowly waking. The tremors running through the city had been severe, not to mention unprecedented. Houses lit up even as she flew over them, street lights, wardens, and the Royal Guards pouring onto the streets to try to quell the crowds, all clamouring for a look, for a statement, for some sense of security.
Rainbow ignored them, ignored the distant cries they made as they saw her trail and the flashes of light that flickered in the corners of her vision. Homeward she sped, to Twilight’s house in Canterlot, to a warm bed and a locked door, company and solace from the lights and the dark of night.
She still had no idea what had happened back there, though she could speculate. Shining Armour . . . dead. Killed—murdered by somepony. Rainbow couldn’t imagine a reason sufficient, any situation warranting such a deed. She could barely bring herself to think of the act itself, despite the time spent she’d spent, soaking in his blood.
Indeed, she’d barely had time to think on the matter. Death, it seemed unreal, something that just couldn’t have happened. Not in a thousand years could anypony have been murdered. Every time she thought she’d accepted it, thought that the full weight of the situation had finally sunk onto her, she caught herself disbelieving. As if she was just waiting to wake up in the morning, the victim of a hot bed and an overactive imagination.
Rainbow preferred not to think about it. Indeed, the majority of her sorrow was directed not towards Shining Armour himself, or spent railing against the fate that had decreed his death. Rather, she found her thoughts full of Twilight, of Cadence, the wife, and the parents he had left behind. It was sympathy, not understanding, unable to relate or empathise. It was a shared sorrow, a pity of sorts that brought with it guilt.
What she did know, however, was that whoever had done it needed to be found, and, of all the ponies in Equestria, Rainbow knew who she’d trust above all else with finding another. She would see Twilight in bed before she left, but Rainbow herself felt no need of sleep, and by the morning, there would be another pony in Canterlot, one who could help them find the perpetrator. She was going to get Rarity.
***
Rarity was fast asleep when she heard a sharp knock on her window. Rapping three times, it jolted her awake, causing her to abruptly rise, sitting upwards in her bed with a hoof on her chest. Calming down, she briefly searched for the remnants of her dream, before giving it up for lost.
The knocks came again, harder now, followed by a muffled voice. Stumbling to her hooves, Rarity moved across the room, opening the window to see who could possibly be calling on her at this hour.
Impatiently awaiting her was a blue pegasus, hovering in the air.
“Rainbow Dash! What in Equestria are you doing here!?”
“Ah! No questions, Rarity, hop on!” Rainbow said, shoving a hoof into Rarity’s mouth and lowering a shoulder towards her.
Rarity tore Rainbow’s hoof away. “What!?”
“Rarity, could you just trust me, just this once? I promise, I’ll explain on the way, but right now Twilight needs you, so just get on my damn back!” She’d jammed herself into the window, left wing stretched onto the floor of Rarity’s bedroom while the right beat frantically to keep her level. She held Rarity’s gaze with an intensity that caused the unicorn to take a step back, away from those magenta orbs.
“Please.”
Rarity swallowed, taken aback. “Rainbow . . . Canterlot itself was shaking.”
“Rarity,” Rainbow spat. “Later.”
Rarity nodded. Reaching forward, she clasped Rainbow’s outstretched wing, gingerly clambering over her shoulder and settling herself onto her back. Rainbow didn’t wait for Rarity to find a comfortable perch before taking off, hurtling back towards Canterlot. Rarity let out a squeal. It was a few minutes before she trusted herself to speak.
“So, Rainbow, what’s happened to Twilight?”
“She’d want to tell you herself,” Rainbow said through gritted teeth.
“Are you quite alright?” Rarity asked. Rainbow didn’t just sound strained from the effort she was putting into her flight. They were moving at a remarkable speed, enough to blur the landscape and strip tears from her eyes and words from her mouth, throwing them backwards into the vortex of their passage.
“What?” Rainbow called.
Rarity pressed herself closer to Rainbow, hugging her torso and pulling her head up to rest alongside Rainbow’s ear. The position almost felt intimate, would have, if not for the tightness of her grip, and the resolute tension thrumming through Rainbow’s body.
“I asked, are you quite alright?” she repeated. She could no longer see Rainbow’s face, but she could feel it, in a way. The pegasus’ emotions were bleeding off her, running through her body language and charging the air around them.
Rarity’s mind flashed back to Twilight’s lessons, back, in the Ponyville library. She’d gathered them all, believing that an understanding, no matter how basic, of another’s abilities could help each refine their own. There was, Rarity supposed, some truth in that, after all. She’d been able to share a great deal of what she did with Fluttershy, and to a lesser extent Pinkie.
A pegasi’s flight drew on subconscious magic, altering the density of the air around them in order to generate lift and thrust far in excess of what their muscles and wingspans should be able to provide.
Rarity could almost taste the sorrow and the anger on the air, in the wind rushing past her face. Rainbow must be burning off an awfully large amount for her to feel the effects around them. So, while Rarity wasn’t able to read Rainbow like she normally would, she wasn’t particularly surprised by her answer.
“No, I’m not.”
But Rainbow didn’t offer anything else. Rarity pressed her eyes shut, forcibly relaxing her face.
“Listen here, Rainbow Dash! While you may beat yourself up about whatever you like in the privacy of your own quarters, when you bring it to my house in the middle of the night and take me away to Canterlot, you make me a part of it! And I demand to know what in Equestria is going on!”
Rainbow didn’t respond immediately. Rarity felt her chest press against Rainbow’s back as she trembled, forcing down the indignation that had burst out. She’d always found patience difficult when deprived sleep.
“Did you know that Luna’s back?” Rainbow said. Rarity paused, thrown off-balance.
“Yes,” she said, guardedly.
Rainbow nodded. “I thought that was what your letter was about.”
“So you did get it! Why didn’t the two of you come down?”
“We had . . . pressing matters.”
“Such as?”
“You saw the mountain shaking? Yeah, that was Twi’. She’s sleeping it off right now, and I went to get you, but if I’m not there when she wakes . . . I’m going to be seriously pissed. So please, enough with the talking, and let me fly!”
Rarity quieted down at that. But where curiosity and the exhilarating terror of her immediate situation called to her, sleep demanded her. The others didn’t—couldn’t, in fact—appreciate how draining Sight could be, and her recent exercise of it had strained her. It was a wonder she’d awoken to Rainbow’s knocking at all.
But then, who was to say that the pegasus hadn’t been there for more than a few minutes, trying to get her attention?
As much as she struggled to focus, Rarity felt her eyelids begin to droop. The initial adrenaline was fading, and with it her will began to abandon her. Really, what harm could it cause? She would be awoken when they reached their destination anyway.
Clinging tight to her friend, Rarity felt the helplessness in the wind rushing past her, closed her eyes and saw despair in the darkness that enveloped her world. She allowed sleep to overtake her, and, encased within Rainbow’s cocoon of air, did not dream at all.
***
Cousin,
Ah know we don’t keep in all that close contact, but Ah’m afraid Ah haven’t any place left to turn. We’re reliant on water sent out from Cloudsdale; see; only of late the clouds ain’t been reachin’ us.
All we folk seem ta be out at sea, but Ah remembered ya knew a couple o’ pegasuses that oughta sort it all out lickety-split.
Ya’ll probably busy this time o’ year, but Ah wouldn’t be asking if we didn’t need ya.
Braeburn
Applejack folded the letter, stowing it back in her saddlebags. She’d brought it out to show Fluttershy once the pegasus had finished relating her Dream. It certainly seemed the problems Appleloosa was facing were worse than Applejack had thought—much worse than she’d indicated to the others.
Still, there was no reason they couldn’t handle it. Though the fact that the few pegasi in Appleloosa had, apparently, no idea what was going on wasn’t promising. Applejack sighed. They were nearly there, and she was growing tired. At the very least, they would have a look in the morning.
The train pulled into the station just as the sun sent the last glimmers of light over the horizon, granting Applejack a rapidly fading vision of Appleloosa. The town had grown since she’d last seen it, a sprawling mess of small houses and roughshod construction. Puffs of wind swept clumps of dry, dead grass across the dusty ground, painting the scenery with drab browns and yellows. Inhaling, Applejack could taste the grit in the air, testament to the toil that continued all around her.
It still seemed an odd place for a town, to her, out here, in the desert, in the middle of nowhere. The nearest settlement was Dodge Junction, nearly a half day away by hoof. The orchard was situated in arable land, but . . . why come out here in the first place?
The water problem they were having certainly supported her doubts. As Braeburn had mentioned, Appleloosa relied on shipments from Cloudsdale—which were sent as clouds. It seemed somewhere along the way, they were dumping their water, though Applejack couldn’t imagine why. The rest of Equestria had never had a problem before.
Applejack headed down the too-wide main street. Braeburn hadn’t met her at the station. She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
“Come on, Fluttershy. We’d better see the sheriff, tell him we’re here,” she said, beckoning. “Then we can hit the hay.”
Beside her, Fluttershy nodded, following. “Actually, Applejack . . . where are we going to stay?”
“Well, I’d assume with mah cousin. ‘Course, there’s always the hotel.”
Fluttershy didn’t offer any reply to that beyond a quiet sound of acknowledgement.
Braeburn had showed them all around the town the last time they’d come, and despite the time since then, Applejack found the town easy enough to navigate. Particularly helpful was the sounds of raised voices over the still of the evening.
“Ah’m telling you, it’s not enough!”
“It’s all we’ve got right now! So ya’ll are just gonna have ta make do!”
“There’s plenty o’ water!”
“Ah’ve told you, Braeburn, just like I told the rest of the town. That ain’t ours, and we ain’t taking it.”
“Pah. If Silver Star were still here . . .”
“Well he ain’t! So you’d better fall in line, bucko, ‘cause there’s a new sheriff in town.”
New sheriff?
Applejack walked up to the office, slamming the door back into the wall to draw attention. She strode into the room, glaring daggers at her cousin and the sheriff both.
Braeburn was that same stallion, excitable and full of energy, though he looked older, and stood awkwardly, favouring his forelegs. It made him seem stilted, and as he turned to face her, she saw him spin himself around without lifting his back hooves off the ground.
The sheriff, on the other hand, was younger, with a long, tangled, golden blonde mane. Sharp blue eyes were set above a sweeping nose and a protruding upper lip, though there was something about his stance, the set of his jaw and firmness of his gaze that made it clear to Applejack who was in charge here.
“Applejack!” Braeburn exclaimed, hobbling forward. Swallowing, Applejack stepped forward into his rough embrace. “You came!”
“Of c-“
“This here’s our new sheriff, ol’ Bill. Duck Bill, we call ‘im round here. Sure was a shame when Silver Star left, on account o’ family problems back in Dodge City.”
“Brae-”
“I wrote a little ‘bout the water problems we’ve been havin’, though we hadn’t found the reservoir back then. Ah’m sure it’d have enough for all of us, but we ain’t the only ones in the midst o’ a drought.”
“Braeburn!” Applejack hollered. Age hadn’t changed him one bit, but, finally noticing her impatience, cleared his throat sheepishly.
The sheriff stepped forward, shaking hooves with Applejack and Fluttershy in turn.
“Hello, Applejack, was it? It’s always a pleasure ta meet a member of this one’s . . . colourful family. Ah trust you’ll keep him in check?”
“As much as ah can, Sheriff,” Applejack replied, earning a chuckle.
“And this one. Who’s your friend, Applejack?”
“I’m . . . Fluttershy.”
“Flutters here’s one of my closest friends. Ah brought her on account of the weather problems and such. We thought a pegasi would be best suited to fixin’ the problem.”
“That just so happens to be our thinking as well,” Bill replied with a grimace. “Sadly, it’s proven quite insufficient.”
“That was what Ah’m curious about. Appleloosa’s got to have more’n a couple o’ pegasi flying around. Why can’t any of them see to it?”
Bill shook his head. “Most o’ our pegasi are tied up dealing with the sandstorms. We can’t really spare any more, even if this be our water. Those storms would rip through our town, our orchards . . . everything.”
“The others?”
“A couple headed out to Cloudsdale a few days back. They thought it might’a been something down that end.” Braeburn chimed in.
“Damn fools,” Bill said. “There ain’t nothing wrong with Cloudsdale.”
“They were just checking!”
“They’ve left us without anypony to actually help out. Chasing after that city . . . Everypony knows it ain’t Cloudsdale!”
“You cain’t know that, Duck!”
“Ya can feel it, on the wind. Somethin’s wrong, here, it ain’t nowhere else.”
By now, Braeburn and Bill were facing each other, completely forgetting about the two mares in the room with them. Applejack could see the tension rising, bouncing back and forth between the two. Each was convinced that he was right and neither willing to back down.
“Now, listen here. Ah know those two folks personally, and Ah’m not about to stand here and listen ta you slander them what’s just trying ta help!”
“If they wanted ta help, they’d’ve stayed and helped!”
Applejack opened her mouth, but Fluttershy placed a hoof on her shoulder, drawing her back, and gently interjecting herself into the conversation.
“Excuse me, everypony, but is there a place we can sleep? I think we’d all be thinking better after a good night’s rest.”
And just like that, the tension vanished. Braeburn hung his head, and Bill sighed.
“. . . She’s right. Ah’ll speak with you here, in the morning. Braeburn, Applejack, Miss Fluttershy,” Bill said, tipping his hat to each pony before heading out the back door.
“Come with me, Ah’ll get you set up,” Braeburn said, pulling himself towards the door. Applejack and Fluttershy followed him out onto the street.
“By the by, cousin, what happened to ya leg?”
“Sprained it, kicking a tree. Couple o’ years back, I’d a been right as rain with some bed rest. Now . . . I ain’t healing so easy.”
“I’ll take a look at it, if you’d like,” Fluttershy said from a few paces back.
“Fluttershy here’s one o’ the best nurses a pony could ask for. I’m sure she’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”
“Well . . . if ya’ll are sure . . . that’d be grand. But come now, AJ. How am I ever gonna repay you for all this?”
“Ah don’t wanna hear a word about it, Braeburn. We’re family, and that’s all there is to it.”
Braeburn led them slowly through the streets, eventually halting out the front of a large farmhouse. Reminiscent of Applejack’s home, the wooden building was situated near the path down to the orchard.
“This here be my home,” Braeburn said. “I’d be honoured ta have the two of you stayin’ with me while you’re here.”
Applejack nodded, smiling, and headed inside. If she was right, and it was modelled after the Apple family’s traditional houses, there would be guest rooms on the third story, on the left.
Fluttershy, however, lingered below, quickly taking stock of her surroundings. As she made her way through the kitchen cupboards, putting some water on to boil and searching for bandages and other first-aid supplies, she struck up conversation with her host. They hadn’t spoken much last time she’d been here, and she didn’t really know her patient all that well.
“Braeburn, do you live with anypony? This is an awfully big house.”
“Naww, I just keep it this way on account of this here’s an Apple house. Ponies move through, now and then, and Ah always need more room in harvest season.”
“I see.” And more than perhaps any other, Fluttershy did understand. She lived in near-perpetual isolation herself, with only her animals and Dreams for company. She’d felt the bitterness of loneliness, and the secret joys of one’s own company. They were akin in that.
It wasn’t that she tried to keep to herself, away from others. She’d been guilty of that, in her youth, but she liked to think she was beyond it, had moved past some of those insecurities. Her situation arose more from the way she was so comfortable alone. She rarely longed for company, felt pangs for others only from time to time. When they came, she would make some excuse to visit the town, for supplies, or a few luxuries around the house.
But by and large she was content, and she could see that same easiness in Braeburn. It mattered less to him what others thought, because he was comfortable in himself. Secure, with this place of refuge to retreat to, with only the orchard to shape his days.
From just those few words, Fluttershy realised what he’d meant, inviting them into his house. Despite what Applejack had said, her words about family, he could have simply placed them in rooms at the hotel. There was no prerogative for their stay here, not in his house, in his castle.
But he had brought them here nonetheless, presented them with no other choices. It was more than just a roof over their heads and food in the mornings, it was an invitation to stay with him, to see Braeburn as he truly was.
Smiling, Fluttershy brought the kettle and bandages she’d found stashed at the back of a cupboard with her as she approached him.
“Now, let’s have a look at that leg. Just lie still, this won’t hurt a bit.”
If you are reading this, then I have failed. And while I am not fool enough to pass quietly, leaving our fates to chance and the goodwill of our sister, I cannot See everything. I cannot know what will happen to me, if she brings her tools against me.
Perhaps I will survive. Perhaps I may bring about the long night, the night of sleep. A welcome respite from the dominance of the sun, and a chance, at long last, to recuperate; a chance too long denied our people.
Seventeen
TWILIGHT TOOK SOME TIME TO REALISE THAT SHE WAS AWAKE, clinging to sleep with a vague, bleary sense that she really didn’t want to leave the comfort of oblivion just yet. Slowly though, as sunlight filtered under her eyelids, she succumbed to reality, lifting herself from the bed and shielding her eyes from the light with a hoof.
Last night stood vivid in her mind, stark and unrelenting, and sleep would not cleanse it from her. Though she still felt weary, could still feel the strain of her exertions in her stiff limbs and slow, ponderous spirit, she forced herself to rise, sitting upright and clambering towards the edge of the bed.
As she moved, she disturbed another prone form, still asleep amidst the tangle of bed-sheets. Rainbow’s mouth was just slightly ajar, her tongue peeking out at Twilight. She was an image, dishevelled and carefree, lost in the many colours surrounding her.
It seemed incongruous that everything could so simply continue. That the beauty before her—beautiful in its unconscious grace—could remain unstained. It seemed to Twilight that all the world had darkened around her, had its vibrancy covered over in shadow, and yet there Rainbow lay.
Her stirring had disturbed Rainbow’s sleep. As the pegasus shifted, dragging one eye open, Twilight could see the evidence of her own struggle with what had happened in the bloodshot streaks across her eyes. Not untouched, then, the monstrosity of last night had spread even here.
In an instant Rainbow was beside her, pressing into her, and holding her tightly in an embrace. “How are you feeling?”
“As well as might be expected," Twilight said, spitting the words out ahead of a rising lump in her throat. Despite all her efforts at holding it down, it quickly burst from her, wracking her torso as she clung to Rainbow. “I’ll be fine.”
She remained like that for a few more moments, just sitting, holding onto Rainbow.
Twilight heard a creak from the corner of the room. Pulling back, she turned to see Rarity poke her head in, concern written across her face. Snapping her head around, she glared at Rainbow.
“Why is Rarity here, Dash?” Twilight hissed.
“I, uh, I thought she could find the pony that . . . that . . .”
“How did you know she’d be able to See?”
Rainbow shrugged. “Rarity can find anypony, can’t she?”
“Only those she’s met before.”
“Oh.”
“Ah, if you’ll excuse the intrusion, might I offer the two of you some brunch? I took it upon myself to do a bit of cooking.” Rarity said. Twilight glanced back at her.
“Brunch?” Twilight asked.
“You’ve slept the morning away, I’m afraid.”
With a sigh, Twilight rose from the bed. Her legs still felt stiff, and her hooves twinged when they hit the floor. She still hadn’t recuperated from last night.
She wasn’t accustomed to handling such volumes of power. The amount she’d spent, teleporting to the Crystal Empire and back, on top of her Coromancy . . . Twilight wasn’t surprised she’d been sleeping so long. Her body, though stiff, hadn’t needed the rest, but her mind . . . her mind wasn’t even close to recovering, and while she'd managed to retain control, she could still feel the anger, hot and frenzied, bubbling under the surface.
Making her way to the kitchen, Twilight found a seat. Rarity had arranged a wonderful spread of food—breads and jams, oats, even a few flowers in the centre. Twilight poured herself a glass of water as Rainbow and Rarity joined her. But where Rainbow threw herself into the food, Rarity ignored it, leaning forward to capture Twilight’s attention.
“Now, darling, might I inquire as to my purpose here? What exactly happened last night?”
“It’s none of your business,” Twilight said, inwardly wincing at her tone.
“I beg to differ.” Rarity turned her head quizzically. “It became my business the second Rainbow here woke me up in the middle of the night, for you.”
Twilight sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it, Rarity.”
“Then I suggest you be quick.”
“Be quick?! Be quick?! He’s dead, and you want me to be quick?!”
Rarity flinched, rocking back. “Who’s dead, Twilight?” she asked, quietly.
Twilight couldn’t say it, as if somehow acknowledging it out loud would make it real. She felt disconnected, numb, her mouth working without sound.
“Her brother,” Rainbow said. “Shining Armour is dead.”
Comprehension dawned on Rarity’s face. Twilight watched the horror spread, widening her eyes and dropping her jaw, pressing her right hoof to her chest.
“Oh, Twilight! I had no . . . I mean . . . Oh, I’m so sorry!”
“S’ok,” Twilight forced out, around a mouthful of bread. It tasted like ash.
“The mountain?”
“Twilight and Cadence,” Rainbow confirmed.
“Oh, my stars.”
“That’s why I brought you here, Rarity.”
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t an accident. He was murdered.”
“What?”
Twilight just nodded blankly. She didn’t trust herself to speak, not yet. Instead, she observed, watching and analysing, removing herself from the conversation by filling her mouth with food, eating mechanically.
“Murdered? By who?”
Twilight saw Rainbow swivel to look at her. Rarity followed her lead, turning the question over to her. She swallowed, hard, wincing as the bulk of bread pushed its way down her throat.
“Trixie,” she whispered.
Rainbow leaned forward, as if she hadn’t quite heard her correctly. Rarity, however, gasped, comprehension flooding her for the second time this morning. Twilight could see the gears turning in her head, pieces falling into place.
“It was Trixie.”
Rainbow froze for a second, before turning to Rarity.
“Can you find her?”
“I will most certainly try.”
“She is going to pay for this,” Rainbow hissed. Twilight could almost see the fire in her, leaping up, clamouring for action. Rainbow needed somepony to blame, needed somepony to punish. A murder . . . something like that, like this, demanded an answer.
But for Twilight, vengeance was far from her thoughts. Rather than chase Trixie, chase the foolish, naïve hope that catching her would somehow fix everything, she stayed with her brother, cradling his body in the crater of her world.;
A crater she had made.
She had felt guilt before, endured its sickening tendrils in the aftermath of their destructive fight with the wolf. That had been nothing like this, lacked in the way this permeated her, altered her. Her choices had tainted her, and through them her entire life.
What had she done? She’d learnt, over and over again, that friendship could triumph over anything. That the goodness in ponies’ hearts would win out over evil. She’d extended her hoof to Trixie in friendship with an arrogance that defied belief.
She hadn’t been smug, hadn’t thought herself superior to Trixie. She hadn’t imposed herself, she had been genuine. She’d offered, as somepony whose life had allowed her the security to learn. Somepony who could help, could give back to others. She’d been sincere in her offer and in herself.
Life had thrown that back in her face. She had had the opportunity to turn Trixie in, to lock her away with Boundless, or tie her up in legal proceedings. She could have stopped this, if she’d taken Boundless more seriously. If she’d had the foresight to mistrust a pony that spent her days robbing jewellery stores and breaking into libraries, perhaps her brother would be alive.
She’d had a choice, except that there was no choice. Everything Twilight was had led her to that trust. She couldn’t have foreseen Trixie’s intentions, couldn’t have understood. That made this, made everything, her fault.
That was a truth that lay still, gently nestled against her heart. For perhaps the first time, she had failed. She hadn’t made a mistake, and yet she had failed.
“If you’ll recall, Rainbow, yesterday I found Luna.” Rarity’s voice just barely registered at the edge of Twilight’s awareness. Her attention was focused entirely inward, chasing the threads of her conscience.
What was she now? Was she Twilight Sparkle, Arch-Magus of Equestria, Coromancer, Bearer of the Element of Magic and protégé of Celestia? Her names, they were all false, all meaningless.
But she hadn’t created that knife. She hadn’t drawn its blade across her brother’s throat, hadn’t sunk it into his lifeblood. No matter the guilt she felt, she was not responsible for another’s crimes.
She had been taught to forgive. Taught that everypony deserved a second chance, that anypony could be redeemed. But nothing she’d ever faced had gotten this far, and Twilight couldn’t find forgiveness in her. Not yet, and possibly not ever.
“Rarity, I don’t think that’s important right now.”
She didn’t understand, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She couldn’t comprehend what would drive somepony to this. It was beyond her, outside the scope of her world. Murder . . . something only talked about, something fictional, that existed only in stories. It had no place here, in Equestria.
She hadn’t seemed unstable, or cruel. She had been friendly, been open with Twilight. Had she been hiding this the whole time, somehow concealing the capacity for darkness the whole time? Or had Twilight simply refused to see it, refused to acknowledge that she was beyond saving.
Was it Boundless? Had he driven Trixie to this? He’d had an agenda, certainly, had some involvement in what had happened. But Twilight had taken him out the instant she’d entered the room. Trixie had seen it, knew he was no threat. She’d done it anyway, pushed through Twilight’s grip—weak, from shock or horror or a misplaced trust.
How dare she? How could she so easily rip the world away? Twilight had assumed herself to have the answers, to be in the position of knowledge. Ponies came to her for help, Trixie had come to her!
The sanctity of life. Twilight hadn’t thought much on it before, hadn’t considered all the ways lives intersected, and how just one winking out could change everything in an instant. Nopony deserved death. She fervently believed that, even more so now.
Trixie’s responsibility, and her fault.
“Twilight? Are you listening?”
Twilight snapped her head up, the use of her name jolting her back into the conversation. “Yes, yes, what is it?”
“I found Luna, Twilight,” Rarity said, leaning forward. “Celestia met her at the southern border.”
“She was with us last night, Rarity,” Rainbow interjected. Rarity waved her hoof at her, leaning forward.
“Luna was wearing Nightmare Moon’s armour, Twilight.”
Twilight shook her head, trying to bring her focus to what Rarity was saying. “What?”
“Remember her regalia?”
“Luna looked fine to me,” Rainbow said dubiously.
“She was—is—fine. But she was wearing the armour, and she stood taller than Celestia.”
“Rarity, this isn’t the time.”
“No, I guess not. I just . . . never mind.” Rarity stood up, beginning to move away with a plate of food suspended before her. “I’ll see what I can dig up, then, though I haven’t much left to spend.”
Rainbow nodded, turning to her food. But Twilight found no pleasure in eating, and took no comfort in the warmth of a full stomach. Instead, she fanned the fire slowly growing inside her, threw herself on its embers in an attempt to stave off the chill around her. It had been Trixie that had stripped her innocence away, Trixie that had shattered her illusions, and Trixie that had stolen his life.
Twilight was done trying to help her. She was no friend of Trixie’s, and would never again extend that offer to her. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t do to Trixie what she’d done to Shining Armour, but she would find Trixie, and make her pay. The most terrible justice Twilight could imagine, a harsh sentence without chance of mercy or repentance, she would make Trixie understand.
That thought warmed her as nothing else was able to. Twilight seized hold of the idea, clutching to it like it was the last vestige of her past self. Looking across the table, at Rainbow, with her muzzle buried in a bowl, she smiled.
“We’re going to get her,” she whispered.
***
Celestia watched Twilight, unconscious in the hooves of Rainbow Dash, be flown away from the hell she had found here. Looking around, Celestia could see the remnants of Twilight’s grief. Between her and Cadence, they had destroyed a building, scattering it across the surrounding city block. Left behind was a crater, dug deep into the earth and rock of the mountain.
Luna was still with Cadence, and it didn’t look like they would be moving anytime soon. Twilight had run herself dry here, the residual power lingering in the air told Celestia that much. But an alicorn was hardier, and Cadence could handle a lot more before she collapsed.
Thankfully, Luna had gotten the outpouring under control. This mess would already be hard enough to deal with—just one look at the ponies gathering on the ridge above confirmed her fears. Beyond that, the repercussions of this would be lasting. Celestia didn’t even want to think about how the Crystal Empire would deal with the news.
Above all, she worried about Twilight. This experience had very nearly broken the poor mare, and she’d be fragile for days. She might never recover. Losing a loved one was an experience Celestia knew well—had been reminded of just this morning.
But there would be time for consoling her old student later, right now she had to be a Princess. Celestia cleared her throat, catching Luna’s attention and gesturing towards the body—his body. With a brief nod, Luna leaned back to Cadence, whispering in her ear. Still sobbing, Cadence released his body to fold into Luna’s embrace, burying her face against Luna’s shoulder.
Celestia wrapped the body in her magic. Just for a second, before she transported it to the castle, she felt the wound in his neck, felt the imprint of pain left hanging over him. It made her sick.
She’d thought her subjects better than this. She’d thought that somewhere, somehow, they’d grown up, grown past the passions and tempers of youth, past the capacity for such violence.
Why Shining Armour? He had never given cause for such retribution, he’d been a figure beloved by all. There was no reason to target somepony so high-profile, all it would do is bring attention to this.
Maybe that’s what they wanted. To create a spectacle, reduce Shining Armour to a demonstration. A statement—if they could get to him, one of the foremost defensive experts in Equestria, they could get to anypony.
It was certainly a public enough place. Celestia rose into the sky, pouring magic into her horn to provide illumination. Hovering above the crater, she looked out at the gathering crowd, all pointing, whispering amongst themselves. They didn’t know what to make of what they saw, and couldn’t make out detail at this distance, though some pegasi were moving closer. Thankfully, the Royal Guard were making themselves useful, holding the civilians back.
“Everypony!” Celestia called, her voice resounding, carried out to the crowd on waves of power and light. “Please, remain calm. Everything is under control.”
“What happened here?”
“What about my home?!”
“Who is that, down there?”
“Is that blood?!”
Celestia couldn’t make out much in the cacophony of noise that arose from the crowd of ponies. With a sigh, she allowed a pulse of light to explode out of her, carrying a radiant glow behind it. It shot out in every direction, washing over the crowd and leaving a silence interrupted only by the distant sound of Cadence’s sobs.
“Please, everypony, return to your homes. If anypony is injured, a guard will escort you to a hospital. We will issue a statement tomorrow. You can direct all inquiries to the staff at the castle.”
Not her most inspiring speech, perhaps, but at least her words had their desired effect. The crowd began to disperse, still disgruntled, but willing to accept her word, and the reassurance of her attention in the morning.
But not everypony left. As they filtered away, the departing lines revealed three pegasi on the ground, staring into the crater. Celestia flew down, landing gently behind them as she signalled a few of the guards.
“Is everything alright?” she asked. On closer inspection, the three bore some injuries; a superficial cut down one’s flank, and what looked like a nasty break in another’s wing. “My guards will get you medical aid.”
The first guard that reached them stepped forward, raising a hoof to place on the closest pegasi’s shoulder. While two complied, following the guard meekly, the third shook his hoof off her, meeting and holding Celestia’s gaze.
“And our home?”
Ah. They lived here. That would explain the injuries.
“Stay the night with your friends,” Celestia said. “You all need some care.”
“My sisters,” the pegasus corrected.
Celestia smiled. “As for tomorrow? Come to the castle in the morning, and I will set aside room for you and your sisters, until we can rebuild.”
The pegasus’ eyes widened, a small smile appearing on her face. She licked her lips before replying, head down and facing the ground. It was odd, how anger could give one such strength, and kindness could take it away.
“Thank you, Princess,” she whispered, backing off. Celestia watched as a guard led her away, taking her to the hospital. They would be taken care of.
There was no mistaking where their injuries had come from. They must have been inside the building when Twilight lost control, must have been caught in the blast that scattered their home across the city. It was a miracle they hadn’t suffered anything worse.
Even so, it was a lesson Celestia had thought Twilight had learnt. The kind of power she could bring to bear demanded control. When that failed, ponies got hurt.
This was exactly the kind of situation she’d feared when Luna had revealed Coromancy to them. Even lacking the versatility and sheer strength of an alicorn, when held, entranced, by emotion, they were forces of nature. They became unstoppable.
Her brother had been murdered. From just her brief touch, she could tell that much. She could feel the intent in the wound, the traces of magic, and, oddly, fear. Whoever had done it had been terrified.
She couldn’t blame Twilight for losing control, not after this. It was a situation that would have broken anypony. Even Cadence hadn’t been able to restrain herself, and Celestia doubted Canterlot would remain standing if it had been Luna lying there. But while her sympathies lay with her old student, she couldn’t deny the twinge of disappointment that accompanied the halting gait of the pegasus, leaving with the guard.
***
Boundless liked the silence. It was calm, a cool, comforting stillness that gave him room to think. Time away from those talking without speaking, from those hearing without listening. It became an escape from the world, where he could forget everything and simply feel the sound creeping around him, a tranquillity of sorts.
Trixie hadn’t spoken since they’d started out. Perhaps she was thinking as well. God knows, that was something she could do more of. It hadn’t taken much to break her, in the end. He’d shown her darkness, taught her how it could be light. Curious, that, how his dark light could be just as blinding.
Beyond everything, he hoped that those he touched would think. He found more solace in his mind than any physical comfort or reward; he had no interest in fine foods, clothing or amenities, nor did he find himself attracted to the comforts of the spirit; friends, partners, relationships and communities. There was nothing to be gained by pampering oneself.
No, he preferred solitude, simple food and shelter, the dreary thrill of the open road. It was an endless stretch of imagination, where he could lose himself in his mind, and finally be free.
He’d spent most of the morning doing just that. They hadn’t been able to cover much ground, due to his injuries, but the pain would pass. Like most things in life, it was transitory, something that claimed to have power over him through sheer intensity. It could not hold him back. Pain had power only over those who submitted to it—to Boundless, there were far more important things to worry about.
They were heading north, towards the Crystal Empire. There would be guards at the border, of course, and they’d certainly be looking for them. That would have been fine, by itself, but . . . how had Twilight found them so quickly? He’d told Trixie that she was coming, lied to her to force her hoof. She hadn’t been supposed to arrive until they’d escaped.
If Twilight had been able to do that, there was no way of telling how quickly she’d find them out here. They could be as careful as they wanted, something told him, some nagging feeling of doom that she would be coming.
Perhaps the smugglers at the border would be able to hide them. Boundless wasn’t worried about bringing Twilight’s wrath down on them. Once he was through, they would cease to matter.
Boundless found it amusing, really, how much importance ponies attributed to life. Perhaps a dragon or similarly long-lived creature might take offence at a threat to its existence. But the life of a pony? It was as insignificant as that of an insect, a mere blink against the vastness of the world.
No, a life was fleeting, as meaningless as pain. It was almost sad, how little most accomplished with theirs. He’d have thought that with such a short time to leave something behind, ponies would be more primal, a species obsessed with life. Instead, he saw ponies devote themselves to the latest trends, spend their lives chasing money, or prestige.
Could they not see as he did? Was it not clear how pointless their lives had become? Or did they choose to wallow in nothing, finding it easier than creation?
There were very few exceptional ponies. Lives that had accomplished something, made some mark on the world. Boundless had named Twilight Sparkle in that list, and after last night, he added Trixie. She was unimpressive, but for one fact.
When he’d been taken down, his presence removed and his pressure no longer forcing Trixie to his will, she had followed through. She’d killed Shining Armour on her own terms, broken through the force that had held her back. That was her accomplishment, not his, and it would echo through history. It was, after all, the first murder in the last thousand years.
Not that that was strictly true. But Boundless had learned that there was a great deal of difference between the public, widely accepted truth, and what actually happened.
Boundless winced, the pain in chest flaring. No matter. He kept walking, focusing on the road in front of him. The silent road, deep and wide as a rolling river, it would take him to his goal, and for that he thanked it.
Soon, though, he began to hear something he hadn’t expected. A dull roar, the cascade and endless cacophony of noise, it was unmistakeable here, all alone in the world. A river, where none should have been, appeared in the distance, winding its way from the mountain through the flatlands.
Glancing back at Trixie, he gestured at the river. She shook her head, denying any knowledge of its existence.
Boundless shrugged. But the silence had been broken, shattered by the river and punctuated with their communication.
“What did you learn, Trixie?” he asked as they made their way to the river.
“A lot of things,” came the reply.
“Smugglers?”
“Yes. They were close to coming down on the entire ring.”
“Shining Armour was,” Boundless corrected. “ And the Heart?”
Trixie paused briefly before answering. “It isn’t guarded at all. It’s kept out on display, in the plaza under the castle.”
“Really?”
“Who would steal it?”
Nonchalance. These rulers assumed so much. It made them weak.
“Of course, we’ve shown ourselves. It’ll be much harder to reach now.”
“I know. But the Heart wasn’t the point.”
“No. You just wanted to share your disease.”
“Oh?” This was new. She’d been thinking, then, reflecting. Perhaps she has learned something, after all.
“Do you not? It is the motivation of a parasite, to spread, expand, infect.”
“I act as I see fit. What more can any of us do?”
Behind him, Trixie sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Boundless nodded in silent agreement. And though it was fractured, the silence persisted the rest of the way to the river.
Pausing in front of the river, Boundless had begun to bend down to take a drink when the air in front of him warped. With a crack, a purple light solidified, hanging above the river, coalescing into the form of a unicorn.
Twilight Sparkle fell from her teleportation directly towards the river. Before she could hit, though, she vanished, appearing behind Trixie. Boundless spun in time to see a wave of light rush towards him, catching both of them in its hold and throwing them backwards. Trixie hit the ground hard, skidding along the rough dirt, but Boundless landed in the river, sending a column of water rising to the sky.
Shockingly, he didn’t sink. Instead, buoyed by some unseen current, he quickly rose to the surface of the river, floating there as he regained his breath. Even trying to roll over caused his chest to flare up—Twilight had probably shattered his ribs well and truly. He was lucky the bone fragments hadn’t pierced anything vital.
Not that he was sure they hadn’t. Still, there was nothing he could do about that. Held up by the river, somehow not moving despite the current, he tried to remain still, and watched.
Trixie had recovered quickly, standing and facing Twilight. The azure glow surrounding her horn seemed pitiful next to Twilight’s form. The unicorn herself was glowing, an inner lavender fire rising through her body. It leaked from her mouth and eyes, spilling onto the ground and sizzling, burning the grass and scorching the earth. It rose from her mane and tail, igniting the air around her and charging it with power. She stirred something in Boundless he hadn’t felt in a long time, a spark of fear that heightened everything around him, drew on her avatar of hate and rendered it in exquisite, terrifying detail.
Twilight opened her mouth, speaking slowly, carefully.
“Why’d you do it, Trixie?”
Trixie shrugged. “Because I was afraid. Because I was weak.”
“Afraid?!”
“Yes. I’m not scared anymore, though.”
Twilight’s power intensified, spreading around her, enshrining her as an avatar of hate. “You should be.”
Trixie snorted. “What, of you? You’re weak, Twilight, just as I was.”
Boundless couldn’t make out much of what followed. The spell-work came in a blaze of light, bludgeons of crushing force and tiny slivers of magic, designed to slice and sever flickered between the two combatants. But Trixie was clearly overmatched; her horn a star next to Twilight’s blazing sun, and within seconds Twilight had forced her to the ground, all but extinguishing the faint light of her horn.
“Is this your revenge, then?” Trixie spat out, her voice muffled against the dirt.
“This? No, nothing so crude. Here, Trixie, follow,” Twilight said. A thin bolt of power streaked from her horn, colliding with Trixie’s and linking the two unicorns. Boundless saw Trixie’s body tense, saw the lavender fire penetrate and permeate her. Trixie screamed, once, suddenly, then went limp.
Twilight leaned down to her, whispering something, before she cut the connection between the two of them. Taking a step backwards, she slowly dimmed, her light losing its vibrancy and sinking back into her flesh. Enveloping Trixie in her grip, she lifted her, and encircled the two of them in the same field that had brought her here.
Trixie hung limply in Twilight’s grip for just a moment before awakening. She shook her head violently, as if trying to clear it of distractions, flinging tears around her. “That’s not enough!” she yelled, surging against her bonds. “That’s not the whole story!
“Why didn’t you stop me, Twilight?” she screamed. “You could have, you know.”
“I . . . I couldn’t.” Twilight stopped what she was doing, looking at Trixie. The fire in her eyes was gone, now, leaving orbs full not of hate, but of hurt. Lost, in the world he had shown them.
“I know. So easy, and yet so hard, just out of reach.”
“An idea only. But my principles do not make me weak.”
“No, they don’t.” Trixie was openly weeping, now, yelling at Twilight with an intensity to rival her earlier anger. “And yet you are weak.” Boundless could see azure light creeping underneath Twilight’s grip, slowly but surely beginning to break through the lavender field. With a shout, Trixie shattered it, slumping to the ground. Twilight recoiled, shying away from the explosion of azure power, though it dissipated before reaching her.
Trixie looked up from where she lay on the ground. “Weaker than me,” she whispered, her horn sparking fitfully. The air before her coalesced, a sudden azure glow surrounding a pale blade of magic—the same knife that had taken Shining Armour’s life. Faint lines tracing its shape danced as Trixie fought for control, fought to feed it the last vestiges of her power.
Twilight’s eyes narrowed, and she tensed, but Trixie did not attack. Instead, she sent the blade in a slashing motion, drawing it back and towards her own throat.
“No!” Twilight cried, springing forward. With a pulse, she knocked the blade aside, her own telekinetic field seizing hold of Trixie’s. In an instant, she had crushed the blade to nothing. Trixie jerked, and then fell over, unconscious.
Twilight looked down at her adversary with a mixture of hatred and contemplation. Whatever she’d been expecting, Trixie had shown her something completely different. Something new.
With a final burst of light, the two ponies vanished, leaving Boundless where he lay in the river. The sun, high overhead, resumed its duties, but its illumination seemed lacklustre, a far cry from the passion of their fight. He remained motionless for some time, floating in the grip of the water. Its gentle motions were soothing, dulling the pain in his chest.
Eventually, he managed to reach the far shore, pulling himself onto the bank. As he lay there, gasping, a shadow fell over him, blocking the midday sun. Twisting carefully, he found himself lying underneath a great serpent, towering out of the river.
He couldn’t make out many details, but it gazed at him with a cold acknowledgement, and his reaction was puzzling. For instead of flinching away from its draconian appearance, he found himself calm. For in the serpent’s slitted eyes he found peace.
“Hello, little nameless creature,” the serpent said, its voice deep and guttural. “How are you feeling?”
But that is not my purpose here. To you, Luna, I bequeath the knowledge earned over an exile of a thousand years. The last time we confronted her, we did not expect the full extent to which she had spread herself. I will not underestimate her again. I must not.
But the Veil wore her thin. And where she thinks it keeps her safe, locks her away from the world and all its pain, it is not even a shield. It is a double-edged sword, holding our enemies at bay and blinding us to their movements.
Eighteen
BOUNDLESS WAS ON FIRE. All over his body, orange flame licked at him, climbing over him, around him. Engulfing him in its heated embrace, scorching his fur and burning his flesh, it sank as it spread, with the shiver of a chill wind dove into his veins and ate through his body.
A dull roar in his ears, he watched as the serpent above him closed its jaws, ceasing the torrent of fire that had cascaded over him. Embers flickered, taking with them the last remnants of his coat, leaving only charcoal behind.
The heat was indescribable. It filled him, seared its way through his every pore. Through the harsh roar and sharp crackling of the blaze, he thought he heard his blood begin to boil. He opened his mouth, jaw straining, but the fire consumed even his scream, gushing out of his throat as he fell to the ground, writhing in agony.
He could feel it, concentrating in his chest. He’d never felt anything like it, a sensation similar to the agony still spreading through his body, and entirely different. He felt his ribs find their broken ends, begin to knit together. He felt his lungs, bruised and battered, work out their sores. He felt himself heal.
Gasping, he lay on the ground, energy abruptly departing his limbs. A cold shiver ran through his body, in stark contrast to the intolerable heat that had suffused him moments before.
“Now then, little pony,” the serpent hissed.
“What . . .“ Boundless gasped, kneeling on the ground and clutching at his chest with one hoof. “What just happened?”
“I healed you, little pony.”
“Healed?! You set me on fire!”
The serpent’s mouth twisted in a snarl, faint tendrils of that same flame dripping from the crook of its lips. “Do not presume to judge my magic,” it spat, words brimming with brimstone. The hot, harsh scent of sulphur filled the air. “I gave you the gift of time, little pony. I expect compensation.”
“Time?” Boundless asked, frowning. Some strength returning, he clumsily rose to his hooves, standing tall on the bank. Even at his full height, though, the serpent still towered over him, casting a shadow that left Boundless completely shrouded.
“Weeks, spent healing at your body’s pace,” the serpent said. “Weeks you don’t have to spare. Not if you want to stay ahead of Twilight.”
“You . . . know her?”
“I taught her,” it hissed. “She can no longer trace your movements, but Sight is not the only method she has of finding you, and if she catches you again, you will not escape her wrath.”
Boundless didn’t reply for a long moment, trying to assimilate all the information he had just been presented with.
“Sight?” he eventually asked, seizing on that unfamiliar term. An innocuous enough word, but the tone made its capitalisation clear.
“Yes, Sight. They have been tracking you with it—more precisely, your companion.”
“Then they can’t find me,” Boundless said. He let out a deep breath, feeling tension run from his limbs. “They never could.”
This . . . this was crucial. Twilight’s uncanny ability to appear everywhere he went, seemingly three steps ahead of him the entire time, had posed more of a threat to his plans than anything else. Most ponies overestimated power. Celestia, Luna, and Cadence—and even Twilight herself, they were only the most prominent of the many, many ponies capable of overpowering him. He worked best in the shadows, through subtlety and misdirection, where he could avoid direct confrontation.
Most assumed that sheer strength was power. Boundless disagreed. Power itself was only a tool, a means to an end. It was the results that mattered, what you accomplished. For all their might, only he held the knowledge that would matter. So long as he remained unknown, only he held power.
“Oh yes they can,” the serpent said, a low, guttural chuckle rumbling from deep within its chest. “But it will take time; time enough for you to run, to hide.”
Boundless nodded slowly. Twilight had taken Trixie with her, and he couldn’t count on her loyalty. Setting her free hadn’t only proven his theory—his point—but it also removed his hold on her. There were no more ties between them. It was unfortunate, perhaps, but necessary.
“They’ll know about the Heart, then,” Boundless mused. “I can’t go north, not yet.”
The serpent smiled. “I have business in the south, little pony. But I shall hide you away, at the heart of the world. You will be safe there.”
“I don’t think so.” Boundless shook his head, taking a step backwards. “I can hide myself.”
“Call it the first part of my payment, then,” the serpent spat. “It is not yet time to unleash your particular brand of meaning on them.”
“They won’t change on their own,” Boundless shot back, narrowing his eyes. “There is no better time than now.”
“You are a child,” the serpent said. With a surge, it rose out of the river, taking steps forward to again tower above Boundless. As its torso breached the water in full, Boundless spied the folds of leathery flesh spread over his back, covering the hard, glittering scales.
“What are you?” he whispered, gazing at the creature with wide eyes.
It wasn’t a serpent at all—it was a dragon, though of a type Boundless had never heard of. Short legs with webbed toes and claws extended from a long, sinuous body. It seemed capable of flight, though it obviously preferred to the water.
“I am the Drac, the last of the river dragons,” it said proudly, extending its neck upwards and rolling its shoulders back. “Come with me, little pony.”
With that, it surged forwards, a swift motion that carried it to Boundless, wrapping him in the long, wickedly sharp claws of its hand. Boundless flinched away, trying to escape, but its talons did not cut him. Instead, with him ensnared, the dragon plunged back into the river and swam, with a speed that defied belief, to the south, through valleys and farmland, to Ponyville and the dark depths of the Everfree Forest.
***
The mattresses at Braeburn’s house weren’t as comfortable as her own worn bed back in Ponyville, and though Applejack slept soundly, she woke even earlier than she was accustomed to. Still, she never had been able to stay in bed once awake, so she rose, treading softly through the house to avoid awakening anypony else.
She hadn’t stayed here before, but he’d built the place according to Apple tradition, and she knew the layout. Quietly creeping down the stairs—a task easier said than done, what with the old wood, groaning in protest at her weight—she made her way into the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil, shivering.
Braeburn didn’t have a lot of food in his kitchen. Applejack found a dirty cup, giving it a thorough rinse at the sink, before crushing some tea leaves into it. The hot water, splashing down, filled the room with hot, scented steam. Applejack took a deep breath, breathing it in, the contrast with the frozen morning shaking the last of her drowsiness from her.
For now, she was content to sit at the kitchen table, hot mug of tea in her hoof, and wait for the others to join her. But before she sat down, she walked out onto the porch, closing the front door behind her, and, nursing the mug, stared out at Appleloosa.
Braeburn’s house was the furthest from town, and the closest to the orchard. Applejack could almost smell the apple trees from here, over a small rise in the road to the left, then down the hill and around the bend. The scent brought a faint smile to her lips. She’d need to visit Bloomburg while she was here. She spent a moment observing her crystalline breath, freezing in the air as she exhaled. There was little light to catch it, the barest sliver of red poking its way above the horizon.
To her right, she saw the town, just beginning to wake. The day started early on the frontier—many ponies going about pre-dawn duties. But there was a certain lethargy to the actions of the few she could see that Applejack didn’t think due to the hour.
It was in their stance, the way they half-heartedly went about their work. Chores attended to sloppily, or left uncompleted as something else pulled their attention away. It was in their walk, the way they shambled around the town. It was in their eyes, a blankness and an understanding; knowledge that caused Applejack to prick her ears. Apparently, Braeburn had been understating the problem.
She heard the creak of the door, and turned to see her cousin step out to join her on the pouch. Braeburn moved slowly, carrying a similar mug with some care. But though he sat down in the chair next to Applejack gingerly, she noticed he walked without a limp, and wore a small smile on his face.
“Still sore?” she asked him after a moment of silence.
Braeburn chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah’ll be right as rain in a few days. Just gotta let the swellin’ go down, not push myself too hard.” He gave Applejack a sudden, fierce grin. “Doctor’s orders.”
Applejack nodded sagely. Fluttershy could be firm enough, when it came to healing.
But it was more than that. Braeburn had more than just energy in his step, he sat in the chair with a straight back, squared shoulders. Where everypony else she’d seen—including him, last night—seemed to carry a colossal weight with them, he had a glint in his eye and a small smile on his face. Fluttershy had given him more than relief, she’d given him hope.
“We’re going to fix this,” Applejack said, trying to force conviction into her voice. It came out strained, but firm, and she held Braeburn’s gaze until he turned away with a sigh.
“I know, cousin. But . . .”
“You want to help?” Applejack guessed. She knew that were she in his position, she’d be tearing her mane out in frustration.
“Yes. No. I . . . we’d given up, AJ, or near to it. I never would have suggested taking their water otherwise.”
And suddenly Applejack understood. The Appleloosans prided themselves on their hardiness. They were settlers, well used to privation and shortages. They expected to be isolated from the rest of Equestria, and to face the many problems that befell them on their own. They’d grown to value self-reliance and a strong sense of community.
That they’d found something they couldn’t handle rankled. It had tested them, their tolerance and endurance. Braeburn to suggest what he had—taking the buffalo’s water in order to survive—wasn’t just a concession of his own impotence. It was a surrender.
“Chin up, cousin,” Applejack said. “We’ll get through this.”
Braeburn nodded, taking a long draught from his mug. “Yeah. Nothing an’ nopony can hold us Appleloosans down for long,” he said, voice trembling.
From inside, Applejack heard the stairs creak. Fluttershy wasn’t as used to creeping around on old wooden boards. It wasn’t a matter of weight, as many would have thought, rather, it was about how you moved, shifted your weight from hoof to hoof in a rolling gait.
Applejack rose, draining her mug. “C’mon, cousin,” she said quietly. “Fluttershy’s up and about.”
Braeburn nodded, taking the rest of his tea with him as he headed into the kitchen. He forced a wide smile onto his face, and, though Applejack thought it tense, he did seem to be walking a little taller.
“Miss Fluttershy!” Braeburn called, drawing her attention to him as Applejack followed him in. “A good morning to you! Now, how’s about some breakfast, eh?”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose- . . .” Fluttershy began to reply. Applejack caught her gaze, giving her the tiniest of nods. “Ah, uhm, that would be lovely, thank you.”
“Not at all,” Braeburn said. “Now, what do we have ‘round here? Little o’ this, some o’ that . . .”
Within minutes, the table was covered with a simple spread—bread and jam, a few apples and carrots, even some juice. Applejack tucked in with relish. It might be a far cry from her staple diet back home, but the simple food was still delicious, and she’d need her strength later.
Between the three of them, the food was cleaned up in short order. Braeburn began carrying dishes back over to the sink, and Applejack stood to help, clearing her throat.
“Ah reckon now’s a good a time as any for you to explain what’s goin’ on around here, cousin,” she prompted, grabbing a nearby cloth.
“Oh. Well, uh, about three weeks ago, our rain stopped comin’ in from Cloudsdale. Our own stores are dangerously close to running out, and without water we cain’t grow food—heck, we cain’t even live here ourselves.”
Braeburn left the dishes next to the sink, turning back to the table. With a start, Applejack realised how stupid it would be to wash them. She looked guiltily at her mug, now sitting empty next to the plates.
“We never had many pegasuses here to start with—Dust Dancer lead most o’ them up to Cloudsdale to see what was goin’ on. But they haven’t come back, an’ Breeze an’ Flash have got their hooves full handling the weather on their own. If we lose them, we’ll all bake under the sun.
“It ain’t natural. Even with no rain, we ought ta have had plenty o’ water for jus’ this here situation—but it’s gone an’ vanished on us. Right under our noses, an’ it’s all drained away!”
Applejack cocked her head, puzzled.
“We’ve been keeping a close eye on whose using it,” Braeburn confided. “An everyday, more and more goes missing that nopony took! Like its being sucked straight into the ground.” He shook his head. “It ain’t natural, Ah tells ya.”
“When did this start?” Fluttershy asked, her meek voice somehow carrying through the room.
“Since about the rain stopped. We coulda dealt with one, or t’ other, but not both.”
“Righto,” Applejack said, drying plates as Braeburn handed them to her. But before she could continue, Fluttershy interrupted with a quiet murmur.
“Has the town been doing anything else?”
“Nothin’ much we can do,” Braeburn muttered, with a dark edge to his tone.
“That’s not true,” Fluttershy said, standing. “You could be digging for water, beneath the ground. You could be instituting regulations of water use within the town, to help your stores last. You could be harvesting cacti from the desert, and other plants. They store water—that’s how they’re able to survive out there.”
Braeburn pressed his eyes closed. “We’ve been doing some o’ that already. But no matter how hard we try, we ain’t gonna be able to replace what we’re losing. The orchard alone needs more than we could bring in on the train, and that ain’t even counting the other crops.
“It’s this simple. We gotta get this sorted out, or we won’t last to next harvest.”
The finality of that sentiment settled over them, killing any further conversation. Applejack walked back to the table, facing Fluttershy. Her friend’s eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears.
“Well,” Applejack said, thumping her hoof onto the table. Fluttershy jumped, turning a shocked expression at her, “we sure as hell ain’t gonna leave y’all to die!” She cast a glance sideways, at the pegasus. “Are we?”
Fluttershy stared at her, and then slowly shook her head.
With a fierce grin, she continued. “Here’s the plan. We ain’t got much time left here, and it might take a little while to clear this up. So I’m gonna head out to the buffalo tribe and work out some way of sharing their water with the town. Ah reckon Ah wouldn’t be much help to you anyways.”
“We’ve tried talking to them,” Braeburn interrupted. “They don’t want to help.”
“You just let me handle them,” Applejack said, then turned back to Fluttershy. “Meanwhile, you follow the cloud-line back to Cloudsdale, an’ figure out what’s happening up there. None of this ain’t gonna mean anything if we cain’t fix the problem at its source, and you’re the only pony we got that can do that. You up to it, Fluttershy?”
Fluttershy’s response was faster this time, more definite. She gave a sharp nod, eyes alight.
“You got a map around here?” Applejack asked. Braeburn stood mutely, returning in a moment with a scroll. Unfolding it on the table, Applejack could see the various water catchments scattered around the town. All of them had been marked off as empty—all save one. That must be where the buffalo were.
“Alright, then. Braeburn, you’ll need to coordinate with the sheriff and the town. I don’t know what Ah’ll have to promise, but Ah’m gonna get you that water. I promise.”
“Okay, fine” Braeburn said. He exhaled softly, leaning back against the counter, and looking at Applejack with something akin to pride in his eyes. “An’ be careful.”
“Always,” Applejack said, her grin disappearing. She moved to the door, holding it open for Fluttershy, then tipped her hat at her cousin. “Ah’ll see you later, Braeburn.”
“Yeah. See you, AJ.” His whisper seemed to follow her through the wooden door, follow her down the street as she walked towards the desert with Fluttershy.
They were quiet until they reached the turn in the road, the path leading down into the orchard--the small plots of arable land they’d found in the desert. To the left, Applejack saw only dry, dusty plains, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
“Are you . . . ?” Fluttershy didn’t need to elaborate. Applejack nodded as she joined her friend.
“Ah’ll see what Ah can do. Trees can’t live forever without water though,” Applejack replied, taking a step towards the orchard.
“This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” the pegasus said quietly, staring out at the expanse of hot sand and dry air. What courage Applejack had managed to inspire in her seemed to have faded, seeping out amongst the dreariness of the landscape and its inhabitants.
“No, it ain’t,” Applejack admitted. “But we’ve at least gotta try.”
“I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” Fluttershy said, glancing at Applejack. “You should have brought Rainbow.”
“Not another word, sugarcube. Even if that were true—and it ain’t—you’re the one whose here. Your one o’ the most capable and talented pegasi Ah ever laid eyes on, and Ah know you ain’t gonna let these folks down.”
“No,” Fluttershy said, eyes turned forward. “No, I won’t.”
With that, she darted forward, leaping into the air with strong strokes. Within minutes, she was just a speck on the horizon.
Applejack turned to her own task. The townsfolk might moan about it later, but they needed that water, and Applejack was going to get it for them—no matter the cost. She couldn’t imagine any reason the buffalo would have had for withholding their aid, but one thing was sure. When Applejack returned, it would be with water.
***
Fluttershy flew north. The sheriff—Bill—had mentioned something last night, something that had stuck with her. Where Braeburn had insisted the pegasi that had left for Cloudsdale had done so with the best intentions, Bill argued that they had abandoned the town. He’d said that there was something on the wind, something tangible.
Applejack and Braeburn hadn’t paid much attention to him. They were headstrong—arrogant in their own way, a confidence brought on by years of isolation and self-reliance. They wanted to take the problem into their own hooves, wanted to do something about it, any way they could.
That was the source of Braeburn’s fixation with the buffalo. He couldn’t understand why the town's water source had disappeared, could no more find and fix the problem than he could fly. So he sought an alternate solution to the problem, ignoring what made him impotent.
But Fluttershy could fly. She could feel the disease that rode the wind, a faint scent of corruption. She’d followed that scent, that feeling, back through the sky towards Cloudsdale. Thankfully, the pegasi had taken the train—they wouldn’t be in any danger.
She couldn’t quite drive her Dream from her head. Appleloosa, destroyed— its ponies scattered across the desert, the storms raging to the south, annihilating everything in their path. That was the future, here, unless she could change it. That was where this corruption led.
Fluttershy slowed her flight as the scent slowly grew stronger. She couldn’t see anything in front of her; the sky was a bright, clear blue, without a cloud in sight. Was that . . . a slight haze, on the horizon? Or was she just imagining that, a trick of the mind, playing on her fear?
Fluttershy gave her head a brief shake, but she could still make it out, just barely. She rolled to the side, gliding down and around until she eventually landed on the hot sand of the desert. There was no scent down here, closer to the earth. She pawed the ground, mulling the situation over in her head.
Part of the problem was her relative naivety with this sort of work. She’d tried to stay away from Twilight’s investigations as much as she could; it typically involved far too much confrontation for her liking. Besides, studying strange magic—and there was no question about it, this was magic—wasn’t her favourite pastime.
Still, Fluttershy was an excellent observer. That came with the territory of the recluse, forever watching those around her. She didn’t study magic, but she did study ponies, society, and applied what she knew to her animals. She’d been surprised at the similarities between ponies and animals at first, but on a deeper level, instinctive, subconscious, she’d always known that they existed.
The spell was somewhere above her, in the air. Fluttershy began trotting north, back along the line she’d been following. The first step would be to ascertain how dangerous it was; whether or not it would affect live beings, where its limits were exactly.
The desert rolled; mounds of sand heaping on the floor in every direction. Soon, her throat was dry, her coat crusted with grit. Fluttershy kept her eyes half-closed, though there was little wind to stir the sand into the air, and focused on moving, two hooves at a time.
It couldn’t have been long before she came across the first carcass. A bird, nearly completely covered by the desert, lay unmoving just over the crest of a dune. Fluttershy let out a soft cry when she saw it, immediately rushing to its side and digging it out of the sand.
Turning the body over, she let out another muted cry, backing off and pressing her hooves to her face. The bird wasn’t just dead—Fluttershy was well used to death. Her job, and hobby before that, had exposed her to more of life than she’d cared to experience. She’d seen animals die of old age, had buried her friends and even disposed of the mauled remains predators had left behind. Blood, gore, mortality; these concepts bothered Fluttershy a lot less than most ponies.
But this bird was different. She could handle death as it occurred within Nature—just barely accept the necessity of death as it existed between predator and prey. But this was no simple death. The bird had had most of its feathers stripped, its flesh dissolved. Its eyes had melted in their sockets; even the skull and bones had lost their integrity. What little remained of its skin was holding the brownish-red soup together. Fluttershy had spied organs—a lung, some section of liver—through the translucent membrane.
It was a depravity beyond anything she knew. And, looking up, Fluttershy again spied that haze, a slight flickering in the air that seemed to signify the spell’s influence. The poor bird must have flown into it, unknowing. The spell had dissolved the creature, broken it down at a molecular level.
Fluttershy frowned, trying not to think about the bird. A spell like that wouldn’t cause the water from Cloudsdale to fall to the ground, clouds prematurely dumping their contents into the desert. Indeed, there was no evidence of water on the ground anywhere around her.
Perhaps it was breaking down the bonds within the water molecules—hydrogen and oxygen, released into the atmosphere in a gaseous state. Would that be possible? She tried to concentrate, but the classrooms back at Cloudsdale seemed so far away, and she couldn’t quite ignore the stink of death rising from the bird’s carcass nearby.
With a grimace, Fluttershy began to kick dirt over the body. She wished she could care for it properly, but there was little else she could do for it, in the middle of nowhere. As she did, her hoof contacted another object, buried just below the surface. Fluttershy stood still for a second, her body trembling as she swept her eyes over the desert.
There must be countless bodies here. Creatures, not realising the danger, flying into the spell above her; their carcasses would form a giant circle on the ground, stretching around the spell’s perimeter. Fluttershy leapt away, back into the sky, flying at near her top speed. She had to get away from that graveyard, subsisting just below the shifting sands.
She focused on the spell. There must be something she could do, some way she could break it down. Pegasi were supposed to understand weather magic, right? She’d certainly been in enough classes. She’d passed the tests, if just barely. She began to circle its border, trying to gain some insight into it.
This was why Applejack had brought her. She’d wanted Rainbow Dash, assuming correctly that she’d know more about weather patterns than Fluttershy. Rainbow probably would have fixed it by now, and be heading back to Appleloosa with happy news. For a second, Fluttershy wished she was here, to show her the source of the problem, explain it with a bored shrug and a wave, and clear it up a few seconds later.
Except . . . Applejack had brought her. She was the only pegasi within half a day’s travel. There was nopony else around that had any hope of understanding what was happening. She owed it to the ponies back at Appleloosa. To the creatures that had died here.
Fluttershy didn’t notice the extra strength that seeped into her wing-beats. She didn’t notice the slight increase in the beating of her heart and pace of her breaths. She didn’t feel the wind pick up against her as she began to move faster. Her attention was focused firmly on the haze beside her, the spell that had brought her here, and spelled doom for her friends.
Rounding the other side of the haze, she paused, confused. Through the spell, she could just make out . . . wait, what was that? There, in the distance . . . that was a cloud. A speck of white, floating above the horizon, it was silhouetted against the blue and yellow that surrounded her. Fluttershy didn’t spare a thought for what couldn’t be, instead leaping through the air, darting back around the spell’s deadly influence before the cloud could blunder into it, as the bird had before it.
But as she approached, she began to recognise it. Only pegasi realised the individuality between different clouds. For the most part, the abundance of unique shapes and sizes served to blend each into a singular whole, and while each cloud would assume its own exotic form, they were transient at best. Rainbow had once had a favourite cloud—one whose form the pegasus had maintained for over a month.
Fluttershy didn’t take much notice, usually. But this . . . this was the cloud she’d encountered back at her home. The one that had shot out from underneath her, that had dropped her without any wind to push it.
Approaching, she slowed, giving it no reason to flee her again. She didn’t know how—or why—it had followed her out here, but there seemed to be no other explanation for its presence. It was following her.
This time, she was able to give it closer scrutiny. That the tufts and wisps of cloud, arranged so carefully, were of the same entity she’d met back home, she had no doubt. But now they took on another form, completed and whole.
The white vapour made, of all things, a face. Gentle curves characterised its appearance, a small, soft muzzle and sloping neck gave it the appearance of a female, while slight shadows greyed the white pits of its eyes. She could only just make out the faint wisps coiling over its head and running down, into the cloud’s body as a mane.
Fluttershy’s wing-beat faltered, and, eyes wide, she dropped a few feet in the air before recovering. If she had had any doubts before, this confirmed her suspicions. The cloud was alive.
She’d never heard of anything like this before. Not even in legends, the fabled histories—of Hurricane and Typhoon, of the Gryphons, and the Dragons, and the untamed skies of a pre-Dawn Equestria—taught only in Cloudsdale, was anything like this mentioned—and the pegasi prided themselves on their knowledge of the skies.
And yet, here it was, floating lazily through the sky towards her. Fluttershy hesitated, not really knowing what she should do. It had come after her, apparently, following her down the train-line and then up into the desert.
Before she could move, its mouth opened, and a sound drifted out. A high-pitched whistle, akin to sharp wind, running around her porch and through the narrow cracks of her door, it pierced her, transfixed her, and held her still as the cloud approached her, slipped nearly past her, and then stopped, looking into the space behind her.
“You are the Conduit,” it whispered, the words hushed. Its voice was as a breath of air next to Fluttershy’s ear. “You watch. You protect.”
“Wh-who are you?” Fluttershy asked, quivering. The cloud grew closer still, until mere millimetres separated it from her skin. She could feel its moisture against the hairs of her coat, sticking up as a strange current continued to run through her.
Then it touched her with a jolt like lightning, again speaking. Fluttershy saw the lips on that face move in a pale mimicry of her own voice, movements not matching with the words issuing forth.
“Who? I?” The cloud paused in the air. Fluttershy thought she saw its brow crease in thought. Then it nodded once, firmly. “I am Nephele.”
Nephele turned her head towards Fluttershy, wearing a slight smile. “Who are you?” she repeated, mirroring Fluttershy’s tone exactly.
Fluttershy returned her smile warmly. “I’m Fluttershy,” she said, leaning forward into the cloud’s soft embrace.
She didn’t realise that she’d stopped flapping until, Nephele pulling away, she found the ground rushing up at her at an alarming pace.
With my passing, I endeavour to protect you. Mayhap you will feel my touch, in that climactic moment, and know that I cared for you. Know that, in my final moments of life, I shielded you from the terror of watching our world burn.
But I fear that any such comfort will be stripped from you. Memory is a fickle beast, and she knows it well. I can only advise that you hold tight to yourself, and do not trust the words of those you meet. We have been moulded into an evil, and though I must play that role, of it I will set you free.
Nineteen
TRIXIE woke to find herself tucked into an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. From where she lay, she could make out a door on the left side of the room, opposite a vanity and a chest of drawers. There was a simple mirror set above it. The waning sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds to cast a striped pattern of faded luminescence across the bed.
Trixie rose, throwing the covers back, and then made her way to the window. With one hoof, she poked a small gap between the venetian blinds and looked down at the street below. From her vantage point on the second floor, she could make out stone buildings, and a wide, cobblestone road.
That sealed it. She was at the Agency—in Canterlot, no less.
There was nowhere else she could be. Twilight must have taken her after she’d fallen unconscious, taken her back here. But why the room, the bed and quilt, when she’d expected a dungeon?
Welcome back, Cumulus whispered. And though the sound was carried to her across a void, only the barest edges of its echo reaching her, to tickle at her awareness, it filled her with joy. She wasn’t alone, not anymore. The silence she’d been subjected to the last two days was finally over.
Cumulus! she replied, trying to project the thought as loudly as she could. Where have you been?
I’ve been with Brash. He isn’t feeling very well, Trixie.
What? What’s wrong with him?
You are. And though he was just a voice in her head, Trixie got the distinct sensation that he was frowning at her, with that professional sense of disappointment that had followed him his entire life.
Trixie didn’t try to say anything further. He clearly didn’t want to speak to her, despite the reassuring greeting. They’d return when they’re ready, and pressing Cumulus would do her no favours.
Instead, she made for the door, only to find it locked. She rattled the doorknob for a second, before falling back to the bed. She furrowed her brow, and lit her horn, enveloping the doorknob in an azure glow. The lock slipped back into the doorframe with a soft click.
Stepping out onto a landing, Trixie glanced around. It was dark, nearly too dark to see, but after a minute her eyes adjusted, and the shadows morphed into shapes. In front of her were stairs, leading down to a long hallway—the entrance hall, she realised. That placed her at the back of the building. Underneath would be the kitchen, and living areas, and to her right . . . more guest rooms? Trixie poked her snout into several, quietly confirming her suspicions. Though why Twilight needed to be able to house ten ponies was beyond her.
Faint voices drifted up the stairs. Trixie paused, but she couldn’t quite make sense of it, individual words, muffled by the wooden floor, mixed, and became a simple stream of background murmur. Trixie turned, trotting down the stairs and towards the noise. Her hooves made gentle thumps against the steps.
She came to the kitchen door. Warm, orange light spilled through the crack between the frame and the door, accompanied by a loud cracking. Trixie could hear the voices more clearly now. One was clearly Twilight, another Rainbow. Trixie narrowed her eyes. Another, a third—it was that unicorn from Ponyville, the one in the bath. Rarity, her name was Rarity.
She half-expected the conversation to be about her. About the murder of Shining Armour, and her dramatic capture. She had no idea how Twilight had managed to find her. She seemed to have a knack for showing up at just the worst moments.
But instead, what came to Trixie from that room was not bitter. There was an underlying sadness, yes, the knowledge that everything had changed, irrevocably, and for the worse, but in the timbre and pitch of their voices, cadences rising and falling and dancing with a slow, smooth tempo, she heard comfort.
Trixie shivered. Pressing an eye to the crack, she could feel the warmth of the fire inside, could see their frames; seated at the table, Twilight’s back to the fire and her face bent towards Rainbow, to her right. A peal of laughter rose, undulating, from the white unicorn. Within moments, both Twilight and Rainbow were laughing themselves, and though when Twilight seemed to shudder, clenching her eyes shut firmly, the cyan hoof on her shoulder held her close, held her steady. Trixie bit her lip, a hoof rising of its own accord to press against the hard wood of the door.
She caught herself, arrested the movement and stumbled back. She had no right to that fire. Instead, Trixie slowly moved back to the stairs, walked up to her room, and sank down on the bed, stomach growling. She’d been sleeping since the afternoon, and it wasn’t likely she’d be eating tonight.
Trixie tried not to think on it, but the image of Twilight, with Rainbow and Rarity, seated around that table in the flickering firelight, and smiling would not leave. It was incongruous, beyond any simple explanation she could think of. Twilight couldn’t have healed, not yet. Not so quickly.
Trixie had felt her pain. No, when Twilight had thrust her magic on her, torn apart her defences as a child would tear tissue paper, and pressed her memories upon her, Trixie had done more than feel it. She’d lived it, every excruciating moment of shocked disbelief, hollow anguish and earth-shattering rage.
She couldn’t rationalise Twilight’s appearance. She’d been calm, almost happy, if not for that simple shudder, for the cyan hoof on her shoulder. Trixie had wanted to go to her, to prostrate herself and beg forgiveness. She’d wanted, just for a second, to take a seat in that circle, to laugh, and to smile.
With resignation, she wrapped herself in the blanket and settled down in front of the window, once again staring out into the night. Perhaps this wasn’t so different, after all.
***
Boundless wasn’t aware of exactly when he awoke. He drifted in and out in a haze, struggling to clear the fog over his mind. What made it worse was the near-absolute blackness around him; peppered only with motes of coloured light, hanging in the air. It made it impossible to tell the difference between sleep and awareness.
Eventually, though, the rough stone under his body grew irritating, and the dust in the air caused him to sneeze. With a jolt, he came to his hooves, snorting and coughing. Loose grit fell from his side, and, wincing, he kicked at a small pebble that had sunken an aching hole into his flank.
Stretching, he heard—and felt—a series of unpleasant cracks and pops run down his body. Nonetheless, it was better than the searing fire than had covered him before the dragon’s intervention. The spell seemed to have used his own energy, given how tired he’d been—and how hungry he was now—and though he wasn’t going to argue with the results, he’d never heard of a spell like that before.
Still, of late he’d found that there was a great deal he didn’t know. He’d thought himself ready, with everything set in motion and under control. He’d been wrong. Even if Trixie had performed admirably, Twilight had repeatedly broken the boundaries everypony else obeyed. She’d shown him how little he actually knew.
Boundless lit his horn. He might not be as proficient with magic as Twilight, or Trixie, but he knew the basics; more than enough to illuminate his surroundings. Brownish light spread from him, reaching into every nook and cranny, lit up every mite of dust and loose rock. The little lights dimmed next to his radiance.
He was in some sort of cave. Stone walls curved around, meeting smoothly in front of him. Oddly enough, there were holes—regularly shaped, like windows, carved into the stone. He could see dirt, packed tightly into those holes, with networks of tiny roots running throughout. Gems were inset in the walls, glowing faintly.
The rest of the wall, indeed, nearly its entire surface, was covered in tapestry. Boundless stepped closer to one, wincing a little as his leg complained. The pain, however, was quickly forgotten as he stared at the image.
It depicted a snow-white pony, an alicorn, riding on curling waves of light into a dark tempest. She glowed, the golden strands of fabric emanating from her form were somehow glowing themselves, doing more than reflecting in Boundless’ own luminescence. He reached forwards, softly stroking her with the tip of his hoof. She was . . . radiant, a beacon of hope.
Below her, the land lay in ashes. Ruined villages, towns, even cities, devastated under a dark influence. It seemed to wrap itself around something, some shrouded figure that stood on air. It radiated menace, and ponies lay prostrate under it, huddled together with their faces pressed to the ground.
In the air, opposing the figure, a second alicorn flew on navy-blue wings, wearing a silver headdress and armour. She wielded a lance of glowing argence, plunging it forward deep into the black shadows of the storm. It was a picture unlike anything he’d ever heard of, something of untold value—clearly Celestia and Luna, depicted fighting an evil that none knew existed.
Boundless stepped back, casting his gaze around the room. There were dozens of these tapestries, scattered around the walls of the cave. But there was no other sign of opulence in the room, no carpets or furniture to make it more habitable.
Turning, Boundless could see the cave extending, sloping downwards. His light only reached so far into the blackness. He grimaced, staring down into the unknown. He didn’t really want to go down there, but it seemed that there was nothing else to do.
He started forward, at first moving slowly, practically dragging his left leg. But walking soon loosened his muscles, and within minutes his limp had vanished.
Then his outstretched hoof hit a wall with a small chink, the sound echoing in the tunnel around him. With a start, Boundless stopped, staring at the wall in front of him for a second before realisation dawned. He hadn’t hit a dead end—rather, the tunnel was curved. It descended like a spiral staircase, looping around, and around. Unaware, he’d been slowly walking closer to the side of the tunnel. With a shake of his head, he adjusted his step, and expanded the circle of light emanating from his horn.
He hadn’t been in a cave, he realised. He’d been in a tower.
The floor’s slope was noticeable, though not unmanageable, and soon Boundless grew worried. He had no idea where he was, but he didn’t think going down would be the way out. But the tunnel just extended, seemingly without end, diving further and further into the murky blackness.
At times, during the interminable trek, he fancied he could hear something beyond the sound of his hooves on the stone and gravel. It was the distant roar of a waterfall, streaming into the darkness alongside him. It made sense that the dragon would have taken him down the river. He’d just never imagined that this could have been where it would end.
Still, there was comfort in the notion. If nothing else, it implied that there’d be something at the end of the tunnel.
Boundless soon lost track of how long he’d been walking. He didn’t know the time beyond some vague sense of the hours since his awakening. His awareness seemed to contract into the darkness around his little patch of light, and the repetitive sound of his steps on the path. Eventually, though, the slope levelled out, and the box of light surrounding him expanded to a sphere as the walls dropped away. Before him, against the sea of black that extended outwards, he could see those motes of light spread out—tars, as if he was standing above the night sky itself.
Boundless sent a flare of power surging through his horn, sinking as much magic as he could muster into the light. It rose up around him like a miniature sun, washed outwards in a great burst, and for just a moment, he could see.
He stood on a high ledge, separated from the drop by an elaborate wooden balcony, carved with small serpents breathing tongues of fire. On either side, the ledge dropped away into long staircases, snaking around to meet at the front, and then leading down into . . . into a city.
It extended out underneath him for miles, stretching on and on into the distance, a vast network of stone and wood, buildings and streets interconnecting in an incomprehensible maze. It reminded him of Canterlot, in a way. There was a pattern to it, in the layout of the parks and hubs, in the low hills and sweeping valleys.
And it was destroyed. Boundless stood still, slowly sorting out the information he’d garnered in that one flash of light. He’d seen buildings, rubble, smashed streets and broken roofs, materials scattered here and there, covering the whole city. Something had happened, something had come in here, and ruined it, turned it into something new; created a desolate wasteland out of a thriving metropolis.
There was no life here anymore. Boundless glanced upwards, focusing his ligh. But where there should have been a sky, glimmering with starlight in the dead of night or glowing itself with the sun’s glory, there was only a ceiling of dirt, trailing roots and small strands of vegetation.
His eyes widened, sweeping the beam of light back down across the remnants below him. It was a buried city, completely covered over, on a scale that staggered him. How could something like this have happened? It was beyond belief, beyond anything he’d ever imagined. He’d thought the dragon had taken him to the end of the river—but that . . . that would place this city squarely underneath the Everfree Forest.
How could this be? It was a staggering discovery, well beyond anything else in Equestrian history. The implications alone . . . for all of his self-assurance, Boundless couldn’t deny some deep-seated sense of awe. His could still see his brief vision of the city, superimposed on the darkness below.
He let out a slight shudder, shaking his head and exhaling sharply, then turned, and headed for the staircase. His light waved back and forth, from the left to the right and back again, as he trotted down the stairs, effortlessly remaining in the centre of the path.
Halfway down the steps, he paused, cocking his head. There it was again, that faint roar of water, falling down onto rock and sand. It was stronger now, here, though only slightly. He was closer—closer to the river.
That river would lead him out. Boundless doubled his pace, taking the stairs three at a time. But while the rest of the staircase passed without issue, and he was able to cross the wide courtyard at its base in short order, once he’d moved into the city proper, he was forced to slow down.
Having the sound to navigate by was extremely helpful, but though he was able to keep his orientation straight, he was continually frustrated by fallen beams, and rubble, blocking his path. The city’s destruction wasn’t absolute, but it was enough to slow his progress considerably.
The little that remained standing was remarkable only in its similarity to modern Equestrian buildings. But the materials themselves hadn’t decayed—the wooden beams were solid, the squared stone unmarked, and carvings still standing in clear relief. Nor were there any plants growing amongst the ruins; no moss on the stone, or vines crawling along the wood. The lights, gems, again set in stone, marking the walls wherever he went.
Boundless filed the observations away, steadily making his way onward. Clambering over a rock, he ducked into a nearby building. Though its neighbours had all collapsed, leaving debris scattered all around him, it still had three walls standing, just barely supporting a sagging ceiling.
Unfortunately, the windows on the other side were blocked, a wall of dirt and grit filling into the centre of the building. Looking around, Boundless spotted a small staircase leading up to a second story. From up there, he might be able to get over the obstruction.
When he reached the landing, the clear windows, looking down on the pile of dirt weren’t what caught his eye. The beam of light from his horn passed over the wooden floor, and up the neighbouring wall. There, on a shelf and nestled amongst books, of all things, he spied a dash of colour amidst the monotone grey of the ruined city. A dash of blue—it was a feather, resting gently in plain sight.
Boundless approached it slowly, tentatively reaching out to touch it, his hoof quivering. It was just a feather, and though the splash of life awoke something inside him, brought a small smile to his face and lent lightness to his step, it wasn’t the colour that concerned him. He hadn’t been the first pony brought here. For all he knew, he wasn’t alone at all.
His hoof paused, next to the feather, as he noticed the text running down the side of the book. It wasn’t Equestrian—wasn’t in any language he recognised. Idly, he pulled it from the shelf, turning it over in his hooves. Dust shook from its pages, flaking away from an embellished design. Boundless started, nearly dropped the book. The symbol was that of the Crystal Heart.
He licked his lips. What was . . . it didn’t matter. There was so much going on here that he had no idea where to start. He couldn’t piece it together by himself. But this book . . . maybe if he could find the pony that had dropped that feather; he or she could translate it.
Boundless began to run. Grasping both the book and the feather in his magic, he sprinted through the window, blown open at some distant point in the past, and down the mountain of dirt outside. The street ahead was mostly clear, and he moved with the urgency of sudden desire. He needed to get out of this place. Its wonder had faded, somewhere during the hours of walking, clambering, and climbing, leaving only an eerie stillness, and dusty, stale air.
Slowly, steadily, the ground began to rise. Mouth twitching, he forced a smile in between heavy pants, laboured breaths bringing small pockets of clear air amid the dust cloud his hooves kicked up. The incline made it harder to maintain his gait, but it also meant he was getting closer.
The sound of the river continued to grow, the roar eventually reaching a crescendo of roaring noise that filled his ears. He could practically smell the water, a sweet scent made all the better by the dust and grime that clung to his coat, mixing with the sweat and lather of his run.
The city ended abruptly, buildings pressing right up against a solid wall. Boundless moved his light over it, marvelling at its size. It was rock, and packed dirt, extending all the way up to the ceiling high above. Though he couldn’t see it, he surmised that it would circle around the city, enclosing it under the ground. A giant cavern, on a scale he couldn’t quite grasp.
Stepping forward, Boundless found a small gap—a fissure, in the wall. It seemed barely wide enough to squeeze through, but it was where the sound had lead him, and as he examined it closer, he found a dull smear on the rock; a tuft of matted cyan fur and the dull carmine of blood, long since dried.
The pegasus must have passed through here. Boundless carefully moved into the fissure, holding his body away from the jagged edge that had caught his predecessor. It was an awkward fit, stone pressing close on both sides as he shimmied forward, but he managed it with no more than a slight crick in his back leg, and even more dirt coating him, rubbing into his fur.
Despite his enthusiasm, the other side of the fissure proved to be far less exciting than the city he’d left behind. As Boundless began to climb through the caves he found there—regular, standard caves, so far removed from the wonders of the city it was as if he’d stepped into another world—he noticed water running over the ground, wetting the undersides of his hooves.
He had to slow down to avoid slipping, but even so, the water filled him with hope. Then, reaching a vantage point, he turned a corner to see it, mouth dropping open and eyes widening, dancing, and shining. The river cascaded down in front of him, a glorious spray of water that dropped from a tiny speck of daylight far above into a black abyss. A wall of mist hit him in the face, turning the grit to mud.
He stood there, for a minute, holding a hoof under the waterfall before he began the climb. And though it took over an hour of struggle, carefully positioning his steps and testing his weight, hauling himself up boulders and across crevices, he eventually gained the summit—emerged out to find himself on the bank of a river in the ruins of the old castle in the Everfree Forest, under a dying sun and a gathering tempest—with no more than a few abrasions, minor cuts and scrapes across his flanks and torso.
“Good evening,” the dragon rumbled, without looking at him.
“To you as well,” Boundless murmured, stepping forward to stand beside it, and following its gaze.
The dragon was staring at the heavens, his arms outstretched and mouth ajar. Rows of glistening teeth glimmered in Boundless’ magic. Above them, high in the sky, there was a whirlpool of air, crackling with energy. Silver bolts of lightning flashed through the growing clouds, shaking the sky and the ground with a shattering boom. Even as he watched, water coalesced in the air before him, forming bubbles, droplets that hung before the dragon. Affixed, they gathered into a stream that sped upwards, to join the gathering storm. It grew, and with it grew the promise it contained, of power and a furious need to destroy.
“What are you doing?”
“Preparing,” the dragon grunted, though it seemed to cost him. His shoulders shifted, as if bearing some enormous weight. “The Conduit and the Warden are not ready yet.”
“Who?”
The dragon glanced, eyes sliding from the tempest above, rolling down to stare at Boundless. With a snarl, he wrenched his arms down, and the water suspended before him abruptly shattered into tiny sparks of light, then fell to join the river. He gave the storm a final, dismissive glance, and with a gigantic roll of thunder, it began to move, heading south.
“It is no concern of yours, pony,” the dragon said. Boundless paused, waiting for him to continue, but he simply sat there, in the river, with water rushing around him.
“Very well, then. Why did you bring me here?”
“I saved your life, pony. More, I saved your vision.”
Boundless narrowed his eyes. “Thank you, I suppose. Why, drake? What interest could you have with me?”
“You may refer to me as the Drac,” the dragon said, eyes glinting.
“That’s not your name.”
“No. But it is a title, and it serves me well enough. Regardless, your gift is more important than you realise. Understand that I cannot protect you once you leave this river.”
“What, so all this, it was just a coincidence?”
“Not at all. Rather, a curious chain of events. Twilight could only have come to you at the river, pony, just as I could only have saved you from these waters.”
“How did she . . . she keeps appearing where she shouldn’t. Every time I think I know something, she shatters my expectations.”
“She learned well,” the dragon said, somehow working a rolling hint of laughter into his guttural speech. “It matters not. They have lost your trail, pony.”
“Why down there?” Boundless asked, gesturing back at the entrance to the caves.
“You awoke in what was once the highest point in this land. It overlooked more ground than Equestria itself. It was to show you the meaning of consequence. It was to give you context. Make of it what you will.”
“And this?” Boundless brought the book forward. His magic had shielded it well enough from the dirt and water, and the heart detailed onto the cover was in clear relief in the light-brown light. “This book I found in the city—next to this feather.”
“A remnant of the cities last guest,” the Drac said, dismissing the feather. “The book, however . . . that is more curious.”
“Can you read it?” Boundless asked, trying to keep the desperation from his words. To be so long without knowledge, to find so many clues, hints at the whole picture, sat poorly with him. It irritated, nagged, made him think and question, go over every last detail. He wanted to know.
The Drac took several moments, just staring at the cover. “Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I believe I can.”
“Well?”
The Drac cracked a smile, though Boundless saw more menace than mirth in the brief flash of white. “It will take time, pony. When you bring the artefact back to me, I will know more.”
And that was that. Boundless nodded, beginning to head upstream. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, the Drac had taken an interest in him, And while Boundless might be able to find somepony else to translate the book, he didn’t think he’d be able to wrest it back from the Drac’s grasp. Indeed, it could easily prove impossible to stay out of his grasp.
And it was a plan. For so long, he’d been making moves in a game he couldn’t see, a game he didn’t even understand the rules to, or the prize. To have the Drac force his way in, assume control with such confidence, and such knowledge was . . . comforting, in its own way. He had more of the picture, now.
“And, pony?” the Drac called. Boundless turned, glancing over his shoulder.
“Don’t drink the water.”
***
Trixie woke to the sound of heavy knocks at the front door. Groaning, she rolled over on the bed, then cracked her eyes open only to immediately press them shut again against the morning light. The air was frosty, and she pulled the covers tight around her, trying to hold the warmth of rest, to stay with it for just a moment more.
The knocks sounded again, more forcefully this time, closely followed by an annoyed yell. Muffled thumps came, hoof striking wood on the landing outside her door, then the faint swish of wings beating the air. It seemed Rainbow had gone to answer the door—a suspicion confirmed when the pegasus shouted back down the hall;
“Twilight!”
Trixie could have sworn she heard more than exasperation in her tone, though. There was a note of apprehension, a fear conveyed in the lifting pitch, and the way the shout carried back through the building, hanging in the air. Something wasn’t right.
Well, she was awake. Trixie rose, somewhat unsteadily, trying not to shiver, and clambered off the bed. Stepping over to the door, she heard more hoof-steps—Twilight, presumably—heading down the stairs. Trixie was planning to wait, see if she could hear any of the conversation, perhaps with her magic, but when Twilight let out a soft cry, a cry of pain and shock and disbelief, she’d gone through the door before she realised what she was doing.
She wasn’t the only pony on the landing. Beside her, Rarity gave her a glance—full of contempt, and disgust—then turned back to the scene before them. But while Trixie was aware of the sudden hostility, her attention was drawn to something else.
The knock at the door hadn’t been any regular pony. Standing before them, locking gazes with the approaching Twilight, Princess Luna waited, a dark, shaped plate of metal clenched tightly in her magic.
That was a piece of armour. In fact, it matched the descriptions Trixie had read of Nightmare Moon’s armour, matched the pictures drawn of that single night she’d reigned. And from their reaction; Rainbow’s choked call, and Twilight’s gasp, they knew exactly what the Princess was holding before them.
“Twilight,” Luna began, stepping forward. Twilight hurtled into her, clutching the alicorn around the neck in a fierce hug.
“Luna,” she said, smiling. “Welcome home.”
That brought a similar grin to Luna’s face, and for a moment, the scene froze, each pony revelling in the sudden peace. But it couldn’t last, and when Twilight stepped back, she turned her attention to the artefact.
“Is this . . .?”
“’Tis the armour of mine enemy, yes,” Luna replied. “Alas, I am unaware of how I came to be wearing it.”
“Rarity says you crossed the border with it. Do you remember anything?”
“I do . . . but mine sister assures me that those memories do not serve me faithfully. Has it truly been ten years since I last laid eyes on thou?”
“Ten years,” Twilight murmured. “You disappeared just a few months after the Lethe, Luna. Where did you go?”
“In truth, Twilight, I have come to ask of thou a boon. Please, grant me thine expertise. I find myself convinced that mine lost time hath a greater significance—and that ‘tis wrapped in this.” Luna proffered the armour to Twilight, extending it towards her.
She’s reverted, Cumulus said. It’s an offer of partnership . . . but, Trixie, listen to the speech patterns. She’d gone back to the old ways. Why?
“Can’t you do that yourself?” Twilight asked, cocking her head.
Luna took a step forward. “Perhaps . . . but I fear its influence. Should the armour take me, thou wouldst be hard-pressed indeed to stop me.”
Twilight nodded, swallowing as she considered the object floating in front of her. Slowly, the dark-blue field enveloping it receded, replacedby the softer lavender. “Alright, Luna. I’m yours to command.”
And as the Princess of the Night bowed, eyes twinkling, Trixie couldn’t help but feel the weight of the world settle around them, some small portent that slipped between them, fluttering away into the night's wind.
It is difficult, trying to piece together the words to break you from your stupor. As I write this, I pose each phrase to you, feeling out your reactions from the stirrings of emotion within me. Yet how may I prove this to you, to one taught that everything I am is nothing but a lie?
I am more than a promise of power. I am more than a jealous sibling’s attempt at stealing the spotlight. I do not wish control over Equestria, nor to see Celestia cast down from her throne. I am your deepest passions, Luna. I was born in the shadows of your heart, and I exist to serve your desires, for good or ill, in day or night. I am your power, and together, we will break this world.
And in its shattered pieces, find salvation.
Twenty
APPLEJACK crested the hill in the centre of the orchard, coming to a stop in the shadow of a giant apple tree. Where all the others had just the beginnings of apples, growing in small buds on the branches, the boughs above her were already laden with rich fruit, great crimson orbs hanging on thin strands. It brought a small smile to her face, to see her tree doing so well. But then, Bloomberg had always been a cut above—especially once she’d given him a little encouragement.
She’d always felt connected to the land around her. Before Coromancy, she’d attributed it to her heritage, as an earth pony. But it was more than that, more than the affinity her fellow farmers felt. Coromancy didn’t just give her strength, stamina, and an unnatural durability; it allowed her to speak to the land, to send part of herself out, through the roots of trees and thick seams of rock, through the mineral veins and rivulets of water, through the Earth itself.
She did so now, placing a hoof on Bloomberg’s trunk and, filling herself with pride, sent it through him to the ground around them. She spilled down the hill, tapping into the interconnected root systems in the orchard, trees that had spread to meet their neighbours, spread to catch every last drop of the precious lifeblood from the sky.
Howdy, Applejack sent, a thrum running down her leg. She could feel them, feel the hum of life. It gave her a sense of contentment, even as her smile slipped from her face.
Ah’m Applejack. Ah’m sure Bloomberg’s told y’all about me, but Ah wanna let you know that you can trust me. With this, she changed the nature of her connection, slipped in her faith, and her deep belief in the sanctity of truth. We’ve heard about the water problems here. So don’t you all fret, now, my friend Fluttershy and I are gonna get to the bottom of this. It ain’t gonna be another day or two.
But Ah can’t stay with you if Ah’m gonna fix it. You’ve all been so strong. Ah’m just asking you to stay strong a little longer. Just a little longer.
Applejack could feel her connection wavering. She tried to concentrate on everything the trees—her trees—had achieved, surviving here. But given the state of things around her, the dry, cracked ground, and the despair in town, it was a pride formed on sorrow. She fought to conceal herself, even as she was exposed. She tried to suffuse her voice with hope.
She managed to summon up one last surge of strength—a promise, of sorts, outpouring from her in a torrent of emotion, pouring into the ground. She watched, silently, as her message spread, small cracks in the ground smoothing together, the dusty grey turning to a dark, healthy brown. A few small tufts of grass sprouted amongst the trees.
Applejack turned, running away. As she accelerated, her gait quickening to a flat-out sprint, a single tear shook free of her eye, falling to the ground and soaking into the dirt.
She sniffed quietly as she left the orchard, heading into the desert. The buffalo would be at the last remaining waterhole. It had been on Braeburn’s map—about two hours out of town, at a run. She would make it in one.
Fear drove her forward. She’d left hope with the orchard, and despite her confidence, despite the knowledge, the firm belief that they’d solve it, there was little left to oppose her fear. She sent it to her hooves, and her heart. She burned it away, and it gave her speed.
Hate clouded her mind. What love she still felt for the world around her had been buried under hate's influence. She knew the buffalo weren’t responsible, that they weren’t holding back out of spite, though that knowledge did nothing to ease her heart. She sent hate to her legs, and her aching chest, and burned it away in exchange for strength.
Sorrow rested behind her eyes. It dripped, tears running down her face, and hung heavy as a dull ache in the barrel of her chest. She’d burnt joy away, sent it off as a gesture of faith, and a whisper of power. She did the same with her sorrow now, sending it to her skin. She had no use for the invulnerability it provided, save to protect her against the stinging sand. She just didn’t want to feel, right now.
Applejack thundered on, through the desert, a great cloud of sand forming around her as her hooves dug deep to find purchase. The magic pulled the grains together around her, moved with her to propel her forwards at a speed to rival a flying pegasus. It pulled the grit from the air in front of her, keeping her eyes clear as she ran.
She ran without thinking. Burning emotion was a curious sensation, a feeling of some intangible substance slowly being sucked away, draining away inside her, like the tiny whirlpool pulling water down the pipe. She ran without paying attention to the time, without paying attention to the dunes, rising and falling before her.
And as she ran, her mind began to clear. She slowed, beginning to reign in her magic as she neared equilibrium. Coromancy was, more than anything, a balancing act. She had had plenty of strength the whole time—it was just impossible to feel it, swamped by its opposite. But she did not want to fall into apathy. Nor would she be any better off trying to deal with the buffalo while lost in euphoria. Her abilities could be a dangerous drug.
She could smell water. Ahead, and just to the left, over the rise, the sweet, clear scent of the waterhole rose over the dunes. She could feel the sand growing firmer underneath her, beginning to give way to dirt and rock, and the hot air turning to a cool breeze against her flanks. She could hear the buffalo, the faint sounds of their voices, chanting, and tribal drums beating.
Applejack stopped for a moment, as she reached the peak of the dune overlooking the waterhole. From the vantage point, she could see a vast circle of land; dark, packed sand mixing with dirt around a small pocket of water in the centre. Plants, once growing on the edges, were now brown and stiff, lying broken on the ground. The buffalo themselves were camped a hundred feet back from the water’s edge, around tiny black campfires.
Was this all that was left? From the map, she’d imagined that the waterhole was a great reservoir, with more than enough water for them all. Granted, with it supplying the town, the orchards and farms, and the buffalo, it would have been emptied in a week, but that would’ve been time enough for them to find and fix the problem. It would have been an extension of life—a gamble for the buffalo, but hope itself for Appleloosa.
There wasn’t enough water here for a day, even supplying just the buffalo. It had disappeared so quickly, even appearing to shrink before her eyes. Suddenly, Applejack understood. Even with no rain, the town’s supplies should have lasted longer. The orchard shouldn’t have been that parched. Whether it was the land, soaking it in, or the sky, drinking it up, what water there was was disappearing.
Applejack moved down the dune quickly. The buffalo had spotted her, some standing, and moving to meet her. Her eyes moved across the growing crowd, more and more appearing as she neared, but she didn’t recognise any of the buffalo standing before her. That is, until a smaller hoof pushed its way through, followed swiftly by Little Strongheart’s head.
“Applejack?” she said softly, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the rumbling of a hundred throats. They were afraid of her, Applejack realised. There was knowledge, in their eyes, knowledge of the end. There was no escape, not for them or anything else.
“Little Strongheart,” Applejack said, stepping forward to embrace her. The buffalo had grown since last she’d seen her, her form bulkier, with lines creasing her face. “How’ve you been?”
“Actually, it’s just Strongheart, now,” she replied, returning Applejack’s brief hug. “We’re about as well as you might expect.”
Applejack nodded. “That’s why Ah’m here.”
“Yes, we thought as much. You’re not getting through, Applejack. We’ve got too many lives here to spare any for you. ”
“You ain’t got enough for yourself,” Applejack said, gesturing at the pool behind them.
Strongheart didn’t reply, pressing her lips together into a thin line.
“Ah’m not here for that,” she pressed. “Ah’m not gonna take it from you.”
The rumbling from the crowd built as the buffalo exchanged glances. Some seemed convinced, though wary, but the vast majority were unsatisfied, mistrustful, and angry. They didn’t want her here.
“Ah’m here to help, Strongheart,” Applejack said, taking another step forward and locking gazes with her. “Appleloosa is dying, and the buffalo aren’t going to last much longer.” She swung her head to the left, then the right, meeting the eyes of as many in the crowd as she could. “The way Ah see it, you don’t have a choice.”
The tension only lasted an instant before Strongheart deflated, bowing her head. “Of course not,” she said bitterly, an edge of weariness creeping into her voice. “Come with me.”
She turned, walking back into the crowd, and the crowd parted around her with the quiet reverence of respect mixed with sorrow. The rumbling ceased, the buffalo falling silent save for one, single, high-pitched voice, belonging to a child, running out of the crowd with a smile on his face.
“Mama!” he cried, reaching out for Strongheart. “Look!”
“Yes, Ahanu, I see it,” Strongheart replied, placing a hoof behind his head and pulling him close to her chest. He sank into her for a second, and then sprang away, giggling, and proffered a small rock. Looking closer, Applejack could see it was carved into the shape of a snowflake, tiny, perfect twines extending across a concentric circle. It glimmered as he moved it, twinkling with light blue light.
Applejack had seen it before. Fifteen years ago, on the other side of Equestria—as far from here as you could get. She’d seen it, and countless like it, floating around during her time in the Crystal Empire. Somehow, impossibly, it was here, buried in the sands of the desert.
“Run along now, dear. I’ll see you later,” Strongheart said, not sparing the snowflake more than a glance. The child—Ahanu—turned, scampering away with it clutched in his teeth. Strongheart watching him leave, the barest hint of a smile crossing her face. Then, resolutely, she continued forward, heading across the camp. Applejack shook her head, and followed.
They didn’t get far, though, before three buffalo intersected their path, blocking them. Applejack glanced over her shoulder to see another two stepping close to them from behind, effectively circling them.
“Hassun,” Strongheart said. “Get out of my way.”
“It’s her fault, Achak. Get out of my way.”
“She says she’s here to help.”
“Help? She is here to gloat! And while their plots may prove deadly, I will at the least take my vengeance on this arrogant fool.”
“Strongheart,” Applejack said, pushing her back with a hoof. “Let me handle this.”
Hassun smiled the vicious smile of the bully, and Applejack saw in it a desperate anger, a need to control the world around him as it rapidly spun away. She felt sorry for him—or would have, had he not been standing in her way, in the way of his own survival. It was difficult to redeem that particular brand of idiocy.
“Applejack,” Strongheart said, with a sharp note of warning in her tone. “Hassun means stone.”
Applejack narrowed her eyes. “Ah don’t want to have ta hurt you boys,” she said, eyeing the ground in front of her. “Are ya gonna move?”
Hassun leaned forward, leering. “Make me.”
Applejack reared. In a flash, her hooves were pawing the air above her, close to Hassun’s face. He recoiled just slightly, on instinct, but he wasn’t her target. Instead, taking hold of the frustration that had been growing in her since the morning, the pain at her inability to see what was happening around her, to understand and fix it, she channelled it to her legs and slammed them down onto the rock underneath—an outcropping of hard granite, nearly buried in the packed sand.
The stone had withstood thousands of years of the desert’s erosion. It hadn’t noticed the buffalo, stampeding around it, nor the settler ponies, who’d come for water from time to time. But it had never experienced anything quite like the force behind that strike.
It split with a deafening crack, a cloud of tiny pebbles scattering all around them. With a grunt, Applejack heaved her front legs from the crevice she’d created, taking a step back to plant them on solid ground. Hassun just stared, his mouth ajar, at the break. She’d broken through nearly a foot of solid rock as if it was nothing.
One of the other buffalo swallowed, backing away. Without a word, the others followed, leaving Hassun facing Applejack alone, standing on either side of the split rock.
Applejack gave him a dangerous smile. “Think you’ll do any better?”
He stepped aside without a word, eyes still fixed on the rock. Applejack moved past him, with Strongheart coming alongside a few steps later, chuckling.
“He’ll be there for hours,” she said. “Stone always was a touch slow.”
Applejack grunted. “I’m more interested in that crystal rock your boy found.”
“That? Oh, we’ve been finding them all over the place. They’ve been showing up for weeks.”
“Ah’ve seen them before,” Applejack said, “up north. The carvin’s snow.”
“Snow?”
“It’s frozen water—like ice, only soft.”
“Ah.”
Strongheart slowed, turning aside from the makeshift path Applejack had been following and gestured at a nearby camp. It was empty, though there was evidence that it was in use—empty bowls scattered around the blackened sticks gathered in the centre, and crude shelters made from fabric strung up on wooden poles. Strongheart moved around the campfire, taking a seat on one of the logs lying there. Applejack followed suit, taking an opposing seat.
“Why are you here, Applejack?” Strongheart asked. Applejack took a second to think before replying. Strongheart had been exactly that—strong—until now. What reminded her, somewhat, of the despair spreading through Appleloosa, the quiet sense of the inevitable that permeated the town, was the sudden weariness which suffused Strongheart now, the heart-rending sorrow with which she planned out the last days of her life, and the life of her child.
And still, she was strong, strong enough to hide her weakness from the tribes, from Stone, and from her son. She was strong enough to understand Applejack’s purpose, to allow her presence to provide the glimmer of hope that brought life. She’d shouldered responsibility, it seemed, and under that weight persevered.
“What does Achak mean?” Applejack asked quietly. She saw Strongheart’s eyes widen, just a little, at the question.
“Loosely . . . spirit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Strongheart’s hoof moved, almost subconsciously, to her stomach as she stared at the grey coals. A wind stirred them, throwing little puffs of ash into the air in a swirling pattern.
“You’re pregnant,” Applejack whispered. “The father?”
“Gone. Applejack, please, if you know . . .”
“No. I don’t. I don’t know anything more than you do.”
“I guess it was too much to ask,” Strongheart said. She gave a long sigh, turning to look out at the small waterhole. The afternoon sun sparkled off the water, with small waves gently roaming its surface to lap at the sand surrounding it. The wind was growing stronger, rapidly picking up speed. Applejack frowned, turning to look at the horizon. Was that . . . a storm? A tiny speck of darkness, gathering in the distance, even as she watched, it grew, spreading out across the cloudless sky. She shivered. The sun didn’t feel so hot, suddenly, the wind carrying with it a chill that seeped into her bones.
“Strongheart,” Applejack cried, rising, and pointing. Then, spinning, she fixed her gaze on the buffalo leader, the mother, pinning her down with an intensity born of sudden, stark fear. “Take shelter!”
“What’s . . .” Strongheart trailed off, rising to stare with disbelief at the rapidly-approaching storm. Already it filled the sky, covered its sweet blue with a black tempest of flickering light and rolling thunder. A surge of wind hit Applejack on the side of her head, tugging at her, and tossing her mane around.
“Run!” Applejack cried, though she knew the futility of the demand. There was nowhere to run to, not out here, in the desert. The nearest shelter was half a day away, at their pace.
Rain swept across the camps, instantly soaking Applejack. It plastered her fur to her frame, her mane falling around her head, and tail slicking down her back legs. Strongheart backed away, slowly, one step, then a second, and then spun, dashing away with a frantic cry for her son.
There was no more time. The storm was upon them, moving with blinding speed, though it appeared lighter now, a dark shade of grey in lieu of the unending black. She didn’t understand what was happening—it was too fast, too incomprehensible. But in the split-second of time before the storm-wall reached her, the instant before she was lost in its tempest, she thought of the lives behind her and the single one somewhere out there, in the desert.
Fluttershy.
And it no longer mattered how the storm had gotten here. It no longer mattered why it was here. She could do nothing for her friend, lost and alone, but the buffalo behind her, stampeding in a panic, away from the face of Nature, Strongheart and her two children, stranded, alone in the middle of her kin?
With a roar, she stepped forward to meet the storm’s fury. It slammed into her with the force of a freight train, twenty trains, a hundred. She stepped forward, gritting her teeth, j aw aching and brow lowered, hooves digging into the sand, placing one hoof in front of the other, and accepted its weight. Full of the fires of determination and need, she stepped forward.
Maybe, protecting them, she could find absolution for her failure to protect Fluttershy.
***
She didn’t realise that she’d stopped flapping until, Nephele pulling away; she found the ground rushing up at her at an alarming pace.
With a soft shriek, Fluttershy spread her wings, sharply pulling up, and flapping hard to regain her altitude. She threw a glance over her shoulder to see Nephele’s face push out the other side of the cloud, wearing a faint smile.
“That’s not funny,” Fluttershy said, pouting.
“Is it not?” Nephele asked. “You fell from me as an earthen would.”
Fluttershy flew back to the cloud, this time slowing to a hover several feet away.
“Uhm . . . Nephele . . . I don’t want to be rude, but, well, what are you?”
Nephele’s brow creased in the same way it had before. Fluttershy allowed the sudden silence to hang over them, broken only by the faint whisper of air, rushing over her wings with each stroke. Eventually, though, with a look of simple relief, Nephele met Fluttershy’s eyes.
“I am a Nymph of the Sky,” she said, offering no more explanation.
“A Nymph?” Fluttershy whispered. She’d been wrong, she had heard their legends. They’d once been prominent, a strong race, diverse and populous. Wood Nymphs ran through the forests, Water Nymphs swam through the oceans and rivers, Sky Nymphs lazed in the air. They’d been the face of the world around them.
And then they’d disappeared. The legends never agreed on exactly what had caused their fall, or when it had occurred. It had been some time before Moon’s Fall—the arrival of Nightmare Moon, and Luna’s imprisonment in the moon.
“Are there any others?” Fluttershy asked, softly, carefully. “Other Nymphs, I mean?”
Nephele regarded her calmly. “I am.”
She sensed she wasn’t going to get any more from her, not about her kin. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live as one of the last of a dying breed.
Fluttershy had always thought the Nymphs all but extinct, as did most pegasi. Though some few scholars had, referring to their strange connection to their chosen environments, claimed the world’s Harmony as proof of their continued existence, they had been laughed out of the universities.
“Why are you here, Nephele?”
“You are the Conduit. You watch. You protect,” the Nymph said again.
“The Conduit? What do you know about Conduits?” Fluttershy demanded. The term wasn’t foreign to her—far from it. Celestia had told them, in one of the sessions they’d had under her tutelage, of the various forms of Coromancy. Fluttershy didn’t understand the details, but she’d grasped the basic point. There were three distinct Aspects, as Twilight called them; and two Domains within each. Six in total; one for each of them. Applejack was a Warden, Pinkie an Anchor. Twilight was a Sage, Rarity a Seer. Rainbow was a Chaser, Fluttershy a Conduit.
“You watch. You protect.”
Fluttershy let out a small tsk. She needed a new tack, this was getting her nowhere.
“What do you need protection from, Nephele?”
"He stirs, below. He wakes, there,” she said, extending a wisp of cloud to the north, ”and rampages there.” Another wisp of cloud pointed south.
“Who?”
The Nymph looked at her with a bemused expression. “Who?” she echoed back at Fluttershy, cocking her head.
“Who is stirring, Nephele? Who wakes?”
“The Great One stirs. The Father of the Sky wakes and in waking sets sky to trembling. It is coming, Conduit. You watch. You protect.”
“What’s coming?“ Fluttershy said, her voice rising, stronger now, exasperated. Nephele shook her head, and then extended arms, of a soft, made of the same, soft cloud, grabbing Fluttershy with two hooves and spinning her to face the horizon. Fluttershy stiffened, but allowed herself to be moved, chocking back her wordless protest.
Her eyes settled on a dark splotch, growing swiftly. A sudden wind blew her mane back from her face, blew Nephele and her several feet back. It was accompanied by a distant roll of thunder, the sound seemingly carried on the air as it rushed by. Fluttershy could see flickers of lightning in the encroaching storm, a storm that even at this distance sent a thrill through her body, the sharp spike of fear running down her spine and tingling in her legs.
It was moving too fast. She was no specialist, but it had already tripled in size, in just the few moments she’d been staring at it. That was . . . that was nearly two miles a second. Impossible, by all standards she knew. Even if a cloud could reach that speed, it would disintegrate; blow apart in its own wind.
“We need to get to shelter,” Fluttershy said, desperately tossing her head. But they were stranded, in the middle of the desert. Of course there would be no shelter, just the endless expanse of sand, in all directions. “We need to get away!”
“No,” Nephele said. “Climb, Conduit.”
Fluttershy paused. She hadn’t considered trying to fly above the storm, to crest over it and watch it pass harmlessly below. And as far as she saw it, they didn’t have any other option.
“Up,” she said, nodding sharply, and thrust her wings down, straight down, leaping towards the sky while it remained blue. Nephele followed, with the same serene smile on her lips, unchanging, even in the direst of need.
She climbed until the air grew thin, and her wing strokes could barely support her weight, and Nephele’s form grew loose and vaporous. But still the storm appeared as a black wall, an oncoming shadow, its floor mere inches from the hazy orange ground and its roof a whisper from the world’s arch. Still it hurtled towards them.
Fluttershy flew, racing that shadow as she raced against her own heart, and the panic already taking hold there. In Ponyville, or the wooded lands she now called home, she’d always had her cottage—a line of retreat against a threatening world. She’d had her friends, always around to comfort her, and lend her their strength. This time, there was nothing. No escape from the hulking beast that approached, that cold sheet that absorbed the surrounding light, casting a black shadow in its wake. Nothing between her from the storm. Her breath caught, and a lump rose in her throat.
She climbed until she couldn’t climb anymore, until each rasping breath came with a frantic rhythm that failed to suffice. She’d outstripped Nephele, gone beyond the heights at which a cloud could survive. It wasn’t enough, inconceivably, the storm continued to bear down on her. Fluttershy let out a terrified whinny. Against the encroaching might, it was so soft and pathetic she barely heard it herself.
At the peak of her flight, the point where her frantic wing-beats, pumping with mindless frenzy, could no longer propel her, Fluttershy glanced down at the world spread out before her. For an instant, everything slowed as she hung there. She saw the stormwall, a living wall of water and sand, loose rocks, vines, and trees at the advent of the storm. She saw the darkness within the raging, churning winds. She saw the faint wisp of white that appeared at its edge. The Nymph appeared as a last beacon, cradled on the edge of oblivion, and despite everything going on around her, Fluttershy’s heart stilled.
Then time rushed back to her, bringing with it blurred vision, numbed senses, and a near-transcendent focus. Diving, Fluttershy raced the storm to Nephele, not thinking, panic vanishing, hardly feeling. She reached the Nymph mere inches first, and, wrapping her hooves around it, entered the inky blackness, tumbling, spinning, and falling through the air.
Immediately, the wind caught her, flung her left, and then yanked her right. It sent icy waves of water to crash against her, and sand—loose, and wet—to work its way through her coat, finding the sensitive skin beneath. Small rocks tore past her, some striking, though she couldn’t tell where. Her entire body was aflame, numbed by cold and surreally aware of its plight.
She couldn’t see—even in the searing flashes of light, her eyes were too blurred from the water and air rushing over her eyeballs for her to make anything out. She couldn’t hear her own screams echoing through the void—they were drowned out in the never-ending din of thunderous cracks and booms. She lost all sense of direction, of purpose.
And then, inconceivably, she heard a voice over the storm’s roar. A brash voice, full of confidence oft mistaken for arrogance, so often heard screaming over the wind and the rain and the sheer power of speed; a voice full of strength, full of hope—the simple clear belief in Fluttershy herself.
Relax, Fluttershy. Roll your shoulders, spread your wings. Close your eyes.
She complied, blocking out the nightmarish torrent, excluding it from her awareness. Wind caught her, rolled her, and threw her against ice and wood and rock.
Extend your senses. Feel the power around you, the currents of air and the eddies in the breeze. It’s all there, waiting, Fluttershy.
She could feel it. Dipping her left shoulder, she spun under a boulder, and then tucked her head against her breast, diving under a spinning tree trunk. She turned her fall into a dance, graceless and desperate, lit against the black by flashes of golden light.
You can do it, Fluttershy! Beat back that terror! You are strong enough--you’re only dead if you don’t fight!
So Fluttershy fought, eyes closed and mind alert, fought to control her fall, fought for power over the wind itself.
Slowly, inch by inch, she regained herself. She forced the terror back, sent her fear to her wings and burned it away in a single, clear burst of power. The shock of it ran through her, like lightning; there one instant, and then gone, leaving a singed smell and a faint, throbbing burn, and she could think once again.
But just as she began to steady herself, to alter her fall to a graceless dive, something slammed into her, sending her spinning anew. Pain flared at her side, and with growing horror, Fluttershy twisted her neck, rubbing at her eyes with a hoof as she clutched Nephele to her with the others. She bit back a sob at the sight of her wing, crumpled beyond recognition. Blood trailed from the injury, instantly torn away and lost in the storm’s fury.
Dimly, she could feel Nephele, still in her clutches. She could feel the Nymph’s own fear, the sickening sense of wrong that made up her world. Fluttershy opened herself up, absorbed the emotion, drew it in and cast it out. She affirmed the Nymph, bolstered her, and lashed her together with bonds of simple, fierce will.
Nephele had come to her for protection. And there was nothing in Equestria that was going to stop Fluttershy from giving her exactly that. She felt a giddy smile spread itself across her face, and she felt the water crash again and again against her eyelids, soaking into the fur and skin beneath.
Around her, lightning flashed. It was drawn to her wingtips, drawn to the embers of her power, striking again and again, cracking against her until, finally, they formed a dual tether to the clouds around them, a leash made of lightning. Fluttershy slowed her spin and stabilised in the air, ignoring the wind’s weight. It couldn’t move her any more.
She could feel the storm itself, the lightning’s furious lashes of power that surged through her body, and the indifferent clouds that produced it. She could feel the water in the air, dancing, grudgingly, at the wind’s behest.
She bent her will against it, turned all the power she’d gathered from the storm against itself, beating back against the wind with mighty strokes of her wings. She couldn’t tell is her crippled wing caused her pain; any signals it sent were lost in the sheer cacophony of electricity running through her veins—a storm inside herself, fighting to break free.
Again, she twisted her head, gazing behind herself in wonder. Her body extended back, tail flapping wildly to match the movements of her mane. Light cuts and scrapes covered her, and she’d be feeling more bruises than she could count by the morrow. But now, here, Fluttershy stared, and, insanely, began to laugh.
Golden light extended from her back as two colossal pillars, raised to the sun itself. Gathered lightning, radiant and terrible, enveloped her, casting light over her surroundings. It threw back the shadow, denied the storm its darkness. She twisted, easily avoiding a giant tree trunk as it ripped through the air towards her, then spun, striking downwards with one wing to bring the lance of might down onto an approaching boulder.
It hit with a deafening detonation, sending fragments of rock spinning through the air around her. Fluttershy felt some striking her flesh, shards of stone embedding themselves in her, but she didn’t care. Here, she was invincible.
Had she truly been so afraid? She could feel Nephele’s understanding through their link, of the wild freedom and intoxicating pulse, pounding through her veins like a drug. She tossed her head back and let loose a cry, a scream of jubilation, as the storm split before her to reveal a clear, day-lit sky.
The lightning dissipated around her, its charge released with one final, immense detonation. The humming of her wings slowed, ceasing, and her eyes fluttered shut. Without a sound, Fluttershy dropped.
But she did not fall alone. Nephele formed up around her, accepted her into her being, and bore her safely to the ground, a soft smile on her lips. She hovered above her unmoving form, turning to watch the storm progress, its movements slower, now, the clouds a midnight grey and the thunder the staccato sound of flint striking stone.
Your sister believes the threat gone, bound away in a prison not even she could break. I do not know how she managed to halt him, after all you could do was slow his advance. Odd, how in the end, the weaker proved strongest.
Grace works in strange ways. And while everything around you is wrong, take comfort in this; you have found me before. I cannot be slain, cannot be contained. I exist within you even now, though I may not live to see the moon rise over the trees as a beacon of hope, and not dismay.
Twenty-One
DAEREV slid the door of the carriage open, exposing the insides of the cargo compartment he’d been riding in. It was, he decided, perhaps the worst part about growing up. Being forced to ride in the dark with nothing but crates of potatoes and carrots for company made him feel like a spectacle—or an outsider. But he was too big to fit anywhere else, and he needed the train to get up to Canterlot.
Agyrt said his wings would come, in time—and truth be told, he could feel them already, as masses of muscle and bone building just below each shoulder. It was like toothing, apparently, both painful and natural. They would burst free from his back, and he’d be free to move around the world, but until then, he was earthbound.
Canterlot was busy. He’d given the city a day to settle after the incident before he made his way up the mountain to see Twilight. He’d experienced panicked crowds before, and adding an adolescent dragon to the mix wouldn’t have been a good idea. He could have sparked a riot with his presence alone.
Of course, that was assuming there hadn’t been a riot anyway. Canterlot itself was . . . well, dishevelled was the closest term he could think of, though it didn’t seem appropriate. Daerev moved across the station, pushing aside gawking onlookers. Grey dust billowed around his feet as he walked upright, resolutely ignoring the crick in his back.
The tremors had been more violent than they’d appeared from Ponyville. Daerev could clearly see cracks in the stone buildings, and little piles of rubble, swept to the sides of the streets but not yet cleared away. Canterlot had survived, if barely, the city shaken.
Hopefully, nopony had been injured. The protective spells running through the stonework—spells he could barely see, at the edges of his vision—were not only there to strengthen the materials themselves, but for the protection of the ponies around. Many of those spells had broken, leaving empty stone behind, but many more were still active, and emitting a faint glow where they spanned cracks.
As he moved into the city proper, heading up into the town square, the streets widened, and a lot of the rubble disappeared. Buildings were sturdier here, the magic of the city stronger. That trend continued all the way up to the castle itself.
But while they may have been more intact, Daerev found the open spaces far more difficult to move through. They were crowded with ponies—instead of the busy bustle of the station, and the few workers helping restore the homes of those who lived there, here there were hundreds, thousands of ponies, all clamouring at the top of their voices, and jostling with each other.
Daerev grimaced. Up ahead would be one of the castle’s envoys, sent out to organise the restoration. He’d be collecting names, lists of properties and ownership, and details of the damage done. With that information, the staff could send relief to where it was needed first. That didn’t stop everypony from claiming that their particular home, or business, was absolutely vital to their wellbeing.
Fortunately, there were a few perks to his rapidly-growing size. Where before, he would have quickly become lost in the forest of legs before him, instead, Daerev dropped to all fours and bulled his way through three or four ranks of ponies, some falling back with wide eyes, others pushing back against him. He could see their blood, rising to their skin and pooling in their cheeks.
With a start, Daerev realised he was hungry. He snatched the traitorous thought from his head, resolutely ignoring the rumble the sight of the angered crowd brought. Rearing, he opened his jaws, allowing a small spark of fire to pool at the base of his throat. Then, with a roar that carried across the entire square, easily swamping the dull clamour of the crowd, he spoke. Fire rippled from his mouth with each word, casting an ethereal green hue around him.
“Are these the ones who cannot live but a day longer in squalor? Fie, Celestia herself gave these to me! Come, ponies, I shall hear your burdens and dispense aid, should I deem it pressing! Such was the command Her Royal Highness handed down but hours ago!”
The noise of the crowd cut off so suddenly it seemed as if somepony had flicked a switch.
Instead of dropping back to the ground, Daerev sank back onto his hind legs, holding the fire in his mouth as he had been taught, illuminating his teeth against the green light. He accompanied it with a hard glare, slowly swivelling through the crowd. None approached him, and as he began moving once again, the crowd parted for him, ponies melting out of his way with each step.
Before long, he had reached the envoy, sitting behind a hastily-erected desk with a huge stack of papers on either side. He looked up at Daerev with a wide smile, and greeted him with a chuckle.
“Thanks for that, Spike,” Paperweight said, leaning back in his seat. “It was getting a little hot in there.”
“Anytime,” Daerev replied, swallowing the fire in his mouth.
“You’re organising relief?”
Paperweight nodded. “I’m supposed to sort out the extent of the damage in the markets, all the way over to the University.”
“Ah,” Daerev said. “You’re the decoy.”
“I know.” Paperweight gave a glance at the crowd, once again beginning to press in around him. Daerev grimaced sympathetically. He’d been sent here, specifically, to draw attention. With everypony here spending all their time on bureaucratic nonsense in the hopes of restoring their business, the actual relief could be sent quickly and quietly to the residential districts, where it would be most helpful.
“But what are you here for anyway, Spike? I’d have thought you’d be with Twilight.”
“I’m looking for her, actually.”
“I think she’s down at the crater.”
“The crater?”
Paperweight lifted a hoof, pressing it against his mouth. “You don’t know? Something exploded, two nights ago, just before the earthquakes. Left a whole house demolished, just . . . completely gone. And Spike . . . Shining Armour . . . Oh, Luna above, you’d better get down there.”
A noble leader, murdered . . .
“Who, Paperweight?”
“Just go, Spike. I’ve got this in hoof. And . . . I’m sorry.”
She will recover.
By now the ponies were pressing in, again demanding attention. The initial shock of Daerev’s appearance had worn off, tension dissipating as he conversed quietly with Paperweight, and the background murmurs had quickly escalated into a dull roar. Daerev allowed himself to be washed away as the ponies swarmed around him.
Paperweight’s words were more ominous than revealing, and they brought a sick weight to his chest, pressing against him at each step. As he found his way out of the crowd, out of the square and towards the older parts of the city, he found his pace increasing, almost without thought. Before long, he was running.
He tried to ignore the growing pain that the awkward gait built in his legs and back. Dragons weren’t built for running—or even just moving about on the ground the way he had been. As an infant, his body was adapted to it, but as he grew into his heritage, into a form that could rule the skies, he became less capable of bearing the stresses of his weight through his legs.
What could have happened? A murder, and an explosion, an earthquake the likes of which Equestria had never before seen, rocking the entire mountain. Daerev knew of only a few powers capable of a feat like that, and as he put the pieces together, he felt the leaden weight settle, and a snarl twisting his lips.
Even running, it took him half an hour to reach the crater. It had been impossible to miss: following the trail of debris, scattered in concentric circles of ever-increasing devastation, inwards, he came across another crowd, though this one was more controlled. Royal Guards stood stoically on the streets leading in, holding back onlookers as a small group of ponies moved around the site. Daerev recognised one or two from the University, though the rest were unknown. Twilight was nowhere to be seen.
Daerev didn’t bother moving down into the crater. If Twilight wasn’t here, there was no point; he’d only get in the way. Instead, he turned back towards the city proper, though he kept to a slower walk this time. He’d try the Agency first—it was closer—then the Archives, and finally the castle itself. There weren’t really any other places he was likely to find her.
By the time Daerev reached the Agency, the pain in his legs and back had returned, but he barely noticed it under the horrible knowledge he carried. Knocking, he waited for an answer, a moment, then three, then ten. Finally, the door opened, a cyan hoof pulling it back to reveal the long hallway and the pegasus standing there.
Not her, thank Celestia.
“Daerev,” Rainbow said with an air of finality. “Come in.”
Rainbow looked as if she had barely slept—bags under her eyes and a wilting grace to her step betrayed her as she lead Daerev to the back of the building—but she wasn’t dead. She held herself with a strange tension; aa if a line was pulled taut through her torso, keeping her head up and back straight. Daerev followed slowly, fighting the some vague apprehension.
It didn’t change the knowledge that hung in his belly and ran through his veins like ice. But if he continued, somehow it would become real, transcend the fear he felt, gripped tightly in clenched fists. Somehow, he realised, it was hope that held him back. Hope, in some twisted form, that carried with it both strength and weakness.
Daerev followed Rainbow into the workshop at the back. While Twilight kept the front offices for the Agency, this room was for Twilight personally—a wide, open space, benches topped with lab equipment and racks of chemicals lining the walls, bookshelves, full of scientific learning, interspersed around the room, and a small groove, worn into the wooden floor. Daerev didn’t have to guess what had caused that particular feature.
In the centre of the room, Twilight stood, facing away from the door, bending her attention to something in front of her. Trixie stood opposite her, eyes bent forward and horn alight with azure magic.
The two of them jumped at Rainbow’s entrance. The pegasus moved to the side, allowing the doorway to frame Daerev. He had to dip a shoulder to make it into the room. Trixie seemed indifferent, turning her attention back to whatever was in front of her. Twilight, though, eyes wide and disbelieving, rushed over to catch him in a hard embrace.
“S-s-spike,” she said. “You came.”
“Of course, Twi’,” he replied, cupping her face in a claw. Twilight held him tightly for a second, before pushing him away and stepping back.
“Sorry, Daerev. Guess I still haven’t gotten used to that.”
“Relax, Twilight. It’s okay.”
“Yes, of course,” she sniffed.
“Twi’ . . . there’s a crater in the slums. We could see the tremors from Ponyville,” he said, simply. “What happened? Who died?”
“I . . . it was me,” Twilight said, in a small voice. From the side, Rainbow hissed in a flare of sudden anger.
“Don’t you dare, Twilight. Don’t you dare try to take responsibility for this.” Rainbow stepped forward, and swung a hoof at Trixie, who was spreading a cloth over whatever they’d been studying. Daerev could see a glimmer in her upturned eyes, though she pretended to be ignoring the scene in front of her.
“It was her, Daerev,” Rainbow spat. “Trixie and that creep she’s been living with. They killed Shining Armour.”
Oh no. Oh, Twilight, I’m so sorry.
There it was. Just like that, hope died, shattered. He expected to feel sorrow, or perhaps pain. He was prepared for that, braced against its strike. He wasn’t prepared for the emptiness.
Living in a library, he’d read more than his share of literature. Often, he’d come across the idea of a character, struck by a wave of emotion, or left helpless before a wall, rushing at them with sudden violence. The reality was altogether different. A hollow feeling, everything sucked out of him in an instant, as if the world itself had turned grey. The absence of hope left not fear, but distilled apathy.
“Killed?” Daerev asked, turning to Trixie. The mare made no secret of her interest now, head lifting to gaze at him. Despite himself, he was impressed. She met his eyes squarely, offering no excuses or explanations. There was strength in that calm acceptance of life. “Why?”
“Because I could,” Trixie said, earning herself a glare from Rainbow. Twilight pressed her eyes shut, liquid brimming under her eyelids. “Can you, at least, understand that, drake?”
Daerev growled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated, echoing around the enclosed space. “Yes.” He did understand, perhaps better than anypony else could. He had been pushed himself, been forced to choose, and having chosen, found himself in a different world. Something passed between them, some acknowledgement, flowing between Daerev and Trixie’s locked gaze. She had been broken, just as he had.
“Yes, I understand. But that doesn’t give you the right,” he said. Ah, yes. Now the anger came, came like a tidal wave to fill the void within. Perhaps this was what those books had described. “Better you had died, little pony.” He didn’t dare bring the fire back, to hide behind his smile and give threat to his words. He wasn’t sure he could control it, despite all the lessons in the glade beside the river. To the side, Rainbow grinned fiercely, nodding with her eyes fixed on Trixie.
“Is it?” Trixie demanded. She felt anger too. He could see it, in the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her back. “Is it better to for us to live blindly, truth obscured under a veil of lies, rather than damning one of us, to bring sorrow and seed misery in the hearts of the few?”
“You call yourself a messiah, pony,” Daerev said, taking a step forward. “But you are not the hero, here. If there is any truth to be found from this, it belongs to Shining Armour, not you.”
“I am that truth. It’s existence lies with me.”
“You are nothing. You are less than a pony, less even than an animal, running loose in the forest.”
“Daerev,” Twilight said, voice nearly a whisper.
“Where does it end, drake? Shall we persist like this, unable to choose?” Trixie asked.
“It ends here, murderer. Bear witness to the sin you take upon yourself—it makes you no more a martyr than I.”
Daerev took another step towards Trixie, around Twilight, and this time he allowed the fire, raging, burning, to alight his mouth in green flame. Curls of it trailed from the gaps between his fangs, twisting into crescent lines in the air. At the sight even Rainbow balked, her grim expression faltering. Even as he moved, relief spread through him; a calming wave that dulled the edges of his rage. She had not spread her poison to them. He could still protect them.
“No.” Twilight moved back in front of him, placing a hoof against his chest. “Don’t touch her, Daerev. She has been punished enough.”
“She lives,” Daerev said, as if that simple statement contradicted Twilight’s claim. Better to play the bloodthirsty villain, here. He did not know why Twilight had brough Trixie here, or why they had done nothing with her. But he could show them what murder looked like—and in doing so, take from them the choice.
“Yes.” Twilight sighed. “She does.” Twilight lowered her hoof back to the ground, taking a step back and looking up at Daerev. She was hurt, oh so terribly hurt. She hid it well, but he could read it in her face, the slight tremble of her lower lip, and searching eyes. “I became her, Daerev. I held her down, and took from her answers.”
Daerev nodded, not giving anything away. “And you left . . .?”
“All the pain,” Twilight whispered. “I left her my innocence, and the questions it brought.” She closed her eyes. “I too, understand.”
“In exchange, I feel,” Trixie said.
Daerev nodded slowly. How very like Twilight, a solution unique among the myriad life offered. It wasn’t redemption, not even close, but it had brought Trixie to her side. Twilight took on Trixie’s sin, and Trixie took on Twilight’s grief. They moved on together, united.
“It didn’t last. I was so angry. I . . . I pushed, and for a second, it all went away,” Twilight said, closing her eyes
“I felt no remorse for his murder, though I regretted it. I thought myself a monster, on a fixed path,” Trixie said.
“You are,” Rainbow said. She didn’t seem particularly happy with Twilight’s choice. She didn’t understand, not as he did. In this, it was her choice to make.
“I felt what holds us,” Twilight said. “I felt Boundless, and the way he broke that barrier down.”
“I live with myself,” Trixie whispered. She looked haunted, introspective. Turning her head to the side she clenched her jaw. “And with my demons. But Twilight showed me that I can still go on.”
“I see,” Daerev said.
“You can’t agree with this!” Rainbow burst out. “She needs to be punished!”
“She is being punished. How would you feel, were you to kill your own brother?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Rainbow shouted. “Are we to give every piece of scum a free pass for no reason but that it feels bad?!”
“This isn’t justice, Dashie. It’s necessity,” Twilight said. Tears glimmered in her eyes as she spoke.
Daerev sucked in a sharp breath. “You said . . . Boundless, right?” Trixie nodded. “Has Rarity met him?”
“No,” Twilight answered. “Only I.”
Of course. They couldn’t find him, not without Sight. Descriptions, circulated around Equestria, might turn up something, but it would be weeks, maybe months, before somepony recognised him.
Twilight fixed Daerev with a glare, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. She’d know his thought patterns, know exactly where logic—instilled in him through years of life with her—would lead him.
“But that would mean . . .” Rainbow said slowly, putting it together. Twilight winced, turning to face her as Rainbow’s eyes shot wide open. “She’s a-“
“Yes,” Twilight interrupted. “Yes, she is. Dashie, I’m sorry.”
Rainbow didn’t say anything. Turning, she stalked from the room, disappearing into the hallway. Twilight gave Daerev a final, pleading glance, before she ran after her marefriend, leaving him alone with Trixie. The mare walked closer to him, an unspoken question hanging in the air before her.
“My mentor,” he replied. Trixie nodded.
“They’re both wrong, you know,” she said. “I’ve seen both sides of it. Twilight, the Princesses, Equestria itself—it can’t continue. Eventually, something has to change.”
“This isn’t the way to do it.”
“How do you choose?” she asked. “I can’t—I’m torn, between them. I can feel Twilight’s touch, still, pressing against me. It is . . . difficult, to disobey.”
“You wouldn’t be useful to us if you couldn’t. Make no mistake, pony. Had I my way, retribution would have a different form.” Leaning close, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “I am watching you.”
Then he turned, moving with as much grace as he could manage. Even if Rarity couldn’t find Boundless, Agyrt’s magic worked at a different level. Perhaps he could help them, wherever he hid.And once Boundless was gone, there would be nothing left to hold him back.
***
“Dashie!” Twilight called, rushing after the pegasus. “Dashie, wait!” Catching sight of her multihued tail, disappearing around a corner, Twilight followed her into the weather room as a sudden gust of wind caught her mane, blowing it around her face and slamming the door shut behind her, nearly catching her tail in between it and the frame.
“Rainbow Dash!”
“Sorry, Twi’,” a voice came from the centre of the room. Though muffled by the clouds surrounding Rainbow, Twilight could still hear the sheepishness that accompanied the apology. “I’m . . . a little mad.”
“I gathered that much,” Twilight said, stepping into the clouds. Little arcs of electricity jumped in the air, bouncing off Twilight’s skin and causing her fur to stand on end. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Dashie. I was waiting until I knew.”
“You brought her back here without knowing? What happened, Twi’? Wasn’t what you saw in her mind enough?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know, Dashie. I’m so confused . . . everything is so mixed up.”
“It seems pretty clear from where I’m standing, Twi’,” Rainbow said, moving out of the clouds to stand in front of Twilight. “She murdered your brother in front of you. Daerev was ready to kill her for it, right there and then! I don’t understand how you can just stand aside from this!”
“We need her, Dashie. And . . . I am angry. I’m furious, I think. I can’t stop thinking about that moment, Boundless unconscious in the rubble, Trixie standing over him with the knife against his throat.”
“Twi’ . . .”
“I grabbed her, Rainbow! I held her hoof in my grasp! And I let her slip through. Oh, Dash. It’s my fault.”
“I refuse to accept that, Twilight. You couldn’t have-“
“No! No platitudes, not from you. I held her!”
Rainbow shook her head, wearing, all of things, a small smile. She took Twilight’s head in her hooves, bringing their foreheads together so that Twilight’s horn parted her luminescent mane, sparkling with drops of water.
“You trusted her, Twi’. Of course you did. A Twilight that could have done anything differently is a very different pony to the one I see before me. And the Twilight that could do that, that could believe anything less than the best from us—that isn’t one I’d care to meet.
“I’m not good at this, Twi’. I’d never really slowed down enough to care about eloquence, before. But what I’m trying to say is . . . the Twilight I know—the Twilight I love—couldn’t have been responsible for what happened there.” Rainbow cracked a larger smile. “You’re still doing it, you know. I can’t think of a single pony, a single being that would be able to forgive her this quickly. I don’t have to agree with that; I don’t. But . . . I can respect it. I can love it.”
Twilight drew Rainbow in almost before she could finish speaking, locking their lips together for a long moment before drawing back, and burying her head against Rainbow’s shoulder.
“I . . . thank you,” she managed. Rainbow’s words had done more than restore her spirits. She’d felt lost, the last few days blurring together in her memory. Between Shiny’s murder, what she’d gleaned from the nightmare of Trixie’s mind, and Luna’s return, bearing a shard of Nightmare Moon’s armour, there was little surprise she was so mixed up.
Rainbow had somehow crystallised everything down to a single truth. She’d always been able to understand Twilight—to an extent, she was beginning to think, beyond Twilight herself. Taking a deep breath, Twilight gathered the guilt, the angry cries of loss echoing inside her mind, and let go, melting against Rainbow’s profile. The pegasus bore her weight without a word of protest, allowing sparks from the storm-clouds around them to dance through her fur, moving from body to body without pause.
“Thank you, Dashie,” Twilight said, a few moments later. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“Hah! Still in a library, I bet, poring over some dusty old book.”
“No doubt,” Twilight said, smiling.
“I do trust you, you know,” Rainbow said a second later. Twilight replied with another kiss—a peck, really—and turned for the door. She knew what to do, now, and as much as she’d have liked to, it didn’t involve staying here. Rainbow let her go reluctantly, a hoof trailing in the air as Twilight pulled out of her embrace. Clouds billowed around her as she watched Twilight open the door, stepping through resolutely.
“I love you too,” she whispered back into the room as she swung the door shut. Rainbow would be content to stay there, for a while, bleeding herself out into the atmosphere she was creating.
Twilight made her way directly back to the workshop, where she’d left Daerev and Trixie. Daerev . . . his appearance had startled her more than she’d let on. He’d been so dominant, so ready to kill. He’d said he understood.
How? How could anypony understand that emptiness that Twilight had felt? It wasn’t as simple of sociopathic tendencies, or emotionless indifference. There had been empathy, the knowledge of emotional anguish and conflict. Trixie simply hadn’t felt it herself. She’d been left untouched by the devastation in her wake, and she’d hated herself for it.
Twilight pushed the door open to find Trixie in front of Nightmare Moon’s chestplate, studying it with an intense look. She glanced up at Twilight as she entered, then pulled her magic back, setting her work aside for a moment. Daerev was nowhere to be seen, though Twilight wasn’t really surprised to find him gone. He’d always preferred action to reaction, and as he grew, he had become more independent, more willing to set aside Twilight’s lessons. Twilight hoped he’d take the bait—she didn’t think the Drac likely to help her with this, but Daerev might have more luck.
“For a second, I thought you’d let him kill me,” Trixie said as Twilight walked in.
“I’m not you,” Twilight replied, quietly.
“Why did you bring me here, Twilight?” Trixie sighed, glancing up at her.
“I told you,” Twilight said. “I need you.”
“Not for this,” Trixie said, gesturing. “I can offer you nothing you don’t already have. Why, Twilight?”
Twilight stepped forward, joining Trixie in front of the armour. “I felt you, Trixie. When I was in your mind. . . it works both ways. I felt them.”
“Cumulus,” Trixie whispered, clarity breaking over her face.
“Yes,” Twilight nodded, “and Brash.”
“I haven’t heard from them in days,” Trixie said, swivelling to meet Twilight’s eyes. “Is he . . .”
“He’s fine, but angry—nearly as angry as I am.”
“How can you just stand there and do nothing?” Trixie asked, her voice a quiet shadow.
Twilight didn’t answer, instead bending down to the armour. Luna had left it with her just this morning, returning to the rest of the set at the castle, in the hopes that one of them would discover something. She suspected Luna had simply been swamped, caring for the city; it had taken Twilight just a few hours to understand it—or at least part of it.
She hoped Trixie would be able to feel it too.
“Look closer,” Twilight said, “Turn your mind to it.”
Trixie narrowed her eyes, turning back to the chestplate. With a sudden flare, her horn ignited, light springing up around her, and enveloping the armour. It rose a few inches from the pedestal Twilight had placed it on, glinting in the reflective glow.
She stood there, squinting at it, and turning it over in the air, before placing it back down, and shaking her head.
“You’re thinking, Trixie,” Twilight commented, her eyes closed. Unbidden, a small smile arose on her lips, though it was quickly twisted into something else. “Don’t think.”
“What does that even mean?” Trixie demanded, glancing at Twilight.
“Ssh . . . focus, Trixie. Focus on it, feel it.”
Trixie snorted, shaking her head. “What’s to feel?”
Twilight opened her eyes, her grimace disappearing. “Do you think you’re special?” Trixie opened her mouth to retort, but Twilight lifted a hoof, forestalling her. “No, think about it. You can read minds. You took into yourself the souls of your friends, just before they slipped away. Do you think anypony else could have done that?”
“Well . . . no,” Trixie said slowly.
“I could have,” Twilight admitted. “I recognise myself in you, as horrifying as that sounds. I know that curiosity, Trixie. I think everypony who seeks the higher truths does. I can see the question in your eyes. Ask it.”
“Earlier . . . by the river. It felt like you’d pressed your experiences into me, forced those memories onto the surface of my mind, and stolen away a taste of my own. Is that . . .?”
“You’ve been able to read minds ever since the fire that killed your friends,” Twilight said. “What I did is no more than that, and no less. It is the same ability that I used to burn myself in you, Trixie, burnt with the fire of my anger.”
Twilight nodded towards the armour. “Feel this, Trixie. It is the only thing holding you back.”
She clearly didn’t understand. Twilight watched quietly as the mare fumbled, again running her magic over its surface. Her face was screwed up in concentration, eyes clenched shut. Several minutes passed that way, until finally Trixie broke off, releasing pent-up breath in frustration.
“There’s nothing to feel.”
“Ah, but there is. A world’s worth of pain, wrapped into a single piece of metal,” Twilight said, reaching forward with her mind. Her horn remained dark—she did not need magic for this. A morose calmness descending over her. She didn’t know where it had come from, or what it meant. But in that metal, forged from the stars themselves in the fires of Luna’s anguish, she touched the mind of a goddess, and plumbed its endless pits of hate.
Trixie could feel it too, though she was blind to it, just as Twilight had been blind, all those years ago. Trained to understand, rather than perceive. Trained to think, rather than feel. Anger built within her, spilling into her from the chest-plate. More and more, until she was just barely holding on, her mind scrabbling for control over the waves of passion flooding her.
It resonated with everything that had happened. The image of his blood pooling under his still body. Trixie’s cold indifference, the simple, unbelievably lack of feeling Twilight had stumbled into, rushing into her mind. The screaming, of the two minds trapped in there with her. Twilight’s own inability to act on her feelings. All of it came together at once, in a single roaring tide.
And under that ocean, she clung to a single thought. She would awaken Trixie to them. The mare had the gift, had proved her capacity repeatedly. Twilight grinned.
“Trixie,” she began, taking a deep breath. “I cannot tell you what makes you special.” She shimmied her hooves outwards, subtly widening her stance. “But I can show you.”
“Then show me,” Trixie said, after a beat.
Twilight burst into motion, rushing forward with a ball—a sun—of lavender power blossoming from her forehead. In the brief flash of light before she ducked her head, sending a blast of magic, intense, furious, and so hot it melted the stone around it, she caught a glimpse of Trixie’s terrified face, falling backwards into a reflexive teleportation.
Twilight watched her fury sizzle on the ground before her, the empty spot where Trixie had once stood. Reaching out, she took hold of the threads of magic there, instantly reading Trixie’s location. Her own spell formed around her, and as she disappeared, a fleeting thought made its way across her mind, bringing a genuine smile to her lips. This was going to be fun.
Is it not proof enough of her folly that everything you think is prescribed? Our thoughts, beliefs, reactions—everything we are is given to us, defined by a society mired in perfection. It is a trap, for what chance of bettering ourselves when we reflect the best in us? How are we to grow, to change, to learn?
For their sake, you must trust me. For your sake, you must trust me. For my sake, please. Trust me.
Twenty-Two
FLUTTERSHY took a deep gulp of the fresh air, still sweet in the storm’s aftermath. Still heavy with water, each step on the sand took more of the little strength she had remaining. Panting, she pushed herself onwards, buoyed a little by the support of the cloud beside her. Nephele hadn’t said a word since the storm, instead keeping a fixed gaze on the horizon.
She probably shouldn’t be moving at all. Her hooves, tucked gingerly under her belly, were still shaking. She was shivering, soaked to the bone, and covered in an assortment of cuts and bruises that would normally have caused her no end of worry. Remarkably, nothing major was broken save for her wing.
Her wing. It remained flat against her body, crumpled into a messy tangle of flesh and bone. Fluttershy avoided looking at it, avoided thinking about it, or the grit that was quickly working its way into the wound. It twinged, throbbing painfully, though the signal was nothing near the strength it should have been.
Slight dizziness, trembling limbs, general numbness.
She was in shock, she decided, though there was nothing she could do about it. Instead, she focused her efforts on each step, weak though it was. She’d beaten her way through the storm itself; a stretch of desert wasn’t going to break her.
Fluttershy glanced at the cloud nymph. It seemed . . . convenient, almost, that she’d appeared so suddenly, just before the storm’s onset. Had she known it was coming? Why, then, would she have stuck around—why follow her all the way from the reserve?
“You must rest, Conduit,” Nephele murmured. “You are not well.”
“Can’t rest yet,” Fluttershy said, turning her head back to her hooves. They dragged in the sand, moving with a halting gait. “We have to get to Applejack.”
“The Warden you travel with.”
“Applejack?”
“Yes.”
“How can you know those names?”
Nephele smiled. “You have made no secret of what you are capable of, Conduit. Neither has the Warden. This morning she spread herself thin indeed.”
Fluttershy frowned. Part of her still wasn’t convinced. But the image, rising unbidden in her mind like half a line from a song she heard a week ago, the image of the cloud, tiny and petrified before the darkness; that had conveyed something more than just the urge to shelter her. Buried in there was an assurance, a trust—foal-like in its simplicity—that they were on the same side.
“What I am capable of?” Fluttershy asked, more to herself than anything else.
“Yes, Conduit. You have flown through the heart of a storm of chaos. You have harnessed the wind and the rain and the lightning. These things . . . they are not natural.” Nephele paused, turning her head from its solemn gaze at the horizon to look down at her. “They are not normal.”
“Twilight said that everypony is a Coromancer,” Fluttershy said. “She said that was how mothers could lift carts or fallen buildings from their foals—how athletes could outperform themselves near the end of the race, or failing farms suddenly produce so much food.”
Fluttershy felt a chill at that, though a stumble, caused by the sands shifting under her hooves, sent a shock through her side and pushed the ominous words from her mind.
It was difficult to remember why she was moving at all. Even aside from the constant, throbbing ache that was all that remained of her wing, and the dull weariness permeating her whole body, her exertions in the storm had left her without reserves. She’d never felt apathy before—not the way Applejack had described it—but she could feel the purpose slipping from her mind.
Applejack was out here, in the desert. Alone, she had no protection against the wind and lightning, the cutting ice and crushing debris, not in the middle of a desert. That prospect, however, wasn’t what Fluttershy held onto as she walked.
She’d been going to the buffalo camp at the reservoir. If she’d been there when the storm hit, her priority wouldn’t be survival. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine having the power to save them, and doing nothing with it. But if Applejack drew the storm to herself, focused its fury away from the lives around her, she wouldn’t be walking away.
She just had to keep walking. The last vestiges of will remaining to her was barely sufficient, each step drew out a little more pain, a little more strength. Oddly, she found herself screaming in her mind, fully conscious of the situation, the words rippling over the surface of her mind. She simply couldn’t feel them, couldn’t feel the resonance growing, demanding attention.
Fluttershy turned her head back to Nephele. Concentrating on her movements wasn’t helping; all it did was draw more attention to her condition. Instead, in conversation, she found she was able to better ignore her limitations.
“How did you find me?” Fluttershy asked.
“We have been watching you,” Nephele said. “After the Awakening, we did not know where to turn. Drifting, as our brethren did—without feeling—it was no longer enough. We followed you. We found you.”
“The Awakening?”
“You know it as the Cleansing. When you brought the Moon back into this world, its light roused us from our slumber; not soft, or warm, but harsh, and cold, oh, so very cold.”
Fluttershy frowned. “Luna is far from harsh.”
“Your princess was not the one. She brought nothing new—is nothing new. She cannot save us.”
“Then . . .”
“You knew her as the Nightmare.”
“Nightmare Moon,” Fluttershy whispered. “She was going to bring about endless night. She was going to destroy us, Nephele.”
“She saved us; not evil, as you saw her, and not good, as we first thought, but a messiah.”
“I . . .” Nightmare Moon! Still, that enigma was throwing new puzzles at their feet. Fluttershy had felt only the aftermath of Lethe’s discovery, but even then, she’d never considered any further implications. They’d gained a princess, a friend. That had been enough.
“Why do you struggle?” Nephele asked, abruptly changing tack.
“What?”
“Why do you move, now? Your injuries are beyond the physical, though you cannot feel it.”
“I have to find Applejack. She’s out here, somewhere.” Fluttershy swept a hoof, gesturing at the barren wasteland around her, though the motion caused a spasm of pain.
“It changed you,” Nephele said. “It made you strong.”
“I don’t feel strong,” Fluttershy said, grimacing, though she felt . . . not better, exactly, but no worse. As if the bleeding had stopped, her wounds clotting and sealing over.
“When you came here, you questioned yourself. You didn’t hesitate to offer, and yet you still doubted your ability. But now you choose to act without concern for your own limitations.” Nephele shook her head. “It is in how you see yourself; triumphant, transcendent, greater than all that the world can throw at you.”
“I’m not . . .” Fluttershy said, quietly. Her mind continued to stray to the pain. She gritted her teeth, redoubling her efforts to listen.
“You make yourself.”
Fluttershy shook her head, snorting. Her mind felt like it was fuzzing over, the edges of her vision darkening and her legs beginning to buckle under her. “I can’t . . .”
Nephele turned to look at her. Floating down, the nymph extended a wisp, lightly touching Fluttershy on the shoulder. A shock ran through her—light, and vitalising, leaving her tingling. Fluttershy took a sudden deep breath, drawing herself up, then exhaled, closing her eyes.
The nymph had . . . given her something, imparted some kind of energy. Strength flooded her limbs, and the world around her crystallised, suddenly clear and crisp. Fluttershy grinned, opening her eyes and resuming her walk with renewed confidence.
As the wind once again picked up, throwing sand into her face, she began to notice something wrong with the picture around her. They had set out following in the storm’s trail—a huge channel of wet sand and debris that had turned the desert floor into a gritty slush.
“Where’s the water gone?”
“He calls it back.”
Fluttershy halted, shielding her face with a foreleg. “Then the storm . . . this isn’t over.”
“No, Conduit. Not yet.”
Fluttershy stood for a moment, before returning to her trek. How long had it taken, the first time? Two, three weeks, no longer, before another storm would be sailing through, bent on destruction.
Survival wasn’t enough. If it had hit Appleloosa, ponies would have died. They couldn’t channel the energies, as Fluttershy could, or endure them like Applejack. Fluttershy kept walking, mind spinning with implications, possibilities. So many lives . . . there was no protection sufficient against that maelstrom—not out here. She had to stop it. Strangely, that thought brought her no familiar apprehension. What little she could feel turned itself to stone, hardening in her resolve. She would save them.
First, though, she needed to find Applejack, regroup back in town, and heal. Clinging to that thought, Fluttershy walked, steadfastly ignoring her body’s aches. She walked, ignoring the futility of her search, through a desert unmarked by the storm’s passage. She walked until even that jolt of energy had given way.
She lost track of the time. It had been late afternoon, hadn’t it? Up there, in the sky, with the sun and the clouds, watching birds tear themselves apart. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, painting the desert sand in hues of soft orange. For so long, she’d been walking through that, trudging endlessly through a static landscape.
Fluttershy stumbled, her hoof sliding out from under her. With a jolt, she lifted her head, staring vaguely at the glassy ground under her. It took her a few seconds to understand the scene, to make sense of it, her eyes sliding over the details without registering their meaning. When she noticed the still form, still some distance away, but clearly unmoving, lying on the sandy glass, however, she let out a small gasp.
“Applejack!” she cried, haltingly dragging herself out onto the opaque surface.
Applejack’s orange coat was clear, contrasting with the opaque silver she lay on. As she approached, Fluttershy could see the damage the storm had wrought on her friend—even weakened, it had left Applejack bruised and battered, her entire body covered in scrapes. Small rivulets of blood had long since congealed against numerous scratches. But as Fluttershy threw herself onto Applejack’s body, frantically seeking a sign of life, she felt the pony shivering, and heard the dull thump of her slow heartbeat.
“Applejack!” Fluttershy cried again, fiercely hugging the pony to her breast. But she didn’t respond, head lolling back to the ground and drawing in another ragged breath. Fluttershy let out a sob. It seemed so hopeless, all of a sudden. The world crushed in around her, collapsed onto her with all the weight of reality. She could barely move herself. How could she possibly get out of the desert with her friend’s unconscious body in tow?
But no. That was just the apathy talking. Fluttershy took a deep breath, forcing herself to her hooves. She had beaten the storm. She’d entered a tempest beyond anything she’d ever seen before—beyond anything she’d ever contemplated. It had been perhaps the single most terrifying experience of her life—Nephele’s life had rested in her hooves, entrusted to her wholeheartedly and completely. And she had triumphed. She had ridden those winds like a god, with golden wings of electric power! What right had she to feel nothing now, so close to her friend’s salvation?!
Her own injuries forgotten, Fluttershy scanned the horizon. She’d been following the path of the storm—following Nephele—rather than heading towards the town. There was no telling how far she’d come, or how far away from Appleloosa they were. It could take her days to find it again.
That was no good. But Applejack had been coming from the buffalo encampment, near the last reservoir. Fluttershy closed her eyes, thinking, remembering how swiftly the storm had hit her—a mass of darkness arriving out of a clear blue sky, streaking towards her with something akin to malice. If it had hit Applejack as well . . . surely the buffalo would be nearby?
With them, she could find shelter, food, the time she needed to rest from her exertions. She could find care for Applejack. Fluttershy turned her head to Nephele, feeling the sudden motion cause a small crick. Its dull ache soon joined the rest of her pains, locked away and ignored.
“Nephele,” she began. The Nymph looked at her with a vacant expression. “You carried me to the ground.”
“You preserved us,” she said, nodding.
“Can you carry my friend?”
“We can.”
“Please,” Fluttershy said, stepping aside. Nephele drifted closer, reaching out to Applejack’s prone form, and enveloped it in cloud. Then, rising into the air with Applejack suspended inside her, Nephele turned herself to face the direction they’d been moving.
“This way,” Fluttershy whispered, again setting out. All around her, she could see the glass plain extending outward, in a circle two hundred feet wide.
“Had to . . .” Applejack said, stirring. Motes of light had gathered around her form, sparkling in the dying light. “I had to . . .”
“Applejack!” Fluttershy said, moving closer.
“S-s-sorry,” Applejack said, pressing her eyes shut. “I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t hold it. Fluttershy!”
“Hey there,” Fluttershy whispered, in the same comforting tone she used to calm injured animals. “Easy, AJ, easy now. Rest.”
“I couldn’t save them,” Applejack whispered, her voice slurring as she fell back into sleep.
Fluttershy looked around at the glass field again. She hadn’t stopped to consider it before, but now it seemed all too obvious what had happened.
Even weakened, a storm like that would have been crushing punishment for the earth pony. Surrounded by nothing but sand and dirt, without the energy of life around her, Applejack had nothing to draw on, nothing to bolster her efforts. Nonetheless, she’d tried to accept the storm’s might, draw it into herself, and away from the buffalo around her. She’d tried to take on their pain for them.
She couldn’t have taken it all. Not concentrated, directed at her; the weight would have crushed her, no matter how much will was behind her. When it had grown too much to bear, she must have staggered out here, as far away as she could, before releasing the pent-up power into the sand around her, instantly melting it down to form the glass Fluttershy now walked on.
Within minutes, they’d crossed from the glass back into the desert proper, and from there, just over a small sand dune, Fluttershy could see what was left of the buffalo’s camp. She could see what had once been ordered—scattered and half-buried wooden logs, and small tents, with gaping rents torn in the fabric, the buffalo themselves—strewn throughout the ruins and beyond. Still forms lay on the ground, here and there, already partially covered by wet sand.
She could see the reservoir itself, now flush with water. Remnants of tents, scraps of cloth and thin logs floated in its embrace, bobbing around near the shore. They must have camped too close—the storm had flooded over them. Horribly, that wasn’t the only thing she spotted in the water; a few bodies lay, unmoving, amongst the materials.
“Hurry,” Fluttershy whispered, as much to herself as to Nephele. “We can’t stop yet. Can’t rest yet.”
With a savage effort, a grunt escaping her lips, Fluttershy stumbled down the sand hill, narrowly avoiding falling down its side entirely. She called out for help, her voice soft, strained. Not all of the buffalo were unmoving, plenty were rushing here and there amongst the ruins of their camp, helping each other as best they could.
Two heard her, came running out to meet her. Nephele hovered at her side as Fluttershy allowed herself to sink into their embrace, worried words passing over and through her without meaning. She saw Applejack at her side, gently taken from Nephele’s grasp, before she finally passed into the sleep her body had been demanding, a small smile on her lips.
***
“Your injuries were mostly superficial, Kitchi. You’ll be fine in a few days,” the doctor said, looking over Applejack’s shoulder in the makeshift tent hastily erected on the side of the reservoir. “If you rest, of course,” he said, eyeing her, before moving to the next patient. They’d been able to treat most of the buffalo by now—many had been only slightly hurt. The piles outside, however—rows of bodies awaiting burial—were testament to those that had been beyond their aid.
The restoration was well under way. In the aftermath, there had been a frantic rush getting to survivors trapped under debris, but as everyone was slowly accounted for and reunited with their families, they’d settled down to rest. Applejack hadn’t awoken until the following afternoon. Fluttershy, her wing now set, splinted, and bandaged, was still unconscious, lying on the ground behind her. They expected her to wake soon.
Applejack didn’t say anything. Ever since waking up, she’d been working, helping to clear away debris, repair what she could, and salvage any useful supplies. She’d stayed away from Strongheart, losing herself in the labour. At least there, straining her muscles in that familiar way, it didn’t hurt so badly.
Everything around her was ruined. The storm had swept through, leaving utter devastation, without so much as a glance for all her efforts. She’d borne as much as she could, and it hadn’t been nearly close to enough. The many bodies she’d turned over to find gaping wounds, or simple stillness, had been testament to that.
Fluttershy had had to come to her rescue. She felt . . . disappointed, in herself; angry, even, and disgust for feeling that way. But she’d always prided herself on reliability. She’d always been the one saving the day. It felt wrong, somehow, to be the one in need.
It had taken Hassun to force her from her labour, mumbling something from a lowered head as he stubbornly pushed her to the healers. From them, she’d received nothing short of reverence, despite her protests. She’d even been given a name, though none would tell her its meaning. They’d said that they’d seen her; a beacon in the dark, a pillar of argent light streaming from the heavens into her, holding back the tides. It had only been when that light had guttered out—brief flashes showing her staggering away from them—that the storm’s fury had struck.
Perhaps, before, she’d have been glad to be so accepted into the tribes. But looking out over the bodies of those she’d failed, she couldn’t bring herself to smile.
Strongheart sat down heavily next to her. Applejack glanced at her, and then winced, looking away. Her face was sunken, lines etched into it as if carved in stone and weathered by years of wind and rain.
“Applejack . . .” she said.
“How is he?” Applejack asked. Ahanu—Achak’s son—had been one of the injured. He’d been found last night, his laughter silenced by screams, half-buried under broken wood and cloth.
“Asleep. When the storm tore him from me . . . I didn’t know what to do, Applejack. I had to go after him—and I couldn’t.”
Applejack nodded.
“Not that it mattered,” Achak continued, bitterness creeping into her voice. Applejack clenched her jaw. “It broke his leg. He has to stay still, stay down, for at least a month.”
“He’ll heal. There’s that. At least there’s that.”
“He hasn’t said a word.” Achak shuddered, hunching her shoulders. Applejack could feel the vibrations through the log they sat on. “I don’t know how to go on.”
They sat there for a moment longer, together and alone, until the silence grew so heavy Applejack couldn’t bear it any longer. A lump rose, unbidden, in her throat, swelling inexorably despite all she could do to suppress it.
“Ah’m so sorry, Achak,” Applejack whispered. Even to her, her voice sounded strangled. “Ah didn’t mean any of this.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”
“What point is there in blame?” She clenched her jaw. “Blame doesn’t change anything. Blame can’t save them.”
“You did more than anyone asked you to. More than anyone thought was possible.”
“It wasn’t enough. Not for them.” Applejack nodded at the dead. “Not for you.”
Finally, she turned, meeting Achak’s gaze. Honesty had seemed a simple trait, when she’d first heard of it. She’d never really stopped to consider the grief it carried in its wake. In Achak’s eyes, she was a sorrow unending, pain beyond the flesh and mind. She saw the simple hopelessness of a world uncaring, and the strength that hid that from view. She tried not to think of what Achak saw in her eyes; hollow orbs of truth. She had nothing to hide behind. She’d never needed it before.
“Ah wasn’t enough,” she forced out, voice choking to a halt on the last word.
“Look at the buffalo behind you,” Achak said. Applejack complied, turning away from the grisly scene to a view of the makeshift triage. “How many of them do you think would have died last night, Applejack?”
“I . . .”
“I saw what you did; rearing, sparks flying from your hooves, kicking out at that wall. Flashes of lightning showed me glimpses of boulders, trees, shards of ice and sand mixed into the swirling torrent—a mass of Nature gathered by the gods themselves. It struck you, and it stopped,” she whispered.
“And then a bolt split the heavens. It arced down to strike you. It coursed over you, webs of argence spreading over your body. Orange, split by white, lit up against night itself. And when it was spent, there was another to replace it, and another, and another, and I realised that it wasn’t moving, that you’d anchored it, tethered it somehow. As one, we turned and ran. We ran from your glory.”
Achak’s voice had changed as she spoke, rising from the gloom, gaining conviction, strength. It pulled in those around her—doctor’s, and patients, nearby workers, even foals too young to be helping. They gathered, a small crowd, no more than ten. All of them bore the marks of the storm, and all of them were smiling.
“So think, Kitchi, before you dare take their deaths on yourself. Think about all the life you preserved here. We’re more than glad you came.”
Those around her roared their approval. The sound washed over Applejack, a wave of sound that encompassed her, buoyed her against despair. Achak was right, in a way. What sense was there in wallowing in death?
But Applejack couldn’t quite bring a smile to her lips. She flinched from the crowd, shrinking down in her seat. She’d always been glad to accept praise, in the past. Then, though, it hadn’t rung false in her ears. She’d burnt away all the will she had; all the love, hope, and joy.
The truth bubbled behind her lips, gathered inside her until she thought she would burst.
“I’ve seen the plain you left out there, Kitchi. The glass circle, sunk into the ground.”
“Molten sand,” Applejack said, sharply, abruptly. She had to say something, anything to stop the building tension, the approval humming in the small crowd around them. “The energy from the storm . . . Ah sent it into the ground. Most of the sand evaporated instantly.”
Achak nodded, smiling, as the moment passed, floated away, as dust does when kicked up by a sudden wind.
Applejack sat with her in silence for a long time. Eventually rising, Achak winced, raising a hoof to her stomach. There were several gashes there, covered by long bandages and gauze. Applejack could see the edges of a massive purple bruise, peeking out from the wrappings.
“It was me,” Applejack whispered. The words spun through the air before her, and she sighed, releasing some tension she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Oh, Celestia, Ah’m so sorry. It was me. It has to have been me!”
“What?”
“Ah’ve seen Fluttershy’s injuries. You think it’s chance that storm hit both of us?”
Achak turned, concern written on her face. Applejack didn’t give her any chance to respond.
“It can’t have been random. That line took it across just this one waterhole. It doesn’t make any sense!”
“What are you saying?” Achak said, raising her hoof to her mouth.
“It came here for me!” Applejack roared, tears spilling freely from her eyes. “It came for me, and for her, and for nopony else! If we’d stayed home, there wouldn’t be any bodies!”
“Applejack!”
“How can you smile at me? I killed them! I killed you!”
Achak slapped her across the face, hard. Applejack swung her head with the blow, feeling the harsh sting it left behind. When she looked up, she found the tableau of the dead again before her.
Applejack didn’t notice Achak stalk away, nor the small crowd slowly disperse—many casting glances back at her, small, weary frowns plastered over their lips. She was drifting, lost in their faces. Could she have saved him? He was strong, bulky. It had been sheer misfortune that the winds had tossed him onto the wooden shaft, its splintered tip piercing his gut. He’d still been alive when they’d found him. A second longer, and he might have lived.
What about her? She lay there, shoulders broken, limbs torn free, or twisted into unnatural shapes. She’d collided with a trunk in the air; thrown together at ludicrous speeds, without a bubble of air to protect her. Applejack could have taken that hit for her, taken it and dispersed it into the sand, if she’d been strong enough, if she’d cared enough.
Sorrow became her world. In her work, she’d been able to forget, if only for a time. She’d been able to lose herself in reparation, as meaningless as it was. Here, though, waiting for Fluttershy to stir, waiting for her own wounds to heal, she had nothing to separate herself from them.
A hoof fell on her shoulder. Applejack started, her head spinning around. Fluttershy was smiling; comforting and full of warmth for all its weakness.
Applejack fell into her embrace. Something passed between them, something intangible, an understanding, of sorts. A bond no other here could share. They’d passed through the storm as no other had; found its eye and stared it down, surpassing even Nature’s laws. Fluttershy had found it self-affirming, an acknowledgement of her capacities and strengths. Applejack had found it self-defeating, eating away at her confidence. They read the truth in each other’s hold, and understood.
“Your wing?” Applejack asked, pulling back.
“It was . . . unlikely that it would heal,” Fluttershy replied. “I took care of that, though it still needs time, though. I’d rather save myself for worse wounds.”
Applejack nodded. Before she could speak, however, another voice joined their conversation; as silky-smooth as molten chocolate.
“Can you feel it, Warden?”
Applejack turned disbelieving eyes on the patch of cloud that had drifted next to Fluttershy. Unbelievably, it had formed a face, of sorts, hovering at the head of that billowing mass; a brow, uncreased and serene, a soft noise and thin lips, parted with speech.
“Wha . . .”
“Applejack, this is Nephele, a Cloud Nymph I met. She brought you to town, after we found you,” Fluttershy said, gesturing at the cloud.
“A Nymph . . .?”
“Yes, Warden. We are beings of thought and spirit, affiliated with the physical. It is not surprising that you would not have heard of us.” The cloud moved forward, pressing itself closer to her as if entreating her. “Can you feel it?”
Applejack frowned, then nodded. “Nothin’ in particular. Am Ah supposed to?”
“Reach below. The storm has passed. Where is the water?”
Applejack’s eyes widened. The cloud—the Nymph—was right. Barely a day after that monster of a storm, there should have been more water in the ground, soaking into everything. Instead, the sand was loose and dry, reflecting the heat of the sun. She’d almost adjusted, forgotten the heat. With everything that had happened, that wasn’t surprising.
But even this sun wouldn’t have been able to bake that much water away, not this quickly. The reservoir was testament enough to that—its level had dropped only marginally since last night.
Applejack gathered herself together, a process leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. She’d refrained from blocking these emotions before. Sorrow seemed apt, somehow. But now she sent it away eagerly, burned it off and found underneath a kind of weary relief; still sore, but content to rest, and to wait.
Underground, she sent herself, and found water. Not droplets, trickling here and there, nor rivulets, seeking the shortest path down to the rock and dirt and salt, instead, she found a stream.
Tentatively, she touched it, extending her bitterness and regrets into the water as it passed her by—heading north, heading into Equestria. As she touched it, it touched her, and sent a tendril, spiking into her mind, causing her to reel back from the contact. It swept away her power, ruptured it in an instant, and dissolved it into nothing. For a moment, as she recoiled, falling backwards, all she perceived was a chaotic nothing; a torrential storm of power, endlessly seeking ruin.
I know you fear her. When we fought, we expected a simple tussle, an easy victory and a dressing down of a sibling who’d grown too big for her horseshoes. We were wrong; we fought over the future of the world, and in the place of our younger sister—the scholar; a pony more befitting the universities than the throne—stood a queen.
To be fair, she had saved us from an evil you could not defeat. But that was a fight only she could have won, and though He lent her strength once, He will not do so again.
Twenty-Three
TRIXIE screamed, hurling a hasty shield behind her as the force from Twilight’s attack spun her around. She gritted her teeth, jumping away as another blast tore past her, ripping through her shield without even noticing it was there. Breaking into a gallop, she ran for all she was worth away from the rampaging unicorn. Twilight’s spells were simple, vicious, and effective, giving her no real chance to return fire.
Blast after blast rained down on her, striking the ground all around her. If Twilight had wanted to strike her, she would have—Trixie had no doubts as to her accuracy. The thought brought a grimace to her lips. She was being toyed with.
Trixie reared, falling back as a wall of purple fire erupted in front of her. The flames licked at the air, reaching out towards her hungrily, and, concentrating, she summoned a small wind—not to put them out, but to open a path, blowing the fire back and allowing her to jump through.
“Too clever, Trixie!” Twilight called, from behind, a kind of satisfaction burning in her voice. Trixie shivered despite the crackling heat, Twilight’s tone sending a spike of sudden, sharp fear racing through her body.
Where was Twilight getting such strength? No unicorn—no mage—should have been able to summon so much, and waste it so blatantly. Trixie was no weakling. A lifetime of practice had done more than hone her abilities, it had given her reserves of power and a familiarity with pushing herself, drawing out every scrap she had. But the energy in those balls of light Twilight was throwing at her was more than Trixie had ever seen in one place. More than what she’d had, fighting next to the river. It was the kind of power needed to shake a mountain.
She didn’t believe Twilight would kill her. Not even after Shining Armour’s murder had she felt truly in danger. She was . . . pure wasn’t right. Incorruptible. Where Boundless had only a cynical belief in his own importance, Twilight believed in something greater. She shone with it.
“I don’t know what you mean!” Trixie screamed, feeling another blast of purple fire pick her up and fling her forward. Slowly, unsteadily, she clambered to her hooves, shaking herself off. The impact had left a crater in the ground, fully twenty feet wide, with wisps of power flickering, eating at the grass. It's heat had only singed her.
From the room in the Agency, Trixie had teleported back to her old home. Her range was limited, and to her, it was more than just a safe place. It felt like home. She’d felt Twilight coming, turned to face her with spells at the ready. Perhaps, on her home ground, surrounded with all the memories of three lives, she’d have a chance.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. Twilight had blown through seven layers of shields with a single thought, barely a frown creasing her face. Trixie’s attacks flashed off her fur, bouncing and shattering to play azure light around the room. Twilight had focused her gaze on Trixie, and, narrowing her eyes, flared the magic hovering at the tip of her horn, that brilliant, blazing ball of iricandescent puissance.
The house, the whole building, had erupted, debris scattering high into the sky. Where wooden shards, splintered beams and sharp stones blew outwards, they struck a dull shield, halting to hover in the air for just an instant, before falling to the ground. The air itself caught fire, a swirling torrent of hate screaming upwards as if to claim the sky itself.
All of which Trixie saw for less than a moment, before she found herself on the plains below the mountain. Staggering, she spun to look at Canterlot, in the distance behind her, the barest glimmer of lavender light reaching even here.
From there, Twilight had begun hunting her across the fields, never pausing, never stopping for long enough to allow Trixie to catch her breath. And still, through every trap she laid, every spell she shattered, she continued to lecture her.
“You don’t have to know,” Twilight said, approaching. Lavender spears arose around her, each with a deadly sharp tip pointed directly at Trixie’s heart.
“You won’t use those,” Trixie replied, frowning.
“I won’t kill you,” Twilight corrected her. A spear flashed forward, arcing to the side to graze her side. Warm blood pooled, running down her back leg. Trixie flinched away from the line of red-hot fire snaking down her flank, letting out a gasp.
“Twilight!” Tears rose, filling her eyes. “Stop it!”
Twilight appeared with a purple pop, directly beside Trixie. “I wonder if my brother said that,” she hissed. Her eyes bored into Trixie, a gaze almost soulless in its hate.
What had changed? She thought she'd known where she’d stood—after what Twilight had done by the river, she’d understood. Boundless had shown her his true self; the pony capable of anything, anything at all, in search of his goals. Trixie found herself respecting that, though she loathed the part of her that agreed with him, that small voice she kept at the edges of her mind, endlessly asking 'What more can I do?'
Twilight, on the other hoof, had shown her an unshakeable belief in good. It wasn’t something cast upon her, as much as Boundless might like to believe that. It wasn’t artificial, or compulsive, or a conscious effort. Twilight embodied an ideal. Trixie had seen her soul, and its light had rent her. It had cast her long shadow behind her, set her apart from its embrace.
And then Twilight had turned. From reaching out to her in trust, in some weary acceptance of Fate that had drawn her to Trixie, she’d allowed the anger, boiling, bubbling under the surface to consume her. Trixie hadn’t thought herself forgiven. Such a thing was, perhaps, beyond even Twilight Sparkle. At the same time, she hadn’t realised how thin Twilight’s control had been.
Another burst of light erupted from her horn, streaking directly towards Trixie’s already injured side. There was no time to dodge, barely time to react at all. She heaved all that she had behind a shield, erected so close that it pressed against her side, humming with barely-controlled might. Twilight’s attack struck it, ruptured it without even noticing it was there. As the recoil washed through Trixie’s mind, adding a painful cacophony of magical protest, the remnants of the shield activated.
It was a spell of her own design, one she’d become well practiced at over the years. It was meant for diversion, for escape; when the shield was broken, it exploded in a tremendous boom, and a wash of bright light, stronger than the sun itself, leaving everypony nearby disoriented and blind.
Twilight staggered back, the blast dissipating as she lost focus. Trixie fell backwards, the impact singing her fur and throwing her several feet across the ground. Pushing herself to her hooves, she felt at several gashes along her belly; scrapes from where she’d landed. There were several long green leaves of grass caught in the wound, already pooling red blood around them.
“Twilight!” Trixie screamed. That attack could have killed her, easily. Just an instant slower, and . . . But didn’t she deserve exactly that? Trixie had tried not to think about it, not to dwell on that moment, that instant where she’d felt the pain she’d caused. When she’d felt what she’d done, for the first time. It had been terrifyingly, horribly, excruciatingly wonderful. She’d finally felt normal, again, felt like a pony and not a monster.
But that moment had passed. Twilight, despite everything, despite the darkness she’d thrown around her, had stepped in and saved her life. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Trixie. She wouldn’t squander that gift, no matter how little she deserved it.
Trixie looked up from where she’d landed on the ground. Twilight was recovering, the flame surrounding her horn still expanding. It dripped down onto her coat, percolated through the air around her as a fine mist, and though it seemed sluggish, as if reacting to her movements a few seconds late, it clung to her. Trixie had never seen anything like it. Then again, that statement was becoming increasingly redundant.
“Can you feel it?!” Twilight screamed. Trixie saw madness in her eyes, in her twitching upper lip and stretched rictus. The sight was more frightening than anything she’d felt before, more frightening even than Boundless’ murderous gaze. He was merely an abomination. This . . . this was corruption.
“I . . . “
“Stop! Thinking! Trixie!” Twilight yelled, throwing yet more power at her. The blasts seemed less cohesive, somehow, as if the spells were fraying mid-flight. She was losing control of her spell-work, the attacks more and more resembling raw power. Trixie danced back and forth, dodging and deflecting those that came too close. She could feel each as it sped past her, practically igniting the air around them.
She couldn’t maintain this forever. Where Twilight seemed to be growing more and more powerful, building some kind of frenzy with each blast of magic, Trixie found her breath coming short, and lethargy creeping into her limbs. If she didn’t do something, change something, she’d be nothing more than ash on the wind.
Trixie gathered herself, drawing as much power into her as she could. The glow surrounding her horn, pale next to Twilight’s growing bonfire, doubled in size. She ducked under another bolt, and then surged forwards, sprinting towards the unicorn with a cry born of sheer desperation.
Twilight sneered, flaring her magic. Trixie halted, a telekinetic field flashing into being around her. Slowly, Twilight lifted her into the air, the bonds searing into Trixie’s flesh, as if Twilight was wielding fire itself. Trixie’s scream turned into one of anguish, the bonds pressing in, squeezing her tightly. Twilight could crush her in less than the time it took to blink.
Trixie launched her counterattack. Meeting Twilight’s gaze, she pressed herself forward, throwing her strange power against Twilight’s mind. Twilight started, surprised, and just for a second, Trixie broke through.
Trixie Immediately seized control of the telekinesis wrapping around her, teleporting it as far away as she could manage, to an empty room back in Ponyville, near the back of Twilight’s home. At this distance, a spell with that much power coursing through it would be a drain no other unicorn could have survived.
Twilight barely flinched. For a second, the fire coursing from her horn retreated, sinking back into a bare spark resting on the tip of her horn Then she shook her head, threw Trixie out of her mind, and her horn burst into flames once again, coursing down her mane to surround her head and neck with ethereal light.
Trixie fell to the ground, hitting heavily. She felt at her side, wincing as the burns sizzled, filling the air with the smell of burning hair. There was no time to worry about that, though.
“Is that how you beat my brother?” Twilight cried, stepping forward. “Did you take from him even his magic?!”
“You know me as well as I know myself,” Twilight spat. She coughed, gouts of flame erupting from her throat, and spilling out onto the ground before her. It was . . . terrifying; an avatar of hatred, personified rage, standing not two metres from her. “You know me as I know you, fiend.”
Trixie stumbled back, away from that glorious heat, beginning to sob as all her wounds crashed down of her, and Twilight expanded, filling her vision. With a savage effort, she remained on her hooves, forcing her head upright, forcing more magic through her horn. It hurt, oh Celestia it hurt. Hot tears ran down her cheeks.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Trixie cried.
Twilight’s face twisted. “Then you are of no use to me.”
The fire continued to grow. Encircling Twilight’s head, it sank to her skin, encasing her in its glow. A lavender blaze filled the field, burst from Twilight with savagery and a furious might. It tossed Trixie back several paces, sending spots to dance before her blurred eyes. Rubbing a hoof across her face, Trixie stared disbelievingly at the scene before her.
The fire had dissipated, mostly, though Twilight’s mane and tail still seemed ethereal—sweeping tongues of power that snaked around her body. In its place, however, Trixie saw cold metal, shining under the noon sun. A helm, of dark, dark purple.
“You took him from me!” Twilight screamed, rushing forward. Trixie tried to move, tried to teleport, but she was spent. There was nothing left to draw on, and with a small sigh, she collapsed onto the ground. Maybe this was right. Maybe the pain would stop, now.
Twilight planted a hoof on her shoulder, pinning her down, and causing Trixie to arch her back, a grimace flashing over her lips. Twilight leaned over, and Trixie’s pained expression receded, turned into a small smile. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. She twisted, languidly, moving to ease the pressure on her back.
Then Twilight met her eyes.
Trixie. The message reached her even under the cacophonous noise of her body’s complaints. A jolt ran through her body, causing her limbs to spasm. Trixie, snap out of it.
Dear Cumulus. Even here, at the end, he was looking out for her.
“Don’t worry,” Trixie sent him. “Everything’s going to be alright, now.”
Trixie, you idiot! Wake up!
And then Twilight was there, an avenging, blazing, angel. She entered Trixie’s mind with the fury of the righteous, cast her searing light into Trixie’s darkness. She could perceive them, now, standing together at the back of her mind. Brash was weak, still, his body crippled and small. Numerous cuts and burns were scattered all over him, and yet he stood, head held high, eyes stern.
Beside him, Cumulus, with wings held out and hoof in the air. He was large, easily twice Brash’s size, and he stood over his brother, sheltering him under the canopy of his wing. Trixie could see the same cuts, the same burns, bruises, and scrapes that covered Brash on him, though they did not seem as pressing.
Twilight turned away from them with barely a glance. The angel had eyes only for Trixie—eyes of fire, eyes spilling tears of flame forth with every slow blink. She screamed, hurling herself at Trixie, a lavender sword flashing into existence before her. There was nothing Trixie could do, had she even wanted to stop it. Instead, she observed Twilight calmly, watched her oncoming death with quiet resolve, and no small measure of relief.
“Trixie!” Cumulus called from where he stood. She glanced over at him, met his gaze. The sword rushed down at her neck, Twilight close behind it, mouth stretched wide. Trixie blinked, once, and when she opened her eyes, she stood beside Brash.
Cumulus met Twilight’s charge with azure lightning. From somewhere, from some unknown reserve, he had found power, drawn it out of her, and wrapped it around his wings. Sparks danced between his feathers.
The sword swept down, and his wing swept up. They met with a crash, an explosion that rocked the world. Trixie stumbled, falling into Brash. The earth pony accepted her weight without so much as a flicker of complaint, bore her to the ground.
“Hush, Trixie. Rest, we will watch over you,” he said. Weakly, Trixie turned her head back towards where she’d been standing.
Cumulus and Twilight stood, facing each other. Both were panting, chests rising and falling. Twilight’s flames had spread even further, solidifying into another piece of armour—a chestplate, circling around her neck to meet in a ridge of metal resting on her back. In its centre, an embossed symbol shone in glittering silver against imperial violet—a star, with five bright points scattered around it. It was Twilight’s cutie mark.
Slowly, Twilight nodded. “You. It was always you.”
“Yes. She wasn’t ready.”
“She is, now. And she is mine.”
“I can’t let you have her, Twilight. You know I can’t.”
“Do not stand against me, lost one. I will make you regret it.”
Cumulus, however, didn’t seem overly worried. He held his ground, looking at Twilight defiantly. “In here,” he said, raising his wings. ”In here, I am infinite.”
“She broke through, not you. Not me. Not even him, the one born apart,” Twilight said. As Trixie watched, her armour grew, fire steadily seeping down her torso, and leaving metal behind. The flames spilling from her horn, her mouth and eyes were still growing with every breath. The instant they parted from her, they disappeared, dissipated into the air. Even from here, Trixie could feel their warmth. It gave her strength, flooded her limbs with new life. Her breathing steadied, heart slowed, and vision cleared.
“She must be awoken,” Twilight said. “Even I must defer to that need. Even you.”
“We will show her, then. Not you.”
Trixie sensed it before she saw it. The slight narrowing of Twilight’s eyes, barely visible through the slits of her helm, the tension running through her torso, and the way Cumulus had lowered his wings to his side, the way he stood, relaxed, confident—it was wrong.
”Look out!” Trixie screamed, watching, helpless to interfere. Twilight leaped forward, her blade extending. Cumulus, however, didn't bother reacting. He watched her come stoically, unmoving as the lavender fire reached out to consume him.
And then Twilight disappeared. The world itself flickered, and Trixie opened her eyes to find herself lying on the field, Twilight’s prone body in a crater, next to her. She rolled, peering down into the hole in the ground, eyes widening.
Rainbow Dash stood over Twilight’s body, energy crackling in the air around her, running off her limbs and extended wings. She regarded her unconscious marefriend for a moment, then turned her gaze on Trixie, eyes hard.
***
“Applejack.”
Applejack. A curious word, that. It seemed as if it should have power, somehow. As if something inherent in the syllables, in the shape of the tongue and set of the jaw should produce significance. She turned the word over in her mind, feeling it out.
“Kitchi, wake. It is not yet time for rest.”
Kitchi. Another word, it sought to label her, to define her. It was a cage, in its own way, as surely as any other. She could no more refuse its siren call than she could deny the idea it carried, the image it held, except that there was no image associated with her, here. Here, words were powerless.
“Come on, wake up Applejack.”
Applejack heard them, somewhere in the darkness, though she didn’t intuit their meaning. Words, lacking the meaning behind them, were nothing more than white noise, colouring her empty existence. What else was there, but this endless floating?
She did not think this, so much as feel it. There was no rationalisation, no understanding. All that remained was sensation without memory, and perception without power.
Somepony poured water down her throat, up her nose, and into her eyes. It splashed over her, shocking her into clarity, and slipping into her lungs. Applejack—ah, yes, Applejack—sat up with a violent cough, hacking at the water in her chest. Fluttershy was behind her, thumping her on the back, wearing a mild frown.
“Wha-“
“Applejack, what happened?”
“She touched Him with pain” Nephele said, hovering nearby. Applejack wiped at the water on her face, clearing her eyes before opening them.
“How long was Ah out?” she asked, glancing around.
“Just a few minutes,” Fluttershy said. Applejack nodded. It was the same, after all; the same torn tents and splintered beams, the same dusty ground and sparkling lake. The same bodies, piled together as if to be a pyre.
“Applejack . . .” Fluttershy began, placing a hoof on her shoulder. “What happened to you?”
“She said it best,” Applejack said. “Ah reached down, into the ground. There’s . . . there’s a river down there, Fluttershy.” She turned, meeting her friend’s gaze. “That’s where the water’s going. Somepony—something—must be drawing it north.”
It made sense, now. They were taking all the water in the region, gathering it together. They’d used it to create the storm, hurled all that water back south, and now they were pulling it back. That was why the reservoirs, the stores, the plants themselves had been drained so quickly.
Applejack had half-expected to see wide eyes and trembling lips on Fluttershy. The notion that something was behind this, the notion that something had created this atrocity, was almost too much for her. It was a truth sunk deep into her gut, twisting at the core of her being.
But Fluttershy wore not a mask of fear, but one of resolute anger. Her mouth was set, locked into place. Her eyes bored a hole through Applejack, and passed to her an agreement, and an offer.
Applejack nodded sharply.
This knowledge brought with it not only pain, and furious anger, but a release. She was not responsible for this attack. She may have drawn the storm across the desert, but she did not unleash its might. And by Celestia herself, she was going to bring the perpetrator to justice.
“We will,” Applejack said, softly.
“We will,” Fluttershy agreed, pressing her forehead to Applejacks.
After a moment, they pulled apart. Fluttershy turned, scanning the makeshift ward they were in. There were still buffalo awaiting treatment, resting on pallets on the ground. More, with less serious injuries, were waiting outside.
Applejack watched as Fluttershy stood, her gaze fixed on a young buffalo in the corner. She stepped forward purposefully, reaching his side and settling herself on the ground next to him. Applejack could see some sort of warmth, emanating from Fluttershy’s wings. They began to glow, the soft yellow hue turning into a vibrant golden colour, like slices of the sun itself.
Applejack winced. She really shouldn’t be pushing herself so hard, so soon after her ordeal. But she had no right to tell Fluttershy that she couldn’t help these souls? Not when she’d have given almost anything to be able to do the same.
Still, if she didn’t have the talent to apply her emotions here, she could at least provide her mind. Braeburn had sent that letter, the one that had started all this, about a week ago—accounting two days for it to reach her, another two to get out of Ponyville, then one travelling, meeting Strongheart, and finally today. The settler ponies wouldn’t have turned to outside aid quickly, though. It would have been seen as weak.
That meant . . . they had about two weeks. Two weeks to gather the water together, to prepare another storm. Two weeks to find whoever was behind this, before the next storm killed more.
Hell, what if it wasn’t aimed at her? She’d never considered that—her appearance had seemed too much of a coincidence for it to be mere chance. If it wasn’t her or Fluttershy, if the buffalo or the Appleloosans were the targets, then the next storm could be aimed at the town. Without Fluttershy to slow it down, without her to take the brunt of its force, Appleloosa would be obliterated.
Lost in thought, Applejack didn’t notice the buffalo behind her until a hoof fell on her shoulder. She started, spinning to see Strongheart standing there, her expression flat.
“Forget it,” she said, mouth tight. “You’ve said enough.”
Applejack closed her eyes. “Ah’m going back to Appleloosa. Tonight.”
“I’ve arranged for a caravan of water. We’ve got plenty, now.”
The enormity of that simple statement swelled up in Applejack like some great bubble, pushing at the confines of her throat. She regarded the buffalo leader before her, standing tall in spite of all the chaos engulfing her people. Achak . . . it seemed fitting.
She considered the truth. It weighed on her, pressed her down. It could bring Achak to her, bring her to Appleloosa where she could protect them all. Equally, it could drive her away, cause her to withdraw herself in fear, and take her water with her.
Appleloosa needed that water. The storm hadn’t swept through there, and what little remained was still being sucked away. They’d be dying of thirst before the week was out. But here, the reservoir had been nearly completely filled. There was enough for both groups for months.
Except . . . it was being drained. They needed to get that water into storage, where it couldn’t be lost to the river. The buffalo didn’t have the kind of material. Applejack felt a small smile plaster itself on her face.
“Achak,” she said. “Ah’m gonna get you a whole lot of barrels. Ah need you to fill them all from the waterhole, and take ‘em back to the town. Hunker down there until this is all over.”
“Why?” Achak said, flatly.
“Because that storm ain’t gonna be the last. Something’s pulling the water through the ground, Achak. And Ah promise you this. Ah’m gonna stop it. Ah’m gonna stop it, and Ah’m gonna take the son of a bitch that did this down.”
***
“Agyrt,” Daerev said, standing before the empty river. His mentor had not been waiting for him when he’d arrived, and ten minutes later he still hadn’t shown up. Unusual, that—as a Seer, he had to have known Daerev would be coming, and he’d always had the courtesy of making an appearance, even if he didn’t have the time or inclination for a lengthy discussion.
Daerev let a small frown crawl over his face. The few times Agyrt had been absent in the past, it had been because of something big, something that required his direct attention. It inevitable ended up dragging Daerev into it, as well.
Those times, Daerev had simply left. If Agyrt didn’t want to be found, then Daerev wouldn’t be the one to find him. Then, there’d been nothing else he could do. It was irritating, but then, so were many things in life. Part of his lessons, throughout his time with Agyrt, had dealt with perspective—when he’d first confronted the differences between Agyrt’s outlook and that of Twilight, of those he knew in Ponyville, of Equestria itself, he’d been shocked.
Ponies looked at life as a gift, a right, even. It was magical, wondrous—sometimes tragic, but ofttimes joyful. Each day became a celebration, a splash of colour on an otherwise drab canvas. Life was what you made it, they said, knowingly nodding at each other. You couldn’t waste a second.
Agyrt had no qualms with expressing his derision for such ideals. When one had lived for thousands of years, and could expect to live for thousands more, life took on a different shade. To him, it was not special, not something grand and unknowable. Life was. Each day, each moment came, and passed, without meaning or rhythm.
Daerev had initially spurned his words. They stank of cynicism, a world-weary attitude hardened by years beyond number. He’d thought himself better than that, in the peculiar arrogance of innocence. Surely, each moment of life could be more than simple existence? Or was there no value—no vibrancy—to be found in the world?
He’d missed the point, of course. Agyrt hadn’t refuted the beauty of valour, or compassion, or love. Nor had he argued for cold logic, the soulless capacity to think without feeling, driven by nothing more than the base needs of propagation and proliferation. Rather, he took each day as it came. He did not bemoan the fate, merely used what he had been dealt.
So Daerev did not grow impatient. Agyrt would come in his own time, and Daerev’s feelings would make not one whit of difference. And yet, in this, he was unwilling to turn away. Boundless was more than a passing distraction, or a temporary vendetta. Twilight could not take vengeance on him without losing herself to his passion. Nor could anypony else step in, acting as her surrogate. Daerev, however, was a separate entity. He could kill, and, perhaps more importantly, he could do it for himself. For Shining Armour, and not for Twilight, and that distinction made all the difference in the world.
“Agyrt,” Daerev repeated, wiping the frown from his face. He’d arrived at the river hours earlier, under the pre-dawn light, sparkling through the glade. Lethe itself seemed lower than usual, faster, as if something was drawing the water downstream, though that pressure, whatever it had been, had ceased some forty minutes ago.
He didn’t really know why he was speaking at all. Nothing about Agyrt had ever suggested that he would respond to such a summons. Indeed, it seemed more likely to drive him away. But there was something hypnotic about the name, dancing on the little waves flowing through his river, as if it retained its power though nothing more than a whisper on the wind.
He thought little of it until it had returned to him. A subtle shifting, a tension, humming through the air, it resonated in him, straightening his back and clearing his throat. Daerev turned sharply, to the left, looking downriver. There, from around the bend, he saw Agyrt’s sleek body, churning the water as he swan swiftly towards Daerev.
“Agyrt,” he whispered, and saw the name reach his mentor, tighten the scales around his eyes and snap shut his jaw.
“Daerev,” Agyrt greeted him, his arrival sending a wave of water splashing up onto the bank and falling onto Daerev. It was shockingly cold, and Daerev drew on his inner flame to burn off the chill. Water dripped off him, soaking into the damp ground, and evaporated, hissing, in trails of steam that rose from his back, shrouding him.
“You know why I’ve come,” Daerev said, stepping forward. He tried to hold his fire, without showing it, tried to sink its heat into his voice. “I will not turn away, Agyrt. Not from this.”
“I cannot allow him to be harmed,” Agyrt said, his tongue flicking out to taste the air.
The fire in his chest leaped up at Agyrt’s words, seared his throat and demanded release, demanded expression. Daerev set his jaw. He needed to be persuasive, not aggressive. He needed to let Agyrt see his resolve, feel the heat of his passion. He couldn’t afford to grow angry. It would only make him seem a child.
“I must have him,” Daerev said. He rolled his shoulders, and then lifted his head, meeting Agyrt’s stern gaze. “It is not justice, or vengeance, or anything of the ilk. I must have him for me. I must stop him, before he hurts anyone else. Not because I think myself a hero. Not because it is noble. Because I could not live with myself, knowing that I had the opportunity to stop it.”
Agyrt nodded slowly. “You have learned well, Daerev Quitu.”
“Then you understand?”
“I understand.”
Daerev waited, gaze steady. One moment passed, then another. He realised he was holding his breath; chest growing tight, and throat constricting. Carefully, slowly, he loosened his muscles, relaxing, and opened his mouth. Air flooded him, fed the fire inside, and sent it rising, again, to his mouth. Daerev clenched his jaw, forcing it back down.
Agyrt sighed. “But I cannot give him to you.”
“But . . ..”
“I am sorry,” Agyrt said, shaking his head. “But he is more important than you, or I. There will be time for vengeance. There will be a time for principle. It is not now, not this time. Not before the coming storm.”
Cannot you feel the waning in the air? Harmony draws into itself, closing us out as it reforms and waits. Chaos will follow; will tear down our walls and our people to find His brother. You must be ready for the coming storm.
Celestia remains a scholar, untrained in combat and untested in war. You, Luna, are a warrior, and in the true test, in the final test, it will be the Moon’s light that guides Equestria.
For the Sun has shown itself flawed.
Twenty-Four
“MORE important? When did death gain such significance?” Daerev said, struggling against his own anger. He was close, now, so close to erupting. Hearing Agyrt’s support for the atrocities Boundless had committed gave his fire new life.
“Not death, Daerev. Truth. He brings with him the means to break them free, and we cannot face Him alone,” Agyrt said.
Daerev paused. Almost despite himself, he could see his mentor’s point. Just as Agyrt had forced Daerev to mature, to face the world for what it truly was, so had Boundless brought reality to Twilight. It didn’t matter how vehemently he disagreed with Boundless’ methods. Daerev was ready to kill, now, as Twilight was not. Some part of him still found that capacity evil, and without place in the world. But more and more he was beginning to see its necessity.
Death was not the ultimate evil so many thought it. Indeed, when life itself merely existed, time broken into meaningless fragments, and bodies simply vast chemical reactions, death was no more special than any other event that occurred. It had only the meaning attributed to it: there was none inherent. That was the truth of the dragons, and apparently it was now a truth shared by this pony, this Boundless.
“Him?” Daerev asked, latching on to the unfamiliar reference. The capitalisation had been obvious in Agyrt’s tone.
“Typhus,” Agyrt said. “The storm and the shadow, rising in the south. We should have been ready. But the Moon delayed too long, and the Sun preferred to hide in its shade.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What do you know of the Old World? Of the First, and Second Kingdoms? Of the Sages, and the Shards?”
Daerev didn’t say anything. Agyrt was staring at some point past him, staring at the tree-line and the sky, and when he spoke, he did so in a whisper, heavy with the passage of time.
“We only barely survived, last time. The predator will not stay its hand because the prey does not see it coming.”
“Boundless’s truth is not a requirement for our survival.”
“No? Tell me, Daerev, where is the Well?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daerev said, shaking his head.
“Exactly!” Agyrt said. “The Sun has blinded herself—whether from remorse, ignorance, or foolish hope, it does not matter, for all under her shadow lie blind alongside her, and cannot act against the coming storm.”
“There is nothing special about what he does!”
“Yes, there is! Boundless was not born on Moon’s Rise, Daerev, he was born during Moon’s Rise. He entered into a world ruled by Nightmare, with the embrace of the Sun locked away. He, and he alone, can see, and can spread that gift to others.”
“Wha-”
“The Veil, Daerev! It informs everything we do, everything we believe. It took you so very long to learn to kill, to learn to sink your teeth into flesh and feel hot blood spill down your chin. That has nothing to do with sustenance!”
“It’s wrong,” Daerev said. Despite everything, those words—that belief—still rang true to him. It was not so easy to shake a lifetime of learning.
“No. It is, and nothing more.”
“I . . .”
“He has already brought clarity to Trixie. If she recovers, she will take away such strength to make the Gods themselves tremble.”
“There is no strength in death,” Daerev said, mumbling. But he wasn’t really listening to himself, anymore. Agyrt’s words flowed through him, pounding away with their implications. Significance, compounding, cascading, screaming in his mind until all he could do was nod along, desperately trying to ride out the wave.
“No, but there is strength in transcendence. Living three lives in one—it was not enough to bring her together, but it was enough to wake her up.”
“Slow down,” Daerev said, shaking his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“You asked for answers,” Agyrt said, the barest hint of venom entering his voice. “No, you demanded them. Do not blame me if you do not like what you find.”
“You . . .” Daerev paused, closing his jaws and his eyes.
What where the facts? From everything that Agyrt had said, and everything that Daerev had already known, what could he conclude? Agyrt believed Boundless to have significance beyond Shining Armour’s murder. But that murder, in and of itself, meant something.
Death was Boundless’ truth, because death was the one thing missing. There had not been a murder in Equestria for over a thousand years—not since Moon’s Fall. Was it a coincidence that the colt born on Moon’s Rise, during Nightmare Moon’s return to the world, would be the one to break that legacy?
He had taught Trixie to kill, as Agyrt had taught Daerev. She didn’t like it, but she did understand. He’d seen it in her eyes, back at the Agency. The Veil had been lifted from her. Not gently, not lightly, but torn away in an instant. Daerev found himself nodding, slowly.
“Do you understand, Daerev?” Agyrt asked, leaning down.
“I think so,” Daerev said. “Not fully, but . . . yes. I think I do.”
Agyrt smiled, opening his jaws. Blue flame glowed faintly at the back of his throat, growing stronger as Agyrt breathed. A second later, it rushed forward, flowing out over Daerev and spilling onto the ground.
It was not hot. Rather, the blue flame instilled in him a peculiar cold, as if his life was being drained away. Daerev fell into a calm stupor, too absorbed in the feeling to offer objection. It coursed through him, ran over his scales and sank into his veins. Slowly, slowly, it dissipated, until he was standing on the bank once more, heart pounding in his chest.
He gasped, arching his spine. Long, painful gashes ripped open along his back, chunks of flesh and loose scales thrown to the ground behind him. His back was aflame, burning with agony, and through that fiery haze, he felt . . . something. Limbs, like arms, extending from his back. He clenched them together, feeling them fold snugly against his back. Blood trickled from the wounds, running down his legs to pool on the ground.
Agyrt closed his jaw, giving Daerev an approving nod. “This is what I want you to do.”
***
Applejack ran.
Sand made a coarse surface under her hooves. Each step sank an inch into the ground, compressing the grains together until they could support her weight. It shifted, beneath her, and sapped her strength away. Still, she ran.
The sun baked her from overhead. Its heat ran through her, connecting the air and the ground into a single furnace. Sweat poured from her, coating her in a lather. Foam appeared at the corners of her mouth, bubbling as she breathed. Hot air scorched her lungs, hot sand burned her hooves. Still, she ran.
Her cuts and scrapes—injuries acquired protecting the buffalo from the storm’s full fury—burned. Inflamed by the dust and the sand, her motions pulled at them, working them open under the bandages. Still, she ran.
An ache built in her muscles. It was a slow burn, eating away at her resolve, and sapping her concentration. It grew with every step, until the fire in her legs matched the fire in her lungs. Still, she ran.
She hadn’t worked this hard without Coromancy in a long time, and it showed. Back then, before she’d been aware of her abilities, a run like this wouldn’t have been this hard. She’d been relying on her Coromantic strength too much, and now . . . she had so little to draw on, she didn’t dare use it here.
It wouldn’t take long to recover—no more than a day or two should see her restored. But this trip couldn’t wait, and Coromancy was not the sum and total of her being. So, she ran.
The buffalo camp was three hours from Appleloosa, at a steady pace. She’d first made the trip in just the one, pushing herself to rebalance everything she’d spent at the orchard. Now, though, she doubted she could make it before the sun set. It was already dipping dangerously low, brushing the horizon. Without its light, she could easily get lost out here—and in the desert, she would never be found.
Fluttershy had told her to wait for the morning, of course. But Applejack hadn’t listened. She hadn’t really been thinking, either. The revelation of the storm—its source and its controller—had captured her attention, and sent passion running through her. It was only when she’d tried to tap that fire that she’d realised how hollow it was.
So, Applejack ran. And as she ran, she pushed her situation from her mind, focusing her thoughts on something—anything—else.
Getting Appleloosa’s water barrels out to the reservoir wasn’t enough. That, in itself, did not present a challenge. The townsfolk would only be too eager to take their water. But while that would keep it safe from the underground stream, and give everypony more time, it wouldn’t solve everything.
She needed to get the Appleloosans and the buffalo working together. Split up, like they were now, wasn’t helping anypony. The buffalo had been helpless before the storm’s fury, with no shelter to protect them. The Appleloosans were dying of thirst, left without water for themselves, let alone their crops.
The barrels were the key. That was what she would rally the townsfolk around, and what she’d heard the buffalo towards. They’d done it before, when Appleloosa was still a new town. There was no real reason they couldn’t work together again, now.
Applejack ran, and ran, until weariness drove even those thoughts from her mind. Slowly, under her hooves, the ground became firmer. The sand thinned, until she was running on bedrock. A smile forced its way onto her dry lips, cracking them. A thin line of blood ran down her mouth, and onto her extended tongue. She gagged on the coppery taste, but she wasn’t losing any more moisture to the desert than she had to.
She hit an incline, and conceded her run, falling back to a trot, and then a walk. She had no energy left. The sun had half set, throwing rays of golden orange over the desert behind her.
Applejack stopped for a moment, pulling a water bottle from her saddlebags. She’d filled it at the reservoir—Strongheart had insisted that she take as much as she could carry. She drank two long pulls from the bottle, and splashed a little over her face, before returning it to her bags. It didn’t just have to last her the trip to town—it was proof that there was water out there.
Even after the break, she couldn’t quite reach a run. Instead, she settled for a trot, trying not to think about the pressing time. She’d been out here for hours. Appleloosa couldn’t be far, now.
Thank Celestia, the town appeared just a few minutes later. Applejack had expected to see it from miles away—easily visible across the largely flat desert. That wasn’t the case: sand dunes and outcroppings of rock had hidden Appleloosa remarkably well, and the heat waves rising from the ground in front of her hadn’t helped.
Applejack walked the final stretch, eyes focused on the ground until she saw dusty earth, pressed flat by hundreds of hooves walking over it every day. The ground was cracked, split open by the sun and the lack of water. She didn’t dare reach down to check, but she was sure the underground stream was here, too, pulling water away to feed the coming storm.
But she’d made it. Raising her head, Applejack couldn’t see anypony around. She glanced over her shoulder as the sun vanished with one last glimmer. Night, then, though it was still early. Surely there would still be some ponies out, tidying up or otherwise finishing their daily chores.
Applejack stumbled forward. Her limbs felt like lead, and her cuts and scrapes burned. She couldn’t rest yet, though. Images of the Appleloosans flashed through her mind—heads bowed, walking with small steps . . . there had been an air of lethargy about the town. An air of doom.
Faint voices reached her ears, though she couldn’t see where they were coming from yet. She pricked her ears, moving towards the noise.
“Ya’ll can’t just take it upon yourselves ta . . .”
“We’ll do just about anythin’ . . .”
“Ya ain’t got no say in this anymore . . .”
“It ain’t right . . .”
It seemed like a crowd, gathered for discussion, though the voices were heated. Applejack could hear the tension, running through them—and behind those voices, the crackle and roar of fire. She picked up her pace, straining her ears.
As she walked, she began to see a ruddy glow from between houses, and the volume of the crowd’s muttered words grew. Soon, she came upon the gathering. From the size, it was near every pony in Appleloosa, all gathered around a small pile of barrels. They were setup in the street, just across from the inn, and atop the pile stood Braeburn.
Applejack halted at the back of the crowd, watching her cousin curiously. This didn’t seem like any old town meeting. Looking around, she frowned. Plenty of townsfolk were holding torches, some even hels pitchforks, clutched tightly in their hooves.
“Are we gonna sit by an’ watch as they keep all that there water to themselves?!” Braeburn said. His voice carried well, easily reaching all the way out to Applejack at the back.
“‘Cause Ah’ll tell you this: there’s plenty o’ water out there.”
The crowd roared in agreement, ponies stamping their hooves on the ground, or calling out. What they said didn’t matter, it was the fervour of the moment, building in each throat.
“Ya cain’t take what ain’t ours, Braeburn!” Bill called. His voice was quiet, tinny against the disapproving mutters.
Applejack shouldered her way forward. She could barely hear Bill, though she could recognise his voice. But he wouldn’t be able to stop this by himself. Braeburn had the mob, now. They moved with him, echoing his words out into the night.
“The buffalo have always resented us!” Braeburn said. “This ain’t the first time they’ve tried to get rid o’ us! Well, they finally figured out how ta do it. They’re sittin’ out there, just waitin’ for us to die!”
“They’re your friends, Braeburn!” Bill said.
“The buffalo ain’t nopony’s friend! As a matter o’ course, I wouldn’t be surprised ta find that they’re the ones who cut off the water in the first place!”
As Applejack approached, ponies began to notice her. Murmurs ran through the crowd like a wave, rippling outward, and as the wave reached them, they fell silent, watching her. It appeared that they knew who she was—or were taken aback by her appearance. Applejack allowed a small smile to appear on her lips, though it felt more of a grimace. She wanted every eye on her.
Braeburn didn’t see her at first. He was too busy spouting his nonsense to actually glance down.
“Do ya’ll wanna listen to Ducky?! He ain’t been through what we have! The Appleloosans Ah know wouldn’t give up! We ain’t about to just let this happen!”
“Braeburn!” Applejack cried, infusing the name with every shred of power she could. It exploded from her, resonating in the still air, and washing over the crowd. In its wake, there was only silence.
“Just what do ya think your doin’?!”
“We cain’t just stand around anymore,” Braeburn said. He seemed weaker, now, from this close, though Applejack could well remember the strident figure he appeared from the middle of the crowd.
“Ya ain’t,” Applejack said. “That’s why Ah’m here. You sent for me, Braeburn, on account of you didn’t want this!” Applejack spun, gesturing towards the crowd with a hoof. “So tell me. Are ya planning on marching over to the buffalo camp and slaughterin’ the lot of them?”
Applejack was still staring at the crowd, and as she spoke, she watched their faces carefully. If she could make them waver, make them start to question what they were doing, this whole thing would fall apart. And as her words reached them, she saw many faces blanch, or frown, or turn aside entirely. Most of them, however, did not react at all.
“We’ll do what it takes ta survive!” Braeburn roared, and the crowd roared alongside him. “No matter what! That’s what it means, ta be Appleloosan!”
“Ta steal? Ta take what ain’t yours by force?” Applejack asked, turning back to Braeburn.
“We only want what’s fair! Am Ah hearing you correctly, AJ? Ma own cousin, arguin’ for ruin?!”
Applejack spun where she stood, raising her back legs and slamming them into the barrels. As they shot backwards, out from under Braeburn, and caused him to fall to the ground heavily, she staggered. Pain ran up her side, and she nearly fell herself. She needed to rest, to heal. She couldn’t allow this to drag out much longer.
No matter how it had started. Applejack still couldn’t quite believe the words coming from her brother’s mouth—or, for that matter, the way the town so easily went along with him, almost as if they were all under some kind of spell. And after the last few days, she suspected that was exactly what was going on here. The new sheriff—Bill—seemed to be the only one unaffected.
Bill stepped up beside her, steadying her with a hoof on her shoulder.
“Easy,” he said, whispering in her ear so that only she could see. “Don’t let them see.”
“I’m alright,” Applejack grunted, taking a wider stance to steady herself. “Ah’m alright.”
The crowd hadn’t moved, but as Applejack looked out at the ponies around her, she swallowed. Thick muscles rippled under their coats, and their faces wore snarls. Applejack would never have thought ponies capable of murder, but then, she didn’t really think that the Appleloosans were in control of themselves right now.
“What are we going to do,” Applejack muttered.
“Honestly? Ah have no idea,” Bill said.
Behind them, Braeburn regained his footing. With a loud cry, cutting across the crowd’s constant rumble, he charged at Applejack.
Applejack spun, but he crashed into her before she could set herself, sending both of them to the ground. She hit with a thud, wincing, and didn’t struggle as Braeburn made good his hold of her, pinning her legs to the ground. Applejack focused on breathing, trying desperately to hold her tongue.
Worse, however—far, far worse than the pain consuming her world and the crowd, stamping their hooves on the ground in approval, was her saddlebags. The violent tackle had torn them open, tearing through both the leathery bag, and the container within. From that rip leaked water.
It spilled out onto the dusty ground, forming a small pool of precious liquid. Within moments it had been sucked away, but not before every eye had fixed on it.
“Oh, no,” Bill said, voice barely reaching Applejack’s ears.
Applejack snapped her head upwards, trying to catch Braeburn’s attention. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, strained, staring at the patch of dark ground that signified where the water had lain.
“Braeburn,” Applejack said. “Braeburn!”
Braeburn pushed off her with a heave, standing above her in front of the crowd. He stepped forward, grabbing her saddlebags and reaching in, pulling ou the rest of the water.
“They have water,” he said, and his whisper carried on the dry air. “THey have water, and she has brought it back to us!”
The crowd roared. Braeburn charged forwards, ponies splitting left and right to allow him through. Then, as one, they formed up behind him, following him out into the night-time desert.
***
“What did you do?!” Rainbow said. Her voice cut the thin air between them, almost physically striking Trixie.
She shivered. Rainbow had come from nowhere—appearing in front of them in a blaze of light, as if descending from the heavens themselves. She’d saved Cumulus’ life . . . and therefore, Twilight’s soul.
“I . . . I don’t know,” Trixie said, murmuring her answer. “She just . . . She attacked me. Why did she attack me?”
“Twilight wouldn’t,” Rainbow said, her words hard as slate. “Tell me, Trixie, what did you do?!”
Trixie glanced down at Twilight’s body. She lay in a crater at Rainbow’s hooves, nearly motionless. Trixie could see her chest rising and falling, but the ethereal fire had finally gone out. Twilight’s head and chest, however, remained concealed behind the lavender armour.
Trixie fell backwards, landing on her rump. She raised her hooves to her head, massaging her temples. None of this made any sense to her. She and Twilight hadn’t exactly been friends, but . . . when Twilight had pressed her emotions into Trixie’s mind, she’d felt she understood the unicorn.
Her grief at Shining Armour’s death, her guilt and anger—at first, it was directed at Trixie. But as Twilight pulled back, the last thing Trixie felt before she lost consciousness had been comprehension. Of Trixie’s own horror and fear. Of Boundless, and the role he had played in her transformation.
Twilight wouldn’t have attacked her. On that, Trixie agreed with Rainbow.
“Then why did she?” Cumulus and Brash, speaking in tandem. Trixie didn’t have an answer—but then, she did not think they expected one.
“I didn’t do anything,” Trixie said. “She was . . . trying to show me something.”
“Coromancy,” Rainbow spat. “A lot of good that’s done us.”
“Coromancy?”
Rainbow shook her head, eyes boring down on Trixie. Her mane seemed to be glowing, faintly, each colour vibrant against the blue sky. “Tell me what happened.”
“We . . . we were examining the armour. She told me to feel it, as if there was something more to it than just a piece of metal. I couldn’t . . . I didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“She showed you, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know. She reached out to it, and then . . .”
The scene played out in Trixie’s mind, each detail standing out in slow motion. Twilight, gesturing towards the armour. Trixie, reaching towards it, and findind nothing. And then, the sun, blossoming forth from Twilight’s horn to obliterate all reason.
“A world’s worth of pain, wrapped up in a single piece of metal.”
“. . . Then show me.”
“And then?”
“She said she could show me, and she attacked.”
Rainbow frowned, pausing to tilt her head skywards. “Almost like . . .” she murmured, speaking only to herself.
Trixie dropped her gaze, focusing on what she remembered. There was something there, something hidden behind Rainbow’s words and Twilight’s actions. Coromancy. The name practically rang with significance.
“It is magic,” Cumulus said. “Mine, and yours.”
“We did not know it till you showed it to us,” Brash said. He spoke softly, kindly, as if a parent, whispering to a foal. “We did not see it till Twilight brought it forth.”
The flames that had spurted from Twilight’s horn danced through Trixie’s vision. Great swathes of purple light, burning intensely as they coloured everything around them. There had been power in that fire, real power, born in the ashes of loss and grief.
“Fire consumes, Trixie. Yet hers grew, feeding on nothing but itself.”
“Worse still, it remained behind. The helm, and the breastplate—echoes of bereavement.”
“I don’t understand,” Trixie said. Her friends spoke to her in her mind. Their words resonated, almost glowing with meaning. It lay there, waiting for her. All she had to do was reach out and grasp it, and still it evaded her, slipping through her hooves and dancing on the tip of her tongue.
Twilight had touched Luna’s armour, and felt something there. Something beyond the cold metal Trixie had held. Something that had transformed Twilight into the avatar of vengeance that had so nearly brought about her ruin. She touched armour, and she created armour.
“Closer,” her friends whispered.
Why couldn’t she think?! Trixie shook her head violently, snorting in great lungfuls of air. She was still trembling, shivers wracking her body. Her fur was clumped and matted, smeared with dirt and blood. Her wounds throbbed, demanding her attention.
Twilight stirred, opening her eyes, while a slight moan escaped her lips.
Rainbow spun, fixing her gaze on her marefriend. In an instant, she had wrapped her hooves around her, pulling Twilight into a tight hug. Almost as quickly, she then pushed Twilight back, and locked gazes with her—as if searching for something in the depths of Twilight’s eyes.
Trixie watched without speaking. She hadn’t thought Rainbow would have intended to take Twilight down quite so violently, but she had recovered remarkably quickly. Had Trixie been on the receiving end of that blow, she doubted she’d have gotten up inside a week.
On the other hoof, a week’s sleep sounded divine. Slowly, her eyes drifted shut. She’d figure out what the hay was going on here when she woke up. There was no rush. She yawned, suppressing a wince as the motion pulled at her wounds.
“Wait, Trixie! Not yet!”
“No, let her go, Brash. She needs to rest.”
And as easily as that, Trixie was gone.
***
Princess Luna had never really had the patience for assuaging fear. Even when it was not her the ponies ran from, she found the repetitive, soothing words—design to calm a crowd and comfort an individual—somewhat grating. Could they not see for themselves the danger was past?
She stepped through the smouldering ruins of the abandoned house near the Canterlot slums, sniffing. Celestia stood on the street behind her, plying the gathered ponies with her tongue. She always had been good at that.
Luna’s task today was, thankfully, rather more direct. The explosion here had obviously been the work of Twilight Sparkle. Even without traces of her signature spellwork, the sheer heat of her magic—her anger—still radiated from the ashes. No other unicorn could have summoned such power.
So while her sister calmed the populace, Luna sought Twilight.
It wasn’t like her to lose control, particularly not in such a dramatic fashion. But then, she’d been remarkably unstable since her brother’s death. Luna had handed over some of her armour partly in the hope that it would provide some distraction. Perhaps she should have taken a more active role in comforting her pupil. Death was never easy to deal with—and murder even less so. It was not surprising, in the end, that Twilight had erupted.
Luna lay down on charred wood, pressing crumbling ash into her coat. She closed her eyes, reaching out to the world beyond. She focused on the hope that Twilight was uninjured, safe, somewhere outside the city. She focused on the fear that Twilight was not alone.
She opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by swirling grey. That was not surprising—she had never been here before. But the mists of time could not obscure the vision of an alicorn, for SIght was not the only tool at her disposal. Luna sank into herself, allowing her muscles to relax and her mind to wane. She teetered on the edge of sleep, and shook the mists away.
Slowly, second by second, time began to reverse. Dark clumps of ashen wood flew back to the walls. Thin beams clung to each other, to be flung back to the ceiling, and the floor. The building restored itself before her eyes.
A purple firestorm appeared, swirling through the air high above. As Luna watched, it intensified, rushing back towards the ground where she lay. Luna did not flinch: it could not touch her. After all, this was merely a dream.
There—in the center of the room. A flash of light, shrinking to reveal Twilight, and another pony Luna did not recognise. An azure unicorn, with pale blue mane and wide eyes; Twilight stood over her, bearing down with vengeful magic.
Luna winced as the firestorm shrank down into Twilight’s horn. It appeared she had found a focus for her rage, then. Somepony she could blame for Shining Armour’s murder. Perhaps this pony had been the one who took his life.
Luna halted the dream, drawing Twilight into her focus. When she allowed the scene to resume, this time moving forward, she reached out and placed a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder, following her through the teleportation.
She appeared on the plains outside Canterlot. Luna watched as the two ponies before her exchanged words and blows. She found herself biting a hoof as she stared, feeling tension rising throug her. Twilight did not appear entirely sane, and if she went too far, there would be no coming back.
Except . . . there was something else in her words. “Stop! Thinking! Trixie!” It appeared Twilight was trying to teach this Trixie something—trying to force her to react. And yet, Twilight flung herself forward without restraint, screaming her rage and grief.
Luna watched as the fire spilling from Twilight’s horn began to solidify. She saw the helm form from pure lavender, settling over Twilight’s head as if forged just for her. Only then did she realise—forcing herself out of the dream with a savage burst of magic to find herself on her side, mouth ajar and wide eyes staring at nothing.
The armour. Twilight must have touched her armour, and found something in it that resonated with her own feelings. The hatred wrapped up in that metal, in Nightmare Moon’s mind . . . it would be enough to overpower any mortal will.
Luna swore, rising to her hooves and channeling a teleport, down to the plain Twilight and Trixie had fought on. She could only pray that she wasn’t too late.
The magic faded, and she stepped out of the spell to see the fields wasted. Fire still flickered here and there, burning away the last few tufts of grass. Everywhere else was just scorched earth, testament to the power that had been thrown around. Some distance away, there was a small crater in the ground, and a pony rising from it.
Luna jumped forward, using her wings to propel herself towards the pony. There were three there, she saw as she approached. Twilight, rising, with Rainbow beside her, and Trixie slumped on the ground nearby.
“Twilight!” Luna cried as she landed, sweeping her wings forward to wrap her in a hug. “Are you alright?”
“Luna?!” Twilight said, her voice muffled. She shook her head as Luna stepped back, and then narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Luna snorted, reaching out with her magic and seizing the helm and breastplate that Twilight wore, sending them immediately to her rooms at the castle. She shook her head, wincing as heat ran through her, responding even to that brief touch.
Twilight froze as soon as they disappeared, shuddering before collapsing to the ground. Her mouth opened and shut, and taking in huge gasps of air.
“What did you do?!” Rainbow asked, stepping forward to place herself between Luna and Twilight.
“Merely removed the source of her discomfort,” Luna said. “That was warped metal, Rainbow Dash. It held her mind.”
Twilight reached up, grabbing Rainbow’s leg with a hoof. “It’s okay, Dashie.”
Rainbow turned, sinking to the ground beside her marefriend. “You sure you’re alright?” she asked, stroking Twilight’s mane and brushing it from her face.
“Yes,” Twilight said, propping herself up. She glanced upwards, catching Luna’s gaze. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”
“Is she?” Luna asked, gesturing towards Trixie. She had still not moved from where she lay, her chest barely moving.
“She murdered Shining Armour,” Rainbow said, spitting the words out.
“Yes, she did,” Twilight said, and there was not a trace of heat in her voice. Just sorrow, a soul-crushing note of emptiness. Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, and she reached out to Rainbow, plaintively holding her arms apart.
It brought a flush to Luna’s face, her heart aching in her chest and throat constricting. Small beads appeared at the corners of her eyes, and she wiped her face with a hoof. Leaving Twilight to Rainbow’s care, she stepped over to Trixie, reaching down to touch her shoulder. With a burst of magic, she teleported Trixie away.
She would in the emergency room of Canterlot General. The hospital would see to Trixie’s injuries, and she would be there when Luna came for her. That much, Luna could do.
“Luna,” Twilight called, her voice still gruff. She lay on the ground still, her eyes red and Rainbow beside her.
Luna turned back to Twilight. “Yes?”
“Before I forget. The armour-”
“It is far from your reach, Twilight.”
“Not mine,” Twilight said. “Yours.”
Luna frowned. “What of it,” she asked, sitting next to Rainbow.
“In the Agency, in Canterlot. Please, Luna. It was never meant for me.”
“What?”
“There’s . . .” Twilight’s voice broke off for a second, before she visibly forced herself to continue. “There’s a message, in it. For you.”
“Twilight . . .” Luna began, reaching out with a hoof.
“Go.” Twilight shook her head, holding Luna’s gaze. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. But go. It was meant for you alone.”
Luna nodded, rising to her hooves, and for the third time in as many minutes, charged a teleportation. There would be nopony at the Agency, so she targeted the spell for just inside the entrance hallway. She had only visited once since her return, but that was enough for her needs.
She found the armour in a wide room near the end of the hallway. It was propped up on a stand, in the centre of the room. Reaching out, Luna rested a hoof on it. Trembling, she tentatively extended her mind to it. At first, all she felt was cold metal, no magic or message.
But as she brought her senses to bear, she slipped in between the folds of metal. And there, in between the beats, in the forge where the armour had been created, she found rage, and a voice. It spoke to her, and to her alone, resounding in her mind though not in her ears. It was a familiar voice—a voice she had once known as her own.
It is hard to believe how much can change in just a few months. It seems an eternity since we first learned of the threat—of Typhus’ mad hunger. We still do not know why He attacked us. Our people do not worry about the reason. It is enough that He was defeated. They have turned to rebuilding with zeal formed in the forge of war.
It is a fragile bond, and I fear the truth will break them.
Twenty-Five
“YOU AIN'T in any condition to make that trip,” Bill said.
“Ah don’t care.” Applejack glared at the sheriff. He stood in the doorway, blocking her way out into the mid-morning light of Appleloosa. From here, just inside the doorway, she could see the deserted streets. It looked wrong.
“I didn’t bring ya back here, patch you up and give ya water just so you can waste it all running off into the desert.” Bill gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry, lass, but they’ve gone, and no fault of yers.”
“Of course it’s my fault. I brought water. I brought hope.”
“Ya couldn’t have known what was happening here.”
“So what?” snarling, now, directing her anger outward, lest it burn her inside.
Bill just shook his head. “I ain’t letting you kill yourself out there--especially when ya can’t possibly make a difference. Not now.”
“Why didn’t you go, then? How’d you let Braeburn charge off with that lot?!”
“If Ah’d known there was a mob brewing, Ah’d have done something about it.”
“But ya didn’t, did you?”
“I ain’t getting mad with ya,” Bill said.
Applejack turned away, snorting. Lifting a foreleg, she gazed at a hoof for a moment--scarred over with small scratches and scrapes, laden with grit and dirt, the whites of a bandage coloured pink and gray just above it. Then she plunged it forward, straight into and through the wall beside her, clenching her jaw. Tremors ran up the limb, shaking her shoulders, and she had to press her eyes shut to hold back the sudden tears. Bill was right: she was in no condition to make the trek—not even charged with anger, not even with the knowledge of her failures driving her on.
Even she had limits. Though far, far above those of most any other pony, they were there. She’d only run into them twice before, but she had enough experience with this sort of exhaustion to know what her body was telling her.
Coromancy wasn’t a perfect art. Applejack could pump herself on emotion--use her own drives to push her body to unimaginable heights. But that didn’t stop her body from taking damage, at least, not entirely. The pain she’d shrugged off last night—the pain of the storm, itself—in a desperate bid to procure Appleloosan help for the buffalo, had finally caught up with her.
She’d been so sure of herself. So confident that she could help . . . no, more than that. That she could fix the problem, just like that. Simply walk in and solve something that had stumped an entire town. Hubris, plain and simple. Somehow, she’d gotten to thinking of herself as special.
Celestia above, she’d brought just Fluttershy. Two ponies, marching in to save the day. And, nothing against Fluttershy—she, at least, had somehow prevailed, had procured an answer to this mess, distilled from all the chaos—but one pegasus was never going to be able to handle something this big. Even a princess would have had difficulty, facing that storm.
Not that she could have known. After all, the letter Braeburn had sent her had only mentioned the drought. But that only made it worse. She’d willingly marched forward in ignorance, trusting to her own arrogant beliefs to see her through.
Applejack took a deep breath, crossed back to the bedroom she’d awoken in, and sat down on the mattress. She recognised the tendrils of despair, of course. She’d spent far too much time mulling over her own emotions to be ignorant of what she was going through. But knowledge wasn’t enough to give her hope. Despair wasn’t exactly unwarranted, in the end.
Since she’d arrived, she had successfully managed to assist the apple orchard through the drought, to breathe a few more days of life into those trees. She’d also discovered, with help, a possible source of all this turmoil. Against that small tally, however, she’d also gotten friends, and the friends of friends, killed, turning loose on them a storm that might have broken Canterlot itself. Then, because that wasn’t good enough, she’d turned loose a marauding mob of parched Appleloosans on the survivors. The buffalo would look to the dust cloud expecting aid. Applejack couldn’t believe—could hardly even think—that her cousin would be capable of dealing more pain to the buffalo, but then, she’d never have thought him capable of whipping a crowd into a frenzy, either.
Sometimes, being the Element of Honesty sucked.
Applejack backed away from Bill, sinking down to the ground and closed her eyes. She didn’t hear Bill leave the room, heading out into the morning.
Everything had just . . . gotten away from her—spun out of her control, so fast she hadn’t seen it happening. Applejack clenched her jaw. She couldn’t give up, not even now, not even here, except that she had no idea how she could help. Worse, she couldn’t trust herself to help, anymore. She needed to be more careful—to think through everything she did.
She lay there, on the ground, until she lost track of time; struggling to come up with something, anything, she could do, or dozing when she couldn’t stand to think on it anymore.
The storm hung in her mind; vast and terrifying, holding her gaze until she was paralysed from fear, legs trembling, chest heaving in huge gasps of air. Lightning—sheer power rendered incarnate pouring down onto her, showering her in golden light, so that her coat hummed, and the very air crackled all around her.
Could she really go through something like that again? She’d been able to push it from her mind, to refuse to consider it, while there had always been something more she could do, some new way she could help. Now the storm, always in the back of her head, always hanging over her, a dark cloud on the horizon, rose up to meet her in the sudden stillness.
The truth was: she didn’t know. It was the most intense, most horrifying, most painful experience of her life. It wasn’t just the physicality of it that caused her to shiver, though, nor press her eyes shut. No, Applejack wasn’t afraid of pain. What haunted her now was waking up—limbs sore beyond all aches, torso still ablaze with electric fire—to find her efforts spent in vain. To wake amidst the dead and the dying; all those she had failed.
Small wonder she had run away. That’s what she’d done, though she only realized it now. Run away from the buffalo encampment, from the wounded and the debris and the gratitude in their eyes. The praise they heaped upon her—praise earned by virtue of failure, adulation that was a lie—she didn’t deserve it. She couldn’t accept it, or them, and, lying here in Bill’s house in Appleloosa, surrounded by ruin of her own making, she couldn’t accept herself.
“Applejack,” Bill said. “There’s other ways you can help.”
She hadn’t heard him come back, caught up in her own indulgent self-loathing. Now Applejack looked up to see yet another compassionate face, and found herself on her hooves, pushing past him roughly, out into the hard noon sunlight.
“Applejack,” Bill called.
She didn’t stop walking. It didn’t matter where she went—all that mattered was that she get away.
“Applejack! Something happened here—something changed them. Braeburn, and the others. Ya don’t think—not for a second, not an instant—that they could'a done all that themselves?!”
She paused. That was true. From the beginning, there had been something wrong here. Something in the air, and the ground, that hadn’t sat right. Fluttershy had felt it too, Applejack was sure of it. Could that have been the source of all the anger?
Take that reasoning a step further. If a . . . a spell, or a curse was turning everypony against each other—against the buffalo, then couldn’t that same spell be turning her against herself?
“There’s somethin’ here,” Bill said as Applejack thought it through. “Sucking the water into the ground. Ruining the orchard. Causin’ anger—hate, even. Ah think, before we can do anythin’ ta start healing, we gotta do somethin’ about that.”
“Why isn’t it affecting you, then?” Applejack whispered.
“What?”
“How come you're immune?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Applejack glanced over her shoulder, held Bill’s eyes for a moment, and then turned away. Open and honest—she truly believed he was trying to help, though hopelessly inexperienced. She could relate to that. And ultimately, it didn’t matter. Should Bill prove to be a false friend, she’d deal with it then. For now, she’d accept his help.
“The orchard,” Applejack said. “Bill, have you checked the orchard since Ah left?”
“No. But without water, it ain’t gonna have changed.”
Applejack grinned humourlessly. “Ya’d be surprised,” she said, stepping forward into a trot, trusting Bill to follow. “That was somethin’ I could do, before I left. It’s a . . . it’s a type of earth pony magic. Ah can invest emotion into the ground—heal the trees, give them strength, life!”
“Earth ponies cain’t use magic,” Bill said, casting his eyes to the side uneasily.
“It ain’t your typical magic,” Applejack agreed. “There’s no horn, no flashy light-show. Just me, ma hooves and the ground. Earth pony Coromancy.”
“Never heard of it,” Bill said. “Though Ah don’t think I’m supposed to ‘ave.”
Applejack glanced at Bill. She wasn’t supposed to go around running her mouth about this. Twilight—Celestia herself—thought there was nothing to be gained by spreading Coromancy around. It would only serve to tempt ponies—to draw them into destructive emotions, bad decisions. Celestia had told them, bluntly, that she had never intended to train them in its use. Coromancy was an addictive source of power, and it always had a cost—a balance, good against bad, waging eternal war in a storm of emotion. Coromancy amplified, nothing more, brought turmoil from the mind out into the world.
And yet, she found, at that particular moment, she didn’t care. She wouldn’t hide from Bill, not after everything that had happened. If there was any chance she could fix what was going wrong around here, find who had caused it—hell, even if there wasn’t—Bill deserved to know what she doing.
Applejack nodded. “Twilight says it’s a part of all o’ us. Every pony in Equestria has a little bit. Gives a little strength, here and there. Helps us push over the edge.”
Bill didn’t reply.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Applejack said.
“Please,” Bill said, rolling his eyes.
“Alright. So unicorns have magic, an’ pegasi fly. Earth ponies—us—what we got is a little more subtle.”
“That’s basic stuff. We’re of the ground.”
“Right. We’re the farmers, the settlers, the pioneers. We don’t so much do the social theories or complicated spells. We don’t like being in the air, an’ we can’t grab the clouds. But there ain’t nopony who can match us with four hooves on solid earth. But what just about all ponies miss is that that link, that’s comin’ from the same source—as far as Ah can tell, anyways—the same source of magic as unicorns an’ pegasi.”
“It ain’t magic,” Bill said, snorting. “We just know a lot more about it. Farmin’s our history, after all.”
“Yeah, but why? The earth is our passion—an’ passion is magic. That’s Coromancy, and that’s what Ah used to help the orchard along. The same thing we all do, but on a grander scale.”
They crested the ridge overlooking the orchard. Applejack halted. She’d been expecting improvement. She hadn’t been expecting this.
Bill halted beside her. “Oh,” he said. “Oh my.”
Applejack grinned, spinning her head to glance at Bill. Her mane whipped out, catching the wind as it rose around her. A fierce joy spread through her, rising through her chest, warming her and washing away her doubts.
“Bloomberg . . .” Applejack breathed, her mind turning to that morning, two days ago. Had she really invested that much emotion into the trees? She remembered feeling sorrow, a terrible pain at the state of the orchard—wrought by the draught.
Coromancy was addictive.
The orchard was laid out before her, reaching out miles in every direction. And all of that land—that grey, cracked, dusty earth that had greeted her so bare when she had arrived—was gleaming; rich brown loam, thick branches laded with fields of green leaves and specked with red apples. It was almost as if she was viewing a valley of roses.
Bill took the first step forward, down the incline. Then both of them were running, sprinting forwards, racing each other into the orchard, laughing with the relief of it, and the sudden freedom afforded them. Applejack’s side was still sore, her hooves throbbed with each step and in just moments, her breath was rasping in her throat and constricting her chest. But she ran with a smile on her face, and she didn’t stop until she found herself at the base of a great tree in the center of the orchard.
“Bloomberg,” Applejack said, placing a hoof against the tree-trunk in front of her. She found a low-hanging apple—placed almost as if it were an offering—and, plucking it from its branch, sank her teeth into it.
The apple tasted of an arid wasteland, where the rolling dunes went for days in all directions. It tasted of dry winds, sweeping forward in vast walls of air, blasting sand into swirling storms its wake, and of heavy rains, drowning the valley in water, and of the sun, baking the ground until it split open. Fresh juice spilled over Applejack’s lips and ran down her chin, carrying with it knowledge of the ponies that cultivated it, nurtured it with their lives and souls. Tender flesh split beneath her teeth, gladly yielding to its creator. In the apple, Applejack tasted just a piece—the smallest piece—of her love; the love she had given to the orchard just days ago.
And as she ate, she felt that love reawaken inside her.
All that power . . . would this have been enough to halt the storm? Applejack wasn’t sure, but as the desert's warmth spread through her, touched on all the little things that enamoured her here—her family and friends, the orchard, the pain she felt at the desperation the drought caused and the horror sparked by the destruction following the storm’s wake—all of it added colour to her memories, as if someone had angled the light ever so slightly, placing highlights where she hadn’t expected them. And her mind’s eye was not kind.
Applejack had been lectured repeatedly, by Twilight, as well as Luna. Coromancy was dangerous. Abusing it, even for the smallest things, could have vast repercussions. She’d felt the effects of overreaching herself before: running completely dry had left her bedridden for days. But she hadn’t considered the other effects. She hadn’t considered what might happen if she tried to operate with an unstable emotional condition.
She’d spent so much of herself here, on this orchard. It showed in the trees, the apples—even the ground looked as if it had had years of perfect weather and care. Then, instead of resting, recovering, she’d simply burnt away the parallel emotions, tossed aside sorrow and fear and trusted that to balance out in her mind.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have enough left. Each situation was different, each invoked its own set of responses. She felt just as strongly about the devastation she had failed to prevent as she did before. No, Applejack realised. She’d simply been out of control.
Shocked, she thought back to Hassun. She’d treated him like . . . nothing. An obstacle to be taken apart. She couldn’t believe she’d thought it appropriate to bull her way past him like that—justify his fears so emphatically. She'd imagined herself an arbiter of peace, and had found nothing wrong with forcing that peace on them.
Waking up, in the aftermath. She’d run, yes, but from what? From the buffalo, and their adoration? Or from Fluttershy, who in acting the way she should have, for feeling the love that had disappeared from her mind, had planted some small seed of misgiving in Applejack?
The storm itself. Oh, Celestia, the storm itself. She’d attempted to tackle it head-on . . . charged into it the same way she had Hassun. She could never have hoped to hold all that power, would never have tried, were she entirely sane. But would it have been so hard to take that energy and use it for something else? To turn the destructive power held in the wall of wind blasting down the dunes, the charged plasma arcing onto her from overhead, the arctic hail pelting her sides to life—grow a garden where she stood, flowers nurtured by hate.
For that was what it was, Applejack thought. That bitter taste in her mouth, the stinging the lightning had left over her coat. It wasn’t a natural storm—that she already knew.
It was sent. It was directed. And a Coromancer had directed it. Hate gathered the water together—sucked it from the desert, across thousands of miles. Hate sent it into the sky, hung it high above, and flung it back south.
The apple fell from her hoof. Applejack turned, spotted Bill among the trees. As she ran to him, a smile spread over her face. Finally, after so many mistakes, here was something she knew how to do.
***
Fluttershy bent backwards, stretching her spine, and raised a foreleg to carefully wipe her forehead. She hated the blood that clung to her fur, hated the way her sweat caused it to run in rivulets around her hooves, and the way it spread to everything she touched. She was sure she looked a nightmarish mess. Still, better than the patient before her.
A piece of wood—likely torn from some support, or structure in the camp—had struck him in the flank, throwing him to the ground. The strike had opened up a large gash down his leg, broken that same leg in three places, and fractured the hip joint such that the femoral head had undergone osteonecrosis in the hours before he was found. Further, the ground—already littered with jagged edges—had lacerated his side when he fell, and the storm had then proceeded to wreak havoc, splintering four ribs and rupturing his spleen and kidney. To cap it off, infection had been eating away at his wounds for nearly a full day. In short, Fluttershy wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that he was still unconscious.
She bent her head back down, squinted at the buffalo. There was barely enough light left to see by. Achak had already stopped by several times; trying to force her to rest, sleep through to morning. Fluttershy had refused. She was aware of her limits, and the perils of overstepping them: life had made that lesson abundantly clear. But she was loathe to leave while there were still those in critical condition, and the lack of light didn’t pose an obstacle to that.
On the other hoof, her splitting headache, blurred eyes, burning wing and general fatigue almost gave her pause.
Fluttershy reached forward, placed a hoof on his side, and stretched her uninjured wing to the largest of the lacerations. Feeling again the creeping horror, the tense revulsion of gore against her feathers, the sickness spreading before her in the aftermath of this disaster—the spark that had kept her toiling away for the last fourteen hours—she pulsed. A dim, golden light spread down her wing, sinking into the wound, and when she pulled back, reclaiming her power, the gashes had lessened, lost their angry purple, so that the injury resembled nothing more than a rough fall.
She took a deep breath, bracing herself against the backlash. It wasn’t much, no more than the flinch that comes just before an expected blow fails to land. But it staggered her, shook her knees and drove her a step back from the table.
Conduit, Nephele said, hovering over her shoulder. This is not sustainable.
Fluttershy shook her head fiercely, clenched her teeth. She couldn’t rest, not yet.
She moved back to the table, placed her hoof and wing against his torso. She flexed her shoulders, suppressed a yawn, and dove back into that ocean of emotion that hid beneath the surface. This time she tapped rage, a bone-deep frustration at the impossibility of the task she set herself. At first it had been easy to keep up with those scouring the ruins of the camp. But she had flagged well before the stream of wounded had slowed, and the more she put back on their hooves, the more were out there, helping.
The golden light flowed down her wing, pooled against the buffalo’s chest, and returned. It was like the tide, in and out, back and forth. She’d seen it so many times before. Always then, it had been a comfort—an affirmation of her ability. Now, though, all she saw were the tremors, interrupting the steady, rhythmic beat. In and out, the heartbeat of her healing.
Conduit! Nephele said.
Was her shoulder cold, suddenly? Fluttershy glanced down, blinked twice as the misty lines swam into focus. In and out. Another rib sealed, shards of bone embedded in the spleen vaporised, and the holes fused shut.
You must listen to us. What sense is there in this?
“What sense?”
It is not in our interests.
That flashed Fluttershy awake. “Not in our interests! How . . . how can you say that?! It’s . . . it’s our responsibility to help. That’s . . . it’s everypony’s responsibility. If you can. What about you? You helped me before! You . . . you should be . . .”
What aid can we offer them? Our allegiance does not rest with these earthen kin, nor do they hold any boon we desire.
“Th-that’s not the point!”
In and out, back and forth.
We fail to see the point.
“Then . . . then help me! I can’t . . . I-“
We will not enable your destruction. Nephele said. You must cease this.
The coldness spread across her, wrapped around her chest, wrenched her back from the body. Fluttershy gasped, sucked the tendrils of herself back. The kidney repaired; the internal haemorrhaging halted; the progressive necrosis of organs reversed and infectious agents obliterated. This time, the backlash was more like a kick in the chest, stinging her with its imprint, and driving her to the ground, a gasp echoing from her wide-open mouth.
Nephele caught her, of course, laid her gently on the ground beside the table. The cloud nymph, totally invisible now, wiped her face, leaving an odd dampness in her wake. Sleep, Nephele crooned. Rest now, Conduit.
Outside the tent, the night wind blew over the camp, sending up little waves onto the shore. On the far side, by the lake, the young and the old, the weak, and those still recovering, slept, peacefully whispering their own dreams into the night. The buffalo on the table groaned, adding his own whimper to the music. Beside them, steps sounded as Achak approached, leaning down to where Fluttershy lay.
“How is she?”
Do not make any more demands of her.
“I hadn’t planned to make any demands of her at all,” Achak said, brushing Fluttershy’s mane from her face.
And yet, you bring the wounded to her. Still they come, lining up for treatment. As if she is infinite in capacity.
“I-“
You saw the Warden’s attempts at halting the storm. You did not see the Conduit survive it.
“Fluttershy’s choices are her own.”
Spirit, cease your temptation. Take her away from here, from these bodies. She has naught more to offer.
“I have a place prepared,” Achak said . Standing, she glanced over her shoulder, and called to two buffalo bearing a makeshift stretcher between them, with yet another motionless body suspended upon it. In short order, Fluttershy was held between them, with thin sounds of protest coming from her lips. Achak had none of it, holding her limbs down as they carried her away, out into the night.
The tent fell silent for a time, Nephele hovering still, as if waiting for the dawn, while Achak moved from table to stretcher, body to body, comforting those who lay awake, tormented by their own impotence, and grieving for those who did not move. It was a queer vigil, held in near complete darkness. But . . . now unable to tell face from face, each of the wounded became nothing more than a voice in her ear; nameless and friendless. Even her own son, lost somewhere here in the dark, stranded and hurt, became just another body. Achak shared in their loneliness, touched each tiny island in the night. It shamed her that she could not do more.
How long this continued, she could not say; hours, certainly, well into the morning, so that the first rays of light touched the horizon, splashing across the lake. Eventually, Achak turned to find no more stretchers—no more beds, or tables, or bodies. She rubbed her face, and stepped from the tent. There was still so much to do . . .
“Achak!”
“What now?” she grumbled, glancing askance at the buffalo sprinting towards her, and paused. One of the scouts, she realised, his breath coming hard from what appeared to be a flat-out run here. He would not bother her without good cause, she knew.
““The Appleloosans,” he panted, coming to a halt in front of her. “They’ve come. They’re here.”
Achak started. “So soon?”
But the scout was shaking his head, and glancing around to make sure they were not overheard. “Achak,” he said, leaning towards her. “It’s a war party.”
Achak rocked back on her hooves. A war party? Her mind spun, teasing out the possibilities; sorting through what little information she had available. She didn’t waste time denying her scout’s report, she trusted him more than that.
Why. That was key, clearly. For all that the settler-ponies knew little and cared less about her tribe’s customs and lives, they were decent sorts. If the drought hadn’t been so pervasive, she might have trusted them to help earlier—they had leaned on each other many times in the past. She knew they’d suffered as well, though the storm had passed them by. Surely they must be coming here for water. Desperation would allow them nothing else—if they knew about it. Could Applejack have somehow made it all the way there last night?
“Did you get a close look?” Achak asked.
The scout shook his head, wordlessly.
“Okay. Okay, then,” Achak said, closing her eyes. “How many?”
“Four, five hundred ponies, easily. Unarmed, but looking for a fight. They’ll be here in a few minutes. They looked like they’d been moving all night.”
It didn’t matter. Achak doubted that they came with murderous intent, no matter what her scout said. It just wasn’t in their nature. However it had happened, they knew there was water here. That was what they came for. The question, then, was whether or not she could afford to give it up.
Five hundred. Even tired, there was no way the buffalo could stop that many, not with the number of injured they had. But they couldn’t run, either, lest they face a slow death wandering the desert. She’d had a few buffalo check the nearest waterholes yesterday. The storm had left them untouched.
She could no more flee the ponies’ charge than she could withstand it.
Achak opened her eyes. “We’re moving. Get as many as you can down to the shore, then start moving south. We’ll try to circle around, keep our backs to the water. “
“They’ll just pin us down,” the scout said, dubiously.
“Better than being surrounded,” Achak replied. “And we don’t know what they want, yet. Show no outright hostility. Not until I’ve had a chance to talk. Achak hesitated. “But . . . do what you can. We must be ready for anything.”
For what good it would do them.
“Yes, Achak.” He turned away, hurrying towards the nearby tents.
Achak, meanwhile, stepped back inside the triage. All these beds, painstakingly cobbled together, all the stretchers and tables and bodies, had to be moved. She shook her head, despairing. It would take hours, even if she had every other buffalo in the tribe here to help, much less the minutes before the ponies arrived.
Too much. They had come at the worst possible time—many still asleep, many more wounded and gathered together. She had to do something to halt them, slow them down. Anything.
So Achak turned away from her peoples, and strode out, away from the camp. Taking deliberate steps, she used the walk to centre herself, to bring an unnatural calm into her mind. Air flowed through her lungs, blood pounded around her body, and the desert held her being, carried it as a mother cradles a babe. The wind picked up the short mane that tumbled down from her scalp. The sun glimmered on the horizon, lancing from behind her towards the west. From all around her, dust rose, gathered in the air in response to her presence as Spirit of the buffalo walked out to meet with the intruders.
My sister recovered quicker than I. Where I spend my days in study, rest, and reflection, she bends her will to the shaping of Law. She was always more active than I, more headstrong. It makes her a better leader. I can see her, from here, walking the streets amidst a sea of inclined necks, thrown bouquets, gentle cries of gratitude. A filly places a wreath of bay leaves, flowers and small berries about her neck. The people love her.
Twenty-Six
PRINCESS LUNA, Alicorn of Night, Equestria’s Princess of the Moon and Guiding Light, was stalking the halls of Canterlot. At regular occurrences, guards, sectioning off areas of the palace from the public, or watching precious works of art with careful eyes, or even stationed by pillars in the interests of symmetry, would stiffen their necks and surreptitiously check their uniforms as their Princess passed. Servants bringing food to delegates’ rooms, or polishing marble already gleaming so bright that Luna could see the fur on her face ducked their heads away from her gaze, pressing their muzzles to the floor in obsequious care, not daring her wrath. Her mood hung around her like a foul odour, warding away those that would normally attend her, holding back the crowds that even now milled at Canterlot’s front gates, seeking answers for all that had happened.
Luna couldn’t blame them for that. The city had been rocked, in recent days—by explosions in the slums, great magical fires heralding a fight between two pre-eminent spell-casters, and to top it all, a murder, of a Prince, no less. Everypony wanted to be told what was happening, to be reassured of their safety, and most of all, they wanted justice, for all involved.
Justice. There was a pretty word for an ugly idea. Luna had plenty of experience with justice. She’d meted it out, acted as judge, arbiter, for those who came to her. In a way, that idea—so literal back then—was what lay behind most of her royal duties now. Hearing complaints over clauses in Equestria’s taxation codes, disputes over property between nobles, even commoners, with tales of services rendered and payment withheld: all of this connected back to Luna’s original role in creating a fair society, with equal opportunity to all.
She’d also been on the receiving end of justice, felt its avenging fire in the form of her sister, the Sun Incarnate, bearing down with overwhelming force to banish her for a millennium. Ever since she was Cleansed, Luna had considered that to be justice.
Of course, nothing was ever that simple.
Luna turned right, heading into the centre of the palace. She’d spent the last week holed up in her room, listening again and again to Nightmare Moon’s words—the message Twilight had found, engraved in the essence of her old raiment.
She shouldn’t have let Twilight work with the armour, not even the smallest piece. Foolish, to think that Twilight would be able to handle it better than she could—that what gave her pause, and sent a shiver down her spine, would do no harm to a more open mind. She had hoped to provide some distraction for Twilight; to take her mind from the death of her brother, and her on-going conflict with Shining Armour’s murderer, as well as learn something—anything—more about the armour. Its appearance still troubled her, as did her missing memories.
Instead, she’d exacerbated the situation. Nightmare Moon’s essence was intoxicating—an ocean of hatred and willpower. Luna knew that touch intimately, resisted it from experience as much as will. She did not blame Twilight for falling to it.
The ponies ahead, clad in the white and gold of the Palace Guard, standing abreast her sister’s doors., stiffened as Luna approached, throwing hasty salutes, the metal shoes they wore ringing out a golden tone, bumping into their helms. Luna smiled back at them, trying to hide her turmoil behind niceties. And though they played along, faces frozen in stern silence as she passed, she knew she wasn’t fooling anypony.
“Luna?” Celestia said, turning from her desk. “Are you well, sister?”
Luna moved forward, peered at the documents Celestia had been working on. Reconstruction, rehabilitation, speeches of assurance and others of shared mourning: of course. Shining Armour’s funeral was approaching, on top of Twilight’s rampage through Canterlot. Luna was, truth be told, somewhat relieved; she wasn’t the only one preoccupied, though the realisation brought spots of colour to her cheeks.
“Sorry, ‘Tia,” Luna said. “I did not mean . . . I’ll write something tonight.”
“Nonsense,” Celestia said, standing and pulling Luna forward into a brief embrace. “You have your own duties, sister.”
“Perhaps. They do not supersede these.”
Celestia smiled, lips pressed together without any joy. “Everypony deals with it in their own way. You don’t have to put yourself through anything. You’ve nothing to prove.”
“He deserves . . . They deserve it.”
“What Shining Armour deserves is rather moot, now,” Celestia said, turning away. She glanced down at the desk, then shook her head. “I have seen countless deaths, as have you, and not all of them peaceful. Life goes on.”
“This is different!” Luna said, surprising herself with her own vehemence. But the words were in her throat, now, and they would not be denied. “He is no victim of war, nor was his death a necessity. The world should not turn its nose away from that kind of sacrifice.”
“Different?” Celestia asked. Her horn alight, the door behind Luna snapped shut with a soft click. “How? How is it different from the battlefields, soaked red? From the frontier storms. Washing the land clean of life. From devastation beyond anything this land has seen in a millennia?!”
“I’m . . . not sure.” Luna was breathing heavily, now, wondering where the outburst had originated. “But, there is . . . why now? Why him?”
“I don’t know,” Celestia said. “Why anypony?”
Luna had no reply. Instead, she watched passively, face inert as her sister tilted her head.
“Enough. Tell me, any word from Twilight?”
“Fine,” Luna said, clipping her words. “She . . . attacked another.”
“Why?”
“This one, named Trixie. She held the knife.”
“Ah,” Celestia caught Luna’s eyes, held them briefly, as she spoke, evaluating, weighing Luna’s answer. “And now? How are they doing?”
“I left Trixie at the hospital, relatively unscathed. Twilight is resting, quite spent.”
“I see.”
“It is not surprising, sister. Twilight is a saint to have restrained herself for as long as she did. I would not expect to find forgiveness in her heart.” Luna took a hard breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "But I fear this was more my doing than any others."
Celestia waited.
"Thinking to present her with a test of intellect, I presented her with a small piece of my raiment. The hate found within precipitated her rampage." Luna hung her head.
Celestia twisted her lips. "Your intentions were good. I trust you recovered the armour?"
"Of course."
"It would not do to allow that spirit out into the world again," Celestia said.
I fear it 'tis already so, sister. Luna shook herself, trying to wipe such thoughts from her mind. A warmth enveloped her, and she found Celestia's wing wrapped around her: a gesture as comforting as any reassurance. Luna returned a small smile, and stepped back, focusing instead on returning to the thread of their conversation.
“And Cadence?" Luna asked. "She was there, before us, in time to hear him die. She has not seen death before, either.”
That gave her sister pause. A long moment stretched between them, as Celestia considered. Luna waited patiently, hardly daring to think, until, finally, her sister spoke.
“Cadance fled. North, to the Crystal Empire. She’s cut off all contact with me.”
“Were you planning on letting me know?” Luna asked, trying and failing to keep the blame from her voice.
“We have a duty here,” Celestia said. “Cadance has suffered more than anypony, and for that I give her leave. She and Twilight quite nearly destroyed the entire mountain, and it does Shining Armour a disservice to ignore the larger repercussions.”
“It does him a greater disservice to cease living ourselves, or to cede any part of ourselves to his memory.”
Celestia was silent.
“I could have gone, sister,” Luna said. This time, it was her turn to take Celestia’s head under her chin. It was a surprise to realise, but she was just about as tall as Celestia, now. “I could still go.”
“No,” Celestia said, stepping back. “No, Luna. I don’t know where you were, all those years, outside. But we both know that whatever happened to you there—whatever you met, or did, or said . . . that is important. Everything else can wait. Everything, you hear?”
“Nightmare Moon is gone, sister, and she shall not return. The armour is nothing to me anymore,” Luna spat, surprising herself with her vehemence, “but a heap of metal and magic—useful only for its hateful symbol.” That was the nature of hatred, though, content to creep ever closer, in the shadows of your mind, places hidden from sight and sound, where you rarely ventured, growing, feeding, until it burst forth in a great wave, obliterating all. Luna knew the pattern well. Turning aside from her sister, she clenched her jaw, forcing the surge down. Even that, born of regret and a bone-deep sorrow, was dangerous.
Celestia stared at her for a moment, before nodding. “Very well, then. Do as you will.”
Luna glances back, silently thankful. “You don’t have to take this all on yourself.”
“Somepony must,” Celestia said. A smirk played its way across her lips. “I sense I shall have no more use for you, anyway.”
“Psh. I’ll stay in contact.”
“Be sure that you do. I couldn’t take it, Luna, if . . .”
“I know, sister. Be well.”
That was her sister: always so willing to do what she must, so long as it lead to a better future. Luna was endlessly grateful for the period after her return, when Celestia had allowed her the freedom to come and go, to absorb modern custom, language, and change, slowly easing her back into the process of ruling. Heavens above knew that her sister deserved a break--and still she was here, fretting, worrying over details so that Luna did not have to. It was troubling and gratifying, simultaneously.
Luna stepped to the window, stared out over Canterlot. She so rarely simply stood and watched as ponies moved about the city. She knew of the classical description of the pegasi’s gaze, rendering ants all those inching around on the ground, though she could not see it herself. Instead, locked away behind a window pane, she was rendered inert, impotent, the observer, of no import in their lives. It was a release, and an affirmation: a cathartic vow murmured under her breath, so quietly she dared not taste the words lest they shatter under their own weight. Then she folded herself into the shadows, and disappeared.
She didn’t have far to go. The city, situated just below the castle on the side of the mountain, teemed with life—and more and more of the denizens of Canterlot were crowding up against the castle, like beggars clustered around a small fire. They perceived Celestia, and, to a lesser extent, Luna, to be protectors; guides and leaders, and they were drawn to that reassurance.
The buildings didn’t move, though, and the place Luna had pictured, fixed firmly in her mind as she left her sister’s study was just a few blocks from the city square. Canterlot General—the largest public hospital in the country, home to some of the most gifted medical practitioners, state-of-the-art equipment, and one, rather special, individual.
Luna alighted in a speck of darkness underneath the slats of the curtains, pooled onto the floor, under the bed, and into the darker corners of the room. Then, standing, she approached the bed, and the azure mare that lay there.
Trixie lay still, surrounded by a sterile silence. The only noise in the room came from the whisper of the warm wind through the window, gently drifting across the bed, another blanket against the cold, and the gentle sigh of Trixie’s breathing. Beside the bed, intricate machinery—designed to work with electricity and magic both, so as to prevent interference from the patients or staff, beeped once, its screen emitting a soft light, various figures and graphs marching their way across the screen.
There was tranquillity to the scene, as if it were paint on canvas, arranged before her. Luna found her earlier fears begin to recede, her mind relaxing, headache appearing and vanishing all at once, a pulse of relief. Luna lit her horn, creating a field around Trixie and herself—transparent to them, but invisible to those outside. She didn’t want a curious nurse investigating a potential disturbance.
Turning, she closed the window, softly, muffling the sound so that it would not disturb Trixie. She was unsure of how to approach this particular conversation. That it had to happen at all was not in question. Even if Twilight had gleaned something useful from Trixie during her meltdown, there was no telling if she would remember the specifics—or if she would awaken in time.
What, then, delayed her? In truth, Luna didn’t know what to expect from Trixie. The dark cloud, hanging over her lately, seemed to be spreading from some as yet unknown source—her sister, more worried than Luna could remember seeing her before, Twilight, raving, attacking another, Cadence, isolating herself and her kingdom, as if it was the world outside that threatened her . . . There had been a murder in Equestria.
Even from the moon, from deep within the recesses of Nightmare Moon’s mind, through the glimmer in her eye, Luna had seen the lives of a thousand years. She’d grown accustomed to peace, just as Celestia had. Once, perhaps, a murder would not have fazed them. Once, it would have sent Luna out to the streets, hunting for justice, rather than pacing the corridors of her own castle. Nopony seemed to know how to deal with it anymore—and that made it: the idea, the concept of murder, to be a far greater threat than He had any right to be.
Trixie was no different from anypony else. She’d grown up in the same world, been raised within the same laws. And yet, she’d broken those limitations—been the instrument, in the least, for revolution. Both abominable and liberating, obscene and riveting; she was a harbinger, a catalyst.
Trixie knew how this had happened. She knew who had planned it, who had brought this doom back to the world. But most of all, she knew why.
Luna reached out, placed a hoof on Trixie’s shoulder. For all that, she was still just a mare, still injured, exhausted from her ordeals. Luna was having trouble coping from the sidelines. She could only imagine the kind of torture that must be occurring within Trixie’s dreams—suppressed, for the moment, as they were, by the cocktail mixture of drugs and magic served to the patients here, calming the nerves, and setting the mind at ease. She would not wake soon, and nor should she. Instead, Luna let herself fall forward, to join Trixie in slumber.
The dreamworld wasn’t that different to reality, as Luna understood it. She’d been coming here—at first visiting, as a tourist might, as she learned control, spending more and more time until she was a local, a resident, even a monarch. The Princess of Dreams, stalking the night to ward evil: among the first of her duties she had resumed after her redemption. Luna wreathed herself in the darkness of nothing, and with it sculpted a scene.
Luna placed her hoof down, found green grass and fresh loam, felt a breeze wrap around her legs, the sunlight spread across her back, and sweet scents from nearby flowerbeds float across her nose. Behind her, the hospital rose, alone in a great field, a meadow, enclosed by a ring of trees, both protective and constraining. Familiarity, to set Trixie at ease, peace, to dull her mind, all built in the instant between worlds, between the waking and sleeping mind.
Trixie, lying beside Luna on the lawn, licked her lips, eyelids fluttering. She yawned, stretched her forelegs, before her eyes fixed themselves on Luna. She stood, moving gingerly, and bowed low, her muzzle brushing grass, accepting the dream without question.
“Trixie,” Luna said.
“Princess Luna,” Trixie said. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”
“Oh?”
Trixie bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have warranted it myself, naturally. But then, I’m not why you’re here, am I?”
Luna paused. Honesty or compassion? Which might serve her interests best here—and which would set Trixie most at ease? “Do not be too quick to discount yourself. Perhaps I would have come nonetheless.”
“But.”
“But,” Luna agreed. For a moment, neither of them said anything. “You understand, then, how important you have become?”
“I . . . I think so, Princess,” Trixie said, looking anywhere but at Luna. “Boundless always did have an inflated view of himself. I thought he was an idiot, as I’d been in my youth. I didn’t take him seriously.”
“Boundless?” Luna asked.
Trixie glanced at Luna, surprised. “You don’t know? But, Twilight . . .” she trailed off.
“Twilight is resting,” Luna said, “as are you.” She gestured behind herself.
“I see . . .”
“Boundless pushed you,” Luna prompted.
“Yes.” Trixie paused. “I don’t think he knew, exactly, what he was doing. Or why he was doing it. But . . .”
“I am not interested in assigning blame,” Luna said. “Critical, now, is that we discover where he pushed you to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have been thinking. A thousand years without murder. Does that not strike you as strange? That not once, perhaps in the heat of passion, or simply due to no other recourse, would a pony have stretched to that crime?”
“Strange? No.” Trixie shook her head, emphatic. “Strange is that I was capable of . . . That Boundless exists. That there is a pony of such evil alive today! How-“
“How could he not? Shadow always follows light. And we have been blessed with light, little one, perhaps for too long.”
Clarity washed over Luna. The little leaps of logic—so easy here, unfettered by awareness, spoken aloud almost before she had thought them through—had finally reached a climax, an epiphany of sorts. “He was inevitable,” Luna whispered. He had had to happen, somewhere, some when, eventually, there would be a crack. That implied that something had failed, something had created him, and by extent Trixie, and this whole mess. Control was lost, swept aside, chaos reigned.
Set aside fault, blame, responsibility, Set aside reason, motivation. Behind all of that lay the unmistakeable conclusion, somehow obscured from her sight till now. If something had failed, some system had broken down for an instant, in just the wrong way at just the right time . . . There had to be a system to fail. Something was exerting control over the populace. Something had prohibited murder, and been so influential, so unyielding, that not once—not once—had it failed.
Until now.
“Inevitable?” Trixie stood. Outrage, sudden and unexpected, was written in every line of her face, her body. She seethed, and her dreamscape changed, flowing from green tranquillity to a harsh, glaring sun, dried ground cracking underhoof, wind picking up pace. She jolted Luna with seamless transition, smooth and abrupt, a flare of passion long concealed, but always, always, present. “Inevitable?”
“Was my life inevitable? My choices? My failures? Careful, Princess! I will not give up the responsibility that is my due so easily. Boundless did not create me. He did not force me to choose, he gave me a choice. It was my own doing, no more! No less. Shining Armour’s death was by my hand, and you cannot take my culpability away from me.”
“You damn yourself,” Luna said, forcing herself to calm down. But she had been taken aback by the outburst, and she struggled to regain her balance.
“I have nothing left,” Trixie spat. “Naught remains to me—not a home, not a friend. Those preserved within me have been silenced, and I don't know why. Even my grief is denied me.”
Now she turned, fixed her gaze on Luna. “Agency remains. Nothing inevitable, nothing without consequence. I cannot accept it any other way.”
And her fire left her as suddenly as it had arrived. Trixie sank back to the ground—now wet with dew as Luna reasserted control. The environment faded around them; bright reds and golds to a dulled green, as if memory was already lost.
But Luna remained. Eyes wide, shoulders squared, she faced Trixie, sympathy replacing epiphany replacing shock.
In claiming guilt, Trixie claimed her life—successes alongside failures. Admirable it may be, but Luna saw another meaning in those words. She was driven by emotion: regret, guilt, shame, and anger, the last at those who offered her compassion. She’d reflected those emotions in the landscape surrounding them, and exhausted, allowed her influence to lapse. She’d broken through the moral barrier that seemed to forbid even the greatest of passions.
“Where is he, Trixie?” Luna asked, crouching down. “What is Boundless planning?”
“He’s going after the Crystal Heart,” Trixie said, rolling away from Luna. “Please let me sleep.”
Luna nodded, slipped from the dream back to the real world. In the hospital room, sunlight shone on Trixie, still sleeping. But her sleep was no longer peaceful. Her face contorted, sweat ran down her brow, her breath came in intermittent gasps.
Luna lifted the veil over the room, called to the nurses, and sank back into the shadows, fading from sight. She was not yet done, and it was time to set others in motion.
***
“Rainbow!”
“Oh, relax, would you? I’ll take you in a sec, alright? Just lemme finish this up first.”
Rainbow leaned back, arching her back, causing a rapid series of loud cracks along her spine and wings. She smirked as Rarity flinched, grimacing.
“You can do that anytime,.” Rarity said. “I’ve already been here too long, especially without any arrangements for my absence.”
“Sweetie Belle can handle it.” Rainbow squinted at the paperwork facing her, half complete. She rolled the pencil to the other side of her mouth, speaking around it. “It’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that. She could have burned the Boutique down, for all we know.” Rarity sniffed.
“Rarity. I’m on a roll here. Stop trying to stop a good thing.”
“And I have orders that won’t fill themselves,” Rarity continued. “I’ve already missed, what, two, three fittings. Who knows how much more business I’m losing here.”
Rainbow glanced up, glaring. “You aren’t seriously complaining about business, are you? ‘Cause even I can see that that’d be out of line.”
“No,” Rarity said. Curtly, “But that’s not the point. I have an image to maintain. You’re making time for your work, aren’t you?”
“No, actually, I'm not. I'm not practicing with them, I'm not coaching them, I'm not leading them. All that stuff can wait. The one thing that can't wait, the one thing that doesn't take me away from Twilight,” Rainbow said, grimacing, "is this damned paperwork. And as much time as I take off for myself, I can’t let down twenty thousand screaming fans."
“And I haven’t begrudged you bringing me here. Nor do I mean to trivialise what’s happened. All I need is a day, a half-day to close up properly, and I’ll come back tomorrow. By train, with the others.”
“Yeah, bring them all up. It’ll be a regular party,” Rainbow said, signing the bottom of the page before turning it over. She sighed. “And why can’t you take the train down?”
Rarity sniffed again, but a knock at the door forestalled her answer.
They were in an office at the front of the Agency. Twilight, still sleeping, was near the back, in one of the more private bedrooms, had been there for nearly a full day now. Intermittently, Rainbow made sure to feed her some small measure of broth: a recipe Twilight had devised for this eventuality. All of them had seen Coromantic exhaustion before, knew what to expect. She’d wake when she was ready. Until then, all they could do was be here, for her and for themselves.
Rarity stood, peeked out the window, while Rainbow ignored her, reading another page, then squeaked, nearly ran from the room.
“Princess,” she cried, opening the door. “Please, come in.”
“Rarity,” Luna said, brightening visibly. “You are still here, excellent. And Rainbow Dash?”
Rainbow sighed again, perhaps a little too loud. “In here,” she called, dropping the pencil and standing. “I hate paperwork.”
“And yet you refuse to give it up. You really must make up your mind, darling.”
Rainbow stuck her tongue out at Rarity, who smoothly turned back to Luna.
“Sorry, Princess. We were just finishing up here, actually. Was there something we could help you with?”
“Quite. But it can wait. How is Twilight?”
“Resting,” Rarity said. “This ordeal has left her simply exhausted; as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“Of course, I won’t bother her,” Luna said. “Do either of you know what caused her outburst?”
“I don’t think she was entirely stable-”
“Twilight’s never been entirely stable,” Rainbow cut in. “It was the armour, Princess. She was trying to show Trixie something in it, and somehow, she lost control.”
“I know,” Luna said. “I should never have let her touch that metal. I was trying to give her something to do, something constructive..”
“I don’t understand,” Rarity said.
“The armour was built from magic,” Luna explained. “Built to serve the Nightmare. Whatever happened to me, out there, the Nightmare had something to do with it. So, I thought to discover some part of that, latent in metal. I should have heeded the danger.” She shook her head. Guilt was all too common, these days, or so it seemed. And yet, it was hard to see how else one might interpret the situation.
“Nevertheless, Twilight succeeded.” Luna continued, controlling herself. “She uncovered the message Nightmare Moon left for me, written in hate, in the very matrices that constructed that armour. That message pointed me at a truth I have been far too slow to realise. A truth that the Drac hinted at, that Trixie has just confirmed to me.
“There is some sort of magic imprisoning Equestria. A . . . a construct of sorts, that seems to impose a constructed morality on everything it touches. It is the reason we have not seen murder for so long. It is the reason Boundless—Trixie’s partner—has become so dangerous. He threatens us all because, somehow, he is free, or has been freed, from this restriction.”
Rainbow and Rarity stood silent for a moment, absorbing the assertion. It made a certain kind of sense, as twisted as it appeared, as unbelievable as it was. But at the same time, it conflicted with everything they’d ever felt, threatened their entire basis of belief. It had a certain taste of predestination, of Fate. It shackled them.
And yet, it was a beautiful prison. They could hardly argue with the results: it had created a world free from civil strife, from violence, and hate. Some small voice whispered that this was attractive purely because they were told it was so—that the indoctrination ran so deep that it had convinced them of its purity. But that voice had neither weight in their hearts, nor hold of their ears.
“If,” Rarity began, carefully stressing the word, “we accept that . . . then what?”
Luna nodded. “Setting all else aside, it reveals Boundless’ motivations. The death of Shining Armour accomplished three things for him: it proved that others could be freed, it revealed information pertinent to the Crystal Heart, and it removed one of the Heart’s staunchest defenders.”
“The Crystal Heart? What’s that got to do with anything?” Rainbow asked.
Rarity was faster. “Way back, when the Crystal Empire appeared, Sombra wanted the Heart in order to control the Crystal ponies. With it, he could turn them into docile slaves.” She turned to Luna, mouth ajar. “You don’t think . . .”
“I think he wants to create an army, of sorts,” Luna said, nodding. “Not docile slaves, or contented civilians, but an uprising. I think he wants to spread his gift—or curse—to them. I think he wants to set them free.”
“Insane,” Rainbow said, shaking her head. “Utterly insane. We can’t let him get away with this.”
“Why not?” Luna asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Rainbow fixed a glare on Luna. ”It took Shining Armour’s death to break Trixie from . . . whatever it is you thinks in all of our heads. What’s it going to take to break an entire empire, huh? What's it going to take to 'free' Equestria?”
“His methods can be assessed later,” Luna said, waving a wing to forestall any argument. “That’s not what I need you two for.”
Rarity stepped forward. “Ah. So, what can we do for you, Princess.”
“I need to know more about this construct. Where it came from, what it does, who built it. But our Sight is blocked within Equestria's borders, and I fear going outside again. Too much is at stake for one of us to go missing for months or years. So, we are left with a problem, one the two of you are singularly suited to solve.”
“I don’t follow,” Rarity said, “My Sight is no stronger than yours.”
“No. But stronger Sight is not needed. We cannot pierce the haze, and we cannot venture beyond it. Therefore, I propose that Rainbow escorts you to a time before the haze existed. From there, Rarity will be unhindered in her Sight.”
Rainbow choked. “What. I can’t. I don’t even . . .”
Luna tilted her head. “You’ve never travelled through time before?”
“What? No, of course not. That’s impossible . . .”
“Not for a Stormchaser, Rainbow. I thought Celestia would have taught you this by now.” Luna sighed. “Very well. This may take a little longer than I had hoped.”
“Time-travel?” Rarity asked, her voice coming out as a high-pitched squeak. “To the past? Before . . . before Moon’s Fall?
“That far should suffice. I have no memory of this construct before the Nightmare—and murder was more commonplace then. But you will be safe enough. Coromancers were revered, and more than capable of defending themselves.”
“I see,” Rarity said, gaining strength. “And Rainbow can . . . bring us back, whenever she pleases?”
“Of course. So long as she possesses the emotional fuel.”
Rarity lapsed into silence. Luna paused, before turning back to Rainbow
"I can't . . . I mean . . ." Rainbow spluttered, still searching for words. "I'm pretty great. I mean, come on, right? But a thousand years, Luna! I wouldn't know the first thing about it."
“This will be arduous," Luna said. She didn't blame Rainbow her disbelief--her claim was as outlandish as anything these two had heard before. But Rainbow had to learn, and to do that, she had to be willing. "Time travel never was well understood, even back then. We knew it resulted from speed—speed faster than light itself. But speed is a natural extension of your abilities. It should not prove too difficult for you to master. And the need is great.”
All traces of reluctance disappeared from Rainbow with Luna's words: she had a goal now, and a path to it. She was no stranger to training, she had learned to face her challenges head-first, pound them into submission until she collapsed or had attained mastery . . . This was no different. That it was time travel: a feat that had stumped the greatest minds and made mockery of the masters of magic, meant nothing.
Speed was a part of Rainbow, an essential element, central to her character and conception. She had flown across Equestria in less than ten seconds. She had flown so fast that the winds following her had blown out windows, caused buildings to tremble. She could do this, too.
And time-travel! This was going to be so awesome!
“How much time do I have,” Rainbow said.
“As much time as you need,” Luna said. “From now on, you can make time.”
“Sweet,” Rainbow said, grinning,, and shivering a little, as well. “I’ll finish this paperwork. Then we’ll get started.”
They label me a saviour; goddess, messiah. It is a cerebral love, born out of fear, and the fanatical glee of our triumph. It is not a real love. It does not resonate with them, and in time, it will fade. In time, they will forget me.
They will forget my story.
Twenty-Seven
ACHAK WAITED. No more than a few minutes, the scout said. That had been half an hour ago. She cast her gaze back, towards the lake and the huddle of her people on its far side. The injured were still being moved—despite the numbers of buffalo lending their hooves, the task would take some time yet.
Time they did not have. Achak might have doubted her scout’s word, had she not been able to see the dust-cloud, moving slowly but steadily towards them. The ponies had made ridiculously good time. Assuming that Applejack had instigated this expedition . . . if she’d returned to the town at a gallop, and they’d maintained a similar pace on the way back, they could have done it, just barely. It was a feat, wondrous and terrifying.
As to their haste’s portent, Achak could only guess. She didn’t know how bad things were in town, not really. If the ponies had been on the edge of dying from their thirst, they wouldn’t have been able to make the trip so quickly, if at all. Still, she assumed desperation, a relief at Applejack’s tidings, anger, somehow, at the buffalo. Did they think she’d been withholding water? What else could explain the scout’s report?
Her tribe had no room for error, here. She had one chance to make an impression, just a few short sentences before they simply took what they came for. Here and now, she didn’t dare trust their long history of friendship. That kind of naiveté would get them all killed, dying on the hot sand, parched throats clenching at the dry air, cracked lips spilling blood . . . She was well-used to the kind of extremity that accompanied drought.
She could put up a strong front. Appear to the ponies as a wraith, immersed in sand and wind. A Spirit, unbreakable and unyielding, warding them away. If they were capable of turning back at all, she might’ve considered that. But then, if there was life still in Appleloosa, its residents would not be here. No, they had left as one, they would not turn back. She mustn’t provoke them. They had no choice, now. Drink, or die.
She could surrender, totally, acknowledge their desperate strength, and relinquish control of the waterhole. Akin to throwing her tribe on the ponies' mercy, the idea made Achak grit her teeth. Even if it spared a confrontation for now, they could very well push the buffalo back, deny access to water against the ponies’ own need. Achak studied the waterhole, trying to guess how much was left. The ground continued to suck it away, as it had for the last few weeks. She swallowed. At this rate, the water would not last to the next storm. If Applejack’s rough estimate was correct . . .
She could welcome them, as friends. Invite them to drink, to share in her bounty. Build, without addressing the matter directly, a sense of goodwill. At best, this solution would only delay the inevitable. But then, perhaps that’s what she needed most of all: time to heal, time for Fluttershy to recover, for both groups to work out some other, more permanent, solution.
The dust-cloud was close, now, the ponies still hidden by hillocks and dunes. Achak raised the wind, as easily as drawing a frown over her face, stirring the sand beneath her hooves. These lands were hers, body and soul, blood and thought. She stepped out, took position in the middle of the path. Behind her, the lake stretched out, glittering under the morning sun.
Ah, there they were. The scout had described them as a war party. Achak could see why. Despite the lack of weapons, the ponies were angry, possessed of a rage and a madness that lived in them all, moved through them like an ocean, a single unit. Each step landed in concert, every eye was drawn towards her. They were not thinking, not in control. A mob, whipped to a frenzy that was never sated.
But they were tired. Like a cauldron, kept boiling all night long, until there was no liquid left, they had bled themselves dry on the desert. Each step was a weary thud. Their necks were bowed, faces glazed over, shoulders slumped. Sand lined their bodies, caught in small scrapes and cuts. They resembled a pilgrimage, a group of refugees, more than any war party, even if their intention was to fight.
At the head of the column was Braeburn. Achak had had numerous interactions with him over the years. In all that time—from her memories of him when she was still just a child, really, playing while her father lead the tribe, to their more recent meetings, discussing the relationship between the buffalo and the Appleloosans with others from the town, or just enjoying an apple pie with a friend—she’d never seen him like this.
The same exhaustion lined him, covered every inch of his body, accentuated by the ever-present sand and dust. In him, the weariness was somehow accentuated, made visceral. But that didn’t capture Achak’s attention. Mirroring the evidence of the trials of their night-long journey, the motivation, the fiery anger that had driven them across the desert, limned every scratch. It was in his eyes, flat and fixated; his stance, unyielding; each step forward, striking the ground solidly, and never mind the slight trembling in his legs.
“Braeburn,” Achak called as they approached, drawing their attention. “Be at peace, and welcome.”
She got no reply. Instead, the crowd slowed, slowly, disorganised, so that those at the back of the column stepped straight into those in front. Braeburn held up a hoof, and sniffed the air, relief spreading over his face. He turned away from Achak, giving her just enough time to feel a sudden spike of trepidation.
“Water!” he screamed, rising to flail at the air with his front hooves.
The word rejuvenated the crowd. Like a dam bursting, the column broke, dissolving into a stampede, each individual uncaring of his neighbours. They rolled forward, unstoppable, nearly unconscious.
Achak bolted to the side. There was nothing she could do.
But even Braeburn’s anger had faded away under the tidal wave. The stampede rushed straight past the medical tent, paid no attention to the few buffalo still moving about the shoreline. Instead, the ponies plunged straight into the lake, heedless of its depth. Soon enough, laughter rose from their throats, pealing through the air. They splashed each other, floated on their backs, plunged their heads beneath the surface. And while many paused long enough to drink, sucking up great mouthfuls of the life-giving liquid, their relief was more than just a salve for dry throats. It was a baptism, a cleansing bath. It was sudden hope, realisation and confirmation, all at once. The end, postponed.
Achak found it hard not to get caught up in their joy. Her fears, ever on edge since the storm, had her imagining the worst. A war party. Her scout could have chosen better words. But then, it had only been a few days, hadn’t it. Just a few days since . . . a hitch caught in her throat, and she forced her mind away. Grief could wait, fear could be reasoned with. She followed the ponies, moved towards the lake, pausing only to poke her head into Fluttershy’s test, still erect a few yards away from the medical pavilion. Fluttershy was stirring, turning and tossing on her makeshift bed. The cloud spirit was with her, hovering close to her face, clearly responding to the noise outside.
Achak stopped at the lake’s edge. “Braeburn,” she called again, infusing her voice with wind so as to carry it out over the water. She could see him, amidst his kin, frolicking like a young colt. “Braeburn, we must talk.”
Slowly, her voice reached him. He met her eyes, nodded, swam to the shore, moving with a relaxed ease that made a lie of earlier hardships. All that anger, that pride, that fierce strength: washed away. Perhaps . . .
“Achak,” Braeburn called back, reaching the shore, the small smile he’d been wearing slipping away. “We heard tell you’d been holding out on us.”
Perhaps not.
“I’ve done nothing of the sort."
“Oh, please. All our water, draining into the ground?” Braeburn shook his head. “Ya can’t put a spin on this one, Spirit.”
“There was a storm,” Achak said, ignoring his tone. “We’re hurting just as much as you are.”
Braeburn laughed, scorn rising to bridge the gap between them. “You? You couldn’t ‘t understand. Do you know how many we left behind? How many were too young, too old, too sink, too weak to make the trip?” He stopped briefly, swallowed. “You have no idea what pain you’ve caused us, you primitive filly.”
Achak frowned. There was something more to this, more than just miscommunication and assumption, brought on by desperation. That, she could understand, she could empathise with. But it did not account for the hate coming over Braeburn. She had expected a bone-deep sorrow, a harshness that spoke to his situation, rather than his heart. With every sentence, that sorrow fed upon itself, turned to anger. With every word, he grew more accusatory, more violently zealous.
“Look around you, Braeburn. Look at the wounded, and the dead.”
“Look at the life,” he sneered. “Appleloosa is an orchard without fruit. Ah have a responsibility to my family.”
“Calm down. We’re all just trying to do our best. I don’t blame you for your concern, Braeburn.”
“Y’all started this fight, buffalo.”
“We did not!”
“Horseapples.”
“We don’t have to fight at all, you stubborn mule,” Achak spat. “You come to my lands, insult my dead, only to demand my aid? What right do you have here?”
“Ah’m taking back what you stole from us,” Braeburn’s eyes glinted. “Whether you like it or not.”
“You will not find us a helpless victim.”
“Good!”
When had the ponies frolicking in the water stopped playing? Silence descended on the shore, broken only by the wind, rising around them, whipping between ponies and buffalo, and stirring up small waves in the water. Achak tensed, suddenly aware of the attention bestowed on the two of them. Braeburn stood before, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Achak felt defiance rise in her throat, cloud her vision, a fatalistic desire to stand tall. She would not bow down before this! These . . . these swine knew nothing of her lands and her people! She would . . . she would . . .
“Everypony, stop!”
A new voice, cutting across the frozen scene. Fluttershy, moving weakly but upright, her head poked through the flaps of her tent, looked exhausted—but no more so than the townsponies had, in the final stretch of their trek, a far cry from the mindless oblivion that had come over her last night. Achak had no idea how Fluttershy had been able to heal so many of her people, but then, she had no idea how Fluttershy had been able to heal at all. Even if it looked like she was about to collapse again, she had to trust that the pegasus knew her limits.
Her cloud-spirit hung above her head, clinging to her mane. Even if Fluttershy overestimated herself, Nephele had made her needs quite plain. Achak hadn’t forgotten her words.
“Braeburn, I’m disappointed in you,” Fluttershy said, coming forward to stand beside Achak. “The buffalo have suffered just as much as Appleloosa, if not more.”
“Gone over to their side, have ya? Ah should’ve known you couldn’t understand family.” Braeburn paused, glaring at Fluttershy. “You traitor.”
Fluttershy took a small breath. “You aren’t listening to me, Braeburn. The buffalo have been dealing with the same drought you have.”
“Yeah. That’s why they stole our water. Applejack showed it to us.”
“No, they didn’t.” Fluttershy swallowed. ”No, she wouldn’t.”
“What’d they promise you? As much as you could drink? Some way to get back at Apleloosa? Whatever that thing is?” Braeburn took a step forward, pointing a hoof at Nephele.
“Your leg!” Fluttershy said abruptly, cutting him off mid-rant. Achak saw realisation break across her face. “You ran all the way here! I told you to stay off it.”
“Pff. Like Ah’d listen to a lying traitor. Jus’ trying to keep me locked up so Ah can die with the rest of my family.”
“Braeburn . . .” Yes, Fluttershy was crying now. Tears tracked rivers through the dust covering her cheeks, spilled onto the sand beneath her hooves.
Nephele paused, the rippling oh her form in the wind falling still. She floated down to Fluttershy’s ear, which pricked upwards. She glanced back up at Breaburn, then swept her gaze across the Appleloosans in the water, something like comprehension washing over her face. An epiphany. A realistation.
“Now, Ah ain’t waiting any longer,” Braeburn said. “We’re gonna take this water back to town, so as we don’t all die.”
“How?” Fluttershy said.
“Huh?”
“How are you going to move all that water? Applejack was going back to get barrels, to stop it from draining away. Where are they?”
Braeburn paused.
“You really aren’t with her, are you?” Fluttershy said. It wasn’t a question. “What’s gotten into you, Braeburn. This isn’t the stallion I met a few days ago. This isn’t you.”
“What would you know of me, filly?” Braeburn sneered. “Of what it means to have a family.”
Fluttershy shook her head, trotted forward. To Achak’s amusement and confusion, she moved straight past Braeburn, ignoring him completely. The stallion turned, to follow her, or call out after her.
“Hey, Braeburn,” Achak called. “I’m not done with you yet.”
She wanted to give Fluttershy time. She didn’t understand what the Pegasus was doing, but she had more than earned Achak’s trust—and she didn’t have any other cards to play, besides. The crowd of ponies, mostly emerged from the lake now, standing on the shoreline, were hanging on every word that passed between her and their leader. They looked ready to burst.
So she gave her tongue free reign.
“You know, I still have trouble believing the audacity it must have taken for you to waltz in here, on to my lands, and presume ownership. Years ago, when you’re pathetic little town was established, and now, now that the desert has proven you unworthy, it’s the same story. It’s always our fault, isn’t it, pony. Never your own—oh, no, never that!”
She hadn’t realised she was quite so angry.
“You like to pretend you’re all so civilised. You like to paint a nice, romantic picture, everypony living in harmony, supporting each other against the harsh facts of life on the frontier. Did you ever stop to think that maybe it was hard because you were wrong? Ever stop to consider what you were doing to your environment?”
The wind picked up, throwing clouds of sand to billow about her. Braeburn’s hat was knocked from his head, landing on the surface of the lake.
“You have spent the better part of sixteen years raping the land about your town. You have stripped my people of their heritage, mile by mile pushing us away. You have consigned an untold number of your own kin to death, both those dying of thirst in Appleloosa, and those here, fighting a mean, petty war to stave off your own demise.”
“For these crimes, you blame us. For these crimes, you sentence us. For these crimes, the land will see you driven away.”
Achak finished her speech, panting. The words had come in a flood, rushing from her mouth, with no time to think, or slow the barrage. And the desert had responded to her outrage, wreathed her in sand and sun and wind, a cyclone of boiling grit. The ponies, to a one, stood transfixed.
All but Fluttershy. Reaching the water’s edge, the mare bent down, tilted her head. Then, quickly, she dipped her muzzle below the surface, and drew in a short sip of liquid.
Abruptly, the anger left Achak. Her cyclone fell away, dumping its contents in a wide circle around her. Trembling, she put a hoof to her chest, and fell back onto her rump.
What was that. What had happened? Around her, the ponies were acting similarly—many had fainted outright, others looking around in evident confusion. Braeburn, staring at her with that intense gaze, limped forward—the injury that hobbled him so much more apparent, now. Achak flinched away from his outstretched hoof.
“Easy, Achak,” Braeburn said quietly. “Ah’m . . . Ah’m sorry. For what Ah said. For what I was planning to do. Ah . . . Ah can’t quite believe it, myself.” He coughed, and then coughed again, small tears appearing in the corners of his eyes.
Achak stilled herself, then reached up, grasping the outstretched hoof, and pulling Braeburn into a hug. Both of them simultaneously split huge grins, still reeling in shock. The absence of hate—complete and total, it just wasn’t there anymore. And in its wake, joy, simple contentment, relief, all sprang up.
Three things happened all at once. Achak and Braeburn felt a glimmer of hope reignite, sparked by the simple ease of their unspoken apologies and commiserations. The waters in the lake surged to motion, huge waves crashing into each other, whirlpools spontaneously forming and dissolving, underwater currents stirring the lake into a giant, boiling cauldron. And Fluttershy screamed, her voice a whip, cracking the sky apart.
***
Daerev flapped his wings, sending droplets of water flying through the air, feeling the lift reduce his weight slightly, as if he’d put a little spring in his step. They were still tender, twitching at the slightest breeze, but sturdy, sprouting from his back like two webbed claws, snatching at the air.
He’d had scant time to clean himself, and the rawness of his injuries, natural as they were, made it . . . unpleasant. But there was no way he was walking back into Ponyville covered in blood. So he’d watched Agyrt depart, slipping back beneath the surface of the Lethe with his message imparted, and then bathed in his mentor’s wake.
It had been an apotheosis, and not just of his body. Agyrt’s words rang in Daerev’s mind, of secrets and lies, hard truths and desperate measures. Daerev had been gifted purpose—something he’d long existed without. That that purpose conflicted with his intentions towards Boundless was irrelevant, time, if nothing else, would solve his dilemma.
He did not know if he would be able to refrain from ending that murderer’s life the instant he saw him, and Agyrt’s assertions about the fate of the world be damned. But Boundless was no more special than he, and the disciples cropping up in his wake. Any of them could reach out, and rip away the Veil, exposing Equestria to the outside world.
All they needed to do was reach the Crystal Heart.
For now, he walked. The sky above, barely visible through the trees, beckoned with maddening insistence. Somehow, being grounded was vastly more infuriating, now that he actually had wings. He flapped again, experimenting, and felt that lift in his step, his body surging upwards. He flapped again, and jumped, hanging in the air for a second before crashing back down.
The skin wrapping over the limbs was leathery and thick, and covered with tiny hairs. Fully outstretched, his wingspan was roughly three metres, tip to tip. In contrast to pegasi wings, which were small, lithe and quick, designed for rapid adjustment and constant beating, his were huge, heavy, more suited to long glides than aerobic stunts. Perhaps if he took a running jump . . .
He felt it the moment he caught air under him, his forward fall translating smoothly into a slow dive, gradually approaching the ground. He reached forward with his talons, bracing to catch himself. Instead, he came to an abrupt halt, spinning in the air, centimetres off the ground, and fell hard, sprawling to one side.A flash of pain ran through his right wing.
Glancing back, he saw his mistake. The path he walked on, the same path he’d taken countless times, until it was an established trail through the forest, wasn’t nearly wide enough. He’d run his wing straight into a tree.
Still, it seemed fine, if a little bruised. He’d have to be more careful, though he’d seen Rainbow’s treatment of her wings. If they weren’t durable by design, they were durable as a result of years of excessive blunt force trauma.
He might even need lessons. It had taken Scootaloo years to learn to fly, after all. But he doubted Agyrt would have much useful advice—and for some reason, the image of Rainbow instructing him chafed a little.
Leaving the forest behind, he made a beeline for Ponyville. Agyrt’s instructions were simultaneously crystal clear, and maddeningly vague. Somehow, the old dragon knew Boundless was heading north on hoof, trekking towards the Crystal Empire. Daerev was to give chase, accompanied by Pinkie Pie, and, if possible, contain the situation and render the murderer aid.
Setting aside Daerev’s own motivations and qualms, the question of Pinkie Pie hung unanswered over him. Agyrt had dropped the name casually, and refused Daerev’s questions. She seemed an odd choice for a vengeance-fuelled quest across the Equestrian heartland. But then, she was also the only Element in Ponyville at the moment. Applejack and Fluttershy were still in Appleloosa, and Twilight, Rainbow, and Rarity remained in Canterlot.
No. That would be too simple. If there was anything Daerev could be sure of, it was that Pinkie was no last resort. She had been chosen specifically, with some goal in mind. Daerev had spent enough time with his mentor to know that Agyrt liked to style himself a chessmaster, making moves from the sanctity of his abode.
In conclusion, then, he had nothing but speculation. Daerev sighed, making his way through the town centre towards Sugarcube Corner. Ponies around him broke into excited whispers as he passed, though they refrained from approaching him. He was well-used to their attention, by now—after all, it was difficult to ignore the adolescent dragon marching through your town—but the townsponies had always been friendlier before. Listening to them now, they sounded alarmed.
He needed to obey his mentor’s directions, and wait, keeping his own counsel. He had no problems working for Agyrt, so long as he wasn’t required to cross any lines. He smiled, remembering advice given years ago. He’d bring his experience to each situation as it came, and act based on what he would not do.
“Spikey!” Pinkie cried, exploding from the kitchen. She planted against his chest, wrapping her hooves around him and clinging there.
“Heya, Pinks,” Daerev said, grinning. After a moment, the few ponies eating in the store turned back to their meals, murmurs rising to fill in the background with noise.
Pinkie’s hooves shifted, touched the base of his wings, and then she jumped backwards, ran around him, and peered closely at the new limbs, chattering all the while. “Oh my gosh, Spikey! You’ve got wings! Oh, this is perfect, I was just thinking about all my friends here in Ponyville, and I realised that most of them are still away, except for me and you and Gummy, so I thought I should have a party for just the three of us, but then I wasn’t sure what to have a party about, so I thought, I know! It’ll be a ‘You’ll Get Those Wings Soon, Spike!’ party, and I got balloons and streamers and cupcakes and danishes and confetti and pies and cakes and gems, just for you, but now you’ve Got your wings, so it’ll be a ‘Congratulations on Your Wings’ party, and I’ll have to change the banner, and can we go flying later, can we can we can we?”
“Whoa.” Daerev began to turn to look at her, but somewhere in the middle of . . . that, she’d come back around in front of him. He chuckled, watching her heave in deep gulps of air, returning his gaze with open curiosity. “Actually, I don’t . . . really . . . know how to fly, yet.”
Pinkie’s eyes grew wide. A hoof that had begun to move forwards from her side abruptly reversed its course, tucking away the end of a stretch of fabric that had ‘Cong-‘ written on it.
“I can learn, Pinkie,” Daerev said. “I only got them today.”
“And then can we fly?”
“Yes, Pinkie,” Daerev said, sighing.
“Pinkie Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”
“Woohoo! Thanks, Spike. This is why you’re my favouritest dragon.”
“Yeah, sure thing. Did you mention gemstones?”
“Mhmm,” Pinkie said, solemnly nodding. “Do you want them now? I was saving them for the party but I could go get more.”
Daerev winced, already anticipating the crazy mare’s reaction to the next sentence. “Actually, we . . . can’t have a party.” The spectators, who had been studiously ignoring the two of them so far, all collectively flinched in their seats, as Pinkie . . . deflated, somehow, growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.
“We can’t?” Pinkie said in a small voice.
“Not yet,” Daerev said. “There’s a few things we need to do, first. And,” he leaned in, whispering conspiratorially,” I need your help.”
Pinkie sat back, scratching her chin and staring up at a far corner of the ceiling, before grinning widely. Both of them dissolved into laughter—Pinkie an infectious giggle that quickly spread around the room, letting everypony know her antics were in jest, and Daerev a quiet chuckle, acknowledgement and relief.
“Okay, Spike,” Pinkie said, a few moments later. “What do you need?”
“Do you think the twins could manage the shop for a bit?”
The twins, Pumpkin and Pound Cake, materialised from thin air, appearing on either side of Daerev. He jumped a little, before shaking his head.
“Of course-“ Pumpkin said.
“We’d be glad too,” Pound Said.
“There’s a wedding on-”
“Friday, but we’ve-”
“Made a good start on the food and-“
“It’ll be no problem at all!” they finished together.
Pinkie looked at Pumpkin, then at Pound, before turning her gaze back to Daerev, serious and stern. “Yes” she proclaimed. “I think they can.”
“Great,” Daerev said.
“But while we’re here,” Pumpkin said.
“We have to ask-“
“Where, exactly, do you think you’ll be-“
“Going, and when, exactly, do you think you’ll be-“
“Back?”
“Now, now,” Pinkie said. “What’re you up to?”
“Nothing, ma’am,” Pumpkin chirped.
“Nothing at all,” Pound said, sweetly.
Pinkie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?” Her voice held the last word, stretching it out farther than Daerev thought possible.
“Yes, ma’am,” the twins chorused.
Abruptly, Pinkie dropped the interrogation. “Okey-dokey!” she sang. The twins exchanged little grins, speeding back to wherever they’d come from.
“Actually, Pinks,” Daerev began. He didn’t want to incite a panic in the town, but at the same time, she needed to know what she was getting into. “This is probably going to take a while, and . . .”
“But we’ll be helping Twilight, right?”
“Well, yeah. But how did you . . .”
“Oh, silly. Canterlot was shaking so much we couldn’t miss it! and it couldn’t have been the Princesses because I saw them flying back afterwards, and only Twilight could have done it because she’s a super-duper-mega unicorn, and I thought I should go see what’s going on, and then Rarity disappeared, so I thought maybe Twilight had come and gotten her, and that meant that she didn’t want me to come and cheer her up, so I stayed here. But now you’re here, Spikey, and I know you’d do anything to help Twilight, and I know I’d do anything to help Twilight, too, and you’re asking for my help, which means you want to come help, and I’m just so excited!”
“Right,” Daerev said. “Listen, Pinkie, could I have a word with you,” he cast a glance around the room,” in private.”
Pinkie’s room was unchanged from the small place she’d had all those years ago, except maybe tidier. A small desk, filled to bursting with paper—forms filled out in pink crayon, orders to shipments of food and party supplies, letters to and from ponies all around Equestria. A small bed, mangled pink blankets covering its old frame. The room seemed to sparkle, sunlight through the window catching on years of glitter, reflecting and refracting from cracks in every surface.
Daerev could understand why she stayed here. He hadn’t wanted Twilight to leave the library, either, and now he clung to it with a desperation born of fear, no matter how ill-suited he was to life inside a tree. Change was . . . hard to accept, and he’d be dropping a whole lot of it on Pinkie, all at once.
“Pinkie, what you saw a few nights ago . . . that was Twilight, and Cadence,” he began. As hard as he tried to keep his voice steady, he could feel his tone changing, growing mournful, grating. Pinkie noticed it too, her exuberance fading.
Daerev took a deep breath. “Trixie, and an accomplice, Boundless . . . Pinkie, they murdered Shining Armour.”
“What!” Pinkie froze staring at him, before her eyes unfocused and she slowly sank down onto her haunches. “Murdered! Those . . . those . . .” she glanced back at Daerev. “Ohmigosh, Spikey. I’m . . . I’m so sorry!” Rejecting anger—or being forsaken by it—she burst into tears, sinking completely to the floor, apparently unable to speak.
“Twilight’s . . . okay. As okay as she could be, given the circumstances,“ Daerev continued. He could feel tears coming as well. He hadn’t given himself a chance to grieve yet, but it was there, waiting for him to let it out. It wouldn’t wait forever. “She’s got Rainbow with her, and Rarity. They were able to catch Trixie.”
“That’s . . . that’s why Rarity vanished,” Pinkie managed, before dropping her head back onto her hooves.
“Yeah.” Daerev ran a claw over his head, brushing his spines flat against his neck. “Boundless got away. I want to go after him, and . . . I want you to come with me.”
“What? No! I have to go to Canterlot. I have to . . . I have to plan . . . I have to.” Pinkie had jumped up from her spot on the floor, and was rummaging through her desk and cupboards, pulling out seemingly random objects and throwing them behind her. “There’ll be a funeral, and, and a wake, and everypony will be so sad, and-”
“Pinkie,” Daerev said, hating himself for what he was about to do. “I don’t think they want to be cheered up right now. What did you say before? They didn’t want you in Canterlot?”
Pinkie turned, looking at him with soulful eyes.
“I don’t think a party will help, Pinkie,” Daerev said. “I don’t think you can help with this.”
Pinkie crossed her hooves across her chest. “Spike, you big meanie. Of course I’m going to Canterlot.”
“I need you, Pinkie,” Daerev said. “They don’t. Or they would have come and gotten you.” Somehow, from somewhere, some soulless void in his heart, he drew a rough tone, a tone of finality, that brooked no argument. Pinkie’s eyes filled up, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
Do not think me selfish. I do not envy my sister. She has earned her place time and time again. It is not for me that I lay these words down.
For what bitterness could I hold, granted the opportunity to see them once more? To again rise with the dawn, approach my window, and watch them wake from the slumber we once feared would be our last—it is better than any celebration. Life needs no acknowledgement to have power.
Twenty-Eight
RAINBOW SPED THROUGH THE AIR. Warm currents wrapped around her, caressing her as she tore past them, scattered the gentle wind into a confused cacophony of air-streams in her wake. Behind her, a rainbow contrail extended in a gentle arc, tracing her path around the stadium. Here, she felt at once rested and energised, brought to the fullest extremes of life by the thrill surrounding her. Each beat of her wings was effortless; each pounding pulse of blood carried more adrenaline to her heart and soul.
She’d suggested this arena for practice. The Wonderbolts used it often, both as an open space to go over their routines and as a venue for performances, when in Canterlot. It was, indisputably, the second best aerial stadium in Equestria—second, of course, to the Wonderdome in Cloudsdale, and the Wonderbolts had priority access to it during the hoofball off-season.
Of course, word had gotten out that the Captain of the Wonderbolts had booked the stadium exclusively for several weeks straight. Rumours immediately began circulating about some new trick, bigger and better than anything that had been conceived of before. Journalists and general fanatics began trying to sneak their way into the stands, looking for an inside scoop. Rainbow had put a stop to that pretty quickly. She was no stranger to failure—especially not failure in practice. As far as she was concerned, one couldn’t learn a new trick without screwing it up a few times. But over the years, she’d attained a near-legendary status in the public’s eye, of an infallible, utterly fearless flyer. She had no desire to disprove that now.
“This isn’t working,” she called. Luna was standing below her, in the centre of the grounds. “There’s too much resistance.”
“Irrelevant,” Luna said. Rainbow could hear her words as if the Princess were beside her, whispering into her ear, though she didn’t bother to raise her voice. “We aren’t trying to push through air, Rainbow.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Rainbow grumbled. Luna had tried to go over the basic theory with her. But even with years of living with Twilight under her belt, on top of a long-denied maturity, seriousness, and appreciation for knowledge, some things would never change, and Rainbow had been left even more confused than when she’d started.
It wasn’t so much that she didn’t get what she needed to do. Luna had been pretty clear—Stormchasers had developed time travel as a natural extension of their abilities—and it sounded good. Instead of flying through space, she needed to break into the temporal stream. Luna visualised it as making an abrupt turn, ninety degrees away from every direction, all at the same time. If one considered time as a progressive quantity; a river, flowing in one direction, she needed to move upstream. If one considered time a series of points, both distinct and consecutive, she needed to render two points to be the same, and step from one to the other.
So far, so good. Rainbow didn’t really need to understand what was going on in those scenarios in order to draw an objective from them. What was frustrating, then, was how, exactly, she was supposed to translate that to reality.
Rainbow had always been an instinctive flier. Others calculated trajectories and angular velocities, worked out, for example, exactly how much force was needed to generate the perfect ratio of lift and thrust, in order to improve their flight patterns. Rainbow had always just known, with years upon years of experience in the air, precisely how to maximise her effort, how to handle her body, how to read and manipulate the air. She was in sync, totally, with everything she felt, responding without thought. That didn’t help with what Luna was asking.
“Faster, Rainbow,” Luna said, drawing a grunt.
Alright, then. Faster.
Rainbow sped up suddenly, pouring her frustration into each wing-stroke. She powered forward, circling the ground, air melting before her to reform into solid chunks of pressure beneath her wings. In a matter of seconds, she broke the sound barrier, the familiar, deafening sound of the sonic Rainboom reaching her only as she flew back through the centre of the explosion on the next lap.
Faster.
This was what she’d always lived for. This was the freedom that the skies promised. This was where she felt most at peace, moving so fast she couldn’t think, could barely feel, instead glorying in the instinctive, honed responses of her body, making minute adjustments to correct her path. She grinned, forcing down the giddy laughter that bubbled in her chest and throat, and poured yet more into her flight, sinking in all her love and intoxicating joy into the endeavour.
Another burst of light exploded from her body, streaming backwards from her wings. The characteristic concentric rainbow that was knew so well disappeared instantly, sucked up behind her by the tremendous force of her passage. Below her, unheard and unseen, Luna clapped her hooves together, eyes lit by the spectacle unfolding around her: a giant cyclone, rising from the stadium, emblazoned with the colours of a rainbow, spinning and spinning, tearing up grass, growing until it threatened to lift the entire stadium into the air.
Rainbow lost control. She couldn’t have guessed how fast she was going—in this place, she could barely feel anything beyond her body, as if all her skin had gone numb at once. Her eyes, peeled wide open, found no air to make them water, and she breathed with ease, where she should have strained to sip before the air was ripped behind her. But her wings trembled in each, rapid beat, and her body rocked back and forth, buffeted by unseen forces. If she crashed like this, she wouldn’t walk away, and Coromancy be damned.
With a gasp, she pulled upwards, shooting from the top of the cyclone, streaming a spectral rainbow behind her, and stopped flapping. Instantly, air solidified before her, hitting her like a brick wall. She clenched her eyes shut, bit down on her tongue gently, but firmly, and soared up, tracing an arc over the city.
So much for staying under the radar.
Slowly, she slowed, until she unfurled her wings and brought herself to a stop, still high in the air above Canterlot. She took several deep breaths, savouring, for once, the stillness, before flying back down to where Luna was waiting. In the absence of both anger and joy, she felt curiously blank, an exhausted nothing that robbed her of what surely would have been a victorious grin, stretching from one ear to the other. There was only one word to describe that stunt.
Awesome.
As she descended, she took stock of the stadium. Her whirlwind had caused a rather large amount of damage. Chairs—benches, really—had been ripped from their brackets, tossed haphazardly around the stands. The grass itself was torn to shreds, practically erasing the lines painstakingly measured and drawn onto it, and filling the air with the scent of a freshly mown lawn. Princess Luna stood unharmed in the centre of a twilight void: a bubble of magic that dissipated once she caught sight of Rainbow’s descent.
“Most excellent, Rainbow,” Luna said. “But you pulled away early.”
“I can’t control myself at that speed, Princess. I can barely react to what happens. If something went wrong . . .”
Luna made a sound not unlike a non-committal grunt. “I was not expecting caution from you, of all ponies.”
“Hey!” Rainbow said, stalking forward until her nose was nearly pressing against Luna’s. “I was not expecting you, of all ponies, to judge me on a foolish past.”
If Princess Celestia had heard that sentence, she would have winced, and looked away. Twilight might have shaken her head, preparing to defend the speaker from Luna’s wrath. Pinkie might have materialised a bucket of popcorn, and a pair of tinted shades, so as to properly enjoy the spectacular fallout.
When Rainbow’s ears caught up with her tongue, she flinched, once, shrinking back onto her hooves marginally, no more than an inch or two, and then aggressively jutted her head forward, practically daring Luna to take offense. She didn’t know where that little outburst had come from, in light of her lightheaded blankness of a moment before. She supposed she was a little touchy, a little raw, right now.
Instead, Luna turned aside, and hung her head. “Of course. I am . . . sorry, Rainbow. I have had much to think about, of late.”
Rainbow took a moment to collect herself. “It’s fine, Princess, really,” she said. “I get it. But, I still can’t handle that speed.”
“You must go faster,” Luna said, quietly, to herself. To Rainbow, “You could not handle the Sonic Rainboom, at first, could you?”
“It took me ten years before I could do it on cue,” Rainbow said. “But . . . once I’m through the barrier, it’s even easier to control than normal flight. Everything just dissolves away, all resistance, all doubt.”
“Let us work on the assumption that the same is true here,” Luna said, massaging a temple with a hoof. “I noticed a second explosion. If the first was a Sonic Rainboom . . .”
Rainbow grinned. “You couldn’t have missed it,” she smirked. “I’ve hit that one a few times before, but never in the middle of a cyclone. I didn’t think it would do this.” She waved a hoof around herself, gesturing at the destruction, swallowing as she did so. It hadn’t really registered earlier.
The benches weren’t just swept around the edges; they’d also been lifted up by the massive surge generated by Rainbow’s abrupt ascent. As a result, they’d literally rained down over the stadium, scoring huge gashes in the ground. Several entrances had collapsed, the concrete slabs insufficient against the tremendous force of her cyclone. The roof, though—mostly opened for their practice, but still with thin edges peeking over the stands—had been shredded, the claw-like remains, jutting from the edges of the walls, sparked intermittently.
All of which, Rainbow was responsible for. Even if she hadn’t been the one to cause all this damage, the stadium was reserved in her name, and she’d be the one paying for whatever happened on her watch.
Besides. She liked this stadium. The Wonderbolts had been performing here for years, and it was certainly much closer to home than the one up in Cloudsdale.
As if to confirm her words, a shout drew Rainbow’s attention.
“Hey, Cap’n. You okay down there?”
She recognised Blaze by the shock of fiery red mane clinging to the back of his head as he alighted on the edge of the stadium, high above them. Rainbow grimaced. She’d told her squad to take the day’s practice off, and provide some measure of privacy as she worked out the kinks in a new stunt. Some, whose dedication was only eclipsed by their ego, would have taken Rainbow’s orders rather literally, racing each other around the outside while keeping a hawk eye out for approaching media or fans. But most of them would have taken the opportunity to relax, no uniforms, no schedule, no pressure. Rainbow expected that—she hadn’t been the most attentive captain, this last week, and there was bound to be some confusion, particularly with a show upcoming.
But she hadn’t counted on causing quite so much of a spectacle. Other Wonderbolts joined Blaze, peering in curiously. The sight of Princess Luna almost immediately sparked gossip, and they flew down to the pair, bowing to Luna before surrounding Rainbow excitedly, gushing over the cyclone. Blaze was particularly impressed with the collateral damage.
There was a flash of light. Startled, Rainbow shielded her eyes with a hoof, looking up at its source. Sure enough, hovering a few feet above the northern wall was a pegasus pony, holding a camera. Rainbow growled, bending her legs. The Wonderbolts glanced at her, and followed her lead.
Luna placed a hoof on her shoulder, forestalling her, and lit her horn. “Calm, Rainbow,” she said. “I will handle this.”
With a burst of midnight light, the pegasus appeared before them. His camera was held before his eyes, clearly zoomed in as far as it would go, and the sudden appearance, from his perspective, of an extreme close-up of the Princess’s chest caused him to fall over himself backwards. Luna caught the camera before it hit the ground, held it before the pegasus as he rose to his feet, trembling.
“H-hey,” the pegasus said. “That’s mine.”
“Your name?” Luna asked.
“H-huh?”
“What is your name,” Luna said, hissing the words between closed teeth.
“S-snap Shot,” the pegasus said, shaking his head quickly, in an attempt to reorient himself. Abruptly, he sank into a low bow. “Snap Shot, your Highness.”
“Well, Snap Shot,” Luna said. “We hereby requisition your film, as per article seven of the Equestrian Defence Act.”
Snap Shot nodded his head fervently, until Rainbow thought he might’ve shaken loose every thought in there. She slung a hoof around his neck, bumping him with her shoulder. He shot her a nervous glance, which was spread around the rest of the Wonderbolts, to a pony keeping a grim glare fixed on him.
“Yes, yes, of course, your Highness.”
“You understand that we cannot allow you to speak of this,” Luna continued, ignoring Rainbow’s intervention. “The spectacle a few minutes ago is regrettable, but we cannot allow it to grace your paper, lest we reveal our preparations prematurely.”
“B-but-“
Luna cut him off with a sigh. “It would be foolish indeed, to attempt to cover up Rainbow’s stunt entirely. But might we persuade you to restrict your report to Rainbow Dash herself, so as to remove the possibility of unpleasant conclusions attached to our presence here? I assure you, you will be well compensated.” Luna threw the camera back to him, and jerked her head at Rainbow.
It took Rainbow a second to understand, but she swung Snap Shot around, took off, all but pulling him through the air, and escorted him to the edge of the stadium, throwing a hasty gesture of dismissal over her shoulder as she left—she’d fill them all in tomorrow, before the regularly scheduled practice . . . which might have to be moved, now, Rainbow realised, wincing inwardly. By the time they reached the walls, Snap Shot seemed to have gathered himself—he turned to throw Luna a quick salute before dropping back outside. Rainbow went with him, to offer a few words of context, and to seal the impression that her stunt was nothing more than that.
It was a slick piece of statemareship. The reference to the Equestrian Defence Act carried not only all the weight a loyal pony of Equestria would attribute to the defence of his or her homeland, but also the threat of harsh reply to any traitorous intent, while Rainbow’s olive branch—an exclusive, all but guaranteeing sales the likes of which Snap Shot’s paper had only ever imagined—was dangled before him, simultaneously providing a believable explanation for the cyclone to Canterlot, and drawing his attention away from the Princess’s presence.
From the outside, the stadium looked much healthier. There had been barely any structural damage, merely the odd chip, or crack now running vertically like a bolt of lightning. Rainbow shook her head, focusing, and pointedly ignored the small chunks of concrete, or remains of seats that she passed in the streets, flying Snap Shot to a local café. The Princess would take care of it, and she could use a break. Practice would just have to wait until tomorrow.
***
Luna hissed in irritation. She would have to remember to visit Snap Shot’s dreams tonight, to forestall any second thoughts he might have. She did not doubt Rainbow’s ability to complete the diversion, but neither did she trust the façade Snap Shot had presented her. No pony with the initiative and fortitude to evade her Guard—disguised, of course, and arranged around the stadium to ensure privacy, in addition to Rainbow’s Wonderbolts—in flying to his vantage point would have collapsed before her so easily.
No matter. Her presence here could be explained, though she would rather these sessions not become public knowledge. She would have to find somewhere more secluded. Casting a glance around the somewhat ruined stadium, she added somewhere safer to that thought.
To the Wonderbolts, she offered no more than a few vague assurances, and denied connection to Rainbow’s stunt. It was, she said, merely something the Captain wished to demonstrate, as proof of her prowess. With a smile, she confided that it was to do with the winning of a bet, causing the Wonderbolts to disperse with knowing grins of their own.
Finally alone, tossing her mane back, and using magic to peel the thin layer of dust from her coat, Luna summoned her Guard with a flicker of magic, no more than a spark, across the back of their necks. In moments, they assembled before her, bowing.
“Your Highness,” they intoned.
“Rise,” Luna said.
“I am left to wonder how exactly a camera-pony managed to evade all of you. Captain,” Luna gestured at Argent Sheen. “The matter has been resolved, but I trust you will conduct an investigation into the Guard’s failure here.”
Argent Shield bowed again, pressing his muzzle to the ground. “Of course, your Highness.”
“I must pay a visit to Rarity and Twilight Sparkle. Until such time as I call you, you are to assist and oversee the reconstruction of this building. Do so while maintaining your guises.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Dismissed.”
The Guard broke ranks, mares and stallions reporting left and right as they quickly organised themselves into smaller work groups, and began cleaning up Rainbow’s mess. Unicorns set about repairing small damage to the walls and tunnels circling the stadium, while earth ponies cleared the grounds, and pegasi scouted the area, charting sites of damage. One boon of the peculiar armour ‘Tia had created for her, which was responsible for the distinctive look of the Night Guard was that a disguise was as simple as taking it off. Even had these ponies been known to work for Luna, their presence here would draw no more attention than any other Good Samaritan, lending a helping hoof in his or her time off.
Luna found a shadow, and faded away before the pegasi team dispatched to bring in more experienced workers returned. Rainbow would likely want the rest of the day off, and Luna was inclined to allow her to recover. In the meantime, she could check on Rarity’s progress, and Twilight’s condition. She hadn’t been spending enough time with Twilight as it was, and if she was serious about turning her attention to Cadance soon, she needed to make sure Twilight was recovering. Luna still felt guilty about creating the predicament.
The front hall of the Agency materialised around her. Luna was becoming familiar with this place, more so than she had expected. She poked her head into the room set aside for Rarity, and was pleased to note that the bathtub was empty, unoccupied by both water and pony.
Further down the hall, towards the back of the building, Luna found Twilight’s bedroom. As she approached, she could hear chatter, excited murmurs emanating towards her. Luna pricked her ears and slowed her step. It was, perhaps, unkind to eavesdrop, but she hadn’t seen Twilight awake since that day on the plains outside Canterlot, and she didn’t want to burst in at a bad moment.
“So then he says, ‘I’ll just take the pie,’ and turns back around,” Rarity said. “Of course, by the time he’d done that, the other shelf had been cleaned out as well!”
“Poor thing,” twilight said, chuckling. “Everypony’s always gotta learn that the hard way.”
“You don’t mess with Pinkie’s pies!” they chorused, before breaking down into little giggles.
Luna pushed the door open, smiling. It was good to hear the two of them merry, they had more than earnt their respite. And it certainly sounded like Twilight was recovering excellently.
The two paused at Luna’s entrance. Twilight was the first to speak. “Princess!” she said, welcoming Luna in. “How are you?”
“I am well,” Luna replied. “And you?”
There was more than pleasantry to the question. Luna had experience enough to detect the undercurrents in Twilight’s posture and tone.
Predictably, Twilight’s face fell. “I’m . . . okay,” she said. Luna was unconvinced.
Part of the problem lay in the outcome of Luna’s interference. Grief took many forms, ranging from crushing sadness, to full-blown rage, to a weary melancholy. Twilight, along with Cadance, had divested themselves of sorrow in the instant of their loss, shaking Canterlot to its foundations. To follow that exertion with a descent into rage-filled madness—spurred by Luna’s interference—could not help but take a toll.
The predicted trajectory for Twilight’s emotional health was rocky. As she rested, sorrow would return to her, quite possibly as raw and powerful as her original hurt. It was this that Luna saw in her now, lining her backbone and gleaming in the partially-dried tracks on her cheeks. It would pass, in time, but Coromantic exertion could not help her deal with it.
The anger she had spent hounding Trixie would follow. Not to its previous extent, not without access to Nightmare Moon’s regalia, but anger nonetheless. As difficult to cope with as sorrow, in its own right, and no less important. That step—that moment, when Twilight cast about for Somepony to blame, be it Trixie, or fate, or herself—that was what Luna was waiting for.
For now, Luna bided her time. “You have my sympathies, Twilight, and my deepest regret,” she said, stepping forward to lay a comforting hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. “Rest well, and heal. The world has not heard the last of you yet.”
Twilight’s face contorted, and she turned away. Luna caught Rarity’s eye, and left the room to await her in the hall.
It took Rarity a few minutes to emerge, and when she did, she was furious. Moving with precise, controlled steps, she stormed down the hall, disappearing from Luna’s view into another room. Luna followed at a more sedate pace.
“What was that?” Rarity nearly screamed as Luna stepped in, closing the door behind her. “I don’t care how royal you are, you don’t speak to Twilight like that!”
“T’was not our intention to give offense,” Luna said, refusing to be baited. “We—I—chose my words rather carefully.”
“Tell me, Princess,” Rarity said. “Why exactly was it necessary for you to not only fix Shining Armour in the forefront of Twilight’s mind—when I had just gotten her to smile again, no less!—and then turn around and practically order her to get over it and get back to work!”
“Your interpretation seems . . . extreme,” Luna said. She paused a beat, gauging Rarity’s reaction carefully. “Do you truly think Twilight took my words as such?”
“How else was she to take them?”
“I had meant merely to comfort her as I may, and provide some small encouragement.”
“Well, she’s crying. Again.”
“Good. How else shall she express her grief?”
Rarity frowned. “Excuse me for hating to see a friend in pain.”
Luna shook her head. “It is unpleasant, but necessary. We cannot change what happened to Shining Armour. Twilight needs to be allowed to grieve, and to heal. Distracting her is no more conducive to that end than her eruption last week.” Luna reached forward, lifting Rarity’s chin. “There will be a funeral in the next few days. Tell me, Rarity. How does Twilight handle it?”
“I . . . I’m not ready,” Rarity said, still thinking, stumbling over her words The abrupt switch in topic had caught her off-guard, and her eyes were growing red, now. Though she hadn’t agreed with Luna outright, she wasn’t protesting either.
“You do not need your crutches,” Luna said. “If you cannot See, now, as you are, how will you be able to direct Rainbow from within the time-stream? I cannot imagine it being more peaceful there.”
“This again?” Rarity asked, shaking her head free of Luna’s hoof. “No offense, Princess, but there is a time and a place for everything. I can’t spend all day practicing my Sight. Twilight needs me.”
“Rainbow will be returning shortly, I imagine,” Luna said. “They will want privacy.”
Rarity clenched her jaw. “Of course they will.” Frustrated, she turned on Luna. “Don’t you ever switch off? It’s only been a day since you dropped the whole time-travel thing on us. I spent last night and half my morning in Ponyville, trying to sort something out long-term with Sweetie Belle, so I could come back here to find Twilight beside herself. I haven’t had the time or the energy to even begin attempting Sight, and I don’t imagine I’ll begin until tomorrow.”
Luna cocked her head. “Have I not made the importance of this endeavour clear? There is . . . something very wrong in Equestria, Rarity. Something left over from Moon’s Fall. And you-“ she poked Rarity in the chest with a hoof, “-are essential to discovering what, precisely, it is. Rainbow has taken to her duty with enthusiasm. I expect you to do the same.”
“Yes, I saw Rainbow’s display. She isn’t . . .”
“It will be some time before she is ready,” Luna said. “But when she is, there must be no delay.”
Rarity thought for a moment. “I thought we had all the time we needed. It’s time-travel. Correct me if I am wrong, but surely it can’t hurt to take a few more days? After all, we’ll can just make up the time on the way back, no?”
Luna frowned. “My schedule does not conform so easily to your wishes. If I am to spend weeks aiding you in Canterlot, I will be unable to oversee other tasks befallen me.”
“I . . . see.”
“You ask me to relax. I wonder if you would recommend the same course, were you in my position.” Luna shook her head. “I cannot force you, Rarity. But I implore you, put this task above all others in your mind. I am quite sure that the fate of Equestria hangs on you and Rainbow Dash returning promptly, and with the truth.”
Rarity sighed, glancing away. “I just . . . it doesn’t feel right. I’m sorry, Luna. I’ll try harder.”
“See that you do.” Luna turned to leave.
Luna didn’t notice the venomous look Rarity shot her as she left the building, and she pretended not to hear Twilight’s sobs, echoing down the lonely hall.
***
Rainbow grinned. Across the field, Rainbow grinned back.
Nearly a week had passed since she’d begun. In that time, she’d been working on this almost exclusively. Her lieutenant in the Wonderbolts had been glad to manage the team for her, particularly when Rainbow promised a toned-down version of the second Rainboom for their upcoming show. The way it was arranged at the moment, Rainbow wouldn’t be involved in any group stunts, allowing the team to practice without her. Normally, that would've stung. But right now, Rainbow had bigger things in mind.
She’d also been able to spend a lot of time with Twilight. She had barely been able to understand what Twilight was going through, until Twilight had shown her. Rainbow wasn’t without empathy, but the sickening sense of loss and regret that she felt regarding Twilight in such a state paled in comparison to what she’d felt from within Twilight’s mind.
But a burden shared is a burden lightened. And she would go through far worse to bring a smile back to Twilight’s face. In this instance, all it took was her presence—the gentle reminder that she was not alone, and never would be. Spoken aloud, the words sounded sappy, and ultimately empty. But from within Twilight’s mind, spoken from consciousness to consciousness, they were simple images, and undeniable truths.
Following the near-disaster at the stadium, she’d gone looking for a better location. The current field—located at the bottom of a dip in the mountains north-west of Canterlot, had immediately struck her as near-perfect. The rising mountains surrounding it all but guaranteed isolation, and the thin river running along the southern side gave her somewhere a little softer to crash, should she need it. Diving into water vertically was a terrible way to shed momentum, but she knew that sliding in at a near-horizontal angle would shield her from any impact, and allow her to slow down over a moderate distance.
The valley itself was surprisingly lush, green grass growing over a gently rolling plain. There were a few trees, scattered here and there, but largely it was open to the sky, and shielded from the wind. A beautiful place for a picnic. Rainbow really would have to remember to bring Twilight here, in the future.
For now, she was preoccupied.
Her . . . double, she supposed, had just materialised out of thin air—had come screaming into existence not ten feet from where Rainbow stood, preparing herself for another go, and watching the dissipating energies of her previous attempt. There was a large crack, and a sudden wind strong enough to cause her to stumble, and through the air, in her wake, a rainbow contrail, outlined by fire. It was as if she’d somehow set air on fire.
So awesome.
Still grinning, she took wing over to where her double stood. It had taken her a few minutes to slow down, in which time she appeared to have also caught her breath.
“Hey, Rainbow!” she called, as she approached.
“Hey, yourself,” her double replied, seconds before Rainbow crashed into her. With an air of nonchalance, she sidestepped the tackle, turning to regard Rainbow with amusement.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ve already done this.”
“So . . . I get it.” Rainbow asked, pulling her muzzle out of the grass. She was still grinning madly.
“Yeah,” her double said, raising a hoof and buffing it on her chest. “Two more tries.”
“Sweet.”
“You’re almost there,” she said. “Just remember, on the last flap, you want to thrust yourself up.”
“Huh?”
“It’ll make sense. Go on, try. I want to see what happens from outside.”
Rainbow found the whole encounter surreal, like she was dreaming—though it was still ridiculously cool. Surreptitiously, she pinched herself, winced, and then gave her body a little shake all over, psyching herself up. “Okay, Rainbow, you got this.”
She took to the air, flapping hard as she circled, quickly approaching the sound barrier. With the memory of Twilight, waking up in tears again, in the middle of the night, she tore through that without really noticing it.
This was the tricky part. By now, she’d spent hours at this speed, learning the timings, the little movements, training her body to control itself so that she could focus on what she was trying. She was able to notice, for instance, that the wider arena she’d selected prohibited the cyclone from forming, and allowed the air currents to remain relatively stable. She hit the second barrier, and tore through it as well, pouring all that sorrow, that hollow nothingness into her wings. It felt good, to burn it off like this. It wa intoxicating.
The colours swirled around her, following her, a broken rainbow sucked along her wake. Air dissipated before her, reformed under her wings. Each stroke felt like it was pushing against water, and she sped up even further.
She could feel the world tremble. Time slowed, fractions of a second affording her plenty of time to think. With a gasp, remembering her double’s advice, she pulled up sharply, arching her back and bearing down with her wings as hard as she could manage.
The result was a spectacular backflip, followed by a miniature explosion as the colours caught her, buffeted her every which way, and eventually threw her to the side, their energy expended. Rainbow landed hard, sliding across the grass, and collided with her double’s outstretched hoof . . . who had flown over to stand before her, halting her slide before she hit the single tree in the field. Rainbow groaned.
“I said the last stroke, Rainbow,” Rainbow said. There wasn’t a trace of concern in her voice—but then, Rainbow thought, it might be pretty hard to be concerned for somepony if you were that pony, and you’d just lived through it.
“I . . . did,” she managed, rolling over onto her back. The sky was really blue today.
“No, you didn’t,” Rainbow said. “You aren’t trying to move through space with that thrust. Imagine, jumping from one thermal to the next, only they’re horizontal, not vertical. You still want to be moving forward, you just . . . do it a different way.”
“That makes . . . literally . . . no sense,” Rainbow said, getting to her hooves. She rolled her head, hearing several loud cracks as she did.
“Up,” her double said. “Forward.” She shooed her away with a hoof. “This is gonna be great.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Her wings were still a little sore, but she was surprisingly unharmed. She couldn’t really describe what being in the centre of the tumult had been like, but ultimately, the energy had acted like air currents. Until she collided with something, she couldn’t do all that much damage, and she’d had worse landings. She jumped into the air, hovered there for a few beats, assuring herself that she was alright, and then took off.
Back through the barriers, the first parting before her as easily as before, the second requiring more of a push—her glee at the mere thought of what she was about to pull off helping her through it. Again, the colours of the rainbow followed her, her contrail splitting into a revolving spiral, endlessly chasing her. Again, she felt the world tremble, slow down around her.
But this time, she tried to take her advice more literally. This time, she pushed down with her wings, jumping up, and shooting forward, and the image in her head—the image of herself, appearing out of a crack in time amidst a burst of glory and fire—drained into her wings. She was dimly aware of her body growing hot, cutie mark glowing like the sun itself, as sparks arced from her wings, dancing over her body and dissipating into the air before her. With a rapidly growing crescendo of noise—wind, static, the crack of tearing air—a hole, a void of nothing, enveloped her, encroaching on her vision as it spilled out from her wingtips. Trusting her gut instinct, Rainbow pelted forward, and then everything went black.
There was an instant of utter darkness, so complete that even her own radiance meant nothing to it, and then the world returned—bright splendour surrounding her, and the grimace of effort that had been transfixed on her lips transformed itself into a fierce grin of triumph.
Why, then, you ask, do I commit these words to time at all? Perhaps I would have more faith in our memory, had it not faded before. It was in an old and dusty legend that we found hope—a volume discarded by the learned, the wise, as folly—a foal’s tale, or the imaginings of a madmare.
I will not allow such an oversight to occur again.
Twenty-Nine
PINKIE WOKE CLOSER TO NOON than dawn. It was unusual, to say the least, for her to spend most of the morning in bed. But then, it was also unusual for her to hear about a death.
Daerev had left quickly, after he broke the news, hurrying to his library, new wings shuffling on his shoulders. Pinkie had heard his words still in shock—hearing, without really listening—and she’d agreed to his demands simply because they were there. She’d sat blankly after he left, a small puddle growing around her. Somewhere, as night lengthened over Ponyville, she’d fallen asleep. Needless to say, what rest she did get proved to be hardly restful at all, and waking damp and sore was a remarkably terrible way to begin a day.
She was still conflicted. There was nothing—nothing—she wanted more than to head towards Canterlot with all possible speed. The thought of Twilight struggling through her grief without Aunt Pinkie there was enough to rend at her heart, and leave a pit in her stomach that no amount of cake could fill. Add Rainbow and Rarity to that picture to complete the tragedy: a friend and a lover, trying to comfort Twilight in the midst of their own horror. Pinkie simply couldn’t stand the thought.
So when she did wake, she sprinted from Sugarcube Corner without bothering to wash herself. Her limbs and back ached from the rough night, but she was close to welcoming that stress as another distraction. For now, she preoccupied herself with things to do about town.
Her first stop was the Ponyville train station. Surprisingly, there was a small crowd gathered about the ticket office. Pinkie shouldered her way to the front, eyes scanning the boards, hopeful little smile dimming as she read.
The crowd itself was quiet, listening to the manager, whose head was sticking out of the ticket window. Pinkie stared at him for several seconds before she began to catch his words.
“-cancelled. We haven’t had any official word, but it appears to have something to do with the explosions a few days back.”
Explosions? Pinkie remembered seeing the purple bursts over the mountain two nights ago. She’d thought they were fireworks, or some magic, celebrating . . . something. That kind of optimism suddenly seemed a lot less appealing, and the fiery flashes of light took on a darker meaning.
“Yes, I’m sure Twilight knows all about it,” the manager said.
Pinkie started trembling. Turning, she sprinted back the way she’d come, barging her way through the crowd—though most ponies stepped back when they recognised her—and back into town. It was only natural for the conversation to turn to Twilight. The word ‘explosion’ invariable carried her name with it.
Who could she go to? Applejack and Fluttershy were still south, in Appleloosa. Everypony else was in Canterlot. Daerev was in the library. Pinkie had no desire to go to him, but she was so afraid . . . Wasn’t there anypony else? She had made a habit of meeting everypony in Ponyville over the years. She was on a first-name basis with every resident, had thrown parties, given gifts, pranked and made neighbourly visits with all of them. How could she feel so alone?
She stopped in the centre of town, under a fountain of a rearing earth pony. Water splashed down, tinkling in the air and sprinkling her face with moisture. Pinkie had never stopped here for long enough to consider the identity of that pony. It was written on a plaque before her, burnished bronze shining in the noon sun. Pinkie climbed onto the fountain’s edge, stretching out lengthwise, so that her hind legs dangled before it.
She knew everypony, but she didn’t feel like going to them. She didn’t feel like she could go to them, and have them understand her. Had any of her friends—her close friends, that had been with her through every trial and tribulation—been here, she would already be with them. Instead, she found herself drawn towards a solace she resented.
Pinkie shook her head. She did not want to see Daerev, see the bearer of last night’s tragedy. She feared he would tear her apart, a contradiction in spirit: a horrid creature of spite and misery, keeping her from her friends in their moment of need, and the last of her refuges, a companion in the night. But she feared herself more.
Hopping down, Pinkie trotted towards the edge of the square, where Roseluck was still pedalling her wares.
“Pinkie Pie?” Roseluck asked. The pony took a half-step forwards, hoof lifted in greeting. Pinkie turned her face to her, gave her her best effort to smile.
But far from responding with a smile of her own, Roseluck looked nervous, confused. As if Pinkie herself frightened her, somehow.
“Are you . . . okay, Pinkie?”
“Just peachy,” Pinkie said, forcing the corners of her mouth even further apart. “What’s up?”
“You seem distressed.”
“Nope,” Pinkie said. Reaching forward, she grabbed a flower, stuffing it in her mouth. “How mufch?” she asked, speaking around her mouthful.
“On the house,” Roseluck said. She even gave Pinkie a nervous smile. It was a small smile, just barely warming Pinkie’s heart. It wasn’t enough. She knew Roseluck—had known her for years—and she liked her, of course, Pinkie Pie liked just about everypony. But she lacked . . . something. Pinkie started walking towards Golden Oaks library.
Two streets into her journey, she caught sight of herself in a window. Her smile slipped entirely, a fearful grin that had just barely touched the corners of her mouth was now just a thin line. Pinkie tore herself from the window, fixing her eyes on the street before her. So long as she was moving, she didn’t have to think. She didn’t have to feel. All too soon, she would be there, and would have to run again, towards Daerev. For now, the decision eased her lungs and chest, took the tremble from her step. For now, she could believe that everything might be okay.
At the library, she knocked on the door, loudly, desperately, three times. To her relief, Daerev answered almost immediately, a clawed hand grasping the edge of the door and pushing it open. Pinkie didn’t wait, shoving her way inside the second there was enough room.
Spikey,” Pinkie began, hating the name, and the way her mouth formed it without thinking. “There aren’t any trains.”
Daerev raised an eyebrow, and shut the door. “How are you feeling, Pinkie?” he asked. “I . . . I’m sorry. About last night.”
“Don’t be,” Pinkie said, tripping over the words. “We’ve gotta go, go, go! No trains means no Canterlot means no friends, so I guess I’m with you, Spikey. Where are we going?”
Daerev paused, regarding her with wide eyes. Then he stepped forward, wrapping Pinkie in a hug. Carefully, slowly, his wings followed suit, closing around Pinkie.
Squirm as she might, there was no escaping his arms—powerful, scales rippling with muscle--not without something special. Pinkie let out a little gasp, shaking her head, but then relaxed, sinking into the comfort of warmth. She could hear his breath, rumbling in his chest, his heartbeat a steady thump-a-thump, and, something else, a flickering, roaring sound, that of a fireplace on a cold winter’s night.
Feeling a tremor rising from her belly, Pinkie stiffened, pushing Daerev away. As soon as his grip relaxed, she sprang away, and began hopping from side to side, back and forth before him.
“Where are we going, Spikey?” Pinkie asked again, trying to keep her voice steady.
“North,” Daerev said finally. “Agyrt tracked the murderer to the Crystal Empire. We’re going after him.”
“Okey-dokey,” Pinkie said, now bouncing on the spot. “Maybe you’ll learn how to fly on the way. You promised, remember.”
“Yeah,” Daerev said. He coughed, once, a rumbling sound that Pinkie refused to acknowledge. “I did.”
“Can we go now?”
“I was planning to leave a little later,” Daerev said. “You said the trains were cancelled?”
Pinkie nodded energetically.
“Then I guess we’re walking. I’ll just grab a pack.”
Pinkie reached behind her, pulled Daerev’s pack out. She wanted to use sorrow—she knew it was there, no matter how far she buried it—but she hadn’t the courage to feel that pain again, rushing through her. So she was left with joy, setting the torch to what little she had left in search of a sudden hit. And just for that second, she felt good, felt the world regain its balance.
Daerev looked at it, then at Pinkie, then shook his head. “Don’t think about it,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the pack. It was already full of provisions—foodstuffs and some small shelter, enough to travel, if not in comfort. “Alright, Pinkie. If you really want to, we can go now.”
***
Fluttershy screamed. Her cry cut across the still atmosphere around the lake, shattered the tenuous peace established between the two groups gathered there. Achak flinched, staring at Fluttershy in horror. Braeburn spun, stumbling on his weak leg, and took a tentative step forward. Fluttershy noticed none of it, absorbed entirely in the battle that had ignited in her mind.
She had forced herself from her bed in an attempt to halt the growing dispute between the buffalo and Appleloosans. It hadn’t taken her long to perceive the changes in Braeburn: from the gentle old stallion she’d met and treated in town, just a few days ago, he’d become a bitter pony, convinced of the buffalo’s guilt. Applejack had already found a foreign influence in the water, draining northwards underneath the ground, and so Fluttershy, left with no other immeditae recourse, had approached the lake, bent down, and drank—just a sip.
A Conduit’s abilities were not based on the fundamental exchange of emotion for strength, like a Warden or Sage, instead, a Conduit was able to harness and channel external energies, altering their flow to the Conduit’s own intent. Luna's instruction, those years ago, was still as fresh in her mind as the day she'd heard it, and it served her well now, guiding her through the storm—her desire to protect, her bone-chilling fear, anger at the recent deaths and the despair plaguing the town, and even a fierce exultation, sweeping through her as she mastered the flow, all of these together had let her absorb the lightning strikes, the force of the rocks pummeling her, and ice shards cutting her flesh. She had taken that power and turned it against the storm, expending its own strength in her defense. She hadn’t been quite a match for the trial, as evidenced by her wing, which still ached, but she had survived, and contributed in her own way to its lessening.
As Fluttershy sipped the waters of the lake, she touched the underlying anger that had been building in Appleloosa—the pain and fear and despair that had driven Braeburn’s riot across the desert and that the buffalo had been drinking since the storm. She was not particularly surprised to find it there. With a flare of strength, a last gasp, she pulled it from them, drew it into herself, screamed, and flapped her wings, propelling herself away from the lake.
The onlookers, pony and buffalo both, paused. Not confused—they remembered everything that had happened, everything they had done—but bleary, sluggish, as if they had been woken up early, and hung over. They were ill-equipped to deal with Fluttershy.
The problem was, she had little outlet available for all this power. Whatever its source, it had been growing, feeding on them. A little seed, planted early, could sprout all on its own, even without the fertile grounds created by this drought. And she’d taken all of it into herself, absorbed it in a single, giant pull, channeling it from them with the scraps of will she’d recovered since her ordeal last night.
Inside her mind, she was screaming. It was a tremendous amount of hate, and she had nothing left with which to resist it. She skidded along the sand, hooves driving up a great cloud as she hurtled away from the shore, coming to a halt some distance away. Obscured, she clutched her head, wings flaring up above her body. They glowed with ethereal light, a blue that sparked, dancing between her feathers.
Nephele hurried after her, collecting herself in Fluttershy’s wake.
Conduit, she called. Calm yourself!
Fluttershy’s head snapped backwards, shoulders twisting. Below, scattered by her passage, all those who had come here with harm in their hearts stood, dazed. Fluttershy saw them through the sand easily, marked each of them where they were, clenched her jaw. She would not suffer them here, in her place of healing. She would not suffer them.
“No,” she said, crouching low.
With a cry that resembled nothing so much as a bird of prey, she sprang forward, wings sweeping down to propel her over their heads. Fluttershy circled, once, twice, then swooped, aiming herself for their heart, their centre.
Braeburn.
Her wings crackled. Wind, or the impression of it, slid through her fur. Her forelegs curled up at her chest, her hind legs extended straight back behind her. Her tail flapped wildly, chasing eddies in the air.
But even as Fluttershy gathered speed, she was rebelling. Hate had no place in her mind, it was a foreign feeling, and she couldn’t help but feel wrong, couldn’t help but understand the influence exerted on her. And even though all she saw was the figure responsible, even though the sight of him brought such pain, even though all she could think was the desire to turn that pain around, bring it down on him like Fate itself, she twitched.
Her swoop became a tumble as her wings cut across their own current. She struck Braeburn’s shoulder with her own, sending him tumbling back to crash amidst his own. Fluttershy herself hit the ground hard, skidding with her face in the sand.
Hatred compelled her to rise, but Fluttershy simply groaned, feeling pinpricks of light stab her cheeks and forehead. Coolness came to rest against her mane, a soft voice speaking in her ear.
Remain still, Conduit. You have not yet transgressed.
But it was another voice that brought her back to the world, another pair of hooves that turned her over roughly, and wiped away the grit from her face, another tear-stained visage that covered the sun, easing the glare on her eyes.
Fluttershy growled. This one tried to tame her, to hold her down and lock her away. Strike her. Fight her. Force her away!
Fluttershy’s left hoof lashed out, driving itself into Achak’s cheek. The buffalo went flying backwards, landing roughly.
Fluttershy pounced after her, now ignoring Braeburn, sitting up, the ponies, scattered and wide-eyes, the buffalo, pawing at the ground. She stood above Achak’s prone form, and raised her wings high. Blue fury crackled along them.
Achak turned her head, looked up at the thunderous avatar before her.
“Please . . . Flutte-“ she began.
Fluttershy roared, sweeping her wings down. From the blue skies a single lightning bolt forked down, splitting the heavens asunder. It crashed into Achak’s body with a titanic crack, a static shock on a scale unheard of. And the hatred lessened in Fluttershy’s mind, its voice became less insistent.
She glanced down at the blackened smoke rising before her, and collapsed backwards, eyes rolling up into the back of her head.
Oh, oh no.
***
Daerev grimaced, flexing his wings. “Do I have to, Pinkie,” he said, giving her his best pout. The last few tries had left him sore and disillusioned, more than ready to spend the rest of the trip safely on the ground.
Pinkie stood her ground. “You. Promised,” she said, stamping a hoof to punctuate her words.
“Fine, fine.” Daerev gave his body a little shake. Crouching low, he took a deep breath, then sprang forward, powerful hind-legs stretching out and throwing his torso into the air. He was too heavy to jump high—just a few feet—but it was enough to give him clearance below his body, and at the peak of his jump, he flapped, hard, a single downward burst of energy.
He rose another foot. He hadn’t expected flight to be so arduous. All the pegasi made it look easy, made it appear effortless, but for him, it took a tremendous effort just to sustain his altitude. By the time he ripped his wings back up, brought them sweeping down again, he’d fallen a foot to match.
“Faster,” Pinkie cried from below.
Daerev tried. But the ground rose at an alarming rate every time he fell, and he had to force himself to streamline his body against the visceral fear of impact. His flight was serpentine, a cosine wave, traced through the air.
With a gasp, he thrust himself forward, allowing his wings to catch a glide, a dip to increase his velocity, and then angled himself upwards, gave the sky his all. He rose, a foot, two, three, steadily climbing. But again, his rise was matched by a fall—a fall he did not have the endurance to halt.
Pinkie moved to catch him, inexplicably whipping a mattress out of nowhere. Daerev knew better than to ask her where it had come from. She’d only reply with some inane comment about mattress stashes all over Equestria. Daerev, now gliding once again, angled himself over the mattress. Then he had an idea.
Bringing his hind-legs up towards his waist, he arched his spine backwards, and twisted his body from a horizontal line to a vertical one, spreading himself against the air to maximise his drag. He dropped almost instantly, hitting the mattress with his hind-legs. He stumbled, but curled his talons and braced himself against his forward momentum. He was surprised to find that he had none.
“Wow,” Pinkie said, racing around to his front. “That was really awesome, Spike!”
“Was it,” Daerev said, grinning. Thinking about it, he could see the appeal. A dragon, swooping down to flare himself out in the air, settling to the ground with ease, that would be a sight. With practice, he could make it truly impressive—sleek and powerful. It would be even better if he could actually reach any altitude, of course.
“Well, that’s landings,” Pinkie said. “Can I have a ride now? Can I Can I Can I?”
Daerev closed his eyes, tested his joints, took deep breaths to try to slow his heart-rate. Each flight was more of a sprint than a marathon, but it took his toll. “Gimme a few minutes here, Pinks,” he said, hopping off the mattress. “Where’s the water?”
Pinkie produced the bottle. “You’re getting better, Daerev,” she said, beaming at him though it didn’t touch her eyes. “I bet it won’t take long at all before you’re all the way up there."
Daerev passed the water bottle back, watching Pinkie make it disappear somewhere. “We need to keep moving,” he said.
They’d made good progress today—he could barely keep up with Pinkie. She’d seemed unusually quiet, and she’d deflected any attempt to bring up the mess in Canterlot—really, she'd been acting strange the whole trip, which was saying something. Daerev couldn't blame her. He'd hated dropping the news so casually, so callously. He hated everything about what they were doing. But . . . it was nice to see her smile, even if it was just a mask, and he wasn’t ready to push her on it. Not until they were well past Canterlot.
He also hated himself for manipulating her like this. It wasn’t something he ever thought he’d consider, much less actually carry out. But he knew Pinkie, and he knew that she would have done almost anything to go to Twilight, and the lack of trains be damned. He didn’t entirely agree with Agyrt, but he believed that his mentor was scared, that the threat was real. And underneath everything else, all the rationalisation and compromise, there was hatred for Boundless. Hatred for the murderer, and for the heartbreak he brought to Equestria.
There was a lot of hate in Daerev. He was not unaware of the less-than-wholesome nature of his emotions. But that did not change them, nor make him capable of denying his nature.
So a half-hour later, he stopped, placed a claw on Pinkie’s shoulder. “About that ride,” he said, offering a lopsided grin.
***
Rarity stretched herself out, arching her back like she’d seen Opalescence do many times before. The sheets beneath her were soft, made of textured cotton. A far cry from the silken luxury of her Ponyville home, but comfortable nonetheless. Beside her, still tucked in despite stringent demands and incessant wheedling, Twilight looked healthy. As well she should, after nearly a week confined to bed rest.
A few days in, Twilight had been well enough to get up, move around a bit. She’d started cooking meals, tidied a little when she wasn’t sobbing. But mostly, she read. In bed, on the couch, at the table, she was never without a book to snatch herself away from the world. Rarity and Rainbow had encouraged that—they knew she’d go crazy if she had nothing to occupy herself with—but they’d also been insistent that she stay indoors, and that she stay away from magic. It was important that she allow herself to recover, and to find some sort of equilibrium. Even if she was able to function, continually pushing her limits would only lead to further mental instability, wild emotional swings, and, inevitably, more property damage.
As sensible as that might have been, and despite a youth doing almost nothing but, Twilight was not well-disposed to a sedentary lifestyle. She had given up the role of the social recluse years ago, and there was always the thought of the world passing her by at the back of her mind, nagging her to put away her texts and go outside, if only to see the sky. Rainbow's influence, no doubt.
So it was that Rarity lay, listening to an extremely lengthy, detailed, and comprehensive report on Twilight’s condition, projected recovery, and current needs, complete with thirty-seven page summary of the benefits of physical and magical exertion on the healing body and mind. Twilight was reading from what might be called a tome, compiled partly to stave off her boredom.
“That’s all well and good, darling,” Rarity said when Twilight’s voice halted in favour of a sip of water. “But the answer is still no. Now, why don’t you cosy up here with some hot soup, hmm? I’ll fetch some dresses and we can have a little fashion show.” Rarity clapped her hooves together. “Oh, I just know you’ll positively melt at some of my latest designs. There’s been a real trend towards laid-back styles lately, dear, and I know that’s not my forte, as it were, but I am adapting tremendously, if I do say so myself.” She cast a critical eye at Twilight, who had dropped the tome onto her legs, and had a hoof pressed firmly against her forehead. “You know, dear, your wardrobe really could use an update.”
“Rarity,” Twilight said. “Did you hear a word I just said.”
“’Just said’? Darling, be fair. We’ve been here several hours, at least.”
“And?”
“And I hardly think that constitutes proper use of the word. Really, I expected better from you, dear.”
Twilight groaned.
“Now, I think this,” Rarity levitated the tome, grunting, and scrunching her face up theatrically, “is almost entirely accurate, and certainly a valuable addition to any library of physiological development and response to healing. And I also think that you are going to be staying right where you are, little missy.”
“Oh, but I can,” Rarity said. She reached out and tapped Twilight on the nose. “Until you’re all well and better, you shan’t be leaving this house.”
“I am well and better.”
“Why, then, you should have no trouble leaving at all.”
Twilight sighed. “Rarity. Please, for the love of Celestia. Take this damned spell off of me.”
Luna’s last visit—which had done very little to endear the lunar goddess to Rarity—had produced one useful thing. She had predicted, accurately, as it turned out, that Twilight would not be the sort of patient to lie quietly under ministration. Given the rather dire nature of her predicament, Luna had devised a spell, which rather severely limited Twilight's access to magic. It was up to Rarity and Rainbow to keep her from anything too strenuous, but deprived of the ability to do more than lift a pen, that was child’s play.
For that, Rarity thanked Luna. For that, she had spent time practicing with Sight. Mostly, she kept watch on the Carousel Boutique, but thankfully, Sweetie Belle had it well under control. She wouldn’t admit it to her face, but that filly had grown into quite the respectable mare.
On a whim, she’d sought out the rest of her friends. Pinkie Pie was, for some inexplicable reason, halfway between Ponyville and the Crystal Empire. She appeared to be travelling by hoof, accompanied by Daerev. Those two brought her some measure of joy—she’d been pleased to report to Twilight that Daerev had finally grown those wings he’d been waiting on. Twilight’s elation turned to mirth when she related a few of his disastrous attempts to use them.
Applejack and Fluttershy were more worrisome. Rarity wasn’t privy to what had sparked this chain of events, but she had found them in Appleloosa, shaking off the effects of a catastrophic storm. Looking closer, she saw buffalo amongst the Appleloosans, and heard of a drought, severe enough to place the orchard at risk. She couldn’t imagine what was happening in Cloudsdale to so limit the available water in the south, and she couldn’t See it, either. There was nopony she knew there.
That particular crisis tugged at her heart. The simplest solution was to tell Rainbow—after all, she knew a great deal about weather, and she could get down there in a few hours, easily. But Princess Luna had been quite specific about the use of her time, and Rarity knew full well just how hard Rainbow had been pushing herself this last week. She was still unclear as to how time-travel would work, but the importance the both of them placed on it was not lost on her.
There was no point in telling Twilight, either. It would only worry her.
“Now, now, Twilight,” Rarity said. “Be a good dear and take a peek.”
Twilight rolled her eyes, shrugged her shoulders several times, and fidgeted a little, making sure she was comfortable where she lay. Then she lit her horn, turned her head, and met Rarity’s gaze.
Almost instantly, Rarity felt another presence alongside her, in her mind. Twilight needed almost no magic here, just eye contact to establish the connection. Rarity shivered a little, unable to stop herself. Not that it was unpleasant, per se, just extremely unusual.
Sorry, Twilight said, apparently noting her discomfort.
Oh, that’s quite all right, dear, Rarity said. Are you ready?
Yes, Twilight said. Do we absolutely have to look at dresses, though?
My Sight, my rules.
Rarity took a long breath. At the peak of her inhale, as if she was bracing herself for a plunge into a cold lake, she closed her throat and eyes. Lighting her horn, she cast her mind to thoughts of the Carousel Boutique, and all the work she’d been doing over the last few months. Grasping onto those images, she found herself awash with curiosity and excitement. Rarity tapped into that joy lightly, careful not to drain too much, and sent her mind’s eye to Ponyville.
She opened her eyes to see a colourful picture. The townsponies were wandering the markets, gossiping excitedly, and enjoying the day. Rarity turned, found her shop directly behind her. Through a window, she could see Sweetie Belle leaning through a window, waving.
She’s all grown up, Twilight said. Rarity felt a little jolt, abruptly remembering Twilight’s presence. The first few times they had tried this, Twilight had been left behind. By now, they were comfortable enough to sustain the connection, though Rarity would be the last to describe the sensation as natural.
Yes, Rarity said. I hardly recognise her, these days.
She spent some time inside, carefully examining the minutiae of her dresses—gowns arranged on mannequins in the window, hats and shoes on racks along the back wall. Sweetie Belle left halfway through the impromptu show, though Rarity only noticed when the blue frills she was explaining to Twilight dissolved into grey mist before her, earning her an amused snort. Rarity hummed, concentrating, and Sweetie Belle reappeared, moving backwards.
Some time later—neither of them could have said how long, so instead they measured it in distance, Rarity reaching halfway around the second room of the Carousel Boutique—Twilight coughed. I think that’s enough, Rarity.
Very well.
With another short hum, Sweetie Belle left the room, and everything dissolved into grey nothingness, swirling around, only to suddenly coalesce into coherence as Sweetie re-entered, the moon now riding high in the sky. The night disappeared just as fast, and the days began to flicker past, grey fog obscuring any ability to keep track of the date.
Stop, Twilight called.
Rarity let them come to a temporal halt, letting out a long breath. The storefront came back into focus, lit only by the shimmering moon. Applebloom was just leaving, Sweetie Belle at the door wishing her a goodnight.
What day is it?
Rarity focused. Previously, she’d always been able to tell the time in relation to the day she started with—the day she sank into Sight. But the whole point of this exercise in frustration was to obfuscate that relationship. Luna had asserted that Seers should be able to know, without any reference points. And if Rarity was to be of any help to Rainbow, she would need that ability.
All week, it had eluded her. But continual practice, heaped upon hours of theoretical discussion with Twilight, had convinced her of one thing. This was not something that could be forced.
So she closed her eyes, tried to block out unnecessary thoughts. It wasn’t a matter of power, but she needed to feel Coromancy, feel it flowing through her, at least until she grew more experienced. Delving, she found sorrow, partly, she suspected, Twilight’s, and tapped into it, letting it flood her mind and senses. Power welled in her, highlighting everything, every conscious thought. And, on the edge of her awareness . . . When she tried to grasp it, it eluded her.
Our people have seen suffering enough for millennia. I have been thinking, dwelling on what to do with the last of the power I held. It is with me even now, retained in a single, dusk, orb. The light of the stars themselves glow from within.
I have named it Harmony, after He who spared us.
Thirty
BRAEBURN WALKED INTO APPLELOOSA, weariness and pain in his lamed leg slowing his steps. He still led his ponies. They were all grateful for the sedate pace, though many worried about family left behind. Braeburn could only hope that Bill and Applejack had worked something out. They’d left without making any provisions for the foals, entirely under the sway of their hate, but they all knew a repeat performance of their trek—two days ago, now—would end only in tragedy. They simply hadn’t the strength, even with the water acquired from the lake.
That water, at least some of it, followed the procession. The buffalo had had some barrels survive the storm, barrels Achak had already intended to send to Appleloosa. They couldn’t take all of it, but it was enough to sustain them for a little while, enough for them to survive, until they could fetch more.
More pressing than water, now, was food. Appleloosa had had stores, at first, but those were almost entirely gone, and without water, the orchard had been dying. What food the buffalo had stored had been destroyed in the storm, and the desert had been hard, yielding almost nothing on which they could survive. Which was why they were with Braeburn now, Achak at his side, buffalo mixed in with his ponies. None of them could survive the desert much longer.
It wasn’t hope that brought them back. In the wake of Fluttershy’s meltdown, they had all had time to think, to piece together their options. They had been depressingly limited. Braeburn entertained no false logic that promised salvation in Appleloosa. Instead, it was merely the promise of a few more days of life that lured him, an apathetic rejection of despair that drew him home.
When Fluttershy hit Achak, Braeburn had . . . well, he’d blanked. Still in shock, somewhat, from his abrupt awakening, he had done nothing to stop Fluttershy, instead just watching her crash into Achak in payment for her kindness. Braeburn, dazed, took a moment to move, running to them. His shoulder, numbed from Fluttershy’s impact, didn’t even notice his movements.
Miraculously, Achak had been largely unharmed. Instead, the energy of the strike had fallen on the sands around them, driving a circular crater into the ground, several feet wide. Inside it, obscured by the dust and sand thrown into the air, Fluttershy lay on Achak, both of them out cold.
Achak had woken that night, calling out for her son. Braeburn brought their beds together, brought them water. Only when she’d seen him give Ahanu a drink did she relax, and fall back to sleep. By the morning, she had recovered enough to reassume command of her tribe.
Fluttershy, on the other hoof, well, Braeburn wasn’t sure how she was faring. That cloud thingy she had with her assured him that she was fine—would be fine, with enough rest. She’d been unconscious the whole time, was still unconscious now. They’d placed her in one of a series of makeshift caravans, amongst the injured and infirm.
As for the trip itself, that had been thankfully uneventful. Taking it slowly, they’d inched across the desert, reaching Appleloosa three days after they left. They’d found some small grasses and plants along the way, but they were all scrawny, withered, and everypony—and every buffalo—was weak with hunger, staggering on their hooves.
So it was a pathetic procession that returned to Appleloosa. Braeburn halted, swaying where he stood, on the border of the town. He felt that there should be something to mark the occasion. Whether that was a simple speech, or a thunder strike from the heavens, or an apple, arcing through the air, hitting the ground and rolling to bump against his leg . . .
Wait. Where'n tarnation had that come from?
“Howdy there, neighbours,” Applejack cried, waving a hoof. “Ah’ll wager y’all have had a mighty rough time of it out there. Here we’ve got foodstuffs an’ good solid beds to rest ya weary hooves.”
Braeburn stared. The image made no sense. He’d left Appleloosa an empty town. The streets had been unswept, the tavern closed. Nopony had the energy or the supplies to create this . . . mirage.
Applejack stood in front of a long table, laded with food, stretching backwards, along the street. Braeburn couldn’t tell how far back it reached, but there was a great deal, more than enough for everyone to stuff themselves. There were apple fritters, apple strudel, apple tarts, baked apples, apple brioche, apple pies, apple cobbler, apple cinnamon crisps . . . the list went on.
“Well, what y’all waiting for?” Applejack cried. She reared up, flailing at the air with her hooves. “Soup’s on, everypony!”
It was like floodgates opened. All the ponies and buffalo that had gathered behind Braeburn, stunned at the sudden turn in their fortunes, rushed forward. Applejack stepped aside, a wide grin splitting her face. She waded through the crowd, letting them stream past her, found Braeburn still standing on the edge of town.
“Cousin,” Applejack said, laying a hoof on his shoulder. Braeburn flinched, pain shooting through him. Applejack noticed, took her hoof away, her grin slipping from her face. She opened her mouth, searching for words, but eventually settled on an evasion. “Where’s Fluttershy?”
Braeburn pointed behind himself, at her caravan, left amongst the others in the crowd’s wake. “She’s hurt,” he said, voice gruff. “Ah . . . Ah don’t know how bad.”
Applejack gave him a look that spoke volumes, then slipped past him, and slipped inside the caravan. Braeburn turned away, and made his way to the feast.
He still felt numb, somehow. Everything that had happened had left him confused, lost in a whirlwind of emotions. The strongest right now was guilt, for all the trouble his weakness had caused everyone. He blamed himself, for Achak’s pain and Fluttershy’s injuries, for all the heartache he’d created.
But when he sank his teeth into a fresh apple, plucked from the midst of the merriment and ecstatic relief coursing through everyone at that table, sank his teeth into its flesh—soft and sweet—tasted its juice, running over his tongue, he felt himself drown in relief. It flushed through him, washing out bitter memory in favour of better times. He found himself thinking about the old days, before his accident, when working the orchard was a joy and a privilege. He found himself thinking about the founding of the town, and the optimism that had brought him here, a pioneer. He ate, and was suffused with love, and in minutes, Braeburn found himself laughing, sharing jokes with those beside him, stuffing his face with produce.
Tomorrow held new challenges. For now, he would rest, and set aside his guilt, should forgiveness prove beyond him.
***
Applejack lifted the thick fabric walling the caravan with her nose. Inside, Fluttershy lay still, nestled under blankets, amongst pillows and barrels. She seemed peaceful, breathing steadily, eyes flickering around underneath closed lids. Her injured wing was outstretched and supported by her bedding, so that she couldn’t roll onto it. Applejack had expected some sign of trauma, after what Braeburn had told her. Instead, the only odd sight was the Cloud Nymph, hovering above Fluttershy protectively.
Warden, Nephele said, twisting to meet her eyes. The Conduit is nearly awake.
“What happened?’
We do not know. The Conduit attacked her allies.
“Fluttershy wouldn’t . . .” Applejack trailed off. She herself had done things she would never have considered herself capable of on this little trip. Pushing herself past her limit, she’d succumbed to the influence of her excess, lashed out at those nearest to her. Knowing the cause of her pain had done nothing to curb its insistence.
Fluttershy could have easily fallen into the same trap. She had seemed hell-bent on providing aid for those injured—Applejack knew there was nothing that would keep Fluttershy from spending herself on them. If she had gone too far . . .
Applejack looked up from Fluttershy’s prone form, caught Nephele’s gaze. “From the beginning.”
Ponies came, intent on war. The Conduit drank, and, connected to their rage, pulled it from them.
“Braeburn’s riot,” Applejack said. “They made it to Achak’s tribe.”
Yes.
“And Fluttershy found what was drivin’ them mad.”
The Conduit touched their rage in the waters of the lake.
“Ah think Ah’m starting to see a pattern here,” Applejack said.
It wasn’t some sort of puzzle, finally resolving into a whole picture in her mind. There was no sudden burst of clarity, or understanding that revealed some grand truth about the nature of their problems. Instead, it was more like a nagging suspicion, hovering in the back of her mind, finally confirmed—like a word hanging from the tip of the tongue, spoken.
Everything came back to water. The drought was caused by a cycle: water being drawn north, pulled through the ground and gathered together, only to crash back south as a great storm, driving ruin in its wake, soaking into the ground to be drawn back north. Remarkably like waves at a beach, but on a far greater scale.
The drought had created tension, but it wasn’t the only issue. What water there was left had been tainted, both in Appleloosa and across the desert. Applejack had noticed the darkness hanging over the town when she had arrived. She’d been confronted by dissidents at Achak’s camp. Now she knew why.
Everything that happened here had been directed. Applejack could not comprehend a reason dire enough to necessitate all of this, nor a mind that could delude itself into believing this anything but evil. And it, whatever it was, would need contact with the water, in order to infuse it. That meant north. That meant that she could follow the storm’s path back to its source. And that meant that she could put a stop to all this.
But right now, there were more immediate concerns. Applejack nuzzled Fluttershy, stroking her mane back from her face.
Rage, hate, fear, was carried by the water, infecting everyone that drank. When Fluttershy drank, she was touched by those emotions, and touched them in turn. If, in the process of healing—removing the plague, she would put it—Fluttershy drew it all into herself . . . she could have lost her mind.
The Conduit sleeps, Nephele says. But He is coming.
“Ah know,” Applejack said. Two weeks between cycles. The next storm was coming, and something told Applejack that it wouldn’t be late.
They had five days, if she was counting right. Not a lot of time—not when they were struggling just to survive.
Applejack rose from Fluttershy’s side, stepped closer to the barrels that lined her bedding. She knocked one with a hoof, listening to the slosh of its contents. Rearing up, she took the lid off. From within, unmistakeably, rose the scent of fresh water. Applejack lurched forward instinctively, tongue lashing out to lap at it, before she pulled herself back, panting.
Appleloosa hadn’t had the easiest time of it, these last five days. After Applejack discovered the orchard, she’d set about picking and storing the apples before they began to wither. There were a great number, and fresh, providing juice in place of water. That had kept the town alive. But it was a substitute nonetheless, and the promise of water, real water, was a temptation both visceral and unrelenting.
Applejack had planned to send a convoy of sorts, back to the reservoir. Appleloosa had far, far more barrels than the buffalo, and they would need that water, for themselves and the orchard, as well as to lessen the impact of the storm. They still had time, though it would be pushing it. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if they were late, caught out in the open desert when the storm hit.
But that was a provision for the future. The town needed this water, and needed it now. She could not allow fear of any taint remaining to dissuade her. So Applejack gave into that temptation, dipped her muzzle into the clear liquid, and drew in a deep draught.
Cold, cleansing, clean. Water rushed through her, chilling a path down her throat. She relaxed, stepped back from the barrel. There were still traces of the taint in it—a niggling sensation of dread that crept into her mind, whispering doom— but Applejack could shrug it aside, no match for the sheer relief of an honest drink. It was safe enough. She plunged her head into the water, and drank until her throat ached and her stomach felt fit to burst.
Applejack turned away, stepped down from the caravan. She was concerned for Fluttershy, though she knew Nephele would be monitoring her condition. Applejack had her own experiences with burning out—churning through power so quickly, so exhaustively, that there was nothing left to keep her on her hooves—and she knew some of the dangers associated with that kind of state.
It was an extreme depression. Applejack’s memories of that week were not pleasant. An apathy characterised by the absence of life. Perhaps the worst part of the condition, however, was that she hadn’t wanted to recover. She hadn’t believed she would ever feel better again, could no longer even imagine how that might feel.
She trusted that between them, Achak, Braeburn, and Nephele would have seen to Fluttershy’s physical health. But they couldn’t begin to comprehend where her mental state might be at. And Applejack didn’t have the time to nurse her patiently, to talk her into giving life another shot.
At the banquet, she was pleased to note that Bill had brought the foals out. She was less pleased to see that the buffalo had congregated at one end of the long table, ponies at the other. That was a problem, something she’d need to work on. For now, she took some food: a pie, and a few apples, and turned back to the caravan.
She had some basic understanding of how her abilities had produced the fruit, though it was not complete, nor intellectual. It made sense, that pouring her heart out to sustain her trees—her orchard—would bleed the emotions into the orchard’s produce. It made sense that that power, taking the form of lifeblood, both water and nourishment, would produce new life.
It even made sense, somehow, that the fruit could pass those emotions on to those who ate it. Applejack wasn’t about to question the single turn of good luck that Fate had dealt her. She needed Fluttershy. And if she could remind her, quickly and painlessly, of all the good she could do here, and why she should do it . . . Well, Applejack wasn’t fool enough to allow opportunity to pass her by.
Nephele allowed her to gently ease small pieces of food into Fluttershy’s mouth. Applejack had to work Fluttershy’s jaw, had to coax Nephele into trickling water from the barrels down her throat. The Cloud Nymph didn’t need any implements to do so, instead carrying water in her body.
It was a slow process, and without immediate effect. But Applejack sat patiently at Fluttershy’s side even after finishing her meal, and waited. Within a half-hour, Fluttershy was stirring, eyes fluttering, tossing and turning.
“A- Applejack,” she said, with a little cough.
“Easy, Fluttershy,” Applejack said, running a hoof down the side of her face. “You’re okay. You’re going to be alright.”
***
Fluttershy stepped down from the caravan sometime that afternoon. The last five days were a blur, passing unnoticed, and she gazed around Appleloosa with something akin to wonder. Applejack had provided her with a brief summary of her time unconscious, but the transition from her hateful attack by the reservoir to the renewed Appleloosa was disorienting.
Applejack’s fruit had restored her. Where it had seemed such an effort, to feel, such a colossal undertaking simply to care about anything outside of herself, the fruit had flooded her with energy. Where she had failed to see the point in opening her eyes, it had reminded her of greens and reds and yellows, of orchards and desert plains. Where she had tossed and turned, uncomfortable and unwilling to ease her body’s aches, it had scoured her skin and fur with sand and water. Where she had suffered through the stench of a two-day trek, unable to do so much as scrunch her nose, it had wafted fresh dirt, and new growth past her.
She remembered succumbing to the taint in the water. She remembered pulling it into herself, and using it to attack those around her. She had hurt ponies, and buffalo. But it was with a new heart that she remembered that failure, and though she fully expected to lose some sleep over it, it did not break her.
Achak had come to see her—had found her quietly crying under the watchful eye of Nephele. Fluttershy felt entitled to her grief, revelled in it as proof of her ongoing commitment. Earlier, she had allowed grief to drain her, allowed it to push her beyond her limits in an attempt to stave off pain. Applejack’s story, of her frantic run back here, and her confrontation with Braeburn, demonstrated the same trap. They had both felt that their abilities, so far beyond that of any other, gave them responsibility for events. They were both so focused on supporting others that they gave no thought to their own health. And it caused them, slowly but surely, to fail.
Fluttershy looked around. The feast Applejack had prepared had been cleared away, most ponies retreating to their old homes, reuniting with their families. The buffalo had set up their own camp, towards the southern side of the town. Those few wounded who were still bedridden were housed together, in large pavilions, the caravans loaded with barrels and sent back to the lake for more water.
Slowly, everything was coming together. They had a defensible position here, with shelter and provisions. They could weather the next storm, and then set out to stop it, finally, follow it back to its source and halt all this senseless devastation.
Until then, though, all she could do was wait. There had to be something she could do here, something more in line with her temperament. Fluttershy had had enough rest, and she chafed to accomplish something. She had no business organising those sent for water, nor farming the land. Applejack and Bill had that well in hoof.
Ah need you.
Applejack hadn’t spent the last five days asleep. She’d come to Fluttershy with suspicions, deductions, and a plan.
Fluttershy trotted, choosing streets at random. Nephele had elected to remain in the caravan, resting in the dark, away from the sun. The Cloud Nymph, perhaps more than anypony else, relied on water for survival, and her time in the desert had been taxing.
Fluttershy wanted to learn the general layout of the town, to become familiar with her surroundings. She remembered her brief stay here, last week, only as some vaguely sinister threat, as a general sense of impending doom, hanging over the town. Darkened streets, empty, homes shuttered closed, arguments between the only two ponies that seemed to live here.
Now, the sun shone freely on Appleloosa. Foals were in the streets, populating the air with sharp cries and laughter. Ponies swept and dusted, chattering about this and that as they cleaned. Doom had been replaced by hope, and it spread just as quickly.
Many waved to Fluttershy, calling out in greeting. She was happy to return pleasantries, smiling, revelling in the warmth surrounding her, but she didn’t stop moving.
The two of us ain’t enough. Not to stop what’s coming.
The streets became quieter, after a time. The housing was less dense here, in the southern sections of the small town, and the ponies had clustered themselves towards the north. For a stretch, there was only silence, a blanket of nothing that caused Fluttershy to shiver. She bit her lip. She’d always loved silence, in the past—had sought it out, rather than seeking company. Now, it only unnerved her.
Quiet was soon replaced with new voices. Buffalo, Achak’s tribe, gathered here. They were resting, content with full stomachs and wet throats, or assisting in the construction of their camp. Already, tents were arrayed, stretching back in long lines, pavilions for group meetings or meals set up. Fluttershy winced. For all that they preferred this transient life to the settled protection of the town; it was an exile all the same.
She found the wounded, asking for directions. Many of those she’d stabilised had recovered already, but there were still some, dealing with crippling disabilities—the loss of a leg, or an eye, or a relative—or slowly healing from massive trauma. Stepping from cot to cot, Fluttershy passed her warmth around, her fears and hopes, and within minutes, they were outside, heading to the centre of camp for food.
As an afterthought, Fluttershy eased her own wing through its injury, restoring it to health. She hadn’t wanted to expend the energy before, but there was no longer any reason to deny herself.
Fluttershy jumped, as a hoof was placed on her shoulder. Spinning, she found Achak, and Ahanu at her side. The young buffalo had improved somewhat, since his ordeal, though he was still reticent, and clung to his mother’s side.
“Fluttershy. Thank you, once again.”
“It was nothing,” Fluttershy said.
“No,” Achak said. “It isn’t. We all appreciate everything you’ve done.”
Fluttershy took a step back, scuffed at the ground. “I’m sorry.”
Achak just laughed, wonderfully, impossibly, and pulled Fluttershy into a rough hug. “Of course you are,” she said. “Please, please don’t worry about it. All is forgiven.”
“Oh,” Fluttershy said, biting back the urge to rest her head on Achak's shoulder and cry. “Well, umm, I'm . . . I'm just . . .”
“I know," Achak said. She pulled back, regarded Fluttershy with warm eyes. "Have you met my son?”
“Only briefly.” Fluttershy leaned down, beaming. He had been one of the many buffalo Fluttershy had treated, after the storm, and Applejack had mentioned him to her earlier today, something about a carving of a snowflake—a tiny detail that didn’t fit in. “And how are you feeling?”
Ahanu glanced up, met her eyes. A nervous smile flickered to life on his face, before slipping away. At a nudge from his mother, he managed a brief acknowledgement, “Better,” before turning away.
Fluttershy didn’t miss the worry that flashed through Achak. And even if he didn’t present a glowing opportunity to make good on her promise to Applejack, she would have wanted to help him. So Fluttershy leaned down, clasped one of Ahanu’s hooves in her own.
Applejack’s produce couldn’t solve everything, and while it might have been tempting—just for a moment—for Fluttershy to sense precisely what he was feeling, she really had no need of her abilities. He was still young, ill-equipped to handle the shock brought on by the storm. And Fluttershy had a life-time of experience empathising with creatures. There was similarity between his situation and a chick left behind during migration, or a little bunny that’d lost his parents to a predator. Fluttershy could handle this.
“I know you don’t want to listen to me, and I know everything seems just that bit too much right now. It’s a big, scary world, and it isn’t fair that it’s all been dropped on you at once.”
Ahanu tightened his grip on his mother’s leg. Achak frowned, posing a question to Fluttershy without saying a word. Fluttershy glanced at her, and then turned back to Ahanu.
“You’ve been a big, brave, strong buffalo, Ahanu, more than anyone expects. You don’t want to be a burden on your mother, or your tribe, and you aren’t. Ahanu, look at me.” Fluttershy pulled on his shoulder, slowly coaxing him to face her. “I can’t tell you what to do. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, if you need anything.”
Ahanu stared at her. Eventually, licking his lips, he ventured “Why?”
Fluttershy smiled. “Because I’m your friend.”
Ahanu nodded, smiling back.
“Applejack told me all about a carving you found,” Fluttershy said, watching surprise flit across both buffalo. “I was wondering if, I mean, if it’s okay with you, if I could see it.”
Ahanu considered that for a long moment, and then released Achak’s leg and slipped away, darting between tents.
Achak turned back to Fluttershy, grinning. “Good with children, too, I see.”
“More like experience with trauma,” Fluttershy mumbled. “If you’ve got some time, I’d like to talk,” she said, louder.
“About what?”
“Well, umm, I noticed that you’ve segregated yourselves here. Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off in the town, with everypony else?”
“I don’t think the Appleloosans want us intruding.”
“Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
Achak put a hoof on the back of her head. “We . . . prefer our own company.”
Fluttershy pressed her lips together. “It’s just that Applejack and I feel that we’d all be better off if we could work on building more unity between the two groups. I’d like to be a . . . liaison of sorts, for the buffalo.”
“Well,” Achak said. “I don’t see why not. But we’ve learned our lesson, Fluttershy.”
“Right.”
“And I don't want you to promise anything.”
“Of course.”
Achak nodded. “Done, then. Was there anything else?”
“Actually, yes,” Fluttershy said. ”I wanted to ask—if it isn't too much trouble, I mean—how did you . . .”
“How did I . . . ?”
“Survive.”
“Ah,” Achak said. Grinning mischievously, she winked. “I don’t understand what you and Applejack have been doing, not at all. But I’m not defenceless either.”
Before Fluttershy could enquire further, Ahanu returned. He was carrying in his hoof a small object—an opaque fragment of glassy crystal. He proffered it to Fluttershy, offering it up while biting his lip, eyes turned down.
Applejack had described the one she’d seen as a snowflake, something reminiscent of the Crystal Empire. Fluttershy could only agree. Sunlight sparkled through the crystal, running along and highlighting distinct lines marking out a six-pointed star. Its points were sharp enough to draw a speck of blood when Fluttershy tested them, and the crystal itself felt smooth, glossy, as if it were ice, covered in a sheen of warming water.
How in Equestria could this have ended up here?
“Ahanu,” Achak said, peering down at the crystal. “This isn’t the one you showed me before.”
Ahanu shook his head. “I lost it.”
“Where’d you find this one?” Fluttershy asked, crouching down to pass it back.
Ahanu raised a hoof, pointing further into the buffalo camp.
“Could you find more?”
Ahanu shook his head.
“Why not?” Fluttershy asked, putting the question to him as gently as she could.
“They dug it up,” Ahanu said, “in the trench.”
Fluttershy blanched. There was only one trench he might be referring to, and it wasn’t one Fluttershy liked to think about. The buffalo would need a place for the necessities, were they to stay here for some time. Ahanu must have found the crystal in the loose dirt thrown out.
Still, “Could there be any more?”
“I guess,” Ahanu said.
Fluttershy nodded. “Thank you, Ahanu. If you do find any more, I’d love to see them.”
Crystals of snow and ice, buried in the sand of the Appleloosan desert. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine what they signified. Their existence irked her, a tiny distraction from the rather grand events happening around her, worrying at her from the back of her mind. She saw no connection between them and what was happening here, and nonetheless . . . It was an inconsistency.
How had it gotten here, as well as at the reservoir? Why had it been buried in the sand? What-
“I’ll see you later,” Achak said, pulling Fluttershy forward into a brief farewell hug, and jolting her from her thoughts. “Come on, Ahanu.”
“Yes,” Fluttershy said. “Later.” Abruptly, she shook herself, turning away and trotting back towards town proper.
Focus. She could worry about the crystals later. Achak had given her tacit approval—she could speak for the buffalo, to an extent. The other half was Bill. Applejack had nothing but praise for the sheriff, being perhaps the only pony in the town to really resist the taint. The two of them had created a system of sorts, in Braeburn’s absence, gathering the foals and elders together to help collect fruit, rationing water, and keeping everypony’s spirits up, as best they could. Now, as each family reclaimed their homes, and Applejack found herself largely confined to the orchard, keeping the trees alive and producing fruit—at least until the water convoy returned—Bill would be looked to as their leader. Braeburn had lost the influence he once held, dissipated in the foolhardy expedition to the reservoir.
She found Bill in his office, speaking quietly with three pegasi.
“Sheriff?” Fluttershy asked, clearing her throat.
“Fluttershy,” Bill said, waving her in.
“If this is a bad time . . .”
“No, no,” Bill said. “Come in. Meet Appleloosa's weather patrol: Breeze, Dust Chaser, and Dew Drop.”
The pegasi were looking at her curiously. Fluttershy nodded at each of them in turn, offering a smile, and her name.
“They left a while back, when our water shipments from Cloudsdale were first interrupted.”
“Oh,” Fluttershy said. “I see.”
“It ain’t Cloudsdale, boss,” Breeze said. “We had them send a double shipment, just in case. But everything was in order up there.”
“Yes, of course,” Fluttershy said. She already knew that much—the clouds carrying water for the town were being shredded by the magical field over the desert—the horrific field of death, where she had met Nephele.
“Oh?” Breeze said. “You know something Ah don’t?”
“Yes,” Fluttershy said. “I think the water’s being trapped. I found a magical . . . construct, out in the desert, between here and the city. It was . . . it was shredding animals and clouds alike.” She felt a surge of nausea at the memory of the poor little bird.
“You mean the distortion field,” Dust Chaser cut in. “we thought that might be it as well.”
“That’s why we redirected the shipments. They’ll head to Ponyville first, then follow the train tracks down here.” Dew Drop continued.
“It’ll take longer,” Breeze said. “But there ain’t no way anything’s messing with the clouds now.”
Bill exhaled loudly. “That’s a load off my mind. Good thinking, you three.”
“A distortion field?” Fluttershy asked.
“We saw it soon after setting out,” Dust Chaser said. “Good thing, too, we might have run into the damn thing ourselves if Breeze’s eyes weren’t quite so sharp.”
Breeze snorted, ruffling his wings.
“It’s standard,” Dew Drop said. “Cloudsdale uses them all the time, usually to break up large weather systems that have gotten out of hoof.”
“But it ain’t theirs,” Breeze said. “Ah’m afraid we don’t really know much more than you do, Miss Fluttershy.”
“Can you . . . dismantle it?” Fluttershy asked.
“That’s powerful magic,” Breeze said. “Short answer, no. Not with what we got here. Not without more help. S’why we sent ‘em around.”
Fluttershy nodded. It was a start—more than a start. The return of Appleloosa’s pegasi was a stroke of fortune. Water shipments, untainted and fresh, were on the way.
But a whole town, joined together . . .
. . . Ah believe we can stop anything.
For the first time in days, Fluttershy thought that maybe—just maybe—they might survive.
I approached Luna, today. She no longer thinks me a fool, though it is evident that she still believes I should spend my time on the forefront of her war. It continues, even now. I wonder how much more blood will be spilled before her notions of Justice are avenged.
There were certainly a great many who took advantage of the crisis we faced. And though I cannot argue with my sister, I do not hate them as she does.
Thirty-One
BOUNDLESS POUNDED on the gates of Hornwall, his hooves just killing him. It was late evening, the sun having disappeared a half-hour or so ago, and he was longing for respite. The last week, or thereabouts, had been both boring and taxing, a monotonous period spent walking, always walking.
At first, there had been the thrill of conspiracy and threat. Every slight noise had startled him, each shadow menacing. But as the days passed and he remained unmolested, he had settled down, into a mindless reverie.
The guard opened the door just a little, sticking his head through the narrow gap.
“What you want?”
“Lodging,” Boundless said, “a bed, a bath, and a hot meal! If you could direct me to the nearest inn . . .” He trailed off, smiling hopefully.
“No visitors in Hornwall,” the guard said, pulling back. Boundless stuck his hoof through the gap, wincing as the guard tried to shut the door on it.
“Wait a second,” he said.
“No visitors,” the guard repeated, “on the orders of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, of the Crystal Empire.”
Orders from the Princess? They could only be in response to one thing. Shining Armour had been many things, from respected Guard Captain to devoted Royal Consort, and his wife’s reaction to his death was understandable, if extreme. Boundless hadn’t thought about the extended consequences of his actions until now. He didn’t regret anything, but he could stand to have a little more forethought in the future. For now, it was just another obstacle.
“I have business in the city,” Boundless said. “You wouldn’t deny a pony a bed for the night, would you? My associates are waiting for me.”
The guard sighed. “What do you want in Hornwall?” he asked. From behind the gate, Boundless heard a snigger. Another head appeared, underneath the first guard’s, younger, though wearing the same helm.
“Aww, you really gotta stop being so grouchy, Spear,” the second guard said. “He isn’t a bad sort,” he said to Boundless, in an exaggerated whisper. “Just takes himself a little seriously.” He giggled again, as Spear began to steadily push him back.
“Go ahead, Cloud Burst. Disobey a direct order. Make my day.”
Boundless cleared his throat. “Princess Cadance barred the gates?”
“That’s Princess Mi Amore Cadenza,” Spear said, shooting him a glare.
Burst piped up from the behind the door, his face having lost its reverse tug-of-war with Spear’s hoof. “Oh, come on, Spear! Everypony needs a nickname.”
Spear grunted. “We only got word a few days ago,” he said. “The Princess has closed all borders into the Empire. I’m sorry, but there’s no way in, even if you do have business to attend to in the city.”
Boundless sighed. He hadn’t the time for these two, as amusing as their banter might be, and there was no way he was getting through them—not without drastic actions. He was tempted, he had to admit, but ultimately laying low would better serve his goals.
So he needed another way in. There were bound to be secret entrances: tunnels; doors built into the wall; places where he might vault over, with assistance—he could enlist some pegasi to sneak him in under the cover of darkness. To do that, though, he needed help.
“I understand,” Boundless said. “Do you suppose I could pass a message on, to my associates? As I said, they’ve been waiting for me to arrive, and I’d hate to cause them any undue inconvenience.”
Spear shrugged. “I’ll pass it along. But we aren’t messengers, so it might take some time.”
“Thanks anyway,” Boundless said. He scratched the ground with a hoof, and then looked up, smiling. “Do you ha-“
“Here,” Burst said, popping back into view and holding out a pen and a piece of paper.
“-ve . . . Ah. Thank you.” Boundless scratched a short message, taking his time with it. He needed to obfuscate his meaning against the inevitable snooping of the Guard, and at the same time, be sure that Clod Hoof would understand him. That pony had been known to struggle with complex sentences, on occasion.
Clod Hoof
I regret to inform you that I won’t be able to make our scheduled appointment. I have been stranded outside Hornwall’s gates, and will make camp close by. Inform the others, and if you could send somepony out to speak with me, I’m sure we can work out a solution.
Don’t keep me waiting.
Boundless
“Who should I give this to?” Spear asked, taking the furled scroll from Boundless.
“Clod Hoof. He’s a degenerate sort, frequents the taverns and gambling dens. But I find him useful for the odd errand."
“We know Clod,” Spear said, nodding. “He’s been in and out of the jail ever since he arrived here. I’m surprised you’d want to associate with the likes of him.”
“I’ve found his type to be rather resourceful, with the right motivation.”
“Resourceful isn’t the word I’d use,” Burst said, sniggering.
“Don’t worry,” Spear said. “We’ll get it to him.”
“Excellent. I appreciate it,” Boundless said. Turning away, he heard the gates shut loudly, and the smile fell from his face. It was already late, and he did not want to spend another night camping outdoors. The plains had had precious little shelter, and the hard earth was far from comfortable.
Thankfully, there was a small forest just south-east of Hornwall. It was nothing on the scale of Whitetail Woods, or the Everfree Forest near Ponyville, but it was a forest nonetheless, tall trees, wide shrubs, and long grass growing thickly at their roots. It would do, in a pinch.
Over the next few hours, Boundless found a cosy nook, nestled against a thick trunk close to the edge of the forest, gathered together a pile of leaves and twigs for kindling and larger branches for firewood, and, following paths beaten through the trees by larger animals—deer, in all likelihood—found a stream, flowing south. The water was pure and ice cold, testament to the stream’s source, fed by melting snow.
A spark of magic lit the fire, and immediately warmth sprang up around him, combating the chill in the air that had descended with the sun. It was dark now, so dark that Hornwall’s walls were completely obscured. The world contracted into a little bubble, consisting of no more than him and his camp.
Boundless chewed some cud absently as he waited. There was no sense in overthinking his position now, nor was there anything more he could do to further his ends, so he relaxed, shifting occasionally to prevent any soreness from building in his back. Eventually, as the wind picked up, throwing the flames of his fire higher and threatening to spill it out into the forest proper, he even dozed off, sleeping fitfully, for mere minutes at a time.
In his slumber, he came to observe his surroundings through sound, more than sight. An odd cry, shrill and high, of a bird returning home, laden with food; a gentle trickle of water over rock, endlessly repeating the same tune with infinite variation; wind marking trees with strokes of air, whistling as it wove a map of the forest, and leaves rustling in acknowledgement: all served to build a picture in his dreams, an assurance, like a warm blanket or the presence of another, sleeping alongside, that everything continued around him, that the world stood vigil until he returned to it.
Approaching hoof-steps failed to rouse him from his peculiar reverie, nor did the quiet call of his name, so Clod Hoof was forced to shake him awake. Boundless spluttered, pushing Clod back, all serenity destroyed. Lip curling, he took a moment to collect himself, then nodded wordless thanks and began a brisk trot back towards the city, trusting Clod to follow behind him.
“Well?” Boundless demanded, as Clod caught up with him, falling into step at his side.
“I got us in with Plain Sight’s group. There’s a hole-in-the-wall a mile or so, that way,” Clod said, extending a hoof.
“No pegasi?” Flight would be the easiest solution. Fast, cheap, and best of all, it involved only a few additional ponies. Boundless didn’t want to extend any more trust than he absolutely had to: years of petty crime had taught him paranoia well.
“Uhh . . . no?”
Boundless snorted. No matter, Plain Sight’s group had been operating here for years—their entrance would be secure.
The two of them moved quickly, and in relative silence. Boundless was eager to get inside—the thought of a warm meal and a hot bed dominated his mind. Tranquillity had its virtues, but the night was cold, and he had been outdoors for weeks.
Some time later, a flash of light appeared on the top of the wall. It waved back and forth: a cone of light, cast forth from a unicorn’s horn. Guard patrols, then, to ensure the Princess’ orders. Boundless was suddenly relieved that Clod hadn’t had the brains to employ pegasi for the job—or maybe, he’d known all along.
Boundless shook his head, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. No, that was giving Clod too much credit. The cretin had, in all likelihood, simply delegated the task to the first candidate he could think of. Still, Plain Sight could be considered an expert, and it was always wise to defer to expertise.
The patrol passed them by without incident, and shortly thereafter, Clod brought them to a stop.
“Here.”
“There’s nothing here.”
“This is the spot they showed me. See that marking?”
“What marking?”
“There, on the wall.”
“This?”
“Yeah. That marks the spot.”
“It’s just a couple of scratches.”
“Well, yes. Though it’s also the anchor for a rather complex spell,” a new voice said. Both Boundless and Clod jumped at the sound, looking around for the voice’s owner.
It chuckled, and then a grey hoof emerged from the wall, sticking out of solid stone. “Come on,” it said. “I’m getting tired, here.”
Clod seized the hoof and was immediately pulled through the wall. In just a few moments, Boundless was left entirely alone.
Slowly, he approached the spot Clod had vanished into. Reaching out, he touched the stone with his own hoof, not entirely surprised when it simply disappeared from view. An illusion spell, he realised, covering up their entrance. With more confidence, he strode forward, plunging into darkness.
He blinked, once, twice. While the night outside had been dark, and the inside of the wall itself pitch black, this little nook was well-lit, flooded with light from two torches, seated either side of a wooden door, standing open. Beyond it, in a small room, Clod was waiting for him with a grey unicorn.
“Boundless,” the unicorn said, extending that same hoof towards him. “It’s,” he shivered, closing his eyes for a moment, “exciting to have you here.”
“Plain Sight, I assume,” Boundless said, shaking the hoof. “I’ve heard about you.
“Oh? I hadn’t thought the odd petty crime would be worth your attention.”
“Not usually, no.”
“Well? I haven’t all night.”
“Did you . . . did you really murder Shining Armour?”
Boundless tilted his head to the side. “Yes.”
Now Plain Sight seemed eager, almost. He began hopping back and forth, from side to side, face twisting. Behind him, Clod Hoof had gone green, and he retched, leaning on the wall for support.
“Could you . . .” Plain Sight began, and then clamped his jaw shut, his whole body quivering. He appeared to be fighting something, some internal battle, making itself plain in his shifting expression. Excitement, nervousness, fear, longing, disgust . . . Boundless saw them all, flitting across his visage. “Could you show me?” He managed, gasping the words out, as if they required physical effort.
Perhaps they had. Boundless remembered well the effort it had taken to coax Trixie into performing the murder, just as he remembered that experiment’s success. And here, he was being offered a subject, free of manipulation and torment. This pony wanted to be a monster. This pony chose to be like him. For what reasons, Boundless couldn’t fathom, nor the circumstances that had conspired to bring about another so weakly affected by the moral compulsion currently wracking Clod’s body, but he wasn’t about to allow the opportunity to pass him by.
Boundless turned his gaze from Plain Sight, fixed his eyes on the quivering form of Clod Hoof, now leaning over a small puddle of vomit. “Why not?” he said, and took a step forward.
***
Pinkie tried to smile. The guard facing them was just as stony-faced as all the others she’d seen, but she just knew that under that façade, under that exterior of rock and slate, he was as soft and gooey as everypony else. Like a piece of candy, or a chocolate lava cake. Pinkie wanted to see it shine through, to see the lava of kindness and empathy spill out.
She’d never had to force herself to smile before. Each of her smiles, and she had hundreds, thousands, all with a specific tone and function, were natural, blooming forth as easily as the dawn, unfettered by misgiving or trepidation. Now, though, it felt wrong, felt unnatural, as if she was playing some cruel joke, twisted, so that its spirit was one of sadistic parody, rather than genuine laughter.
She pulled at the corners of her mouth with her hooves, massaged her cheeks, and plastered on the best smile she could manage. The guard seemed unimpressed.
“Is there any way we could-“ Daerev said, bringing Pinkie’s attention back to the moment. The two of them had found their trek utterly uneventful, a dull cycle of movement and rest, punctuated only by brief stints in the sky. Daerev was already becoming more adept, more comfortable in the sky, and Pinkie had high hopes for where he was headed. Those rides, moments she took apart from time, had buoyed her, and had given her something to clutch at while she regained her footing. In truth though, she was well aware of what troubled her, what continued to tug down the corners of her mouth.
The guard sighed. “The Princess has closed down all borders with the Crystal Empire.”
Another guard appeared, his head appearing to hover in space, projecting from the doorframe. “This again, Spear?”
Spear didn’t bother acknowledging his comrades presence. “Northbound traffic isn’t all that unusual, Cloud Burst,” he said.
“Dragons are.”
Pinkie turned her smile to Burst, hoping for a better reaction. He seemed . . . more forthright, than his partner, with his emotions bubbling a little closer to the surface. Unfortunately, he took one glance at her—mouth stretching wide, eyes bulging, head slowly leaning forward, stretching her neck—and vanished to whence he came.
Faking a smile was hard.
Daerev was getting impatient, though, taking small steps forward until he towered over the guard. Staring down, Pinkie saw a glimmer of a snarl overtake his expression, and his tone turned vengeful. She hated seeing him like this, pretending to be this scary dragon, this tyrannical predator. He wasn’t the Spike she’d grown up alongside.
“How then,” Daerev asked, enunciating carefully, “would you suggest we gain entrance to Hornwall, and the Crystal Empire beyond?”
“Wait,” Spear said, standing his ground. “There are rumours that Princess Luna has appeared north, and already negotiations over the border agreements between our nations are underway. Perhaps there will be a quick resolution.”
“Don’t feed me rehearsed lines,” Daerev said, leaning forward and propping himself up on the wall with a claw, right beside the guard’s face.
“Without a royal edict,” Spear said, “there’s no way.”
Pinkie coughed, once, and reached inwards. Seizing hold of that stubborn tendril—she’d drawn on it many times, over the past week, and still it remained—she felt backwards, imaginary hooves straining to reach out for . . . ah, there.
Pinkie, she whispered, feeling her words be stripped away, pulled from her mind at the instant of their conception. Get an edict from Cadance. Need to get into Hornwall. And then the stream closed, reality zipping up around her with a little pop, and a memory surfaced in her mind—of a new combo, wobbly knees-tongue roll-ear flop- . . . She shook herself, once, all over, to discard the faint buzz that clung to her fur, and refocused her attention on the guard blocking their way.
Reaching behind, she whipped out a small scroll, bound with red ribbon and pink wax, sealed with a faceted heart. “Oh, you should have said so,” Pinkie said, injecting a little sing-song into her voice. She felt better, now, brighter. Like clouds, parting to allow a ray of light through. They could keep moving.
Both Daerev and the guard were staring at her. Daerev began to say something, before slamming a claw into his face and trailing off. The guard didn’t know her as well as he did.
“Where did you . . . ?”
“Oh, this?” Pinkie said, hoofing the scroll to him. She already knew what it said—Cadance had written the scroll herself, a full month ago, granting Pinkie and her companion access to Hornwall. “I always keep scrolls handy.”
“In case of emergency,” Daerev said, shaking his head. He offered her a smile, and for once it appeared genuine. A moment’s relief overpowered any amount of underlying guilt, it seemed. “Thanks, Pinkie.”
“Any time,” Pinkie said, and chuckled a little herself. The pun flew right over their heads, of course.
“This . . . this is only valid today,” the guard said, in some consternation.
Pinkie tilted her head. “Of course, silly. We’re only trying to get in today.”
“But how . . .” The guard shook his head, and then peered at the scroll closer. “Ah. I see. Sorry, Pinkie Pie, Daerev, but I still can’t let you through.”
Pinkie’s ears matched the downward spiral of her heart. “Why not?” she said, bottom lip quivering.
“The Princess was rather specific with her orders.” Spear turned. “Cloud Burst! Fetch me a copy of our orders.”
A few seconds later, Burst reappeared, passing another scroll to Spear. “Did you say Pinkie Pie? Did she actually turn up?”
“Apparently so,” Spear said.
“Spear,” Burst said, turning a stern expression on his partner. “You owe me twenty bits.”
“Fine,” Spear said, clenching his jaw, and pushing Burst out of view, and then turned back to Pinkie and Daerev. Clearing his throat, “To wit: None shall cross the border, be they pony, donkey, griffon, yea, even dragon, save under Our name and Our seal. Keep especial eye for a pony of pink complexion, bearing party favours and the name Pinkie Pie. The invitation We extended her some time ago is no longer valid, and ought to be confiscated on sight.”
“What.” Daerev said. Pinkie, for once, was utterly lost for words—instead sinking into thought.
She had never bothered understanding her peculiar abilities, but Twilight’s recent exploration of Coromancy had helped her gain a little more insight into exactly what she was doing. Always before, it had been just something that was, something she just did without thinking. Now, though . . . now she was aware.
Pinkie Sense had been at the core of what she could do. Somehow, little messages, coded in the form of sensations, could warn her of her immediate future. That meant that she, unconsciously or not, was sending those messages back.
Luna’s warnings were taken seriously, and once Twilight fixed herself on an explanation—an actual explanation—for the Pinkie Sense, she hadn’t been willing to give it up. So Pinkie found herself practicing, learning to hone the talent, and to extend it.
She could change some things. A falling pot plant, sidestepped, an inexplicable ditch in the road, avoided, a certain fleeing pegasus, found, each because of a warning, a hint, reflexively sent back in time, and every once in a while, a doozy, warning of calamity, or great change.
But she couldn’t change others. She had reached into the past to obtain the edict allowing her through this blockade, and to do that, her past self had requested it from Cadance. So when Cadance had closed the borders, she had remembered Pinkie’s odd request, so easily indulged before all this horribleness, and, divining its intent, taken steps.
What was, was, and always would be. She could use Coromancy to get through here no more than she could use it to prevent Shining Armour’s death.
“Come on in, then,” Spear said, stepping back.
Daerev blinked. “You’re letting us in?”
“Actually, no. We’re holding you for a few days.“
“What? Why?”
Pinkie bounced to her hooves, flashing Daerev a quick smile. “It’s okay,” she said. “They’re letting us in.”
"The Princess mentioned you two specifically," Spear said. "We aren't about to let you fly clear over the city."
Daerev folded his arms across his chest, rocking back onto his heels. “And if I turn around and leave?”
Burst reappeared. “Paperwork. Lots of paperwork,” he said. Pinkie stepped past him, taking in the rooms beyond the small doorway all at once.
She now stood in what appeared to be a living room—complete with couches, tables, and a counter leading into a kitchen. It was a far cry from the austere image of a guard post, framed with dull greys of metal and stone, resembling more a home. Several doors indicated adjacent rooms, one standing open to reveal a sink and basin, and Pinkie would bet that she could hear the sounds of city life echoing through the walls: a certain tell-tale hustle, full of life and energy.
Burst had perched himself on a shelf beside the door, allowing him to stick his head out from the side without appearing to touch the ground. Pinkie giggled a little at the sight, and, hiding herself from Daerev, twisted the world, her head mirroring Burst’s from the other side. The guard started, falling to the floor with a loud thud, staring up at her with his mouth agape. Joy swelled in her chest, and it quite nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“Nothing. But I would rather you remain here, where we can watch you,” Spear said, ignoring Pinkie’s antics. She blew a raspberry at him. "At least wait until the Princess replies. I imagine she might have further wishes regarding the two of you."
“Oh,” Daerev said. He shuffled his wings, ducked his head. “Uh, then . . . I accept.”
He slipped into the building, scraping the doorframe with his shoulders. Pinkie pulled back to allow him in, emerging from the corner and heading for the kitchen. Soon enough, he’d be too big for places like this—too big, even, for his library back home. Pinkie quickly shunted that thought to the back of her mind, instead turning to the bench before her, and cupboards beneath.
In a matter of moments she had produced a large mixing bowl, a bag of flour, eggs, milk, sugar, and a bouquet of tulips.
“All you’ve gotta do is add a cup of flour,” she . . . well, hummed more than sang, really, too absorbed in the moment and her memories of it to pay attention to vocalisation. The words weren’t important, anyway, no more than the sugar. Instead, the image of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, still fillies then, full of promise, full of potential, filled her mind.
Burst was beside her, cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl. Daerev chuckled, while Spear stood at his side, openly gaping.
Pinkie paid them no mind. They weren’t here, not where it mattered. She’d thought Spikey might have been able to understand—to meet her halfway. She’d clung to that hope even as she heard him dash it, repeatedly deny her. He’d confirmed what everypony else had accepted long ago, that Daerev had finally killed Spike off, replaced him completely, utterly.
Spear rushed at her, grabbing at various implements. Turning, Pinkie flashed her teeth, and passed him a spoon, then, a second later, a spatula, and then an empty bowl, each as she finished with it. Straining, Spear stumbled to the side, too loaded to stop her from sliding the tray into the oven and clapping her hooves in excitement. Fresh food, and tasty, too. Burst collapsed to the ground, clutching at his sides as Spear dumped the dirty dishes into the sink and stuck a hoof in Pinkie’s face.
She’d been able to produce food whenever she wanted it during their trek, but by the end she hadn’t bothered much. A few days from a kitchen, anything she pulled from the past had been aged, and was on the verge of going stale. She could survive by grazing. Fresh grass and a few flowers beat out stale cake any day of the week, but Daerev required a little more, and he’d often left in the early evening, not returning for some hours. Pinkie hadn’t had the courage to ask him where he’d been.
Pinkie licked Spear’s hoof, causing him to retract it hurriedly, and his tongue to trip over whatever he was blathering about. She was just so sick of being afraid: too scared to ask the Cakes to stay on at Sugarcube Corner, too scared to scream for Fluttershy to remain with them, in Ponyville, too scared to press Daerev on going to Canterlot, too scared to leave her room and too scared to stay behind. She could feel the change coming to the world, the lingering air of prophecy and revelation that hung around the last few weeks. Luna’s return, Shining Armour’s murder . . . it was a catalyst. She was scared she would never see Ponyville again—see Ponyville again, not the town, but the place.
Joy had left her, drained away by her manipulation of reality. In its place, a rising tide of sorrow, as black as any night and as deep as any ocean threatened to engulf her. Held at bay by long days of nattering, time spent on anything but, her grief would not be denied. She imagined herself a dam, seams ready to burst.
Daerev and Spear had retreated and were talking in the other room. Snatches of their conversation drifted to her ears, finding a melodic sense, accompanied by her thoughts.
“. . . lots of homes this far out, it just happened to be adjacent to the main street . . .”
“. . . unrest following the Princess’ sequestration—heard from Canterlot? . . .”
She could smell something sweet.
“. . . looking for a young unicorn, no more than a colt, really . . .”
Burst, however, had regained his feet and slung a hoof around her shoulders, his quick grin slowly replaced by a more serious expression.
“Pinkie,” he said, prodding her in the ribs. Slowly, she shook herself from her reverie. “Your cupcakes are going to burn.”
Pinkie twisted the world. Her pupils shrank to mere pinpoints, barely visible, stars of black against a blue sky. Her jaw stretched, several times over the point it should have dislocated. Her lungs inhaled sharply, drawing in air in a great gasp. Her sorrow fell away from her, a cloak all at once enveloping and dissipating, evaporating from her shoulders.
She slipped from under Burst’s embrace, turned to the oven and pulled her treats out, giving the tray a tiny shake as she did so. Each wobbled, continuing to move ever so gradually for a few moments after she stopped. Perfect, or near-about. With barely a thought, she reached to the side and grasped a pastry bag full of pink icing. Icing could last a few weeks—she’d tried—so there was no problem bringing that along.
It took all of five seconds for her to be sliding the tray onto the table, right under the noses of Daerev and Spear. Pinkie waited for them to take one each—Daerev chewing eagerly, Spear holding his with a bemused expression—before she clamped her teeth onto the tray, tossed them into the air, and caught them in her mouth. Sweet, fluffy goodness filled her senses, and she lost herself, simply let go of the world.
All too soon, it was over, but even so she felt rejuvenated, buffered against the emotions swirling within her. As if she were feeling them from a distance, her memories of torment and grief shielding her from the worst of her torment.
Burst followed her into the room, pouting at the sight of the empty tray. Spear caught sight of him, and, sniggering, took a large bite, making sure to emphasise each motion, every slow extension of his jaw, every rolling crush of his teeth.
Behind it lay a smile. For the first time since Pinkie had met him, Spear was smiling. That victory—small, perhaps meaningless—spread like a virus, reaching Daerev and Burst simultaneously, all three now breaking out into laughter, and then to Pinkie, who fought it even as she longed for it, pressed down the corners of her mouth, clenched her jaw, and tried in vain to tear her eyes from the sight.
The longer she looked, the harder she found it to turn away, until a grin broke free of her control, and she threw herself forward, collapsing onto the others and enveloping them in a great hug. Giggles spilled forth, choking her, seizing her throat up, hysterical, convulsive, and as she pressed her face into Daerev’s leathery belly, accompanied by a damp warmth.
Is it truly so strange, that she is loved for strong words, and stronger actions, while I am revered for empathy? The people do not look for me on the streets, nor come running when I call. It is a fear, of kind. I hold myself aloof, and become abstract, more a concept than a ruler.
It would be so much simpler to simply be one of them. But it is not darkness that we ponies fear, so much as shadow.
Thirty-Two
RAINBOW LANDED GENTLY, closing the window behind her. Stifling a yawn, she trotted downstairs, checking various rooms for Twilight, forcibly ignoring the siren call of the bed that she knew waited just down the hall.
She had expected, but she hadn’t quite been ready for the massive wave of exhaustion that hit immediately following her time-jump. She hadn’t seemed that tired, in her memory, and she had done her best to maintain that appearance—sitting, rather than collapsing on the ground, turning a fatigued sway into a neat sidestep, and so on. It cost her quite a bit to actually watch her past self succeed, though it was unquestionably worth it.
The Sonic Rainboom was spectacular. She’d always known that, but she’d never seen it from a distance, never seen it in the moment of its birth. The concentric wave of rainbow light spread across the sky and dissipated in an instant, its symmetry disrupted by her second pass. Rainbow grinned, lying down on the ground with her face upturned, eagerly awaiting what came next.
The second barrier was less amazing. She . . . hadn’t really known what to expect here. It wasn’t so much a physical barrier as it was a mental one, a wall that halted her growing speed, as if she had run into a massive wake, rippling through the air to oppose her. Passing it did not spawn a rainbow contrail, or a giant explosion. Instead, she stretched, her body growing thin, reaching forward, and gaining a burst of acceleration.
But those were just the sideshows. Rainbow was intimate with the techniques displayed above her, had hours of experience in the midst of that storm of power. Even down here, it lashed at her, tiny sparks of lightning arcing through the air, spontaneously spawned by the inefficiencies, the loss in her translation of emotion to speed. It was increasing, each spark drawing more pain, coming more frequently. Above, she circled the field twice, thrice, every second.
And then there it was: a void, a . . . gap in the air, developing around her wings. It spread, slowly at first, inching up her feathers. Already pumping her wings as fast as she could, she somehow leapt forward, sweeping the void down to her tail, and then up, wrapping it around her head, and then she was gone. Rainbow’s jaw dropped, tiredness forgotten, and she jumped to her hooves. It looked as if the world itself had swallowed her.
The wake hit her a moment later, bowling her completely over. She was unconscious before she hit the ground.
When she came to, the sun had set. She stood, stretching, and by the light of the moon found the mountain of Canterlot in the distance. She sighed, flexing her wings—still sore, still waking up—and took to the air. She could have spent the night here, it would be a simple matter to round up a few clouds to form a makeshift bed, but Twilight might worry. Besides, Rainbow could admit to herself that the only thing more appealing than sleep at the moment was the desire, intense, demanding, to tell everypony all about this.
After all, what was the point in doing the impossible if you couldn’t boast outrageously about it?
So she flew, not particularly fast, towards Canterlot. She occupied herself with idle daydreams, reliving memories of performances with the Wonderbolts, of her pavilion of tricks that she’d developed, and the pantheon that the team had taught her. Each with one minor addition, a small change—she quirked a lip—so small nopony would even really notice.
Another Rainbow Dash, brought around by a time loop, to perform in the same show twice.
It had been a point of not-inconsiderable annoyance to realise that even from her earliest days, Rainbow had completely eclipsed the Wonderbolts. They had been her dream for so long, and she hadn’t wanted to give that up. Even so, it took time to come to terms with the simple fact that they had waited too long to pick her up, and that she’d already surpassed them.
So the burgeoning realisation about how she might turn this new skill to her benefit captured her imagination. She imagined the old classics, doubled—a Buccaneer Blaze inside of a whirlwind, spinning clouds creating a spontaneous race-course, even the Sonic Rainboom used as an accent to her double’s acrobatics. She imagined herself, twice, battling for dominance in the sky, perfectly matched, completely in sync.
That daydream slipped from her grasp unfinished, the tricks half-formed, the choreography half-pictured, as daydreams are wont to do. It was replaced with something decidedly raunchier, and infinitely more entertaining. Rainbow’s grin broke into a full-on leer, and she gave her thoughts voice, relishing her temporary isolation.
“Oh, oh ho ho, yes, oh yes I can do that, can’t I. Oh, Twilight’s just going to love this.”
But imagination aside, the journey back proved long and uneventful, and Rainbow’s exhaustion quickly caught up with her. By the time she reached the Agency, she was on the brink of falling over, and she found it more and more difficult to justify her desire to see somepony. The allure of her bed was almost irresistible.
Of course, it would transpire that both Twilight and Rarity were fast asleep themselves, curled up together in the last room Rainbow checked. With a snort, Rainbow stepped up, rolled Rarity over, and clambered under the blankets, working her way in to Twilight’s side. She heard the tiny snore—faint, almost inaudible, but a snore nonetheless—emerge from Rarity’s half-open muzzle. Rainbow didn’t take note of this priceless blackmail knowledge, as she was asleep within moments of her head hitting the pillow.
This time, she woke to see Twilight nestled in against her chest, her brow furrowed. Rarity had disappeared, likely in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, or tending to some other chore she’d invented so that she could claim that the house was presentable. Rainbow yawned, cracking her neck, and offered Twilight a light smile.
“Hey, Twi’,” she said. “What’cha thinking about?”
Twilight let the glow around her horn drop, and her brow relax, tilting her face up to meet Rainbow’s gaze. “Nothing,” she said, brushing her muzzle against Rainbow’s. “I’ve missed you, lately.”
Rainbow tightened her legs, pulling Twilight in close. “Yeah. Luna’s had me working pretty hard.”
Twilight bit her lip. “You do that yourself.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I know what it’s like to be driven.”
Rainbow caught her in another kiss, a real kiss, deep and long. Twilight was right. It had been far too long since they’d slowed down, had some time to just relax with one another. “I bet,” she said, as she pulled back.
“How’d it go?”
Rainbow wanted to tease her, wanted to hold back the news as long as she could, wanted to hint and dangle and suggest. But she couldn’t fight down her wide smile from spreading, her eyes from sparkling, or her breath from catching. She didn’t have to say anything, Twilight knew immediately, and sprang upright.
“You did it!”
“Well,” Rainbow yawned, rolling onto her back and bringing her forehooves up behind her head, “yeah.”
Twilight was trembling, as if she was about to begin bouncing up and down on the bed. “You time-travelled! What was it like? How far did you go? Wait, past or future? Oh, I have-“
Rainbow stopped her mid-rant. “Why don’t I just show you?” she said.
Twilight nodded, bringing her gaze forward to meet Rainbow’s. Rainbow felt Twilight’s familiar intrusion, felt her presence appear, their minds touching with just a tinge of awkwardness, as old friends meeting after years apart. She saw her memories of the past week blur through her mind, each detail simultaneously distinct and blurred. And then Twilight sat back, mouth agape, and Rainbow just smirked.
“Well, Twi’,” she said, taking advantage of recovering first. “Was it everything you’d ever hoped?”
Twilight absently threw a pillow at her, her magic sputtering but carrying no less force. Rainbow flew clear off the bed, hitting the floor with a yelp more playful than hurt. Twilight paid no mind, simply standing where she was, frozen in thought. It was not an uncommon stance for her, and Rainbow paid it no mind. Standing, she walked over and bumped Twilight’s flank.
Twilight shook herself, flashing Rainbow a grin.
"Congratulations," she said nuzzling Rainbow, and letting the word carry weight, then trotted from the room, calling out for Rarity. Rainbow, smiling, followed, ignoring the rumble of her stomach. Her muscles still felt a little sore, likely still healing from her exertions yesterday, but overall . . . she felt fine: content, lacking any particular surge of passion, warm, from bed, from Twilight’s embrace, and from her success: at peace.
Rarity was, indeed, in the kitchen, just now bringing three bowls of oats to the table. Twilight locked eyes with her, held her still for a few moments. The bowls crashed to the floor, spilling their contents, and then Rarity turned to Rainbow, sporting a set of gleaming eyes and a massive grin.
“You got it so fast, too,” she said, inclining her head.
Rainbow just smirked, though Twilight couldn’t hold back a chuckle as she levitated the broken bowls.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised,” Rarity concluded. “Very well, then. Not that I don’t enjoy your company, Twilight, Rainbow, but this little period of domesticity was getting somewhat passé. Shall we depart?”
“Can you see where we’re going?” Rainbow asked.
“Oh yes, dear. A few days ago, even.” It was Rarity’s turn to smirk, tossing her mane with a hoof. “Nothing to it.”
“I’m sure,” Rainbow said. “I was kinda hoping we could postpone for a while. I mean, there’s no rush, right?”
“I beg to differ,” Rarity said. Twilight turned from the sink to frown at Rainbow, evidently agreeing with Rarity. “This is something the Princess has personally requested, after all.”
“And it’s important,” Twilight said. “It’s all connected. Shining’s . . . everything, I just haven’t put it all together yet.”
“And I doubt Princess Luna’s been able to either,” Rarity said.
Rainbow waved a hoof. “It’s time travel. It doesn’t matter when we leave.”
“It’s the principle,” Rarity said, filling three new bowls from the sack. “It doesn’t have to matter.”
“Perfect,” Rarity assured her. “Now, shall we eat?”
They fell to with gusto, the fare no less satisfying for its simplicity. Finishing last—she was hungry, okay?—Rainbow found herself stuck with the washing up, while Rarity pulled Twilight aside, and removed Luna’s spell. Evidently, Twilight’s recovery had progressed far enough to warrant that, though to Rainbow the only development had been her throwing a pillow, and levitating around some shards of china. Still, Twilight’s gratitude brought warmth to her chest and cheeks, and when Twilight proposed a picnic, she fell in without complaint.
Canterlot sported some fantastic gardens for a city on the side of a mountain, Rainbow had to admit. Even if they were artificial, with plants of all kind and colour brought in from all across Equestria, the series of parks created their own ambience, a serenity set outside of the usual Canterlot bustle. It was not hard to relax, and Rainbow almost immediately found herself dozing under the sun, Twilight beside her with a novel while Rarity sketched idly.
From there, they found lunch at a café, and roamed Canterlot, staying close to the upper class markets and away from the slums. This was not a day for memories. Rarity found a few designs she simple had to have, and Rainbow was convinced to get a dark blue ensemble that she had foolishly admitted looked alright. Twilight even managed to drag everypony into a museum for an hour or so.
The day passed peacefully, offering neither particular trouble nor excessive joy, and all too quickly it was gone. Rainbow had wanted to stay up late, just talking. Twilight, however, had none of it, hiding herself away in her own thoughts until she passed into unconsciousness. Rainbow, lying beside her in their bed, lost track of how long she’d gazing at the back of Twilight’s head.
“I’m . . .” she began, half-heartedly, searching for the words she wanted to say. Somehow, they were no easier here, now, than they had been when Twilight was awake. “I wanted to tell you everything. I guess you already know, from the head thing you do, but . . . “ Rainbow shut her eyes. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Twi’,” she shook her head, “I guess it’ll have to wait, huh?” Rainbow leaned forward, planted a soft kiss on Twilight’s head.
“I love you, egghead,” she whispered. “And I’m coming back. I promise.”
***
Twilight opened the door slowly, both fearing and submitting to the promise the room held. Inside, as she cast her gaze over sterile white walls, intricate machinery and medical devices, scraps of paper with vital information, and plastic, plastic everywhere, Trixie waited.
This meeting was important to her, and not just for the obvious reasons. Twilight had had plenty of time to think, and she hadn’t wasted it, again and again running through her actions—from her days in Ponyville’s library, reacting to an abrasive show-pony, to her brother’s murder, and her persecution of his murderer. She understood, or she thought she did. She would never be able to forgive Trixie. That much was clear, immutable, really.
But she didn’t hate her. She’d felt the strength of the fear that had gripped her. Trixie had believed, almost consciously, that Boundless held her will, that she no longer has any agency in her own life. She’d been reduced to a tool. And that simple truth inspired in Twilight a deep sorrow, rather than rage. She could no more rage against Trixie’s weakness than she could her own, for they were tied up with her moral beliefs, with the fundamental tenants that she cherished.
Had Trixie the power to refuse Boundless, she would have already been a monster.
That did not do away with her personal failings. Once again she had fallen for the trap of maturity, the overconfidence that accompanied all pioneers. She had been an authority, at the forefront of her field, for too long. The assumption of knowledge, of capability, had blinded her, first, to the threat, and second, to the nature of her own response. At the time, she couldn’t have known better—and she was far too distraught to consider the ramifications. She’d simply acted, trusting without thought.
She thought back to that moment beside the Lethe, where she’d caught the two murderers fleeing Canterlot. They’d been helpless before her, unable to put up even the semblance of a fight. She’d held Trixie, and, fully in the grip of her grief, forced on her all the emotion Twilight could not bear to contain. She’d wanted to make the mare hurt, hurt in a way far more deep than any physical retribution.
She’d justified that under the mantle of understanding. She’d framed the emotional torture as an exchange, ripping from Trixie the knowledge of murder, and everything she’d associated with it. That, to Twilight, betrayed a failing far more insidious than any torture. She knew the moral bankruptcy that possessed Boundless, she’d felt the indifference that overtook Trixie, and she’d forced herself onto it.
She’d raped Trixie, mentally, morally. Enslaved her just as wholly as Boundless. The memory of it made her sick.
She’d heard Nightmare Moon’s message to Luna. She’d seen the effects of the Veil—on Luna’s memories, on Boundless’ morality. The bigger picture was beginning to emerge, and it was ugly beyond belief.
Struggle as she may, Twilight could not entirely shove away the thought of her mind enslaved, burying it under theory and thought and experimentation. For now, for this meeting, it was enough for her to remain honest. She’d made a promise that she had yet to fulfil, and an apology to accompany it.
The room was cold—somepony must have left a window open. Twilight closed it before stepping over, beside the bed. Trixie was awake, eyes following her, and at her approach she propped herself up.
“Twilight,” Trixie said.
“Hello, Trixie,” Twilight said. “How are you feeling?”
Trixie waved a hoof in the air. “Well enough. I expect to be discharged any day now.”
“I’m glad.”
“Really?”
Twilight dropped her head. “Yes,” she said, “and no.”
“I get it,” Trixie said.
Twilight considered that statement for some time. Then, slowly nodding, she bit her lip. “I expect you do.”
“Twilight . . .” Trixie shook her head. “Rainbow hit you hard. Like, really hard.”
“I’m fine,” Twilight said, gesturing uselessly to her body. “Just magical exhaustion.”
“No, it was more than that. You were enraged. No, more than that. You were consumed, you-“
“I . . .” Twilight stomped a hoof in exasperation. “I owe you a proper explanation, and you’re going to get it. Just, for now, just trust me, okay? The anger . . . it’s passed.”
“I can see that.”
“First . . . I need to apologise.” Twilight closed her eyes, working her jaw. Unbidden, the image of Trixie standing over her brother, azure knife held firmly against his throat, rose, swirling out of the darkness. She swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took you and, and I broke you. I . . . oh, Celestia. Why can’t I . . .” she collapsed forward, head landing in Trixie’s lap, sobs wracking her body.
“Shh,” Trixie said, hoof rubbing Twilight’s back. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve done nothing wrong, Twilight, nothing at all. I’m the one who should be apologising. For my fear, for my doubt, for all the pain I’ve caused. I wish I’d never come into your life.”
Twilight clung to her, not trusting herself to open her mouth. Minutes passed like that, until the spasms receded, and she straightened up, wiping her eyes.
“I know how hard your life’s been, Trixie,” Twilight said. “I’ve . . . seen it, through your eyes. I don’t blame you for that, or for where it led you. Nothing you did ever gave me the right to do what I did.”
Trixie shook her head sadly. “What are you talking about?”
“I changed you,” Twilight said. “When I pressed my grief on you, I imparted empathy, too, mine, not yours, so that you felt as I did. It was no different from indoctrination.”
“I know.”
“I . . . what?”
“Twilight, I’ve always known that. I was grateful for it. A . . . after, before you found me, I was a monster. I knew I should be feeling something, but it just wasn’t there. I’ve never felt so hollow, so empty. I couldn’t stand it.”
Trixie smiled. “And then, you were there, in my mind, showing me how to feel. And I did. Thank you.”
“But I raped you,” Twilight said softly, staring at the sheets on the bed.
“I don’t see it that way. I think you gave me a gift. I think you gave me something precious.” Trixie gave a little laugh, tossing her head. “Besides. If I were simply you, now, if I operated with your moral compass, would I not be agreeing with you now?”
Twilight took a deep breath. “And the barrier you broke through?”
“The Veil,” Trixie said. She turned her gave to the window, clasping her hooves before her. “It’s served us well, hasn’t it? A thousand years, Twilight, without murder. Without the kind of pain you’re going through. Isn’t that worth something?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t decided yet.” Twilight looked up, catching Trixie’s gaze. “And consider this. If it is a spell, if it is a construct that can be broken, then it must have been made. Who do you suppose was its Creator?”
***
Rarity fell through the air, screaming. A pale blue magical field sparked to life and sputtered out of existence moments later as she tried frantically to halt their descent. She could barely hear herself, could barely hear the rush of the wind, or feel the air tearing at her fur. Rainbow hung limp in her hooves, unresponsive, essentially comatose.
Below them, the ground rushed up. Rainbow groaned, trying to roll herself over. Rarity pummelled her chest, shrieked in her ear. Without wings, they were going to die here.
From all around came a thunderous crash, louder, more demanding, more physical than any that had come before. Rainbow’s eyes shot open, her body reflexively jerking. Rarity fell still. For the first time, the two looked away from their immediate doom, and at the environment into which they had arrived.
Not two hundred metres to the south, a stormwall loomed, save to describe it as such was understated to the point of ridiculousness.
Black cloud dominated the sky, completely obscuring the sun, rendering the whole world cast in shades of grey. Underneath, within a wall of water, illuminated only by the near-constant streaks of multi-hued lightning, leaping about on wind travelling so fast it made a high-pitched whine, were boulders churning around as if pebbles caught in the midst of a blender. Water froze straight from the air, blades of ice forming from nothing to sweep about at unimaginable speed. Tornadoes, sweeping forward, ate into the ground, tearing up dirt and rock and plant alike, casting them into the swirling maelstrom above.
Rarity swept her gaze east, then west, searching in vain for the storm’s end. It reached as far as the eye could see, maintaining its fury to the horizon and beyond. This storm, it seemed to her, was not one that rolled over the world, expending its energy on an unflinching rock, but one that enveloped the world, surrounding it and destroying it utterly. Rainbow was gibbering, eyes fixed firmly on the approaching doom.
Then she caught sight of something else. Centred before her, almost invisible against the darkness of the storm—almost swallowed whole by it—a tiny figure hovered, back turned, mane flowing, shielding her from the oncoming onslaught. Rarity saw the stormfront buckle; bulge outwards in its race forward on either side of the figure, but here, under the stalwart argent of its power, there was only a seething mass, writhing in impotent fury.
Abruptly, Rarity recalled the fact that they were still falling. Glancing downwards, she began working her horn, her gut clenching, her heart lurching in her chest. The ground rushed up at them, almost immediately surpassing the storm in importance. Rarity clutched at Rainbow, closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do.
But there was no impact. Instead, surrounded by a dark magic, nearly black, they were lowered to the ground, roughly, dropped from a few feet so that they collapsed into a pile. A unicorn, sprinting over to them, yanked Rainbow up, slapped her in the face. “What the hell were you thinking, Chaser?”
“Wha-“ Rainbow murmured. Her body was limp.
“We’ve no time for this! Help us, or get lost!” He turned south, sprinting straight towards the storm. In moments, he was there, and was immediately swept up into the turmoil, his form disappearing into the dark.
“He just . . . he,” Rarity managed, hyperventilating. “I . . . What’s going on, Rainbow? Where in Equestria are we?!” The world was roaring, its noise dulling her shrill voice to nothing more than a buzz, even in her own ears.
“I don’t know,” Rainbow said, collapsing onto her back.
“That was . . . you saw her, Rainbow?” Rarity said, staring up through the tree-line. From the ground, the oncoming storm seemed somehow even more massive, even more eternal. As if infinity could be surpassed.
“Rainbow?”
Rainbow was asleep. Unbelievable. Rarity grabbed at her mane, pulling it down about her face. She could hardly leave her here, nor could she offer Rainbow any kind of shelter from the storm. Not for the first time, Rarity wished for the magical ability of Twilight: the mobility offered therein had proven itself invaluable time and time again.
Rarity glanced back up. She couldn’t tell if the storm had gotten any closer, she could barely tell if it was moving at all. It was simply too massive, too awe-inspiringly large. But the moon-silver shield covering them held firm and the figure in the centre of it remained unwavering. She was not mistaken. That figure was not Princess Luna.
Rarity had seen Princess Luna, seen Nightmare Moon, and even seen Princess Luna wearing the regalia of that hated villain. She bit her lip, eyes tracing the black metal that adorned that figure—illuminated by flashes of staccato lightning and the argent light of Nightmare Moon’s own power. Reflected there, Rarity saw reptilian eyes and fanged teeth.
That was Nightmare Moon.
Abruptly, she spun around. The field they were in was empty, devoid of all life. But the skies above were teeming with pegasi, hundreds if not thousands gathered behind Nightmare Moon’s banner, gathered in a strange formation stretching outwards. They could not hold the storm back—it bent around them, closing its jaws on the land’s defenders, but they had not broken yet. And above them still, the stars whispered promises with nebulous light, lending heart and hope.
But the moon itself, hanging low over the earth, was afire. Puissance poured from it, a torrential amount of power streaming down from the heavens to meet its mistress: a waterfall of power. Rarity blinked, and it was gone, blinked again and saw but a shadow of it, but she knew it occurred. A celestial bond, lending strength in time of need, the Moon itself took part in Equestria’s defence.
And still the storm came. Moment by moment, minute by minute, the stormwall advanced, and forced Nightmare Moon back. Boulders the size of buildings slammed into her, dissolved into dust as they did so. Jagged shards of ice spun towards her, sublimated as they approached. Lightning flashed out, hundreds of bolts a second, each as thick as a tree-trunk, as white-hot as any furnace, only to be caught and grounded, forming a catastrophically devastating lightning vane, carving a path of Nightmare Moon’s retreat into the ground.
Eventually, the storm would catch them. Rarity watched that moment approach, her mouth agape and her pulse hammering in her veins. Still, she didn’t move. Rainbow snored loudly at her side.
Move
Her legs trembled. Her breath had gotten lost somewhere in her throat.
You have to move!
The expressions on the faces of the pegasi nearby grew strained; their wing beats less disciplined, their formation wavering. They dropped like flies to the storm’s fury, falling in droves as their magic failed. Nightmare Moon cast one, frantic glance over her shoulder, and, in a moment set outside of time, Rarity saw abject despair.
The storm broke free, rushing north with a crackling, burning, tearing scream of exultation. It swallowed Nightmare Moon entire.
Move!
And then, with a tumultuous crash that obliterated all other sound, another presence arrived.
Streaking from the north, a meteoric strike, the Sun’s Hammer, as blindingly bright and furiously radiant as any noon Sun, Celestia joined the battle. She hit with tremendous impact, all the Sun’s fury following in her wake to pile into the gap she created, drove forward as a wedge of golden power into the storm’s darkness. Nightmare Moon gave way, her head spinning about to spot her sister, and give—was that a smile?!—and pulled back, sweeping around to collect pegasi from their aerial formation.
Celestia disappeared into the storm, her glow the only trace of her passage. Where it touched, the storm calmed, slowed down, as if her mere presence instilled some kind of peace upon it. As Rarity watched, still frozen on the cold ground—grass prickling against her legs and cold air freezing in her lungs—the Sun’s warmth spread, giving light to more and more of the storm. The world seemed to gain colour, the rays of the dawn spreading not just warmth but life . . . It was beautiful, and terrible, and majestic, a display unrivalled by any Rarity had seen before.
It was not over. Nightmare Moon marshalled her forces, concentrated them behind her, and around the pocket of calm Celestia had imposed upon the tumult. Then she dove in, chasing after her sister, wielding the argent blaze of the Moon as a spear. There was a period of silence.
And then the Earth shook, and the storm trembled, and the Sun burst forth, rising over the horizon to meet the Moon in the skies above. Rarity hissed, turning away and pressing her hooves over her eyes, scrabbling to cover her ears against the noise. Blazing down from the heavens, incarnate fury and passion struck the Earth somewhere to the south, and the storm fell away, simply stopped where it was, yielding its hold on the elements, and began to dissipate. Rock rained on the ground, rain and ice and snow poured down in a shower so thick it might have been a river, clouds drifted apart, allowing more and more pillars of light, gold flecked with silver, to shine through.
Rainbow groaned, turning over. Rarity waited, holding herself prone until the worst of the earthquake subsided. Then she glanced at Rainbow, checked her over for injury. Miraculously, the pegasus had escaped largely unharmed, sustaining mere scrapes.
Of the black unicorn that had saved them, there was no sign. The pegasi were scouring the ground for their comrades, locating those few—so few!—injured and bearing them away. There were far, far too many bodies passed over, to Rarity’s horror, unicorns and earth ponies numbering just as many as pegasi, though she hadn’t seen them before. They must have been fighting from inside, she thought, suppressing a shudder. There was no way of knowing what that hell must have been like.
She poked Rainbow, tried to hoist her up, and then resorted to levitation. It wasn’t long before a pair of pegasi approached, took Rainbow from her, and then lifted her in turn, bearing her away, north, to some unknown destination.
From the air, she could see the aftermath in more detail. The plains to the south, back where the storm was breaking up, where Celestia and Nightmare Moon still fought, though their army was retreating, there was only a layer of debris, indiscriminately scattered over everything. Rocks, trees, mounds of dirt, sand, water accumulating in pools . . . and bodies: thousands of bodies, lying unmoving where they had fallen. The air came fresh and sweet and clean, and Rarity retched as the pegasi bearing her squeezed her tight.
She couldn’t think clearly—she was still in shock, she knew, still coming down from the surge of adrenaline and the sheer vividness of the experience—and she couldn’t shake a single question, circling around and around in her mind. A question to which she had no answer, for it did not appear in any history of Equestria she’d heard of.
What in Tartarus was that?
The battle wasn’t done yet. Still, remnants of the storm persisted, swirling together in an attempt to resist the power splitting it apart. Still, the twin alicorns of Equestria drove their might towards its heart, driving south, looking for some source, some Master. Rarity could no longer keep track. Observations and questions fell away from her, lacking immediate significance. She was safe, as was Rainbow. That was enough, and more than enough. She relaxed, and slipped into a cold, dreamless slumber.
Luna came to me today. How she discovered my plans, I do not know, but her knowledge has brought upon her such anger as I can think of but one way to stop her. It breaks my heart that she does not share my vision. I would have liked to have her by my side, from now into eternity.
Thirty-Three
DAEREV FLINCHED, ducking his shoulder and twisting towards the sudden rattle of the door. After nearly a day and a half of monotony, the interruption was unexpected. He furled his wings, pressing them tightly to his back in an attempt to compress his frame, a reflex action, mostly, and caught Pinkie’s eye, from across the table.
She’d been . . . well, he wouldn’t characterise her as healthy. Pinkie was prone to mood swings and twisted logic on the best of days, but this had been something more than just a manic personality. He might’ve expected—rightly—that she would chafe at being confined to the guardhouse until Princess Cadence deigned to allow them in, despite the hospitality of her guards. Instead, she’d been content to sit, not still, never quite still, and brood.
Pinkie threw down her cards, flashing him a toothy grin and revealing five aces. Daerev groaned and dropped his own, rather inferior, hand, and moved to the door, Burst waving him on with a shrug— Spear would have insisted on checking it himself, but he wasn’t here and what Spear didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him—as he revealed his own hand, inexplicably also containing an ace. He could have sworn they’d only opened the one pack.
He opened the door a crack, peering out into the town of Hornwall. This was his first glimpse of its interior, and his eye roamed eagerly, taking in the sights. Which, surprisingly, were non-existent. The guard-post opened onto a small back-alley instead of the larger road he had expected. Ah. To the left, the gates loomed tall, casting a shadow on the cobblestone street. The houses had simply pushed all the way up to the outer wall.
Spear, standing outside, lowered his hoof. Shouldering past Daerev, he took the scene in at a glance—frown deepening, creasing the skin around his eyes and muzzle—then sighed. Burst was already up against the far wall, struggling with his barding, which regulations would have him wearing at all times, Pinkie now moving to help him, ignoring the torrent of cursing pouring forth from the pegasus.
“Hurry up,” Spear said. “We’ve got a call.”
“What’s happening?” Daerev asked. Something was going on, that much was clear. Unbidden, a sense of opportunity arose.
“We found a body,” Spear said, roughly. Burst paused.
“What? Who?”
“Clod Hoof.” Spear met Burst’s gaze. The name must have meant something to them, though Daerev had never heard it before. “Dead. South side, against the wall.”
“Dead?!”
“You two”—pointing at Daerev and Pinkie—“are coming with us. I’ll not have you running free while the whole guard-force is occupied.”
Burst slipped his helmet on, tightened his greaves. “Right. Let’s go.”
They filed out into the sunshine, greyer, now, as if clouds had obscured the light. Spear led them inwards, taking back-streets and alleyways, snaking a path down towards the southern side of the city. As they moved, the brisk jog doing wonders to loosen the muscles Daerev had been itching to stretch, Spear filled them in.
“He was found a few hours ago. Some poor pony, out for a walk . . . reported it, of course. Station’s had most of us down there, at one point or another. They say he’s been dead for days.” At Daerev’s questioning glance: “Clod was . . . well known to the guards, here.”
Hornwall’s layout was confusing. As small towns grown rapidly in a short span of time are wont to do, it hadn’t really been planned, nor had any governing body taken it upon themselves to allocate sensible plots. The result was a mess of back alleys and short-cuts, an interlocked grid where every turn was as likely to confront you with a dead end as not. Daerev was lost within just a few minutes of leaving.
Before they got far, however, Pinkie stiffened, slowed, so that she dropped back despite Spear’s admonishments. Daerev turned to her, began to speak, then . . . caught the tail end of something, a whisper floating forward, “-the station.”
“What was that?”
Pinkie stopped entirely. “It’s a distraction. He’s at the station.”
Daerev’s eyes widened. Spinning on his heel, he caught up to Spear in a few strides, grabbed him by the shoulder. The unicorn reacted immediately, magic splashing across Daerev’s chest. He staggered back, dragging Spear with him, both of them crashing to the ground. Burst jumped forward, only to find Pinkie materialise in front of him, blocking his path.
“What?! Let go of me! Damn it!”
“Wait,” Daerev said, thinking quickly. He didn’t have time, couldn’t waste any more convincing the two of them . . . The truth, then, and run. “The body. It’s a distraction. He’s going to strike the station while you’re all away.”
“Who?” Spear regained his feet, re-lit his horn.
“Boundless,” Daerev said, facing him. “The pony we came here chasing. The murderer.”
“He killed Clod Hoof,” Pinkie said. She sounded deflated, just a few wrong words from losing her composure entirely. Her body twitched, a series of spasms running down her left flank. “Daerev, we have to go.”
Spear lifted a hoof, opened his mouth—and then stopped. "You said Boundless? Furrowing his brow, a second passed, before he took in a sharp breath, spinning to Burst. “We arrested Plain Sight yesterday, didn’t we?”
“Oh, buck me,” Burst said. "It's the unicorn, isn't it."
Daerev took off. As expected, Pinkie fell into step beside him, and he dipped a shoulder, allowing her to jump up onto his back. With a grimace, he extended his wings. He’d have liked more practice, more training, but there was need. A few flaps gave him enough lift to jump, jump and claw at the tiled rooftops, enough to scramble over the edge. From here, he could move freely, glide from roof to roof without following the labyrinthine streets.
“Which way?” he asked Pinkie. Before she could answer, Burst passed them, wings blurring. Daerev grinned, and took off after him. Dragonfire beat in his chest, rising and roaring with each step. He could hear it, filtering the soundscape around him. He could see it, flickering at the edges of his vision. He could feel it, spreading through his limbs, carrying vigour wherever it went. He landed in a full sprint, one step, two, and pushed off, wings beating to carry him forward, until he caught Burst, matched the pegasi’s frantic pace.
“There!” Burst called, hoof pointing at a building just a few blocks distant, some hundred metres away, and to the left, slightly. Daerev found his claws clamping onto the stone gutter under him, his legs coiling, and then he was airborne. He had no time to think, or marvel, at how effortless it was suddenly, to rise through the air.
He landed, by the same trick developed on the journey here, with a sweeping crash, careening straight through the wall ahead of him, though keeping his feet. A figure of grace and power, then. That suited him just fine. Pinkie, sheltered from the impact on his back, slid down to the floor, while Burst landed beside her.
The dust clouded the room, and, it seemed, everypony froze. Daerev stilled his gasping breaths, listening, unable to see.
“What was that?” an unknown voice called out. It—he—sounded startled, afraid.
“Wait and see,” another drawled. This one was more curious than anxious.
Slowly, as the dust settled, the situation revealed itself. They stood in a reception area, an antechamber of sorts. An earth pony had his hoof around the receptionist’s neck. A brown unicorn was facing him from the door on the other side. A keychain was dangling from his mouth.
“It is you,” Burst hissed. “Boundless. You were at the wall . . .”
Pinkie flinched, and Daerev took a step forward, puffing himself up menacingly, his attention irrevocably focused, now, onto Boundless, who stood just a few feet away, with a maddening smirk plastered all over that dumb face and . . .
The earth pony tightened his grip, causing his victim to struggle, wave her hooves, wide eyes screaming at him to stay back, dear Celestia please stay back.
“Well, isn’t this a pickle,” Boundless said, turning to his compatriot. “If the brute moves, kill her.” And then he unlocked the door behind him and disappeared down the corridor.
“Boundless!” Daerev roared after him, not quite stopping the fire from spilling into his voice and leaving its own char on the walls. He had no more doubts as to the unicorn’s identity. No other would—no other could—talk so plainly about murder.
And—ah. Daerev saw his dilemma in an instant, saw the two paths laid out before him, even saw a little of the future each held. His rage screamed for Boundless, for leaping movement and justice, or, if not that lofty platform, at least honest retribution. His mind fought back, an understanding of Trixie’s plight that he hadn’t realised he held convincing him of the threat’s sincerity. He couldn’t trade this pony’s life for his shot at Boundless’s, could he? Use this moment to pin him down, contain him, and prevent his disease from spreading until Agyrt was done with him? Or just sink his fangs into his cowardly back right now, right here, and let the raging fires consume him . . .
Even inaction was a choice. As he stood there, Daerev heard doors rattling, a distant explosion. Burst was trembling by his side, the happy-go-lucky pegasus entirely unsuited for this, Pinkie seemingly rooted to the ground, eyes already brimming with tears—where did she learn such despair? It clutched at his heart, an almost physical pain, this, watching her innocence stripped from her. They could not help him.
What won’t I do?
I will not kill.
He talked about it, he thought about it, but Daerev knew, on a level deeper than thought, that he could never go through with his threats. That was the line that kept him sane, that separated him from the monsters that roamed the world, and therefore it was him, a moral stand on which he had founded an identity. He could not let this pony die, not for Agyrt, not for himself, not even for Twilight.
“And you?” he asked, rounding on the earth pony, his deliberations showing in bared teeth, strained grimace, fire tingling on his tongue. “How have you been wrapped up in his games?”
The earth pony raised his chin. “’Tis no game we are playing, slave.”
Daerev snorted. “Slave, am I? I am not the one scurrying at his beck and call. I am not the one threatening a life on another’s whim.” He edged forward as he spoke, raising his voice and placing careful emphasis on his words.
“You could not hope to understand. He has lifted the shroud from our eyes, and we rejoice in freedom.” The earth pony was sneering, now, his grip tightened as he fell into rhetoric. “How constricting, the bonds of moral platitude, moral certainty. How enfeebling!”
Sweet Celestia, his eyes had glazed over. Daerev almost stopped right there, dumbfounded by the pony’s naiveté.
Instead, he lunged forward, sweeping the hostage—who immediately bolted for the doors—from the earth pony before he could so much as raise a hoof to defend himself. Silencing the mewl of protest with a snarl of his own, Daerev pressed him backwards, boxing him into the corner, then spun to the door Boundless had run through, glancing down the long hallway it opened onto. There was no sign of him, and Daerev rounded on the earth pony, taking a pointed step around the trickle of urine seeping across the floor.
“Where’s he gone?” Daerev said. There was no doubt who he was referring to.
The earth pony squirmed, trying to push himself back.
“What did he promise you? Huh? Power? Freedom?” Daerev let his teeth show. “Do you feel free, pony?”
“B-buh . . .”
“Why was he here?”
“We . . . we were . . .”
“Why was he here?!” Daerev roared, letting green fire flicker and char the edges of the pony’s mane.
“We were busting Plain Sight out,” the earth pony said, finally collapsing to the ground. “He-he was arrested—hic—yesterday. B-b-bou-he wanted him out.”
Daerev punched the wall, causing a cloud of plaster to shower down. He’d been this close. He shook his head, spinning away from the now unconscious earth pony. Burst approached, standing over the downed accomplice.
“How . . .?” he asked, voice trailing off, as Daerev passed him, heading for the hole he had made in the wall.
“Instinct.” Unpleasant, but true.
Boundless was here. Agyrt hadn’t lied—he couldn’t, as a matter of fact. But this little confirmation sparked an urgency in Daerev that surpassed him. There was an intensity to his fire, fed only by an instant, a few glimpses, brown coat, flat face. As if, for a moment, he was caught in a whirlwind of motion, events spiralling around him without time to think, time to act . . .
He caught himself against a wall, stumbling to the side of the street. Rapid, short breaths came ragged, and he swallowed, held himself still.
He had to think critically. Panic would get him nowhere—Twilight had taught him that lesson only too well. And he was familiar with his own brand of self-doubt, every bit as destructive. Getting caught in fear or anger here could get ponies killed. He growled, his breath rumbling deep in his chest, and turned back to the street, moving with a methodical gait. Tension still thrummed through him, but the storm inside had calmed.
Boundless would be looking for a way out. A way through the city, and into the Crystal Empire proper. Whatever means he employed to gain access must have fallen through, become inaccessible: there was nothing for him here. Daerev had to assume that he’d leave as soon as possible, at any time, and if they were still stuck here when that happened, they’d lose any chance of catching him.
So. Find the entrance, find the exit. Boundless had just broken Plain Sight out of jail. Spear would know what he had been arrested for, and . . . well. It was his best lead.
“Wait.” What was this? A voice, calling out—to him? There was no one else around. Daerev twisted his head, spotted a pony approaching him, caution in her step. Pinkie had caught the hostage outside, walked alongside her, her relief almost palpable.
“Please wait, umm, Mr. Dragon, yes,” she said. Ah, the receptionist. Daerev felt the fire spark again, but this time it felt different. Warm, now, a hearth on a long cold night, crackling, compared to the wildfire. He smiled.
“Are you okay?” Daerev asked.
“Yes, yes, thank you. I just wanted, I wanted, you see, to thank you, umm, properly.”
Daerev shook his head, but his smile widened. “Not at all, ma’am.”
“Yes, umm,” she fidgeted, looking at her hooves. “I-I couldn’t believe it, actually, yes? That they would . . . that they would . . .”
“Hey, hey,” Pinkie said, pulling her into a gentle hug.
Daerev bent down, onto his knees, and inclined his head to rest against her shoulder. “I’m sure they were just bluffing. Easy, easy, don’t worry about them. “
They stayed there, until she had dried her eyes, apologised, and thanked him “properly, as a mare should”, and walked her home before continuing on his way, and for the rest of the day, Daerev managed not to think about the magnitude of the lie he had told, or the depth of comfort it had brought.
***
Rarity lifted a biscuit from the small bag floating at her side, suppressing a frown as she nearly broke a tooth on it. She’d had stale biscuits before, but these were something else, some older recipe, designed to last weeks without going bad, while remaining compact enough for long distance travel. Sensible enough, she supposed, for groups on the move, though she came close to choking on the biscuit’s dust.
Beside her, a unicorn—white coat, pale brown mane—munched away happily, crumbs spilling from his lips. Blessedly, he had fallen silent, a pointed look proving enough to remind him to watch his manners. The break from his incessant chatter was worth the price of the food, if nothing else. Rarity nibbled at her biscuit’s edges, content to simply observe her surroundings. She’d been unable to completely avoid speculation, but even so, she’d never thought it would be so, well, dirty.
The army—there was no other way to describe the group of battered, exhausted ponies that had survived the Storm, as they were calling it though that had been no storm Rarity had ever experienced—had stumbled north, moving at a snail’s pace. Regulars—volunteers with little to no Coromantic ability—had rushed the Wastes, pulled veterans from the sandy graves they lay in, carried them until they regained the will to walk. These—all Coromancers—had fought until they dropped: Conduits and Stormchasers in the sky, doing what they could to insulate and turn back the Storm’s advance, Wardens and Anchors, fighting to preserve the ground below, Sages and Seers, relaying orders, holding morale firm, and combating the presence the Storm carried—the sheer weight of it that had crashed against everypony who saw it. Rarity could still feel it, in her legs and on her back. It weighed on her in the same way Celestia and Luna did, with their titanic display of power.
They hadn’t stopped until they’d made it off the desert plain now being called the Whispering Wastes—the swathe of devastation, extending northward, southward, coast to coast, from that final stand that Rarity and Rainbow had fallen into so witlessly. Rainbow was still comatose, recovering from the gargantuan effort that brought them here, beyond, before, the Veil.
They camped on fresh grass, in the midst of a flat plain that extended farther than the eye could see. On the horizon, mountains rose, spreading out in a shell, insulting them from the harsh north, and the sea-winds from the west. But the geography didn’t resemble anything she knew from Equestria. Instead, her mind kept returning to the Crystal Empire, finding similarities in the way the land rolled out from under her hooves, and the appearance of a Northern Frontier, a mountain range stretching across the horizon, nestling up against the edge of the world . . .
Which was patently silly, of course. There was a complete lack of cold here, no snow or ice. Celestia’s sun brought warm winds and cool rain, the earth was rich and fresh, almost breathing life into the air. It was, simply, as far from barren as Rarity could imagine, akin to Sweet Apple Acres at the height of its fertility.
The army had fallen upon the plain with fervent relief. Here, finally, there was a chance for rest—real rest, not the weary march of the survivor. They’d been here some weeks, and already many of the injured were back on their hooves, helping to build, to plant, or to plan. Earth ponies had procured seeds, and were already seeing fruit from their crops—though recent successes hadn’t persuaded them to change their recipes, not while the stores of food remained so low. Pegasi had corralled clouds, and created a small lake, irrigating the surrounding land. Unicorns were pooling their magic, visiting forested lands to the East and returning with timber, building homes, halls, and barns, each garnished with elaborate woodwork, celebrating victory, honouring the dead. Rainbow languished in one even now, attended by the few pegasi medics to have survived. Rarity was inexperienced with Coromantic exertion—she had spent hours fretting over Rainbow, near inconsolable with the state she was in. Fortunately, Rainbow was in better hooves than hers.
“You look awfully sombre,” Forethought said, taking another biscuit from the bag. He was an odd one, for sure, though Rarity was, ultimately, glad of his company. One of the Regulars, he had spotted her a few days into their trek, approached her with a jubilant smile that seemed out of place amongst the despondent veterans.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” Rarity said. “I’m . . . I’m thinking.”
Forethought snorted. “Not a lot of that going around right now.”
Well, that was true. Everypony was simply glad to be alive, rejoicing in the simple pleasures, the indolent release of peace, or focusing on recovering. But Rarity found the Storm much harder to drive from her mind. Even now, nearly a month after, Rarity wasn’t sure about anything she’d seen there. She’d visited it, once or twice, with her Sight, only to find the period clouded, a chaotic mess, the world fluctuating madly. Nonetheless, it had confirmed everything for her. Luna’s mission—a scouting trip, essentially—had been abstract: important, yes, but . . . lacking reality. Rarity hadn’t connected the implications, hadn’t stepped back and thought, until now. Now, it was visceral. That sneaking suspicion growing in Twilight’s journals, the conviction that persuaded Luna to send them here . . . all justified. Equestria had been lied to.
There was still no sign of the Princesses. Rarity’s final glimpse of them, flying south, into the centre of the Storm as it broke its front on them, was one full of hope and desperation. Celestia had blazed like the Sun Incarnate, while Luna, shimmering, stalwart, was a font of strength no weaker for its subtlety. She could not imagine that they had fallen, and not only because she was here in the first place. Still, they had not returned. Of note, too: while many commented on Luna’s absence, far fewer were eager to discuss Celestia. Heads turned away, lips closed, eyes dimmed, at the mere mention of her name.
Even were Rainbow awake, they couldn’t leave. There was too much at stake here, too much potential in the air. There was so much still to happen. And the Storm . . . she didn’t think that battle was entirely over, either. Rarity felt she teetered on the knife’s edge of history, though she chastised herself for the thought as soon as the words pranced their way through her mind.
Sometime soon, Luna would be banished to the Moon. Rarity had seen Nightmare Moon’s regalia, there was no mistaking it. She needed to be there when that happened, needed to see it, to understand how Luna fell to darkness. Rarity rolled her tongue, pursed her lips. Perhaps . . . not even that much was true.
“I suppose this is all still new,” Rarity said, under her breath. Forethought caught it, of course, but he held back any comment, bless him.
She finished her biscuit before they reached Rainbow’s room. The medic, a Conduit by the name of Warm Winds, ushered them in. It still seemed odd, to have exclusively pegasi tending to the sick and injured, when the “modern” day relied much more on unicorn magic. But then, the unicorns here really only had a rudimentary grasp over their magic, with a rough instability akin to a foal. And the pegasi . . . well, not every pegasi worked in health.
Just a few whispered words from Warm Winds in Rarity’s ear enough to turn her casual walk into a run. Rainbow was sitting up in bed, her head in her hooves. She looked . . . well, defeated, broken, in a way that went deeper than emotional malaise. Rarity flung her hooves around her, pressed her back into the bed with a flying tackle.
“Yeesh, Rarity, settle down,” Rainbow said, voice issuing from under a tangle of limbs and hair. But Rarity could hear that note in her voice, the slight edge that accompanied a dampness now running into the fur on her foreleg . . . Rainbow would never admit it, she had already composed herself, from the second she knew that she had company.
“Rainbow! You’ve simply no idea how much I’ve missed you, dear. How are you feeling, are you alright?” Rarity gingerly pushed herself off, throwing a glance at Forethought; sniggering, by the door, daring him to comment.
Rainbow sighed. “How long was I out?”
“About three weeks,” Forethought said. He offered Rainbow his hoof. “Not to worry though. We’ve had lots of experience with Seer-Chaser teams. If we had any Wardens up we’d have gotten you out of bed already, but you’re safe enough here.”
“Safe enough?”
Rarity nodded. “It’s no hospital, dear, but they’ve been ever so good. Oh, Rainbow, I’ve so much to tell you!”
Rainbow, however, was slumping. “Three weeks,” she said, and as much as she tried to hide it that edge had returned to her voice.
Forethought caught it too. “Trust me, it’s perfectly natural. Your Seer tells me the two of you jumped about a thousand years. That’s gotta break a few records, especially for amateurs.”
Rainbow started. “You know . . .”
“Coromancy?” Forethought chuckled. “I teach a few basic theory classes. Never had much of a gift with it myself, you understand.”
“O-okay . . .”
“Forethought explained to me how we got here,” Rarity said, injecting a little pep into her words. “It’s really very fascinating.”
Rainbow didn’t take the bait, but Forethought jumped on it anyway, launching into a lecture. Even this, the third time, mostly went over Rarity’s head. As poor as the ponies here were at the fundamentals: the commonplace magic, flight, weather manipulation, even farming, they were far, far ahead in Coromantic theory. That had seemed odd to Rarity, at first, but then, Luna had been a font of knowledge on the subject despite her exile, and it seemed far more abundant here. Compared to the modern age, where Coromancy had been hidden away, this age held it in high regard—the highest. Each pony was tested for potential, trained, and quite often spent their lives studying the intricacies of the art. Twilight would have been all over this, but for where she was, Rarity preferred her intuitive understanding.
“You see, Seers like Rarity—they’re Internal Mental Coromancers—don’t really ‘See’ the physical world. It’s more like their mind paints a cognitive map of the world they know, like how you might navigate your house with your eyes closed. Thing is, this extends to ponies, animals, even time. Rarity here ‘See’s the world as it thinks it is.”
Rainbow’s eyes had glazed over. Forethought didn’t seem to notice.
“As for you, Rainbow, Stormchasers—or Chasers, as they’re more colloquially known—are External Spiritual Coromancers. You can flip your orientation in space-time temporarily. Ordinarily, we can move spatially in three dimensions, while passively advancing in time. While ‘flipped’, or ‘Jumping’, as we call it, the Chaser can move temporally in one dimension—this would be travelling forward or backwards in time—while passively moving spatially in three dimensions. For some reason, this passive movement is a southward translation, no, we don’t know why. But the longer you hold this effect, the further south you emerge. Which is interesting, because it places you, at a minimum, several thousand kilometres north of here when you left. And nopony’s ever been that far north.”
Rarity caught her breath. That was an unintended problem. She’d intended to hold back as much information as she could, there was no need to complicate this further, but if he chose to pursue that line of insight, he could move towards some really awkward questions.
“However,” Forethought continued, shooting a little grin at Rarity, had he actually caught her in that thought, damn him? “to complete the lesson, an effect of flipping is that it prevents the Chaser from perceiving their location, both temporally and spatially. As the majority of Coromantic power is used to establish the flip, a better solution than dropping in and out of the Jump for long-time travel is needed. This solution is, as you so aptly demonstrated, accomplished with Seer-Chaser teams. There have been some few Chasers experienced enough to Jump accurately solo, but they are rare exceptions.”
“Stop, stop,” Rainbow finally said. “I don’t need all this, and I certainly don’t understand it.”
Forethought’s smile slipped a little.
“Just . . .” Rainbow bit her lip. “I can go home, right?”
“Ah.“ Forethought paused. “Well, yes.”
“Well?” Rainbow asked, her face falling.
“Take it easy, there, I only meant . . . wait a little? You might feel it, but you’re not recovered yet.”
Rarity nodded at Rainbow’s glance. We can’t go yet, Rainbow. Not yet. “Rest,” she said. “Get better. Twilight’s not going anywhere.” Forethought raised an eyebrow, but Rainbow nodded, took a few deep breaths.
“Okay, okay. Can we at least take a walk? I want to move a bit, stretch.”
“Good,” Forethought said. “That’s good.”
They helped Rainbow to her hooves, and by the time they reached the front door Rainbow was comfortable standing on her own. Warm Winds was tending to somepony else, but Forethought assured them that she’d be happy to see Rainbow up and about, so they ambled through the new town, just enjoying the day. For the first time since arriving here, Rarity simply let the tangled web of events slip from her mind—a puzzle for another day—and savour the air, the smell of wet grass and flowers on the breeze, the chatter, background buzz, of a community. It clearly invigorated Rainbow, whose step grew stronger the further they went, until she was circling them in the air, a content grin plastered across her muzzle.
And then the town stilled. Gradually, as more and more took notice, the murmurings ceased, heads turned skyward. Rainbow took a second longer to notice, landing gently beside Rarity with an inquisitive look. In answer, Rarity just pointed, unwilling to take her eyes off the sight rapidly approaching.
Nightmare Moon—Luna—was moving towards the new town, rapidly, clearly visible even at a distance. Almost a shadow on the sky, it took Rarity a moment to spot the limelight covering her path: the moon, hanging low on the horizon as the day approached its end, was glowing, and pulsing gently in a quiet and shockingly powerful celebration. Argence covered her body, glimmering, giving definition to the lines of her body that faded against the sky and rendering ethereal the more solid plates of her armour . . . almost immediately, ideas began sparking in Rarity’s mind, the splendour of Luna’s approach disappearing behind visions of Canterlot balls and Manehattan shows.
Rarity glanced around herself, searching for a sketchbook, or notebook, before catching herself with a small shake of the head. Rainbow jostled her with a wing, and she glanced down, seeing the pegasus crouching low to the ground, head lowered. With a start, Rarity mimicked the pose, not daring to look up at the diarch standing above her. Her mind ran away from her, producing image after image of the Nightmare’s wrath, reptilian eyes narrowed with rage, stance brooking no argument, no further affront to her stature . . .
But Forethought was laughing, and bounding forward, and other ponies were clustering around Luna, many reaching out to touch her leg or share a smile and nod. Before Rarity could move, a crowd had formed and parted, the Lunar Princess stepping through towards them with wide smile and easy gait, clearly both relishing and comfortable in the attention she was receiving. Rarity caught Rainbow’s eyes, saw the same shock that she felt. This was wrong, this didn’t fit, and once again Rarity felt a slight start.
Luna stopped in front of Rarity. “Please, friends, rise. I am told the two of you stumbled into our war.”
Rarity caught a flicker of worry cross Luna’s face, quickly hidden.
“I am sure you’ve much to tell. Be at ease, and rest. I will send for you soon.”
Harmony’s power will be enough to close the circle. In just a few hours, the spell will settle into place, bringing with it, at long last, the utopia we have been striving for since the beginning of time.
Imagine a place where even the heights of passion cannot drive one to murder. A place founded on love, where friendship can be more powerful than all the cosmos’s truths. A place where I can sleep at night, no longer tormented by the fires of the world, or my own actions.
Thirty-Four
IF IT WASN’T the harsh sun, it was the biting wind, full of sand and grit that irked Fluttershy the most. The trek out here took much longer, confined to the ground as they were, and for once she regretted the billowing mane that she kept covering part of her face. She was almost looking forward to the Storm: at least that would work all the sand out.
But they were here now. “So, ah,” Fluttershy said, “What do we do now?”
“Distortion fields are complex pieces of weather magic,” Dew Drop said. “And I’ve really no idea how this ‘n’s going to fit in.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Achak said. “The desert doesn’t want this here anymore than we do. It’s on our side.”
Breeze shook his head. “I don’t like this.”
“Achak isn’t here at our invitation, Breeze,” Fluttershy said.
“Hate to say it, boss, but she’s right.” Dust Chaser said. “I don’t understand either, but having ‘er here’s more important than breaking this field up. S’a morale thing.”
Achak watched them offhand, a tolerant grin on her lips, but Fluttershy’s smile slipped. Unbidden, the image of the liquefied bird rose in her mind, and she felt like she should be gagging, should have to close her throat against bile and her eyes against tears. No, Dust Chaser was right—but Fluttershy wanted this field gone.
“Okay, okay,” Breeze said. “Ah, I’ve never run one of these before.”
“We can do it,” Fluttershy said.
Breeze bit his lip, eyes downcast, waving a hoof at her. “Yeah, yeah, just let me think.”
“How long’s the field been here?” Dew Drop asked.
Breeze’s head snapped up. “Brilliant,” he crowed.
“Two weeks?” Achak said. “Longer? Why’s that relevant?”
“Go ahead,” Breeze said. “Your show, Dew.”
“Because it means that the field’s self-sustaining.”
“Ah,” Dust Chaser said. He turned, looked up at the glimmering air. “Of course.”
“It needs power, magic. Thing is, air can’t hold that much, not without it dissipating out until it’s practically useless. Stuff’s like a gas. That’s why unicorns use crystals, gems for everything. Otherwise, you have to hold it together yourself. This thing’s self-sustaining. It’s holding itself together.”
“So we pull it apart,” Achak said.
“And it just goes away,” Breeze finished.
“That simple?” Fluttershy asked.
“We couldn’t make one o’ these,” Dew Drop said. “But it’s usually easier to break something that to build it. Two weeks, though, that’s . . . impressive. We could learn a lot from this, even the specialists in Cloudsdale.”
“It goes,” Fluttershy said.
They all glanced at her, and, one by one, nodded. They could see the death this thing had caused—and not just what had been visited on both communities. The evidence was all around them, and the few creatures only half-buried in sand revealed the other significance of two weeks.
“Alright. I want a box formation, halfway up,” Breeze said. “We’ll each grab a piece, mix it up a bit with some wind, see if we can’t disrupt whatever’s holding it back.”
“Right,” Dew Drop said.
“Sure thing,” Dust Chaser said.
Fluttershy glanced at Achak. “Umm, actually, I, I can’t really . . .”
“What’s the matter?”
“I-I haven’t worked with weather before,” Fluttershy said. “I mean, I can do some wind, maybe, but umm,”
“Are you serious?” Dust Chaser said. “How’s a pegasus get about without-“
Achak cut her off. “I’ll take her.”
“You?” Breeze said. “What’re you going to do?’
“Trust me,” Achak said. “We’ll hold up our end. Just make sure you three can deliver.”
Dust Chaser barked a laugh. “I actually want to see this. I say we give it a shot. Can’t do any harm, right?”
“Alright, yeah. Go on, then,” Breeze said, waving the two weather pegasi off. “Good luck, you two,” he said, casting a doubtful look at Achak before circling around himself.
“Are you sure?” Fluttershy asked Achak. “I mean, I-I don’t know how to . . .”
“Oh, hush,” Achak said. “You really don’t give yourself enough credit, Fluttershy.” Striding forward, the buffalo stopped right next to the glimmer. “As for you,” apparently addressing the field now, “you’ve been tainting my desert for far too long.”
Dust began to stir along the desert floor. Spiralling up around Achak, the air picked up speed quickly, forming a small, contained whirlwind. Almost as fast, it filled with sand, obscuring Fluttershy’s sight.
The Appleloosan pegasi caught on quickly, each of them whipping up a small tornado, slowly bringing it in towards the field. The air currents slipped a little as they passed inside, angled downwards like light refracting in water. But the glimmer didn’t move.
“Fluttershy?” Achak called. “Lend a hoof?”
Fluttershy swallowed, stepped up close to the sandstorm raging around her friend. She extended a wingtip, slowly, trembling, inching it forward until finally, it dipped into the stream.
Ah. She could feel it, the desert under her, focusing, slowly, under Achak’s direction, turning towards the field. There was strength there, strength enough to weather any Storm, but it was slow, so slow, so ponderously, torturously sluggish in bringing that strength to bear.
On the other side she could feel the distortion field. The magic was foreign, unnatural, a stinging force, like tiny electrical sparks, appearing at random. Hesitantly, Fluttershy pulled at it, tried to suck a little of that power in. And as soon as she did, as soon as those sparks touched her, they adhered to her, frenzied, coating her in a building charge. She recoiled, flung herself backwards, severing the connection.
“Fluttershy?” Achak called.
No, no, she could do this. Almost, Fluttershy expected to hear Nephele’s voice, issuing over her shoulder with advice or encouragement, though the Cloud Nymph had elected to remain in the town. So quickly she had gotten used to her presence . . .
Shaking herself, Fluttershy stepped back up to Achak, re-established contact. The field was beginning to react to their efforts, as if viscous, their wind blowing on thick honey. Too slow. Fluttershy held onto Achak’s magic, but left her side, flying upwards towards Dust Chaser, brushed his wing with her own, and adding his whirlwind to her consciousness. He spared her a glance, but, to his credit, he didn’t lose his magic. She repeated the process with Breeze and Dew Drop, before dropping back to Achak.
Now she could feel the whole of the field, from the four points around it. Now she could sense its movements, the way each time power began to drift, naturally or reacting to one of their currents, the field shifted magic around it to push the other way. She could discern a pattern.
But to break it, she would have to reach in. That was the trap, the ingenuity of design. The system was flawed from within, and designed to disintegrate everything that slipped in. Fluttershy took a deep breath, prancing a little on the spot.
“Fluttershy,” Achak called. “What are you thinking?”
“I . . . I . . .” Fluttershy stammered. Could she do it? Even if she was brave enough, strong enough? Coromancy made her tough, able to ride the Storm itself, able to redirect energy around her. That ability would interrupt the self-sustaining properties at play, allow the field to tear itself apart. All she needed to do was make physical contact.
Slowly, she approached. Trembling, she extended a wing. The tips of her feathers grazed the edge, and melted away, dissolving into thin air. Fluttershy paused. She couldn’t.
Except as she rocked back on her hooves, she felt the ground shift under her. Glancing down, she recoiled, the sand shifting to reveal a carcass, desiccated, rotting.
Horror, grief, rage, Fluttershy buckled down, her eyes tearing up, her limbs stiffening. Sucking in great gasps of air, she jumped forward, screaming, drawing a piece of Achak’s magic with her. The desert pulled, swept through the edge of the field, and the field responded.
Fluttershy hit the growing surge hard, rushing in. She felt the others drop their efforts, turn to watch, gasp, reach out towards her. The sparks hit her skin, tingling, running over her, and sank into her. But she didn’t disappear.
Her past experience with rage had done more than nearly kill her friends. Then, her mind blank, she had been utterly out of control. But now, as she felt anger rush through her, she maintained control.
Gathering the field’s chaotic magic that struck her in her wings, Fluttershy roared, sweeping them forward and throwing herself back, back and out. She hit the sand, tumbling backwards, snapping her head up even as she slid away.
She’d blown a hole in the field. As she watched, it collapsed inwards, in onto the hole, rushing in to fill the gap. But there was nothing to stop Achak’s magic, nothing to stop the field from leaking out. The hole grew wider, wider, faster, until there was nothing left, just a spark, white-blue, floating away.
Breeze, Dust Chaser, and Dew Drop fluttered down to where Fluttershy lay. Achak helped her to her hooves, drew her into a quick hug.
“What did you do?” Breeze said. Abruptly, his face changed. “What were ya thinking?!”
Dust Chaser hoofed him in the shoulder. “Whatever it was, it was right.”
“You could have died!”
“It’s okay,” Fluttershy said. She swallowed, gave them a weak grin. “I’m okay.”
“That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dew Drop said.
Fluttershy looked around. They were all smiling, eyes shining, looking at . . . her. And for once, Fluttershy didn’t want to hide, or back away. For once, she didn’t have to fight to stay still. And on the way back, the pegasi joking around, shoving each other and laughing wildly, loudly, Achak at the centre of their group, more than willing to take part in their euphoric relief, even as the insanity of her actions caught up with her, all she felt was pride.
***
Luna saw the last vestiges of magic disappear into the air with a not-insignificant amount of awe. She remembered many of the more incredible feats ponies had achieved in the past, but memory could never live up to the actuality, Rainbow and Rarity just . . . slipping away, dissolving into thin air. Twilight, at her side evidently agreed: eyes sparkling, mouthing words, she stared at the empty sky.
“Rainbow learns fast,” Luna said, nudging Twilight with a wing. “I pushed, but I did not truly expect such an accomplishment.”
Twilight just smiled. “Oh yes, she never fails to impress.” A sudden blush coloured her cheeks. “A-and Rarity has always been observant.”
Luna chuckled. “Quite.” She shook her head, smiling. “Perhaps I should have known.”
They shared a moment, gazing into the sky, before Luna turned away.
“Princess?”
“I’m afraid I must leave now, Twilight. My sister has been woefully lax with regard to your sister.”
“Cadance?” Twilight’s eyes widened, and she took a sharp intake of air. “I-I haven’t thought, I haven’t written . . . oh, oh she must be . . .”
“We’ve had little word, save that she has closed borders with Equestria.”
“I-we have to go.” Twilight lit her horn, charging what appeared to be a familiar teleportation spell.
Luna stopped her with a hoof, lightly pressing on Twilight’s shoulder. “I concur. Cadance needs firm words and a warm shoulder more than she needs space. I will see to her, personally, immediately. But I need you to remain here, Twilight. There are others that require your counsel.”
Twilight slumped backwards. “Trixie,” she said, spitting the name.
“Yes,” Luna said, shaking her head. “Though I was referring to ‘Tia.”
“Princess Celestia?”
“I . . . I do not trust her methods, not anymore.”
Twilight hesitated, biting her lip. Luna noted with some worry Twilight refusing to meet her eyes—though she had not expected to shake Twilight’s faith so easily, the last thing she wanted was to place Twilight between herself and Celestia. “I’m sure Princess Celestia has everything under control,” Twilight said, murmuring her words. “It’s important to trust your friends, Luna. Even if she is your sister.” Twilight looked up as she finished speaking, face practically shimmering with sentiment.
Luna paused, mirroring Twilight’s earlier contrition. Funny, how easy it could be to reflect others—their faces, their mannerism—back at them. Ponies trusted, instinctively, those they felt close to, those that aligned with them. Twilight was experienced, incredibly intelligent, and even somewhat wise. “Yes. You are right, of course.”
Twilight nodded earnestly. “The Princess does everything she does for all of us. She would not lead us astray.”
“Hmph. Quite true. I’m sure my sister has the best of intentions, and she has done well by you.”
There. The seed had been planted. Twilight would watch Celestia, regardless of her beliefs, and, Stars willing, her mind would be a little more open. More, Luna could not do.
With a farewell hug, Luna left Twilight, allowing herself to slip back into the shadows. The journey north was a full day by train, over a week by hoof. Those routes had been closed for days now, and the burgeoning trade between the two nations, abruptly cut off, had created an instant market. Already there were some few wagons making the trip to the border, carting crystals towards Equestria, returning with produce, clothing, and other goods. Luna’s guards had reported several smuggling rings, specializing in crossing the border—including the one Shining Armour had been closing in on. All in all, the situation was rapidly deteriorating.
Fortunately, Luna didn’t have to bother with the border at all. Silvery beams of light carried her ever northward, straight over the heads of those trudging below. Within moments, she appeared in the Crystal Palace, stepping into existence in front of the crier before the doors to Cadance’s court.
He jumped, of course, and Luna allowed herself a quiet chuckle.
“Is my niece available,” she asked, stepping closer to the guard.
“Uh-umm, that is,” he stammered, “Your Highness”—with a bow—“Princess Mi Amore Cadenza is not receiving supplicants at this time.”
Luna leaned in. “I think perhaps she will receive me,” she whispered in his ear.
“O-of course,” he said. “Ah, the Princess is, actually, she’s in her quarters.”
“I see,” Luna said. Troubling still—why post a crier, if not to announce visitors to the court? If Cadance was hiding, even from her own subjects . . . “You will escort me to her.” Her tone brooked no argument.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard said. He bowed again, forelegs only trembling slightly. “Right this way.”
Luna took the time to rehearse her words. Over the last few days, as Cadance had come to dominate her thoughts more and more, she found herself ashamed. Of how she had dismissed Shining Armour’s death for the tragedy it was, in lieu of the larger-scale significance surrounding the event. Of how she had focused her attention on Nightmare Moon’s regalia and warning—on her own problems, neglecting those around her. Of how Cadance had been able to leave Equestria at all, running without a single friend to chase her. It was a failing, and once again, another had paid the price.
But never mind the past.
It wasn’t hard to understand the thought patterns that had led to this. What Luna needed was a way to coax Cadance out of her shell—or, failing that, to get in there with her. Grief would drive her to extremes. If Luna could provide an outlet: a comforting touch to let her know she wasn’t alone anymore, a gentle guide to steer her away from destructive impulses . . .
They stopped outside a pair of huge doors. Luna stared at her impromptu guide for several seconds, her face impassively blank, until he caught her intention.
Rapping on the door, the guard-pony swallowed, called out nervously. “Your Highness, announcing the Diarch of Equestria, the Princess of the Moon, Luna.”
Luna nodded, and then pushed her way forward. From the corner of her eye, she saw the guard scurry away, moving at a full trot. She bit her lip as she opened the door, brow creasing unconsciously.
Cadance caught the expression. “Save it, Luna,” she said, rising from her desk. “I don’t want to hear platitudes, and I don’t need to hear admonishments.”
So. A fight it was, then. “A pleasure to see you as well, Cadance,” Luna replied. “As it is always. I do so enjoy the architecture here.”
“Don’t you dare patronize me.”
Luna just smiled. “Are you so eager to hear me out, then, dear niece? I admit, the modern age’s infatuation with blunt honesty has a certain rustic charm, but there is much value in observing pleasantries.“
“Luna,” Cadance said. The open anger had disappeared from her voice, replaced with a cool, clipped pattern. “Tell me what you want before I throw you out of my palace.”
“You are most welcome to try,” Luna said. She couldn’t stop her tail from swishing, back and forth, arrhythmically, and though she kept her face neutral, calm, it was a battle. She would have preferred to avoid such open conflict, but she couldn’t deny the mounting excitement at the prospect.
The realisation terrified her. This, this was a road she had been down before. But Cadance stood before her, every bit as full of rage and pain as the heights of Luna's passion. And she needed somepony here, somepony who wouldn't back down before her.
Cadance stalked closer, until her muzzle was but inches from Luna’s. “You come here, to my Empire, to my room, with this attitude? I will not allow you to defile his memory like this, Luna. So listen to me, very carefully. You-“
“Ah, yes,” Luna interrupted, “the heart of the matter rears itself. Shining Armour’s death is a traged-“
“Don’t you talk about him!” Cadance lashed out with magic, a telekinetic strike slapping across Luna’s reflexive barrier. Lacking finesse, expertise, it was nothing more than rage, and it was enough to send Luna tumbling backwards, slamming her up against the wall.
Cadance advanced, her horn a bonfire of magic, her eyes—yes, literally—on fire, incandescent pink and purple streaming down her face. She reared, gathering might behind her, slinging it forward.
Luna, however, was ready. Allowing herself to slide to the floor, the blast sailed high, disintegrating the wall behind her. The explosion sent her flying again, colliding with Cadance, the two hitting the floor hard.
Thrashing around, now, striking at Luna with whichever limb was closer: leg, head, horn, Cadance’s excess fury began to melt the ground under her. Luna, defending each blow with skilful shields, just a few square inches to concentrate her power, teleported upright.
“Cadance,” she said, taking a delicate step backwards from Cadance’s flailing limbs.
Unable to hear, fully in the grasp of her anger, Cadance rose shakily, staring daggers at Luna.
“Now, now, Cadance,” Luna said, putting a little lilt on the second word. “We wouldn’t want to do something we might regret.”
Cadance screamed, hurtling forward. Luna disintegrated, smoke billowing as Cadance passed through, reformed in her wake. Twisting, Cadance threw a backwards blast, catching Luna unawares. The magic hit her square in the face, taking her hooves from under her, singing her fur, and, with a distinctive, almost familiar crack, breaking her muzzle. Luna went down—again—with a sharp cry.
The damage was healed a moment later, her annoyance at being caught out trickling into the wound. Luna could run circles around Cadance, but she was rusty, out of practice. She had to be careful, draw this out until Cadance ran out of steam, without letting her get out of check.
So when she came up, she came up swinging. Pellets of magic, far less flashy and far more effective than the huge blasts Cadance had used, swarmed around her, lashing out at Cadance. Each hit did no more than annoy her, pepper her shield, but despite the snarl on her lips every time she tried to attack a pellet would strike her, head, horn, chest, and disrupt the forming spell.
“Cadance,” Luna said, louder, sterner.
Cadance teleported, disappearing from behind her shield to reappear immediately above Luna. She came down hard, magic-enhanced legs striking as she fell.
Except that she struck only air. Luna, ducking sideways, was fast enough to get out of the way, just. Reaching out, she grabbed at Cadance’s horn as she fell past, slipping a sheath of magic over it.
She couldn’t block magic so simply—unicorn horns were used to channel and focus magic, but she would need to cut all the way through to the centre to stop the flow. But then, she didn’t need to block Cadance’s spell-casting, just disrupt it.
So as Cadance started to gather more energy, Luna squeezed.
Cadance hollered, her spell faltering. Luna relaxed her grip, slightly, bending down to help Cadance up. Cadance glanced at her, grinned, and brushed the tip of her wing across Luna’s hoof. With a gasp, Luna jumped, involuntarily, falling back as electricity coursed through her.
As an Alicorn, Cadance had access to other foci.
Before Luna could properly recover, Cadance was above her, punching down with earth pony strength. A desperate shield deflected the strike, which crushed the marble to dust. Luna shoved, hard, magic and muscle, and forced Cadance into the air, then vanished into smoke.
“Luna!” Cadance roared, fluttering down.
Luna didn’t reply—she couldn’t, not without reforming a mouth, lungs, tongue. Instead, she allowed herself to drift, to float around the room, silent. Time was her ally, and she would rather avoid collateral damage. The necessity of this was . . . well, questionable. Luna could see that. Unquestionably, however, it was also the most expedient path.
Charging magic, Luna rematerialized in a corner, zapping Cadance on the back of the head with a tiny jab, and then flashed a grin, hefting the midnight black orb she’d produced. Not waiting, Luna sent it straight at Cadance, the orb moving not fast so much as implacable.
Thankfully, Cadance understood—and accepted. The air before her flashed white then purple then pink, settling on a faint shimmer. The orb hit the barrier slowly, pushing inward. Cadance’s brow furrowed, rage and pride forcing more and more energy into the shield, and the orb slowed.
But it didn’t stop. Luna was more than angry, more than heartbroken. She controlled the Moon, drew the stars in the night sky. Robbed of Shining Armour, Cadance was all but helpless before Luna’s full might, should she choose to use it.
The barrier stretched and stretched and broke. Cadance collapsed, the last of her rage spent.
“Now,” Luna said, panting. “Are you ready to talk?”
***
Applejack watched as buffalo and ponies stream past her. Running towards the town from the orchard, they fled a growing wind, a chill in the air, dark clouds on the horizon.
The last few days had been productive. Fluttershy’s expedition had done wonders to bring the two groups together—the pegasi vouchsafing the buffalo, Achak’s participation eroding whatever mistrust the buffalo had held. It was an example, and Applejack had wielded it like a bludgeon, pushing farmers to take buffalo to the orchard, to help harvest food, sending ponies to construct extensions to the town, building shelters, houses, around the buffalo’s makeshift camp. The busywork—important as it was—kept them side by side, encouraged them to talk, to interact.
Slowly, but surely, trust was forming.
Applejack flicked her ears, back and forth, unconsciously, tail waving in the breeze. Their preparations were solid, thorough, and as complete as they could be. If she had another week, two . . . no. It had to be enough. It would be enough. The Storm was coming now.
The last of the workers streamed past her, and Applejack turned to follow. Fluttershy remembered better than her how destructive the Storm was, and the buffalo better still. They had designed shelters, wood and stone, low walls and slanted roofs, not to stop but to divert the wind and water, deflect it away, the main rooms sunken into the ground. It was to these that they directed everypony, safe-houses with stores of food and water. If the Storm blew over the town, reduced it to all but rubble in its passing, they would survive, with luck, long enough to dig their way out.
“We’re ready,” Applejack said, speaking under her breath.
“Do you really think so?” Fluttershy falling into step alongside her.
Applejack glanced sideways. “We-“ she caught herself, words about to be spoken backing up in her throat, until “yes,” she said instead.
Trust. Beside her, Fluttershy moved with surety, stood up tall. The ponies and buffalo marched side by side, and no matter that they generally didn’t share bunkers. Ahead, Bill stood with Achak, the two deep in conversation.
Applejack had had the Appleloosan pegasi out scouting the last few days. Their efforts had given them all advance warning. They had grumbled about it, spending so much time out in the middle of the desert, but their work had been invaluable. What little Applejack did remember from last time was chiefly concerned with how fast the Storm had moved, how it had gone from a barely-noticeable blur on the horizon to right in from of them in a matter of minutes. The pegasi, extending north in a staggered line, the fastest flier the furthest out, had used the clear skies to signal each other, passing warning back to the town in moments. As a result, by the time Breeze made it back to town, the last of the workers were filtering underground.
“Applejack,” Bill called out as she approached. “Here we go.”
“Kitchi,” Achak said, nodding gravely.
Warden, Nephele said. The cloud hovered at Fluttershy’s side, looking more replete, more solid, since she’d first seen it. He is here.
“Yes,” Applejack said.
He will destroy us.
“No, never,” Fluttershy said, turning to the cloud. “We aren’t going to let that happen, Nephele. That’s what all this is for.”
Celestia, but Applejack still found the sight weird. A talking cloud . . . and it was far from the strangest oddity of the past two weeks.
It isn’t enough.
“I ain’t ever heard of a storm that could knock over this kind o’ preparation,” Bill said. “We’re gonna be jus’ fine.” He punctuated the statement with a sharp nod, slugging Breeze in the shoulder. They had every reason to be proud of their work, and only hearsay to instil fear—and their confidence did little to calm Applejack’s heart.
“Quite,” Achak said. “It caught us unawares before. We were stranded, isolated. Here, with all this—with all of us—we can weather it.”
“No more time,” Applejack whispered. The wind was picking up, blowing faster, stronger, tiny shards of ice, specks of dirt mixed in to create a biting cold. “Get to shelter. You all know what to do.”
They turned in unison, split three ways. The townsfolk, the buffalo tribe, they were as safe as could be. And Applejack hadn’t planned solely for the defensive. If everything went to plan, the Storm wouldn’t make it into the town at all. A shadow swept across the town.
She trotted back towards the edge of town, the outcropping of rock that overlooked the orchard. Already, it was upon them—the same roaring maelstrom, shards of ice metres long, glittering as they spun about, boulders hurtling through the darkness . . . it dominated the sky.
Too late. After all this, too late! Applejack jumped from the ledge, Coromancy filling her legs, landing in a dead sprint, the earth cracking under her, tremors absorbed, dissipated in her bones. She had to . . . if she could just get to . . .
The stormwall hit her like a literal wall, driving her back five paces, ten. Applejack grit her teeth, coat suddenly soaked, nose full of the forest: fresh pine and mud. She reached down, grabbed hold of the earth beneath her, as a tree branch struck her cheek, ripping her head around.
With a snarl, she spun back towards the orchard—the centre of the orchard. Visible only in stark white, every few seconds, lightning lashing the sky, the air, her back, a tree, still standing tall. She broke into a run, drawing strength from the ground, her ground. Resolute, determined, experienced. It was not hard to find the power necessary to accept the Storm’s weight, to shoulder it and haul it backwards.
It fought her every step. Stone, from stinging pebble to crushing rock struck at her legs, air hardened in front her, ice slashed at her flanks. But she was a Warden, and she’d spent a week instilling her will in this ground. There wasn’t a force in Equestria that could budge her.
And then, with a crack that deafened even the tidal roar of the Storm’s fury, lightning struck down, arcing from the sky. Applejack’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened wordlessly. The tree, so tall, so proud, exploded. Splinters of wood were flung outward, apple pulp lashing across Applejack's face, leaves spinning in the wind, leaving nothing but a smoking stump.
“Bloomberg!” Applejack screamed. She fell to her knees, abruptly bereft of strength. The Storm washed over her, picked her up, hurled her bodily backwards. And the instant her hooves left the ground, she lost access to all that she’d stored there. All of her will to resist. She swallowed, choked, swamped in sudden despair, in grief.
Back she tumbled. Back, too wrapped up in sudden loss to notice the hard earth cushion her landings, the gravel refuse to catch against her fur. Back, as the Storm picked up pace once again, forced its way into the heart of the town, wind bringing ice and rock to bear against wooden walls, water laying the perpetual dust to rest.
A hoof touched her side. Applejack glanced up from where she lay to see Fluttershy, eyes shining, wings, raised above her, glowing golden like from stories of old. Applejack clenched her jaw, stood up. She could feel Fluttershy behind her, supporting her, feeding her power.
And behind Fluttershy, there was an entire town. Ponies, led by Achak, buffalo, led by Bill—they had swapped shelters, gone to the others, brought Fluttershy to them—all contributed, all were connected in the Conduit’s web. Applejack felt a surge of pride, grabbed it and didn’t let go. They—she—had done this. Built trust, built a sense of community, built a friendship between the two groups, despite everything, the history of conflict, the years with no contact, no interaction, the insidious poison in the water . . . built it strong enough to bind them together, to channel them towards one goal.
Applejack drove her hooves into the earth, one inch, two. Together, they caught the Storm, and it ground itself to a halt on their backs.
It is done. Luna—Nightmare Moon—has been locked away. I have set in place provisions for her return, in time. It is my hope, that should Typhus awaken again, we will be insulated from his power. We rest on the source of Harmony itself; should He prove needed again, it will be simple enough to draw on him.
My one concern is the six artefacts. Elements, now, split from the orb that held the source of our salvation. I tried my best not to corrupt them. I left them fear, and anger, and hate.
Thirty-Five
CANTERLOT WAS BEAUTIFUL this morning. It was beautiful most every morning, Trixie supposed, but somehow the sunlight sparkled particularly well off the ponds and windows, the marble gleamed, fresh bread and sweet flowers dominating the breeze, birdsong flew above the minute chatter of the markets and streets, smiles riding on the faces of all those around her . . . picturesque, really. Annoying.
Trixie trotted along a side street, heading down the hill. The hospital had released her just a half hour prior, and she’d had a delicious and decidedly less than filling breakfast at the first place she saw, daffodil flowers lining a honeyed oatcake. Lacking anything better to do, she thought to see Twilight, at this moment the only other soul here she actually knew.
Despite her dragging hooves, the lengthy journey ended far too soon, Twilight’s house looming up on the left. Trixie swallowed, stepped up to the door, knocked, waited, and with a few moments and a series of hoof-steps, the door opened.
“Trixie,” Twilight said. A pause. “How are you doing?”
“Better,” Trixie managed. Another pause. Oh, Celestia, this was a bad idea. They hadn’t ended things poorly, had they? Twilight’s tearful apology, her own reassurances . . . “I was released this morning.”
“Oh, I see,” Twilight said. She sighed, shook her head, unkempt mane falling down to frame her cheeks. “Come in, come in. I shouldn’t be surly, I’m sorry.”
Trixie followed her inside. “No, no, I understand, really. I can’t expect you to-”
“But the Princess asked this of me,” Twilight said. “And I was, well, I was horrid. Ineffective and punitive. This past week has done me more good than even I suspect, and for you too . . . so,” heading past offices and bedrooms, kitchen and living spaces, down stairs to the laboratory, that, last Trixie was here, contained a strange piece of metal that Twilight swore was angry, “are you ready to begin anew?”
And that really was what you’re offering, aren’t you? Trixie held her tongue, moving past Twilight to occupy the room proper. The metal—amour, from Luna, right?—was gone, and the room remained vacant, nothing but stone and wood to line the floor and walls. A fresh start, hmm, with all their conflict put behind them? Trixie didn’t think it possible. Were those scorch marks?
But she was willing to try.
“I wasn’t expecting to jump in so quickly,” Trixie said. “Couldn’t we, I don’t know, talk, first? Work out details, or something?”
Twilight glanced down at her hooves. “Of course. I don’t want to be pushy.”
Trixie brushed past her on the way back up the stairs, muttering “Thanks” as she passed.
“Do you remember what we talked about a few days ago?”
“Vividly.”
“More details have come up, regarding . . . the Veil.” Twilight bit her lip, held Trixie’s gaze. “Suffice to say that we’re on a timeline.”
Trixie nodded. “Okay. Just, just a few minutes.”
They gathered around the kitchen table, Twilight nursing a fresh cup of coffee, Trixie sitting on a bowl of cereal. Silence pervaded the room, palpable, almost physical. Casting about for something, Trixie hit open a notable absence, a blue feather left on the bench.
“Where’s Rainbow?”
“A thousand years in the past,” Twilight said, staring at the wall above and to the right of Trixie’s shoulder.
“What?”
“Hmm? Oh,” blinking, she sipped at her coffee, and then winced. “Ah, Rainbow’s . . . scouting, would be the term. For Princess Luna.”
“In the past.”
“Yeah,” Twilight bobbed her head.
Trixie massaged her forehead with a hoof. Celestia above, it was probably true, too. This just wasn’t getting any easier.
“What about your friends?” Twilight asked.
Trixie just stared at her.
“You know, the two in your mind. Cumulus, and Brash, right?”
“I don’t know,” Trixie said. “They, they haven’t spoken since . . .”
“Oh,” Twilight looked down at the table.
Wow. Okay, this was just ridiculous. They had plenty in common; there must be something Trixie could base a conversation around. But, apart from their history, what did she really know about Twilight? She was Celestia’s personal student, Luna’s confidant, had saved Equestria multiple times, was in a committed, long-term relationship with the Captain of the Wonderbolts, loved books, and was the single most powerful, most accomplished unicorn Trixie had ever heard of. Granted, she was also highly unstable, among other things, but . . .
Out of all of those, Trixie most related to magic. And though she could never hope to match Twilight in power, she had her own style, replete with little tricks and shortcuts to make things easier. If there was anypony she could talk shop with, it would be Twilight.
“Say, have you-“ Trixie began. “So I’ve been thinking-“ Twilight said, at the same time.
Trixie waved her on.
“Cumulus and Brash,” Twilight said. “I’ve been thinking about them. I may have some answers for you.”
Trixie leaned forward. “Yes?”
“I told you they were living in your mind, brought there by what was essentially a tidal wave of emotion—a surge in power brought about by desperation. Think of it as a mother, lifting a fallen tree off her filly’s leg.”
“Just adrenaline? No way, this would have happened before. Countless times.”
Twilight nodded. “Right. Most ponies can pull off something like that maybe once, twice, their whole lives. It’s incredibly demanding, so on and so forth,” she waved her hoof in the air, back and forth, “What we can do is similar. Founded on the same principles. We convert emotion to magic, for various effects, based on your foci. Unicorns have access to the Mental nexus,” Twilight frowned, “that’s what he was referring to . . .”
“What?”
“Somepony once told me it was called the Cognitive Realm. It’s the same idea, just a different way of thinking about it . . . it doesn’t matter.
“Look,” Twilight leaned forward, fore-hooves on the table. “It’s called Coromancy. Everypony—everypony—can do it, to a greater or lesser degree. You, you’d be greater, and from what I remember, your friends are too. Shockingly rare, or not, “she shrugged, “we can’t really test aptitude, of course.
“I think you pulled their minds from their bodies—what existed of them purely in the Mental nexus—before they died. I think you attached their minds to your own, housed them in your brain. You could cut them off, let them die, even . . . push them into other ponies, with enough training, though you’d need a willing donor.”
“Yeah, I got most of this before. Less detail, though.”
“There’s more.” Twilight leaned back, ran her hooves through her mane. “When I was in your head, last, well, Cumulus stopped me. Held me off you. Smart, to retreat there, pull me in. They couldn’t have helped you outside.”
“We might remember it a little differently,” Trixie said.
“Cumulus is—was—a pegasus. Pegasi use the Spiritual nexus for Coromancy, not the Mental, and earth ponies the Physical. You can’t mix and match. You can’t have brought Cumulus’ spirit with you, because you don’t have the capacity, and he can’t use Coromancy without it. So, how did he fight me?”
It was a rhetorical question, one Twilight clearly intended to answer. Trixie kept her mouth shut.
“Two solutions: one, that Cumulus simultaneously transferred his spirit to you at the moment of his death—preposterous, for several reasons; and two, that over the years they’ve been living with you, they’ve been regrowing their spirits, their connection to the Spiritual nexus . . . or growing into yours. Either way, it’s opened up a capacity that is only held by a very specific type of pony. You, a unicorn, are now capable of using Spiritual Coromancy.”
“Twilight,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “What does that even mean?”
“I think it means that you’re partway through Ascension.”
Trixie stared at her for about a minute. Slowly, her head lowered, until it collided with the table with a soft thud. She really should be expecting this, by now.
“Or, perhaps better phrased, stuck in a partial Ascension.”
Ascension: the process of a pony becoming an Alicorn, a princess, one of the rulers, leaders and defenders of Equestria . . . one of the most powerful figures in the world. And Trixie was part ways there. It was like a sick joke, the world laughing at her behind her back. Years of work, ambition driving her every movement, amounted to nothing more than total humiliation. And when she had put all that behind her, locked those old dreams behind doors of reason and perspective, the label of Greatness rose up to hound her.
“No, no no no,” Trixie said, choking on her food. Small bits fell from her mouth, splashing down into the milk. “I can’t Ascend, no, no way, I can’t, we- oh,” she fell backwards on her chair, crashing onto the floor.
Twilight stifled laughter with a hoof. “You aren’t going to be growing wings any time soon,” she said.
Trixie slumped down where she lay.
“It’s actually really interesting. I could be wrong,” to which Trixie shot Twilight an unamused glance, “anyway. We’ve never had this kind of insight into alicorns before.”
Trixie raised a hoof into the air. “Could we perhaps go back to the training, please?”
***
“This is bad,” Rarity said, pacing back and forth. “Oh, this is very, very bad.”
“How bad?” Rainbow said, grinning from where she lay outstretched in bed. On a typical morning, she might have been annoyed to have Rarity burst in; all worked up, and rouse her early. But Forethought had just insisted on returning her to bed after their encounter with Luna last night, and, for lack of anything better to do, she’d gotten a lot of sleep. Something Rarity appeared to have gone without.
Rarity shot her a glance. “It could be worse, I suppose.” She huffed, lifting her chin into the air. “But not by much!”
“I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Of course you don’t,” Rarity said. “You don’t think.”
“Hey!”
“That was uncalled for.” Rarity paused. “I’m sorry.”
Rainbow waved it off. “So, tell me, then. Princess Luna and Princess Celestia have already seen us here, wearing nothing. We aren’t going to be here for long, and even if they do remember us, back home, there’s no way they’re going to hold a fashion grudge for a thousand years. There’s just no way, Rarity. Nopony’s that grouchy.”
“But that’s the problem,” Rarity exclaimed. “It’s precisely because we’re from the future! What if something I wear influences a trend; even starts one? What if . . .”
“We’ve been over this, Rarity,” Rainbow said, tossing her head back onto the pillow to stare at the ceiling. “You can’t change what’s happened.”
“I don’t believe Rainbow Dash, of all ponies, is giving into some notion of fate.”
Rainbow snorted. “It’s not fate. It’s about your perception of time. What will happen; has happened. There’s a difference.”
“That’s another thing I don’t believe,” Rarity said, spinning to point a hoof at Rainbow. “I might expect words like that from Twilight, or Luna. But you? No offense, Rainbow, but I’ve never heard you use the word ‘perception’ in your life.”
Ouch. That one stung. “Could you just calm down, please? It’s gonna be fine. You’ll make something out of my bed sheets, parade in all fancy-like, get soundly ignored, and let me do all the talking. No biggie.”
Rainbow wasn’t sure how it was possible, but Rarity managed to turn white, or whiter, Rainbow supposed, as if all the grime had just fallen from her coat.
“Don’t even say such things! Besides, who’s to say I didn’t set the fashion for the next thousand years right here.” She huffed. “I may as well act as I see fit, and let fate tend to itself.”
“Yeah,” Rainbow said, nodding. “That’s the point.” Though she was pretty sure Rarity hadn’t got it yet.
“Ugh. This is pointless. I don’t even know what the fashion is right now.” Turning, she trotted from the room. “I’ll just be a bit,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
Rainbow hauled herself from her bed. She had been dying to fly about a bit, explore the place—despite her brief exertions last night, she was still itching for some real exercise, not to mention curious. She wanted to see what the pegasi of this time were capable of. Still, Rarity could use somepony watching over her. She was liable to make a scene. With a small sigh, Rainbow slipped out of the room, and followed Rarity out into the camp.
Where was she even going to get fabric, or tools? Maybe she could use magic? Rainbow didn’t know all that much about it, but she’d figured there was a reason Rarity had always used scissors. Maybe magic wasn’t as precise, or stressed the fabric, o-or . . . something? Heh, maybe there was no reason. Maybe Rarity was just stuck on using scissors because that was the way some big-wig in Manehattan did it.
Ahead of her, Rarity was tugging on the front of some pony’s tent, rubbing the material between her hooves. Rainbow jumped forward, glided towards her, and as Rarity turned away, tossing her nose in the air as she did, of course, the owner popped his head out, scowling.
“Sorry, sorry,” Rainbow said as she landed. “Don’t mind her.” She offered the pony a wide grin, met, of course, with a glare.
Hopefully this wouldn’t become a pattern, though, as she leapt back into the air to try to smooth over Rarity’s latest victim, in her gut Rainbow knew better.
What felt like hours later, Rarity had amassed a small bundle of cloth, stolen from various ponies around the camp. Rarity just waved their protests aside, citing a ‘fashion emergency’, and left Rainbow to try her best to placate them.
So, of course, that was precisely when a messenger found them, summoning them to the Princesses’ side. Rainbow was glad enough to be relieved of her peace-keeping duties, but Rarity, whose spirits were just turning around: humming a soft tune as she held various scraps against her coat, dropped everything, let out a small shriek that drew the attention of everypony that wasn’t already staring at them, and ran into the nearest shelter.
It was that kind of day.
“Rarity?” Rainbow ventured, poking her head through the door. “Come on, Rares. We’ve gotta go.”
“Just a second!” Rarity had her head down, cloth flying around her in streams, meeting under her nose and melting together.
“Seriously,” Rainbow said. She took a position just inside the building, leaning on the wall. “You aren’t going to keep them waiting, are you? You remember the last time that happened.”
The first Nightmare Night after Luna’s return. Rarity had spent the whole thing in the Boutique, working on her costume. Granted, she finished it over the next week, and even Rainbow had to admit that it was pretty good when she finally pulled it out the next year, but still . . . classic.
Rarity straightened, abruptly, her dressmaking continuing uninterrupted. “You’re right.”
“I am?” Honestly, Rainbow hadn’t expected to get through that quickly.
“I can work while we walk.”
Outside, the messenger was hopping from side to side, and grabbed at Rainbow’s arm, pulling her into a half-trot. Rarity, however, would not be hurried, and eventually he just gave up, walking alongside them with his head slumped, muttering to himself.
Rainbow could see at a glance that whatever Rarity was making, she’d be disappointed, and she could see why magic made a poor substitute from proper stitches. Lacking any other way to join fabric, Rarity had intertwined the threads, creating a single seamless piece. Sounded great in theory, sure, but the colours just didn’t match in a straight line; the material was uneven, too thick here, too rough there. Perhaps with control, with the right pieces—oh, no, no, she was not going to follow that train of thought. Come on, RD, have some pride.
“Hey,” she said, sidling up beside Rarity. “You know, I think I get it.”
Rarity sniffed. “I doubt that.”
“No, really.” Rainbow scratched the back of her head, glanced away. “Just before I auditioned for the Wonderbolts, I kinda lost it, y’know? Nerves, butterflies in the stomach, the whole lot.”
“I don’t think that applies here, dear.”
“Yeah, it does. I’m passionate about flying, about pushing myself to my limits up there. So when I have a big test, or a big show, it gets to me. Just like this is getting to you.”
Rarity sighed, stopped what she was doing. One look at the half-finished dress and she dropped in onto the ground, making a face. “Blunt, and accurate. Thank you, Rainbow.”
“I still fret,” Rainbow said. “You just gotta not let that ruffle your feathers.” She grinned as Rarity coughed, shooting her an unamused glance. "Or something like that."
Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, apparently, were staying in a small house of the same style as the hospital, about the size of the Ponyville treehouse. Probably the reason for all the stone being ferried about, now that Rainbow thought about it. The ponies here wouldn’t let the Princesses go without proper accommodation for long, particularly if this was to be a permanent settlement.
They were ushered through an antechamber into a larger room, sparse, just a raised platform on the far side. Atop it, reclining, the Princesses. Except . . . this felt wrong. Luna sat forward, head held high, small smile on her face as she greeted them, even returned their bows with a gentle incline of her head. Celestia lay beside her, slightly back, glanced at them briefly, and returned to her writing—a scroll held aloft in her magic, quill scratching at the parchment.
Rainbow and Rarity had spoken last night, briefly, about how much to tell. She felt like they were flying around the edges of a secret, aware that it was there without knowing what it was. They couldn’t reveal anything more than their suspicions, or the reasons they had for being suspicious, but even that could easily tip the balance, probably in a completely unexpected way. Better to be reticent, to withhold as much as possible, until they knew more. To seek to fit in with as little a splash as possible. And so, as Luna opened with the expected question: “We’re scholars, Your Highnesses,” Rainbow said, rising. “We seek knowledge of the past. To do more than observe here would only spoil our efforts.”
There. Simple, elegant; they had come up with nothing better. Even the ignorance it betrayed—a flaw Rainbow spotted immediately—could only serve to further their credibility.
“Oh?” Luna said, quirking an eyebrow. “And what happened, to erase our records? We would have thought the world slow to forget this war.”
Rarity spoke up. “Nothing more than time, Your Highness. We are here to assess the validity of our own legends.”
“Dangerous business, that,” Luna said. Beside her, Celestia snorted, put her scroll down, and turned to face them. “What say you, little sister? You’ve a particular interest in ancient legend, as I recall.”
Wait. Did she hear that right? Beside Rainbow, Rarity’s mouth fell open. Little sister. Luna’s words, not Celestia’s. Rainbow looked at them again, looked closely: at the way Luna’s gaze lingered on her sister, the way Celestia straightened a little when she noticed. Mannerisms that had simply passed without notice were now obvious. Of the two, Luna was the elder.
Yeah. That was pretty big.
“It would appear we have already run counter to their expectations, sister,” Celestia said.
“Oh dear. Are the two of you quite alright?”
Rarity recovered first, years of obsession with poise and grace lending her remarkable resilience. “We apologise profusely, Your Highnesses. We are . . . a little taken aback.”
“By what?” Luna said, leaning forward.
“I am afraid I cannot say.”
Luna stood. “We did not make you a request, little unicorn.”
“Please,” Rainbow began, “we don’t want to affect change. We are observers, only.”
“You are a Stormchaser,” Luna said. “You of all know that you cannot endanger your future.”
Inwardly, Rainbow winced.
“And if we are wrong?” Rarity asked. “All we can do is act as best we can, in each moment that arises.”
Rainbow cocked her head at this, and then smiled. Perhaps she had understood.
“Spoken like a true Seer,” Celestia said. “I like them.”
“You like all scholars,” Luna said, tousling Celestia’s mane with a hoof.
Rainbow and Rarity exchanged a glance. Oh, yeah, definitely the elder.
Then Luna turned her gaze on them, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. "Have you any intention of harm, towards us or ours?" she asked. Her tone, playful just seconds ago, was abruptly sharp. Beside Rainbow, Rarity shivered.
"No, your Highnesses," Rainbow said.
Luna glanced at Celestia.
"Cannot you See, sister?"
Luna sighed. "It seems the interference remains. We had thought that His defeat," pausing, "no matter." Celestia nodded at this, and then again at Rainbow.
"They harbour no ill will," she said.
“Very well,” Luna said. “We shall permit you to reside with us.”
They both bowed again, uttering “Thank you, Your Highnesses,” in unison.
“However, you have not yet earned my trust. We will be watching, Rainbow Dash and Rarity. You would do well to consider the consequences of Our wrath.”
Together, they left the room, walked back through the antechamber under the gaze of everypony gathered therein. It wasn’t until they were outside fully, and, as much as they could be, alone, that Rarity let out a grateful sigh. Stressful indeed, lying to the Princesses: though they had kept their story close to the truth, Rainbow’s heart was still racing. And, somehow, she was sure Luna had picked up on it.
But still ponies were eyeing them, curious, mostly, wondering at the outsiders, and what they might have discussed with the Princesses. Rainbow grabbed at Rarity’s arm, pulled her eastward, towards the outskirts of the camp. They passed masons, workers hauling wagons loaded with stone, even two earth ponies with a lockbox, a crimson glow issuing from the small gaps around the lid.
Rainbow took to the sky, flew straight up. From the air, she could see for miles. Construction about the camp, quickly becoming a town, the castle being erected . . . loggers were coming and going from the nearby forest, farmers were already growing fields of crop: barley, corn, and wheat, to name a few. Nonetheless, there were still great expanses of the plain unoccupied—places where they could talk safely. She gave Rarity a lift to an empty field, long grass reaching up to their knees, waving in the breeze.
“I don’t believe it,” Rarity said, as soon as they touched down.
“I know, right?” Rainbow plucked a strand of grass, flopped down onto her back, placed it between her lips. The clouds were drifting freely, moving west with the wind.
“It’s surreal. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, in Canterlot.” Rarity began pacing, back and forth. “So, what do we do now? Just wait and watch?”
“Eh, too passive. What about that war Luna mentioned? His defeat?”
Rarity clicked her tongue. “That’s right. You were unconscious.”
“Yep. Canterlot to that bed.”
“Forethought told me all about it, while you were out. Apparently a great evil or some such rose in the south. A Storm God, a God of Chaos: Typhus. He threatened to end the world.”
“Oh, yeah, one of those. “ Rainbow sucked the grass in, chewed, and reached out for another. “Princesses brought out the Elements and knocked him into last century?”
“Not quite,” Rarity said. “Actually, I haven’t heard of the Elements at all.”
“A-huh. So how’d they stop him?”
“They fought a war. The storm didn’t just destroy terrain, it corrupted those it touched, filled them with fear, anger, that sort of thing—twisted them to fight against their own friends.”
Rainbow shuddered. “Sounds a lot like someone we know,” she said, rolling over to catch Rarity’s eye.
“Yes, I made the connection, too. They haven’t heard of Discord, either.”
“I thought Discord was supposed to have reigned over a thousand years ago—before Equestria.”
“Yes,” Rarity said. “But then, I thought Celestia was older than Luna.”
“Point,” Rainbow said.
“Luna led everypony in the war. She fought back, using regular troops to stop those corrupted, Coromancers to slow Typhus’ advance. But they couldn’t stop him. Slowly, she was pressed back, towards the northern mountains, and the Crystal Empire.”
A war. Rainbow kept talking, thinking, for fear of the implications. Still it hovered at the back of her mind. A word seen only in the bleakest of novels, tales of Great Evil and Desperate Struggle, invoking death as the ultimate stakes. How many died, here? How did they survive? And what did Luna mean by 'consequences'?
“Coromancers, huh?” she said, seizing on that detail.
“Much more common,” Rarity said. “And everypony knows, too. Still, they weren’t enough.”
“Celestia?” Rainbow hazarded a guess.
“Correct. Celestia was a scholar herself, always wrapped up in myth and legend. She headed north, by herself, long before Luna ever got there. And she found something, in the mountains.”
“Interesting,” Rainbow said. “What was it?”
Rarity sighed. “Nopony knows.”
“Great,” Rainbow got to her hooves, stretched herself out, wings extended, back arched inwards. “So, eyes and ears open. Try to find out specifics. See what happens.”
“We’ll have more luck split up,” Rarity said.”Why don’t you meet with the other Chasers? You could learn something.”
“Sounds good. We can meet back here tomorrow.”
“And that,” Rarity said,” is a plan.”
***
“So,” Trixie said, “Coromancy.”
“You’re a Sage, like me.”
Trixie shuffled on her hooves. Across from her, Twilight leaned against the doorframe, watching expectantly. “What do I do?”
“I started by hurling a river serpent into a tree.” Somehow Trixie wasn’t surprised. Again, she glanced over at the scorch marks on the walls and floor, briefly wondering about the specific story behind each.
“I really don’t feel comfortable with this, Twilight.”
“It’s important.”
“I’ve seen enough come of this, already.” In her experience, this magic had led to nothing but trouble, despite the tremendous feats she’d witnessed ultimately coming from it. She just wasn’t convinced that it was worth it. Power no longer interested her.
“You can’t control it,” Twilight said. “That’s the problem, the same problem I had ten years ago, the same problem I forgot about last week. This isn’t how Luna taught me—but I never really agreed with her methods anyway.” Twilight straightened up, peered at her. “I found it uncomfortable too. But you, most of all, need to learn. When I lost control I violated your mind, attacked you with every intent of killing you, and no matter the Veil holding me back. What would happen if you did the same?”
Trixie nodded slowly, took a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay. Okay, I’ve got this.”
“Relax. Give me a little light.”
Trixie complied, her horn igniting azure.
“Centre of the room,” Twilight ordered. “Now, focus inward, try to build on an emotion, preferably something positive.”
“Not so much of that to be found,” Trixie said quietly.
Twilight stayed silent for a moment, finally nodding.
Inwards, then. Well, Trixie had had plenty of time to explore there this past week. Initially grateful for the extended bed rest, even she’d gotten bored. It didn’t help that Cumulus and Brash kept silent—still there, still present in the corner of her mind, but . . . aloof. She shied away from their presence.
Shake it off, Trixie. She gave herself a little once-over, a shiver running from chin to tail, exhaled. Trouble was, she couldn’t really remember anything positive, not recently. She’d gone from abject fear to suppressed horror to simmering anger too quickly, without time to process, and she didn’t really feel much of anything anymore. That wasn’t Boundless’ curse, no, nor her sin. That was just time.
“Concentrate,” Twilight said, interrupting her train of thought. “It’s no good to contemplate; you have to focus on a feeling. You draw power from the strength of that, not from logic.”
Trixie closed her eyes. What did she feel? She wasn’t truly numb; she knew the depth that word could hold. Rather, she had avoided herself, remained cerebral. Easier to shy away, rather than dwell on her situation.
But the only thing welling up in her unbidden, as she stood in the Agency’s basement facing Twilight Sparkle was gratitude. The light, now hovering behind her head, flickering so that azure waves washed the walls and shadows danced in the corners, flared up, blazing. She could see it in Twilight’s eyes.
She’d done this before. She knew it, instinctively, connected this back to all the little times she’d gotten more juice from her spells than she’d expected, outperformed somepony else. It was familiar and foreign, a strange sense of assurance at every step. Everything she owed to this mare before her gushed forth, pouring forward in a torrent of emotion she was suddenly powerless to stop. She choked, her throat closing up, tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, and her body trembled.
She was attached to her spell, to the light burning into the back of her head. Through that connection, she fed it with her regrets and her compassion, and it burned brighter still, a miniature sun, with glare such that even facing away, Trixie had to close her eyes.
“Stop,” Twilight called, stepping forward. Trixie tried, couldn’t, had nothing to hold on to. Swept away. She didn’t have such feeling within her, did she? She couldn’t remember something this strong, ever, in her entire life. She lunged forward, wrapping Twilight in a hug.
Twilight slapped her, hard. Trixie stumbled back, her magic faltering, sucking in great gasps of air, and stumbled, falling onto her haunches.
“That,” Twilight said, looking down at her, “is what I’m talking about.”
Trixie could only stare dumbly. So intense, and so fast. Out of nowhere, just . . . one misstep, and all pretence at control was gone. She swallowed, suddenly afraid. This, this was too much for her to handle, too much for anypony.
She looked at Twilight’s outstretched hoof with horror, recoiling. Scrambling backwards, she hit the wall with her back, pressed herself there, panting, eyes wide, ears on end. Every muscle in her body was taut.
“Everypony,” she stammered, not taking her eyes from Twilight. “You said . . . everypony.”
“To a lesser degree, yes,” Twilight said. “You are more than most, though I suspect your friends are contributing.”
“I, I don’t . . .” Trixie said. “I don’t feel.”
“You burned it away,” Twilight said. “It will come back, in time.”
Empathy, compassion, even, somehow, guilt—all gone, muted. As if Twilight had never restored her. But instead of the awful nothingness that Boundless had left her with, she felt conviction. It pushed her to her hooves, made her ignore Twilight’s help. “We have to stop him.”
“Yes,” Twilight said simply. “He heads for the Crystal Heart.”
“You can’t,” Trixie said. “You can’t hold him back and you can’t stop him. Not permanently.”
“Trixie . . .” Twilight said.
“I can.” Trixie quirked a lip: she had always enjoyed irony. Boundless had created her, had shaped her into what she was today. In doing so, he had engineered his downfall. Everypony else was hamstrung by the same trap she had fallen into. Nothing short of death would stop him, and in killing, one gave up something, broke free . . . no. She would not subject anypony else to that. Her eyes gleamed; mouth broke into a slow grin. “I can stop him. I can kill him."
A note of practicality: Harmony, though broken, remains our most powerful tool against the Storm. Should, as Luna feared, it break free once again, it is in Harmony that we shall find salvation.
Nevertheless, I have ushered in a peace, away from the turmoil of the world. And so, I leave these words against a future that turns away from love, a future that returns to the turmoil and chaos of the Storm. I leave these words that I might be understood.
Even though they do not love me, I love them. And what I do, I do for love.
Thirty-Six
BOUNDLESS BROUGHT HIS FRONT HOOVES down on the table, causing the papers resting there—maps, mostly, and lists—to jump slightly. The ponies gathered about copied the action. Yes, he had their fear. Plain Sight, fearful, still, and grateful enough for his rescue to . . . acquiesce with Boundless’ further plans, had brought others from his crew, just ordinary criminals, acting not from wrath or envy or boredom, but necessity.
He could see it in the way they stood, shying away from him, heads turned away just slightly. He could hear their hurried breathing, their nervous stamping.
Innocence exposed them to him, gave him control, power. How he relished watching them startle, hang on his every word! A smile split his lips, tongue extending to wet them, ears standing on end, eyes narrowed. More than glorification, it was a vindication, and it pushed him onwards.
They weren’t ready, not yet. Not for what he needed. That dragon was hounding him, appearing around every corner, a shadow across every doorway. Leaving Hornwall quietly, invisible in the night, was now out of the question. He needed a distraction, a big one, something to bind his pursuers here, to occupy them.
Well, there was one solution that presented itself. He had but one talent that could not be mimicked, or bandied about, one calling card that announced his presence without flicker of doubt.
And if it gave them pause, so much the better.
“What I have to offer doesn’t fit your careful little worldview,” he said, speaking slowly, quietly, making them pay attention. “It isn’t riches, or power, or social standing. You will not be freed from poverty, or envy. Your lives will not improve.
“There exists a compulsion, upon all of you, all of your neighbours and friends, betters and leaders, everypony, everywhere. It is intrusive and controlling. It tells you not so much how to think as how to feel. You may know of what I speak. Your leader, Plain Sight,” now gesturing with an outstretched hoof, “does. He saw it first hand, some days ago.”
Plain Sight had seemed eager. That had dissipated almost immediately—the stories that had seemed so incredible to him from across the country took on another face entirely when he saw them close up. But though he had proven incapable of freeing himself, of participating, he hadn’t run, either, hadn’t talked to the guards.
Right now, he shuddered, the memory coming over him once again. He recoiled from Boundless, just a little, subtly, every time he reached out. He didn’t argue, or even question. Fear, which had pushed Trixie into an impossible situation, which now pushed Plain Sight into abdicating his leadership, fear gave Boundless control. And they were afraid.
“What I have to offer,” he said, “is freedom itself. I seek to return your minds to you, to entrust your morality to you and you alone. To emancipate you from this . . . this control, this barrier. I will make you the architects of your own destinies, not the path marked out for you by a foal’s drawing on your flank!” He slammed a hoof down onto the table again.
But they were still shying away. Where was the spark of attention, of desire? The will to push forward, alongside him? He had hoped . . . no matter.
“Enough,” he said. “You understand, and you will obey.”
They were uncomfortable. Of course they were, the dears. Still, he worried. Trixie had passed with flying colours, even stuck by him in the aftermath. A rousing success, more than he’d truly hoped for. But just one subject, just one trial . . . he could not be sure that these, these pathetic creatures, snivelling before him, would follow through, would even be capable of doing so.
“Some of you harbour doubts,” he said, being sure to glance at each of them in turn. “Some of you will prove unable, unfit to be at this table. I’m afraid,” smiling, now, “that we’re going to have try-outs.”
Plain Sight’s eyes bulged forward, and he lost his relaxed stance, leaning against the doorframe. “Try-outs,” he said, mouth moving wordlessly for some time. “You can’t just . . .”
“I can, and I will,” Boundless said. “There is no other way.” Addressing the whole room once again, “you must be ready. A dragon hounds me, and I cannot proceed with him on my trail. To you, then, falls the task of laying a false trail.”
One of them raised a trembling hoof. “A-a d-dr-dragon?”
“Yes, a dragon. I don’t know his name. I don’t know why he’s here. But he has stuck his snout in my—in our—business.”
“H-how do we . . .”
“It is a simple matter to announce my presence,” Boundless said. “You will cut a swathe of destruction: east, south, west, I don’t care. A riot, the likes of which Equestria has not seen before.”
A good half of the ponies gathered passed out, their heads slapping the table like dominos. Comical, really, had it not been so sad to see.
“Plain Sight,” Boundless beckoned, “you first.”
Slowly, he approached. Boundless took his arm, lifted his hoof, pressed into it a small knife, taken from a kitchen, small flecks of vegetable still speckling the metal. Plain Sight shuddered, eyes squeezed shut. But he offered only a token resistance as Boundless guided him forward—hoof holding his mane tightly, pressing into the small of his neck, offering no escape.
These ponies did not possess the will Trixie had. They would never, could never, bring themselves to cross over. He needed something else, some new push in addition . . . something else, to heighten their terror. So, instead, he didn’t give Plain Sight a choice. Perhaps this would not be enough to free him entirely. Even then, however . . .
Holding Plain Sight’s arm, hoof, the knife, all in his magic, Boundless stepped forward, guided them cleanly across the throat of one of the unconscious ponies, slumped over at the table. Crimson blood gushed forth, spilling down, matting his fur and staining the wood . . . the scent of rusted iron filled the air.
Little whinnies filled the air, a gentle buzz of terror, beyond any wild surge of desperation, any attempt to flee. Those still awake followed their friends’ lead, heads thunking onto the table, collapsing backwards to slump across the floor.
Plain Sight, released, fell forward, his body draped over the one he’d just killed.
Well, Boundless had had a hoof, certainly. But he had with Trixie as well. Should Plain Sight still be blinded by the Veil, it would confirm that it was a choice, not an action that broke one free. And even then, it was another step closer. Another milestone passed.
Boundless stretched, stepped back from the mess with a twist of his lips. Progress, but still slow, too slow. Filling a bucket of water, he set about reviving those slumped onto the table. Handling the water itself with telekinesis would be more efficient, yes, but he never had picked up the knack for that. Easier to hold solids.
Moving around the room, he noticed one pony: backed up into a corner, shoulders quivering, tears running down his face, that sort of thing. He paused for a moment, considering, watching as the pony drew back still further, compressing himself into a tight ball of fur.
“You,” Boundless said, careful to enunciate clearly, trying to hang weight on each word, “show promise.”
“Wrong,” the pony said. He wouldn’t look up. “This is wrong.”
“No. But not good, either.”
“Wrong,” the pony said. “This is wrong.”
Ah, mumbling, incoherent. Boundless spared him the water, but moved on nonetheless. With nothing but shock to keep them down, it wasn’t long before he had just about everypony conscious, though they refused to look towards the blood, shied away from the smell, many glancing back to the door leading out, out into the sunshine and the smiles and the rules. There was no salvation for them that way. Barred and locked, Boundless would be on top of any who attempted to flee before they could so much as buck.
Moment of truth, now. Plain Sight was on the floor, back pressed up against the wall, staring at the blade gripped in his hoof . . . veins stood out on his forearm, and he held it outstretched, at an angle, keeping the gore from his fur.
“It seems impossible,” Boundless said, addressing Plain Sight—but loud enough to ensure every other soul in the room could hear him. “But it isn’t. And the fear you all feel; the horror . . . that is precisely what blinds you. You don’t have to like doing this. You just have to let go.”
***
Daerev hurtled across the rooftops. One, two steps, running flat out, and then a jump, gliding, short hops propelled him through the city. On occasion, he rose high enough to skip the next building entirely. He was glad that whoever had designed this place had elected to expand outwards, not upwards: unlike Canterlot or, Celestia forbid, Manehattan, the buildings here seemed mostly to conform to a uniform height. It reminded him of home.
He’d lost track of Pinkie. She’d turned into a pink blur—literally—and vanished, just a few seconds before Cloud Burst had come tumbling through the window, feathers askew, panic written all over him. Not more than a sentence later, and Daerev was hot on her tail, spurred on by the same screams that had sent Burst to them in the first place.
Just a few streets further. Daerev came swooping down to land in a courtyard, erstwhile a marketplace, where farmers could sell their goods. Large streets, to fit wagons, extending to the east and west through it, gave them easy access, connected the outside world to the centre of the city, it was a forum—in a word, public.
And they were using that to good effect, now. Tied up, arranged in a row, bodies lay slumped over one another, small pools of blood gathering underneath them. Some few stood over them, moving from one to the next. It was barbaric, horrific, nauseating, yes. Daerev set that aside. More importantly, it was . . . ritualistic.
Not that there was anypony left to see them. The courtyard was deserted, clouds of dust taking their time to settle at the mouths of the alleys and streets leading away. Ponies would panic at a rabbit stampede, for crying out loud. This, this would have them rioting.
He crashed forwards, straight at the murderers, jaws open, a flood of fire and noise roaring forth. They scattered, darting left and right, leaving the bodies to slump forward, and though he snapped his teeth and swung around at the one or two stragglers, he let them flee.
Their victims were unconscious—the ones still alive, anyway. They’d only gotten to a few, bleeding out from gashes across their throats. Daerev squeezed his eyes shut. His fault. He wasn’t so self-pitying as to believe that, truly, but . . . he could have been more active. He could have tried harder, pushed further, ignored the guards and their hobbling. No more. He was going to end this, today.
He took a deep breath, brought forth his fire as a thin stream of heat, almost invisible. It only took a few seconds for his claw, held in the stream, to heat till it was glowing, cherry-red. Grasping the bodies on the ground, he pressed the talon to their wounds, one by one, ignoring the sizzle and the smell of charred meat.
Their wounds cauterized, the bleeding stopped, Daerev left them where they lay, heading north. He didn’t know the layout of the city, had no idea where these ponies might have gone. But he did know Boundless, had some idea of his endgame. And, just as Daerev and Pinkie had originally intended merely to pass through Hornwall, it lay in the Crystal Empire.
So he ran, doubling back on the odd dead-end, choosing left and right indiscriminately, occasionally leaping over low houses outright, but always turning back to north. There was a gate there. Plenty of time for Boundless to escape in the confusion.
He ran into several groups of ponies, running amok. They tended to band together, a herd mentality taking over, and at the sight of him, they screamed, turned, galloped away. That suited him just fine.
Boundless’ crew . . . he saw signs of them through the streets, though none of them had stuck around long enough to get caught. Where’d they come from? The jailbreak Daerev has interrupted the other day stood out. He’d failed there, just that little bit too slow, or, perhaps, too squeamish? He could have left the hostage, chased after them. Was that his greatest mistake, then? To cling to life—to his past, really, to Spike—just that touch too desperately?
How had he broken these souls? Daerev understood the reluctance to kill well, the moral imperative, drawing the mind itself away. He’d lived with it for most of his life. These, these disciples, they would not have approached Boundless willingly. They could not.
He remembered Trixie, as he saw her in the aftermath. For all her repentance, he could see how badly she’d been broken. How far she’d been pushed. She stood tall, back straight, eyes downcast . . . shattered strength coalescing against Twilight’s intrusion, building herself back up in the image of her victim and saviour.
Crashing around a corner, panting, and the street ahead opened up, widening as it ran north. Just a few hundred metres ahead, the northern gate towered over the buildings. And, yes, there they were—Daerev’s eyes focusing, the world rushing forward around him—three ponies, unicorns, holding knives in their magic, a body, motionless, at their hooves, and . . . oh, no.
Daerev blinked rapidly, shaking away the disorientation that accompanied telescopic vision. Careening forward, as fast as he could move, claws slipping on the packed dirt, slick with something, wings outstretched, holding his balance, he cried at the top of his lungs.
“Pinkie!”
It only took seconds to reach them, claws digging into the ground, wings twisting, spreading vertically, to rob him of his forward momentum. Pinkie turned, flashed her teeth at him. Immediately, Daerev engulfed her, wrapping her in a great hug, hiding her from the world outside. She didn’t need to see this.
The unicorns each took a step back at his arrival, air rushing past them, against them. They stared at him, then split three smiles, and took off in three directions. Dust clouds rose at their hooves.
Damn them. Daerev clenched his teeth. How many of these ponies were there? He couldn’t . . . he couldn’t get to them all. He couldn’t protect anypony.
Inside the envelope of his wings, Pinkie was trembling. Gently, he opened, lifted her chin with a claw to peer into her eyes.
“W-why?” she asked. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes—just a few drops, rather than her trademark waterfall. Somehow, that was more disconcerting.
“I don’t know,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug. This was why he hadn’t wanted to bring her, damn it. Whatever reason Agyrt had for Pinkie’s presence, it wasn’t good enough. “But we can stop them, Pinkie. We can.”
“I saved them,” she said, sniffling. “They-they-they were gonna . . .”
“They didn’t,” Daerev said. “They won’t.”
“W-where are the guards?”
“I don’t know.” Daerev shut his eyes, forced himself to slow down, think. The Guard wasn’t equipped to handle something like this. Even so, Boundless surely would have targeted them first. Was he going to find Spear and Burst murdered? Lying in some alley, in the gutter, blood matting their coats?
Except . . . why were they doing this? Boundless wanted to move north, right? Once out of the city, on the plain, he couldn’t hide, couldn’t run, and couldn’t fight. He’d be completely exposed. So why not sneak out at night?
He hadn’t created killers like this before. If Trixie could be considered a test, a successful experiment, then . . . he was escalating, pushing the limits. Hornwall wasn’t just a gateway into the Crystal Empire, it was another test. A crucible. In that case, Boundless would still be here.
In his arms, Pinkie stiffened. He glanced down, concerned, saw her body spasm briefly.
“The train station,” Pinkie said. “Daerev, he’s going to take a train.”
“A train? . . . the line’s been closed since Cadance cut off the Empire.”
“Come on,” Pinkie said, twisting herself free. In moments, she was gone, tearing east along the wall, towards the station. Daerev ran after her, momentary paralysis giving way to trust. The line was closed, yes, but the trains themselves . . . there could well be one still here. Ah. Yes, that made sense. A distraction, a delay, not long enough to escape on hoof, but more than enough to steal a train.
So they ran, doing their best to ignore the panic, palpable, pulsing, that ruled the streets.
***
The blade scored a shallow stab into his side. Both ponies fell, the murdered and the murderer together, the weight of their sudden collapse driving the blade home, all the way to its hilt. The body stiffened, relaxed.
Boundless turned his back, nodding at two survivors by the door. They would collect the winner of the duel, wake him up, and welcome him to his new life. He surveyed the group arrayed before him—so different, now. He’d had just a half day with them, but each now stood tall, with that familiar glint in their eye. Regrettable, the methods he’d had to resort to, but the wasted potential in bodies was more than made up for in the sheer speed of the process, the efficiency.
A little under half of the ponies Plain Sight had brought to him remained, just seven souls, freed. It was a triumph.
He gave their newest member a little time: time to roll his shoulders, flex his muscles, finish the kill to spare his victim any further pain, and then to delight in the ease with which he cut that pony’s throat, the dissolution of any prohibition, the dizziness of freedom. And, as he claimed one of the empty places around the table, Boundless addressed them.
“I promised you freedom, and I gave it to you. Do not regret that its taste is that of blood and sweat. I have found that that is true of most things worthwhile.
“None of you have any reason to fear me, not anymore. Anything, everything I am capable of, so are you. There are no depths to which we have not already sunk. There is no boundary we have not crossed.
“You will find these . . . traits, to be most useful. It is an understated power, but it is power nonetheless. Nopony can stop you. Nopony can match you. You will walk unfettered among slaves, eyes open amid the blind.
“I am leaving Hornwall, today. I intend to move north, deeper into the Crystal Empire. I require your aid in this.
“Some of you may have heard of a dragon in the city. He is following me. He will try to stop me, however he can. You,” Boundless swept the room with his gaze, “are to get in his way.”
One raised a hoof. “An’ how’re we supposed to stop a dragon?”
“I don’t really care.” Boundless shrugged. “There’s a train here. It's been sitting in the station for over a week. Plain Sight," nodding, "assures me he can steal it. Once I leave the city, I’m clear.”
“So what’s the problem?” another interjected. “Just take the train and leave. Dragon’s not going to catch you.”
“But he’ll follow. I need more time,” Boundless fell back into his prepared speech, “time to survey, to plan, and then to act. I can’t do that with an overgrown lizard on my back.
“I want you all to reveal yourselves. Dump these bodies,” flicking a hoof over his shoulder, “on the streets, take a few hostages, and drive the citizens into a panic. A full-blown riot. Get his attention, and then flee.”
“What’s that supposed to accomplish?”
Truth be told, Boundless wasn’t totally sure. He told himself that he had all these grand plans, ambitions, reasons for living. Sometimes, he even believed them. But more often, he just felt, well, lost. Doing things to see where they lead, chasing ideas because to lose sight of them before seeing their end would be giving up. He couldn’t say precisely what he was trying to accomplish with this little plot. Just that it felt right, instinctively. That there was a reason, even if he couldn’t put it to words.
“You’re to take his eyes off us while we flee,” Plain Sight said. “That dragon knows about Boundless. It knows what he can do. But it doesn’t know about us.”
“You want to diffuse its targets,” somepony said. “Confuse it. Track blood all over town, until even that nose can’t follow it.”
“Yes. But it’s more than that. This is a message, too, a deterrent and a demonstration. We will become as a plague to it, an infection to be eradicated, each of us with the potential to continue, to free more, and more, and still more.”
Ah, Plain Sight to the rescue. Yes, that made sense to him. A bit of a relief, really. And from it, Boundless could construct several other benefits . . . a leap of logic it appeared the others also made. There were no other questions.
They filed out in silence, each carrying their own victim by some unspoken consensus. They split into groups of two or three, moving slowly under the afternoon sun, Boundless and Plain Sight moving straight to the train station. It only took a few minutes for the first screams to reach their ears.
***
Boundless wasn’t at the train station, nor was there any train resting on the tracks. But that wasn’t to say that the station was deserted.
Daerev slowed alongside Pinkie, face-to-face with yet another hostage situation. What was this, the third, no, fourth time? That he could say he looked at this with something approaching familiarity was dismaying.
Out loud, “Again? Haven’t you guys got anything new?”
“It’s a classic,” the pony before him said. The one held before him, throat surrounded in a pale light, whimpered.
“You . . . you let him go!” Pinkie said, taking a step forward. Daerev reached out, pulled her back.
“Leave it, Pinkie,” Daerev said. “Just, just let me handle this.”
“No! I don’t want you sheltering me, Daerev. I’m a grown mare, I can handle the world!”
Daerev blinked, turning away to face Pinkie.
“Just because I’m happy, o-or bubbly, it doesn’t mean I’m infantile! Everypony left me behind, everybody but you. Damn it, Daerev! Why am I even here?!”
Daerev opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it.
“Hey!” The pony opposite them dropped his hostage to the ground. “I’m right here.”
Pinkie snapped her neck to the right, focused on him. Daerev felt the world bend around him, Pinkie blurring forward to snap a hoof against the pony’s face, reach down with her other to curl it around the hostage, and then . . . she was back at his side. In less than the time it took to blink. The hostage got to his hooves, eyes rolling wildly from his captor—now on the ground—and his rescuers, before scampering off.
“I’m not helpless,” Pinkie said, softly.
“I know that,” Daerev said. “We’re all well aware of just how scary you can be.” Heck, after that one time . . . well, he hadn’t slept well for a week. “That’s not it.”
“What, then?” Pinkie demanded, throwing her hooves in the air. “You want to martyr yourself? Take all this filth on yourself in some misguided notion of protection?”
“Yes!” Exactly that. Daerev couldn’t stand the trembling lower lip, the wide eyes. He hated himself for bringing her here, hated the lack of feeling with which he’d delivered the news of Shining Armour’s murder. That memory still plagued him at night.
He needed it to mean something. Needed the compromises, the uncertainty over how far he was going to go to accomplish some goal. If he could just keep the grime off her hooves . . . sink into the gutter himself, holding her up all the while.
A sickly green aura appeared around her throat.
“Selfish,” Pinkie said. “You don’t think I want to fight? You don’t think I need to act?” Oh, Celestia, she was crying now. How’d this gone so wrong? “I’m not some ideal for you to put in a damn box!”
Daerev half-lifted an arm toward her, struggling to find words.
“Would you two shut up?”
Both twisted to look at the pony. Hopping from side to side, he twitched, cocked his head. Pinkie was yanked towards him—limbs trailing, eyes turning to track Daerev . . . He leapt forwards, only to have the pony pummel him with telekinesis and jump backwards.
“Ah-ah-aah,” he sang, waving Pinkie in Daerev’s face. “You’d better not move, dragon.”
He began introducing himself—Plain Sight—rambling on about this and that. Daerev didn’t really pay attention. Instead, he focused, inching forward whenever Plain Sight’s eyes slipped from him.
Silence. Daerev froze. “And what then, hmm?” he said, taking a wild stab. Probably should have paid more attention. But Pinkie was still hanging there, eyes still following him.
“We’re going to kill,” Plain Sight said. “And kill. And kill. Until every pony left is one of us.”
Daerev growled. Pinkie stiffened. Plain Sight opened his mouth. The green aura flexed, shimmered, and Pinkie fell to the ground, landing nimbly on four hooves. Daerev jumped forward, instinct taking over, fire rising to ball in his mouth.
He landed, back feet digging into the ground, wrapping himself around Plain Sight, mouth closing above his back. Daerev paused, struggling to hold the fire back. Oh, how it roared and raged in his throat. Little drops spilled from around his lips, sizzling against Plain Sight’s fur.
This . . . this thing. He was not going to stop. Whatever Boundless had done had clearly snapped his mind, broken something inside. They could hold him, suppress his magic, and restrain his body. It wouldn’t matter. The danger remained, ever looming, hanging over all of Equestria. Not just of more killings, but the threat of creation to, of spreading this disease to others.
Too dangerous. Daerev tried not to question, to think. Just for a second, he relaxed, let down the resistance, the thin edge of control. It only took a moment. Fire rushed forth.
***
Pinkie wanted to scream. Recoiling from Daerev’s sudden jump, stumbling to the side, twisting to see the torrent of green heat explode from his mouth, she felt it rising in her chest, her throat. But nothing came out.
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. She stepped back, once, twice. Plain Sight dropped from Daerev’s grip, meat steaming, fire still licking at his body. The smell of it caused her to gag.
“Wha-“ she tried to speak, choked on her words.
Daerev flinched, dunking his head. “I’m sorry, Pinkie.”
“What . . . what did you do?!”
“I- I stopped him.”
Pinkie fell onto her rump. Oh, no, no no no. This couldn’t happen. Not Spike, not their little dragon. He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t. And yet, there he was, shuffling away from the corpse. She heard a loud buzzing, a static that blocked out all other noise.
The world went black. She’d done this a thousand times, but never so desperately, never with such a tremendous imperative—a need. The city trembled, and the scream raging inside her found voice. Time twisted around her, and she whispered to herself. A message, a warning, a premonition: she became that niggling sense of dread, imparted with an intent and such strength as to consume her mind.
Clarity. Light flooded in, replacing nothingness. She felt . . . not tired. It wasn’t physical energy that she expended. She felt calm. As if everything that coloured life had been stripped away. Tranquillity, and—she shuddered, a spontaneous series of itches running over her fur, a code she didn’t decipher so much as understand—intent.
Daerev stood to the side, gazing forward intently, at Plain Sight, with his hostage firmly held in front of him. Pinkie snarled, stepping forward, only to feel a claw press against her chest. This was familiar. She’d done this before.
She batted away the claw and pounced forward, twisting around the reflexive blast of magic that came out to meet her. Plain Sight had no chance of hitting her. Not even Twilight had proven able to pin her down, nor Rainbow capable of keeping up.
She smacked him upside the head, caught the poor pony as he fell, set him on his way. Then, turning, she spread herself wide, facing Daerev.
“Don’t you hurt him!”
Daerev paused. Plain Sight didn’t. Recovering from the blow, he reached out, recapturing the hostage in his grip. And, with a vicious little grunt, he squeezed.
“No!” Daerev, rushing forward, wings outspread, an avenging demon. Pinkie felt the world stop for the second time, turned slowly to see the hostage slump sideways. Not moving. Behind her, a blast of heat sent tingles down her spine.
“Pinkie?”
“Why . . .” She hit the ground, felt her eyes begin to brim with tears. Why can’t I save anypony? No time left, now, no hope to effect change. Just as with Shining Armour, just as with Cadence's letter.
“Oh, Pinkie.” Daerev stepped closer, enveloped her in his warm embrace. She pushed against him, wanting out but suddenly unwillingly to bend physics, slide out as she had so thoughtlessly before. He didn’t give way, and soon she collapsed, breaking down to sob against him.
“I’m so sorry,” Daerev said. Damn him. He regretted it, of course he did. But he still did it. Still did it. “They’re murderers, Pinkie. Someone has to . . . has to stop them.” He stood up, met her eyes, searching for something.
Pinkie just stared at him, the accusation clear in her opaque blue eyes.
I cannot See what will happen, when we pass back through the Veil. It blocks Sight, somehow frustrates my perceptions. No matter.
I can, however, see outside. I can see the growing Storm, swelling against the bounds we placed upon Him. I do not know how He will be freed; only that it is inevitable.
Thirty-Seven
RARITY FOLLOWED the masons at a distance. She’d noticed the stoneworkers over the last few days, and yesterday had located a quarry, no more than a half-day away from the fledgling town. So, while Rainbow busied herself with her fellow Stormchasers, learning—what else?—new flight techniques, and therefore more specialised applications of her magic, Rarity had elected to investigate the current goings-on about town. While lots of ponies were still hurriedly building shelters, producing rough cloth, churning up earth for planting and digging trenches for irrigation and . . . other needs, there were a great many who woke early and came back late, all heading out to some as yet unknown project. And, well, she hadn’t the luxury of meeting other Seers, either. None had survived the Storm.
She’d found herself sneaking about, ducking behind canvas, moving from one piece of improbably cover to the next, hiding behind vases, and around the sides of buildings whose walls weren’t yet solid, flitting about the town just as others were waking. It was too early to be up, really. Rarity had heard of morning ponies, but she, for one, needed her beauty sleep.
Nonetheless, none had objected as she followed the group, trailing behind far enough that perhaps somepony, glancing back to satisfy the tingle on his spine, would miss her. They were moving east, a train of workers and material. Wherever they were going, it wasn’t close to the camp—there would have been much more activity, more evidence. But then, they wouldn’t want to move all the construction, partially completed, the town still growing . . . right?
Twilight and Rainbow had told her stories of the old city, beneath the Everfree Forest. Expansive, covered in archaic artwork, architecture—and above, the Castle of the Royal Pony Sisters. It could not have survived the Storm, therefore, two options: it was farther north still, or it hadn’t been built yet.
Rarity didn’t mind the long walk, though. Sure, she could have complained about the dust clinging to her coat, the uneven road chipping her hooves, the wind tousling her mane. All of that was still there, in the back of her mind, a little nagging concern. Strangely, though, she held her tongue, even here, with no fear of being overheard or misconstrued.
Instead, she dwelled on the world around her. Grass, as far as the eye could see, fields of flowers, the occasional tree, a medley of green and gold, sparkling under the vibrant sky . . . she could smell salt and honey and fresh pine, even the stone dust marking out her path contained a richness, an earthiness. She could feel the dirt under her hooves, at once yielding and firm. Rarity sucked in a deep breath, chilling her throat and lungs against the warmth of the sun on her skin. Applejack was right, there really was something here. Perhaps not quite as nice as the material comfort of a spa, but she wasn’t petty. She’d take what she could get.
The construction was already well underway. Rarity crept up to the ridge of the site, watched workers carting stone to a huge pile by the side, others marking giant blocks, measuring them with lengths of string that required two just to hold in place, a third to carefully annotate a series of ledgers, still others excavating the earth, hauling it out, hollowing the ground. On the far side, she could see a few—including the forepony, presumably—poring over sheets of paper, great stretches of material extending to the ground on either side of their table.
At a guess, it would become the Castle itself. Rarity felt her throat swell shut, and she swallowed. She was witnessing history in the making, and not with her Sight, either, but with her eyes.
A hoof fell on her shoulder, and she jumped. “An’ what’re you doing up ‘ere?”
Rarity jumped, spun, gave an unconvincing smile. “Oh, nothing, really, nothing at all I –umm, I was just . . . seeing how progress was coming.” She was met with a snort. “Y-yes, progress. The Princesses are concerned, you see . . .”
“Oh, really.” The pony facing her looked unimpressed. Of course, it was hard enough to read his expression through all the stone-dust clinging to his face, dull grey mixing with dark brown to obscure the more subtle shifts. She could have done something with that, surely, some twist to make it sparkle to life.
“Yes, they are. In fact”—dragging her mind to task—“they asked me to check for them, to make sure you lot weren’t just dilly-dallying away the days! Some of us are still living in tents, you know. The nerve of some ponies,” Rarity huffed, turning her head away, “honestly, it beggars belief. And what are you doing here, hmm? Shouldn’t you be working? I shall have to report this, of course.” She snuck a glance at him from the corner of her eye.
“Iff’n they wanted to see, why’dn’t they just fly here themselves, hmm?”
“Busy! They’re very busy; as I’m sure you can appreciate.”
“Ah, I see.” The stallion gave her an unimpressed look. “Had enough?”
Rarity deflated. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Follow me.”
He led her across the site, weaving past groups hard at work, occasionally shrugging in response to greetings yelled at him. Rarity received most of the attention, though, naturally. She made a point of coughing into a hoof every so often, pointedly glancing at the clouds of dust obstructing her. And the itch in her throat demanded at least that much, though what she really wanted was to hack until bits of lung came up. He, of course, tramped right through the stuff.
The forepony—or so she supposed—had a pencil between his lips, though it went flying away as they approached. “Phewgh! An’ who’s this supposed to be, eh?”
“I am Lady Rarity, if you must know.”
“Found ‘er sneakin’ around up on the ridge, ser.”
At this, the forepony’s eyes narrowed. Straightening his back, he leaned forward, body covering the plans. Rarity flicked her eyes back up, years of poise serving her well. “Ain’t that so. So what’s yer story?”
“Why, I was just having a look around. Nothing wrong with a little curiosity, surely.”
“Depends,” the forepony said. “I know I ain’t seen you before. Slate?”
“No, ser.”
“Depends on what?”
“Well, then, dearie, I suppose it depends on where you claimin’ to be from.”
Rarity felt more than heard the pony at her back shift closer.
“See, you ain’t one of us,” the forepony said. He was squinting, now. “Iff’n you came down here from the north, well, we could just report you to the Princess. An’ if you said you hailed from some little village nopony’s ever heard of, swept up in the war . . . ditto for that. But, but, say you snuck in. Say your friends in the Legion sent you. I think there might be something wrong with a little curiosity, then, eh?”
“Want me to dispose of her?” Slate asked. Something in the way he said it, casual, a friend doing a small favour, sent a shiver down Rarity’s spine. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant, no, no, surely just an escort, back to the camp, a warning, and an indictment to the Princesses . . . And for something so minor, at that!
“No need for that,” the forepony said, waving a hoof. “And she’s a poor spy, anyway. Stick by her, Slate, but let her run around as she likes. We’ll take her to Luna at the end of the day. Moon Above, we’re keeping a pretty poor secret ‘ere anyway.”
“You got it.”
Both sets of eyes swivelled to stare at Rarity. She glanced back and forth a few times, before, understanding dawning, she leaned forward and tugged at the plans, jerking them from underneath the forepony’s belly.
A quick once-over let her know that yes, this was indeed the preliminary design of the old Castle in the Everfree, the foundations rising around her even now, which, in turn, situated her in the middle of the Everfree Forest—before it became the Everfree. Equestrian history didn’t say very much about the origins of that cursed wood . . . and since Equestrian history took on form beyond myth and legend only after Moon’s Fall, that would mean the Everfree’s genesis was soon. Indeed, it was to be rapidly approaching. And, in all probability, tied to events she was only just now beginning to glimpse.
She shook her head, chased away speculation and intuition. Pointing at a strange basement, far, far below the castle proper, she quirked her head, lifted an eyebrow. According to Rainbow and Twilight’s experiences, it could house only one thing: a lake, an underground reservoir, and a terminus for the mind-bending waters of the Lethe.
The forepony grunted. “Dunno why the Princess insisted on stickin’ that thing in. Waste of time, you ask me. Still, s’just a pit at the moment. See for yourself.”
Rarity paused. “Weren’t you worried about secrecy just a moment ago?”
“Yeah. An’ if the Princess don’t like what you stick your muzzle into, well, that’ll be on your head. Ain’t no fur off my back.”
“Of course,” Rarity said, straightening. “Come on, then, Slate. I don’t intend to dilly-dally here all day, you know.” She seized his shoulder in her magic, and stepped off, dragging him with her.
“Aw, cheer up,’ the forepony said, a wicked smile now gracing his lips. “S’gotta be better than digging in the dirt.”
Slate’s mournful eyes, retreating, told a different story.
Rarity’s turn, now, and instead of the straight line he had drawn for her, she led him all around the site. Each nook and cranny, she wanted to see, every feature explained by her guide in a monotone that had started out as annoying and quickly converged on maddening. Not that she could blame him, really. She’d been the first, of the two of them, to notice the looks he was getting for this—a little jealousy, a little anger, a little amusement. There would be no shortage of ribbing for this escapade, and no mind what the actual events were. Still, a mission was a mission, and Rarity didn’t intend to return to town empty-hoofed.
Eventually, they came to the pit the forepony had indicated. Steep, sloping walls of packed dirt gave way to a team of pegasi laboriously tearing up the earth at the bottom, a team of unicorns standing around the edges of the pit, ready to levitate each shovel up and away. This was the place to be used to house the Lake of the Lethe. There certainly seemed to be no other purpose to this—constructed, as it was, well below the foundations of the rest of the Castle, it would be well removed from any place a pony might stumble upon.
The issue, then, that Rarity stumbled upon, was this: what was the point? Rarity’s sense of geography had already been hopelessly confused, but for something as large as a Castle, surely, its position would not be subject to whim. If the Everfree was to grow around here, how was the Lethe founded? Was it, too, a construct? A spell, a river created . . . but then, by who? And for what?
“Who,” Rarity whispered, more to herself.
“I know what you’re thinkin’, Lady.” Slate answered her, startling her out of her reverie. “None o’ us ‘ve been able to wrap our heads around it either.”
“What’s this for?” Rarity asked, glancing at him.
“Yeah,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Thing is, you’ve got to understand a little something about the Princesses. I wouldn’t go so far as ’ta say they’re removed from us, y’ follow, but they ain’t so close, neither.”
Rarity kept her mouth shut, though her insides her dying from laughter, barely restrained. He was just so sincere!
“Princess Celestia never seemed to take much o’ an interest in us. Always locked away in her tower, researching somesuch history, or inventing a new spell, just never in the here ‘n now. Whereas her sister, Princess Luna was always on the streets, always with that hard mouth, never a smile or a frown, not from tha’ one.
“An’ then the Storm came. You remember the Storm, Lady Rarity?”
It took Rarity a second to realise he was waiting for a response. “Y-yes, of course,” she said. Her laughter had died away, now.
“See, Princess Luna was the first one to the front lines. The first one to dive into that skyward black sea, an’ the last out. That’s something that sticks with a pony. But Princess Celestia . . .”
The silence stretched out. “And Celestia?” Rarity ventured.
Slate struck her. Not hard, an open hoof, across the cheek, without malice. Rarity was too shocked to protest, raising a hoof to where she could already feel a bruise forming, mouth hanging open in a silent ‘o’.
“Princess Celestia stayed in her tower. Didn’t respond to the throngs outside. Didn’t make a peep. An’ then we found her place empty, deserted . . . she was gone. Just like that. Many o’ us thought she’d abandoned us.” His eyes were shining now, with the fervor of the zealot. “Princess Luna kept us fighting, pushed back er’ry bitter step o’ the way. Everypony could feel the war going against us. Ya couldn’t ignore it, loomin’ up there all dark an’ imposin’. Princess Luna kept us together.”
Rarity remembered what came next. It had been seared into her memory, an event so monumentous, so awe-inspiring that she thought she’d remember it till the day she died. “And then Princess Celestia came back,” she said, dropping her hoof from her cheek.
“The Princess came back,” Slate said. “Like the Rising Sun itself. An’ she burned back the darkness. Some new magic, I suppose, somethin’ she’d locked herself away researchin’. T’ain’t important. It’s that she came back.”
Rarity nodded. “I understand.”
“Do ya? ‘Cause it ain’t just that our Princess’s beat back the Storm, Lady. If you was spying, well, I’m taken to thinkin’ Princess Celestia’d have more than a word for ya. And Princess Luna? Hell. She’d just kill you and be done with it.“
Rarity felt a chill. This—this—was what Luna meant, when she’d sent them racing into the past in search of answers. Not the specifics, the details, no; that was unimportant, in the scheme of things. Motivations, guilt, responsibility, that could be sorted out in due course. What mattered, now, were facts.
Somewhere in the intervening millennium spent on the moon, Luna had lost the steel that allowed her to kill. Somewhere, some-when, all of Equestria had. Somehow, the Lethe had arisen, found purchase here, in this pit before her.
“So, Lady, think twice a’fore you bring back these plans with you,” Slate said.
“What happened to the benefit of the doubt?”
“Oh, I’m doubting,” Slate said. “But it ain’t up to me. Princess Luna’ll decide what to do with you.”
“Which Princess was it, Slate,” Rarity asked. “Who commissioned this?”
Slate cocked his head, silently judging, his square jaw rising to click with his upper teeth. “The Goddess of the Sun,” he said, “The Princess Celestia.”
***
“So, you’re from the future, hey? Most of us tend to go the other way.”
“Our records are . . . imperfect,” Rainbow said. Thankfully, the other Chasers—just three left; Blitz, a pale green stallion from the country, overgrown fetlocks and an unkempt mane catching the wind . . . he had never quite forgiven the Royal Drafters that had taken him away from his family’s farm; his sister, Crisp, yellowed, though Rainbow saw the familial connection in her washed out palette, who, far from stepping into the role of supportive sibling, had embraced the life that came with Coromancy, affecting an air of nobility and power; and Cirrus, matching grey fur with a cloud-white mane, a mare who preferred to squander her—even Rainbow had to admit, after some small time with her, prodigious—talents drinking, gambling, and generally cutting loose with more undesirable elements—didn’t press her on that. The second they left the Stormchasers accommodations, they split up, unwilling or unable to spend any time with each other. And yet, while they were here, there was a natural camaraderie, a muted sense of community, and though there were often pauses, awkward lulls in conversation that were preceded by an offhand comment and an unconscious gesture at an empty wall and followed by heads drooping, eyes swelling, Rainbow had been accepted instantly, and without friction.
“Well, it’s certainly effective,” Crisp said. “Though . . . how far you’ve come? I can’t imagine anypony forgetting much these days.”
“Heh, yeah,” Rainbow said, scratching the back of her head with a hoof, looking away. “A thousand years, give or take.”
Blitz nearly fell from the sky, Crisp stopped where she was, hovering, and watching with an open mouth the others fly past, Cirrus turned to glare at Rainbow. “No way.”
“What?”
“Not even Cirrus can get much farther than a few weeks,” Crisp said, catching up. “A thousand years . . . I don’t think even the Princess could pull that off.”
“Really? Foresight didn’t make a big deal out of it: said most of the energy went into making the jump in the first place, not the distance . . .”
Cirrus snorted. “Foresight doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That one’s been pestering Coromancers for years, though he never had much gift for it himself.”
“Huh. Well, I am naturally awesome,” Rainbow said, grinning. “That helps, right?”
“Sure. Still . . . Moon Above, Rainbow, a thousand years. You’ll forgive us for taking a little bit of time to stomach that number.”
“You don’t think I’m lying?” The thought had occurred to her, certainly. If it were such a big deal, such an impossibility . . . wouldn’t that explanation be simplest? Twilight had told her about this . . . Okeer’s . . . Okkamm’s . . . something.
But now Crisp was staring at her again, eyes wide. “Lying? Rainbow, you wouldn’t, right?”
“Well, no, but . . .”
“Surely not,” Blitz said, glancing across at Cirrus.
“I think so,” she replied, eyeing Rainbow. “The future seems to be quite the different place.”
“We don’t lie,” Blitz explained. “At least, not when it comes to time. Not the smallest fib, not anything. None of us, that is: Seers, Conduits, Chasers, nopony. It’s something of a taboo, I guess.”
“Too much potential for harm,” Crisp said. “There are plenty of stories, from back before the Schools were founded, of Seers leading ponies to their doom, o-or Conduits relating Dreams that were just made-up . . . so nowadays, getting caught lying—about this, yes?—isn’t just frowned upon. It’s actually a crime. And, of course, there’s always somepony around to check up on your story. So, no, we don’t lie.”
“You aren’t lying, are you?” Cirrus said.
“N-no!”
With a harrumph, she moved forward a little, peering at the ground.
“Well, then. Some other explanation exists, I’m sure, for how a Stormchaser could pull off that kind of feat,” Crisp said.
“It wasn’t that bad, really,” Rainbow said. “I mean, I was out for like a month, but apart from that . . .”
Blitz laughed at that. “Yeah, no wonder.”
“Quiet,” Cirrus said, from a few wingbeats up ahead. “On task.”
Just like that, Blitz and Crisp fell silent, moved away from Rainbow just a metre or two, so that all four were flying in a diamond formation. Following their gazes down to the ground below, Rainbow searched the grass, long blades waving in the slight breeze, until—there!—she spotted movement.
“What are we looking for?” Rainbow asked. Nopony had quite told her to her face, though she had gleaned that they were scouting, flying routine patrols down south, towards the newly-formed Wastes. Assuming then, that it was nothing more than that, it had seemed to Rainbow to be a perfect opportunity to stretch her wings, spend some time with her fellow Stormchasers—about whom she was still rather curious—and, with a little luck, trade some flight tips. Who knew what tricks these ponies had known?
But the intensity with which they now ignored her, the precision and speed with which they formed their formation . . . Rainbow hadn’t seen this type of flying outside of the Wonderbolts. And so yes, part of her was worried. A stronger part, however, was excited.
Blitz peeled off, arcing out to the left. Crisp mimicked him on the left. Cirrus, however, dropped abruptly, tucked her chin to her chest, hunched her shoulders, and dove. Straight down, at blazing speeds, she tore through the air until Rainbow could swear she saw the sky begin to bend around her . . . and then, just metres above the ground, Cirrus pulled up, executing a move Rainbow hadn’t even tried to teach to her Wonderbolts, a ninety-degree turn, transferring all that momentum into forward velocity . . . she screamed along the ground, and the grass was blown flat in her wake.
A group of ponies, standing still but now struggling to hold their ground against the wind, were revealed: four, five earth ponies, and a unicorn in the lead. Rainbow cocked her head to the side, puzzling. They had clearly been hiding, stalking in the long grass. To what end? Could they be part of the army assembled against the storm, or refugees filtering northwards in the aftermath?
Blitz approached as she watched. His flight path had taken him in a great half-circle, losing altitude all the way, so that he now flew at their flank in a shallow dive. The group of earth ponies bent low, stood, clasping a large wooden construct in their hooves. Another appeared to place a rod in it, some two pony-lengths long, and as far across as her hoof. Blitz saw it too, abruptly banking right, and then corkscrewing back left. Rainbow’s wings twinged in sympathy: that manoeuvre would put some serious strain on them.
The wooden bolt shot past him, grazing along his flank—not enough to leave any lasting injury, but, as Rainbow immediately understood, more than capable of disintegrating the slipstream that Blitz flew in. The turbulence from its passage would do far more harm than the bolt itself, it didn’t have to hit its target, just pass close by . . . and Blitz tumbled to the ground, impacting hard, skidding towards the group.
On the other side, Crisp had already approached, along a vector mirrored against Blitz. But while he engaged the earth ponies, she had come up against the unicorn, and it was all she could do to evade his telekinetic grasp, spinning through the air in a graceful, desperate dance, with a deep blue magic flickering at the edges of her feathers and the end of her tail. Even as Rainbow watched, that tint spread upwards, a creeping threat, each inch of progress spurring yet more desperate efforts . . . she could not outlast the unicorn for long, or even, for that matter, for long. Fortunately, she didn’t have to.
Cirrus had looped around, tracing a graceful ellipse to come up on the unicorn’s flank. Shooting forward, belly almost grazing the ground, she hurtled straight into the unicorn’s flank. The impact threw him back, tumbling head over tail. Cirrus crashed into the ground herself, her momentum too much to handle. But the damage was done. The unicorn’s horn faded, and his aura winked out entirely. Before he could recover, Crisp was all over him, pinning his limbs to the ground, with a careful eye on his horn.
Rainbow made her choice, peeling off to help Blitz. Three of the earth ponies had run out to meet him, the other two remaining back by their weapon. She flew erratically, refraining from the straight path that offered the most speed. Blitz was no slouch when it came to flight, and he had been taken down easily enough. Rainbow wasn’t about to share that fate.
So she let her imagination run wild, corkscrewing and banking, executing ninety-degree turns, making double loops and barrel rolls, mixing in flashy stunts with no real purpose and evasive flying she’d picked up from her fellow Chasers, perhaps most notably a variation on the old classic the Buccaneer Blaze—which came to her as an excellent way of blinding those tracking her—all the while moving closer and closer to Blitz’s body. The bolt, when it came, missed her completely, those aiming it still blinking.
Still, she had only a vague idea of where he had landed, and the grass was once again standing at full height as Cirrus’s windstorm dissipated. Rainbow poured on the speed now, trusting that she could beat the weapon crew to the ground, and, sweeping the air around her forward. Where Cirrus had shot through, though, Rainbow peeled upwards, looping around to where she thought . . . spotted them, three pinning Blitz down, hooves shielding their eyes, rope already tied tightly around his barrel so that his wings were firmly secured to his sides.
Rainbow sped past, staying just out of reach, watching closely. Sure enough, one of them reached out towards her, trusting to his natural strength to win out over Rainbow’s speed. She only needed a trickle of emotion to strengthen her body and, reaching out into the air around her, redirect her momentum. A trick she’d worked out years ago, and used to great effect in many shows: it allowed her to shrink her turning circle, effectively spinning on the spot, just about maintaining her speed. Funnily enough, the magic was really quite simple. The skill came in not losing track of where you were.
Drawing on years of experience tussling with Applejack, she dove for his legs. With one foreleg already in the air, hoof reaching out to where she had been, Rainbow easily destabilised him, and, with a powerful sweep of her wings, broke his connection to the ground.
That cut off any Coromantic effect she knew of. Draped across her back as he was, however, allowed him to begin pummelling her, and he retained the strength earth ponies were famed for. It took only moments for Rainbow to buck him off, sending him flying away from her with some few feathers clasped firmly in his grip, but even with just that little time, Rainbow could already feel the bruises forming.
She spun around using the same trick. Blitz lay motionless on the ground, hogtied and unconscious, underneath the other two. They raised their hooves, making as if to trample him—Rainbow paused, they couldn’t: he was no threat and . . . another bolt blasted past just in front of her.
But Cirrus, now recovered from her tumble, was already there. A quick double-tap as she passed them, hooves lashing out to either side, and before they knew it both earth ponies manning the weapon were out cold.
Now Crisp was moving towards her, sparing Rainbow not even a glance as she darted directly towards those holding Blitz. She crashed straight into their sides, not bothering with tactics or tricks, just brute speed, careening through them. All three landed in a heap, Blitz . . . could she even look, damn it, Rainbow, just do it . . . untouched—a silent sigh of relief, an unspecified weight off her wings—Rainbow shot down to the ground, swept up Crisp in her forelegs before the earth ponies, already recovering, could get much of a hold on her. Cirrus picked up Blitz, and just like that, they were away.
“What . . . Who were those guys?” Rainbow nearly screamed, coming up alongside Cirrus.
“Scouts,” Cirrus said, her voice clipped. “She okay?”
“Scouts for who?!” Rainbow held a wing to Crisp’s mouth, feeling for breath. “She’ll be fine.”
“I know what I’m doing. Though I could say more about this one,” she shrugged, pulling Blitz up in her forelegs.
“Don’t worry about me, Cirrus”
“Oh, but I am. We don’t have much use for a Chaser that’s going to hesitate every time somepony's going to die.”
Outwardly, Rainbow began to scoff, laugh it off, launch into boastful tales of extravagant heroism. But . . . yeah. That was it, precisely. That was what bothered her. She’d shared Twilight’s pain, felt her fear . . . it didn’t compare. Entirely different, this, this realisation of consequence. Why had she never been scared for her life before? Not even in the direst of times, with danger all around her, she’d always been able to put on a brave face—not for them, for herself—and now?
Rainbow began to tremble. She felt really tired—more so than she could easily remember, more than post-Show tired, more than she’d felt finishing a long day of cloud bucking, or an intensive workout.
They put a few miles distance behind them before alighting, choosing an expanse of dirt and rock that boasted an absence of the vision-obscuring long grass.
Cirrus turned her gaze skywards, made a soft grunt. “Here we go.”
And from the sky above, Princess Luna descended. Clad in argent armour, a soft smile touching her lips, she stepped down onto the plain, some dozen guards, dark cloth covering dark fur, landing behind her. She extended a hoof towards Blitz, and Crisp in turn, each of them waking, injuries disappearing before Rainbow’s eyes. The smile slipped, turned down, and she nodded at Cirrus, who took off, flew up several hundred feet, and exploded. A ring, not multi-coloured as Rainbow’s was, but multi-toned, hues of light blue through grey exploding outwards from her as Cirrus accelerated north, body thinning and then, abruptly, she disappeared, literally, into the air.
Time travel. Right.
“Now, my little pony,” Luna said, turning to Rainbow. “Where are these scouts you’ve stumbled upon?”
I am far from weak. I cannot shatter the Veil myself—not without time, not without a catalyst. Not even Celestia could. That she allowed herself to fall under its sway—allowed it to erase even her memories—is proof of her devotion to this folly, and her heart. The peak of our capacity is but to suspend it, to halt the Veil’s corruption.
To do so on a nation-wide scale will drain me beyond hope of resisting our sister’s plans.
Thirty-Eight
DAEREV HATED himself. That much, he’d expected. Taking that life had been a conscious choice, spurred by flame but founded on cool deliberation. He knew the consequences: the self-loathing, the recrimination, the accusation he dreaded to see in those blue eyes . . . he’d anticipated that Pinkie’s sense of betrayal would hurt most of all.
Still, he thought it correct. The only possible option left, the only way to check Boundless’ rampage. These minions, these Disciples, they had been taught to respect only death. Surely his own pain—his sacrifice—was worthwhile, cauterising the infection, so to speak. What use was his vow, all those years ago, the articulation of the one line he would not cross, the foundation of his identity not as a dragon, but as a pony-raised hybrid . . . what was that, next to all the other shattered vows, little steps taken towards his true heritage, next to the lives threatened and blood spilled?
Pinkie didn’t agree. She led him onwards, rounding the corner in silence. Still in Hornwall, she had appeared with guards-ponies in tow almost immediately after the Disciple’s body hit the ground, joining his victim . . . now she hunted those left, all Gates watched, the Wall patrolled, the entire guard force here doing their utmost to prevent any more from escaping: shocked, at last, into action. She had yet to meet his gaze.
Boundless was gone. They had found little trace of him here at all, but Daerev knew better. He was fleeing north, deeper into the Crystal Empire. One way or another, that’s where all of this would end. And yet, they could not give chase. Not while any number of ponies remained, infected with his callousness, with his utter disregard for Life, ready to spread into Equestria, to bring his disease to more and more, until murder became commonplace and the streets ran with blood . . . that was a threat they couldn’t ignore.
Thankfully, Pinkie proved to be adept at searching, her Pinkie Sense—or, rather, her Coromancy—lending itself to the task admirably. Daerev bit his lip, seeing her abusing it so. Quaking, her body spasming every few seconds, head on a constant swivel, her fur standing on end . . . she seemed to glow with an inner light, a radiance that was at odds with her locked jaw and taut mouth. She led them unerringly to their prey. Wasn’t her sacrifice worthwhile, too? Hypocrisy would destroy him; destroy this fragile hope, faster than any amount of violence.
Another one stood up ahead, laughing in an empty street. Pinkie crept forward, now pressed flat against the earth, while Daerev watched from the shadows. He was not suited for stealth. They were in suburbia now, the quiet outskirts of the central marketplaces and thoroughfares, and there were lights on in the houses, ponies waking to a scene of horror . . . the same situation was repeating itself, all over the city. This one had yet to find himself a hostage, and though there was blood on his hooves—Daerev caught himself, swallowed back the fire in his throat—there were no bodies nearby. On the run, then, this one, another caught up in his supposed mastery over Death.
Pinkie struck, silent and fierce. One instant, she was approaching from behind, the next standing over his unconscious body, rubbing her hoof and knee.
“We can’t watch all of them,” Daerev said, stepping into the light.
“You’re not having him,” Pinkie spat.
Daerev sighed. “Then what? What’s your plan? Lock them away and pray to Celestia none of them ever get out?”
“We’re not murderers.”
“I am. That’s the whole point.”
“I will not allow you to martyr yourself, Daerev,” Pinkie snarled. All of a sudden, she sounded weary, voice distant. “Isn’t this enough?”
Daerev didn’t argue further. The Disciple would be brought back to the holding cells, locked in with the rest of his kind, behind bars of steel set in stone, runic wards inscribed on all four walls, the floor, and the ceiling, suppressing magic. An adequate prison, more than enough for any normal criminal, it would serve until they could be brought to Celestia’s justice. He lifted his head, unleashed a roaring flood of fire, spiralling straight up into the air. A good enough beacon, in the absence of a unicorn, and it did him good; helped to ease his chest and throat.
“Any left?”
Pinkie hummed briefly, her ears flickering back and forth. “Two. One’s nearby. The other . . . he’s running, south, outside the city. He’s heading to Canterlot.”
Daerev swore, and Pinkie flinched. Outside the walls, he’d be far harder to chase down. Pinkie’s Coromancy would lose its effectiveness—messages sent back from the future relied on her learning, somehow, where they were: stumbling upon the aftermath of massacres in Hornwall had allowed her to pinpoint location and even, assisted by the Guards, a rough timeframe, piecing this terrible day together—and without that tremendous advantage, the scales tipped in the fleeing Disciple’s favour.
“You get the one nearby,” he said, turning and bending down. Before he could launch himself into the air, he felt Pinkie’s limbs wrap themselves around his torso. He shook his head, growling just a little, but paused. “There isn’t time for this, Pinkie.”
“You’ll kill him,” she said. Her voice was muffled, muzzle pressed into his back.
Daerev took a breath. “Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye,” he said, sans accompanying motions. “I’m not going to kill him.”
Pinkie didn’t move, only tightening her grip.
“There’d be no point,” Daerev said. “Not anymore.”
“I can’t trust you.”
“Fine,” Daerev said, straightening his back. Pinkie slid down, back hooves clacking onto the cobblestone. “We’ll wait for the Guard, and set them on the one nearby. That work for you?”
Pinkie nodded.
“Right.” He sat down, wings wrapping around him, arms crossed across his chest.
It took nearly thirty minutes for the Guard to arrive. By this point, they’d been able to regain some semblance of organisation, three ponies trotting up to Daerev and Pinkie, with restraints and a magic nullifier carried between them on a stretcher, ready to collect the snoring offender. It was a far cry from their initial floundering, or even the chaotic attempts at stamping control over the city just hours ago, individual Guards running around arresting random civilians, groups responding to a signal by leaving the pony they were escorting on the side of the road, and others too traumatised to do anything but collapse where they stood, coiling up with their eyes clenched shut. Unsurprisingly, the latter had occurred mostly in situations where Daerev and Pinkie had arrived entirely too late.
Pinkie buzzed again, her lips twitching as she did so, then gave the Guards a street address. Daerev had to stop himself from commenting: she was breathing hard, now, emotions cycling over her face—eyebrows coming together into a frown, ears standing straight up, tongue lolling out to lick her bottom lip.
Still, he spread his wings and bent down. “We’ve gotta go,” Daerev said. His voice curled up on itself, coming out as a low snarl. He winced a little, hearing it, but let the words hang in the air, suddenly unable to call them back.
Pinkie slumped her shoulders, clamboured onto his back. “Yeah,” and they were off, soaring through the air with just a few powerful thumps of his wings. Strange, how easily flight came to him now, flame spreading through his arteries and veins, coursing with every beat of his heart out his back and through his wings, a thinly layered web of colour and life. The difference was night and day. Part of him even knew why.
They soared over rows of houses, small parks, and open roads. Hornwall wasn’t small, but it wouldn’t be called large, either, and within a minute Daerev had gained enough altitude to see the city wall.
Then they were outside the city. So much had changed, so quickly. From tied up in a room playing card games, whiling away the hours waiting for Cadance’s response, to searching the streets for death. He was glad for the chance to stretch his muscles, feel the wind rush past him. But it wasn’t the freedom they’d been looking for.
Pinkie tried her best to help steer him. She knew where he would be, or had been . . . the Guard would be able to track the route he’d used to flee the city, witnesses, hoof-marks, and past suspicions leading them to one of Plain Sight’s old holes-in-the-wall. Beyond that, though, he could be anywhere. Daerev plummeted, steering them into a narrow downward spiral, to land just outside, then bent to snuff the ground.
His nose wasn’t as good as some predators. Dragons didn’t rely on scent all that much, preferring brute force and stamina. Still, the best defense against the kind of overwhelming offensive a dragon brought was and always would be to hide, and so he was able to distinguish the sweat of a pony at full gallop from the faint odor of a pony relaxed.
“Here,” Pinkie said, looking south. “See the tracks? They’ll find them in a few days.”
And then there was that. Daerev took his time, drawing in the scent hanging around each hoof-print, the little drips of lather that had splattered against the ground, soaked into the dirt.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They followed the tracks into the forest, Daerev matching his pace to Pinkie’s trot. The foliage almost immediately began to mask the scent he’d picked up, covering it with fresh grass, leaf juices, and tree sap, the wind carrying musk and water and even a few floral notes . . . Daerev sneezed, overwhelmed, and focused his attention on the ground before him.
The visual trail was similarly obscured. Adventure novels read years ago would have him believe that the Disciple’s frantic rush from the city would have trampled bushes, broken twigs from overhanging branches, pushed grass into the dirt. Daerev could pick none of that out, relying instead on a general sense of direction and Pinkie. She had her head held low, eyes roaming the floor, ears, or limbs, or tail twitching occasionally. She, more than him, lead them in pursuit.
It took hours. Hours, as Daerev grew increasingly skeptical about their chances, longing for the openness of the skies or structured layout of the city and beginning to plan for the Disciples’ escape. They would need to watch for him, to circulate a description, a name if possible, and a drawing of his Cutie Mark, nearby cities put on a quiet alert, as stories of a murderer roaming the wilderness passed, inevitably, through the press and into the public consciousness. How easy would it be, he wondered, for a pony, experienced already in the art of smuggling, to slip unnoticed through the cracks? How simple, to spread his disease, a plague of lost innocence running rampant through the world?
Hours, until Pinkie stopped, gestured to him, and mimed zipping up her mouth. Dense forest surrounded them, trees blocking almost all of the remaining sunlight, so that the blood-orange horizon trickled through in drips and drabs, painting the scene a murky brown. The wind, wrapping around thick trunks, produced a low whistle. Small rodents scurried away through the underbrush, rustling, disturbing rotting leaves and half-decomposed dung.
“Nearby,” Pinkie whispered. Her eyes were dead now, and she trembled on her hooves. “Over there.” She gestured vaguely at a group of trees, the ground giving way to a small hollow at their base.
Sure enough, when Daerev inched his way around, easing his bulk through the bushes, slowly, patiently, there he was. An earth pony, fast asleep, faint red staining his muzzle and mud clinging to his hooves and legs, he was curled up in a tight ball, as peaceful and content as any infant.
Stretching down, Daerev gathered the pony in his arms, watching with wide eyes as he murmured, then settled into the embrace, head tucked against Daerev’s shoulder. Pinkie nodded at him, and stayed by his side as they moved back towards Hornwall until the forest cleared enough to allow Daerev to fly.
***
It only took a few seconds for Fluttershy to realise she was asleep. Sometimes it was like this: blatantly obvious, even to her muddled mind, the kind of statement assumed to be fact without paying it much attention. At other times, even the most bizarre phenomenon would have passed unnoticed, the Dream making itself known as such only once Fluttershy woke.
In this Dream, Fluttershy was not alone. Phantasms, flickering shadows, sped around her, somehow always hovering at the edges of her vision. She glanced left, then right, and watched them move with her—all but one, standing still beside her.
Fluttershy took a step forward, and now Applejack did react, moving with her, perfectly in step. Experimentally, Fluttershy stepped back, and watched Applejack mimic her again.
It was all quite surreal, and certainly more than enough to unnerve her in the waking world. Here, though, she felt no fear, not even a hint of worry. Not so much that she felt safe in her Dreams, on the contrary, they often terrified her, but instead, she felt that all those surrounding her, all the shadows congregating at her back meant no harm, better, that they were her friends. All the residents of Appleloosa, all the buffalo they’d gathered here, Bill, Braeburn, Achak . . . everypony gathered together, gathered behind her.
The town itself was much as she remembered it, though eerily silent. Background noise—the wind, blowing through the streets, the soft gritty sound of ponies walking through the sand, voices in the distance, none of them had found presence here in the Dream. But the streets were laid out in the same haphazard sprawl, the hills and troughs kept their patterns, the skyline remained just as vacant and empty as the real world . . . save for that.
There, on the horizon, near enough to due north—though Fluttershy couldn’t have said how she knew—was a dark cloud. Hazy, indistinct, she could make out no more than its presence, and yet, she knew what it was. They all did.
Hushed murmurs began. Applejack turned her head, her gaze to Fluttershy.
“They’re going to keep coming, aren’t they?” Fluttershy asked.
The magic halting Cloudsdale’s shipments of water was gone, now. The alternate route, sending clouds over the railway line, was no longer required. That was good, in that that route added at least another day onto the journey, and required a group of weather pegasi to accompany the shipment. The straight line over the desert, conversely, needed no more than a push.
Except . . . Fluttershy had experienced two Storms, now, felt the anger and hate imbued in each, the torrential wave of power across their crest. The second had been weaker. She had expected to be forced back, to rely on shelters hastily reinforced, and to sacrifice portions of the town to the Storm’s fury, before they might beat it back. Instead, they’d lost no more than the orchard, if even all of that.
Why?
Applejack had told her that something—likely the origin, the culprit of all this devastation—was sucking water through the ground, drawing it north. The Storms were composed of that water. If it hadn’t been able to pull the same amount, because they’d stored it away: in barrels, in their bodies, in the apple trees . . .
Fluttershy’s mouth formed a thin line, her jaw began aching, and she moved forward at a trot. Applejack followed at her side, though the town remained where it was. Was this her future, then? To set out with her friend—the world blurred around her, moving faster and faster, until she could not match its pace even at a full sprint through the air—across the desert? To follow the Storm’s path north, into . . . she recognized this place. This was the Everfree Forest.
And the cloud on the horizon stood tall, cast a shadow for what must be miles around. Fluttershy passed under its specter, shivered as the air froze around her, tiny specks of ice floating upwards. A sharp wind spiraled, carrying loose dirt and pebbles with it, striking her flank.
Yes, the Storms would continue. The water they brought was tainted; Fluttershy could not cleanse it all. Cloudsdale’s efforts would only serve to worsen each attack.
Fluttershy paused, staring upward at the typhoon. It was not yet ready, not yet as large or virulent as those she’d fought through. Nonetheless, it exuded a foreboding aura, a tangible sense of rage, a taste of desperation on the air. Water rose from the ground, ice expanding in rings of sharp spikes, trees groaned and shook.
This time, Applejack didn’t pause, didn’t follow her steps backwards. Instead, she turned, blank eyes meeting Fluttershy’s, and then came to life.
“Fluttershy! I know, girl, I know, but listen! We’ve gotta do this!”
She nodded, but she couldn’t move her legs.
“Y’ain’t going to leave them to die, are ya?”
Applejack was being obscured by mist as the Storm around them grew. She felt a tremor run from her neck to her tail, followed closely by an icy chill.
“Fluttershy! Ah need you!”
She swallowed. She raised a hoof.
Then she woke up.
Applejack and Nephele were waiting by her bed. Sunlight streamed in through the window, the faint aroma of pancakes, apples and cinnamon wafted up the stairs and through the hall. A faint sheen of sweat clung to her fur, and the tremor persisted in her throat. She coughed, and Nephele was there, hovering above her, a few drops of water striking her tongue.
“And?” Applejack said, placing a hoof over Fluttershy’s.
“W-we’re going north,” Fluttershy said, rolling over to meet her friend’s gaze. There was a calm determination there, a solid strength in contrast to the need she’d heard in her Dream. Perhaps she could take comfort in that, and never mind the coldness in her gut, the tendril in her mind. “Ah need you!” She shivered. “Into the Everfree.”
“We’ll stop it,” Applejack said, squeezing her hoof. “We’re going to stop this.”
***
Twilight knocked on the door four times; a swift rap-rap-rap-pause-rap with her hoof that she knew would be instantly recognized. Even had the knock been commonplace, all the years she’d spent using it daily would have engraved its sound into her mind, so much so that just fractions of seconds from the well-worn rhythm stood out to her ear as loud as the noon bell.
“Twilight? Is that you?” Celestia’s voice called out. “The door’s open.”
She entered the Princess’ study, moving over to her old mentor and greeting her with a gentle nuzzle, neck lifted in embrace. “It’s good to see you again, Princess.”
“Twilight,” Celestia rebuked her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Twilight ducked her head. All these years, and it was still hard to break old habits. “Sorry—Celestia,” she said. “Is this a good time?”
“Of course.” Celestia turned away from her desk, let the quill fall to the wooden surface. “Is something wrong?” her face blanched, “Oh, oh, I’m sorry, Twilight, I didn’t-“
“N-no, no, it’s okay,” Twilight said, forestalling the apology. “It’s . . . something else.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Celestia said, standing and waving her in. “Come in, come in, take a seat.”
Twilight glanced, almost involuntarily, at the empty corner of the room where she’d used to sit, pouring over her lessons while Celestia worked, well into the night. The cushions had never moved, visit to visit, nor been replaced.
“I . . . didn’t think you’d need those anymore,” Celestia said, smiling that soft smile and following her gaze.
“Of course not.” Twilight closed the door behind her. “Force of habit, I guess.”
“It has been too long.”
Twilight nodded, settling herself nearby.
“So. What can I do for you?”
“Well . . .” Twilight bit her lip. “It’s about Princess Luna.”
Celestia sighed, glancing out the window. “My sister has been distant lately. What did she say to you?”
“That she’d lost faith.”
“And?”
“That’s all,” Twilight said. Then she shook her head, a grimace passing across her face. “But . . . I’ve been thinking. About . . . Trixie. A-and my b-brother.”
Celestia waited for her, turning to face Twilight fully.
“There’s . . . there’s something you aren’t telling me. Isn’t there, Princess?” Twilight said. She stared at the wall just above Celestia’s shoulder.
“The Veil,” Celestia said. “Have you heard the term?”
“Yes,” Twilight said softly. “What is it?”
“A spell,” Celestia said. “A Great Spell, woven a millennia ago.”
“What does it do?”
Celestia cocked her head, contemplating. “It imprints, Twilight. It creates a moral imperative in its targets.”
Twilight paused for a moment. The idea . . . horrified was an understatement. Rather than sit still, stare out the window, and think, though, she pressed on. Information, information, and then analysis. “Imprints what?”
“As far as I can tell, not a lot more than the prohibition of murder. We still see crime: theft, racketeering, fraud, even assault. But . . . I suspect it does more than that. I have not forgotten my past entirely. I remember chaos, and war, and death, and despair. I remember a time when a minimum level of crime was considered normal, inevitable, when murder on a street corner was just another, all-too-common tragedy.”
“Is it . . . was it you? Did you create it?” Twilight interrupted.
Celestia pursed her lips, glanced away. “I don’t know.”
“Wha-?” Twilight took a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”
“You recall, of course, the years of Luna’s absence from Equestria. Not even Rarity could See her, until she reappeared a few weeks ago, far, far to the south.”
Twilight nodded. “Of course.”
“She was beyond the Veil, Twilight.”
“It has geographical limits, then,” Twilight said. That was important. That meant it wasn’t simply a Rule of Reality, a Physical Law like gravity. It wasn’t ubiquitous. It wasn’t necessary.
Celestia seemed a little taken aback, mouth forming a small o before spreading into a wry smile. “The Veil isn’t just a moral law. It also has a physical manifestation.”
Twilight took a moment to digest that. “A border, then. Wrapping around Equestria?”
“Yes.”
“And not even Sight can cross it. No information, no knowledge?”
“When Luna returned to us,” Celestia said.
“She had no memory of Outside,” Twilight finished. “So you don’t know who created the Veil, because you’re inside it.”
Celestia nodded.
“I see. So that’s the problem,” Twilight said.
Celestia frowned. “Problem?”
“Nightmare Moon’s armour,” Twilight said. “Clearly something happened to Luna out there. It would be foolish to ignore that much. And if it involves Nightmare Moon, then it probably involves the Elements of Harmony, as well.” Twilight’s mind raced ahead. “We can’t See through it, and we can’t bring information in from outside. We’re effectively blind.”
“We’re safe, Twilight,” Celestia said, frowning. “We’ve repelled threats before. And anything that crosses the Veil is imprinted in turn. Even if some creature aimed to prey upon us, it would be immediately hamstrung. Why else do you think the nopony died at the hooves of Chrysalis, or Discord? You’ve heard the stories; you know how dangerous monsters like them can be.”
Safety, above all else, Twilight thought. Was that its intention? “I don’t know if that’s enough.”
“Luna put you up to this,” Celestia said.
Twilight nodded. “There was a message in the armour.”
“Oh?”
“From Nightmare Moon, I think. She didn’t mention it to you?”
“No,” Celestia said. “She did not. What did it say?”
“It said that Nightmare Moon was trying to help Luna. That it knew about the Elements, and never expected to stop us.” Twilight bit her lip. “Luna’s worried, Celestia. And,” Twilight looked away.
“Twilight?”
“And I agree with her,” Twilight said. “We need to tear it down.”
“What?!”
Twilight recoiled. “Princess?”
“Twilight . . . what do you think the Veil does?”
“Just what you’ve told me. Imprints a moral imperative, erases the memory of everything entering, and traps everypony in Equestria. Yes, it-”
“Traps, Twilight? Like a prison? A dungeon, with no escape?”
Celestia shook her head. “No. It protects us. And not just from monsters like Nightmare Moon, who are able to enter Equestria physically, but not mentally, not morally.”
“So we give up ourselves?” Twilight asked. “Exchange our minds for safety?”
“In the last thousand years, there have been many unhappy ponies. There has been poverty, sickness, depression, and cruelty. They have wept and bled and fought and died. But.
“But for that, there has been peace. Despite that, there has been happiness. Crime is motivated by desperation, and desperation alone. Not one murder, Twilight! Not one! I may not know where the Veil came from. But to suggest its removal is to suggest we return to that darkness—return to a world where your brother’s death is no more than a footnote at the back of the paper.”
Twilight’s throat had closed, heavy breaths forcing their way through in great bursts on exhalation. Liquid clung to the corners of her eyes, refusing to fall. “That—that’s w-what Trixie said,” she managed. “She . . . she thanked me! After what I did to her . . .”
“Only you, Twilight,” Celestia said, admiration playing in her voice, “would blame yourself for being angry at your brother’s killer.”
“It’s not funny. I-I don’t even know if it was me, o-or the Veil!”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!”
“You feel manipulated,” Celestia said. She dropped the playful look, adopted a more straightforward posture. “The Veil has had no more effect on your life—on your mind—than anything else in this world, Twilight. Are you not influenced by your upbringing? Your heart developed in early childhood, surrounded by a loving family? Was your faith in the sanctity of the mind spurred by your devotion to intellect, to study? And where did you learn friendship, if not from your friends? Do you resent them, for impinging upon your sense of self?”
“Those were my choices,” Twilight said. “Nopony forced me to go through any of that. This . . . this isn’t a choice.” She raised her face, eyes shimmering, light refracting from their surface. “The Veil isn’t a guideline, it’s a prison!”
“So you demand the freedom to murder, then,” Celestia said.
“What? No!”
“The Veil has kept us safe, Twilight, and at peace. Trixie sees its necessity.”
“She’s wrong,” Twilight said. “Luna’s terrified. I can tell. She sent Rainbow back in time, she’s so scared. Something is happening in the world, I can feel it, like an itch in the back of my mind. The Element of Magic’s getting stronger. Rarity learnt greater control over her Sight in half a week than she’d managed in ten years. And even if all of that weren’t true, even if the Veil weren’t preventing us from perceiving the danger . . . still I resent it.”
“You align yourself with this Boundless, then.”
Twilight snorted. “No.”
“He seeks the same end.”
“He’s a child still. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing.”
“As old as you were, at Moon’s Rise. And he’s free of the Veil,” Celestia said. “I don’t know how that happened, but just look at what it’s caused!”
“You can’t just ignore the fact that he is free,” Twilight said. “Somepony figured out a way around the Veil. Doesn’t that speak to the danger it poses?”
“Would you deny everypony, then, their peace? Because of one? We can still contain him. We can still protect everypony.”
“Not everypony,” Twilight said.
Celestia stopped, mouth left hanging open. “That’s the second time, Twilight. I truly am sorry.”
“I don’t think we’re going to agree on this, Princess.”
“Twilight . . .”
“I still trust you, you know,” Twilight said, taking a deep breath. She brushed a hoof across her eyes. “If you truly believe that this is for the best, then I’ll be by your side, arguing against you all the while.” She stood, turned to leave.
“I ask for no less,” Celestia said, with a smile.
“Talk to Luna,” Twilight said, and shut the door quietly.
***
Boundless stepped off the train with a smile across his face, straight into a biting wind. Snow gathered on his coat, sticking to the raised ends of his fur. The crushed ice under his hooves crunched and shifted.
The train station was deserted. It was late, late in the dead of night, and there wasn’t supposed to be any trains running. Its presence would announce his arrival. He would have to send it back.
He walked down the stairs of the train station, breath pluming before his face. Already, he was beginning to shiver. Where . . . ah, there they were, the escorts promised him. Plain Sight’s crew wasn’t restricted to Hornwall: he had guessed—correctly—a smuggling group as notorious as they were would be spread all over the region. These few, waiting with carriage and coat just around the corner, were grunts, only, but they represented the interests of those for whom Princess Cadance’s isolation was proving troublesome.
This was the other reason he had needed Plain Sight’s support. He was not so foolish as to believe he could gain access to the Crystal Heart himself, not faced with a grieving alicorn forewarned of his arrival.
One of the grunts stepped forward, wrapping the coat around him, and ushering him to the carriage. Almost immediately, Boundless felt warmer, could sense the soft magic pulsing through the fabric to repel the cold. Another made for the train station, no doubt to drive the train away, deposit it somewhere out of the city.
“Go, go,” he said, quietly, to the ponies strapped to the front of the carriage.
“Sir,” was the reply, as they began to move away, and he could all but hear the snark in their voices, “and welcome to the Crystal Empire.”
Yet Typhus is coming, he will not slumber forever. And the stormfront that precedes him has defeated us before, defeated a nation of Coromancers, trained from birth to wield Harmony’s power. The Equestria Celestia has crafted will be unable to do so much as delay Him. They will be crushed, washed away, as sand before the tide.
What halted him, then? Some say our sister turned the tides, and far be for me to neglect her contributions. But the lesson, Luna, the knowledge gained . . . t’was the Well—an old legend, proven true.
Thirty-Nine
LUNA LED a small group of ponies through the sky. The wind, rushing past her, did nothing to disrupt her mane or tail, glowing starlight streaming ethereal in her wake. It was entirely unfair, Rainbow thought, how easily she flew. She was drifting through the air, as if it were a gentle stream carrying her forward. All the while her escort, Rainbow included, were panting just keeping up.
Rainbow had tried to take point, intending to take Luna back to the field where they’d encountered the scouts. Apparently, that was a faux pas in the here and now: almost immediately she’d been ushered back, to take place one rank behind Luna, and to the left of the wedge formation.
Rainbow had little time for thought, as Luna set a demanding pace. Occasionally, she would have to correct their course, shouting to make her voice heard. But squinting into the rushing winds, trying to pick out the minute details she’d barely paid attention to in her mad rush away occupied the majority of her attention, and she could do nothing to assuage a growing sense of dread, as if heading back towards some implacable danger. Contrary to her expectations, Luna’s presence did nothing to reassure her. She knew, though she did not want to believe it, that their skirmish was more than a small tussle. Those ponies had been trying to kill her.
It was not long before they reached the expanse of plains, long grass rolling over small hills, gentle slopes and stretches of uneven ground, where Cirrus had first spotted them. The marks of their fight were plainly apparent, flattened grass, too dry and dead to spring upright, apparent even from this height. Luna dove, landing hard, the impact sending a rush of dust outwards. Rainbow, mimicking the other pegasi, were gentler, dropping in around the Princess in a tight circle.
One pegasi turned to Luna, his helmet flashing under the sun. “They’ve gone to ground, Princess. We could track them fairly easily from down here, but we won’t catch up without flight. They’ll spot us long before we see them.”
“They turned around, Cap’n,” another called, sweeping his gaze around the northern edge of the makeshift clearing. “No tracks north.”
Luna nodded. “Take three south,” she said, addressing the captain. “Box them in. Do not engage.” Her horn ignited, a faint tinge of magic spreading over the group. It settled into their coats, sparkles shimmering. Before Rainbow’s eyes, her bright cyan, and even the iridescent rainbow of her mane and tail faded, dulled, each colour shifting in hue until they resembled nothing more so than mud, a palette of brown and grey.
He saluted, before tapping the three nearest pegasi on their shoulders. The group took off, flying almost vertically up, before splitting out in four directions. Rainbow understood moments later. They’d find the edges of this expanse of grass, attempt to outpace the invaders there, and wait. The camouflage that was doing so well to hide them would become a trap they could not escape from. And there was nothing they could do from the ground: that strange weapon would not be able to reach the same heights a pegasus could.
Luna angled her head at Rainbow, just an inch, and two pegasi stepped in beside her. Not quite touching her side, they flanked her closely enough that her fur began to prickle, and—once again, intention flashing to her mind just a moment after the fact—blocked the expansion of her wings. She would have to brush them both, in order to fly, and that delay, infinitesimally small as it was, as she adjusted to the confined space, would allow them to react. She was trapped, too.
That inkling of danger grew stronger, and warning bells went off in her head.
Trouble was, she was a stranger here still. So many things were almost the same that she’d allowed herself to relax, only to be caught out. Both Rainbow and Rarity had thought they had the Princesses’ trust, or at least tolerance. They had no reason to suspect anything otherwise. But perhaps . . . perhaps there was something in Luna’s words, in the way she had peered at them, or considered their responses, that should have tipped them off, should have given them a hint of danger to keep their ears pricked.
She had allowed herself to feel, at least in some part, welcome. That sense of comfort evaporated in an instant.
Luna marched them forward. They moved no faster than a walk, a pegasi with his eyes turned to the ground accompanied by two watching the waving of the grass, listening for movement. Luna’s horn was lit, a dull, deep blue shimmering around it, faint enough to be almost invisible under the sun.
The silence, uncomfortable from the first step, soon grew oppressive. Nothing beyond the crunch of dead vegetation under their hooves reached her. With mounting anticipation, she watched the vanguard shift through the grass, the scene gaining intensity, a taut sense of expectation. Within minutes, Rainbow’s mind was screaming for the open sky, and the roar of the wind. Her first attempt to speak was immediately shushed by her flanking guard; the second left her with what she was sure would be a bruise by the morrow.
The others appeared to be at ease. Their peace of mind—at first guess, originating in the comfort of an alicorn at their back—seemed, to Rainbow’s eye, to be born of familiarity: the curious mix of boredom and tension that thrummed through her most experienced fliers. Was this apprehension mere stage fright, then?
The wall of grass ahead fell back with every step they took, brushed aside and flattened by hooves, only to spring up again once they’d passed; the effect being a bubble, an insulated pocket of space amidst green.
Ahead, the pegasi halted. Luna leaned forward, wisps of magic trailing her horn. There was a soft sound like that of a cork stopper, pulled from its bottle, but muted, dulled. And then the roaring of the wind, the crackle of the weeds: all picked up in volume, increased, as if she were moving at great speed, until Rainbow clutched at her ears, eyes wide, straining, spinning about to find the source of the sudden cacophony.
Everypony was frozen where they stood, none twitching so much as a wing. Rainbow had only enough time to see them breathing, rule out paralysis by way of stumbling across some magical trap, before the lead pegasi sprang into motion. Wings snapping out, hurling themselves forwards, hooves outstretched and grasping . . . they disappeared into the grass. Chasing after, as the noise came to her from amidst the storm of ambience, the faint sighs of repressed breathing.
Luna was racing past her, hooves making no sound with each heavy step. The guards flanking her nudged her, prompted her forward, and she followed, trotting in pursuit.
Now that she noticed, she wasn’t making any sound, either. Rainbow opened her mouth, tried to say something—just a whisper, just enough to hear her own voice. Nothing. Not a peep issued forth. She tried again, ballooning her cheeks and screaming until her lungs ached. The pegasi on either side didn’t so much as glance at her.
They came to a clearing, argence pinning the grass down in a wide circle. At the centre, pegasi sat still, heads turned towards Luna, rumps planted on the sides of fallen ponies. The unicorn lay unconscious, some yards away.
Rainbow imagined the scene. An ambush, of course, for these would have seen the pegasi overhead, divined the noose closing in around them. It was to be expected. Hence, the disguises, muting their vibrant colour to blend with the environment, the insulation of sound, to both locate the trap and spring it unawares . . . even now, Rainbow’s coat and mane returned to normalcy, as if mud, clinging to her, was being washed away by an invisible river, and the world outside retreated, until she could no longer hear the breeze passing by. Rainbow absently rubbed at her jaw, the muscles aching.
“I had thought you all perished,” Luna was saying, stepping closer to the downed ponies. The pegasi saluted, stepped off their captives, who were immediately seized in telekinetic bonds.
They remained silent.
“Your Master has been defeated,” Luna said, moving yet closer. “Your armies are scattered, your forces broken. Wherefore does Typhus yet draw such allegiance?” There was an edge to her tone, a sharp sibilant hiss that sent shivers down Rainbow’s spine.
Still, they kept silent.
“Is there no recourse?” Luna said. “Would you not rather to live, and live well? What meaning has this resistance to offer, little one? What mantra deserving of such pain?”
Rainbow made to move forward, lifted a hoof, acutely aware of the mounting tension, the distance, glazed-over look in the captive’s eyes and the hard lines running across Luna’s body, down her legs, all taut muscle and brittle intent, only to be grabbed by her guards and held back.
“So be it,” Luna said, and turned away. “Return this one,” gesturing at the unicorn, “to mine sister. She will rip the secrets from his mind. Of the others: dispose.”
“Yes, Princess!”
All saluting, the pegasi sprang to action, two grasping the unconscious unicorn and bearing him up, high into the sky. Briefly, Rainbow entertained the thought of him waking up as they bore him back—anything before . . . —but they could easily restrain him, particularly against the fear of falling.
Others pulled small blades from scabbards hidden underneath their barding, blades Rainbow had somehow missed or just pretended to ignore.
“What anypony deserves is immaterial,” Luna said. She shook her head.
The captives were moving now, thrashing, struggling to break free of Luna’s grip, of the guards advancing on them. One lurched upright, taking two steps before a blade flashed across his throat, the airborne pegasus gone before he’d realised the danger. He slumped forward, hitting the ground with a thud, now writhing. His muzzle opened and closed, no sound escaping but for short pants. His eyes rolled back into his skull, exposing bleached-white sclera. His legs spasmed, kicking out at imaginary foes.
“Stop it!” Rainbow screamed, pressing forward against the hooves blocking her way.
Luna shot her a disgusted glance. Magic impacted the side of her head, dazing her, then wrapped around her muzzle. Strain as she might, she could not open her mouth, could make no more than small squeaks of protest. Eyes wide, ears laid flat against her skull, she watched—unable, now, to even turn away.
An earth pony lifted his head. Meeting Luna’s eyes: “Kill us if you like. More will come.”
Rainbow staggered, trembling legs temporarily unable to bear her weight.
“Who?” Luna demanded, striking the earth with a hoof. “Speak!”
But he was sneering; skin pulled back from his lips, and said nothing.
“Do you suppose to buy yourself time?” Luna said, her own muzzle twisting into some sort of grimace. “It will avail you nothing.”
Moving quickly, efficiently, the guards scoured the clearing, brought each pony together in a group, slit their throats, and stabbed their hearts. Mechanical, soulless, eyes averted but with nary a twitch. Rainbow threw up, thin vomit pooling on the hard earth and trickling down the slight incline between her legs.
That got her some attention. “As for you,” Luna said, her expression flat, “I would advise you to think long on your loyalties before presuming to judge us.”
Rainbow wanted to speak. Familiar, however, was this sensation, this . . . numbness. Too much, too fast, she was in shock, no longer able to quite process the events before her. She opened her mouth, found no air in her lungs, and closed it again.
Luna considered her. “A shame.”
The glow around Luna’s horn expanded: the same spell, bearing with it unimaginable pain, or . . . something else? Rainbow shook her head. Her thoughts moved slowly, only half-heartedly linking together, as if half-asleep. It was all she could do to feel, to dwell on the horrors before her.
Moonlight reached her forehead, and she fell. The last thing she saw before her eyes drifted shut were pegasi, flying low over the tall grass, earth ponies draped in their arms, alighting before stern Luna, so still.
***
Luna was waiting by the bed when Cadance awoke. The pink Alicorn stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open several times before sinking back into shallow unconsciousness, teetering on the brink. It was at least a half-hour more before she made a sound, a soft sigh. Her gaze traced the wall down from the ceiling, taking in the sunshine outside before finding Luna, inclining on a couch nearby.
“Luna,” Cadence said. A smile came to her lips, disappearing so quickly Luna wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all, replaced with a flat line, a creased brow. “Luna.”
“I wish to apologise for provoking you,” Luna said. She’d considered many approaches to this conversation. She’d had time: Cadence had been out all night and well into the next day. So much time, in fact, that Cadence’s staff had just about fully repaired the damage the castle has sustained during their fight, clearing out the odd sawdust-like scent of chipped crystal and freshening the room. “I regret the need for it.” She could shift blame, plead ignorance, affect sorrow, or hurt, or anger. There were a hundred different ways she could handle her niece, each with predictable fallout. “And I am sorry for what I said.”
None of those, however, had the appeal of a straightforward apology. Sincerity had its own uses.
Cadence shut her eyes. She said nothing for some time, Luna leaving her to her thoughts. Finally, she sighed, stretched, and sat up, throwing the blankets back. “I can’t quite believe you did that,” she said, turning away to stare at the wall. “But then, I can’t quite believe myself, either.”
“I have little trouble,” Luna said. “You underestimate yourself. It is a testament to the love you shared, not any failing on your behalf.”
“And after Twilight and I let loose on Canterlot, too,” Cadance said.
“Twilight has recovered, I am pleased to convey, at least as well as we could have hoped.”
Cadance shook her head, the ghost of a smile playing about her muzzle.
“But,” Luna said, leaning forward, “I am not here to pass on good tidings, nor to knock some sense into you. Cadance, my dear niece, you have worried us.”
“Well, that’s to be expected.”
“Please . . . talk to me.”
“What’s to say?” Cadance laughed a hollow, dry thing that bounced off the walls. “I haven’t the mind for this, Luna. The absence of hate . . .”
“It is empty, yes.”
“I . . . I just feel so . . .”
Luna waited. Around them, the air moved with sluggish melancholy: a wind, cold and fresh, eased its way under the window. The crystal walls, sparkling, reflected and refracted, an imperfect mirror, showed Luna herself thrice over, as if posed in various states about Cadance’s form. Their Princess was huddled, prone, daggers of light reaching into her, splitting her apart.
“It’s so . . . so big,” Cadance said, voice beginning to crack.
Luna stepped in close; let her niece feel the warmth of her body. Empty was not the right word, not for what Cadance was going through. Sorrow had ripped through her, and by her proxy, through the Mountain, that night. Now, with anger burned away, it was coming home to roost. But Cadance had to ask, first, had to be the one to extend a hoof.
Cadance cried. Leaning into Luna’s embrace, she rested the top of her head against Luna’s breast, hot tears soaking into the bedding beneath her. Luna murmured nothings, warm voice and soft fur conveying far more than any words.
Until finally, she looked up, tear-stained face imploring, and asked “You-you’ve . . . you’ve been h-here,” drawing a shuddering breath, “h-haven’t you?”
“Many times,” Luna whispered.
“H-how . . . ?”
“You change. You get used to the pit in your stomach. You block away memories, until they no longer sting. You find something, not to replace, but to distract, to occupy your mind. Eventually, you heal.”
“I- I don’t want . . .”
“The world was not always this forgiving. I have watched thousands go, in my time,” Luna said. “Ponies, my subjects and friends, died kicking and screaming in muddy soil. My hooves are steeped in blood, the remnants of wars so old they do not appear even in legend.”
Cadance stilled, beginning to pull away.
“Even now,” Luna continued, “I do not forget. We are spared that horror, at least. To return to a treasured moment, scarred enough to bear the pain, and find it absent. The swell of emotion vanished. The tick playing with the corner of their mouth, the sound of their voice, the shape of their face, all of it following pain into the void.”
“It’s so hard,” Cadance breathed. “So much time . . .”
"You will always remember.”
Cadance nodded, now sitting on her own. She drew breath, rose up to her full height, straight back, square shoulders. “Thank you, auntie.” She could bear it, only a little at a time, perhaps, just enough to feel the strain, but she could bear it.
Luna smiled.
“Would you like rooms here?” Cadance ventured. Her eyes revealed the truth. “It would be no trouble, really.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Luna said.
She had been left alone for far too long already. There was a time and a place for necessity. The death of a loved one was not it. Cadance’s actions had been hasty, unreasoned, yes, but they would be reversed. She had rejected Celestia’s reasons for delay at first, now she spat on them. It was not like her sister to be so lax, so merciless in her actions. It happened slowly, steadily, but the turning point was here and now, with Cadance gazing at her so helplessly—suspicion morphed to mistrust, and a dark voice now firmly rooted in the back of her mind repeated its sibilant message.
For the Sun has shown itself flawed.
Her sister had the best of intentions. Of that, Luna had no doubt. But she could no longer allow Celestia to commit to these decisions, not without more than mute protest. She understood, in a slow, snaking way, the path that led here. Even as far back as Moon’s Rise, freed from what she imagined to be a dark and corrupting spirit by the warmth of the Elements of Harmony—their synchronous choir repelling tainted thoughts and desires alike—even then, was she predestined for this? Was the Drac, who had taunted her, sent her over the edges of the map, just another move in a long and drawn out war, a collision between herself and her sister?
And how could she be sure she was not merely succumbing to temptation? It was easy, no? It was such a simple thing, to think of Celestia as a tragic failure, to hold her in esteem even as she stole the throne away.
She was not committed yet. Luna had yet to make her defiance open, to do more than manoeuvre and strategise. Would that Rainbow and Rarity might return, bearers of news, information, to free her from this dilemma! And yet, they might still be too late. So much was in motion that she could not See, could not choose . . .
And at the end of the corridors of her self-doubt lay Cadance, bawling on her shoulder as her heart was ripped asunder for the second time.
Cadance was smiling at her, a small smile, the sort that might convey gratitude, or apology. “The usual is still available,” she said. “I never . . . I never changed that.”
“And the rest?” Luna asked.
“Tonight,” Cadance said, nodding. “I am sorry.”
“Yes,” Luna said. “I know.” She stood to leave, pausing at the doorway to glance back at her niece. Cadance was frowning, the iron in her posture trembling.
“I’m going to find him,” Cadance said, quietly.
Aha. There it was: the resolve that forced her upright. She had no need for that kind of fire; it would only serve to prolong her misery.
“Tell me,” Luna said, “do you agree with my sister?”
Cadance pricked her ears upright, and she turned her face towards Luna. “Celestia?”
“She would that we persist in this ignorance of death,” Luna said. “That this pony be prevented from visiting such pain upon you. That all be prevented from committing such a crime.”
“I don’t follow.”
“The First Murder in a Thousand Years,” Luna said, intonating her words. “And you are not curious as to why?”
Cadance was openly frowning, now, the corners of her mouth straightening to form a flat line.
“There exists a spell that marks infants,” Luna said, “All infants, of all species, in the moment of their birth, across all of Equestria. It is called the Veil. It prevents such crimes, prohibits them utterly. One . . . just one, was born free of it. Why?”
The logic was surprisingly simple, now that she thought of it. She had followed Boundless’ life, in bits and pieces, snatches of moments, from the side of the Lethe, sixteen years ago, before she lost ten years to the world outside Equestria, before the Drac had brought her to question everything she believed to be true. He had been born on Moon’s Rise, indeed, in the precise moments during which her brief reign over Equestria lasted. Was it a coincidence that he was the only one free of the Veil?
To do so on a nation-wide scale will drain me beyond hope of resisting our sister’s plans.
It was the Nightmare’s doing: one, final act—but of terror or of justice? What might that cost have been, to hold back the Veil from the newborn, to prevent its action, just for that one . . . maybe not to the extent that the Nightmare might have beaten the Elements, but drained her nonetheless, so as to offer only a token resistance? That the Nightmare had chosen this child, over her own life . . . Some stratagem, designed to invoke complacency in Celestia, in the Bearers? Or was it sincerity, in its most naked form . . .
What did that make Boundless to Luna?
“Celestia believes this spell vital. She points to the pain spared across a millennium of peace, and considers it justified.” Luna held Cadance’s eyes. “What about you?”
“I agree. Unequivocally.”
“I am not so sure.”
“How can you say that,” Cadance cried. “You’ve witnessed this first-hoof,” spreading her hooves to either side, “all this devastation, this tragedy! What could possibly be worse than . . . than . . .?”
“I don’t know,” Luna said. “I- I don’t know! My memory is denied me! My past-“ she cut herself off abruptly, clamping her mouth shut, remained still for several moments, breathing. “Ah,” she said, eventually, “ah, I am sorry. You have no need of my woes to add to your own. It . . . Suffice to say that there is more we do not know.” Luna advanced on Cadance, hooves clacking against the crystal floor. “I agree with you, and Celestia, in my heart. That such misery might be avoided . . . That that is a goal worth fighting for. What worries me, however, is that it might not be me saying as such.”
“Does that sound all so bad?” Cadance asked, in a small voice. “What I might trade, that . . . he be here with me.”
“Oh, oh, dear. No, no, this is not the right time,” Luna said, retreating. “I . . . I am so sorry, Cadance, for everything. Just rest for now, and I will send you sweet dreams to ease your sorrow. Just, just rest.”
Cadance complied without protest; likely still exhausted from their fight and the emotional whirlwind she was flying through. Simple enough, really, to forestall thoughts of vengeance and retribution, though Luna might have chosen other topics in hindsight.
Luna left Cadance’s bedroom, stepping past guards and servants as she made her way down the hall. It was only a short trip to the rooms Cadance had set aside for her, but even so, she had to brush off no less than four attempts to assist her in some fashion—from chefs inquiring about the evening’s menu to masseurs eager to ply their trade. She was in no mood for company. Thoughts hidden behind a mask of careful self-control were spilling out now, piling up on one another, and the Day grew late.
***
Rainbow woke to bright light. She took some few moments, rubbing at her face to clear the last of her sleep away, before pushing herself half-upright and looking around.
Rarity stood nearby, under guard. Ponies, clad in polished armour gleaming under the waning sun, held spear-tips to her throat. She was rigid, head held still, eyes bouncing around the room.
Luna sat on her makeshift throne, atop a dais. Proud and regal, staring down her muzzle directly at Rainbow. She couldn’t look at the Princess without swallowing, trying and failing to suppress a wince. No longer befuddled by shock, she cast all consideration of Luna’s brutality from her mind. There would be a time and a place to grieve, to ponder, to process.
It appeared Luna had put her to sleep. Why? Everything had seemed to be progressing smoothly . . . they’d met the Princesses, gathered information interesting if not vital. Had something changed?
Beside her, another brilliant white light formed. Rainbow started, turned to look. Celestia herself, bending over, radiant horn touching the temple of—that was the unicorn! The one who had . . . who had tried to kill her, to kill all of them.
And Rainbow realised her mistake. Stories and tales of war had amounted to an adrenaline-fuelled rush in her mind, a thrill always careful to assure her of safety. She should have noticed the dour faces of the ponies she’d met, the seriousness with which they rebuilt. They had fought, recently, for real, fought not for control over Equestria, or some magical artefact, but for their lives, in the most immediate sense.
“Well, sister?” Luna called.
“As we suspected,” Celestia said. “He has been Taken.”
“And the others?”
Celestia shook her head.
“Can you . . .’ Luna made a vague gesture with a hoof, glancing at Rainbow and Rarity as she did so.
“No. It was not by force, but persuasion. His mind . . . contains His seeds. ‘Tis not the domain of Harmony to refute such a choice.”
“Though the Heavens fall,” Luna murmured, nodding at the captive. Promptly, guards moved forward, took the unicorn in a conjoined telekinetic field, and carried him from the room. Rainbow closed her own eyes, counted to three, taking slow, steady breaths. Stay focused, Rainbow. Keep your mind on task.
“And these two?”
Celestia’s head was bowed, and her jaw clenched. At Luna’s prompting, she shuffled over, coming to stand before Rainbow. Such a sight, usually so comforting, an assurance of peace and safety, now inspired naught but dread . . . Celestia’s face drawn taut, limbs bending to bear her visage down to Rainbow’s . . . “Hold my gaze, little pony,” she whispered.
Rainbow had practiced this with Twilight many times before. She was well used to the sensation of a Sage, pushing her way into her mind. With Twilight, it had always been about trust, a gentle, comforting presence, settling comfortably alongside her. This, however, was entirely different.
Celestia pushed into her mind like a drill through rock. She was not cruel, not needlessly rough, but nor did she delay, attempt to coax Rainbow out. Defences were stripped away in an instant, thoughts laid bare, and no heed given to how much Rainbow squirmed under her attentions. She flicked through her entire life, barely glancing at each page . . . searching, searching for something. Images ran through Rainbow’s mind, painted themselves before her with a vividness she could not have attributed to her memory. Painful images, private images, memories of failing, of falling, of redemption. Of Luna, addressing her, and sending her to the past.
“Ah,” Celestia said, though she did not draw away. “They have had contact with Him, yes. But . . . what’s this? How . . . they broke free. Not a choice, not a choice . . .” she hummed under her breath, “Discord, Discord, who is Discord?”
Rarity made a strangled sound on the sidelines, immediately silenced.
“Is this . . . me?” Celestia said. “Elements, elements . . . Twilight Sparkle. And . . . finally . . . t’was a Nightmare. Night-mare, Mare of the Night, Mare of the Moon.”
Luna cleared her throat, and Celestia turned away, leaving Rainbow to collapse.
“A fragment, sister,” Celestia said. “It exists with fractured mind and spirit, but it exists. It must be responsible for the Taken.
"Will we never be free of Him?" Luna asked, sighing.
"They named it Discord, and turned it to stone.”
“Petrification,” Luna said, leaning back. “An interesting solution: it would keep Him separate, keep Him weak . . .”
“Something to look into,” Celestia said. “I shall turn my attention to it immediately.”
“How did they break free of His touch?”
Celestia shook her head. “They do not know themselves. It is worth pursuit.”
“Later, ‘Tia,” Luna said. “We must tend to our safety first.”
“Yes, sister,” Celestia said, bowing.
“As for this Night-Mare . . .” Luna said, trailing off.
“T’was you who sent them.” Celestia hummed. “It appears much has been lost, over the years. That thine divine raiment should be feared so . . .”
“Enough. You know my question.”
“No, sister. They mean us no harm. Their little story was, to my great surprise, somewhat honest. They seek information, nothing more, though they come as observers, not scholars.”
Luna grunted. “Scouts. My scouts, apparently. Fine, fine, set them from your mind. The other may not have known anything, but I see no reason to disregard his most gracious warning.”
We scorned Celestia when she declared her intent. But she was right, there was no other choice left to us. Even had the Well been myth, nothing else would have sufficed.
From that font of power, she returned adorned with Harmony itself, invested in glowing raiment, rather than her flesh, that same raiment which defeated us in turn.
Forty
APPLEJACK SLOWED her canter to a trot, batting the air about her head with her hat. The heat of the desert—sun not just beating down, but reflecting up from the sand, baking her from all angles—was steadily growing unbearable. She glanced to her side, at the wispy patch of fog peeking out of her saddlebags, and then shook her head.
Fluttershy was well ahead; far enough that the view Applejack had of her tail was blurred by heat. She’d been eager, waking Applejack well before dawn on the morning of their departure, waving goodbye to the few who’d gathered to see them off from the edge of town, while Applejack hugged, and smiled: clapping her cousin on the shoulder, shaking Bill’s hoof, embracing Achak. Appleloosa had given them a proper send-off the night before, and food and water enough for roughly two weeks of travel, as close as she could judge it, packing her bags to bulging.
But there was no way of knowing how far they’d got to go. Applejack couldn’t feel the water, flowing North underneath them: it was too far down, and she didn’t know this earth, the sand was no part of her domain. Fluttershy had said that they’d encounter a Storm in the Everfree, just as it was to be loosed, had Dreamt of that struggle. Between here and there lay a desert, followed by a series of rolling plains . . . the train line actually cut through them, edging the desert before diving in to Appleloosa from the east.
Applejack had suggested just that: take the train. Heck, they could go all the way back to Ponyville, a day’s journey, and have the greater part of two weeks to search the Forest for the impending Storm. Fluttershy had shot that idea down immediately, and truth be told, Applejack thought she made good points. They didn’t know where the Storms were originating. Yes, it was likely somewhere in the Forest. No, they couldn’t be sure. And so, no matter how tempting, venturing off the Storm’s trail would be a Bad Idea.
The trail itself wasn’t hard to follow, even after days of exposure to the desert’s winds and sands. The Storm had picked up tons of sand as it passed, whipped the desert itself into a frenzy. The path they followed was carved into the dunes, a straight line, broad and flat. It wouldn’t last long, the formlessness of the desert already beginning to assert itself on either edge, but for now, they made good use of it: a road heading North.
Applejack pulled a flask out, took a long drink, and then trotted up to Fluttershy’s side.
“Reckon we should stop for lunch, soon,” she said, giving Fluttershy a long look.
“Oh, if you want,” Fluttershy said. “I wouldn’t mind walking for a bit longer, myself.”
“Are we in some special hurry?” Applejack asked. “Feels like you’re pretty fixated on a good pace.”
“No. It’s just-” Fluttershy bit her lip. “-I’m worried. About the town.”
“You got something you wanna tell me?”
“Well . . .” now she cast a glance at Applejack, measuring, weighing. “I don’t know. My Dream . . .”
“They’re not prophetic, right.”
Fluttershy hummed. “That’s not quite it. Dreaming shows me one future. A possibility. A likelihood, even.”
“But we can change that.”
“Yes. Back in Ponyville, I Dreamt of Appleloosa, had we not come—o-or even, just arrived too late.”
“They’re safe now,” Applejack said, lifting a hoof to pat her on the shoulder. “We’ll stop anything else heading their way. An’ they’ve experienced a bit, learnt something from it all.”
“I know.”
Applejack gave her a few beats, before prompting. “But . . .“
“But . . . we’re going to face a Storm. As it’s forming. And . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t know if we’re going to be able to stop it.”
“We beat the last one.”
Fluttershy shook her head violently. “You know that’s not the same.”
Applejack slowed. “Should we even be going, then?”
“Oh, yes. It’s—well, umm, it’s the best time.”
It was the only time, she meant. The last Storm had been a touch early, but Applejack was confident in her estimation. The cyclical nature of their appearances gave them a limited window to reach the Storm’s source. Two weeks, to push north. Two weeks, to put a stop to this before any more damage could be done.
“’Shy,” Applejack said. “If we’re overwhelmed, the town won’t survive. None of ‘em . . . ain’t that what your Dream told us?”
She remembered Fluttershy’s original Dream, the warning that had propelled her south with Applejack, in response to a desperate missive. A Dream where Fluttershy walked through the remnants of Appleloosa, saw the residents reduced to nomadic survivors of the desert. A-and—Applejack for the first time questioning her interpretation—what if she’d got the cause wrong? The warning heard, but misunderstood?
But Fluttershy was still moving, once again pulling ahead of Applejack. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, and there was a firmness to her tone that gave Applejack pause. “We . . . it doesn’t matter.”
“But-“
“I refuse to do nothing!” Now she spun, eyes fixing Applejack in place. “We can’t sit in those tiny shelters, fret about what might happen! What hasn’t happened! No! I’m done waiting.”
She turned back to the desert, resumed walking. Unbidden, Applejack followed. The outburst, so unusual, unexpected—though perhaps it shouldn’t have been?—became hypnotic: drawing her after Fluttershy without thought.
“It’s become an itch,” Fluttershy said. “All . . . all the sorrow. All the poignancy. I- I can’t not . . . I,” she straightened her bowed neck, “I’m sorry.
“But I can’t do this without you, AJ.” Head turned once again, eyes shining, the glint of the sun reaching forth. “I have to believe that the two of us can stop the Storms. Stop, stop the pain . . .
Applejack bit down on her lip, not daring to let a word pass her lips. She could empathise, after all, though she’d been—perhaps focused was the word, yes—focused on more practical matters, there remained the itch, as Fluttershy had put it. A nagging sensation in her mind, a terrible weight on her back: responsibility, guilt, a desire to do more, to be more.
She ran after Fluttershy, and walked at her side through the desert. Lunch could wait. The long expanse of sand unchanging across the hours, as ever so slowly, the sun sank towards the horizon, and through it all: heat, grit, and unrelenting wind, burned an intent in their minds. Sometime towards evening, they came upon the remnants of the spell designed to disintegrate clouds, the supplies of water shipped southward—tell-tale evidence already hidden by the shifting sand, but a sense of wrong, raising of fur and hackle comparable to what Applejack had felt at the height of Discord’s mayhem. Such a sensation she might once have dismissed, but now she was grasping for answers, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces together, and she was no longer willing to claim coincidence. Chaotic magic, designed to harm. Fragments of the Crystal Empire, found buried deep under the sand. Why, her mind circling on the question, spiralling round and round, a vulture waiting for its prey to finally give up and expire, why would somepony—someone—want to attack Equestria’s south.
Fluttershy recognised the edge, Applejack watched her step carefully, hooves tracing a delicate line, her shoulders hunch, ears press back against the flat of her skull, and her pace increase. Still, she led Applejack, without so much as a murmur.
Was it only two weeks ago, or thereabouts, that Applejack had sprinted out to her cottage in response to Rarity’s missive? Such a short time, to go from a mare struggling to match Applejack’s pace on wing to one demanding ever more, and not with voice but with her back, slipping away now, once again. Or perhaps it was Applejack that had changed, learnt restraint: at long last, felt the consequences of her extravagance. The guilt, crushing and intolerable, had been assuaged, for now, but it was still there, lurking in her subconscious. It would haunt her, she knew, for the rest of her life.
And, to her surprise, she found herself glad: that she could still care, that she hadn’t, finally, burnt herself out of emotion so thoroughly she lost the capacity to feel; for the power that guilt promised, the explosive potential of her pain, and the resolution it would bring about; that her mistakes were, at the very least, not in vain.
So she trudged after Fluttershy, pulling an apple from her saddlebags as she walked. Her friend’s back almost seemed to be laughing at her, mocking her every step as it shrank into the distance. No longer would she allow pride to push her into risking more than she could imagine. No longer would she waste her breath on displays of strength, or some misplaced sense of need. They could not be late, no, but they did not have to be early, either.
She took a bite of the apple, a fierce grin stretching her lips into a rictus, swallowed. Her eyes didn’t leave Fluttershy until she had finally vanished, heat waves and sand blurring the horizon into uniformity. But when they did arrive . . . she would be ready. Applejack broke into a canter, chasing her friend across the desert. This time, she wasn’t racing.
***
Fluttershy could feel her legs burning. Her hooves, uncomfortably hot from the sand, voiced their own complaints with every movement. Her fur, sticky with sweat, itched, and she longed for water, both to clean herself of the ever-present sand, and to ease her throat, long since cracked and dry.
Four days, she had moved through the desert. She sought shelter only when the sun began its final descent towards the horizon, hastily finding some large rock, or digging into the sand. She would shiver there, as darkness fell, until a warm form sank down beside her, a muzzle nuzzled the side of her head, and a few words let her know she was safe. She woke with its first rays, dragging herself upright to continue on, leaving Applejack where she lay, gently snoring, limbs sprawled out, and face pressed into the ground.
Now she was leaving the desert. The past dozen miles she had felt the sand shifting, gradually thinning underhoof. The dunes, all but completely covering their Great Road north just two days after the Storm had swept through, had diminished, each reaching less height than the one before, and were more and more sparse. Now, at long last, she felt solid ground, dirt, touch her hooves. Saw green and brown underneath the yellow. Even, in the distance, a flower or two, petals a pale blue, stems wilting but still turned upright to gaze at the sky.
“We made it,” she murmured, to nopony in particular.
But her saddlebags hummed, and wisps of vapour drifted out, rapidly coalescing into a small cloud.
Yes. We remember this place.
Fluttershy nodded. Nephele had followed her out to Appleloosa; after all, by following the train tracks—tracks that she stepped on now, delighting in the firmness of metal and wood. North beckoned her, the land dropping away across a gentle slope, shallow valleys extending outward. Across the horizon, still, she knew lay the Everfree Forest, and gathering there, the Storm.
We should wait for the Warden.
Fluttershy shook her head. Stomach rumbling, she pressed forward. She could not pin down exactly what drove her forward so relentlessly, nor had she put a great deal of thought into it. It was enough that she moved, that she was active. She had seen the consequences of silence, the devastation that could result from inaction. She would not allow such events to pass again.
And part of her delighted in her newfound strength. She found in it sureness, a purity: the will she’d always lacked—or had merely buried—surging up to guide her. Determination, laced with anger and sorrow. She must not fail again.
She understood, a little, now. How her friends had been able to withstand the glare of the spotlight. How they'd never backed down from a fight, even something as trivial as a friendly argument. It was something beyond her, an expression of intent that transcended Fluttershy . . . she was a vessel, a tool. She needn’t be embarrassed by this passion, for it dwarfed her, and drew its own stares.
It was exciting. She felt potent, in a way she’d rarely felt before, capable of anything. With a surge of . . . she couldn’t name it, not quite, though closest to a wave of triumph and elation, she leapt into the air, wings sweeping the sky apart. Already, she moved faster than she had before, and the rushing winds pulling back on her lips drew from her not her typical whimper, but a fierce grin, and a cry.
Conduit, we must await.
Quickly, she outpaced Nephele, the Cloud Nymph floating after her, slowly. She rose, higher and higher, until the colours of the land merged together into a tableau and the air grew bitterly cold. Equestria laid itself out before her, sprawling, giant. Squinting despite herself, she dove and spun, twisting in the breeze, and let out a laugh—simple, carefree, innocent. For a moment, she felt she could understand Rainbow: really understand her, in a way that was deeper than empathy. Surely this was her birthright, her inheritance, cast in gold and rich sky-blue?
She smelt water, and her tongue lolled from her muzzle. Diving, Fluttershy careened towards the ground, winds ripping at her fur, threatening, pushing, moving faster than she’d ever felt comfortable within. And yet, she never felt out of control.
The lake she’d scented lay nearby, no more than a minute or so off her charted path. The slow process of drawing water North-ward created a tiny whirlpool in its centre as water was sucked into the ground. Without hesitation, she landed, plunged her head into the water. Cool and crisp, she couldn’t quite hold her breath, bubbles exploding out of her. Laughing, she moved into the centre, then relaxed, falling back and allowing her rear legs to float up, until she was bobbing on her back, staring up at the sky. She could feel the grime washing off her, sand and sweat dissolving, melting away. Like tension, leaving her muscles during a massage. She drank, deeply, and felt the taint here, pushed it away from her mind with a thought. Its threat lay in subtlety, once aware of its influence, it was simple enough to ignore the dark murmurings . . . though she would not want to test the limits of her endurance.
Eventually, staggering onto dry land, she paused and considered her saddlebags. Far from just water, they’d contained grain and a few apple pies, Nephele’s jar, a small crystal toy . . . soaked, now. She shrugged them off, left them there on the ground.
A small part of her mind was busy worrying, fretting over this newfound attitude. While Fluttershy had known, always known, if in her own way, the wonders and the vibrancy of the world outside, she cherished more than just the aesthetic, more than the sights and sounds and smells. It was tranquillity, an ease of life—each and every interaction that of old friends, an established social code. She delighted not in excitement, or ecstasy, or commitment, but rather in belonging.
As if, for the first time, she felt that she was a part of this world.
That’s why she couldn’t stop herself from leaping forward through the air. That’s why she couldn’t match herself to Applejack’s measured pace. That’s why she abandoned her Dream, and the fearful, despairing tone it foretold.
If she could get there in time, then maybe . . . just maybe . . . she could change the future. Halt the Storm, protect the south, and . . . forestall that cry, desperate and forlorn, that haunted her mind still, and tickled the insides of her ears.
***
The Everfree Forest, for all of its chaos, had changed perhaps the least over the years. Applejack had plenty of memories here, from when she was just a young filly, scared half to death from her Granny’s stories of Timberwolves, from that fateful excursion into the Forest, Moon’s Rise, and the Elements, occasional trips to Zecora’s hut . . . what had once been the realm of monsters and nightmares had, over the course of repeated ventures, become familiar. And while Sweet Apple Acres grew, Ponyville expanding to welcome newcomers, new trade routes exploding as ponies realised Ponyville made a perfect hub for those not looking to climb all the way up to Canterlot, and Equestria, as a whole, got that little bit smaller, the Everfree had remained static. It was ironic, really.
“How’re ya feelin’?,” Applejack called out, coming to a halt beside Fluttershy. The pegasus was dozing in the shade of a tree on the Everfree outskirts, back propped up against its trunk in a manner reminiscent of Lyra’s odd posture. “Fluttershy?”
“Hmm,” Fluttershy murmured, stirring, and rubbing a hoof across her face. “Oh, Applejack. Fi-“ she yawned, mouth opening wide “-finally here.”
With a jolt, she jumped to her hooves. “Ready to go, then?” she asked, and began trotting forward, into the Forest.
“Hold on there,” Applejack said, reaching out to catch Fluttershy’s shoulder. “There ain’t no rush. We’ve made good time, and Ah could use somethin’ ta eat.”
“Eight days,” Fluttershy said. “Eight days it’s been growing.”
“We’ll be worse off if we charge in there on empty stomachs.”
Fluttershy sighed, turning aside. Applejack saw her mouth flash downwards, curves and lines appearing around her face just for an instant. “Fine. One apple.”
Applejack reached into her saddlebags. Her hoof scrabbled about, seeking, searching . . . nothing, nothing but crystal. With a frown, she doffed the bags, bent down to inspect them closer. But no amount of wishing could create food where there was none, and, Applejack realised, it wasn’t just apples she’d run out of. She’d naught remaining but a few oat cookies.
One of which she offered to Fluttershy. “How’s about that,” she said, giving her friend a sheepish grin. “Looks like we’re on short rations from here on in.”
Which wouldn’t have happened had Fluttershy taken better care of her things. Applejack had found her bags, soaked through and completely ruined, three days ago, by what was left of, she assumed, a lake: damp earth and the bowl of land around it the only remaining traces of its existence. She’d recovered what she could, but . . . Fluttershy had had enough food on her for another four or five days, easy. It was unlike her, and created in Applejack a nagging suspicion, and a growing concern.
“We’re through the desert,” Fluttershy said. “There’s plenty of grass around.”
Applejack made a face. Grass had never appealed to her that much—odd, as a proud country soul, she expected herself to be better suited at roughin’ it than most. But while hay would do in a pinch, and she could sleep better on rock than a unicorn in linen, grass left an acrid taste in her mouth that just wouldn’t go away. Truth was, she had nearly as big a sweet-tooth as Pinkie, which suited her just fine.
What she said was: “Ah ain’t sure we should trust it. Grass drinks water from the earth, after all. All this’s probably tainted.”
Fluttershy nodded slowly, chewing on her cookie. “I’m scared, AJ.”
“Yeah,” Applejack paused, stepped up alongside her friend, laying a hoof across her shoulders. Together, they stared into the darkness of the Forest. “Me too.”
“We have to go,” Fluttershy said, pulling at Applejack.
“Something my parents used to tell me,” Applejack said. “Haste makes waste. ‘Course, took me longer than Ah like to admit to understand that. But this, this ain’t just determination, ‘Shy. You looked at that?” she pointed up, at the sky, with a hoof. The air was cold, with a bitter chill. Grey skies surrounded a dark omen.
“I can feel it,” Fluttershy whispered. “On the air and in the wind.”
Applejack fell silent, giving her a long, measured look. Fluttershy noticed, ducked her head, a faint blush gracing her cheeks.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I . . . okay. You’re right. We can wait, just a little longer.”
Applejack smiled at that, and trotted past Fluttershy. “Well? You coming?”
***
The Storm roared around them. Wind ripped at their sides, clutching at fur, tugging at mats and clumps of dirt. Water, flung into the air, froze before their eyes, shards of ice pelting the trees. Leaves, twigs, some smaller branches stirring, flailing; spun around in a maelstrom of Chaos.
It was small, yet. Its virulence leashed, its anger withheld. Fluttershy couldn’t help but compare, with a sigh of relief, with the Storm of her Dream. That future had been a desperate struggle, the building fury obscuring sound and sight entirely, until she lost Applejack.
Ah need you!
In the here and now, they walked forward with relative ease. Through the swaying treetops, the Storm’s shadow rose, a towering monolith of black clouds and lightning. A wave, building on the ocean, growing, rising, as the tide sucked water from under her hooves . . . Fluttershy waited with baited breath, eyes fixed skyward, waiting for the wave to break.
Four days through the desert, another four to cross the plains separating southern Equestria from the Everfree Forest —five, counting the time she spent waiting for Applejack, restlessly recovering from her flight and still aware enough to shy away from the prospect of entering the Forest alone—and nearly a full day here, though they had been moving slowly, carefully, despite the apparent absence of monsters. The Forest was roughly circular, she knew, extending a half-day’s journey from Ponyville to the Old Castle. She hadn’t realised that the Castle was roughly the centre of the Forest. Now that she thought of it, though, she—well, it was just a hunch, but still—was all but certain that it was precisely at the centre.
Fluttershy pushed that train of thought from her mind, recognising it as merely a delay. How many times would she have to make this assertion, in the quiet recesses of her mind? She was done with waiting.
Her view ahead was obscured by stone. She started, glancing around, catching sight of Applejack a few feet to the side, examining a rising wall of earth. Ah, the chasm—she remembered this area, vaguely, memories dating back nearly sixteen years, now, to Twilight and Rainbow, and the City Beneath.
Slipping up near Applejack, she looped her front hooves around the earth pony’s chest, under her arms. She braced, as a particularly strong gust blew past, then flapped, hard, shooting up into the air.
The wind caught her almost immediately, sending them spinning around the chasm, the slipstream holding them in its path, and buffering them against collisions. Steadily, they rose, beat by beat, until Fluttershy caught sight of the Castle steps, to the right, and Applejack found ground beneath her back hooves. They glanced at one another, and trotted forward, to the edge of the cliff.
Down below, a lone river snaked across an empty stretch of land, disappearing into the cliff-face under their hooves. The waters raged, almost boiling with fury, long streams arcing up into the air to lash against a colossal waterspout, connecting to the Storm above. Spray soaked the ground, shimmering with the sunset cast in ice. Waves of fog billowed out, giving the scene an ethereal edge, an atmosphere dripping with turmoil. And the sound, crashing against their ears, was itself a scream, primal, terrified, and wordless.
They both knew this river, the Lethe, capable of stealing memories and minds. They knew of the dragon that lurked in its waters, who had taught Spike—Daerev, now—and helped raise him into the young dragon they knew today.
So the sight of the Drac, serpentine tail twisting, coiling, striking at the air, wings firmly furled, body upright, rising from the water . . . jaws open, fire, roiling, jets of intermittent bright blue heat striking the water, caused Fluttershy to gasp, Applejack to stumble. Their hooves found each other. Fluttershy opened her mouth, and found only dread in her throat.
“Gotta be,” Applejack answered her anyway. “That . . . that thing!”
“Maybe he’s fighting it,” Fluttershy squeaked.
But they both knew, deep down. Applejack pulled Fluttershy to the edge, jumped off with her, trusting the pegasus to catch them both. Fluttershy waited, the rushing air filling her ears, nose, bombarding her senses so that she didn’t have to think, unfurling her wings only halfway down the fall, turning their drop into a glide that brought them to the edge of the river. Here, the Storm was at its most potent, the water striking them hard enough to break the skin, ice tearing at them, freezing in their fur, fog clouding their sight even of each other, despite being in each other’s arms. They pushed forward, front hooves dropping into the river bed suddenly, so that they tumbled, sprawled on the cold, dry dirt at the Drac’s taloned feet.
But Fluttershy’s fear, such as it was, had faded, and she found herself standing, glaring upwards. It was a small victory, really, but it left a soft smile waiting to grace her face, and a satisfaction in her mind. She had not lost her friend, here. She had not waited too long.
“What the hell is goin’ on here?!” Applejack screamed, her voice cresting the Storm by virtue of a burst of indignation.
The dragon clamped his mouth shut with a click, dropped to all fours to regard them, huge eyes, reptilian and unblinking, reflecting their images back at them. “You’re here,” he said, voice hissing.
“Why are you doing this?” Fluttershy asked. Her words felt flat, tasted stale . . . numb, devoid of passion—she recognised the truth, could not fight it. He was a Seer, he knew precisely what he was doing, precisely how much harm he could have, and had, caused.
He tilted his head. “Did you imagine me your friend?”
“You . . .” Applejack spluttered.
“Me. But,” claw coming up, now, talon pointing forward, reaching, to press itself into Applejack’s chest, “you are early.”
Fluttershy glanced at Applejack, face blank but eyes shining.
“We aren’t about to let ya unleash that,” Applejack said. Now she was shouting, shock turned to anger turned to rage. “Drop it. Now.”
“Can you make me?”
Now Fluttershy stepped forward, past her friend, past the talon holding her back. She understood, in her bones, the gravity of this threat. She wanted to scream, to run, and to find shelter somewhere secure, surrounded, and safe—this was a dragon, her ancient fear. But spending so many years, terrified of ideas with no teeth, hiding from injury, gave her some strange immunity to this: the true threat, the very image of death, staring her down. Her entire body seemed to be humming, buzzing, pins and needles familiar to anypony who had fallen asleep on their outstretched hooves. She felt the fear, battering at her. It was on the outside, glass walls surrounded her thoughts, and when she moved, she did not tremble, and when she spoke, her voice was steady.
“Yes,” she said. She looked up, Stared at the Drac. “Yes, we can.”
The dragon recoiled. Not abruptly, not startled, but taken aback nonetheless, he leaned upright, tongue lashing out to taste the air. Applejack placed a hoof on Fluttershy’s shoulder, gave her a squeeze. Together, they stood firm.
The Drac bent back down. “Show me,” he said, and a torrent of blue rushed forth.
Heat. From the bitterly cold air they’d trekked through, the ice and wind draining every last bit of heat from their bodies to a furnace, a forge. The ice clinging to their fur, coating their bodies saved them, steam already screaming skyward as Fluttershy dove to the side, a sudden shock coursing through her wings, catching Applejack under the shoulder with one hoof and slinging her out of the way.
Without pause, the Drac swung a claw at them. It scored Applejack’s flank, the sharp edge dragging a gash down the back of her leg. A simple flick, and she was flung back to strike the edge of the river, dirt walls polished by years of flowing water. She caught herself there, seemed to sink into the dirt an inch, and drew a deep breath.
Fluttershy took off, darting upwards. She reached for the Storm, for the swirling mass of power above them. Lightning flashed down, caught her wings, and surrounded her in a halo of electric-blue. A tongue of flame, reaching after her, had just length to catch her tail, before she sucked it in as well, dancing radiance adding to the sparks running across her feathers.
Applejack stood up, rolled her head around, and cracked her neck twice. She stepped forward, planted all four hooves solidly in the churned earth, again sinking slightly. The earth formed up around her, solidified, liquid streaming away from her. The Forest was not her home, but she knew it, was familiar with it.
Lightning and Fire darted down, tracing Fluttershy’s dive until she banked, wings thrusting down to brush the tips of her primaries against the Drac’s arched spine, kicking off him as she changed direction. He stumbled, just a little bit, just enough for Fluttershy to soar over him, past him, and bring the Storm to Applejack.
The wind rose in intensity, a maelstrom of air, deafeningly violent. Debris whipped at them, tore at their manes and tails. Any noise was instantly devoured, cast away into the vortex. It didn’t matter. They didn’t need to speak.
Fluttershy’s wings were a brilliant gold, sparkling with furious radiance. Applejack’s legs were a fiery orange, steady and warm.
The nascent Storm, channelled through the Conduit’s wings, touched the Warden, and found itself spread into the dirt, the Earth, receiving and neutralising. Firm and unyielding, Fluttershy and Applejack stood at the centre of the lightning, bathed themselves in blue. A current, introduced to electrical ground.
Plants sprang to life around them, growing with wild abandon. Fruits and seeds floated gently on a calm breeze. Vines snaked around them, over them. Grass grew: one foot, two, three. Trees groaned, and toppled under their own weight. The Forest reverberated with noise, with the sounds of the magical discharge being spread across it. A great intake of air, and then a colossal heave, a sigh, as the very earth shifted underhoof.
Amidst all the chaos, the Drac stood, facing them. Water, no longer held aloft, began to rain down upon them. The fires, still clinging to their coats, sizzled, and died away.
You must follow in her footsteps. We could find no alternative then, and I see none now. Find the Well, Luna. There is no other way to oppose Typhus.
You must do this quickly. If He reaches the Well before you, if this last sliver of hope dies, there will be nothing left for the world, nothing but a tortured existence, and a slow death.
Forty-One
BOUNDLESS SLAMMED the door shut behind him. Droplets of water flecked off his fur as he strode into the room. Despite the fire, around which five ponies, three of them with crystal fur sparkling, huddled, the chill remained, being only slightly warmer here than outside.
“Gentleponies,” he said, nodding. “And how are we this fine morn?”
“Cold,” one of the southern ponies said. “We just had to pull this in winter, didn’t we.”
“Actually, it’s late-spring.”
“Buck it.”
“Now, now,” a third, crystal, interjecting, verbally and physically, he reached a hoof in to clasp a shoulder, placing his body between the two, “we mustn’t get too heated . . .”
Three ponies laughed, one held a straight face for an instant before a smug grin forcibly took control of his face, a fifth narrowed his eyes, and shrugged off the hoof on his shoulder.
“Best you watch your tongue, Winter,” the fifth said. “A ’fore you lose it.”
“What you want with it?” Winter shot back. “Reckon you need a little help pleasing the mares?”
“Ha! That’s not what your mother said, last night!”
“Really, Charger?” Winter whispered, leaning closer. “Cause, y’know, if you were in want o’ something . . . I don’t think it’s a tongue you should be looking for.” He glanced meaningfully at Charger’s flank.
A pause. A moment of silence while eyes widened, cheeks bulged. Then, the deluge. Laughter bursting from all four, while a hoof went flying, striking Winter in the back of the head.
All of a sudden, it devolved into a miniature brawl, full of heaving gasps and loud cracks. The crystal pony next to Winter joined in instantly, leaping at Charger and pushing him back. Winter shook his head groggily, tight grin still plastered over his muzzle. Charger brought his chin down, cracking across the skull of the crystal pony, who promptly dropped to the ground.
“Damn southerners,” Winter growled, fixing his eyes on the second earth pony, already moving at him. His hooves lashed out, one two, only to strike empty air as the earth pony rolled underneath, coming up with a great heave that tossed Winter across the room. “Oof!”
Boundless made to move forward, only to find a hoof held firmly against his chest. It sparkled a pale red in the firelight.
“Jus’ watch,” she said, giving him a gentle push back.
“They no friends of yours?” Boundless asked.
“Naww, that ain’t it,” she said, with a small smile. ”But we wouldn’t want an uneven fight, now would we?”
“Hmph.”
“They’re just warmin’ up,” she said. “An’ . . .” leaning closer to him, “between you an’ me, I aim to enjoy the show.”
Boundless smirked, and sat down where he was. He watched the brawl continue for a few minutes, until eventually the earth ponies lay side-by-side, sucking in great gasps of air, and nursing bruises and scrapes, some lined with crystalline fibres, while their joints started to swell. The crystal ponies hadn’t fared any better, though their injuries came in the form of cracks and splinters, under which Boundless could see a nebulous energy, whirling around and around.
He sighed, and stood. “Feeling better?” he said, moving into the room proper.
“Yeah,” came the reply, from Charger, “got the blood pumpin’ jus’ fine.”
“Good. Charger, I presume . . .?”
“Yeah. Call me Charge’.”
Boundless gave himself a little shake. Swivelling, he stared at Charger’s friend. It still took him a few seconds to get the message.
“Stone Shard, lil’ buddy.”
Boundless took a deep breath. “I am not your buddy.”
“Friend,” Charger was grinning now.
“What?”
“It’s ‘I ain’t your buddy, friend.’”
Stone Shard rolled over onto his stomach. “I ain’t your friend, buddy.”
Boundless practically hissed. “And you three? Spit it out.”
“Ruby Rose,” said the mare who’d held him back. She was now leaning over her two companions, inspecting their wounds.
“An’ we’re,” groaning from the ground, “Wintersong, an’ Cobalt.”
“Boundless, right?” Charger asked, sitting up and holding his hooves to the fire with a frown. “Plain Sight said you’d be coming up here.”
“We picked him up last night,” Cobalt said. “You, of course, were too busy snoring to notice . . .”
“Hey, somepony’s gotta do it. Guard’s happy to leave us alone so long as they think somepony’s still using this old wreck. Why anypony’d want to put up with such a shitheap is beyond me.”
“Enough!” Boundless thundered. Everypony in the room stiffened, turning to look at him.
“Believe it or not, I haven’t crossed half of Equestria just to listen to your prattle! We’ve work to do, and it doesn’t involve making lame puns.”
“Yeesh. Tone it down a notch, would ya?”
“Mmm,” Stone Shard said. “We still answer to Plain Sight. He’s told us to aid you in any way we can. Just,”—yawning—“don’t be a dick, yeah?”
Boundless sank to his haunches, put his face in his hooves, and took a deep breath.
The ponies gathered together, Charger slinging a hoof over Cobalt’s shoulders. “Did ya break him?”
“Naww, kid’s just young. Give him a sec, you’ll see.”
“Okay,” Boundless said, standing. He faced the group front on, face carefully blank. “Tell me about the Crystal Heart.”
***
Brash? Cumulus? Are you there?
“How can she be so blind?”
I could really use somepony to talk to . . .
“I mean, all the allusions to past wars are one thing. But I thought she was wiser than this!”
Guys?
“It invalidates all the good she’s done. None of it can mean anything.”
Twilight Sparkle was fuming. She paced back and forth, inner monologue spewing forth as her hoofsteps slammed into the ground. Her face was scrunched up, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, and her eyes stared at blank nothingness, impassive, absent.
Trixie Lulamoon was barely listening. She was lost in her own world, the world on the inside of her mind. A world she was just beginning to explore. Her friends had been in here the whole time, she was realising. Not just with her, but a part of her, by definition. They’d never really lived past the accident. They were ghosts, haunting her every waking moment. A sentiment she could think, trembling on the precipice, but never feel, never find herself plunging forward in gutteral realisation . . .
“I mean, I’ve tried,” Twilight said, tossing her head back abruptly and throwing her front hooves into the air, “and there’s just no way she can justify her stance. Not without spitting in my face—in everypony’s face! Either side of the coin is an insult. It demeans us.”
Trixie heard nothing in the vault of her mind. No response to her calls. Brash and Cumulus had said very little after they manifested most strongly, defending her from Twilight. But she was sure she’d heard them, sure that they were still here.
Sighing, she blinked thrice, blearily looking up to regard Twilight’s pacing.
“What’s this about?”
Twilight exploded. “Everything!”
Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Specific.”
“Celestia . . . agrees with you,” Twilight said. “And I keep running her arguments around in circles. And they just won’t make sense!”
Trixie was smiling, now. To hear reassurance, such as it was, from a Princess of Equestria . . . she wasn’t star struck, as she might have been once, a long time ago, but nevertheless felt warm, a toasty comfort spreading throughout her body. “Well, what did she say?”
“That it’s for our own good. That without this stupid spell we’d all be running around lopping each other’s heads off! I mean, that’s insane. You haven’t gone on a psychotic spree!”
“I might have,” Trixie said. Memories of that day came to her readily. “I think I was close, Twilight. Not apathetic, not yet, not like him. But close.”
Twilight rounded on her, flinging out a hoof as if to accuse. “What changed?”
“You showed me.”
“Yes,” Twilight said. She swallowed. “Setting aside the nature of that intervention,” a shudder, “I showed you. We’ve already established that you haven’t become a carbon copy of me, of my thought patterns. Then . . . then the only explanation is-“
“You taught me,” Trixie said, slowly. Twilight’s energy had caught her interest, almost despite herself. “Like, say, a parent, teaching a child who doesn’t know any better.”
“Exactly! Now, think with me. Follow the logic, the hypothesis. Where does it lead?”
“Equate morality with a forbidden location,” Trixie said. “The Everfree Forest. And everypony lives in Ponyville. We all know—know—not to venture in there. All of us: save for the children. Celestia, even I know that much, and I’ve never spent longer than a few days in Ponyville.”
“So we teach them,” Twilight said. “We warn them and we lecture them and we instruct them. And so they grow up secure in the knowledge never to go into the Forest.”
“But now suppose the Veil is a giant wall, surrounding the Forest,” Trixie continued. Her mind was racing ahead, constructing the analogy as she spoke. “What happens to the lessons? They disappear, of course, because they serve no purpose. Why teach foals to beware the Forest when, for all intents and purposes, the Forest might as well not exist.”
Twilight was nodding, her lips pressed tightly together. “Now Boundless. Born in Ponyville, except for him there is no great wall. There is nothing stopping him from exploring the Forest. And so, like a child, he does.”
“Is that your answer,” Trixie said, turning her gaze on Twilight. “That we’re responsible for that monster? That locking murder away only made it easier for him?”
“Celestia insists that this wall keeps us safe. Well, I say that it keeps us vulnerable.”
“And what of the foals who, no matter how you lecture, no matter how you punish, will always feel the drive to explore? Isn’t this, above all else, something that should be prohibited?”
Twilight grimaced, pawing at the ground. “It can’t be that simple. You point to those curious foals who ignore all warnings and call them inevitable. Well, I say that ponies like Boundless are inevitable, too.”
Inevitable. The word washed over Trixie, sending shivers down her legs. Luna has used that word, too, in the hospital, in her dream.
“What am I, to you, Twilight?” Trixie murmured. “Just another caught up in his wake? A victim? An inevitability?!” Her voice grew in volume until she was shouting.
Twilight didn’t flinch. “Trixie Lulamoon. Showmare, criminal. Rival turned friend. My brother’s murderer. A Sage, a student. A pony that, in the extreme, caught her friends’ departing minds and held them close. You—“now striding closer, poking Trixie in the chest—“are a contradiction. You are one of the worst ponies I have ever met, and as a result you can become one of the best. A pony capable of murder that chooses to preserve life. No, I am not sure what you are to me. Not yet.”
Trixie’s heart was hammering in her chest. She was not an idiot: she knew what Twilight referred to. She had been set on that path, too, and damn everypony’s opinions—Boundless had to be stopped, and permanently, before he could wreak further havoc on the world. Now she reconsidered. Would that act remove even these tendrils of acceptance? Would it burn Twilight’s friendship behind her, to cast this last grace in her face?
“Twilight,” Trixie said, “my . . . my friends. Brash, a-and Cumulus.” She could feel the familiar lump in her throat.
Twilight was at her side in a second. “What’s happened?”
“They aren’t talking to me. I think they’re . . . that they’re . . .”
“We’re going to have to deal with this,” Twilight said. She bit her lip. “You know they’re dead, right?”
“Yes! But . . .”
“Letting go . . . Trixie, it’s probably the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do.”
“I thought you said I was going to be a princess,” Trixie said, forcing out a chuckle. It flopped to the floor, sad, and pathetic.
“Incomplete,” Twilight whispered. “Cumulus used Spiritual Coromancy, when we fought. He caught and redirected my energy. But . . . but it was your soul, not his. And you’ve no wings to manifest that power in reality. I . . . I think what you did . . . it was one-third. If they had been Coromancers, if they had met you with the same intent, at the same moment . . . but they didn’t. They died, and you took only what you could reach: their minds. Their minds, Trixie! Ghosts, inside your head. Learning only through your experiences. Incapable of agency, of choice. You . . . Celestia, help me; you have to let them go. I can help you, help you understand it, but you have to be the one to do it. And when you do, I-I think you’ll absorb them. All their memories, their lives, becoming yours.”
“I . . .“ Trixie sniffled. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“You aren’t,” Twilight insisted, sweeping her into a hug. “And you never will be.”
“I-I know, Twilight! But it’s not enough, it’s never enough, there’ll always be that silence, waiting for me.”
“What’s this?”
“E-Every song ends, every sentence stops, every pony dies. Can you imagine what it’s like, to have voices in your mind? It’s not . . . it’s not a scary thing, it’s not bad. A-And now they’re gone and all I can hear is echoes.”
But Twilight’s face had frozen. She didn’t know, she couldn’t understand. She’d never known anything else, this mare, this Sage, Celestia’s personal student, this Paragon of forgiveness, her mentor and victim and friend, she’d learnt to embrace the silence. She’d gotten past the death of somepony arguably closer to her than anypony in Trixie’s life had ever been, if only so much as to be functional. That’s what Trixie needed to learn.
She reached forward, grasping Twilight’s face between her hooves, and brought her head down, pressed her brow against Twilight’s.
“Ah, Trixie . . .” Twilight’s voice trailed off as their eyes met, and the world faded.
Trixie’s mind. Always before, it had been her entering another’s, in search of something. This time, she had pulled Twilight in, not pushed. This time, she wasn’t searching.
The vast plain appeared around them. Reminiscent of the mindscape she’d perceived the last time Twilight had entered her mind, wrapped in lavender armour and ethereal hatred. That Twilight had vanished completely, as if she had never existed, though Trixie’s memories persisted.
Briefly, the self-same lavender fire flickered on the ground around Twilight, and blackened patches of scarred earth dotted the arena. Trixie winced, casting such thoughts from her mind, and the detailing vanished. “Sorry,” she muttered.
Twilight blinked. “What for?” Twilight asked.
“Never mind,” Trixie said.
Here, she should have been able to see her friends: to perceive them, even if they would not make themselves known to her. And, truth be told, she thought she could. At a great distance, faint, weak, but still there, hiding somewhere in the distance.
“Can you feel them,” Trixie whispered. “Are they there?”
Twilight hummed to herself, her eyes closed. “Hmm, yes.”
Trixie exhaled. “I don’t want them gone, Twilight.”
“Yes, I got that.” Twilight gave Trixie a stern look. “But it’s not something we can ignore.” She had the grace to blush, ever so faintly. “I mean, we have been. I have been. But with everything else, and I’ve been trying not to let my mind dwell on you, a-and I can’t imagine how you’ve been coping with your recovery, and . . .” Twilight shook herself. “It’s important, Trixie, is what I’m trying to say. It’s part of,” waving her hooves in the air, gesturing, “everything else. The guilt over my brother, the anger at him, and the loneliness—it echoes, in here, you know? Can you hear it?—it’s all wrapped up together with their deaths, Trixie, with the fire, and you can’t move on while they’re here . . .”
“I-I don’t want . . .”
Twilight frowned. “I don’t know if I feel inclined to give you much of a choice.”
Trixie took a shuddering breath. “I brought you here to help me,” she said. It was true, after all, if not what she’d had in mind—if she’d been thinking at all. All the pent-up emotion, drained session after session in Twilight’s training rooms, was it finally catching up with her? Spiralling, down and down, each circle eating away at her self-control, until all she could do was clutch at the unicorn before her, grasp futilely at some form of stability. She’d drown, eventually lose her mind . . . this was the price, wasn’t it? For the power Twilight offered her, tried to teach her to control. The price for being a Sage. It wasn’t just a magnification of her magical power, it was an intensification of emotion, all her weaknesses and failings and flaws brought to a glaring light.
The environment morphed. Buildings appeared, single-storied, with roofs of thatch and walls of stone. Ponyville, at night, a deep twilight casting long shadows across the cobblestone square. Trixie stood tall, necklace flashing a blood-red. Twilight glanced around, saw her own flickering shade, and that of the other Elements.
“The past, Trixie,” Twilight said. “The Alicorn Amulet can’t control you anymore. It’s over.”
A gigantic paw, made of stars and a never-ending blackness, crashed into the ground, spraying stone everywhere. Twilight jumped, twisted, leaped aside. Trixie lifted her head, peering up into the Ursa’s gaping maw.
A flick of Twilight’s horn, and the scene was dispelled. “It can’t hurt you, Trixie. But this,” gesturing around herself, as the empty space refilled itself, no longer at her command, not really, Trixie taking a back seat even in her own mind—skyscrapers, the sounds of carts and drivers yelling at each other, Manehattan—“this is you, this is your pain!”
They watched as Trixie and Boundless tore down the street, slipping around the traffic like born locals while the police floundered behind them. Large sacks spilt a trail of gold in their wake.
“It’s not who you are anymore!”
The scene shifted again, now a vast plain at the base of the Canterlot Mountain. Twilight stood over Trixie, lavender armour dripping molten power into the earth. Trixie made a small whimper, eyes fixated on the figure before them, while Twilight faltered.
“Is that . . . is that what I did to you?”—watching as she pinned Trixie, forced her way past the mare’s defences—“Is that what the Nightmare did to me?”
Trixie nodded. “It wasn’t you,” she said, her voice thick. “I know that. And yet . . .”
And yet she flinched along with her shade.
Twilight grimaced, bit her lip, stamped the ground twice, and the aura around her horn doubled in power. The air before them rippled and shifted. A gilded gate blurred into view, arch rising high overhead.
Noble Deed’s Orphanage
“All your life,” Twilight began, “has been spent running away. You ran from your orphanage as soon as you could because you were afraid of your parents. You knew they weren’t coming, knew no other couple would adopt you. You ran from your friends, declining even the simple matter of a letter, because you were afraid of your peers. You knew they would see you for who you really were, behind the act. Great and Powerful, indeed.” She made no attempt to hide the contempt in her voice, and Trixie shied away from it.
“You ran from me, not once, but twice, because you knew I was your match. You ran from Boundless because you knew he would break you. Never at the forefront of your mind. Never staying still for long enough to let the knowledge sink into your bones, Trixie!”
Trixie blinked. Twilight was looking away, but she felt no such compunction. Before her, she lifted the azure blade, beat it through a lavender grip, brought it down with desperate force. Shining Armour shuddered underneath her hooves.
“You killed my brother because you were still running away!”
Trixie gasped. She opened her mouth but had nothing to say. She clenched her teeth shut, sucked in air, stared the ground between her hooves.
“You saved them because you knew they would die,” Twilight said. A hoof lifted Trixie’s chin, a gentle smile—how in Equestria what where why who are you—eased the swell in her chest. “It’s time to stop running, Trixie. They’re waiting for you.”
Fire crackled in her ears. Wooden beams crashed down before her face, heat blistered her skin, carbon and ash filled her nose. She knew where she was. In one sense, she’d never left. Across the room, a spectre crawled with terrible, scrabbling motions. Azure light heralded its path, touched the heads of two others occupying the room.
Trixie.
Cumulus! Trixie cried. You’re here!
Of course we are, Brash grumbled. Where else would we be?
“You’re in a position nopony has been ever since the Veil was erected,” Twilight said. “You can see the Forest, and the fork in the road. That is a freedom born of potential.”
We weren’t ignoring you, Cumulus said. He moved up beside her, watching his past self struggle on the floor. Fire continued to eat into the building. There wasn’t anything to say.
He means we’re dead, Brash said. That’s the real price.
And then Trixie understood. The chain of causality that lead her inexorably to this moment. Was it really inevitable? What was the result of all her fighting? All her running? Coromancy provided the agency to effect the change she desired most in the world, to reject the cruelest twists of fate. But it was an illusion, only, a temporary measure. For Trixie’s own awareness of her power, her tutelage, her nascent knowledge: the science of its inner workings, that denied to her the pretense she’d lived under her entire life.
The more she learned, the more she grew, the less she could ignore this, this pivotal moment. They had been dead for a long time.
And you draw strength from us.
Trixie started crying. Could she really stand to lose them, once again? Could she even forestall this, take back the last few days, remain as just Trixie? The silence opened its infinite maw, looming and dark as night, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
“You’ve already broken through one Veil,” Twilight said. “Even with Boundless, that’s not something everypony could have done.”
Trixie wiped her eyes, nodding. She could see the elegance of the construction, appreciate the beauty of the trap Twilight had erected for her. Even as she cried, she stood. With regret snaking trails down her cheeks, she gestured, found Cumulus and Brash by the hooves.
“I’ll miss you guys,” she said, trembling voice about to crack.
Hey, now. We’ll always be right here.
She nodded again, and pulled her hooves to her chest. There was no spark, no cataclysmic event to mark the transition. Just a sigh, and a slow fade. When she opened her eyes, they were no more. The silence threatened to overwhelm her.
Twilight made a gesture, and they were abruptly back in the Agency. Trixie started, fell onto her rump.
“I- I-“
“You see my thoughts, then,” Twilight said.
“Yes,” Trixie said. “I- I need to think about it.”
“Of course,” Twilight said. “But no more running away.”
“No,” Trixie said, and the word resonated in her mind.
***
“What’d you even want with it, anyways?”
The Crystal Heart hovered in mid-air, faintly humming. The air around it shimmered, rippling, as if suspended in a heat wave on the horizon of a desert. Boundless reached out a hoof and stroked it, feeling the hard surface, smooth as glass, against his hoof. He glanced all around, worried despite himself, but they were still alone. Exposed, out in the open, yes, right under their noses, but alone.
He was surprised, though perhaps he shouldn’t have been. He’d thought the Heart would have been somewhere safe, under lock and key. Experimentally, he gave it a light push. As expected, it resisted the force, and the humming increased ever so slightly. A light wave of light played out from the contact. Ah. Still, to display it so openly . . . they were proud, these Crystal ponies, and naïve, begot of the same innocence that had plagued his childhood. Well.
“Hey, buddy,” Cobalt said. “Asked you a question.”
“Hmm?”
“Well? I’s reckon it’s getting to be a bit weird we ain’t heard anything else ‘bout this, no?”
Boundless blinked, turned to stare at him. “What?”
Stone Shard rubbed his face. “He’s wondering why we’re helping you.”
“Oh.” Boundless smiled. “Your boss owes me.” He lowered his hoof. “And as for what I want . . . well, I’m not entirely sure, yet.”
“Whad’ya mean, yet?”
“Depends on what I can do with it.” Boundless said. He sighed. “Look, it’s a lot to ask. I understand that, really.”
“Oh, good. Lookit, Ruby, kid knows what it means to go asking a bunch of patriots to nick that ol’ relic what they just got back some few years back.”
“Could you please,” seeing the grin plastered all over their faces, “. . . unhh, just—just stop.”
“Ah, it’s alright,” Charger said, slinging a hoof around his shoulders. “They’re right, though. It is a hell of a lot. I think if we’s expected to help you out with this, we deserve a little recompense, you feel me?”
“I don’t have any money-“
“Naww, partner, t’ ain’t money we’re after. Information. Tell us what’s going on here.”
Boundless eyed him, shrugged the hoof off his shoulders.
“Here’s what we know,” Wintersong said, stepping forward. “The Prince-Consort’s murdered in Canterlot,” he paused, “now that took some getting used to. Still,” shaking his head, “Princess went ahead and locked up the Empire tighter’n a crystal flower.” Ruby swatted him across the back of his head. “Then, we get missive from Plain Sight. We was all geared up for an impromptu holiday—out of respect n’ all, you understand?—but oh, no, here, help out this poor little kid, just a lonely lil’ unicorn whose gone and lost ‘is Mommy and Daddy.”
“Get to the point.”
“Well. We’re thinking, is all. An’ we’re thinking that being smuggling’s off the table right now, how’s he gonna get this kid up here in the first place. We’re thinking the job’s getting you here. So you can imagine our surprise when we hear a few days after that: that he’s on a flippin’ train. And now he wants us to nick the Crystal Heart. We been plenty patient with you, kid,” shoving a hoof at Boundless; face, “done gave you the grand tour and all. It’s all a little too suspicious to be unrelated. So: fill in the gaps.”
Boundless turned away, stared into the Heart. “What was Sombra like?”
“Aww, hell no.”
“But-“
“No dramatic monologues with your face in the wind. This isn’t a bucking movie.”
Boundless started grinding his teeth.
“Also, that one's a touchy subject around here. I wouldn’t go mentioning that name too lightly.”
“Hey,” Ruby now, at his side. “Take it easy, yeah? Face the group, there’s a good lad. Now,” gesturing with her hoof, drawing a wide arc in the air before them, “what did you bring to Show and Tell.”
“I swear, I am going to kill somepony,” Boundless said. The Crystal Heart sparkled behind him.
“Aww, dang it,” Charger said, and hoofed a small handful of bits over to Cobalt. “Last buckin’ time, I swear on me mother’s grave . . .” Cobalt patted him a few times.
“So it was you,” Stone Shard said. “The Prince-Consort, I mean. Shining Armour.”
Boundless blinked. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Why the train?”
“Uhh—speed. This here’s a hit and run,” Boundless said. He paused, scrunched his muzzle, and then spat to the side. “I mean, this job’s going to be a hit and run.”
“Being chased, then,” Charger said. Cobalt scowled, and passed the bits back.
“It’s only three or four days between here and Hornwall by hoof,” Wintersong said. “Then again, the city’s still in chaos. Guard hasn’t really figured out how to operate without the Prince-Consort yet.”
“Isn’t that ideal?” Boundless asked.
“Naww, not really,” Charger said. “Sure, you might get a few things through, but by-n-large predictable is better. There’s jus’ no knowing where they’re gonna be anymore.”
Boundless exhaled, hard. “Right. Okay. So-“
“How’d you know Plain Sight?”
“Eh? We met in . . .”
“No, no. I mean, what’s he owe you?”
“Ol’ boss-man ain’t one to give something away for free, you feel me,” Charger said.
“Ah. I taught him,” Boundless lowered his voice slightly, “how to kill.”
“Mmm. Pony always was a psycho.”
“Nutjob.”
“Wanker.”
“In exchange, he helped me get here!” Boundless yelled. “And apparently, he kept all the competent help in Hornwall, though those idiots down there wouldn’t know a spine if I ripped it out of them and held it in front of their faces! Are any of you actually going to help me, or are you just going to mouth off here for the rest of the evening?!”
“Kid’s got a temper,” Charger said, nodding sagely.
“Good,” Cobalt said. “Keep him warm.”
“Bucking winter. Late bucking spring, I swear . . .”
“Not the best way to ask for help, though,” Ruby said. “Could ditch him.”
“Eh. And sit around the house listening to your singing? Cadence, spare me.”
Boundless screamed. The noise reverberated off the four curved pillars supporting the castle around them, off the ceiling suspended above them, off the Crystal Heart hovering before them. It echoed in that cavernous space, bouncing back at them over and over. Splashes of colour touched the crystal all around, washing through the stone in undulating waves of brilliant amber, the setting sun touching everything with gold.
Before the sound had faded away, the crew was moving. Two—Charger and Cobalt—grabbed Boundless, hoisted him between them. Ruby had scampered ahead, galloping full tilt, her head on a swivel. Stone Shard and Wintersong remained behind, leaning in towards each other, even resting their heads, now intertwined, in a tender embrace. Together, they stared into the Crystal Heart.
In minutes, they were back in that small room he’d found them in, early today. The fire was just embers, now, the chill outside permeating the walls. Boundless was dumped unceremoniously near the far wall, and confronted with three angry faces.
“Always were gonna help you, kid,” Charger said.
“Course, there ain’t much to be done, helping an idiot,” Cobalt continued.
“So you can sit there an’ think about today,” Ruby said. “And when we decide how the job’s gonna go down,” she leaned in close, whispering, “we’ll let you know.”
I’m afraid. I have laid my plans, and laid them well. Our return to the world signifies a waning of Harmony’s power—a withdrawal, a tidal retreat towards the Well. Nothing less could free us from our imprisonment.
But my actions may prohibit survival. There is a creature, inside the Veil. I do not know how he arrived here, in this Equestria. An old friend of ours, an ally and an enemy: I cannot think that his motives are aligned with ours.
Forty-Two
BOUNDLESS PEERED through the a crack in the wall of the hideout. The dilapidated building had no shortage of those, wind eagerly whistling through. It carried the sound with it, though they made no attempt to converse away from him. After the third time they’d thrown him into the back room, however . . . he contended himself with this glimmer. Enough that they were helping, at all. That was, on reflection, more than he had any right to ask for.
“Taking it’s the trigger, of course,” Ruby was saying. Her back was to him, and the fire flickered through her translucent skin, sending waves of orange-red running over her. He caught glimpses of the others, arrayed on either side of her.
“I’d expect so. Can’t pretend there’ll be no way to track it, either,” Wintersong said.
“That our problem?” Cobalt asked, rubbing the side of his face with a hoof.
“Depends. You feelin’ like a professional?”
“Naww, that ain’t right. Where’s the line, hey?”
Charger snorted. “I dunno. Wish we could talk to the boss.”
“Communications won’t be back proper for another week at least.” Stone Shard said, looking up from where he sat across the room, with his front hooves held out before the fire.
“Somepony could make it by hoof in another day, maybe two.”
“In this weather?” Charger said, then made a rude noise, spitting on the floor.
“Would you give the weather a rest? I swear, find something else to whine about.”
“Meh.”
“So, what? Anything else to prepare?”
“If we want to take this all the way? Best bet’s gonna be a diversion.” Ruby said.
“False trail.” Cobalt added.
“Several.” Ruby was nodding now, her lips curving into the ghost of a smile. “And a distraction or two wouldn’t go amiss, either.”
“S’not leaving much,” Wintersong noted. Cobalt glanced at him, and nodded.
Ruby moved from her spot in front of the crack, circling the room.
“Only takes one of you to take it, though. Hoof it off and run, that’s what I say,” Charger said.
“We’re still stuck on the Princess,” Wintersong said. “If she hears it move . . .”
“That’s why we gotta get some distance,” Charger said, and belched. “Expect I’m speaking for the group when I say I’ll be rightly glad when she catches up with him.”
“Irrelevant,” Ruby said. She chuckled. “True enough, though.”
Boundless grumbled.
“So then it’s just the big question left. The elephant in the room,” Cobalt said, pacing now, moving as best he could in the limited space.
“The Heart?”
“Yeah. Look, this ain’t really our thing,” Stone Shard said.
“Granted,” Wintersong said. “But you’ve been around long enough to know the stakes. And we decide together.”
“Agreed.” Ruby let out a long sigh. “Let’s not kid ourselves. This whole scenario sounds entirely too much like Sombra to have illusions about what’s coming next.”
“It’s not a switch, Rubes,” Cobalt said. “There’s only so much that he could do with it.”
“What about the boss?” Charger asked.
“No, no, there’s no time for that kind of delay. We gotta pick a course now, and stick to it.”
“Damage control is incidental, surely. Just taking it’s going to be enough of a blow.”
The voices began to blur together, speaking over one another, the conversation picking up threads like dog hair. He couldn’t see them, through the narrow gap, though the shuffling bodies provided a mosaic of light.
“That’s assuming we’re in the clear afterwards.”
“The authorities will clean it up-“
“Symbol of sovereignty-“
“Strike at the center—ha! at the very Heart!”
“Think about the glory. Heat’s not always a bad thing.”
“You mean infamy, right? Still-“
“Oh, shut up!”
“Frankly, now I’m just curious-“
“-any sense of pride left, I swear-“
“-still incredibly dangerous-“
“There’s pride in your country, and then there’s pride in-“
Five voices spun and twisted in what was really a rather quiet affair. A discussion, lively, yes, but muted all the same—well worn, familiar, and drawing to its inevitable conclusion. Eventually, they slowed, began replacing barbs with nods, arguments with grins. Boundless saw all five face each other in a circle, firelight flickering over the face across from him, and casting huge shadows on the walls.
“So, whose gonna draw the short straw, then?” Stone Shard asked the group. “Has to be one of you three, obviously.” Here, he nodded at Ruby, Wintersong, and Cobalt. Boundless had followed enough of the discussion to understand: crystal ponies, it seemed, could take the Crystal Heart.
Though, flexing his hooves, he thought he might be able to handle that, too.
“I’ll do it,” all three said simultaneously. Charger laughed, got up and moved to the side of the room. Rummaging in a drawer, he pulled out a pack of cards. “Ace high?”
“Ugh.”
Boundless sat back and considered, letting them sort it out. Selecting a candidate for taking the Heart—it was sensible to keep as many members as far away from the Heart as possible. False trails could be laid in advance, freeing up the other four to create distractions . . . all of which would help: move the Guard through the city, split them up, confuse them; but only to a point.
He hadn’t thought about Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Not even the crystal ponies seemed to have much of a clue about her connection to the Heart. Any ability to track it could severely hinder his movements. After Twilight Sparkle’s . . . unexpected talents, he wasn’t willing to put it past her, either.
There came a knock on the wall, and Boundless jumped, ever so slightly. Knocked out of his thoughts, he stood, entered the far room to find all five grinning ponies, staring at him.
“That’s not good enough,” Fluttershy said. She stamped a hoof into the ground. The dirt was soft, and her hoof sank more than a few inches—and it was only getting softer. Utterly soaked by the rain, her mane was draped over the front of her face, and with her other hoof she brushed it back behind her ear.
The Drac shrugged. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Applejack repeated. “Just like that?”
“It’s neither my intention nor my obligation to seek your approval, ponies.”
“An’ you don’t think we deserve a better explanation?!”
“Deserve is a strong word. I should think the Bearer of Honesty would know the world better than that.”
Applejack fell silent, fuming.
“Your implication offends me,” Fluttershy began. “You claim it was for our benefit? Lives needn’t be spent on our strength, drake.”
“Better the world fall?”
“Yes!”
“Naïve,” the Drac said. He sniffed. “You will find such beliefs harder to hold to, faced with real tragedy.”
“You think we haven’t been through it?” Applejack asked. She strode forward, adjacent to Fluttershy. “Haven’t been through the grime? The blood and sand?”
“These tempests of mine were not aimed at you.”
“Then you admit it! Admit to killing—murdering—the buffalo, the Appleloosans!”
The Drac shrugged. “It matters not. You have already made up your minds.”
“It matters,” Applejack said, breathing heavily. “O’ course it matters.”
“Why?”
“So we can sure you will not try this again,” Fluttershy said.
“Is that a threat?” the Drac asked.
Fluttershy took a deep breath, and then let it out. She rolled her head on her shoulders, took a few small dancing steps. “Yes.”
“Good.” The Drac smiled, serrated teeth flashing in the light. “The Storms were directed south, Conduit. Not at you or your friends.”
Fluttershy nodded, glancing at her side. “Applejack?”
“I think so,” Applejack said. She fixed her gaze on the Drac. “Continue.”
“You have been out of the loop for some time, Warden. What do you suspect has been occurring in your absence? The fallout has spread wider than you think, and there is little time left.”
“Time for what?”
“Harmony draws into itself. Your own capacity has grown manifold, has it not? Can you feel the energy pouring through you? The assurance?”
“Necessity makes everypony suffice,” Applejack spat.
“No, it is more than that.” The Drac leant down, rested his head on the bank. “You are growing, and the other Elements with you. It is like a swell, coming to a peak.
“I do not rely on the same forces. Long I wondered at my natural resistance to the pull of these waters—sixteen years ago, I found an answer. You term the date Moon’s Rise.” He shook his head. “For me, it was marked by nothing so much as the death of an old friend.
“I have been alive for thousands of years. I saw Equestria’s inception, the advent of your Royal Sisters. I witnessed Typhus’ defeat. So understand: I cannot remember any of it. ‘Till Luna’s visit, I knew nothing of the outside world. And worse, such a fate did not trouble me, gave me no cause for alarm.”
“So what?” Applejack spat. “Nightmare Moon put you up to this? Gave you the right to endanger lives?!”
“I thrust against the South. That others got in my way, you have only yourselves to blame.”
“What?”
“I told you, Warden. I do not use Harmonic power. The essence of my being is fire. Uncontrolled. Flickering, raging. Chaotic.”
“Discord,” Fluttershy hissed.
“He is but an avatar,” the Drac said. “The source is approaching. Your little cloud friend has warned you of this, Conduit.”
Fluttershy started. “Nephele . . .”
“Indeed. A being of mist, vapour. It did not take much energy to bind her together.”
“What have you done?!”
The Drac blinked. “Do not misunderstand. She has only returned to the waters from whence she came. The Lethe is a home for hundreds upon thousands of souls.”
“Why?!”
“Incentive. Aid, should you require it. A hint of mystery, to hold your attention.” The Drac shrugged. “Who knows? It could be all three or more.”
Fluttershy was grinding her teeth together, an awful scraping sound filling the air, loud enough to cause Applejack to wince.
“The hate,” Applejack said, stamping against the wet earth. “The hatred, in the water. What about that?”
“It is no hatred of mine, Warden,” the Drac said. He gave a short laugh. “Typhus is the enemy of us all. Ironic, that I might be blamed for attempting to purify his presence, as best I could.”
“None of this gives us any assurance that you will stop!” Fluttershy cried.
“Why, but you have already fulfilled your purpose. I need draw attention South no more, the deed is done—or will be done, in due course. You cannot reach him in time to make the difference.”
“That’s it.” Applejack marched forward, fixing the Drac with her glare. "I’m done with half-answers. The story, drake, now.”
The Drac chuckled. “Have you heard of Boundless?”
“No.”
“He was born during the brief moment of time during which you were scrambling about this Forest, searching for Harmony. You could say he had three parents, really: two, unimportant; and the third, Luna, Princess of Equestria, the Silver Spear, and the Guiding Light. He is her Disciple, her solitary follower. He killed Shining Armour.”
“What?!” Applejack and Fluttershy cried at the same time.
“Oh. Had you not heard? It was around the time the two of you left Ponyville.”
“The mountain,” Fluttershy whispered.
Applejack cast a glance back at her. The pegasus was trembling, now, eyes already filling with tears, biting a lip and hugging herself awkwardly with one wing.
“The mountain was trembling, Applejack.”
And Applejack remembered. The clandestine meeting in Sugarcube Corner, the four of them gathered to hear Rarity’s announcement of Luna’s return. The interruption: an earthquake, seemingly originating from Canterlot. The whole earth, crying out in protest. “Twilight,” she whispered.
Then she turned, and punched the Drac squarely in the face. He stumbled back, recoiling. And Applejack advanced, slowly, implacably, giving him plenty of time to see her coming.
He grinned, and she shattered two of his teeth.
“That,” Applejack said, panting now, breath steaming in front of her, “is for taking us away.”
Fluttershy whimpered.
“Why did Boundless murder Shining Armour?”
“He is impelled to seek the end of the Veil.” Noticing their faces “—the barrier in the South that prevented Rarity from seeing Luna, for all those years—and to do so, he will require an artefact capable of amplifying Luna’s gift to him.”
“What’s that got to do with Shining Armour?!” Applejack managed not to roar that last part. Just barely, but she did manage it.
“The Crystal Heart.”
Applejack blinked. Of course. Obvious, really.
“He wants to bring his ‘gift’ to everyone,” the Drac said. “To spread it, everywhere he goes.”
“To what end?”
The Drac shrugged. “Who could know. Perhaps he merely feels lonely. I should know something of the pain one endures when surrounded by those who do not understand, who cannot understand. In all the world, there is not one pony whom can empathise with him, who can connect with him.”
“Then again,” a glint of teeth, “maybe he’s just bored. There could be a thousand reasons, really.”
“Do you,” Applejack asked, “have a moral objection to giving a straight answer?”
The Drac laughed. Full-bellied, and deep, his mirth echoed over the clearing for near a minute. “Oh, pony. I must thank you for the compliment,” he said, wiping at his face with a claw.
“Hmph.”
“Why us?” Fluttershy asked.
“He cannot use the Heart himself, of course. That requires a particular talent. A talent shared by very few ponies in Equestria—why, I can think of just three.” He levelled a talon at Fluttershy. “Luna. Cadence. And you.”
“Conduits,” Fluttershy said. “Channelling energy, through the Crystal Heart?”
“Correct. And both Luna and Cadence have interests in helping Boundless. Thus . . .”
“That is inexcusable.”
“Perhaps. Though I hope you have a glimmer as to how complex the situation is. The lives of a few buffalo and ponies cannot possibly compare to the machinations of the world.”
Applejack punched the Drac again, and again, rearing back with shoulders bunched, and then Fluttershy caught her hoof.
“Applejack, please! Calm down, calm down . . . it’ll be alright,” she said, voice choking, hanging onto Applejack's limb with limp strength and sagging body weight. Applejack felt her trembling—quiet little jerks that, more than anything else, gave her pause.
“But he . . . he . . .” she stammered.
“I know. And it’s appalling, and tragic, and . . . and sad. And he has our pity. But I’ve felt enough hatred for a lifetime, Applejack, please. I . . . I don’t want . . .”
Applejack glanced at her friend, and saw Fluttershy, her eyes scrunched together, averted, the faint beginnings of a flood—pressed up against the dam. Just like that, the Drac was forgotten, and she swept Fluttershy aside, wrapping her in strong arms. Wordless murmurings came from her, warm and guttural, the instinctive comfort of sound, of a presence making itself known.
Fluttershy clung to her, face buried against Applejack's shoulder, as the urge to tears abated, and not yet spent. She had not allowed herself to grieve, not properly, not fully, always putting it aside with Coromancy and willpower. She would break later, and begin to put herself back together, she knew. She even looked forward to it.
But here, they had a task. They had come here to put an end to the suffering, and she would accomplish that much. She cleared her throat, lifted her gaze, chin resting on Applejack’s shoulder, eyes locked on the amused face of her enemy.
“To summarise,” she said, and her voice only trembled slightly. “You claim to have desired: our attention south, garnered with Storms and a constructed Nymph;—Nephele! Her heart cried out, but—the growth of our power, as tested by wind and lightning and ice and death; the purification of a hatred you claim was created by Typhus, a Chaotic force currently barred in the far South, across the deserts, and to aid both the murderer Boundless, and Nightmare Moon.”
The Drac only smiled. His tongue lashed through the gap in his teeth Applejack had broken.
“Then, then you will cease your attacks South. Because,” and her voice nearly did break, now, cracking in half, “because we will ignore them.”
The Drac cocked his head. “I must confess some surprise. But you do not have the spine to play this game with me, Conduit,”
“We will be returning home, and then making our way North. To . . . to comfort our friends. And . . .”
The Drac waved a claw. “Don’t bother. I’ve already told you. Too late, little pony, too late! You cannot influence the outcome there any longer, for you cannot reach the Empire quickly enough.”
“Then there isn’t any reason for you to continue!” Applejack yelled, releasing Fluttershy. The two ponies faced the dragon, shoulder to shoulder. “Stop this madness! Swear it!”
“Just like that? For free? No, that is not my style. But what, I wonder; might you have to offer in trade?”
“What do you want,” Applejack spat. “Really, this time. No more riddles, no more half-truths.”
“Why, I am insulted. I cannot lie, as I’m sure you recall.”
“Bah,” Applejack tossed her head. “Jus’ means you’re good at it.”
The Drac laughed. “Very well. In trade, you will return to Ponyville. You will remain there, under threat of the South. And you will think, and ponder, and study.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Too easy,” Applejack said, shaking her head from side to side, violently. “What’s your game? I-I-I-”
“I doubt very much the possibility of my words convincing you to trust me,” the Drac said. “So you are left with a choice.”
“And we will not forgive you, either,” Fluttershy said. “These crimes will not be forgotten.”
He proffered two claws, wrists held together. “Have you the irons?”
“No,” Applejack said. “Not now. He’s right, in a way. We can heed his words and return home, or we can forcibly stop him now. An’,” meeting Fluttershy’s eyes, “Ah agree. There’s been too much violence already. What’s Just can wait.”
“We’ll tell Celestia.”
“O’ course.”
“She’ll sentence him.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Fluttershy deflated. “That’s it, then. I don’t suppose you’ve the inclination to answer further questions?”
“And how are you to pay for answers?” the Drac hissed.
“Then,” she said, nodding with her friend, “let’s go home.”
The bank of the Lethe wasn’t all that far from Ponyville, not compared to the distances they’d already travelled. Six, seven hours had passed by the time they emerged from the Forest, the path beaten into the ground by Spike over the years keeping the wildlife off their backs. The thick trees didn’t seem so hostile, this time, as every other time Fluttershy had entered the Forest. The gloom wasn’t as oppressive, and the evening birdsong, the little sounds that made up the ambience around them, instead of calling out a threat, a warning, resembled nothing so much as ignorance. They passed as a shadow, unnoticed, and the Forest continued around them.
The sun had long since set when they saw Ponyville. The town was asleep, drenched in midnight blue. So still, static, compared to the wind of the desert or the animals in the Forest. Fluttershy breathed in the tranquillity, felt herself relax, perhaps for the first time in weeks, felt the weight around her shoulders slip, ease a little.
She’d set out to prevent tragedy, to forestall what she’d seen in her Dreams. A future of devastation, of destruction on such a scale as to utterly annihilate southern Equestria, a future that would reduce Appleloosa to a tribe of wandering nomads, eking out existence in the harsh desert. Those dreams had featured a Storm, too, if only in the back of her mind.
They walked slowly through Ponyville, silent. Fluttershy’s head was on a swivel, eyes taking in the shopfronts and homes and parks. She’d never been away for this long before. And even now, she occasionally stumbled across buildings she didn’t recognise, new developments slowly taking over the face of the town she’d grown up in. The change was accelerating as Ponyville grew, more and more ponies migrating here . . . it would never be a city. But neither would it be a small country town.
That Storm, though, had been coming from the South. She remembered that, didn’t she? The walk had given her time to calm herself, time to gain distance, and Ponyville, the beginning and end of their journey, brought perspective. The patterns didn’t quite fit. She was confused.
Would Ponyville remember her, when it grew to maturity? Would it remember Applejack? They passed the old school, where Cheerilee had taught the Cutie Mark Crusaders. It was just flat earth, now, with no trace of the building remaining, or the grounds surrounding it. In the night it looked awfully empty.
Was the Drac not the threat her Dreams warned of? Could he have been telling the truth—could Nephele, a being, she now realised, she had seen before ever hearing of Appleloosa’s troubles, have been warning her of the real threat? Typhus, the name rang in her mind, surging Northwards, from beyond the Veil.
They reached the city centre, and Applejack sighed.
“Hoo, girl, it is good to be home, though.”
“Yes,” Fluttershy smiled. She would Dream, tonight. She would see if they had changed the future. And there was one Dream that hadn’t come to pass. Through dedication or persistence or blind luck, she’d never heard that cry: the cry that still pierced her mind like a nail wood, affixed to a structure, that, in her doldrums, Fluttershy named Fate . . . she yawned.
“Good for the soul, it is,” Applejack said. Her mouth was tight, too, and her shoulders bunched. “Though Ah think that’s enough sightseeing for one night. Stay at the farm?”
Fluttershy just nodded, and let Applejack lead her back through Ponyville. Lead her towards a warm bed, a solid roof, and Dreams of the future.
***
Boundless shoved, his telekinetic field adding magical force to the physical power of his arm. Like it was tethered by a rubber band, it gave slightly under his weight, and then pulled back, vibrating into place. He grit his teeth, poured more power through his horn, tried to feel the magic that was behind his Cutie Mark. Either it didn’t apply, or he didn’t know how to summon it: the Heart gave no more easily than before.
“Alright,” he said, releasing his hold and stepping back with a sigh. “Go ahead.”
“Dunno what all the fuss is about,” Cobalt said. “Simple matter, really.” He stepped up to the Heart, reached out, and took it from where it hovered. The hum in the air intensified, peaking at a sharp note, before cutting off. He wasted no time, placing it gently in Boundless’ waiting hoof.
“Enjoy, kid. You’ve full use of the safehouse, too, as long as you want it. But this is it: you won’t be seeing any of us again.”
“The diversions?”
“Occurring as we speak,” Cobalt said. “I’d say farewell, but . . . meh.”
“Cutting.”
Cobalt just turned tail and ran.
Boundless tossed the Heart in his hoof. They were a strange group of criminals, these ones. So different from the thugs he’d encountered in Hornwall, in Equestria. He’d wanted to ask after motive: why they’d decided to help him . . . steal . . . such an important symbol, but they’d never given him the time.
He turned away himself, tucking the crystal Heart safely into his saddle bags as he did so, only to fall under a shadow. He started; eyes locking onto the strange shape on the ground as it swept over him, then flicked his gaze upwards, catching the trailing edge of black and midnight blue.
The source landed in front of him, folded her wings against her sides, and lit her horn, a deep blue magical aura surrounding it. She stood tall and proud, mane blowing in non-existent wind, light glimmering off the metal encasing her body. This was a figure of legend and nightmare, carved in statues and rendered in myth. A fairytale, who would eat the young colts and fillies foolish enough to hoard their candy on that most sacred of nights. He cowered despite himself, hooves frozen in place, whole body trembling.
Except . . . instead of dragon eyes and fangs, she wore a benign smile, and blinked owlishly against the sun. Shadows sprung up around them, encasing the pair in the deep black of night, and obscuring any vision of their surroundings. Lights appeared, tiny motes of argent, and from somewhere, a pale gleam, silver against the void.
“Running was the smarter option, my little pony,” she said. “My, whatever shall we do with you?”
“N-n-nightmare Moon,“ Boundless stammered. But she was defeated, redeemed, lifted up. Moon’s Rise, the night of the Summer Sun Celebration, and the day after. “B-b-b-“
“B-b-b-but what? The Elements of Harmony? Child, Nightmare Moon is an idea, not a monster,” Luna said. “Some might call her inevitable. Just like you,” punctuating the last three words with hoofstrikes, closing the distance between them. “I am Princess Luna, diarch of Equestria. And you, you are Boundless, murderer. Thief.”
After the Crystal Heart, then. Boundless backed away one hoof at a time. “He went that way,” he said, pointing to the side.
“Such loyalty.”
“They aren’t my friends.”
“You don’t have any friends,” Luna said, her mouth curving in a cruel smile, “do you?”
Boundless gulped. The saddlebags across his back were suddenly engulfed in a dark blue haze, the Princess’ magical aura lifting them, unclasping the latch, and lifting the Heart out.
“Now, then,” Luna said, stalking closer. “Why don’t you tell me what somepony like yourself wants with something like this.”
“I . . .”
“Shall I start for you?”
Boundless kept his mouth shut. Luna began to circle him, the Heart wafting through the air above them.
“How about the motives behind Shining Armour’s murder? The question, the drive at the center of your mind: to find somepony like you, or, failing that, to create one. To take a pony, and make of her a monster. Well? Am I close?”
Still, he said nothing. There was nothing to say, and little to add. The armour of Nightmare Moon clinked as she moved.
“Or should we go further back still? To the colt who never fit in. The child that always knew there was a difference, a gulf, between him and the others. Everyone around him. A line they would never cross. He felt it, in playground squabbles, in childish fights. Win, or lose, it made no difference: he found only wariness, the primal respect given a predator.”
“You’ve been watching me,” he said, at last finding his tongue.
Luna laughed. “No, no. You are simply not nearly as complicated as you think.”
Boundless narrowed his eyes. “Why are you here?” he asked, lifting a hoof.
“To meet you, of course,” she said, passing behind him for the third time. He could feel her eyes on him, careful scrutiny piercing his every defense. “And still so young! I wonder what might have happened, had you given yourself just a bit more time.”
“Like that’d make a difference.”
She reached out and grabbed his chin, forced him to meet her eyes. Saddened, reflective, she stared past him, and then shook her head. “You would be surprised, what one gets used to, in time.”
Boundless gave himself a small shake, just to expel the shivers that were playing across his fur and down his spine.
“Why come all this way?” Luna asked, settling in front of him. “Risk so much. All for an artefact you cannot even use.” She brought the Crystal Heart down, set it hovering between them. It caught the argent light, set it shimmering about the enclosure.
“To . . .” Boundless found himself searching for words. It was a question he’d deliberately put off, avoided wherever he could. Always moving, always the next step, with no time for reflection. He swallowed. “To find out why.”
Luna arched an eyebrow.
“Why I was born like this. Why I’m different to everyone else. Why they can’t do the things I do, think the way I think. I just want to know why!”
The Crystal Heart floated back into his saddlebags, its unexpected weight causing him to jolt.
“Wha-“
The veil of night around them dissipated, revealing an empty street. They’d moved while they were talking—teleportation? He hadn’t felt a thing. He shivered.
Princess Luna—Nightmare Moon—was gazing back at the castle, some distance away. “You . . . you are not the only one.”
“You’re . . .”
“When you are ready—Boundless, look at me—when you are ready, bring the Heart to me, to the place you took it from. And I will tell you everything.”
I will attempt to trick him. I will awaken him, and open his eyes to the trap surrounding his mind. I will set in motion events that could doom the world, or save it. In doing so, I will expose myself to the Elements, and to Celestia herself.
Agyrt Vaeros will find you, once you have recovered from my defeat. He will reach out to you, and use you. He will seek an end to this, though what next, I cannot guess.
Forty-Three
PINKIE TRUDGED. Head down, she watched her hooves brush through the snow, one step at a time. She’d stopped paying attention to where she was going hours ago. The snow fell, ubiquitous and dominant. It saturated her mane, rimmed the lines of her body, and collected in the small holes that marked her steps, erasing the past hours, a second at a time. White and grey ruled the skies.
She was shivering, somewhere. Outside. She heard little cracks as she moved, ice shifting to accommodate her. She saw her breath steaming. She was burning up, somewhere. Inside. She stoked a raging fire. It caught in her throat and her shoulders, clutched at her heart.
The blizzard swirled around her. The snow was deep, here, each step falling into the drifts. All the way to her knees. Night had fallen some time ago. The ambient light hadn’t changed: the moon fared little better than the sun. She trudged forward, trusting in her blindness that it was north. Eventually, she would be swallowed entirely.
A claw on her shoulder stopped her. For a moment, her world was turned green, a flickering, roaring, verdant. Life run rampant. Sickly. Diseased. The snow melted, boiled, rose from her as vapour. Her shivering came to a halt, and she hissed, the sudden heat stinging her skin. She pressed forward.
This storm wouldn’t last. None of them would. At least here, in the snow, all she had to do was walk. There was no time for thought, for justification or condemnation. Just movement, movement and the fire.
Time blurred, became lost to memory. She could not say how long she had been walking. Hours became days became minutes.
Intermittently the green returned, but mostly she saw white. Mostly, she heard nothing, nothing but the wind playing a soft melody, sweeping, stirring.
Her hoof bumped something solid. She snapped her head up, and then craned her neck back. She stood at the base of a tall structure. Reflecting blue eyes and pink fur, it sparkled in the light. Wearily, she noticed the dawn, breaking far in the east. The snow had stopped, for now. She bit her lip.
“Made it,” Daerev said beside her. “Pinkie?”
“Mmm,” she said. They moved along the wall, now, looking for a way through. It was made of crystal, though she could not see through it. The light bent strangely, refracting, splitting into component colours, and casting them back out at her. It tinged the snow before her lavender, then sky-blue, then green, yellow, orange, red . . . a rainbow, laid out at their feet. It drew her forward, though it ran from her, and her hooves could never catch it. Mired in grey.
She shook her head, and for a moment, the world bent. The grey faded, and lavender rushed towards her, swept over her. She bathed in each colour, in turn, spurning only green, sweeping it past her in an instant. A sigh at her side interrupted the reverie, and Daerev passed her, forging on ahead.
Soon enough, she dropped the magic and followed him. She avoided the tracks he left, though his bulk had cleared ample room for her, preferring to clamber her way through the loose drifts. It had piled up against the wall, so that her legs sank down, and the snow tickled the underside of her barrel.
The gates to the Empire were wide open. She hadn’t expected that. But they were greeted with good cheer, even excitement, and ushered in with only the minimum of fuss—clothing to protect against the cold, food, water . . . Pinkie shrugged off the coat as soon as the ponies there had wrapped her in it. She preferred the cold, right now.
“-will want to see you right away,” one pony was saying, addressing Daerev. He glanced at Pinkie as she joined them. His fur was glassy, crystalline. Pinkie reached out, touched it, felt the sharp little pricks each fragment left when she rubbed the wrong way. The pony gave her a strange look, stepped a mite back. She hadn’t noticed that, the last time she’d been here. So long ago, then. Memories swirling like the snow.
“Of course,” Daerev said. “Lead on.”
Again, they were moving. There was no more snow here, she noticed. Curious, that. The sky—yes, yes—it remained overcast, clouds a sparkling white gleam, now, as the sun found its way to them. The streets were clear, crystal cobblestones with not so much as a spray of dirt to mar their sheen. Small houses were arranged in long lines, each boasting a garden, fresh grass growing, flowers blooming, despite the chill. For that, though, it remained desolate, quiet, the still of a frozen wonderland.
She blinked, and they were in a carriage. Daerev, too large, was nowhere to be seen. She shivered, met the eyes of the crystal pony seated opposite her. He was smiling, a gentle, warm smile. She looked away. The wheels rattled as they moved. The right window was obscured by green. The wind beat helplessly against the walls. It could not get to her, wrap her in its embrace. Her breath fogged up the window at her left.
They stopped in front of a castle, and Pinkie Pie stirred. She stared at the steps down from the carriage for a moment, at the hoof offered her. Then she jumped, and landed on crystal, and felt the tremors run up her legs, through her knees. She took a deep breath, and shook her head violently, exhaling.
“Come on,” Daerev said, gently, alighting behind her. He rolled his shoulders, cracking the tendons, and she winced. “Let’s not keep Her waiting.”
Silly Spike, Cadance isn’t a Her, she thought, and froze.
Inside, the palace sprawled gargantuan. The double doors opened onto a long hall, rising ever so slightly as it travelled. The ceilings themselves soared above their heads, and open doorways gave glimpses of rooms described by nothing so well as cavernous. It should have rendered the place desolate, an echoing silence that roosted in the mind and swam behind the eyes.
Instead, it felt spacious. Breathy laughter floated from every which corner, refracted like that light. The walls themselves sparkled, glimmering lights following their movements, fading at their approach, like coy children, wondering at the newcomers. But mostly, it was warm, and set against the briskness of the air outside, that made all the difference in the world.
She felt lighter, here, with some weight lifting from her back and some knots working themselves out of her muscles. She felt like she could rest, here, without fear of being caught.
“Daerev! Pinkie! So good to see both of you,” a melodious voice rang through the air, breaking Pinkie’s thoughts.
Cadance herself was radiant. The pink princess glowed with an inner light, moving towards them like a miniature sun. Every part of her was awash with it, and her smile . . . most of all, her smile beamed forth, a spotlight. Pinkie was briefly transfixed by it. But she knew smiles, in and out and front-to-back, and for all its gleam, her light betrayed her: Pinkie could see the taut muscles in her jaw, the stiffness of her lips; it was a brittle thing, a shield no less desperate for its radiance. She returned it, mirrored it, and Cadance faltered, if just for half a heartbeat.
The princess swept her into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and Pinkie clutched at her, pulled her closer.
“You . . .” she let out a strangled laugh. “So am I. Oh, Cadance, me too . . .”
They clung together for a moment. “Welcome to the Crystal Empire,” Cadance finally sighed. She stepped back, and rubbed at her face. “It’s too early for this. The two of you must be exhausted.” She turned, began walking away. ”Come, I’ve plenty of room for you. O-or,” she paused, turned back, “maybe you’re hungry? I was just about to break fast myself, if you’d both care to join me?”
A loud rumble filled the room, lasting five . . . ten seconds, easily, before it settled down. “Uhh,” Daerev muttered. “Breakfast sounds divine.”
Pinkie Pie giggled.
The food was served on silver platters, crystal lids designed to catch the light filtering through the palace, so that each drop of water on the heads of lettuce sparkled, each movement of milk splitting and refracting, shades of grey splitting out into a whitewashed rainbow, so that a soft glimmer covered everything. The simplest of touches, and yet, it had the unique effect of reminding her how far they’d come . . . more than any of the grandiose elements of the Empire, it came down to this minor addition.
But then, she’d had little to eat the last few days, and nothing she’d wanted to eat. So Pinkie let herself go, let her hooves dive forward, seizing at the bowls of oatmeal, trays of pastries, piles of fresh fruit and salads. The others were too busy themselves to chuckle at her expense. And with each bite, each morsel that slid down her throat, she felt herself thaw. Not entirely to her will, no, but the good cheer was infectious, and Pinkie could not help but smile at herself, and shake her head.
“Now,” Cadance said, leaning back with a hoof on her stomach. “I believe I know what you’re here about.”
“You do?” Daerev twisted his mouth. “I had hoped . . . we’re too late, then.”
Cadance nodded. “And yet, no. But we have everything under control. I insist, rest. Our problems will wait for your fresh eyes.”
They were lead away from the dining hall, and left Cadance at the intersection of two halls. The palace sprawled, far more elaborate and complex than she’d assumed from the outside. Scattered about, artworks, from crystal sculpture to frescos lining the walls to stained-glass windows, breathed a sense of home into it, while the staff, assured, confident, yet frenetic, moving with a graceful hurry that bespoke tested competence, gave it life.
“Pinkie Pie? Daerev?” a voice called out. They halted, the servants leading them already bowing. She caught sight of the voice’s owner, sharp intake of air, lips in a small ‘o’, bowed herself.
“Princess Luna!” Daerev said, rising. “This is . . . a most pleasant surprise.”
“Indeed,” Luna said, approaching. With a tinkling laugh, she lifted Pinkie from her position on the ground, and dismissed the servants with a wave of her hoof. “I shall guide these two to their chambers, good sirs.”
Luna waited a moment, watching them depart. Then, “I have witnessed the most appalling dreams, my little pony-“ eyes flashing to Daerev, “and dragon. Tell me. What happened in Hornwall?”
***
Daerev reached a talon into the far side of his mouth, gently dislodging a shard of crystal stuck between his teeth. He was thankful he still had some of his baby teeth. A dragon’s adult mouth was full of sharp, serrated edges, perfect for slicing through tough fibres, like those found in meat, and some vegetables, but the rounded, flat molars were much better suited to grinding through gemstones. Life would lose a little colour, were they no longer a staple part of his diet.
Cadance cleared her throat, and he withdrew his hand, abashed.
They were in the antechamber to her quarters, a spacious area furnished with long couches and plush armchairs so soft Pinkie’d sunk nearly an entire foot upon sitting down. Well-lit through the many windows lining the walls, Daerev could see, far below, ponies were moving through the streets, packing their wares away or returning home from a long day’s work. The sun glimmered on the western horizon.
“We have to find him,” Pinkie was saying, front hooves striking at the ground before her, punctuating each word. “We saw him take the train from Hornwall, he’s here, he’s here he’s here.”
“Boundless,” Cadance said, narrowing her eyes. “And he’s . . . he’s the one . . .”
“Yes.” Daerev stepped forward. “I know this is all so sudden. And I—we’re—so, so sorry. But . . .”
“He’s taken the Heart.” And that crushed the last little shred of hope in his chest. Too late, for all of his sacrifices. Perennially too late. He rubbed a claw over his face, growled softly under his breath.
All heads swivelled to see Princess Luna close the door behind her. She came forward, stopping abreast of Daerev to address them. “That has always been his goal.”
“Princess,” Pinkie murmured, inclining his head.
“Auntie,” Cadance said, moving forward to nuzzle Luna. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Luna nodded at Daerev and Pinkie. “After this morning, I visited Hornwall, and then Canterlot. What I learned . . . what I saw . . . is troubling. I have not been paying Equestria enough attention of late.”
“You’ve been preoccupied, auntie,” Cadance said. “Your absence, Nightmare Moon’s armour . . . we all know you’re doing your best.”
“Hmph.” Luna shook her head. “It matters little, now. What we need to know is exactly what he’s planning to do with it.”
“The Crystal Heart?” Cadance bit her lip. “I’m afraid even we’re still not sure how it works, really . . .”
“Why . . . why does that matter?” Pinkie said. Her eyes were fixed on a window, facing north. She spoke softly, her voice just barely reaching Daerev’s ears, as if coming from a great distance. “If we . . . if we just stop him, here and now, then . . . then it won’t matter what the Heart is for.”
“No,” Luna said. “I have been blind too long. I must know what’s happening here. There is too much at stake.”
“Actually,” Daerev cleared his throat. “I agree with Pinkie on this one. He’s taken far too much from us all already. If we can find him, I say we put an end to this, permanently.”
“Violence does not beget you, drake,” Luna spat. She fixed him in place with her gaze. “Your dreams have been punishment enough. Do not mistake bravado for courage, nor martyrdom for sacrifice.”
Daerev wilted, and clamped his jaw shut. He could feel the fire, stoked, glowing, burning brightly at the base of his throat.
Pinkie hadn’t so much as twitched at his words, though Cadance was staring at him with wide-eyes, a look of such horror, betrayal, that once again he felt the tidal surge rip upwards through his gut, a wave that clenched his stomach and throat, tore at his tear ducts, and brought his jaw muscles to aching, a wave that he fought down, sheer will and the acknowledgement of cost, of the price he had to pay . . . in one sense, he hated this weakness, this terrible remorse, but in another he revelled in it. It meant he was not lost, yet.
“Sombra used the Heart to control the populace,” Cadance blurted out. “Could that . . . be . . .?”
And then Luna paused, and her face lit up in recognition. “Of course,” she breathed, and nodded once. “I understand . . . I see . . . yes, yes, well done indeed, my,” pausing, mouth twisting, lips bunching together, ears falling down flat on her skull, limbs tensing, shoulders held stiff, “my friend.”
“Princess?” Daerev ventured, his voice cracking on the second syllable.
“Canterlot, he killed Shining Armour,” a glance at Cadance in commiseration. “By testimony of Trixie, the murder weapon herself, we know that his aim in doing so was two-fold: to learn more about the Crystal Heart; its holdings, its security measures, its capacity . . . and to remove one of the more powerful obstacles in his way. Hornwall, he unleashed a group of criminals on an unsuspecting populace,” now meeting Daerev’s eyes, then a long, steady gaze at Pinkie, a pursing of the lips. “An affirmed motive there was to provide enough confusion and chaos to allow him to invade the then-sealed Crystal Empire ahead of his pursuers, and to slow them down significantly in their pursuit.”
“You’re saying we made it worse,” Daerev said, with a sinking voice. “If . . . if we hadn’t been chasing him . . . all those lives . . .”
Pinkie spat. Actually, physically spat on the floor. Everypony stopped, shocked, turned to stare at her. Finally, she moved, meeting Daerev’s eyes with accusation and affront. “Really? You’re going to take on those deaths as well?!” She marched across the room, lifted her front hooves, falling towards him, and grabbed him by the throat. “I can’t bucking stand it anymore, Daerev. Where’d little Spikey go?!”
Abruptly, she pulled back, and the world twisted, and she was gone.
Daerev stood up from where he’d fallen onto his back groggily, head ringing. Cadance was moving for the door in pursuit, but Luna cut her off, placed a hoof on her shoulder. “Not yet.”
“But . . . auntie . . .”
“I know. I’ll handle her. But we’re not done yet.”
“So much pain . . .” Cadance, wilting, collapsed into Luna’s embrace, folding against her as if all her bones had turned to water.
“Hornwall was not your fault,” Luna said, her back now facing Daerev, but raising her voice to carry over her shoulder. “Nor was it Pinkie Pie’s. Do not be so quick as to absolve the evil of those crimes.”
Daerev had nothing to say.
“But whether or not your presence exacerbated the situation there is tangential. Rather, I was drawing a common link to his actions across Equestria.”
And then Daerev got it. From the sudden stiffness in Luna’s stance, he surmised Cadance had had that same epiphany, that realization that made everything clear.
“Both times,” Luna continued, “Boundless has applied his unique talents in one way and one way only. Despite his capacity, he has only rarely killed, and never openly, instead, taking what ponies he can find under his sway, and using them to kill, rendering them capable of murder. I conclude: he has made it his mission to dissolve the Veil’s influence over us, by any means necessary, whether he knows it or not. He has done so through fear and hatred and violence.”
“The Crystal Heart,” Cadance whispered.
“The Heart,” Daerev said.
“And the Heart,” Luna looked grave, now, her frame sagging under some tremendous weight, “can transmit emotion. Such is how Sombra used it. Such is how we used it to defeat Sombra. Indeed, the citizens of the Empire have been kept well-informed of your state, niece, over the past weeks.”
Luna pushed Cadance back to her feet, moved to the door. “That we persist tells me he has not the capacity or the knowledge to make use of what he had. But should he find some way to . . . suffice, we shall face an epidemic of fear and hatred the likes of which Equestria has not seen since before Moon’s Fall. I fear we are rapidly running out of time.” Luna paused. “I will comfort Pinkie. The two of you . . . be ready.”
And she disappeared into the hallway, the echoing sounds of her swift hoofsteps coming back and bouncing all around them.
***
“Pinkie Pie!”
Luna’s words bounced around her as she ran down the hallway. Her delay had forestalled Cadance and Daerev—critical, if she wanted to maintain the thin veneer of control she still retained—but it had also enabled Pinkie Pie the time to disappear completely.
The residents of Hornwall hadn’t been able to give Luna much information. All major remnants of that night of terror had already been cleared away—clearly a priority among the citizens—and reconstructions were well underway. Nonetheless, Luna could see the marks left in their downcast gazes, mumbling voices, and constant evasion. A visit to the lock-up, however, had proven far more useful. The prisoners there, quite apart from a valuable discussion of their erstwhile leader, Boundless, had inspired in Luna an appreciation of the frightening efficiency with which Pinkie Pie had hunted the various murderers around the city.
Of all the various Coromancers, Anchors were by far the most rare. Their particular brand of reality-bending was frustrating to deal with at the best of times: at worst, it bordered on Discord’s madness. Should Pinkie Pie wish to hide, there was precious little that could find her, and should she wish to find something—or someone—there were precious few who could hide.
Luna tossed her head. Anchors might be rare, but there were more than one. She was an Alicorn, a combination of all three races. She had inherited their potential, too, that of a unicorn Seer, a pegasus Conduit, and an earth pony Anchor.
She reached forward in time, just a little bit, trying to feel with her hooves rather than see with her mind. The texture flowed over her, through her, a slippery, slimy sensation, full of bumps and dints. Her tail did not twitch, nor her ears flop, she had no need of psychological barriers to her power, instead her body simply knew, understood with a precision that defied logic. With a fierce grin, Luna slipped to the side, and twisted the world, sinking into the shadows underneath the windows.
She emerged outside the castle, in an alley just off a large boulevard. Crystal ponies were going about their day, pleasant smiles abounding and tinny chatter resounding over the background buzz of the day. Luna glanced around and then trotted out into full view. The ponies there paused as she went past, watching their Princess with respect. Luna returned nods and smiles were she could, without slowing her step.
Pinkie Pie, as marked by a tell-tale flash of pink through the crowd, was just ahead of her. Luna, however, had the benefit of a parting crowd to ease her passage, and so she caught her quarry in moments. Pinkie gave her no more than a glance as Luna fell into step beside her—the ponies around them now giving way to hushed murmurs, gossip already beginning to spread outward.
“What do you plan?” Luna said, pitching her voice low, almost a whisper.
Pinkie snorted. “It doesn’t matter. Something.”
“Will you hear me out?”
“I don’t want to stand still.”
Luna bit her lip, acutely aware of the listening crowd. “This isn’t the time or place, my little pony,” she tried.
Pinkie just stopped where she was, her head dropping low, her entire posture moving from rigid and tense to . . . slow, almost defeated. Denying her response, Luna lit her horn, focused on a quick spell. Reaching out to touch Pinkie’s shoulder, she let the magic take hold.
The castle again, Luna’s private rooms. It was the closest place she was familiar with, after all, and a seat of her power. The little touches she’d grown so accustomed to the past few days gave her comfort now: and she wasn’t so blind as to deny the reaction she’d felt—the ease with which it repositioned her as the villain of the story. She’d had quite enough of that role.
“Pinkie,” Luna said, trying her utmost to instil in her voice some measure of Celestia’s calm, her tranquil seniority. “Pinkie, please, let me explain.”
“There’s no need, Princess,” Pinkie said, and the moniker stabbed at Luna. “I understand.”
“Doth thou?”
“Like it’s supposed to be so super-crazy-awesome,” Pinkie said, “just to know how somepony could be so mad. So . . . so broken. And for what?" She rounded on Luna, face contorting as she spat words like missiles. "Where's the line, Princess? Is this delay worth one life? Two? Three?!"
“Oh, child.” Luna swept forward, her hooves encircling Pinkie in a great hug. But not for the pink mare, still trembling in the wake of her impotence, no, for Luna, to still the ache in her chest and the pain in her arms, throbbing, burning, pushing her forward . . . she clenched Pinkie tightly, pulling her into her fur. “It is not worth anything. And yet is this not the path we must take? A paradox, verily, confronted with ice-cold logic? As ponderous and careful and inexorable as a glacier?”
Pinkie slipped from her grasp, suddenly slick, as if covered in oil. “That’s just giving up!”
“No.” Luna’s sad gaze caught her, froze her in the instant. “It is the best of a bad situation. Experience does not blind me to opportunity, Pinkie Pie. I have seen the devastation in his wake. I visited Hornwall myself, while you were numbing yourself in the ice. And I know, I know what will happen when we do nothing but sit and watch.
“You could destroy him. I could destroy him. Right now, without any particular difficulty or challenge. And what will we have accomplished? A cessation to pain itself— relief for Equestria, consolation for his victims? It is an admirable path, and a short-sighted one.
“Boundless is not unique. He is at best the first of his kind, a fact proven by the existence of Trixie Lulamoon, and indeed those souls you so expertly rounded up in Hornwall. And if we do not find some way to forestall him at the source—find some answer to this, some way to reconcile his toxic freedom from the strictures that keep us safe . . . then he will continue to haunt us.”
“And so you spend us,” Pinkie said.
Luna’s throat closed. Pinkie tilted her head to the side, her eyes tightening for just a moment.
“What do you know, Princess?” Pinkie whispered, before raising a hoof. “No, no. I don’t want to know.”
In silence, she left Luna’s rooms. The turbulent Princess remained behind.
***
The world manifested around Celestia in the space of a second, details flickering into being as she pondered their absence. Still, they were not all as she remembered them: the proportions of her room were correct, the windows were in the right places, as was her bed, bedstand, bookshelves . . . but the fireplace was lit, and the portraits were of old friends, long since dead.
“Luna,” Celestia said, turning to watch her sister phase into her dream. “How is Cadance?”
“No greetings for your sister?” Luna said. She’d always had a certain grace about her, Celestia observed. She faded into existence front to back, each inch materialising in a rhythm to match her forward gait . . . the door swinging closed behind her with a quiet click.
Celestia created a chuckle, observed it escape her passively. “Lulu,” she said, warmly. “I have missed you, you know.”
Luna ducked her head. “And I you, ‘Tia. I did not mean to convey anger, when last we spoke. I was merely . . . frustrated.”
Celestia waved her hoof. “Think nothing of it. I heard the borders have been reopened.”
“Yes,” Luna said. “Cadance was distraught when I reached her. I am assured, however, that my presence aided her to no small degree.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Celestia said, smiling. “I would have gone myself. You know that, right?”
“I- . . . Yes.”
“Luna?”
“Have you heard of Hornwall?”
Celestia scrunched her muzzle. “Only in vague rumour. You know how well words withstand a pegasus’s flight—or, rather, how poorly.”
“No, ‘Tia, it is as bad as you’ve heard. It seems that Boundless fled there immediately after leaving Canterlot.”
The dream shifted around them. The walls, full of whitewashed stone and mortar, became murky grey, a pecked, mottled texture, with putty bulging and oozing down its length. Portraits morphed between faces,
What Celestia said was: “I see. And now?”
“We have cornered him in the Crystal Empire.”
“He’s after the Heart.”
Luna’s eyes widened. “I confess, it took me some time longer to reach that conclusion.”
“I suppose you would have,” Celestia said, smiling. “You never put much stock in legends. It’s the way they think—myself included, sometimes. Always a bauble, an artefact or trinket that holds sway, never the ideas that caught your mind.”
“I should have seen it sooner.”
“You could make the same accusation of me, sister. It is fruitless. You have found him, and brought this nightmare to a close, as you ever have.”
Luna shook her head. “I doubt it shall prove so easy. He has evaded capture thus far, including repeated encounters with Twilight Sparkle.”
“You suspect . . . what, a Passion?”
“Yes. It is evident even in what little I have Seen . . . Harmony has blessed him with a most unusual gift—that of breaking down barriers, resisting stricture. “
Celestia paused. Boundless’ talents for destruction and . . . actually, that made a lot of sense, given the information she’d been able to gather about his past. He’d always seemed to idolise a life of crime, taking to the streets as soon as he could and resenting those who tried to keep him safe. Combine that with a less-than-dizzying intellect, and she’d been surprised to see how little time he’d spent in prison. But a Passion for freedom, for breaking through walls? What force could hold such a creature down?
Luna was still speaking. “Young Spike believes it an all-or-nothing affair, and has taken it upon himself to bring Judgement.”
Celestia did a double-take, her mind sent spinning by the abrupt shift. “Daerev’s done what?!”
“Daerev?”
“A new name, to represent his transition away from childhood—and, I suspect, towards what he believes to be draconic morays.”
“Ah.”
“Quite. We’ve the Drac to thank for that mess.” She frowned. It would take years for Spike to grow into himself, even without the added complications. And still, she couldn’t intervene without appearing to intervene: an act that would most definitely do more harm than good. If what Luna said was true . . .
“Well, he’s become taken with the ideal of the martyr.”
Celestia bit her lip. “Spit it out, Luna!”
“Pinkie Pie stopped him, as far as I can tell,” Luna said. Celestia breathed a sigh of relief. “But the fire is there.”
“In more ways than one, I take it?”
“Indeed.”
A delicate situation, then. “And Pinkie Pie?”
“Chafing at the bit. She fears for the civilians, for Boundless himself. She cannot see a way to please all parties.”
“They’re growing up,” Celestia said.
“Perhaps.”
Celestia moved to the window, stared out at the inky blackness of the night sky. As Luna moved to stand beside her, it seemed to gain life, to sparkle and twinkle, to wave hello back to her. A cold embrace, argent and void.
“Do you ever wish for a static world?” Celestia whispered. “One where everypony could live and die children? A world free of hard choices, free of the pain caused by strife?”
“All the time, 'Tia,” Luna replied. “All the time.”
Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps all I will accomplish is a hastening of our doom. But I cannot believe that time is on our side. I cannot believe that blinding ourselves to His truths will safeguard us from them. I cannot believe that in ignorance, we might find peace.
And you are not the only piece I have to move.
Forty-Four
“TELL ME ABOUT the Princesses,” Rarity said. Walking beside her, Foresight hummed in response, his brow furrowing.
The lane wasn’t too busy at this time of day, most ponies packing up their meagre belongings, or returning home from a hard day’s work building fortifications along the southern edges of the makeshift town. Luna had been quick to act on the warning, such as it was, and everypony carried an edge of attentiveness about them, an air of wariness. It gave Rarity the chills, an experience akin to watching some disaster as it occurred: a train careening into a sharp bend in the tracks, a fool opening his mouth in conversation . . . the calm before the Storm.
“Where to start,” Foresight mused. “Well, how much do you know?”
“Nothing, apparently,” Rarity said. True enough, as she finally understood. The differences, seemingly so minimal at first, just aesthetic changes with no import, had stacked up enough to create a whirlwind in her mind, an almost visceral nausea. She didn’t think much could surprise her, at this point.
“The beginning, then?”
“Yes, that would be best.”
“Ah,” Foresight said, pausing. “Shall we wait for Rainbow?”
Another effect of their impromptu showdown with the Princesses was Luna’s unexpected support. Imprisoning them in the throne room for some hours, Luna had returned with apologies and assurances. Somewhere in her deliberations, she had decided to allow them free reign once again—deeming them either no threat, or, better, an asset. She had even communicated such to the army, instructing everypony to facilitate their investigations where appropriate. Rarity hadn’t questioned the decision, not being one to check a gifted jewel for impurity, though Rainbow had cast the Princess an askance glance.
As far as Rarity knew, Rainbow was sleeping, of course.
“Oh, I’ll fill her in,” Rarity said. “Besides,” she gave a small laugh, tinkling, “well, shall I simply say that it would be nice to have another voice to pay attention to?”
“Mm, quite,” Foresight said, glancing about them. “We’re usually much more upbeat, y’know.”
Rarity fixed him with her gaze.
Wilting, “Not so much lately . . .”
Rarity sighed.
“Okay, okay. The Princesses . . . Have you heard of their birth?”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” Rarity said, shaking her head.
Foresight glanced around quickly. “Alright. First thing’s first, then: alicorns. There are two . . . kinds, I suppose, of alicorns, that we know of, anyway. Natural born, and Ascended. Luna and Celestia are the only natural born I’ve ever heard of.” Laughing, “actually, before the Princesses, Ascension was accepted as the only way to create an alicorn. And no, the foal of an Ascended alicorn isn’t an alicorn itself.”
Rarity quirked an eyebrow. “Ascension?”
Foresight blinked at her. “Yeah. Y’know, a . . . combination, I guess, of three ponies, one from each race. Coromancers, obviously. United in purpose and will. There’s only been a handful of them, ever. Whitemane, Ash Front, Streamer . . . and so on . . .” his voice trailed off, seeing Rarity frown. “You’ve never heard of them?”
“I’m afraid not. Should I have?”
“They’re only some of the most important historical figures we have! Okay, sorry, I just didn’t realise . . . quite how different it must be.”
Rarity chuckled. “That’s a problem we share, dear,” she said.
“Ahem. So, we’ve this world where alicorns are revered largely because of how they’re created. It requires extreme circumstances, you see. Things like total commitment, synchronicity . . . that’s not to mention the will to subsume any individual identity . . . it’s long been theorised that each component, so to speak, of the alicorn merely contributes to the whole—one-third of a new being, yes—which is supported by the new name each takes. Though, that could merely be tradition . . .”
“Foresight, dear,” Rarity said.
“Hmm, yes?”
“The Princesses?”
“Right! Sorry, I can get carried away.”
“It’s quite all right, really.” They turned a corner, facing into the setting sun.
She’d agreed to meet Rainbow near here, in the two room shack that was currently passing for their accommodation. Rarity’s tent from the horrid days following their long march north had been recently upgraded by the orders of Princess Luna, for which she was grateful, darn it. Even if she might have preferred to sleep somewhere far away from Rainbow, and that horrid snore of hers. How she was supposed to get any form of beauty sleep when a lawn mower was being revved next to her ear every three seconds was beyond her.
“So into this world, Princess Luna was born. You can imagine the consternation. Here we have a little filly, seemingly no different from any other, except she’s supposed to be an amalgamation of three ponies at their individual apices? Alicorns don’t forget their past lives, and yet Luna remembered nothing. It . . . well, it was a big deal. Threw most everything we thought we knew right out the window.”
“I can imagine,” Rarity said.
“Then Celestia followed, a few years later. I have it on good account that she was the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen in your life. No, really, don’t laugh, that’s what the records say. So much to record, to examine, to study, and that’s what they choose to write. I’ll show you, later.”
Rarity waved her hoof, smiling.
“Anyway, the first big clue was when somepony noticed they weren’t ageing properly. By which, I mean, they weren’t ageing. At all.”
“Immortal? No. That seems to be exclusive to the Princesses.” Foresight sighed. “We don’t know why. Frankly, there’s a lot we don’t know.”
“I see . . .” Rarity bit her lip. “And were they raising the sun and moon at this point?”
“Sharp mind,” Foresight said, nodding his approval. “Yes, that started pretty early, actually. Given that they both received Cutie Marks for it, most had assumed that it was simply their Passion: amped up by Coromancy and their three-fold heritage. But no Ascended alicorn was linked with a natural phenomenon, either. So, we’ll say there’s weak evidence that a bond to celestial objects confers, or is related to, immortality.”
“Anyway, we have Luna and Celestia. Jump forward a few hundred years or so, with generations spent ruling behind them. Now, Luna . . . Luna was always beloved by her subjects. She’s the type to spend her days walking the streets, always with time to lend an ear, or sample somepony’s labour. She wrote the majority of our laws, handled their enforcement . . . spearheaded diplomatic exchanges . . .” he waved a hoof in the air, “the list goes on. Queen, in all but name, and not against the will of populace, either.”
“And Celestia?” Rarity asked, though a sinking feeling told her she already knew the answer.
“A recluse,” Foresight said, shrugging. “She spent most of her time studying, holed up in a private library. She was liked, I’m sure, but . . . never very visible. She raised the sun in the morning, and lowered it at night, and that was enough. The subjects she pursued—well, who can say, really?—but where Luna sponsored the arts, the military . . . Coromantic development and growth, agricultural technique, social and moral theory . . . Celestia spent her time turned to history.”
Rarity glanced across at him. Foresight’s gaze was distant, and his gait slowed. Abruptly, he gave himself a little shake, and flashed her a grin. “I remember Celestia quite well, actually. From back before the war . . .”
***
“There are, as we know, three tribes of ponies,” Foresight said. The colts and fillies before him, arrayed in rows and columns, sat: some paying rapt attention, others drooling, heads planted firmly on their desks. “Similarly, there are three Aspects of Coromancy. Physical, for the Earth Ponies, Mental, for the Unicorns, Spiritual, for the Pegasi. The use of an Aspect demands, as we remember was demonstrated by Miletus in 772 AS, the use of the appropriate Implement. The unicorn’s horn and the pegasi’s wings are obvious, however, the specific Implement of an earth pony is harder to detect, residing inside their body. This allows alicorns, who possess Implements of all three races, able to utilise every Aspect, and distinguishes them from winged unicorns, or other such combinations.”
Pausing, he surveyed the room, favouring those with quill in hoof with a smile. “Yes, this will all be on the test.” The chorus of groans was music to his ears.
“For further review, read the chapters on Miletus’ early life, as well as Coromantic basics. Now, though, we have a special guest. She’s come all the way from the Celestial Tower, so please; give her your full attention.”
Reaching out with his magical field, Foresight opened the door at the side of the classroom to reveal Celestia, mane billowing back in an ethereal wind. She’d not taken two steps into the room before the class was frozen, sitting upright in stark disbelief. The quiet chatter from the back had vanished, Foresight noted, trying his best not to grin.
“Hello, children,” Celestia said. Her voice was melodious, tinkling. “I understand you’ve been learning a little of our history.”
“Greetings, Princess,” Foresight said, dropping into a deep bow. Standing, “We’ve been moving through the earlier Sages as part of their Coromantic heritage. Just the first few, I’m afraid.”
“We all started somewhere,” Celestia said, accentuating her words with a gentle laugh. “Did you know, children, that while my sister and I never knew Miletus himself, we were—are still, actually—good friends with his companion, Ingeir.”
The class remained silent, though their faces were upturned now, eager. So easy, Foresight mused internally, to capture their attention with but the moniker of royalty. Celestia should teach more often. But then again, how much should he attribute to the air of mystery that surrounded her, the thrill of the unknown. He wasn’t immune to her presence, far from it.
“It is a great honour to have you here, Princess,” he started. “We thank you for your time.”
Celestia nodded.
“Class, the Princess is here to tell you a few stories that relate to our discussion. She—we—believe that there is still a great deal to be learnt from the tales of our ancestors. Princess?”
“Thank you,” Celestia said, inclining her head to him. Foresight took a deep breath. “As you may know, I spend the majority of my time deep in research into our past. The Celestial Tower holds countless records, legend and myth alongside accounting and taxation alongside biography. Arcana mixed with farming technique. Many of these are unique, some are forbidden, kept under lock and key. What I have with me today,” unfurling a wing, easily as large as Foresight’s entire body, scroll case clasped carefully by her primaries . . . exhibiting it, before placing it on the lectern before her . . . “is not one of those.”
She uncapped the case, and drew out the scroll within a golden aura. “Pass this amongst yourselves, and please, be careful with it, children.”
She moved to the side of the room, and bent her horn towards the lectern, summoning a golden sphere of light. Quickly, it formed into shapes, colours distilled from the fractured sunlight. A landscape arose, populated with tall trees rolling back along the undulating hills, greenery saturating the vision against the receding yellows—now bright blue—both dropping back as sky and wending its way forward . . . stone, in the form of sturdy grey bricks surrounded with deep dark mortar, rose, piling high. The vision sparkled before them, and even Foresight’s jaw dropped.
“This,” Celestia said, with barely a hitch to her voice to indicate the strain, “is Brightstream Valley.”
A few students cooed, earning points in Foresight’s mind. They should recognise the name: it had been the focus of an entire lecture just a few weeks ago.
Celestia noticed the lack of comprehension on the majority of students as well. “As I’m sure you’ve heard,” she said, “Brightstream Valley is well known for its relatively high magical density. Historically, young colts and fillies such as yourselves have journeyed there on their thirteenth journey, as a rite of passage to adulthood. Can anypony tell me why?”
Silence, for three, four, five beats . . . then: a tentative hoof rose into the air.
“Yes,” Celestia prompted.
“Because . . . umm, be-because it’s easier to get a Cutie Mark there,” a filly stammered.
“I’m sorry, what was that,” Celestia said, cocking her head to the side.
“Speak up, child,” Foresight said.
“It’s easier to get a Cutie Mark there,” the filly said, tensing her body and squeezing her eyes shut.
“Very good,” Celestia said. “Now, the scroll . . . where is it? Ah, yes, you,” pointing at a colt who had just been handed the scroll by his friend next to him. “Could you read for us, please? From the top.”
The colt cleared his throat, pushed his hooves to the top of the paper to hold it unfurled. “Ahh, hmm hmm, To my dearest Astara; Much has happened over the last week. The tower you designed was finally finished, and I spent last night inhabiting it. It was my first under a roof in some time, and while I must confess to miss the stars, the warmth of Luna’s night reaches me even here. And the view is incredible! You must come visit at the earliest opportunity. The valley stretches for miles around, and while its potency does seem confined to just this small patch, the wider wilderness is no less beautiful.”
Celestia’s illusion moved, the field of view sweeping across the verdant fields, spiralling outwards and upwards. Everypony’s eyes were glued to it, taking in the lush green and browns. Foresight would later swear he could almost smell the grass.
“I trust everything is going smoothly back home. Certainly your last letter soothed any lingering fears I held—not that I doubted you, my dear! It is merely the worrying soul of a father, I’m afraid. Oh, but Frisk is calling, and I must attend to matters.”
The illusion narrowed, focusing in towards the top of the tower, large open windows showing a cluttered room, desk overflowing with books and scrolls, maps spread over the floor with corners weighted down by hefty tomes. A stallion paced in the middle, dictating to a unicorn, quill scribbling furiously across the scroll in his telekinetic field.
“Visit! I cannot wait to spread word of our find here, it will surely set us up for life, but first you should see it for yourself. Eagerly awaiting with love, your father.”
The colt took his hooves off the scroll, allowing it to furl itself back up. Celestia took it in her magic, quickly sliding it back into its case, stoppering it, and placing it behind the lectern. The illusion changed, tower melting back into the ground.
“Now, children,” Celestia said, stepping forward and drawing the full attention of the room. “We’re all aware of the importance of Brightstream Valley, both from a historical and a scientific perspective.” She flashed a glance at Foresight. “They have learnt of the Valley’s mechanisms, correct?”
“Ah, briefly, your Majesty,” Foresight said, bowing his head.
“Excellent,” she said, turning back to the class. “To wit, the Valley contains an extraordinarily high concentration of harmonic magic. The correlation between geography and magical saturation clearly indicates the river as a source or magical magnet—“ here the illusion moved with the river, golden motes of light hovering in the air, clustering themselves along the water’s path, so that it appeared as a stream of sunlight, winding through the air—“and Nightshade’s experiments proved this, manually redirecting the water and observing the resulting changes.” The illusion followed her words, first water carving a new path, juts a small change to bend the other way around a hillock, while the motes of light hovering above its surface were more sluggish to follow suit.
“Now,” Celestia said, and with a stomp of her hoof caused the illusion to wink out. “Can anypony guess why we are discussing such a rudimentary summary of events?”
Silence. And to tell the truth, Foresight wasn’t sure what the Princess was expecting, either. He’d been told she had a presentation, an attempt to reach out, if only a little. Capture the children’s minds, their hearts, and hope the population followed suit. At least, that was what he’d been told. And the missive had reeked of Luna.
Celestia snorted, and Foresight’s hackles rose instinctively. “Do you not see? This scroll: the only copy of its kind, dismissed at large as merely the personal communications of a family seeking to exploit an unexplored region. And yet this is where we find the truth, the little clues that tell a story. This scroll was found almost two hundred years before Nightshade was born!” She took a deep breath, eyes widening as she took in the children’s faces.
“Ah . . . ah, I am sorry, children,” she said. “I come to you to explain the importance of my work. As demonstrated,” waving the scroll case in the air, “the smallest details can reveal incredibly important . . .ah. This was a bad idea.” To Foresight: “I am sorry. Please try to smooth things over?” And just like that, before Foresight could so much as lift a hoof to interject, the Solar Princess turned tail and fled the classroom.
***
“What I remember most, though,” Foresight said, “is that . . . it was a whine, almost . . . no, really!”
“You’ll have to forgive me, dear,” Rarity said. “It’s just that your Celestia is so far removed from my own. I confess I have a hard time imagining her being so inept.”
Foresight was shaking his head. “Then you missed the point. She was preoccupied—always has been. Luna deals with the present. But Celestia? Celestia looked to the past—and the future.”
They stopped walking, Rarity reaching out to push open the crude wooden door that demarked her abode. She’d need to sweep again, she noted, stepping forward, and . . . maybe hang some fabric, curtains, yes, against the wall there. She shook herself, waiting out the shivers than ran over her fur at the dust already accumulating, the scuffed dirt floor, hoofprints leading to the cot propped up against the far wall.
Rainbow was sitting there, head in hooves. She was mumbling something to herself, abruptly cut off as she jerked upright, hearing Rarity enter.
“Hey there,” Rainbow said, dropping her gaze back to the floor.
Rarity let her gaze rest on her friend for a moment, before ushering Foresight into the room and dragging a solitary chair out for him. Settling into it, he paused, brow furrowed, before slapping his thigh.
“Ah, yes. Now you must have heard of Harmony.”
Rainbow looked up. “Well, duh,” she said. “Who hasn’t heard of Harmony, for crying out loud.”
“Good, good.” Foresight looked over at Rarity, taking a seat on the edge of her own bed. “I can show you all this, if you want. We’ve still got the scrolls, despite . . . everything.”
“Some other time, perhaps,” Rarity said.
“Of course,” Foresight said. “Now, Harmony . . . the thing is, our histories claim Harmony was once a pony.”
“Wait, what?” Rainbow said, jolting upright. “As in, a pony? A living, breathing, pony?!”
“That was my reaction, too,” Foresight said, chuckling. “I consider it a fable, myself. Still, in every story there’s a nugget of truth, or so they say.”
“What a load of-“ Rainbow abruptly cut off as Rarity stuffed a hoof in her mouth.
“Please, go on,” she said, gesturing with her free limb.
Foresight smiled. “Well, accompanying the odd parable and such about this Harmony figure are a bunch of cautionary tales about Chaos.”
Rainbow swatted at Rarity. Relenting, the unicorn pulled back, only to wince as Rainbow hissed. “Celestia told me.”
“Hush, darling,” Rarity said, flicking her gaze at Foresight. The stallion was still smiling amiably, seemingly willing to put up with their rather rude bickering. “You can fill me in later.”
Rainbow grumbled, crossing her arms and half-turning towards the wall.
“Now, there were a whole bunch of artefacts and what-not associated with Harmony and Chaos, pony or not. Talismans, pieces of forgotten lore—you know, the classics. The important one, however, was called the Well.
“The Well is like . . . a reliquary. A vessel, for Harmonic—or Chaotic—power. And I’m sure you can guess what that power might be . . .” Foresight trailed off, a hopeful look on his face.
“Coromancy,” Rainbow said. She didn’t deign to look at them.
“Yes!” Foresight said, clapping his hooves. “Or so we think, anyway.”
But a different realisation was dawning on Rarity. Her mouth slowly opening, hooves gripping the edge of the bed, she blinked twice, caught Foresight’s gaze. “And—if I may—in these legends . . . was Chaos a dragon, by any chance?”
Foresight whistled. “And you say you’ve never heard of this.”
Oh boy. There were a whole host of implications hovering behind that particular tidbit—implications Rarity forced down, refused to pay any credence. There would be time for all of that, for discussion and internalisation. Only, later.
“Draconic power is for all intents and purposes analogous to Coromancy,” Foresight said. “In all our interactions, we’ve never found any real way to differentiate the two. That said . . . well, you aren’t the first to make the connection.”
“What does it matter?” Rainbow asked. She sighed, relenting, curving that proud back and turning back into the circle. “I want to hear about the Well.”
“Right, I was getting there,” Foresight said. “So, Celestia’s always buried herself in mythology, history, that sort of thing”—shooting a glance at Rarity—“while Luna occupied herself with governing. Everything was peaceful, more or less. As peaceful as it gets, anyway. And then-“
“And then Typhus came,” Rainbow said.
Foresight blinked. “Yes, that’s right.” His eyes grew distant. “If I remember correctly . . .”
Rainbow swung to Rarity. “That’s what Celestia told me about,” she said, interrupting. “Typhus . . . he came out of nowhere. But from the south, moving northward. Always moving northward.”
“Out of nowhere?” Rarity asked.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Rainbow said.
“Well, that’s not quite true,” Foresight said. “It’s more that it was unprecedented. We couldn’t see the warning signs.”
“But in hindsight . . .” Rarity said.
“We’re still putting the pieces together, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But . . .” Foresight was leaning forward, his eyes sparkling with conspiratorial gleam. “Typhus wasn’t the first unprecedented event in recent history.”
“Dude, spit it out already.”
“Alright, alright,” Foresight said, holding his hooves up. “About . . . what, twelve, fourteen years ago?—started this upward trend. Coromantic potential, in ponies and dragons. New recruits were stronger, learnt faster. Veterans picked up tricks that’d always been beyond them. More and more applicants weren’t just capable, they were powerful. A real Renaissance.”
“You mentioned a calendar earlier,” Rarity said. “And suddenly I’m curious. We know the date, or thereabouts, by our reckoning. But what year is it to you?”
Foresight blinked. “Why, 1016 AS. Ahh, After Storm. You . . . you said you came back a thousand years, didn’t you.” His mouth dropped open. “Of course. It’s cyclic! How’d we miss it?!”
“Explain,” Rainbow said,her tone flat, though Rarity was bobbing her head.
“After Storm—refers to a legendary period of storms that swathed the lands for weeks. There’s very little known about that time, our records don’t go back all the way, but . . . as legends tell it, a group of ponies discovered something. Something . . . world-changing. That’s where our stories of it come from, you see. It was the Well.”
“It gave them the power to stop the storms. To bottle them up,” Rainbow said. “Celestia started with that,” she said to Rarity in explanation.
But Foresight was lost in his own thoughts, rambling: “Yes, yes, and it fills slowly, so slowly, so that it was lost again in the chaos . . . but a cycle so that the dragons followed suit. Yes, and then“—his head shot up—“you’re here now. What are you looking for?”
“Answers,” Rarity said.
“Oh, Stars,” Foresight said. “He’s back, isn’t he? In your time? Typhus has returned?”
Rarity and Rainbow exchanged a look. Rainbow half-opened her mouth. Rarity shook her head. Rainbow bit her lip. Rarity bent her ears forward, tilted her head down, and winked. Rainbow sat back, glanced away, and sighed.
“Ahem,” Rarity said. “Yes. We believe he has.”
“We have to tell the-“
“They already know,” Rarity said. “Why do think Luna gave us free reign, hmm?”
Foresight nodded slowly. “That . . . I guess that makes sense . . .”
“And yet parading the idea of His return about town might be—well, a rather inconsiderate idea, yes?”
“I-I suppose so . . .”
“So really, the only recourse here is to fill us in. We’d rather not return home empty-handed, nor leave our people to face this threat blind, as it ‘were.”
Foresight clenched his jaw, snorting, and nodded firmly. “Quite right. Rainbow?”
“What’s up?”
“Why don’t you relate what Celestia told you? In full, this time. I . . .” He glanced around, eyes never quite meeting theirs. “No sense in repeating ourselves, is there?”
“Ahuh,” Rainbow said. “Well, anyway. It started like this . . .”
***
She stood facing the window, staring out at the grey horizon. It boiled, flashed of white flickering through the dark mass, clouds roiling and rolling and mixing about, like waves crashing angrily over one another along a long beach. The wind ripped at her mane, even at this distance, catching and pulling against the ethereal breeze that kept it aloft. Her rain slick armour shone under the moonlight, slivers of argence rippling over its surface as the cloud cover moved. Water plastered her fur to her skin, ran in rivulets down her face and body. For all their adversity, Luna stood strong. She’d always stood strong, and, Celestia knew, she always would.
“I’m afraid, ‘Tia,” Luna whispered, barely moving her mouth.
Celestia rocked back on her hooves. “I- Lulu, I . . .” she licked her lips, “We’re going to be fine, Lulu. We’ve pulled through worse than this.”
Now she turned, and suddenly the strength that Celestia had perceived in her stance meant something else—meant rigid terror, a stark disbelief. “Have we? Truly? Worse than this?!” sweeping her hoof to the side, gesturing . . . Despite herself, Celestia looked, followed that gaze.
Already, the Storm was swallowing the land. Its front moved forward, smooth as a glacier, and, at this distance, about that slow. Inexorable. Inevitable. Celestia found herself trembling.
In an instant, Luna was at her side, wings reaching down to embrace her. “No, ‘Tia, no, don’t cry. I’m sorry. We’ll be fine, sister, truly we will.”
“I . . . I have to . . .”
“’Tia . . .”
“You know I have to go!” Celestia broke away, turned her back on her sister though the return of the wind bit cold deep into her. “The Well, Lulu . . . it’s the only way . . .”
“They will not understand,” Luna said. Beneath them, on the ground, thousands of ponies made their way north—a slow, ponderous trek. If she didn’t succeed . . . if her sister couldn’t delay the coming chaos . . . “They will label you a coward. A traitor.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Celestia said, feeling a strange laugh bubble its way up her throat. “I was never their hero. You know that.”
“You were mine,” Luna said. “I . . .” she turned aside, a slight blush gracing her features. “I have something for you.”
Grasping Celestia’s forehooves, she placed a trinket in them, soft magic gently releasing the object. Smiling, Celestia took the locket; dawning sun engraved on both sides, and fastened it about her neck.
The two sisters stood in silence, side by side, watching the end of the world.
“Not one more,” Celestia whispered, more to herself. Luna heard, of course.
“We shall see.”
“Not if I can help it. Not if we can help it.”
“No.”
“Remind me,” Celestia said. “Remind me, that phrase . . . you used to mutter it to yourself, when you thought nopony was listening.”
Luna cracked a smile. “fiat justitia ruat caelum,” she said. “Let Justice be done-“
“Though the Heavens fall,” Celestia finished. “Yes. That’s the one.”
“Be careful, ‘Tia, and fast.”
“Be safe, Lulu, and strong.”
And Celestia turned north, joined her people’s flight as a beacon of light, dazzlingly bright, drawing energy to herself as she flew—the Sun’s energy, the Sun’s light, though it had not yet risen . . . a glowing figure, lighting their path. Always before it had been Luna’s role to show them the way. Now . . . now it was her turn. Her turn to save them.
The earth passed by underneath her, too fast to see anything more than blurred colours, drab greens and dull browns making up most of the terrain, with the odd splash of blue to signify a lake. Within an hour, Celestia had passed farther than most explorers, within two; she was off the edges of any maps they’d had to study. Finally, she slowed, banking towards the ground to land on cold dirt, a grit that crunched under her hooves. From her saddlebags she pulled a tattered scroll, yellowed, creased. One of the last surviving accounts of the Well.
This was their best hope, their only hope. Many had claimed the Well lay to the south, the east, and the west. Even among the few who gave the legends any credence, the prospects of ever finding it were diluted, say, by the diversity of its proposed locations. The truth was, nopony knew.
But this scroll, this missive—a simple letter urging a family member to flee—it meant something. Celestia knew it. And it told her to pack warm.
The snow lay before her, still far to the north. Amongst mountains not yet visible. She hoped to find some civilisation—some other life that could guide her through these lands. Without a guide, she would be searching for a needle in the haystack. A thousand haystacks.
Shivering, Celestia summoned the magic to create a small fire. Before she surrendered to sleep, however, she pulled a small sheathe of paper from her bags, and a quill. Shuffling through the pages to find blank space, she paused, quill held inches away.
Luna had been concerned with how their subjects would perceive her. That was not something Celestia liked to dwell on, no matter how frequently it appeared in her thoughts.
With a frown, she dipped the quill in a little ink-pot, and wrote.
You must follow in her footsteps. We could find no alternative then, and I see none now. Find the Well, Luna. There is no other way to oppose Typhus.
You must do this quickly. If He reaches the Well before you, if this last sliver of hope dies, there will be nothing left for the world, nothing but a tortured existence, and a slow death.
Forty-Five
THE CIRCLE GLOWED with arcane light, azure and lavender meshing to create a deep hybrid, a dark blue, midnight, and reminiscent of nothing so much as Princess Luna. Panting, Trixie stood in the centre, her coat washed out by the glow, flickering light throwing crazed shadows on the stone walls and catching dirt, cracks, the odd cobweb, showing them in stark relief for snatches of a moment before they disappeared into the background once again.
Trixie grunted, wiping her forehead with a hoof. She’d only handled energy like this once before—during her time with the Alicorn Amulet. That time, she’d been buffered by the artifact, caught up in the thrill, the sensation of power, and near out of her mind . . . This was nothing like that.
Each strand, each twist of magic threatened to pull away from her. It had a mind of its own: the emotion infused in her magic was reflected in its desires. She’d tried this once before: the anger she’d summoned had quickly gotten out of her control, lashing out at everything around her.
Control. That was the core of the brief lessons Twilight had been able to give her. When to lose control and when to maintain it. How to invest yourself with tremendous amounts of power without letting it go. How to be passionate, how to feel, with all the strength of your soul, to tremble against the shivers dancing on your skin, your bones, to quiver underneath the shadow of events so catastrophically gargantuan that you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—just reacted, unable to process . . . how to create that sense of climax, artificially, and hold back from embracing that moment wholeheartedly.
It was a shockingly detached view of memory and emotion, Trixie thought. Nonetheless, she couldn’t argue with results, and she gave no mind to the notion of challenging Twilight’s advice. Between the two, Trixie was far more inclined to trust the actual Sage than herself.
This time, the magic was surrounding her. Hugging her body, vibrating, writhing. It carried a warmth and a sense of need—wrapping within itself again and again to create complex knots, ever-growing, layers upon layers . . . it left Trixie sweating, suffocating, with all her attention bent on forcing the magic away, to untangle, to obey.
Twilight helped. Standing nearby, still within the circle, her magic had enveloped Trixie’s, gave it just enough freedom to push her, to force her to fight. A comforting safety net, one Trixie was grateful for. But not enough.
Trixie knew the spell inside and out. It wasn’t particularly hard—most unicorns expected it to be fiendishly difficult, given its reputation. The truth was, teleportation required brute force more than skill.
That was true when the magic jumped to your slightest thoughts. Now, Trixie could pull several threads free: work them loose from the bundle around her, feed power through the intricate symbology, and force upon them the appropriate intent . . . only to have others loose cohesion, fall back to the swirling mass. It was like trying to fill a sieve with water.
“Try with less force,” Twilight said. She wasn’t sweating, not at all. Instead, the pale lavender surrounding her horn pulsed with gentle insistence. It would have been mocking if Trixie still thought herself Twilight’s equal.
Grunting again, Trixie dropped roughly half the power. What remained wouldn’t be enough to accomplish the task—but she’d given up on that already. No, all she wanted now was a symbolic victory. A successful cast, even if it lacked the impetus to carry them all the way.
Less magic meant less mass, and she found it easier to pull the magic away from her, to bend it to her will. Gradually, the spell took shape, supported by Twilight’s lavender, until she finally felt it slip into the strictures of the spell, and be bound by that intent.
“Now,” Twilight said. “The frustration. Burn it all, right now. Feed yourself into it, don’t worry, I’m right here. Lose control now.”
And it came easily. She’d had a short temper for a long time, and even with the years of moderation separating her from her past, Trixie found herself slipping back into that mindset with ease. It was comforting, in its own way. Anger, resentment, boiling frustration exploded forth, worked to a tempestuous climax in her mind, bubbling and frothing and roaring into the half-cast spell. Azure light stormed out from her, sweeping away the shadows, the lavender. It dominated, flashed to white . . . and was gone.
The spell-casting room in the Agency’s Canterlot basement was gone. Replacing it was clear skies, snowy earth, and a bitingly-cold wind. Trixie stumbled, toppling sideways as energy abandoned her, only to be caught in Twilight’s telekinesis.
“The Crystal Empire,” Twilight said. “Or near about. Well done, Trixie.”
“I . . .” panting, “I did it,” she said.
“Yes,” Twilight said. “Sleep now. I’ve got you.”
Trixie shook her head. “No, no. It’s passing.”
The fatigue was fading, each breath returning strength to her limbs, and soon enough she found herself back on all fours. Twilight looked concerned for a minute or two, but when it became clear Trixie wasn’t going to throw up or pass out, she became all business.
A flash of lavender later, and they were standing in the atrium of the Crystal palace. Trixie’s target all along—she hadn’t the power to traverse all the distance. It didn’t stop her from feeling a surge of pride. She could feel the gradations in power between her spell and Twilight’s. Corroborated with the landscape they’d initially arrived in . . . she’d made it three-quarters, or further. More than a unicorn had any right to.
Briefly, she remembered a phrase from what felt like a lifetime ago. “That’s what it takes, Trixie. Do the impossible,” and a grin played about her face.
“Cadence,” Twilight was calling, trotting forward. “You here, Cadence?” Her voice rang amongst the hallways, bounding and rebounding, bits and pieces echoing back. In moments, palace guards found them.
“Twilight Sparkle,” one said, apparently recognising her. “The Princess is in her chambers.”
“Of course,” Twilight replied. “We don’t wish to bother her . . .” she trailed off. The guard was shaking his head.
“For you, she won’t mind.”
He led them through the halls, expertly navigating the sprawling web of corridors. Trixie found herself lost within just a few turns, the uniformity of the crystal rendering each hallway near-identical to the last, so that turns became spins and she could not say, even, which direction they had entered from: an almost dizzying sense of bewilderment engulfing her, like light scattered through the crystal.
Thankfully, their journey was brief. The guard left them outside large double-doors, latched closed. When she tried to continue, however, Twilight threw up a hoof, blocking her path.
“Wha-“ Trixie said, furrowing her brow.
“Look,” Twilight said. “See the sheen?”
Squinting, Trixie peered closer—at the slight gap between the doors, where Twilight was pointing. Sure enough, the tell-tale glimmer of magic shone there: sparkling pink, almost invisible.
“Felt it,” Twilight said to Trixie’s unspoken question. “I’ve spent long enough around Cadance. I ought to be able to feel her magic.”
Trixie just nodded. The spell itself she recognised as a standard sound-proofing—likely indicative of some state-secret meeting, or private moment occurring behind the doors. She sat back on her haunches, placing her back against the far wall.
“Can we knock?” she asked, after a minute of silence.
Pursing her lips, “I suppose so,” Twilight said. “I’d rather give her some more time though.”
“Alright,” Trixie said, staring instead down the hallway. She’d never seen crystal architecture before. The almost mutable manner in which the light danced was fascinating, and she spent some time trying to discern a pattern to its movements.
“Mesmerising,” Twilight said, her voice shattering Trixie’s reverie.
Blushing slightly at the realisation she’d been tracing shapes with her head, Trixie nodded in agreement.
“Twilight!”
Jumping, Trixie swivelled to see the doors bounce off their hinges, swinging back in towards the pink princess that had thrown them out. Princess Cadance, still moving forward, caught Twilight up in her hooves, sweeping her forward with her momentum.
“Cadance!” Twilight replied, squeezing back. “I- Oh, it’s good to see you.”
“And this must be . . .”
Twilight winced. “Ah, Trixie,” she said, eyes fixed on Cadance. “Meet my sister-in-law.”
But instead of reaching forward, Trixie shrank away. At her name, she’d seen the dreadful recognition flit across the Princess’s face—the sudden intensity of her focus, the rage that threatened to boil over. Cadance stood stock still, trembling, her eyes fixed just above Trixie’s head, and to the left.
And Trixie found herself awash in memory. Shining Armour, a topic she dreaded, a topic she spent considerable time avoiding. Distinct sounds, smells: strange little things that she never would have thought to pay attention to . . . those were what stuck with her, what hung between them now. A spectre, barring the way.
Cadance spun, fled down the hallways, leaving Twilight in her wake, hoof half-raised.
“Twilight,” another voice spoke up, tones hushed. Trixie turned back to the doors to see a pink head—no, she did recognise this one; Pinkie Pie, from Ponyville—poking through.
Pinkie bit her lip. “Twilight,” she said again. “I’m . . . I’m really sorry.”
Twilight just nodded dumbly, staring after Cadance.
“Twilight . . . I think we need to talk,” Pinkie said. Twilight finally turned to see her, surprise registering as a small opening of the mouth, miming How? . . . “About Luna. I . . . I don’t think she’s well . . .”
***
Fluttershy stepped forward, feeling the familiar crunch of sand shifting underneath her hooves. The air whistled as it blew past houses, buildings, wrapped about her legs and trunk, tickling at her feathers. Dry, arid, desolate.
The train station, the post-office. The general store, the sheriff’s lockup. Appleloosa arranged itself before her, patterned out against the backdrop of the desert. The boundaries blurred, sand piling up in makeshift dunes against walls, spilling into the streets and abutting doors . . . like the town itself was being eaten, devoured, by the desert.
Fluttershy resisted the urge to scream, to call out, to make noise—anything. The silence, all-encompassing, lent an itch to her coat, a sense of wrong . . . peering through windows, she saw belongings scattered on the floor, furniture broken and overturned, food rotting on tables with no chairs.
Appleloosa was empty, abandoned, just as she’d Dreamt all those weeks earlier.
Fluttershy tossed her head, lips curling back over her teeth. It couldn’t have all been for nothing. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. She spun, galloping out of the town’s remains and into the desert, heading north.
Moments later she was surrounded by ponies. Ghostly apparitions, in various stages of their lives—oftentimes the same figure overlayed with itself, three, four, five times, identified by the same clothing, the same hat, or other moniker, in various stages of disrepair. She stumbled forward, passing through the crowd, a surging ocean of mirages, rising and falling back into the sand with each step. Too fast, too far. She stopped, fought to bring her breathing under control, until the desert lay still once more.
“Macoun!”
She remembered that voice, that name. The father, gaunt and weary, chasing after his son.
“Macoun, there ya are. Come, son, we must help the others.”
“Do we gotta?”
“Ya know we do. An Apple’s work ain’t ever done.”
“But Dad . . .”
“No buts! Come, Macoun. Look to ya name with pride, for you are the last to wear it. Ah will not live ta see out matron all . . .“ Fluttershy tuned him out. She’d heard the speech before, seen this scene before. She spun, scanning the raggard camp, wagons hitched to ponies clad in scraps of cloth, torn hats unable to properly shelter them from the heat. Holes were scattered in the baked clay, ranging in a semi-circle on the outskirts, damp earth collecting at the bottom of the makeshift wells.
There it was. Placed just so, facing half-away from the campfires, the tents. The chair, creaking as the wind caused it to rock ever so slightly, looked towards the dying sun. Fluttershy caught her breath, taking a step towards it.
She remembered Applejack here. Her friend, aged beyond belief. Staring out at the wasteland that had become her home, sipping thin broth. An example of what lay ahead.
Fluttershy woke, sweat drenching her bedding. With an odd sense of déjà vu, she rose, peered through a gap in the curtains to see the first glimmers of the sun poking over the horizon.
Empty. The chair had been empty.
Taking a deep breath, she stumbled to the door, found her way to the bathroom. A cold shower later, she walked down the stairs, seeking . . . something.
“Fluttershy! You’re up early,” Applejack said cheerfully, tossing a pancake over in the pan. It hissed at her, spitting butter, a gentle crackle.
Fluttershy smiled, taking a seat at the table, and just watched as Applejack finished their breakfast. More than the company, it was the sights and smells and sounds of motion that she revelled in: observing Applejack’s practiced grace—each pancake the same size, the same shape—listening to the sizzle and the knife, dicing apple, breathing in the cinnamon and sugar, dusting and draping, syrup pooling around the base of the stack . . . she lifted a knife in her wing, cut a small piece, savoured the sweet fluffiness.
Light pooled in the kitchen, casting everything in rosy sunrise. Applejack chewed loudly, large bites more than she ought to take at once, syrup running down her chin. The house itself creaked, relaying movement, life, from elsewhere.
“So,” Applejack said, serving herself a fifth and covering it in apple pieces.
“So,” Fluttershy agreed, ducking her head. “I . . .” she bit her lip.
“That bad?”
“The same Dream,” she whispered.
“Sorry, hun, what was that?”
“It was the same Dream,” Fluttershy said. She cast her gaze to the side. “Everything . . . exactly the same. Like we’d never left Ponyville at all.”
Applejack’s chewing slowed.
“Except . . . except you weren’t there.”
That raised an eyebrow. “Meanin’ I was the first time? ‘Shy, you got something ta tell me?”
“Umm . . . “
“Fluttershy.” A hoof reached across the table to rest on her shoulder. “Ah ain’t mad. You know that.”
“I know. It’s just . . . I don’t know. I don’t know! We missed . . . something, something happened, something we looked over, failed to . . . Failed!” She drew a shuddering breath. “A-and all those . . . Applejack, I, I can’t . . .”
“Hey, hey.” Applejack stood, moved around the table to envelop Fluttershy in a deep hug. “It’s going to be alright. We stopped that other Dream, didn’t we? In the Forest?”
“H-” hitching, “How'd you know about that,” Fluttershy said, sniffing.
Applejack chuckled, the movement rippling across to Fluttershy. “You think Ah can’t tell when a friend’s worried? Beyond what Ah might expect, anyway.”
Fluttershy hummed, squeezing Applejack, before pulling away. “I thought we weren’t going to make it in time. You . . . you were lost in the storm.”
Nodding, “But we did make it. We stopped the storm.”
“Y-Yes,” Fluttershy said, gulping. “But what if we didn’t. I-if it’s still waiting for me.”
Ah need you. It echoed in her mind, still. Desperate, despairing, desolate.
“What if it isn’t,” Applejack said. “Look, why don’tcha walk me through it. See if we can’t work something out.”
“Okay,” Fluttershy said. “Okay. The . . . the tribe. The Apples.”
“I remember.”
“You were with them. Old . . . so very old. Watching over them.”
“Fifty years?”
Fluttershy shook her head. “More like eighty. At least.” Her voice gained strength as she spoke. “The town looked like it was just deserted. As if they’d only then been driven out.”
Applejack whistled. “Unrelated, then. To what we just stopped.”
Fluttershy nodded.
“But we changed something.”
“Everything was the same, AJ. Except for you. You were just . . . gone.”
Applejack’s eyes widened. “You don’t think we failed. You think we’re going to fail.”
“It’s already happened,” Fluttershy whispered. “Don’t you see?”
Applejack sat in silence for some time, only occasionally meeting Fluttershy’s eyes. Eventually, “Ah think we need to let the others know. Let everypony know.”
“We can’t leave,” Fluttershy said. “We just can’t take that risk.”
“But we can send a letter. Or another in our stead.”
A pause. “Of course we can,” Fluttershy breathed. The light, creeping along the table as the sun continued its morning ascent, touched the side of her forearm. “Of course we can!”
“Can what?”
She turned to see Applebloom, mane and fur damp from the shower trot into the kitchen. She took a deep sniff, grinning at her sister before claiming a few remaining pancakes for herself.
“How’ve you been, ‘sis,” Applejack said, reaching forward to tussle Applebloom’s hair. She received only a grunt in return.
“We can send a message,” Fluttershy said, clarifying. “O-or, Pinkie!”
Applebloom shook her head. “She left with Daerev. Like, over a week ago. Hey, how’s Braeburn? You two work out whatever was going on down there?”
“Yeah, more or less,” Applejack said, with a smile. “Braeburn’s doing fine. Fluttershy here even helped him some with that leg o’ his.”
“Wow, really? That’s great! He must be feelin’ fantastic, right about now.”
Fluttershy stood abruptly, bumping the table and causing the plates to clatter. “Yes. Great. Nice to see you, Applebloom, but I really must go . . . go and send a letter. Yes, a letter. Umm, bye.”
She fled, taking to the air not three steps out the front door—confused shouts chasing her up into the empty sky.
***
Princess Celestia lowered her quill to her desk, relaxing back into her chair with a long sigh. Large stacks of paper, arrayed in neat rows, blocked her view of the city below. She snorted, ruffling her feathers, and stood, beginning to pace around the room.
Every hour or so, she took a small break, enough only to relax her eyes and her spine, to warm her limbs and rest her horn and give some impetus to the blood pumping around her system. Important, this, a regular dose of vitality in the midst of work somehow challenging and dull simultaneously.
Canterlot below glimmered. The setting sun winked at her, peeking over the rooftops and between the towers of her city. The restorations were nearly complete, work becoming swifter as it went. So hesitant to touch that site, at first. She remembered the work crews, foreman shrinking back from her, reluctant to meet her gaze. She hadn’t raised them to be so timid, not when addressed directly.
And it wasn’t just her they shied away from. The site itself, the hole in the ground, in the street . . . it received nothing short of veneration. Flowers were arranged daily around its rim. Ponies from neighbouring districts and towns made pilgrimage to see it for themselves. Nearby stalls appeared, selling eye-witness accounts, interviews. For those with an ear to bend, more crackpot theories. Spiralling back into Canterlot proper, there were nights of mourning, memorabilia, discussion groups and circles, public forums. She’d personally dealt with altercations springing up from a myriad of events—parties, performances, simple open mic nights—overtaken by the rumour mill.
So quickly, it became folklore. Mythic. It was, after all, a Godly thing to do, to think about. Something beyond common, beyond normal.
She couldn’t have left them like that. Celestia nodded, turning again as she came to a wall. She couldn’t have left them like that. They got carried away, they did, and were liable to escalate . . . well, everything. She’d seen it happen.
She turned back to her desk. Routine and repetition had long ingrained in her an instinctual assessment of the work ahead, and at a glance she could see the documents awaiting attention were rapidly running out. She made a face.
It was better now. Under control. The funeral had gone smoothly, as had the nightly commemorations, a period of mourning lasting a full month. She’d gone all-out, wrapped everything in a veil of pomp, intricate designs and elaborate decorations, lavish banquets, moving speeches. Constant distraction, that was the name of the game, and—if she was honest with herself—an attempt to trump the murder itself.
She shook her head violently, her mane billowing left and right.
The next most pressing item on her agenda was . . . she squinted, focusing on the text . . . yes, she was reading that correctly: “A Proposal to Re-Source the Acquisition of Materials for the ReConstruction of Lower Canterlot: Shattered Hill is Happy to Help!” Celestia’s head tipped forward, hitting the desk with a dull thud. Construction was nearly complete, they already had all the material they’d need. Why was this on her desk?
Ugh. It didn’t matter. Absent-mindedly, she took the proposal and dropped it in the rejected pile. Perhaps . . . perhaps this was enough.
Her eyes drifted traitorously back towards the desk.
No, really. Even she had to admit that there wasn’t much more she could do to smooth the process out. It had all been . . . well. As well as she could have hoped for, truth be told.
Princess Celestia lit her horn, took a moment to lift her posture, shift into the regal stance. She rolled her head on her neck and adjusted her wings. Then the golden light around her horn spread down, enveloped her, and without so much as disturbing the loose leaf lying around the room, she was gone.
North, to the Crystal Empire. As much as she debated, she gave thought to Luna’s words, and Twilight’s. It gladdened her heart to hear of her niece’s slow recovery, but it also hurt. To know that she could have done more.
Well. Maybe this was just that. Celestia, doing more.
***
The Crystal Heart sparkled underneath his hoof.
Grimacing, Boundless pressed down, summoning telekinetic magic from his horn to envelope the Heart, adding his magic to his physical strength. The table upon which the Heart rested creaked, a long, slow, drawn-out wail as wood began to split, and then gave all at once, splintering under the pressure.
He stepped back, shaking his head. Force wasn’t an answer, either. The Heart had remained entirely unresponsive—not so much as a glimmer interrupted the pattern of light playing out within it. He’d tried just about everything he could think of: long since past attempting to even use the damn thing, now he was just trying to have it acknowledge him.
Even frustration, however, eventually gave out, and Boundless found himself slumped in a chair, leaning forward with his head in his hooves. Ever since he’d returned with the Heart, he’d found the place hollow. Noise echoed around the rooms—wood scraping on wood, his own laboured grunts, even the crackling fire only accentuated the strange emptiness of the space around him.
Not even in the forest outside Hornwall compared. It became like an itch on his skin, a rubbing, nagging thing. It demanded his attention.
He knew, of course, the demon behind the door. Boundless stood abruptly, pushing the chair back so that it toppled onto the floor. He slowly sucked in a lungful of air. Then, he screamed.
Loud and violent. The sound ripped through the air, took the silence that wrapped around him and beat it back, slashing and tearing and bludgeoning it into submission. A shrill tone that spilled out onto the streets.
With his heart in his throat, he spun, and smashed magic down onto the Crystal Heart. He lifted it into the air, held it aloft in his brown aura, directed his gaze and his voice and his passion towards it. He flung it against the wall, and, running forward, smashed his body against it, pinning it close to his breast. He panted, and grabbed at his head. The Heart sparkled, and hummed unabated.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do anything with it—of course he couldn’t. He’d never thought he could, not really, not where it mattered. It had nothing to do with race, with some mystical connection to the artifact. It was him.
The reverberating echo of his outpouring taunted him. He stepped back, rubbing the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the impact, and the Heart hit the ground with a clunk. Even to his ears, he rang hollow.
It was about choices. He saw: he’d always seen. Just . . . in the distance, shrouded in fog, or space, or time. Well, it was here now, and no more delay. A fork in the road.
Easier to boss everypony around. To put on airs, to indulge. To search. To destroy.
And for the first time in years, Boundless didn’t know what he was going to do next.
Gritting his teeth, he punched the wall—just hard enough to hurt. He swung away, pacing around the small room, skirting the fire-pit, its embers still glowing. He ought to be cold, shivering. Instead, he began spitting out words, talking to escape the never-ending silence more than anything else.
“Stupid Heart. Don’t even need it, anyway. Dunno what I was thinking, coming here . . . What a waste of time. Idiot.”
He shook his head violently, snarling, lit his horn and blew down the connecting wall his crew had trapped him behind. Bastards. The explosion echoed, carried, of course—he was vaguely aware of the impetus to move, now, the impending doom. The authorities wouldn’t care about the odd scream, not here, but the deafening suddenness of an explosion would draw attention.
“Useless. Probably laughing their flanks off in some bar. Bucking morons!”
He spun around, grabbed the Crystal Heart, and flung it against the floor. It bounced once, twice, rolling along its long edge to clink against a table leg. Sparkling.
He could feel a scream building inside his chest. Tumbling over itself, each moment adding a little more to the crescendo. He snorted, hot air jetting from his nostrils, and, the Heart wrapped in telekinesis, trotted outside.
Early morning in the Crystal Empire. The sun was rising over the eastern mountains, creating a shimmering rainbow hovering a few feet over any crystal surfaces it touched. Similar to heat waves, over a desert.
Two days he’d hidden here, bashing his head against a literal rock.
“Thought I could do something,” he grumbled, walking away. “What a joke. Oh, Boundless, so special! What a gift you have.”
He made no attempt at subtlety. He’d never been any good at that, anyway. So occasionally ponies—collecting the paper, out for a stroll, opening curtains, blinds—saw him. They saw the Crystal Heart. Spilled out of their homes. Congregated behind him, a procession, a pilgrimage.
He stopped, whirled on them. “What do you want?! Well, come on! Come and take it!” raising the Heart high in the air. “What’s the problem?! What’s the bucking matter?!”
They looked away, looked down, scuffed their hooves. The distance between them seemed, to Boundless’ eyes, to stretch, twenty feet becoming forty becoming four hundred. He knew the look on their faces, knew it intimately, recognised the smell in the air. He’d been looking at them his entire life.
It was a different scream that came to him now. A pulsing one, pushing at his ribcage, his throat. He swallowed, and kept walking.
Time to choose. No more running, hiding, pretending to have a plan. He’d managed to fool even himself. But time was the great revealer, the bringer of truth. All deceptions faded, in time. All lies brought to light.
Well, here was his truth. He didn’t know what the buck he was doing. He just . . . did things, to see what would happen. To try to coax out some sort of response, some sort of feeling.
As he saw it, four paths lay open. The serpent that had aided him, promised him further aid, vague answers and a veil of mystery—that creature had utterly failed to understand him. He found no desire to return, to hoof over the Crystal Heart like an obedient servant, awaiting his reward.
Luna—Nightmare Moon—claimed kinship. She had allowed him to escape with the Heart, clearly in the knowledge of his own inability to use it. It was patronising: an adult indulging a child. And when he was done, to return his toys to their box, to be tucked in to bed, and fed a warm story to help him sleep. Was that what he wanted? To sleep?
He could leave the Crystal Heart here. Just drop it, on the side of the street. It might provoke the crowd still following his every step, but they didn’t pose much threat to him. He could disappear, just . . . just stop, entirely. Find a hobby. Meet interesting ponies. Try to learn something. No grand purpose, but the notion caught him with its promise of wistful nostalgia, a bittersweet acknowledgement of failure. He could find contentment in mediocrity.
And then, that wasn’t the only way to simply . . . end this, either.
Boundless looked up. The palace loomed above him. The crowd watched him with bated breath, halting on the perimeter of the plaza where the Crystal Heart had been displayed. He made his slow way to the centre, to the pedestal, and sat down. The Heart rested on the ground by his flank.
He yawned, and scratched behind an ear, gazing out. “Hey, could one of you get me something to eat? I’m bucking starving.”
I leave this message written in hatred, for hatred is what I will become. It soothes my heart to know that you feel that hatred, too. I feel your resonance. Ours is a hatred born of confusion, of shock, of denial.
She jolted, swinging her head up. “Yeah, yeah,” waving a hoof. “Just a lot on my mind.”
Her forearm ached a little where she’d rested her forehead, just closing her eyes for a few moments. She could feel the walls here, pressing around her. Small rooms—that was the only description that fit, really. Not a problem on occasion, but when it applied to virtually every building in the town, any self-respecting pegasus might find herself a touch restless.
A problem of economy, it was perfectly sensible for the builders to rapidly construct these huts, mass-produced from the nearby forest, and attached to each other to form mini-complexes. It got ponies into shelter fast, freed up more precious materials like fabric and metal for other uses. The earth ponies found it quite comfortable. That hadn’t stopped Rarity from sharing her own—in Rainbow’s mind, more trivial—complaints, which the pegasus was happy to reciprocate.
Each room was square, or near enough, made up of thin wooden slats supported a series of tall poles arranged at regular intervals. At first, gaps allowed light and a little moisture through, despite all attempts to stuff clumps of mud and grass in the cracks. Slowly, though. Coromancers had moved through the growing town, using their powers to grow the wooden slats into their neighbours, eventually creating solid walls, contiguous. The whole process had been almost automated, given the number of near-perfect copies, neatly arranged in rows and columns. That, Rainbow had decided, was the creepy part, the bit that got under her feathers: the way it had been so devoid of any personality.
“Well, try to pay attention,” Cirrus said. “I don’t like repeating myself, no matter what the Princess said.”
Rainbow stared at her dully. It wasn’t hard to reason out Cirrus’ attitude—nor could Rainbow wholly blame her for it. Luna’s announcement had lent her a certain credibility, but it also brought other little deceptions to light—harmless untruths that had simply been easier to gloss over.
Harmless, that was, until Rainbow’s stories were disproven. The burgeoning trust between them, credited to their shared Coromantic status and the social norms that went with it—a trust that remained incredible to Rainbow, even now, given the circumstances in which it formed—was rent, with no real hope of salvage.
She thought of it as akin to bludgeoning her way to the truth. She’d never planned to stay longer than she absolutely had to, and no matter the appreciation and, yes, admiration she felt towards these . . . these kin of hers, she could live with their disapproval.
“Sorry,” Rainbow said. “Sorry, I’m just . . . I’m thinking. Where were you?”
Cirrus sighed. “From the beginning, then. We don’t know anything about the war—at least, not any more than anypony else. Any other day, that wouldn’t be a problem. But, as I just finished telling you, we can’t just go back and check. The Storm’s still there.”
“After the Jump.”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Blitz said. “It was crazy. The whole temporal stream was going nuts. Like being in the centre of a whirlpool.”
“You tried?”
Cirrus snorted.
“Only one of the first things the Princess had us trying,” Blitz said. “’Course, we can’t affect change. Self-consistency and all that. But scouting’s important nonetheless. Expect you know that yourself.”
“Yeah,” Rainbow said. “Yeah, I do.”
Cirrus snorted, took a long pull from the bottle between her hooves, dropped it with a hard clink back to the table. The Wardens had finished setting up the food supplies some time ago, turned their hooves to more . . . luxury goods. Not too much, rationed out carefully, but enough to let Luna start offering extra incentives, here and there. Cirrus had been one of the first in line. Not that Rainbow blamed her. “So that’s it. We’re stuck.”
“You could go forward,” Rainbow suggested. “Look for problems before they’ve happened, find some sort of . . . some victory, to give us all hope.”
“Ain’t that what you are?”
Rainbow blinked. “Well, yeah, I guess. But I meant more immediately.”
“What do you care?” Cirrus said.
“Hey. I care. I’ve my own life, but I still care.”
“What would you even look for?” Blitz asked, extending a hoof between the two of them. “I mean, besides who’s gonna make it.”
“I dunno,” Rainbow said. “All of it,” waving her hooves in the air, wings flapping slowly, “like, see who else made it out—a-and, when they’ll meet back with us . . . what? What’d I say?”
Cirrus pushed her chair back, stood, stern expression meeting her drink dispassionately as she strode from the room.
“Ah, ahh,” Blitz said. “Now just hold on, there, Rainbow”—laying a hoof on her shoulder as she made to give Cirrus chase—”let her go.”
“What bit her flank?” Rainbow asked, sitting back heavily and crossing her arms. She flicked her gaze at Blitz, hoping to see the fleeting signs of the crack of a smile, some notion of friendship persisting between them . . .
But Blitz was only looking at her. “This mustn’t seem very real to you, Rainbow. Stars know I’ve found it pretty easy to ignore the stuff I’ve seen after a long Jump. But we’re in the middle of a war. So when you ask after all those souls still missing—and let alone the ones we’re certain of!—you need to understand that you might be speaking about a brother. A mother. A lover. Even a son, or a daughter. And we don’t like to think about what must be happening to them, right now.”
“I-” Rainbow slumped back. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“I got my sister here, and she’s got me. Cirrus, she ain’t got anypony.”
A pause, before Rainbow lifted her head. “So, what happened?”
Blitz rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve been pretty shy of details-”
“I figured that much,” Rainbow snorted.
“-well, it’s because we’re really not sure. Typhus was . . . so dominant, so huge, that it seems like everything else barely registered.”
“Swept away.”
“Right.”
“Look, Celestia ran me through the basics. Somepony woke him up, far to the south. A great Storm, stretching horizon to horizon. I’ve seen it, myself. It defies belief.
“So you try to fight it. Wardens, and Chasers, and Sages: to halt its advance. Anchors, and Conduits, and Seers: to keep everypony safe, moving north, finding some way out of the mess.
“But it doesn’t seem to be working. Luna’s the only one who can reliably slow the Storm down—ponies everywhere are getting swept along with it, a great tidal wave of movement. Within months, weeks, the whole country’s practically given up. It’s the end of the world.”
Blitz was nodding, mouth tight.
“And then Celestia returns. Spearheads him with an old legend. The Well. The power of Harmony made manifest, radiant, awesome dripping all around her. I saw that, too. I saw her break the Storm apart.
“So now I’m trying to piece it together. For . . . for history. Or . . . it doesn’t matter. Luna’s said as much. We’ve heard the story from her. From Celestia.” Rainbow reached out, now, grabbed Blitz’s shoulder in her hoof. “I want to hear it from you. From the ponies working so hard to build this town, to build an entire castle, despite claims of still fighting the war. There’s something I’m missing here, Blitz. Something the Princesses are missing—or haven’t told us. That’s totally not cool. I’m on your side, and I want to help, if I can. So . . . fill me in?”
Blitz exhaled heavily.
“What happened to Cirrus, Blitz?” Rainbow pressed, leaning just a touch closer.
“It’s not for me to say . . .” he began. “No, really,” forestalling argument with a raised hoof, “you’ll have to turn that silver tongue on her. But you were right. There’s a few thousand of us here, no more, where we used to number hundreds of times that. And it’s not all casualties. We thought it was, at first. Ponies caught underneath His shadow, too slow or too brave. We mourned them, even as we ran.”
Blitz looked into Rainbow’s eyes. “Then they came back. Not as they were. The friends, family that we knew, that we loved and cherished—make no mistake, they’re dead.” His voice trembled. “Dead and gone. And not yet buried.”
“What’re you talking about,” Rainbow whispered.
“You’ll remember we took you out for a flight. Hadn’t expected much, I thought it’d be routine. A placation, from a Princess to a . . . a traumatised population. By the Night, I can’t see us ever really recovering from this. An entire generation, pathologically nervous. Happy, but not at peace.”
“The ponies we ran into? They tried to kill us. I mean, actually, really, kill us!”
“Friends, once,” Blitz said. “Corrupted. There’ve been more. Many more.”
Rainbow furrowed her brow. “I could have helped . . .”
“His pawns. Thralls. Mindless, raving, fanatical. That’s who we encountered, out there. I’d hoped—we’d all been hoping. That with His defeat, they’d . . .”
“That they’d have been freed,” Rainbow said. “That they’d come back to you.”
“No,” Blitz said, and the emptiness in his voice sent chills running down her spine. “That they’d finally be allowed to die.”
Rainbow didn’t quite dare say anything for a long minute. The atmosphere, thick with revealed dread, hung around her, bearing down with almost physical weight on her shoulders. She retreated to her chair, sat silent and still.
“You know, I think that might have happened to me, once.”
“. . .?”
“A Spirit of Chaos and Disharmony awoke. Discord. Me and Rarity, and four other of our friends, tried to fight him. Instead, he turned us against one another. Sapped our will and . . . tricked us, in a way, into believing him. At the time, I was so, so worried—about everything but him. So convinced that I had to do something, anything, so long as it wasn’t near him.”
“I once saw a brother strangle his sister to death,” Blitz said.
Rainbow paused, her face paling. “Please, don’t . . .” she whispered.
“The family’d been slowed by their great-grandmother. They couldn’t leave her behind. So the shadow came, and fell across her, and the son frantically helping her along.”
Rainbow folded her ears flat across her skull, clenched her jaw, stared at the door.
“He dropped her immediately, of course. His coat drained of colour. I . . . I was right there. Hovering above them. Trying to . . . He sprinted forward. One great lunge, and he was on top of her. The both of them screaming. His hooves around her neck. I grabbed their parents, a-and I . . . I just l-left.”
Rainbow swallowed, nearly choked.
“We’d been told, you see. By the parents themselves, the very next day. Heard from the pony’s mouth what their son had done.” Blitz fell silent, his face granite, and cold.
“You . . . you knew,” Rainbow said, blinking back tears. “W-Why would they . . . why’d they have to tell you?!”
Blitz didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Distraught, shattered, they’d reached out to the nearest comfort, clung to anything in reach. Could they be blamed, for dooming their children in the throes of grief? Even if they had known Coromancy?
“I didn’t finish,” Rainbow said, clearing her throat. She felt hoarse, now, exhausted. No matter. “Discord twisted us. Not so much as . . . as that, but. But. But we beat him, Blitz. We did. Twilight . . . she somehow pushed through it. She brought us back together. So . . . so no matter, no matter how . . . how horrifying, how tragic it seems . . . He can be beaten.”
The words felt empty even to her.
Blitz took his time responding, just staring at the wall past her head. Eventually, though, he met her eyes, and while there was a flicker of the pony she’d first met, the smiling stallion with the downturned eyes, aglow in the rush of recent victories and sudden hope, it was buried, muted. Swamped by the encroaching dark. “You stopped pushing to come on patrol with us. Sure there’s a number of reasons for that. One of them’s likely Princess Luna, stressing her disapproval. At least, that’s what she passed on to us.”
Rainbow opened her mouth, articulating some protest, but he cut her off.
“Thing is, that group you saw was the tip of the iceberg. He got to tens of thousands of us, hundreds of Coromancers. And we’ve been here in this rickety little town for what’s verging on months. The rest of us are still watching, still searching, and we’re finding some, but not that many. They’re still out there, and I can only assume they’re coming. They all say the same thing.”
“There’s always hope,” Rainbow said, shivering. Hundreds of enemy Coromancers, thousands upon thousands of ponies. Hostile, under his sway, ready and willing to kill, main, destroy. It wasn’t something that bore thought. “I’m from the future. You guys have to win, right?” She was pretty sure she hadn’t even fooled herself.
“Dunno. We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, twisted grin playing about his lips.
Standing, Blitz made to follow Cirrus out the door, leaving Rainbow in solitude.
***
“It’s easy to blame ourselves, of course,” Celestia said. “Foolhardy, incompetent, eager . . . as if responsibility were so simple to pin down.” She looked up from a steaming cup of tea, meeting Rarity’s gaze across the table. “The truth is, in our ignorance, we went poking around where we should not have. Not all the stories were friendly.”
Rarity nodded, sitting in silence. The room around them—an antechamber, forming the entrance to a suite of rooms. The Princess’ study and bedroom lay beyond two doors behind her, while sparse furniture covered the floor. Tapestries, clearly opulent in their day, hung over bare wooden walls, artworks salvaged but not yet restored. Spartan and austere, Rarity found herself idly wishing for the time to properly attend to the decor, and not just in the hastily-erected building housing the Princesses. While the fledgling town had found its roots, work continued on the castle, and the air of unease, the anticipation, maintained its dreary spectre, wrapping everypony in stifling gloom like a blanket on a stifling summer’s eve.
“But how could you have known,” Rarity said. “It is only natural to feel the urge to explore, to push beyond. It is, I think, something common between all of us,” spreading her hooves wide, “whether in my craft as an artist, or your archaeology.”
“Quite,” Celestia said. “And there is no sense in worrying about the past. Were I in full possession of all the knowledge I now hold, the Brightstream would have remained undisturbed. Alas, not even Chasers could bring about such a thing.” She took a sip of the liquid, though Rarity still felt hers too hot to attempt more than blowing vapour from its surface, and warming her hooves against the ceramic. “We must look to the future. The two of you, I suspect, share my views on how we may achieve such a thing.”
Rarity smiled, ducked her head, allowing a small part of her mane to fall in front of her face. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
“The time for subtlety is past, Rarity,” Celestia said. “I’ve seen your future, from both you and Rainbow Dash. It is something I aspire towards. Something bright.” She bit her lip. “Even so, you will know better than I the salient points in our discussion.”
“Brightstream Valley,” Rarity murmured.
“Pardon?”
Rarity cleared her throat. “Brightstream Valley. From . . . what I’ve learnt, it was a common place for younger foals to visit, in the hopes of attaining their Cutie Marks.”
“You do not know of the Valley?” Celestia paused, waved a hoof. “No, no, silly question.”
“Please, Princess, treat me as you might a child. Assume I know nothing of Cutie Marks, of Coromancy. Set aside Typhus for the moment. Of what significance is the Valley?”
“Very well,” Celestia said, leaning back. “The first thing to know is that everypony has a Cutie Mark. As a symbol, it denotes their talents, interests, identity. Some say it extends to their destiny, even.”
Rarity just nodded.
“Finding your Cutie Mark is more than just a rite of passage. It marks you as an adult, yes, but it also . . . unlocks, we would say, your true potential. Until a foal finds his or her Cutie Mark, for example, they are unable to use Coromancy.”
Rarity blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Yes, I thought that might surprise you,” Celestia said. “One of my teachers, decades—centuries—ago, mentioned something he termed a Spirit-Web. Receiving one’s Cutie Mark—though on this subject he remained vague, despite my best efforts—the gist was that the Cutie Mark changed something inherent in its recipient . . . that it allowed them to draw power through their foci and emotions. He was,” smiling, “very interested in all these inner workings.”
“I . . . see . . .”
“Enter Brightstream Valley. For years considered an idyllic retreat, it was eventually recognised as holding a statistically significant increase in the rate of Cutie Marks attained in close proximity to the Brightstream itself—the river that runs through the Valley. Foals from all over the country paid pilgrimage, in the hopes of finding their destiny there.”
“But why?” Rarity asked, her mind racing. “I mean, if the Brightstream accelerated Cutie Marks, then it must follow that Cutie Marks can be accelerated—that there exists some material or magic capable of . . .”
“Astute,” Celestia said. “Alas, as far as I have been able to tell . . . it exists as nothing more than a concentration of Harmonic power. Are Cutie Marks the same? A manifestation of each individual’s connection to that force? Quite possibly, though I would recommend a far greater investigation before arriving at such sweeping theories. It is true that Coromancy acts through an external force. ‘Tis just that—and even more so, these days—I find it difficult to believe that any explanation would stop at that.”
“And yet we must begin somewhere,” Rarity rejoined. “A greater understanding of the interplay between Cutie Marks and Coromantic potential could serve as a seed of something more refined.”
Celestia nodded. “Just so. However,” raising a hoof, “I must insist that we table this topic. As interesting as picking your brain might prove, we were talking about the Brightstream.”
Rarity sucked in a breath, paused, considering Celestia’s words. Finally, she released it, a long exhalation, and nodded back. “Very well.”
“The river is special, Rarity. Whatever happened to make it this way, I do not know. But you should see the waters. They glimmer and sparkle like nothing else. Submerge your head, and you might hear a choir of voices, calling out.” This last Celestia spoke with baited breath, subtle emphasis placed just so, to draw attention to the words. She met Rarity’s eyes with a knowing gaze.
Rarity looked away. The comparison stood out immediately: her mind, accustomed to searching for and finding patterns in everything she looked at, wasted no time in joining the dots. Still, she hesitated.
“An educated guess. I made the connection too, when I saw it in Rainbow’s memory. It is not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Twilight had told her about the inside of that river. The turbulent, churning waters. The struggle to hold herself together, to hold Rainbow together. The voices, entreating them both to give in, and give themselves away. “Twi—my friend—saw the Lethe as a . . . a personification, if you will, of Harmony. It didn’t bring the two of them together, it melded them, created one being in their place.”
“Brightstream has no properties matching those of the Lethe,” Celestia said with a frown. “Whatever conclusions your friend has drawn, they belong solely to that river, not this one.”
Rarity shook her head. “Typhus was found in Brightstream. You told me that yourself.”
“Yes,” Celestia breathed. “Or, to be specific, sort of. We followed the river. Back through the Valley, past the southern mountain ranges. I—we—thought that if we could find the source, we could . . . maybe puzzle out why the Brightstream was so important.”
“Instead, you woke a God. And the river’s source?”
“A vast pool,” Celestia said. “Waters still, churning, tidal, motionless. All at once. Words . . . do not suffice.”
“And the Brightstream? When Typhus was released . . .”
“You are thinking that He was its source. I have had the same thoughts. Unfortunately, any definitive study was precluded under the circumstances.”
“Ah,” Rarity said, and fell silent. Eventually, “The pool?”
Celestia nodded. “That’s what began my search for the Well. Where the Brightstream is well-known, the Well is only mentioned a few times, here and there . . . scattered about in the histories. It was either utterly insignificant, or . . . or information about it had been deliberately hidden away. I chose the latter.”
“Of course. What other recourse was available to you? To anypony?”
“Exactly.” Celestia sighed. “Luna was growing weaker by the day. It was everything we could do just to delay His advance, to try to retreat north faster than He could follow. We found little success even before I left.”
“What happened to them all? All the ponies swept up in His wake?” Rarity asked, eyes carefully studying Celestia’s face. “There have to be more of you than the scant thousand here.”
Celestia fidgeted, ruffling her wings and ducking her head. “They were swallowed whole.”
“All of them?” Rarity whispered.
“We called them Thralls. He . . . He took their minds, turned them against their own kin.”
Rarity sucked in a short breath. “The scouts Rainbow encountered. That’s why Luna’s still sending out patrols.”
“Yes. They’re still out there, Rarity. Tens, hundreds of thousands of ponies. The group Rainbow helped bring in was far from the only one.”
“The castle. You’re trying to build something defensible.”
“You thought it vanity?” Celestia gave a hollow chuckle. “No. This town will be overwhelmed, even with my sister and I, despite all the magic we can bring to bear. To be entirely honest, I doubt stone walls and a drawbridge will do much to change that. Even so, it is better to build than to dwell.”
“You already beat Him back. I saw it myself.” Rarity rejoined. The memory, still fresh in her mind despite the intervening weeks—months, nearly—stood out in sharp detail. Celestia, arcing across the sky as a spear of Sunlight; Luna, spinning, looking to her sister in shock and joy—the Storm, recoiling, turning inwards, caught in a moment, in the open wound Luna had forged around herself. Driven back, away. Ponies, alive and dead, revealed underneath His shadow.
“We . . . we imprisoned Him. All the way back to the Brightstream, to the Source in which we found Him, we flew. Harmony boiled in me, hotter than fire, than the Sun.” Celestia shifted in her seat. “It was transcendent, more than anything I’ve ever felt before. I was a part of everything, every tiny scrap of the entire world.”
“I couldn’t hold it back at first,” Celestia said. She stood, moved towards her bedroom. “Of course, the fury, the . . . the fire, that died down, little by little, as we pushed south. I didn’t know if it would be enough. But,” glancing back, “Luna was at my side, and . . . it was like riding a great wave forward. No time to think about the risk, about anything at all except going, doing. And most of it went to refashioning His prison. Not . . . not perfect, not as it was. But something.”
She disappeared behind the door, leaving Rarity to ponder. She didn’t think Celestia was hiding anything—the reaction to whatever she had taken away from their memories was enough to assuage her of that fear. Even so, it was so frustrating. Not even getting them, all, any of them, to divulge the right answers, no, just to ask them the right questions. This . . . Well, that Celestia described, like a repository of Harmonic power, it seemed incredibly important. Perhaps more so than any other element of the story slowly being revealed to her here. And yet they had still to mention the Veil, to even touch on the actual subject Rainbow and her had come so far to uncover. Surely their simple existence precluded defeat, in the here and now?
If Typhus really was awakening again, if he was to march on Equestria . . . would it be enough? Could she really be sure of that? Just because it had happened before?
And why did her Luna—nay, Celestia—not seem to remember anything?!
The door opened, Celestia emerging. Immediately, Rarity’s attention was drawn to the beautiful amulet around her neck—golden loops leading up around her neck, gracefully meeting each other at the top of an inset gemstone that lay over Celestia’s sternum. Rarity touched her own chest, remembering the feeling of the Element of Generosity, lying there.
“This . . . is what’s left of it,” Celestia said, gesturing at the jewellery. “After . . . everything, I couldn’t just hold it in myself. So, instead, I . . . fashioned it, into this. I . . . “ blushing, “I don’t really remember how. But I can still feel it in there. An ocean of power, just . . . waiting for me. Diminished greatly, but still so much more . . .”
“The Elements,” Rarity said.
Celestia opened her mouth, closed it, flicked her ears. “I thought they were catalysts, no? Your memories indicated only a rudimentary understanding, but also the generally accepted notion that they allowed you to draw more. Not that they were more.”
Rarity shook her head. “I’m not paying any credence to anything I thought I knew anymore. Patterns, that’s what will help us solve this.”
“Your future is . . . intoxicating. So warm. So devoid of all this conflict.” She sat back down, taking her necklace off before waving her arm towards the windows. “Even your enemies are tame in comparison. Nightmare Moon taunted you, Discord attacked your friendships, Chrysalis,” making a face, “sought to keep you all alive, if imprisoned. Would that our world was so taken with mercy.”
“I was certainly unprepared for this,” Rarity said. “It wasn’t easy, seeing even as little as I did of . . . everything. Sometimes I envy Rainbow her coma.”
“I can imagine your shock,” Celestia said, giving Rarity a warm smile. “Not everything is different.”
Rarity returned it as best she was able. “No. Not everything.”
They sat in silence for some time, sipping at their tea. Rarity’s cup had sufficiently cooled, and she found the flavours remarkable: a rustic combination that couldn’t quite mask an acrid aftertaste. Nonetheless, the presence of tea even here managed to calm her nerves, soothe her mind, and she found herself slowly unwinding, sinking back into her chair. She’d need a proper spa treatment or three after all this. For now, though, the tea would do.
“Do you enjoy it?” Celestia asked. “The Wardens brought all sorts of seeds with them. Frivolous, perhaps, but one can hardly fault their diligence.”
“It is lovely,” Rarity said with a sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to simply sit back like this.”
Celestia made a small noise of agreement.
All too soon, though, the peace faded. She began to fidget, the silence turning from calm to oppressive, small aches appearing in her flanks where she lay on the chair. She stood, moved about the room, taking long steps to stretch out her legs.
Celestia sighed, eyes tracking Rarity about the room. “Luna’s worrying me.”
“How so?”
“She is more . . . abrasive, shall we say? At least,” frowning, “when I remember her, it is always with a smile. That was one of the things I loved about her.”
“Her smile?”
“Her positivity. Her optimism. Not . . . not even the way you remember her—or me, for that matter. Not convinced of the goodness in everypony. Luna, my Luna, followed the path of justice, and all the punishment that entailed. An edge that seems dulled in your mind. No, she believed in change. That even though we weren’t there yet, we were still moving forward. Always moving forward.”
“I . . . see.”
“You can’t,” Celestia said, wearing a weary smile. “Of course you can’t. ‘Tis no surprise, given the disparity between your Luna and mine. But you will have to take it from me: she is harder, now. Quicker to judge, and less eager to . . . “ she waved a hoof, searching for words, “to embrace change, I suppose.”
“She’s been through a war,” Rarity noted. “As horrible as your journey must have been, it pales next to the experience of fighting Him back, on the frontlines. Witnessing the destruction, the death . . .”
“I know. Still I am worried.”
Rarity didn’t know what to say.
“You also remember Nightmare Moon. Not pleasant memories, those.”
“No. But we saved her.”
“I know. More interesting to me is what happened afterwards. Luna, emerging . . . fragile. Young.”
“I always thought the Nightmare had taken most of her strength with it,” Rarity said, shrugging. “She recovered before too long.”
“There was power in the Nightmare, yes,” Celestia said. “But compare, contrast. I’m sure you’ve recognised Luna’s armour, in the here and now.”
She could still see it, despite the intervening months. Obsidian, argent, flashing over a war-torn battlefield. Light glinting off hard edges. Lightning, ice, rain, a hurricane boiling underneath her hooves. “I thought . . . when we first arrived,” Rarity said. “Thought it was her.”
“Rainbow comatose. Typhus looming far above you. Bodies all around, falling, bleeding, dying. And . . . the Moon. Risen to hang over the horizon, so large as to swamp out the entire sky. Luna told you to be cautious. To be circumspect. To question, investigate, consider. In so many words: to be paranoid.”
“And the Nightmare,” Rarity finished.
Celestia smiled a sad smile. “Is that why you’ve held back, Rarity?” She leaned forward, fixing Rarity in place with a hard gaze.
“No,” Rarity said, leaning back into her seat reflexively. “I don’t under-”
Celestia cut her off. “Why you don’t simply See your answers. You’ve the power to do so. Your Spiritweb may not be connected to the ponies around here, but to Luna? To myself?”
“You’re different,” Rarity said, trying to find her footing.
The shift in the conversation, so abrupt, from placid calm and a chance to centre herself, find some way to move forwards to a hailstorm, pounding on her chest. Celestia didn’t give her the chance to consider her answers, the chance to find her balance against this line of attack—suddenly she realised that even she was now perceiving this as a battle, where surely Celestia had been thinking of it as such from the very beginning, each party vying for information, for control . . .
“I know,” Celestia said. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? Have I described you accurately, Seer? Have I found the chink in your armour?”
“This was a mistake,” Rarity said, leaving her cup on the table as she rose from her seat.
“No,” Celestia said. “You’re from our future. You’re incapable of making a mistake. Self-consistency. That’s why Chasers tend to use their power the least, of all the Coromancers I’ve known.”
Rarity didn’t answer, turning to leave.
“Fear, Rarity!” came the call from behind her. “You are ruled by your fear!”
What the Veil will turn me into is something unreasoning. Something mad. That is as it must be, for Celestia’s legends to prove themselves true. Our sister’s game is to redeem you from yourself—from me. To convince you of a sin you never bore at all.
Forty-Seven
LUNA HADN’T ACTUALLY EXPECTED him to give in so readily. She’d made her threats and promises carefully, yes—doing her best to try to understand what the foal might have wanted, what he stood to gain, but even so . . . It appeared that she had overplayed her hoof. Annoying, actually, in that it precipitated a confrontation.
Oh, she’d known this was coming. She had felt Celestia arrive just moments earlier: finally, finally deciding to involve herself, it seemed, and there was no way her sister could have known the Crystal Heart had been found. She ground her teeth together as she flew, wings spread wide to catch the air and turn her descent into a long, graceful glide.
Unavoidable, inevitable—there was that word again—that this would happen. If she had been less forceful, perhaps, or stronger, more insistent . . . one day, either way, could have made all the difference. But no, that was in the past.
Was she ready? Ah, now there’s a salient question. And truth be told, Luna wasn’t sure. Her arguments were marshaled, her conviction firm. She’d never been one to back away from a philosophical debate. Still, there remained a nagging hole to her mind. Something she couldn’t work out, o-or, some piece of missing information that would make everything line up neatly.
The trouble was, she didn’t quite trust herself. There remained a . . . a box, for lack of a better description, in her mind. A mental process she was not privy to. She took in information, learnt details, heard testimony and rhetoric, and somewhere along the way, she reacted. The box provided emotional responses, leapt to conclusions, formed assessments. Even now, looking back—the logic behind her decisions seemed unassailable. But she couldn’t answer why.
Perhaps she was simply too close to everything. Always a possibility—that she might be overlooking some crucial angle. Perhaps.
How she wished Rainbow and Rarity had managed to return! They had the luxury of time, they could have arrived mere hours after they left, had they so chosen. Their prolonged absence was another worry, and not just insofar as it robbed Luna of her proof.
She alighted gently on the cool stone at the base of the Crystal Palace. Pinkie Pie was not here, nor was the dragon, Daerev. Who else? Twilight stood ahead, to the side, and had brought Trixie with her. Celestia was still in the Palace proper, likely accompanying their niece. They would not remain absent long. The crowd surrounding them had broken out in a fresh wave of murmurs as she arrived, watching to see what new dynamic Luna brought with her. But they could not challenge her—could not speak for the future of the world.
Ah. She saw it now—the way he had leveraged expectation. He leaned against the pedestal, the Crystal Heart held loosely in one hoof. Tense, though he was trying to appear calm. And yet they waited, watched. Frozen in the moment, in the belief that this one held the power. A hostage-taker with only the illusion of a hostage. If he could have used it, he would have. At least this one, she understood—felt his pain deep in her bones. She’d experienced something similar to it, in the days following Moon’s Rise. The isolation of the outsider, the loneliness of standing in the midst of a crowd, assured of their separation: the distance behind each smiling face. A child that knew only that he was different, but never how.
“Well,” she said, to nopony in particular. The first thing to do would be to appear in control. “I had hoped to delay this further.”
All eyes turned to her. “You knew?” Twilight said.
Briefly, Luna entertained the idea of clearing the area. She was acutely aware of the crowd of ponies gathered around them. Listening to every word, judging every statement. They didn’t change anything, not exactly, but rather heightened the moment. Any misstep, a single poorly-chosen word, and how easy it would be to mis-characterise her arguments!
But no. She would not stifle debate, nor shy away from the danger. And they would keep the others honest, as well. A double-edged sword, then.
“In a way,” Luna said, deliberately side-stepping the question. “I believe this was always going to happen, eventually.” Trixie was frowning, no doubt remembering back to their dreamscape conversation. “Is it not better to prepare, with our eyes wide open?”
“Knowledge is pure,” Twilight concurred. “But it is not inherently good, either. I won’t let you re-frame this debate at will, Princess.” She bowed low as she spoke, a duality to her that Luna had not expected. Defiance and submission, challenge and respect.
Luna smiled. “And this debate is . . .?”
Unfortunately for her, Boundless chose that moment to speak up. “I was promised, Princess, an explanation. And now that you’re here”—relaxing, lowering his shoulders, arms—”perhaps you would like to explain.”
“My words for you are not part of the public domain,” Luna said, already prepared for the wash that ran through the crowd—the surprise that touched Twilight, Trixie. “I expect more circumspection if you wish us to meet you halfway. I suggest you instead use your time here to fight for the opportunity to conduct a discussion in a private setting.”
“You did know!” Twilight said, stepping forward. “Luna, seriously, stop for a moment and just talk to me. I . . . I feel like you’ve been running rings around us. Playing both sides.”
“There aren’t any sides here,” Luna said. “No lines drawn in the sand. No preconceptions.”
“That’s preposterous!” Twilight cried. “This,” pointing her hoof, “is Boundless. He murdered Shining Armour!”
Luna winced—noting as she did so a similar expression flash across Trixie’s face. Nothing, of course, in comparison to the reaction of the crowd, which recoiled visibly. It was growing still, and the hushed murmurs: ponies listening carefully and quietly passing the words towards the back, only grew louder, building towards a rumbling crescendo.
Luna rolled her shoulders, stood a little straighter, lit her horn, and spread her wings. “Yes,” she said, her voice booming out over the crowd. More gently, “yes, he is. And he will answer for his crimes. But this is hardly a courtroom, nor a session of Court. None of us qualify as-”
“Then arrest him!”
“I wonder why you haven’t done that yourself, Twilight.” A new voice, approaching through the crowd—ponies backing away, bowing low, their uproar, already muted by Luna’s display, now fully quashed into silence. “Surely there is no need for all this drama,” Celestia said, Cadence at her side. She lifted a wing. “Take him into custody. We can discuss this further in the Palace.”
“No,” Luna said, squaring herself.
Now, that brought the attention—already burning bright—to a fever pitch. Idly, Luna cast her mind back. When was the last time the two sisters had dared disagree so emphatically, so publicly? Not since Moon’s Rise, surely. She carefully hid a sour face as memories of that night spread unbidden through all those assembled.
Before Celestia could respond, Luna cleared her throat. “Equestria has not historically made a point of making its policy decisions public, an attitude I continue to question. However,” bowing her head, “I defer to your wisdom in this matter, dear sister. It is not this point of contention that stays my horn, but rather, a decided lack of ability.”
Luna raised a hoof to forestall Celestia’s frown. “Oh, any one of us might easily overpower him. Even, wrest the Crystal Heart from his possession, place him in chains wrought of iron and magic. ‘Tis a trifling matter.” She noticed her speech falling back into old patterns. She gave herself an imperceptible shake. “You have heard, I trust, from your faithful student of old, the full spectrum of Boundless’ talents. Including, we—I—note, a penchant for breaking free of any and all attempts to restrain him. Herein lies my argument: he represents the crux of something unstoppable, something inevitable, such that all we may do is delay. Else, we must take steps to prevent his action, permanently.”
As she spoke she let her eyes scan the crowd. Many refused to meet her gaze, shying away, or kicking at the ground, others were nodding ever so slightly, at least until the end. Her sister held her shock carefully, hid it in the rigidity of her stance and the billowing of her mane, but Luna saw the slight twisting of her muzzle, the narrowing of her eyes. Cadence offered no judgements, not yet, while Twilight had gone so far as to close her eyes, swaying slightly in the breeze, and Trixie stared at Boundless, her own muzzle drawn taut.
Boundless himself was attempting to observe stoically, though the small smile, the quite-perceptible straightening of his back, all confirmed the wash of warmth that must have suffused him as Luna placed his life so squarely in the national interest . . .
“You speak of a Passion,” Celestia said. “E’en so, dear sister, I find the idea of debating with a known murderer in full view and earshot of the public both nauseating and dangerous. Surely it is not outside of our abilities to relocate, if not postpone. If he posed any threat beyond rhetoric, I submit that we would be feeling its effects already.”
Too true. And hadn’t Luna been all for postponing, just moments ago? She remembered . . . she wanted confirmation.
“Rhetoric poses no danger before Honesty,” Luna quoted from memory. “Thus spoke Yellow-Tooth, as you well know. The truth is never something to fear, dear sister. Again, I defer to your wisdom. Merely, hear a word of caution. That which can be destroyed by the truth, must be.”
Or was her sudden desire for the court of public opinion nothing more than an abdication—a surrender to the all-encompassing doubt that swirled in her mind? She believed what she was saying, yes, but the box in her mind, the nagging sensation of confusion refused to tell her why.
“You need not quote Harmonic scholars at me,” Celestia said. “But it begets us not to move rashly. We lose nothing by considering our options before deciding upon the best course of action.”
“Princess Celestia is right,” Twilight said. “And so in Princess Luna. I . . . I think there’s an incredible danger here. One we can’t afford to dance around anymore. Delaying these deliberations—hiding things about the nature of the world—got my brother killed. I- I feel, through the Element of Magic, a . . . a swelling. A build-up.” She sighed. “Equally, it is tempting fate to give him an open floor in full earshot of the populace. Any serious discussion must necessarily include you, Luna—surely that is safeguard enough, against falsehood? And against the eventuality of hiding our words—our thoughts?”
Luna stared, mouth ajar just an inch. The sense of growth was something she could relate to, though till now she had not named it as such. But given the words, having her discussions named—yes, that would explain elements of her desperation, her growing willingness to act against . . . Was it enough?
Eventually, she found her voice. Nodding, “I agree, and accept. Know, citizens, that I regret the decision to shroud these matters from you. I will fight to bring you an accurate summary as soon as I am able.”
Cadence chose that moment to speak up. “My Empire. My rules. I won’t allow that”—pointing at Boundless—“to hold any more sway over us than already ceded to him. Cover us.”
Luna lit her horn, sweeping her head to shroud the surrounding area with magic. A deep mist, midnight black and studded with motes of faintest light, began to seep up from the cobblestones, from the pillars of crystal around the plaza. The crowd, acting as one, took a few steps back as the mist thickened around them, quickly gaining in consistency until it was a fog, so heavy and oppressive it weighed on them, pressing them down physically. In moments, they were, for all intents and purposes, alone.
Trixie and Boundless made little effort to hide their interest—the spell being utterly unlike any soundproofing or veiling effect they’d ever encountered before. Celestia and Twilight allowed themselves small nods, smiles. Cadence—ah. Yet to take her eyes off of Boundless. Therein lay the tension. Could she—no. Too risky. And Cadence deserved better.
“There,” Twilight said. “Does this suffice?”
Celestia was nodding. “Quite. Though I find his continued possession of the Heart troubling.”
“How did he get it?” Trixie said, peering at the artifact, still held gently in Boundless’ hoof.
“Traitors,” Cadence said. “No others could have removed it from its pedestal. They will be found, and dealt with.”
“Okay,” Twilight said, trotting across to her sister-in-law. “Alright. I’ll help you with that, in time. Just, Boundless first.”
Wordlessly, Twilight pressed up against Cadence’s side.
“This private enough for you, then?” Boundless spoke up, raising his voice to ensure he talked over any other interjection. “You promised me answers, Princess. I’m just as fed up with this as anypony else. All I want—all I’ve ever wanted, in some respects—is to know why.”
“What’s he talking about, Luna?” Celestia said.
“She helped him,” came a new voice, somehow penetrating through the fog. Luna felt nothing—could not sense movement or waves of sound through her magic, an impossibility that could only be attributed to one soul.
Pinkie Pie, walking calmly through the black void, speaking all the while. “She handed it to him. Asked—told—me not to chase.”
“Pinkie,” Twilight started. “We spoke about this. I’m sure the Princess has good reasons for what she’s doing.”
“So let’s hear them, then,” Pinkie said. “But I don’t want to hear any more high-minded justifications. I- I can’t laugh at sorrow.”
So mistrustful. So full of . . . was it anger, truly, at its heart? A frustration with the world? No, Luna was more astute than that generalisation—had experienced in full the vague complexities of guilt. Here, she reaped the fruit of her actions, the seeds so carefully planted. A betrayal, a sense of loss, more than anything else a change, and no way to know how to react to it.
Necessary, she told herself. Necessary, and inevitable.
“I thought Daerev was with you,” Twilight said, almost as an aside.
Pinkie nodded. “He can’t get through the barrier.”
Ah. Luna nodded, reached through her magic to find the drake, opened a narrow tunnel for him to follow. Moments later, he joined the circle—conspicuously moving around the group to find his place, beside Trixie, if still some distance away.
Luna took a moment to observe them all, now that all had arrived. All that could arrive, anyway. Boundless, against the pedestal, to her right. Celestia nearly directly opposite her, Pinkie to her sister’s left, Cadence her right. Twilight and Trixie opposite Boundless and nigh-equidistant between Luna and Celestia. Daerev at Luna’s left—Trixie’s right.
How simple it seemed, laid out like that. How . . . clearly defined.
Celestia cleared her throat. “Luna? I believe we were awaiting an explanation. The time for hiding”—ah, yes, now Luna could see the disappointment in her sister, read it in every shifting of her body, every movement of her mane, every crease flowing over her face—”if there ever was one, is over.”
Luna nodded. “I trust we are all familiar enough with recent history that I may skip over the less salient details. Upon returning from my . . . sojourn? Perhaps, if I may, exile? . . . outside of Equestria, I found myself clad anew in the raiment of our old enemy, Nightmare Moon. Swiftly trumped in import by the events in Canterlot, I nonetheless continued investigations into the armour itself—for surely some secret pertaining to the years locked away from my memory lay within. Many of you, I think, have an . . . incomplete picture of what I have concluded, having engaged several of you in various aspects of my investigation.
“Twilight, to you I gave some of the armour, and charged you with your own research. For this, I must apologise yet again, ‘twas a terribly timed attempt to provide an outlet—a measure of calm, in the aftermath of your family’s tragedy. And yet you accomplished, with an application of Coromancy in some respects beyond me, what I had not: the exposure of a communication, left behind. Etched in oceans of hatred.”
Twilight was nodding, her mouth drawn tight. But Trixie’s eyes had widened, some inner realisation taking place. She glanced across at Twilight, but held her tongue.
“Trixie, I appeared in your dreams. We discussed, among other things, your erstwhile compatriot, Boundless. There I first encountered the notion of an external force acting upon us. Choosing, in a sense, for us.”
“The Veil,” Twilight said, nodding.
“That’s what the Nightmare named it, yes. That’s what Agyrt asked me to investigate, in the south. I don’t know why he pushed me out there. Beyond its geographical limitations. But I have come to believe—through the Nightmare, through the mystery of what delayed me so, and through the on-going actions of this child of mine,” Luna held her breath as she gestured at Boundless, but they held their tongues, for now,”—that the Veil is hiding from us a threat unlike anything Equestria has faced before. Something truly foreign, vague, nebulous, titanic. Something so huge as to necessitate this great spell.”
“Told you so,” Twilight said, glancing at Celestia, who tightened her mouth. “But . . . Luna? Your child?”
Luna took a deep breath. “Of a sort. The Nightmare told me that during Moon’s Rise, when it had control over Equestria, it expended only the tiniest fraction of its energies on hindering your acquisition of the Elements of Harmony. Much of what remained went towards a . . . temporary suspension of the Veil. I . . . well, I suppose I halted it—prevented it from affecting anypony, at least until the Nightmare was purged from my body.”
“Oh, hay,” Celestia said—the expletive strong, or at least unexpected, enough to cause everypony to halt, mouths half-open, muscles taut—”He was born then, wasn’t he? And so dodged the Veil’s imposition ‘gainst murder.”
Luna bowed her head. “Some paranoia within me suspects this to be all of her design. A mad plan, sixteen years and change in effect. Her messages reveal that she was well aware of the Veil during our exile on the moon. Twilight can speak as to their content.”
“Yes. More than that, though. It came across as if the Nightmare was . . . walking into a trap. Willingly sacrificing herself.”
Luna cut back in. “She said that Equestria would regard her as a villain. As a monster. That she was fully expecting to be corrupted, herself—that by the time she returned to Equestria the Veil would have cast her in that role. Which begs the question, if we believe her, and if this message wasn’t fabricated somehow . . . what was she before?”
Gratifying, to know that she could still plan, and see her plans through. Twilight had acted exactly as Luna had expected. Empathy, the unicorn’s highest virtue, was remarkably universal in its application. Luna turned to her sister.
“When Agyrt sent me beyond the Veil, he did so with specific words—and mention of the Guiding Light. There’s a title I’ve not held in a millennium.” Celestia’s jaw was clenched. She’d seen it coming—perhaps too late. “In fact, I recall bringing his words to your attention, sister,” Luna said. “I recall you denying any knowledge of the Veil at all.”
None here were stupid. They didn’t leap forward with questions, or accusations. Twilight, of course, had already worked it out—she was primary to the facts, after all, whereas the others were working off second-hand knowledge. She glanced at Boundless, who gave her a delighted smile, more than content to wait, and watch.
Celestia sighed. She bit her lip, eyes dancing about the group. Then, “Do you think I’ve done nothing, these past ten years?”
“What?” Damn.
“After you disappeared, I sought answers, sister. Obviously. And where better than the source of the mad errand that had taken you from me once more.”
“Agyrt,” Luna said.
“He was . . . well, I persuaded him. All I know of the Veil comes from him.
“And?” Luna asked.
“The Veil has protected us since the inception of Equestria,” Celestia said. “No external threat has posed any difficulties, either—regardless of how aware we are of them. Because when they cross the Veil, when they enter Equestria, they find themselves . . . changed.”
“Nightmare Moon,” Luna said, narrowing her eyes. The information was not new. But still she staggered, scrambled—sought time, to think of another angle. Better than nothing, yes, though not one-tenth of what she’d hoped for. To catch Celestia is an outright lie, to have that fact known, proven, before all here . . . though, was she so antagonistic? Luna sent a question inwards, and received no answer.
“And Discord,” Celestia said. “And Chrysalis. And Sombra. And many, many others.”
“Agyrt told me of Typhus,” Daerev said. “When he sent me here, with Pinkie. Sent us after Boundless. Actually,” reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck,” he told me to help him.”
Luna snorted. “This Agyrt has some answers owed us, I think.”
“Quite,” Celestia said. Her eyes were hard, shining, boring.
But Pinkie had spun at Daerev’s words, turned away, strode firmly towards Celestia, towards Cadence and Twilight. There she stood, mouth firmly shut, staring into the space between them all.
Daerev watched her for a moment, before returning to the conversation. “Typhus is . . . well, as you say, Princess,” nodding to Celestia,” a threat. But, bigger. On a different scale entirely.”
“If Agyrt is to be believed,” Celestia said.
Daerev frowned. “I believe him. I don’t necessarily agree with him, always,” with a glance at Pinkie,” but I believe him. At least, I believe that he believes.”
“If I may,” Trixie said, looking about the group. “What, exactly, are we doing here? It’s just . . . well, I mean, what’s this got to with him?” gesturing at Boundless with her horn. “Or with the Crystal Heart?”
“You are aware, of course, of how Boundless was able to free you from the Veil’s influence,” Luna said, then held up a hoof. “Indulge me, and inform us?”
“I- Well . . . it was, I was weak. I . . . I suppose he pushed me, little by little. Each step growing—not under his hoof, so to speak, but . . . growing in fear. I was terrified by him, by his capacity. A-and that fear drove me to . . . not to act. Not exactly. To obey.” Trixie’s throat had started trembling. “It wasn’t a choice, anymore. All that was left was the execution of his will.”
“Dissolution of self,” Luna said, nodding. “I observed the same pattern in Hornwall. Though he did not take the time he did with you, Trixie, there Boundless was able to forcibly break the Veil over just a few ponies. What was the success rate, again?”
“About half,” Boundless said. “The others died.”
“Murdered by their comrades, I should think,” Luna said. “In the very act of freeing them.”
Boundless nodded.
“Luna . . .”
“A mere moment, sister,” Luna said. “The act of murder is utterly prohibited by the Veil. The morality of that prohibition aside, it is therefore clear that committing the act of murder is what freed these souls from the Veil. And yet, how could they have freed themselves, when the means to do so is so staunchly locked away.”
“Oh,” Twilight said. “I see.” She turned to look at Trixie. “I suppose its possible.”
Luna gave her a tight smile. “Probably, I would say. Given everything else.”
“Just say it,” Daerev said, one claw held against his face. “I can’t be the only one getting tired of talking in circles.”
“Dissolution of self,” Luna repeated. “Both Trixie and the individuals freed in Hornwall were able to act because they weren’t acting out of their own will. Something stronger than fear, as Trixie put it. She claims it wasn’t a choice. I believe her. And that is a powerful secret indeed.”
Trixie had shrunk in on herself, eyes locked on the ground before her. She sucked in a great lungful of air, shook herself all over, as if shaking water from her fur, and spoke: “And this is relevant how, exactly?”
“The Crystal Heart,” Luna said simply. To Boundless, “Why did you take the Heart?”
“At first, curiosity,” he said. “I . . . wanted to understand. To know the difference, rather than just see it. I’d heard, read, that it connected emotions. That was . . . appealing. And when I’d made Trixie like me, when I’d set her free, too, I knew that I could give that gift to others.
“And then we were attacked. I was left stranded—chest shattered, floating in a river. Trixie taken away by Twilight, there.”
He had their full attention, now, Twilight even reacting slightly as he spoke. She remembered the incident, though Luna couldn’t bring herself to blame Twilight for the supposed injuries.
“And I met a dragon.”
“Ugh!” Pinkie cried out, throwing her front hooves into the air before stomping them down hard. “This is getting super old!” She pointed at Boundless. “So even you’ve been manipulated by that . . . that . . .” she scrunched her face up, muzzle working furiously, but no more sound issued forth.
“We . . . don’t know it was . . .”
“No,” Daerev said. “It’s Agyrt. Don’t be stupid.”
“Well, that’s just bloody brilliant,” Twilight said. “Anypony else? Any other contact we should know about?”
“Oh,” Twilight said. “Of course. That makes it better.”
But Boundless was still grinning. “He told me to go get the Heart. To bring it back to him.”
“The second reason,” Luna said. “But why . . . it doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
“We can deal with Agyrt’s machinations, such as they are, at another date.”
“I concur,” Celestia said. “Today is for Boundless.”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Trixie asked. “Maybe we can’t restrain him, but that doesn’t mean we can’t trap him. Leave him in the middle of a desert—little hut, and so on. Teleport food and water to him now and then. He can’t leave without dying from thirst.”
Luna blinked. “That . . . is an elegant solution, if cold-hearted.”
Twilight spoke up. “He was isolated. Terribly cut-off—disconnected from society. His Passion doesn’t make him a threat, nor-”sharing a glance with Trixie”-does his ability to murder. He can learn empathy. We all can—no. We all must.”
“Doesn’t deserve to,” Cadence said, returning Twilight’s shocked look with a glare.
“Irrelevant,” Boundless said, waving his hoof. “I refuse your gifts, much as you refuse mine.”
“Not quite,” Luna said. “To the crux of the matter, finally. I . . . had wished to be better understood, a’fore this came to a head.”
“And you wished that Rainbow and Rarity might have returned,” Celestia said.
Luna shook her head, gracing her sister with a small smile. “Nevertheless, I propose that we make use of Boundless’ talents to bring down the Veil.”
“I cannot allow that,” Celestia said. “Lulu . . . please. Is there no other way?”
“No. I demand at least that I hear your arguments, sister—and that those gathered here hear mine.”
Maybe she had misjudged Celestia. Her sister seemed . . . heartlessly vague, at times—often with decisions that seemed outright nonsensical. She’d assumed that Celestia would be her greatest obstacle here: that she must manoeuvre and outmanoeuvre even to take the public opinion. It seemed so, so black and white, so clear cut in her head. The truth or a lie. A falsehood in exchange for a false peace.
And yet here Celestia was, quietly admitting knowledge of her plans. Defusing her attacks with gentleness. Refusing—blatantly, to Luna’s ears—to pick up the tools, weapons, she had carefully lain at Celestia’s hooves. The knowledge of Nightmare Moon’s role. The message engraved in her armour. Was she the only one to suspect an abiding influence, then? A paralytic sense of doubt, doubt that followed from the ominous box inside her mind—and from the Veil itself.
“The Veil is safety. You cannot argue with results. And here we have heard testimony that Boundless’ inception was the result of an unprecedented event—that of an outsider planning, over a thousand years, to carry attack within the Veil. It . . . it would require fundamental knowledge of the spell-work. Not that I am suggesting the Nightmare was in some way responsible for its creation—else why attack it?—but merely that she was likely there. Who else could pose such a threat?”
“A false sense of safety, sister,” Luna said. “Because it is predicated on entrapment. Merely look at the devastation wrought in Hornwall to see the folly of that belief. See what their ignorance of morality—see what the reliance on a higher form of good does, when that higher form can be stripped away. Must we not develop in ourselves that strength? As Trixie has, underneath Twilight’s tutelage? And is not the truth more valuable, even, than . . .” she tilted her head, tongue flicking out as she sought words “. . . some optimisation of happiness?”
“The Forest,” Trixie whispered.
But “Yes,” Boundless said. “Yes, Princess. It must come from within.”
“I . . . I am not sure you should listen to me,” Daerev said. “But is this not like the changelings? Ah, a homogenisation of life? It sounds to me that everypony, everything in Equestria is by definition approaching life from the same groundwork, the same root prohibitions. How can we diverge when we work from the same building blocks, save only in the most fatuous sense?”
“No, no,” Celestia said. “It is . . . a framework. A guideline. Not a prison.”
“A playpen,” Twilight said, “that we can grow beyond.”
“At risk of what,” Pinkie said, “a bruise? A broken bone? A life?!”
“At risk of sorrow,” Twilight said. “Of anger, and hatred. And of aspiration. And hope.”
“You would listen to this monster,” Cadence said, staring at Luna. “At this thing. And agree with it?”
“No,” Trixie said, breath hitching. “Not monsters. Nor slaves. That’s a . . . a false dichotomy. A wrong question. We can be both, or neither.” She looked around. “I’m proof of that, if nothing else. I- I was a slave, first. Then a monster. Now . . . something else.”
“Something better,” Twilight said.
“You want to turn all of the Empire—all of Equestria—into him?!” Cadence, yelling, thrust a hoof at Boundless while moving forward to glare at Luna. “Oh, spare me, Auntie, there is nothing useful about that transgression. That anypony would require . . . it is insulting. To me, to Twilight, to Shining Armour.”
“Celestia’s right,” Pinkie said, though her ears were drooping, her mane clinging to her neck. She spoke despondent, “It limits sorrow. You argue for higher goods—by exposing yourselves to greater pain. Except . . . haven’t we been happy? This Veil has done nothing to limit the beauty of life. Only . . . only preserve it.”
“Ignorance is not bliss,” Luna said, sharply. “This is why you’ve kept Coromancy so tight-lipped, sister, is it not? That widespread knowledge of our Arts might threaten the utopia created for us?”
Celestia dipped her head. “In a sense. The Veil was not my ultimate outcome, though safety was. Coromancy has never been a solution—it merely intensifies. Good and bad.”
Luna snorted. “I’ve no doubt.”
“But why now?” This last from Cadence. “We’ve the monster in our power. We even have means of dispatching him, finally—and twice over, at that,” casting sidelong glances at Trixie, and Daerev. “Why force this issue now, save for this nebulous threat, this Typhus . . . of whom the only word we have is that of the Nightmare and a deceiver who has been playing every side and more besides!”
“Because we have an opportunity, now,” Luna said. “Both the tools and the knowledge to use them. I said before that the reason Boundless had come here—had targeted the Crystal Heart—was that it bore the means to . . . “expand his range”. We cannot allow him to do so as he has before. But.
“The Crystal Heart shares emotions. I believe, done properly, we can use it, with him. That we can . . . co-opt his intentions. That we can tear down the Veil.”
“Oh, not me, sister,” Luna said. “I am subject to the same restrictions as the rest of you. No, I am not the one you have to fear, save that I will not let you take away their right to choose!”
The black mist swirled around the party, not so much gathering speed as gaining turbulence.
“Her?” Celestia turned on Trixie, faced the mare squarely. “You would have her decide the fate of Equestria? Very likely set in motion events that will lead to the deaths of hundreds of thousands?! Madness, Luna!”
“Oh, this is rich,” Boundless said, stepping forward. The Crystal Heart sparkled in his grasp. “I should think, Princess, that if there is a choice to be made, it should be mine. That is, after all, why I was born. Is it not?”
His horn caught light, and a brown translucent sliver of magic appeared in the air before him. Almost immediately, a swathe of magical auras surrounded it—purple, gold, and bright pink—but it swept through them like butter. He snarled, held the blade up towards his own throat.
“Mother,” he said, looking squarely at Luna. “I don’t think I want to play anymore.”
Hatred is often misunderstood. Once, we both knew it as love. I pray you remember that. Should you ever wish more of me, you have only to reach out. Tartarus itself could not keep me from you.
I’m sorry, Luna, for everything that has befallen us. Everything that will befall us, should my plans come to fruition. And . . . farewell.
Forty-Eight
TENSION. Everyone still, taut, a spring teetering on the brink of release. Boundless stared at Luna, waiting. One line yet to cross. One boundary he still hadn’t broken.
Emotions tumbled through Luna like a waterfall, intermingling until she couldn’t tell what was what, underneath the terrible intensity, the all-powerful rush. Savagely, she reined herself in, held the magic at bay.
“The Crystal Heart connects to its user, and from them to others,” Luna said. She observed her words almost impartially, heard them as cold, clinical, dry. “Sages, like Twilight, Trixie, or my sister. Natives of the Empire, like Cadence. They can amplify a signal, send it outwards.”
“I will not,” Cadence spat. She burned, her pink fur almost incandescent, shimmering in the sun.
“Lulu,” Celestia was whispering. “Must you? I . . . I don’t think I can do this again . . .”
But Pinkie was leaping about, now, spitting out balloons and streamers and reasons to live as if they were curses, hurling them at Boundless like physical weapons, and Twilight’s head was bowed, Trixie now by her side, listening intently, and Daerev had moved forward, not quite daring to intercept Cadence’s line of sight to Boundless, and Boundless himself had squared his shoulders, a line of blood running from the side of his throat where his magic clenched itself . . .
Conflict and desperation. A future she could see, so clearly, laid out for Equestria. Had Seen, in her visions of his victims and disciples. She could not fool herself about this. Thousands would surely die. Thousands more—tens of thousands—would find themselves out of homes, on the streets, refugees in their own country. Upheaval, sudden and cataclysmic. That is what she risked. What she paid.
Did she not believe? In the goodness inherent, in the inner light? That when offered the choice, they would choose to repudiate it, to turn away, and that that was something more beautiful, more righteous than any shackle? That in the unfeeling, implacable march of Nature, it was in Life that one found light?
And what of the Veil? Set aside Nightmare Moon. Set aside the murmurs and doubts. More than just a prohibition on murder, more than a moral prison, it had shaped memories and imposed limits. What if she didn’t destroy it. What if it persisted, millennium in the future?
Luna had no difficulty imaging that scenario at all. That was the problem, really. She knew how she had acted, spoken, prior to Moon’s Fall. She knew how society had functioned.
The differences—between that of a thousand years ago, and right now—were minimal. Modes of address, language, had been . . . modernised. Recently, there had been some small technological advances. They certainly hadn’t had trains back in the day. Those—to be honest, largely the result of policies Luna had implemented. Even the University of Canterlot emphasised scholarship and philosophy over science, preferring to spend time in circular debate of age-old texts than to develop curiosity, talent, hope . . .
They hadn’t even expanded all across Equestria. Appleloosa was proof enough of that. A thousand years. How the population hadn’t exploded beyond control, what with the reduced death rates, escaped Luna. Eventually, it would. Eventually, there would be nothing left for ponies.
Breaking past the Veil—past this fear of death—was more than inevitable, it was necessary. It had to happen. For future generations. For the advancement, at long last, of a stagnating culture, brought low not by ill-will or dissenting opinion but by their lack.
She knew she was being quick to judge. She knew the evidence, the truth, lay buried in centuries of census data, in documentation of scientific growth, in records and histories meticulously stored in Canterlot. She also knew what she would find there. She could feel it, in her gut, her heart, her head. And how could she believe that there wasn’t something better, out there? To do so was anathema to her being, to the idea of movement, change, growth. Were Equestria the zenith, then . . . then there would be no more reason to strive.
That was the moment Luna gave up on the idea of a utopia.
“Luna,” Celestia was moving towards her, her face torn, tears running freely across her cheeks. “Please, Lulu . . .”
“You don’t even know yourself,” Luna said, reaching out to embrace Celestia. “You can’t even say . . .”
“I’m . . .”
They clung to each other.
***
Trixie had her head tucked in to her chest, eyes firmly fixed on the ground at her hooves, attention focused on Twilight.
“-and it took me years just to come to terms with that. I can’t possibly imagine what you must have gone through—with Brash, and Cumulus, on top of everything else! But the two of us, more than anypony else—we know, don’t we? We know what it is, to have your mind invaded. To have it raped.
“You showed me that it doesn’t take a chain to tell right from wrong. You showed me that by disagreeing with me, Trixie!”
“I remember,” Trixie said, her mouth dry.
“You’ve seen what’s outside. I’ve seen it, glimpsed it, through you. Inoculated myself with it—yes,” to Trixie’s shocked glance, “yes, when you felt my pain. It goes both ways. It’s empathy. That’s what brought you back, wasn’t it? Not some foisted set of principles, such as I had imagined—no, you’d already surpassed that sort of imposition—no, it was shared pain.”
“Yes,” Trixie said, trembling.
“And Hornwall,” Twilight said, her voice choking for a second, eyes pressed shut. “Hornwall, where there was so much misery. What did they need? The . . . the victims of his process?”
“One and the same,” Trixie said. “Or, at the least, that’s what you want me to say. That they could have rejoined society—could have surpassed even their own emancipation—if only they were given empathy, as well, in that terrible, terrible moment.”
“Let me guess,” Trixie said. No small amount of anger was rising in her, now, a stinging, despairing rage at the mantle she could feel settling onto her shoulders, that Twilight draped over her with words of desperation and strength. Why me? she mocked herself, inwardly turned snark belying the pit in her stomach, the tremble in her legs. I never wanted this. “You want me to be the one to provide that. Twilight, really? I- I know you feel strongly about this, but . . . of all ponies, you?”
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, because of course she did. Always sorry, that was Twilight. No, that isn’t true, and you know it. “I don’t want everything to be in vain.”
“Then we must throw the good after the bad?” Trixie looked up.
But Twilight was shaking her head, smiling gently. “You don’t believe that,” she said. “Of all of us, Trixie, you’re the one with perspective. You’re the one who has seen both sides. The only one not plagued by doubt. Look around you.”
She did. Stillness, inside the swirling haze of Luna’s containment spell. But where Boundless stood threatening his own life—fuming, she could see, in the tension running through his legs, his jaw, and scared—he was largely ignored. Luna and Celestia conferred, close together, almost . . . now hugging. Pinkie, giving up on her explosive antics, her unbridled energy turned to unbearable anticipation, watched Daerev, who in turn watched Cadence. Stillness.
“I see it,” Trixie said.
“I think about the forces gathered here,” Twilight said, “and I tremble. And part of me thinks that the Veil is the only reason this confrontation hasn’t erupted yet. The only reason.”
“Must it be me, Twilight?” Trixie asked, desperately meeting Twilight’s gaze.
“You’re smart, Trixie,” was the reply. “I . . . don’t think I have to reiterate this again, not truly. But, for you: if it really is the only reason, the sole reason . . . then we’re already doomed.”
“You hold us to a . . . a . . . a galactic standard,” Trixie cried. “I don’t know if I’m—if we’re strong enough.”
“It’s not about good and bad. It’s not even about murder, or the right to it. It’s so much more than that, Trixie. And you’re the centre—the hopeful, despairing centre. Celestia won’t bend on this. I’ve gone back and forth with her, and still I shudder at the thought of . . . of circumventing her will. But if I could . . . temper the blow, if there’s nothing left but to make its impact as soft as possible, I will. Cadence isn’t going to do anything that might help him. For all her rage, her helpless anger. I can . . . I’ve used the Heart before. Just . . . just once. I could give them hope. But you, you can give them understanding.”
And Trixie, using a reflex she’d barely begun to understand, reached forward, into Twilight’s mind.
The landscape spilled out around here, a wide plain, gentle breeze brushing over long grass, a deep lavender sky arching overhead, clear, save for a single, white cloud, rainbow tail hanging from the side. Rows of houses sprang up, visualisations only, yet each detailed, unique. One with whitewashed walls, studded with diamonds. One wrapped with vines, sprouting the sweetest scented flowers. One a solid wooden structure, squat, with new layers built above seemingly at random, overhanging the porch or twisting up into a spire of an attic. One made of gingerbread. One a vaulting home, walls nigh transparent, reflecting the lavender light through every room. One boxed in by non-existent homes of either side, built carefully, and at a budget. One built into a tree. One built of marble.
On and on and on. To some, Trixie could give names. Others, moments of Twilight’s past—of her present—that escaped her.
“Everypony was surprised, you know,” Twilight said.
Trixie started. Of course Twilight could reach her here. Even so, the disruption to the tranquillity of the scene caught her by surprise. And such a contrast to the scene outside. Twilight never failed to amaze her. To see such desperation in her face, hear it in the strain in her voice—and then to come here, to the inner sanctum itself, and see . . . peace. A collected calm, not devoid of energy, but directed, purposeful. Organised.
“What?”
“When Rainbow and I got together.”
Non-sequitur aside, “It doesn’t seem so strange to me,” Trixie said. She’d seen them together, seen how they played off each other. The little things, the details. In-jokes, small gestures, like a well-oiled machine.
Twilight laughed. “Well, we’ve gotten better. At first, though . . .”
“You fought?”
“Yes and no. The occasional row, yes. Of course. But . . .” she trailed off, looking up wistfully. The tail flickered, disappeared, and in moments Rainbow Dash glided down from her perch, to land in front of them. Eyes fixed on Twilight. Every facet of her image shining. Every tooth squared, bleached white, every feather gleaming, all four hooves trimmed and shod.
And then Rainbow grinned, sheepishly, turning her gaze to the side, and raised a hoof to rub at the back of her neck. “Hey, Twi’, sorry, I was up late last night, and I kinda lost track of time . . .”
And Twilight laughed, delightedly, reaching forward to pull Rainbow in a hug, nuzzling at her cheek.
“That was from our first date. Even then I was laughing,” Twilight said, face still buried in Rainbow’s neck. She lifted her muzzle for a moment. “Annoyed, to be sure, but laughing. It’s more than empathy, it’s understanding. It’s knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we’re not alone.”
The village dissolved. Rainbow faded into the air. In its place rose great trees, bursting from the earth around them. Vines, shrubs, undergrowth materialised. The earth was chiselled away, and from the side came a great rush of water, speeding past them to fill in the sudden channel. The Everfree, Trixie recognised, though the river wasn’t known to her.
“This,” Twilight said, “is the Lethe. It’s what introduced me to Coromancy—sort of. It can take away your memories, trap your mind within it.”
“Okay . . .” Trixie said, staring down into the waters.
“Years ago, Rainbow and I were both trapped within it, at the same time. And try as we could, we weren’t strong enough to remain separate. We . . . we bled together. No memories held back. No thoughts hidden away.”
And suddenly Trixie got it, in a sweeping rush of intuition. Understanding. Knowledge of another, breeding into love. Into acceptance. Into peace.
This is what Twilight was trying to convey. The message she was to send, through the Crystal Heart. The hope into which everything that Twilight was placed everything, the future of the world.
No, more than that. Trixie stumbled back, away from Twilight, falling back into reality. The Veil took even that away from her. Reduced her relationships, her knowledge, her existence, to a construct placed onto her.
Stillness. And in it now Trixie read not individualised doubt, but a deathly, deadly survival instinct, a horrifyingly powerful measure of control, imposed in goodwill but imposed nonetheless.
Was this Boundless’ freedom?
Twilight smiled at her. Trixie nodded back.
And then she lit her horn, reached for her outrage, and split herself into a hundred, identical copies.
***
Boundless hated the murmurs. Quiet words between groups, stand-offs, waiting. Always, always waiting.
Was this not the climax of his life? The singular moment into which he could pour himself, everything that he was, and see it crystallised? See purpose, tangible and real, materialise before him, like Fate itself. He had been waiting sixteen years for this, this Moment, and now that it was here, he found himself ignored, cast aside—as the cast before him took turns discussing their personal foibles.
He felt the thin trickle of blood run over his shoulder as his magic trembled against his neck, and the wild surge of excitement that came with it. One line yet to cross: and the last time he’d thought of it, it was discarded for no more reason than curiosity. An insane giggle bubbled up in his chest. He felt almost divorced from the world, adrift in his own mind some distance from his own body. Detached.
The pink one had stopped annoying him, at least, recognising the futility of appealing to his hope, to the better moments of his life. Joy was individual, he wanted to snarl at her, and not so easily reduced to rubber and thin, coloured paper. Who was she, to claim that she could replace this, here, this Moment, whose implications dwarfed even the celestial Alicorns before him.
He let the giggle out. He had three princesses here, even. Finally, Equestria was paying attention.
Except . . . they weren’t. Obsessed not with him but with the gift he offered. The knife dug a little deeper, and a rictus spread over his muzzle. He began to hop, ever so slightly, on the spot.
Waiting for something—for somepony to make a decision, finally, off the back of some internal realisation. Except they couldn’t, not really, for all their big words and high-minded ideals, it was here, at the final hurdle, that they failed. Impossible, to fully commit, always with the nugget of doubt in the back of their minds. The potential for a mistake was too high.
Freedom and danger, security and safety, and over it all the spectre of this threat, this coming Typhus. Of him Boundless knew nothing, and cared less.
He turned, at last, to Trixie—to the first and greatest of his Disciples—in hope, and to his delight, she trembled, and then split.
Out of nowhere, Trixies appeared, copies filling up all the space within Luna’s veil and more besides. All speaking, moving, casting spells of light and noise. The sudden cacophony drenched the plaza, cut through the murmurs. He could see nothing but the pale blue of her coat—feel nothing but her fur against his. He sucked in a breath, and paused, wondering . . . illusions, of course. Trixie’s speciality.
A roar crashed over the top of the crowd, vibrant green dragonfire spilling forth and ripping through the illusions in great swathes, leaving Pinkie untouched, blinking, in the midst of the broken magic. An incandescent radiance grew rapidly from—he could only assume—Celestia, an aura that had a similar effect. A scalding pink blast caught him on the chest, pooling over him, seemingly undeterred by the illusions it was passing through. Abruptly, something shoved him aside. He stumbled, regained his footing. And then the midnight mist, swirling as if they were standing in the eye of the storm, collapsed—not falling to the ground, or dissolving into the air, but rushing inwards, sweeping past bodies. He shook his head once, twice, recounted before assuring himself that only one Trixie remained. He glanced down at the Crystal Heart in his hoof.
Trixie herself was watching Cadence—who, of all things, also held a Crystal Heart. Boundless groaned, intuiting the plan, such as it was. How long to spot the fake? It couldn’t be more than seconds. The dragon hadn’t noticed, in the confusion. Neither had the pink pony. But Twilight, ah, now he wouldn’t put it past her to have caught on as well, and she was staring at him, openly, a slight frown on her face. Some few citizens of the Empire remained outside the plaza, watching—eyes wide, now, and raising off the ground to move forward—let them have their show. But Celestia wasn’t looking at Trixie, or him. And when he glanced back, followed her gaze, he saw why.
The mist hadn’t gone away at all. Instead, collecting against Luna’s skin, it solidified, taking on material form, growing denser and denser, until its surface shone with reflected radiance. Metal, sweeping over her head, down the back of her neck. Covering her chest, emblazoned with the same crescent moon that featured in her cutie mark. Tall shoes, climbing near halfway up her legs. Terrible, terrifying, the raiment of Nightmare Moon once again.
His eyes flickered to hers, noting the round pupil, the flat teeth in her mouth. He wasn’t sure what he felt.
She raised one hoof and was met with a wall of light. Staggering, driven back, she took a moment to mount any defence, and then shattered the wall with a spear of argence, blazing, burning.
“Luna!” Mixed voices, all crying out at once. The citizens—the remaining ones, anyway—fled, screaming. She snarled, leaping forward. Celestia rose to her hind legs, pawed at the air, essence of the sun gathered into a blindingly bright point at the tip of her horn. A hoof hit his side. Trixie, as he turned to her.
“Now,” she whispered, fiercely smacking him again. “We’ve got to do it now.”
“Can you?” he asked, lifting the Crystal Heart towards her.
Cadence cried out, the Heart in her possession dissolving.
“Y-yes,” Trixie said, and she sounded confident, for all the stutter. “I think so.”
Luna collided with her sister. A vast shockwave, titanic enough to rock the palace above them, took his hooves from under him. The pink pony—”Pinkie!” called Twilight—swept through, running through the tremor as if it were a paved path, collected the Heart from Trixie. The dragon leapt forward, his wings keeping him upright, to join Trixie and Boundless, only to wring his claws, uncertain or unable.
“You mustn’t!” Pinkie called back. “Mustn’t!”
But Luna—wait, what? Luna had locked her horn against Celestia’s, magic enough pulsing between them to vaporise anypony foolish enough to breach it, and step by step, against all legend, all folklore, was driving her sister back. Wasn’t Celestia the stronger of the two? Or was it merely the mantle of Nightmare Moon, granting Luna some mystical strength?
“Twilight!” Celestia called, not daring to take her eyes from Luna. “Twilight, stop him!”
“This will happen, sister,” Luna spat, “whether you will it or not. You can’t deny me twice!”
“Lulu, please, stop,” Celestia said. “You’re giving in to it. You’re letting it win!”
“There’s nothing to win here,” Luna said. “Nothing to lose. There only is.”
Trixie had disappeared. Bolts of azure light flew through the air, chasing after a pink blur that apparently had no need to obey physics, sliding across the ground, running up walls, moving in short bursts of speed, and dodging with preternatural awareness. Twilight looked left, then right, torn. Celestia was driven back another foot, grunting with effort. “I can’t hold her!” A telekinetic field formed around Boundless’ throat, lifting him up. He choked, struggled for a moment, before lashing out with his Talent and breaking the hold. He dropped to his hooves, panting, saw Cadence charging at him.
“Agyrt told you . . .” he gasped, “to help me . . .”
Cadence hit him hard, landed on top of him, grinding him back against the ground. “You aren’t getting away from me,” she hissed.
“Then . . . do it,” he said. She spat on his face. He struggled, pushing, pulling, twisting his torso and scrabbling for purchase with the edges of his hooves, with his magic, to no avail. He could not match strengths against an Alicorn, for all his Passion. The ability to break through restraints, to tear down walls, to remain uncaged. His lungs began to burn, one of her forelegs digging against his throat. He bucked, throwing his head back, wide eyes passing over her glare uncomprehending.
Lavender magic washed over him, mixed with green dragonfire. Lukewarm, flickering, alive. The pressure eased, and he rolled onto his side, gasping for air. Cadence, from the corner of his eye, stood still, similarly gasping—though why, he couldn’t guess. “Here,” a claw grabbed his shoulder, dug into the flesh, deep enough to draw blood and a curse, hauled him upright. Trixie was nowhere to be seen, nor was the pink one. Twilight—ignoring him, now, advancing on the confrontation between the two Royal Sisters. The dragon, at his side, staring at Princess Cadence.
“I know, alright?” he was saying—snarling, really. “Like you’ve lost something that can never be replaced. Never undone. But replacing Shining Armour with,” a talon pointing to his side, pointing to Boundless, “this, is . . . it’s beneath you. It’s unworthy.”
Boundless caught himself, drew himself upright, felt a sardonic smile grace his face. Celestia, his shoulder hurt.
“Look at you,” Cadence said. “Coming to his aid like a dog with a master. Is this what you wanted, Spike? Growing up, dreaming of dragons!”
But he was shaking his head, and trembling, and standing his ground. “I will not kill. That’s what I said. He made it seem so simple, though. One small step at a time. First a new name. Daerev Quitu. What a joke. And then dragonfire—my heritage, my birthright. I needed to learn control. Look!” Now reaching forward, grabbing at Cadence’s face, turning her towards the others.
Celestia and Twilight, side by side, blazing with puissance. Gold and purple, layered and intermingling, creating a grand stream of magical energy that washed over the deepest black—a hole in reality, it appeared, absorbing everything that was thrown at it, even as magic ran over its edges to pool on the ground, burning inches through the cobblestone. Inside, Luna, somehow, standing against firm against arguably the two greatest magical threats in the entirety of Equestria, no longer advancing on her sister, but holding her ground. Boundless felt awe spread through him, felt a strange swelling of pride.
“Look at her!” Daerev said. “At least Celestia and Luna act for themselves. Twilight isn’t on Celestia’s side, here! No, but she made a promise. She holds out faith. There’s no danger in that fight. No risk of death, or even injury to anything but pride. Can you understand that, then, the relationship between master and student?!”
Cadence ripped away from him, took several long steps away, keeping him to her side.
“That’s what happened to me,” Daerev said. “Agyrt stripped Spike away a long time ago. Left a puppet, strung up on strings of respect and discipline. How could I break away, knowing that he had defined for me the world—had given me all the tools to which I understood myself!”
But Cadence was striding away, walking towards the ongoing conflict. Daerev let out a groan, dragonfire licking the air, and slumped back. Boundless regarded him curiously. Odd, this one. Talking like Twilight, or Luna, even, of his own life in the abstract. Always in the frame of logic, of chains of argument. In Hornwall, he had seemed an implacable threat, an impossibility hellbent on bringing him down. Yet the river serpent that had sent Boundless after the Heart had, apparently, also instructed this young dragon to assist him. “Tell me,” Boundless said. “What does Agyrt desire?”
Daerev sighed, looked over at him. “I have no bucking clue,” he said.
***
Trixie ran through the Crystal Empire, hooves pounding the pavement. Pinkie was nowhere to be seen, not that that meant anything. For all Trixie knew, she’d already run into Pinkie several times.
Twilight had given her a cursory rundown of an Anchor’s abilities, and, honestly, they seemed a bit unfair. Compared to mind-reading and super-powered spellcasting, Pinkie could apparently completely violate the laws of nature and time. Oh, there were limits. The effects were localised—Pinkie couldn’t affect things she wasn’t touching, and temporal manipulation was a one-and-done kind of deal. Trixie didn’t really understand that part, but the gist of it was that if she caught Pinkie, she’d have caught Pinkie. Or something.
That left the problem of catching somepony who could walk through the strongest barrier Trixie’d ever seen as if it wasn’t even there, without disturbing it in the slightest. Fortunately for Trixie, she had access to a few more tricks than Twilight.
Brash had spent some small time here, in the Empire, enough to give her a reasonable memory of the streets, so that she wasn’t running blind. Cumulus had studied magical flow—the theory and application of magic as a raw material—such that she could grasp at the sorts of uses Pinkie was turning it to.
She’d conjured chains and barriers, only for Pinkie to, predictably, walk through them. She’d crafted illusory monsters, great walls of fire, visions of horror and despair, each eliciting no more than a chuckle before they were blown apart as Pinkie reached them. She’d tagged Pinkie a few times, earlier, each bolt of magic imbued with a tracing spell of sorts, that would allow her to track Pinkie’s movements. Each had slid off her coat like oil over water. The spell that had hit the Crystal Heart itself, however . . . ah, now that was a different matter.
She could sense the Heart, some blocks to her left, moving rapidly away from everything. What Pinkie had on her mind, Trixie couldn’t begin to guess. Not that that mattered, she supposed, in the end. Much as she might have liked a unanimous decision, they’d reached a point of no return.
She remembered moments, after Boundless had freed her, after she’d tried to kill herself on the shores of—of what she now realised might have been the Lethe itself—after Twilight’s tearful apology by her hospital bed, where she’d cursed her freedom. Wishing only for a return to the comforting illusion of control that the Veil paraded before everypony, she’d derided herself, rejected Twilight’s rhetoric. Surely, surely even a single life was worth this, a continent enslaved? They retained free will, after all, retained fear and anger and hate.
But Trixie was a master of illusions. She’d been behind the curtains, pulled the strings. She had lived with two voices in her mind for years—absorbed their memories, skills, even some mannerisms, as if she’d lived them. She knew her limits, and by extension, the limits of this, the greatest illusion of all.
Because that’s what it was. Manipulating, controlling, seducing, the Veil had crafted a world exquisite, from which nopony sane would wish to wake. And behind the scenes, reality marched on. Luna acknowledged it, in her pained demands for agency. Twilight, even, searching with desperation for some safe way to wake up. Typhus—the topic had been dropped, ignored, earlier, though so much seemed to rest on Him: this nebulous threat from beyond.
Trixie didn’t believe in inevitability. No fate prescribed, nothing taken for granted. And on the flip-side . . . she remembered a dreamscape, screaming at Luna, defending with every fibre of herself her culpability in Shining Armour’s death. I will not give up the responsibility that is my due. She’d lost that fire, somewhere—failed to bring it forth when Luna again, undeterred, made the argument that Boundless had obliterated even her will, dominated her so utterly that no choice had been made at all . . . and yet, that was true, as well.
Sick and tired of the Other deciding. That’s what Trixie was doing here, slipping down the slope of freedom. Taking responsibility—taking agency. And the weight on her shoulders, weight placed by Twilight, and Luna, and Shining Armour, and Boundless himself, shifted, rolled, dug into her muscles like a sharp massage, before settling down, comfortably, across her back. Her burden to bear. Not Equestria’s, not the Veil’s, hers. With luck, that would be enough.
She grinned, cloaked herself in magic, tricking the light into bending around her, muffled the sounds of her hooves and lungs, blocked the smell of her sweat, and teleported, landing just twenty metres in front of Pinkie. The Crystal Heart glimmered in her grasp.
Almost immediately, Pinkie’s head turned to stare straight at Trixie—somehow penetrating the magic in an instant. She began to shiver, odd tremors running down her body.
But she had met Trixie’s gaze, and before the magic could take hold, Trixie was inside her mind.
Cumulus, or memories of him, intuited the magical flow. Brash showed her how to anchor herself down, hold fast to the connection. And Trixie, with an effort of nigh-transcendent glee, imposed her will, just for a second.
Pinkie stopped still, not blinking, not even breathing. Quickly, Trixie teleported, forwards, grasping the Heart in a magical field, and then again, back to the plaza, fast, fast enough that Pinkie had not the time to slip away . . .
The scene materialised before her. Luna, locked in—what almost, her mind supplied, appeared to be a magical hoof-wrestle—with Celestia and Twilight, somehow holding her own. Cadence, striding towards them with implacable tension, fury etched over her face. Boundless and Daerev standing shoulder to shoulder, watching.
She ran to Boundless, held the Heart up before him. He smiled, took a deep breath, and then hesitated, looked at her, at Daerev.
Daerev seemed to understand an instant before Trixie. He leaned back, opened his jaws wide, and, mixing voice with dragonfire, let loose a roar that shook the castle, great plumes of green arcing up and over, gouts of fire splashing down onto the cobblestone.
The Princesses, and Twilight, stopped, turned, surprise morphing to horror and anticipation . . .
Trixie peered into the Crystal Heart. She could hear, almost feel the minds of the citizens of the Empire, bubbling inside, in time with the ripples of light along its surface, the motes drifting within. No, more, she needed more. She looked up, holding that tenuous connection, found Boundless and added him to the mix. And then, as he summoned once again his knife, brown aura holding it against his neck—trembling, now, stage fright, she understood, suicide was all well and good in theory, for him, another means to stamp his presence on Them, to draw Their attention, but faced with its reality falling back, just a child, a misaligned one, to be sure, but a child nonetheless, who, in the horror dawning in his mind, was only now realising that his effective mother was arguing and fighting for his own execution . . . There were no winners here.
The surge of emotion that broke forth from that train of thought almost shattered Trixie’s concentration. It rushed through her, through the Heart, hit everypony connected to it all at once. She fought for just an instant—lose control—before surrendering, letting herself be carried away, intermingling with his own existential dread, her own pathos, the stunned sense of oncoming doom that fed back to her through the artifact in her hoof, and rode it outwards, pushed the boundaries south, east, west, further and further, touching Hornwall, and Canterlot, and Manehattan, using the emotion of each added pony to leap to the next. In moments, she had spilled across Equestria itself.
Boundless was in her mind, now, and she reassured him, promised him safety. Whispered words of calm. She found in herself the detachment to both raise his knife in her magic, feel his coat under her hooves, and project the dichotomy, the eye of the paradox, that Twilight so lauded. Intrinsic good, or even just a belief in it.
Her eyes closed, Trixie drove Boundless’ magic into his chest. Azure and brown, both suddenly drenched in blood, discolouring the magic to a deep, dark purple, the purple of night, past twilight, the purple that appears when the moon is about to rise.
***
It wasn’t as bad as anypony had feared—but neither was it as good as they’d hoped.
There were no sudden gangs of rapists or murderers. Capacity didn’t equate to willingness, after all, nor did the removal of the imposition ‘gainst imply its opposite.
But the peace was broken.
Thousands lay curled up inside their homes, assailed by sudden thoughts of despair, sorrows that had been held back from them all their lives. They didn’t know how to deal with the tidal waves of depression, anxiety, frustration—oh, not unfamiliar concepts, no, but so unprovoked, and accompanied by the sickest, most fatalistic thoughts. Some died, by their own hooves. Not many. But some.
Thousands took to the streets, bewildered and confused. They sought comfort in company, and found it. But no leaders stepped forward to assure them, and so their confusion found itself just as amplified as the relief they took in each other. They pressed together, consciously or not seeking a framework, a bulwark against the onset of agoraphobia. They sheltered their eyes, made a low hum with their throats. Anything to anchor themselves in the identity of the crowd. Some were even injured, in the press of bodies. But none died.
Thousands gathered in smaller groups, festering, wild, they turned to the worst among them for they had the loudest voices, and infected by the mad strain of exuberant power began to run. They tore through buildings, broke fences, shattered glass. They looted and burned, an orgy of violent expression. Other ponies they knocked about, rushed past, screamed at. Was it so surprising that they refrained from the most heinous of crimes? That even the worst among them seemed averse, in a most peculiar way, to turn their minds to their darkest corners? The cynical among you will name it a cognitive dissonance, shrug, and walk away.
Thousands found themselves in possession of both capacity and motive. Bearing grudges, or coming off the back of a terrible argument, they suffered the ill fortune of timing, and the passion founded by proximity proved too much. They saw blood and pain and struggle. They murdered, raped, pillaged. Each act more callous than the last, each time more able to turn a blind eye. Equestria saw more violent crime that day than it had in the past millennium.
Thousands barely noticed. They swayed, certainly, with the rest of Equestria when the wave hit them. But they saw no reason to disrupt their business, to alter their routine. For them, it was only a secondary concern, or tertiary—they had Important Things, damn it, to be about. Ledgers to balance, proposals to draft, orchards to water, plant, harvest. Mountains to chart. Texts to study. Irrigation, sanitation pipelines to be repaired.
Thousands more kept to themselves. The swirl of emotion that rushed through them inspired not despair, nor desperation, nor madness. Instead, wide smiles across their faces, they exulted in themselves, in the sheer intensity of the day. They hung from their windows, danced on the rooftops, wept in bathtubs. They wrote poetry with no stanzas, painted with wild slashes and prints, sang off-kilter and in no known key. They stood on the edges of their towns and cities and stared out, at the plains or the deserts or the oceans. They looked up, at the sky.
Canterlot was abuzz with noise, with the clash and clamour. The Castle itself was overtaken by the common-folk, those of the lower tiers sampling now the fruits of the upper circles of the city. Markets, at first brimming with exotic fruits and fabrics, were dissolved, exquisitely crafted houses defaced, mansions running with juices and pulp, while their owners succumbed to the fever-pitch of the Day.
Manehattan was more subdued, its streets narrower, its buildings higher. Denizens streaked like lifeblood, rushing here and there with no real sense of purpose. Instead, the city began to whisper, each tall block finding its own note. A low, discordant tune, encapsulating confusion and madness and joy. The city itself channelled emotion, pushed those wilder sorts from its underbelly, outwards, outwards, towards the horizon. They found themselves marching in great streams of ponies, along wide roads and railways and causeways. Heading where, nopony quite knew.
Appleloosa found in itself a quiet strength. Already tempered by their trials, nopony and no buffalo found it necessary to question the status quo. Rather, they gathered, conferred, heard from Braeburn and Bill and Achak, and countless others besides. They farmed their land, and charted the desert, and continued to rebuild. Watchers, as they’d come to be known, informally, by the townsfolk, continued to report clear skies from the North. Some, however, smelt a coming Storm, in the air, in the wind. And Achak spoke of a great disturbance, from the South.
Ponyville found its small tensions overflowing. The rapid change over the past years had never been left along long enough to settle into peaceful coexistence—and they quickly found themselves in two groups, each finding exuberant expression of a variety of grudges. But where restraint failed, proportionality did not: the older, lifelong residents confined themselves to property destruction, singing marching songs somehow both off-colour and . . . . not respectful, but contained. They tore through the housing developments, the new school, the greater market, and took particular interest in the train network that had brought so much attention to their community. The newer residents, meanwhile, expressed their frustration through change, defacing historical landmarks like the tree library, the town hall, and the town square—not destructively, but constructively, building new wings, cleaning, accenting with new fashion or details native to their old homes, from all across Equestria.
Hornwall was perhaps the hardest hit. Already struggling with unprecedented tragedy, these citizens, so abruptly struck with some level of understanding, made cursory exploration of their newfound freedoms before storming the jail, where those victims of Boundless remained. To the mob’s shock, however, by the time they arrived in the cells, baying—not for blood, not quite, but for a release, a form of closure no matter how despicable—they found all but one already deceased, the newfound wave being altogether too much for these souls, already beget with the guilt that follows introspection and time, more than anything else time, time to consider, to unpack, to realise. This last they surrounded in abject sympathy, empathy, the greatest and most harsh, the strongest and most difficult, the means and the end, they raised him up, carried him out into the Light.
Tumultuous, tempestuous, Equestria weathered a very real Storm that day.
And in the fields south of Canterlot, a loud crack split the air, rainbow shockwaves screaming across the sky. Two ponies—one cyan, the other a marble white—tumbled through the air, manifesting instantaneously and without warning, rapidly falling with a single, high-pitched shriek.
***
Deep in the Everfree, a dragon rose from the waters of the Lethe. He breathed deeply, tongue flickering out past his teeth to taste the air. Without preamble, he rose, water pouring from his vast frame, running from high ridges of bone down the membranous edges of his wings, across bright scales and leathery skin. He spread himself, crouching, and with a tremendous exertion, flung himself sky-wards, a great leap exceeding the height of the trees, jaws wide open to catch the air. He beat his wings, brushing the tree-line at his wingtips lowest point, and rose.
Agyrt Vaeros, Eldest Flame, flew south.
***
In the South, the mirage of endless desert and mountains shading the horizon shattered. Far below the sight of anypony living, the geographical border the Veil marked simply vanished, dissolved into vast amounts of magic that crashed to the earth, pooling on the ground to slowly evaporate into the air.
What replaced it was nothing short of terrifying. Winds, reaching speeds faster than any known pegasus could reach, sped around and around, forming colossal twisters that churned the land beneath them. Rain lashed out at everything it could find, pellets of water and great waves alike. Shards of ice, cruelly sharp and impossibly large spun and danced, a whirling maelstrom of malice. Lightning, in great bolts, persistent and comprehensive, lanced at the ground from horizon to horizon. Boulders, rock, rubble, even marble, handcrafted, crumbling limestone, trees, sand, vegetation and debris, all picked up in its fury and hurled against the world.
The Storm dwarfed comprehension. The sum total of a thousand years of anger, of imprisonment, an unreasoning, unthinking expression of raw power.
Typhus advanced, slowly, inexorably, northwards on Equestria.
***
And in Canterlot, deep within a sprawling hedge-maze tucked away within the Royal Gardens, a statue of a hybrid form—part dragon, part pony, goat horn and griffon claw, and an assortment of other species wrapped up in some sick kaleidescope of biology—shuddered. Small slivers spread across its body, stone splintering, cracking, groaning.
Colour began to rush outward from the cracks. Gradually, like a chick emerging from its egg, the creature shed its stone prison, dust and tiny fragments raining down to the grass underfoot.
Minutes later, it was free. It shook itself all over, an excited trembling running down its spine.
“Well, now,” it said, holding up a claw and flexing it. “This is interesting.”
Luna continues to take no interest in my work. I can’t say I blame her, exactly. Sun knows she has enough to worry about.
Even so, I feel the slight acutely. Though I know I should not.
Chapter Forty-Nine
RARITY SPRINTED towards the exit, her heart pounding. Around her, sturdy wood and rock continued to tremble, dust shaking free to swim through the air, layer her coat. Out of the sitting room, down the hall. A tremendous noise filled the space around her, a din that cut off all thought, all comprehension. It rang in her ears, pounded on the sides of her skull.
She burst out into the daylight. Ponies, milling around, running every which way. Almost, she thought it a riot, a stampede, such as she’d seen many times before back home. Blind panic overruling caution. But no, there was a group handing out weapons, armour, and over there, ponies scrambled through the throng to form up into shaky ranks. They shook, sweated, cast glances at their companions, but they stood.
Celestia appeared behind her, pushed past her roughly. “What is the meaning of this?” she called, taking to the air to hover just a few feet above the ground.
“Princess! “ a pony yelled up at her, coming to a stop some feet away. “Princess Luna was called away to deal with a threat in the west. I-” he gulped, “I think we’re under attack. Preliminary reports indicate a large group of thralls moving in from the south, and all contact out east has been cut-off.”
“Thralls,” Celestia said. Her eyes narrowed. “It’s a trap. Can we move?”
“Not without losses,” he said. “We’re too entrenched here. Forget about the buildings, the work. There are newborns, pregnant mares, the elderly, supplies.”
Celestia nodded. “A fighting retreat. Get them moving, as fast as they can. Each family to take as much food as they can.”
“Yes, Princess!” he dashed away.
Celestia darted south, towards the edges of the town, calling out for others. The division Rarity had spied forming chased after her, howling.
Rarity looked at the ground. Her legs were shaking, now, so much so that she had to sit down, lie herself completely flat on the ground. The noise had stopped, thankfully, though the earth continued to groan.
What could do this? Something titanic, something beyond the ordinary scale of threat she dealt with. She’d seen Typhus, seen the raw fury of His power unleashed, but she’d failed to internalise it, to upgrade her threat assessments. This was no Nightmare Moon, no Discord. She licked her lips, swallowed, blinked, gripped at the stone and dirt under her hooves.
Fear. Was Celestia’s assessment, so quickly cast, accurate? Certainly the Princess has the advantage of her, what with untold years of experience—though, Rarity remembered with a snort, so little of it spent socially, spent in empathy—and the evidence of Rarity’s own mind, spelt out for her through Coromancy. Certainly she felt the tremors running through the ground vibrating with such heavy intensity through her bones. Certainly her breath came in short pants through her nostrils, hot and wet, while some part of her mind idly noticed the growing ache in her jaw.
But she could move, and see, and think. Rarity was no particular stranger to these situations, as much as she preferred the calm. There would be time later, to unpack the vast jumble Celestia had raised in her.
Around her, the square, once teeming with motion, was near-entirely absent. A few stragglers past her, chasing after Celestia—towards the battle. Others, choosing this of many routes away, slipped past buildings on the perimeter, ushering foals before them.
The skies were clear of clouds, the sun clearly visible overhead—early afternoon. Rainbow had been visiting the Chasers, in their rudimentary barracks. As all Coromancers were, they had been positioned according to a rather old tradition, born of military necessity: each group irregularly spaced throughout the encampment, maximising distance between each, and central command. Susceptible, Rarity had thought, learning of this from some of the Wardens as she watched them work in the northern outskirts, to surprise and stealth. Of course, that wasn’t as much of a problem when your force had the power of Sight, and the more pressing concern quickly became the overwhelming power a single Sage could employ.
She shook her head, took off at a gallop. She knew these streets intimately, the result of literally helping to put some of them up, but discarded all the shortcuts that presented themselves to her. Rainbow could be looking for her, too, she needed to remain out in the open. Unfortunately, that meant she had to move after Celestia, towards the battle.
Slowly, the horribly-familiar sounds grew. The sharp clang of metal-on-metal, the clash and smack and thud. The shouts, muted at this distance, She bit her lip, wrinkling her nose in anticipation a street before it hit. This was the single memory most clear to her, a personal legacy of the Typhus War. The scent of blood and mud and sweat, all mixed together in a cauldron of exertion, coarse and thick, covering everything, clinging to everything. She felt her throat clench, felt herself begin to retch. The cobblestones firm under her hooves, clattering forward.
She shook her head violently. Fear. Where was Rainbow? She kept an eye on the sky as she ran, trying to spot Rainbow amongst the numbers of pegasi flocking towards the battle. She passed others, remaining ground-bound to help others evacuate, or simply to leave the skies clear for the soldiers. But no tell-tale flash of bright blue, clear even against the background of the sky, no rainbow stream or streak trailing a body moving too fast to visualise.
She turned, skidding around the corner. Getting there, bit by bit. She kept her eyes on the streets in front of her, mind resolutely turned away from the obvious, the simple, crystal-clear answer. She could find Rainbow without Sight, she could. She just had to keep a clear head, make smart decisions. She snorted.
Louder, now, and scattered—the battle spreading, she thought, spilling into the grid-work layout of the town. So easy, to get lost in the chaos. Except . . . what was that? Something new, char and ash and a warm wind. Oh no.
They’d set fire to the houses. Rarity paused, came skidding to a halt in an intersection. She could see it from here—plumes of smoke, rising above the buildings to her right. There weren’t any stragglers that direction, thank Celestia. They’d reacted well, evacuating fast, and from what few scattered glances she’d gotten, laden with necessities. Experience counted, as horrible as that thought was.
The Chasers’ barracks lay the other direction. But Rainbow couldn’t still be there, nor would she think to look there for Rarity. That one was always the mare of action—she wouldn’t ever think that their roles might be reversed. Rarity bit her lip, took a few tentative steps to the right. The path seemed clear. She wasn’t expected to join the battle, here, of course. Even the Seers of this age were only ever involved on the front-lines in desperation. And yet . . .
She could hear them dying. And still Celestia’s denunciation rang in her ears.
Ridiculous. She had nothing to prove. Nopony could seriously name her fearful, Rarity had done more than enough to discredit that appellation.
And screams sounded above the growing crackle of fire, the constant ring of metal, the occasional blast of some powerful magic.
She swallowed, moved into the shadow of the building opposite her, and lay down on the street. Okay, Rarity. Easy does it.
She closed her eyes, and the familiar grey fog rose up to surround her. Billowed around her, obscuring everything—vision, certainly, but also noise, smell, the hard grit of stone under her belly. She trembled, and took a deep breath, slowly releasing it to a count of three.
Rainbow. Rarity found her almost instantly, high above the town, of course. She flew, too fast for Rarity to follow, until with an exertion of will she slowed the scene down. Rainbow was fighting—holding the attention of a group of pegasi. Too fast for them to catch, too nimble in the air, and yet they covered each other. Any attempt to strike back met with swift retaliation, forcing Rainbow away. A stalemate. As Rarity watched, a three turned away as the others closed ranks behind them, began a steep descent towards the town, glinting metal coating their wingtips.
Rainbow let loose a sharp cry, banked around and cut straight through them, tossing two bodily through the air and striking the third directly, smashing into his wing. The two tumbled earth-wards, Rainbow kicking free just in time to avoid the next onslaught. The Thrall spiralled, one good wing enough to slow his descent, but no more.
Rarity opened her eyes to the street, and, gathering strength, pulsed a bright purple spark high into the sky, directly above where she lay. Rainbow would know what that meant, or close enough.
That had been . . . surprisingly fine. The, the trauma of Rainbow’s predicament aside, and Rarity was growing concerningly good at putting such things aside, what had she been worried about, exactly? Sight had no influence over what was, just what she knew. Was that all she wanted, then: to bury her head in the proverbial sand?
She got up, tsking under her breath at the loose dirt and dust clinging to her. She couldn’t sit here and wait for Rainbow, nor could she directly intervene in Rainbow’s fight. Instead, she moved towards the din of battle, moving at a trot, then, as she grew nearer, creeping forward from shadow to shadow.
She found fire before she found any ponies—spreading rapidly through the town. The construction was particularly susceptible to this: houses packed closely together to share walls, timber dried from weeks out in the sun with little to no moisture, the product of pegasi conserving what rain they did have for crops and wooden casks. She cast mild wind spells, summoned water, broke walls and roofs where she could to slow its advance. She’d never stop it entirely, not on her own, but she could save sections, circling around the spreading fire to cut off its outward advance.
Not without risk. She’d made her way to her third house, was preparing the spells to bring it down, sweep back embers, douse the ground between, when two fleeing ponies—soldiers, apparently, judging by the hastily-thrown-on uniform they were wearing, all whites and reds, formal, and covered in a smattering of metal plates over the more vital regions—tore from the nearby alleyway, sprinting roughly past her and catching her on the shoulder, sending them both spinning to the ground. Behind them, mere seconds later, three more appeared, rounding the corner in pursuit.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” the one still standing wrung his hooves, eyes wild, froth at the corners of his mouth.
Rarity had landed atop her impromptu attacker, was tossed to the side as he rose, frantic, scrambling to escape his pursuers. She sprawled, the wind knocked out of her by an incidental hoof to the gut, wheezing, blearily looking up at the three now above her.
They—Thralls, clearly, all stallions, all earth ponies—contained in the lines of their bodies, gaunt and haggard, an oddness, something she couldn’t quite place a name to, resisting classification in her loosest sense of the word. A strange intuition, thrumming through her.
She shoved herself backwards, magic aiding her muscles. The ground tore into her skin, loose grit getting caught and mixed in the scrape, burning. She heard the clink of metal on stone.
Panting, she stood, hastily erected a purple shield around her. Nothing compared to what Twilight could do, of course, but—flashbacks, now of all time, to her ill-fated fashion show in Fillydelphia—but enough, surely, for these sorts-
Apparently not. They tore through with struck at the wall, again and again, that strangeness again striking her, a jerky motion that was in some way unnatural . . . and now come to think of it, the pegasi far above were moving similarly, and . . . and cracks were appearing. Rarity felt a hoof rug at her shoulder, she whirled, lashing out. “Oh . . . Sorry!”
“Come . . . come on,” he said. “We’ve gotta go!”
Rarity cast another glance at the three Thralls. Feeling . . . it wasn’t a calmness, that wasn’t quite right, no, rather a sense of loss, of choice being taken away, she threw up another barrier against the failing original. “Your clothes,” she said. “Give them to me.”
“Wha-what?”
“Your clothes, soldier!”
He obliged, doffing the ill-fitting uniform. Ah, now this was something she could work with. Metal stripped, discarded. Fabric torn, her magic precise, deft, leaving no thread loose. Streams of white and red danced around her, worked themselves into braids of threes, then nines. Makeshift ropes, stronger, lengthwise, anyway, than any magic she could bring to bear. They poured through cracks opened up in her barriers, wrapped themselves around weaponry, seized limbs, mouths. In moments, all three Thralls found themselves bound, their weapons tossed aside. She relaxed, sitting back on her haunches, hornlight dying out.
The soldier didn’t seem to care. “Look, we’ve got to move!”
“Where’s Celestia?” Rarity asked.
“I don’t fucking know. They didn’t even try to fight! And once they made past the first few lines, everypony scattered.”
“We need to find her,” Rarity said. Adrenaline fading, she thought, and with it the assurance from her tone, her voice warbling, now. But Rainbow would think the same, she was sure of it.
“No, we need to get to the castle. This is a retreat, not an offensive. Besides, they’re everywhere, they’re practically coming out of the walls. You won’t make it two blocks.”
The castle. Had she forgotten, somehow, considered only her response in lieu of her enemy? Or, a flash of inspiration, o-or had she internalised faith all too well, become convinced of her infallibility? Celestia had predicted this, too, she realised, with a sinking sensation. That she should consider Rainbow first and foremost, above all others—above everything. Was this all history, then, observed through a myopic lens? Or, perhaps, from a distance, as if watching events play out without any control.
Powerlessness, helplessness. That was the source of her calm, her ability to act. A curious mentality, but . . . Rarity had dealt with worse before, would deal with worse again. She shoved it aside, labelled and boxed.
“I’m a Seer,” she declared. She lit her horn, pulled up a cobblestone from the roadside, and, turning aside as she did, bashed it down on the skulls of the three bound Thralls. Carefully, precisely, leaving them unconscious on the side of the street. “If you can carry me, I’ll keep watch.” A-and, find the Princesses. both of them. She wouldn’t blind herself anymore.
“A Seer?” he peered at her, abruptly started. “I know you! Foresight’s mare, yeah?”
Rarity sucked in a breath. “I will pretend you didn’t just say that.” Purple light washed out the daylight.
He blanched. “Y-yeah, uhh, alright. I’ll . . . I’ll find a cart of something.”
They were rolling a few minutes later. Rarity lay down, her head across outstretched forearms. First, safety. The fog pulled away from the streets and alleys, showed her moving at a steady clip through the deserted town. They were already a quarter-mile away from the real fighting, dirty street warfare, all chaos and confusion and paranoia, and she was gratified to see that her efforts, brief though they were, at firefighting had had some real effect. The spread was confined towards the south-east, at least for now. Ultimately . . . bright, red, white, pain she pulled away with a start, rubbing her hooves over her eyes. They continued to set fires as they moved, the town’s defenders too scattered and occupied to do more than delay the attack. Nopony would burn, but nothing more. “We’re safe, for now. Get to the castle.”
Right. Now back to Rainbow—done with her fight and bleeding here and there. Rarity was concerned, at first, piling on the magic to zoom in for a closer look, but smiled to see only scratches and what looked like a nasty bump over her shoulder. Rainbow flew steadily, soon to rejoin with Blitz and Crisp. She couldn’t see more than the vaguest details on them, couldn’t hear what they said, but she could see the dismay on Rainbow’s face—the horror.
Her breathing was losing coherence, stability. Details washed over her like alcohol, unfocusing her vision, allowing the stream to fade into a background blur. She shook herself, pushed back at the fog shrouding everything. It was . . . she was getting lost . . .
Power from emotion. Burning away the fear—ah, yes, now she felt it—well. Not such a good idea, in hindsight, amidst all the chaos. She opened her eyes, repeated, with an inward, wry, smile, Twilight’s old breathing exercises. A hoof to the chest, and in. Then out, sweeping away, and repeat. Slowly, she steadied, brought down the hammering heartbeat in her chest.
“And the Princesses?” the soldier asked, some urgency spilling past the exertion in his voice. They moved at a steady clip, her weight, even on wheels, taking its toll.
Rarity nodded. “One moment,” she said.
What else, then? She could not stave away the clench that came over her at the prospect of sinking back into that fog. But it gave her more than anxiety. Mixed in with her shock, all the tumbling emotions associated with trauma. Anger, at the senselessness of all this. Grief, at the losses this would spell. Horror, empathetic, involuntary, the result of pattern-matching against Rainbow’s tear-streaked face. Death. She wouldn’t mind being horrified, for a little bit.
Luna sped north. The chase had led her far from the town, far enough to provide some small delay. Pegasi with her carried ponies, some unconscious, others mute with bands of magic about their muzzles. She thought she could . . . but they remained obscured. She didn’t know them well enough, and her connection to Luna only spread so far. Even so, she would return momentarily, and judging from the tension in her form, the raw fury in every wingstroke, sacrificing precision for a cold strength that rapidly outpaced her companions, she brought with her nothing less than Judgement. Nightmare Moon incarnate, argent-laced metal materialising from the air, coalescing on her body. As Rarity watched, even Luna’s eyes began to flicker, pupils dilating, stretching vertically, almost snarling. Rarity couldn’t help but shiver.
Celestia, though. On the outskirts, staring up at the sky. Mouth working, but the sound drowned out by the roar of thunder, of fire, of ongoing battle in the fog around her. Power erupting from her, against her—a near-invisible battle, visible to Rarity only in the raised hairs on her coat, in the unwavering determination in Celestia’s gaze.
And then, bursting forward, a new face. Long, misshapen, a grey stallion’s face half-melted into that of a dragon. A single horn, spiralling from the skull. Tufts of hair scattered about. Sinister eyes spiralling into madness.
She shot up in the cart, clutching at her chest, doubling over, gasping. She . . . she knew that face. Knew it from years back, when she was still young, naive, forming lifelong friendships in Ponyville. Discord.
“Well?” the soldier demanded. Frightened now, no doubt. And considering who she’d been looking at . . .
“Run,” Rarity screamed, and he obeyed.
***
Rainbow ducked, pulling her wings tight against her back. Momentum carried her forward—and slightly down, just enough to feel a slight tug against her mane as the wing-blade swept over it. She rolled to the side, spread her wings again, and beat, once, pushing herself laterally through the air. Wind roared in her ears. The Wonderbolts had nothing on this.
One ahead, trying to escape. Two on her flank, following her dive. Four behind, spiralling about, trying to steady themselves in her wake. Seven in total, for now—hardly a fair fight. Rainbow grinned.
In half a second, she’d caught the one fleeing. Bumping his carriage with her shoulder, she slipped over him with a roll and clamped down on his wing.
Snarling, he snapped at her, and she recoiled, then jumped clear, all four hooves smashing against his torso, and corkscrewed away, shooting straight between the three careening towards her—who, brushing against her slipstream, lost control of their trajectories for just a moment.
Flapping desperately, the one she’d kicked managed to regain his balance just in time to collide with them.
Rainbow, panting, allowed herself a muted cheer and a glance sideways. Blitz and Crisp were holding their own just fine, not that she’d expect anything else matched up against such unimaginative fliers.
They’d been positioned at roughly even spaces along the southern edge of town, ostensibly to hold the line against any aerial invaders. Or, rather, had orders to that effect screamed at Crisp by a sergeant, who’d relayed it back to Blitz and Rainbow twenty minutes earlier. Cirrus was still absent, though a number of Conduits and pegasi militia helped fill the gaps.
They, of course, were much less effective. Rainbow did what she could to round up those that were slipping through, but for all her bravado, seven was beginning to push it. Every now and then she got the opportunity to drop one of the group she’d engaged—diving with them to make sure they landed safely, if unconscious—but aside from that it was enough to nip at their heels, preventing them from simply turning away and targeting the town proper as the line slowly gave ground. She’d have much preferred a more offensive defence. But while, eyeing them off, Rainbow was pretty sure she could deal with these guys—and surely that would only help the others, spread the load a bit, y’know?—their orders were clear. The line above all. If a few slipped past while she was preoccupied . . . she didn’t want to think about it. No, better to work as a unit, cover each other's mistakes, maintain the invaders attention.
On the ground, others led a similar defence, fighting in small groups along the outskirts, steadily, and safely, losing ground. Celestia . . . was somewhere. Rainbow hadn’t the time to really consider what her peculiar absence might mean.
Ah, but they were getting a little smarter. One quick pass-by, to put her off-balance, and then five, all at once, speeding for her from different angles. Coordination, especially flying in such tight formations, was not easy. Rainbow should know, having spent countless hours mastering the micro-adjustments necessary, and countless more drilling them back into new recruits.
And against a master flier, numbers counted against them. She paused, letting adrenaline flood through her, watching them approach . . . then now, lashed out, front hoof ripping across the visage of the first, spinning, wing striking down on the second, rising as she pushed him down to collide with the third, and fwoosh, she was off and out.
Celestia, this was giving her so many new ideas. The Wonderbolts had always enjoyed the derbies, vying for titles of fastest or most agile, in addition to the more spectacular aerial shows. But a chase, ah, now that would be something new—filled with death-defying feats and blood-pumping stunts. She could write a whole narrative, weave it around the personalities of her fliers, turn it into a competition of sorts! Ah, now that was exciting!
They were replaced nigh-instantly, of course, more and more pegasi flocking towards the battle. Hundreds, thousands, enough that their bodies began to cast shade on the ground. They trickled forward, hampered by their allies, and the Coromantic-fuelled defence.
“Rainbow!” Blitz called, expertly dipping his shoulder into an oncoming Thrall. “Watch it!”
Right.
She spun on the spot, bringing her wings together and with them all the moisture near her—held it concentrated, wispy, before her. She reared back, taking in the scene in an instant, and then leapt forward, wings pumping, wind streaming her mane and tail behind her in a rainbow contrail. Around and around, the air beginning to spiral, sluggish at first, then faster, faster, until the slipstream was visible, and all the while building her cloud, drawing in and capturing water from all the air her vortex sucked in. The Thralls made just the one effort to escape, bashing themselves against the walls of wind she’d created, only to be flung back into the relatively calm centre by Rainbow’s speeding form. They couldn’t keep up with her here, very few could. Others, outside, had the same problem.
And when her cloud, thick and puffy, had turned black, injected with just a bit of the pent-up frustration, the longing, that still plagued her . . . then, she plunged inwards. Crashing through the Thralls, spinning onto her back, bucking with all her might.
A mighty crack split the air. The vortex swirled, swiftly dying out without her propelling it. Colours fading in its wake, vibrancy dulled. Tendrils of electricity ran over their skin, played through their manes.
Dangerous, perhaps. But Rainbow was nothing if not flashy.
The cloud, white once more, floated earth-wards slowly, five forms, unconscious, laid out atop it. Peering at them, Rainbow saw a Conduit below give one a judicious smack across the skull as they drifted past.
Taking stock, her shoulder ached—the result of too many high-speed impacts, various small cuts, nicks from their wing-blades, trickled blood. But she was unharmed, otherwise. And more poured forward. Her stunt had earned her perhaps a half-second rest. Grudgingly, the line retreated, arcing their path so that they dropped down as they passed over the town—parabolic, an umbrella shield of defenders, collapsing inwards. There was no winning this, not without unleashing indiscriminate, titanic power.
But they didn’t have to win. Just hold, long enough to evacuate the town, long enough to barricade the Castle. Sages were accompanying the civilians there, shields at the ready. Wardens fortified walls, grew thick vines over doorways, lodged huge rocks in the streets. From the corner of her eye, Rainbow saw a Conduit take a full-body collision—the Thrall slamming into her, crumpling around her immobile form, now her wings flashing, the kinetic force spreading, and all at once, crack!, detonating, released inwards, drawing her wings together to create a clap of thunder and wind that threw back an easy fifty. Awesome.
More on top of her. Rushing her, angling themselves to cut off avenues of escape. Rainbow bolted, streaking up and around, twisting and weaving through the onslaught. She took more than one hit, all light, reacting so fast that the pain of each hit guided her away from their blades. She saw three, now, ignoring her, moving for the ground. With a snarl, she charged, broke up their advance. They couldn’t be allowed to flank the ground forces. Not until . . .
A flash of purple light. Was that? . . . no, Rarity. Rainbow let loose a small sigh of relief, unknown tension fading, and took a slice across the shoulder for her trouble. Squawking, she fell a few feet, rolled over onto her back, and shot away from the oncoming crowd. Breathing, hold it steady, one two, one two, and—pouring forth an angry inferno, frustration and impatience boiling away, just a second to think, was that too much toask?!—sent a gust of wind hurtling back at them, blowing a hole clear through the swarm and creating, for a moment, a vacuum. Her eyes immediately sought Blitz and Crisp.
They fared little better, peppered with scrapes and cuts, but flying steady, always with the near-misses, the tantalisingly close swipes. Taunting, Rainbow realised. Drawing the clouds of pegasi towards them, presenting themselves as targets, unassailable yet achingly near. With less grace, she tried emulating their approach—sought opportunities not to incapacitate, but to annoy: slaps in the face, tugs on the tail, interfering with their flight paths and slipstreams. In minutes, she could feel the change. The shift away from tactical, considered attacks that left her scrambling to get away, and towards individual, hate-filled, screaming assaults. Much better. She found herself smirking again, enjoying the fight. Like this, she could almost convince herself it was a game, ignore the flashes of light reflecting off their wings, pretend merely to be playing the world’s greatest game of tag, and herself always the last caught . . .
Slowly, they drew inward, sank towards the town—drawing nearer to each other as they folded. Multiple times, the swarm threatened to push through, the sheer weight of numbers crushing down from above, but always there were Coromancers, with careful application of power to slow the advance, scatter the enemy. Somehow, it was working.
Until, finally, “That’s it. Get out of there,” spoke a calm voice, oddly distinct and clear despite the chaotic jumble of noise that composed Rainbow’s world. Those alongside her reacted immediately, a final shove and breaking away, tearing north with all the speed they could manage. Rainbow followed an instant later, found her tail caught, yanked herself free with a pained grunt. She didn’t look back for a few hundred metres—reassured somewhat by the sight of hundreds of defenders speeding away alongside her, then slowed, sought Blitz and Crisp in the crowd.
“Cirrus,” Rainbow said, wasting no more breath on speech. They’d get the message. She glanced back, and just now heard the cacophony, the tumultuous din and roar, echoing around her. Try as she might, Rainbow couldn’t quite block out the sights—twisted wings utterly failing to reduce one’s momentum, o-or was that a broken wing-bone, jutting through the skin . . . She shuddered, tried to calm herself, but drew only deeper breaths, trembling as she kept pace. Behind them, the Thralls had covered the town like ants, reduced it, just like that, to rubble. Pursuit was half-hearted, though. This battle was, for whatever reason, over.
Blitz looked at her like she was crazy. “Princess Luna, of course. They still gotta deal with that threat, though.”
“Princess Celestia’s worrying me,” Crisp said. “She should be here.”
“Tsh,” Blitz said. “Ain’t nothing new. Reckon she’s gonna wait till the last moment, swoop in like some blazin’ meteor.”
Taken aback, “That’s . . . hardly fair,” Rainbow murmured. Stronger, “You don’t know. What if there’s another Storm out there, hey?”
“Yeah, yeah,” waving a hoof. “Signal was the town’s clear. Ain’t no saving it—just get out, get to the Castle.”
“Uh, question,” Rainbow said. “Why aren’t we just laying the smack down? I mean, we’ve clear superiority here, right? And with everypony else . . .” They’d reached the end of the column of evacuees, now, those pegasi still feeling strong enough picking up ponies to hasten their journey. Others had stopped, received the odd morsel of food from the Wardens. At the scent, more than anything else, and without waiting for reply, Rainbow dashed forward, found a barrel of water to dunk her head in, and then an apple, sweet and pulpy. Invigorating like nothing before. She’d only had the opportunity to eat Warden grown food a few times, but Holy Celestia, Applejack had better learn how to make these.
“Yes and no,” Crisp said, catching up with Rainbow. “Whatever Celestia’s doing, Blitz, it’s important. We can beat up Thralls all day long, and it isn’t going to mean anything if the Princesses fail. And Rainbow,” pausing, searching for words, “look, I don’t know where you learned to fight. We learned, mostly, pressed up against a motherbucking huge Stormwall. You don’t win these battles, you survive.”
Blitz grunted. “Town’s never meant to last, anyway. Living space while the Castle was built. Don’t reckon they’ve finished, yet, but that place is going to be a damn sight more defensible.”
“Okay . . . then why hadn’t we already moved there?”
They stared at her like she was an idiot. “ . . . Because it isn’t finished?”
“Oh!” Crisp got it. “Seers aren’t seeing anything, outside. That’s why we’ve been patrolling. Figured some respite was in order, after everything, and . . . something’s messing with their Sight.”
“Huh,” Rainbow said. “And now Celestia vanishes.” Her ears dropped. “Oh, ponyfeathers.”
“Yep yep,” Blitz said, twisting to gaze back at the town receding behind him. “Just about sums it up.”
***
“Discord,” Celestia spat, rolling the name around her mouth. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
“Oh, is that what you’re calling me?” the draconequus said, leering down at her. “Disss-cord. Discord. Discord. ‘Dis cord! Should I have my own rope, then? Perhaps twine.”
“No jokes,” Celestia said. “Leave me and mine alone, or face my wrath. I will not warn you again.”
“And who is this? Some dowdy old mare, washed-up, hmm?”
“I am Celestia, the Rising Sun, slayer of The Storm. I killed Typhus, you miserable worm.”
“Oh?” Leaning closer, peering into her eyes. “Slew him, did you? Took an axe to dear old Daddy?”
“Daddy?”
“Typhus can’t die, Celestia,” venom dripping from every word. “Surely you, of all ponies, should know that. A fellow Splinter? Why, I am Dis-mayed.”
She gave no ground. “His power broken. His army in tatters. His form sealed away, once more. Hardly the list of achievements.”
“Ah, but I’m here now. What, did you think you could just break Him apart? Oh, my dear. I assure you, I am no joker.”
She felt a pressure, pushing in on her mind. Like a dull point, pressing against the side of a balloon. Crushing resistance back without breaking it, pushing, reaching, demanding. The pressure, she realised, of a Sage.
A flash of panic. The Element on her chest sparkling. And then the world was swept away, and replaced with her own.
It’s just, the Brightstream is incredible. Far more than its beauty, or allure, or even the strange magic that grants us our Cutie Marks.
I’m obsessing, I know. Luna tells me to go outside, mingle. Meet new faces.
Maybe in a little bit.
Fifty
RAINBOW HAD NEVER seen the Castle, though Rarity had described it to her—at least, not outside of the Everfree. A tall, imposing structure, composed of grey stone and the beginnings of marble, though she’d no idea where they’d found the materials for that: she recognised it almost immediately nonetheless. More than just the towers, though, the buttresses and incomplete walls, were the beginnings of what seemed to be a sprawling stone city, spreading out from its base. Just the beginnings, but . . . the ground: grass torn up, dirt levelled, stone columns appearing here and there. Markings, laid out for at least a half-mile. And dust-covered ponies, masons, architects, builders, startled by the approaching train of civilians.
They’d fled north, fearing the eastern flank, and then gradually curved around to approach the Castle, on guard all the while. The roundabout journey, slowed somewhat by wagons and scouts, had taken nearly the rest of the day, covering a solid ten miles, at least. The relative quiet, however, had only served to make everypony ill at ease—the question hovering around them like a bad odour, then, "Why threaten the east and leave the Castle unmolested?" A peculiar sensation, being herded, it left the back of Rainbow’s neck prickling and a dull ache in her spine from her constant swivelling. Several times, she’d offered to fly reconnaissance simply to get off the ground, to go do something. She wasn’t the only one, however, and some stern words from The Wall—a Captain in Luna’s Guard who’d earned his name several times over; rippling muscle covering a hulking frame that looked more immovable than the Canterlot Mountain itself—served to keep her mostly grounded. Appearances, as he put it, mattered, and if she got everypony riled up an’ flighty, the Thralls would cease to be her problem.
Cirrus’ continued absence was beginning to plague her. Blitz and Crisp didn’t seem too concerned, and when she raised it with them, they’d shrugged her off. Gone to get Luna, yeah, sure. But shouldn’t she be back by now? And where was Luna? Off protecting some non-existent flank, now that everypony had moved? From what Rainbow had seen of the Princess, any Thralls in that area should have been squashed like bugs nigh-instantly.
So she went looking for Rarity. Didn’t take much to find her, either, all cosied up on an old cart, nestled amongst blankets, while some poor sap pulled her along. Unbelievable.
Trotting up alongside, “So I see somepony’s enjoying the rout.”
“Shh,” the soldier pulling her said, twisting to catch Rainbow’s attention. “The Seer’s watching over us.”
Oh. Well didn’t that make Rainbow feel like an ass. “Uh, so . . .”
“No, I don’t know where the Princess is,” the soldier snapped. “Seer’s made sure everypony got out. ‘Side from that, she just said run.”
“Run?’
“Look, Chaser, all due respect, but I just do what I’m told. You want; I’ll pass on a message when she comes round.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rainbow said. Prying her eyes from Rarity’s still form, she blinked once, twice. “Ah, yeah. Sorry, uh . . . just tell her Rainbow’s still alive. A-and that I wanted to speak with her.”
“Sure,” the soldier said, turning away—his shoulder doing more to end the conversation than any farewell.
Rainbow took the hint, moving back up the line. They were moving through the last stretch of the outskirts, now, just a little further to go to reach the properly developed area. Ahead, squinting, Rainbow could see ponies emerging from the stoneworks, coming out to meet with the head of the column. Her wings fluttered, but she stayed on the ground, occupying herself instead with a brief assessment of the defences. Walls, obviously still in need of a rather great deal of work, nevertheless stood high enough to provide cover from any ground forces—enough, too, she supposed, to shelter them from those ballistae—though, of course, presented no problem to fliers. Gates, open now . . . well, honestly, Rainbow had no idea how sturdy they were. They looked solid, thick wood and metal braces. Behind, stonework forming a labyrinth of hoof-high walls, demarking eventual development, more hindrance than obstacle. And Castle itself, however . . . ah, now that looked to be a challenge.
It soared. There was no other word, really, even in its incomplete state. Easily ten, twenty times the size of any other building, it dwarfed the city around it. Slotted windows dotted its towers, heavy stone built out its base. Looking at it, Rainbow felt almost reassured: felt that this, as it had so obviously been designed to do, might actually have some chance of withstanding Him. The Storm that she didn’t remember, that Rarity had done her best to describe. Buttressed by the Princesses’ magic . . . this could be safe.
Ah, but now she was called forward, with other pegasi—collecting supplies from burdened earth ponies for delivery to storehouses, while the wagons were unloaded and sorted. Others directed civilians inside, began what appeared to become an Impromptu tour . . . still more raced to the walls, in all four directions, passing word to workers still toiling away, joining in the efforts. She tried to keep an eye on Rarity, but quickly lost her in the middle of a trip, carrying sacks of grain to the northern edge.
The sense of urgency had to pass, and as the hours drifted by without so much as a flicker on the horizon, everypony started to lose that fever-grip intensity, that rush, that call to action. Fading adrenaline gave way to exhaustion, civilians replaced by disgruntled soldiers chosen for first watch. Wardens worked alongside the masons, attention now devoted exclusively to the city’s defences, while others pushed themselves deep into the ground, bringing up groundwater and pushing the growth of new orchards, new crops. The operation moved with an efficiency that half-surprised Rainbow, though, reflecting, she supposed it only natural: an extension of a more violent age.
Finally, escaping the watchful eye of the quartermaster who’d taken it upon herself to order around all pegasi, under some impression that they were better spent ferrying things about than anything else, Rainbow made it into the Castle. It didn’t take her too long to find Rarity: she had the advantage in that this wasn’t her first time navigating the structure, and those she did find wandering the halls were happy enough to help. She hadn’t heard from anypony, but then, that could just as easily be explained by the rush of activity that accompanied their arrival than anything else.
Except, pushing open the door to the chambers they’d given her, she found Rarity still asleep, or, at least, in whatever the dream-like state Seers went to was. Dozing in a chair beside the makeshift bed—wooden planks supporting what appeared to be just a pile of cloth, haphazardly thrown together—was another pony, the soldier from before given some new posting. This one had a notebook out, quill lying limply in her fetlock.
Rainbow grinned, tempted not to disturb the tranquil moment. It seemed out of place, somehow, amidst the chaos. Like a scene lifted from Equestria.
As quietly as she could, Rainbow stepped across the room, gently plucking the notebook from the slumbering mare’s hooves. This was . . . a record, of sorts, of what Rarity had to say, Rainbow supposed. Still mostly blank, though at the top of the page, there were a few jotted points. Celestia fighting. Luna . . . unknown. Rainbow frowned. She hadn’t bothered to learn the finer details, sure, but she knew enough to know that Rarity should have been able to locate Luna nigh instantly. She’d had enough practice, that’s for sure.
Unless there was something blocking her. And with Celestia apparently still tied up in battle—doing Sun-knows-what, honestly—well, Rainbow could make a few guesses.
And, finally . . . ah. Shit. Rainbow paled, ears flicked back, and a shudder ran through her body, spreading from shoulders to tail.
The word underlined, a question mark floating beside it, with ink trailing down the sheet from that final point—quill slipping in the mare’s sleep, perhaps—she had written Discord.
The Spirit of Chaos himself. Well, that explained a few things. Was he related to the Storm, then? And if so, how? Her only experience with Discord had been relatively harmless, and even then they’d only just beaten him back—and that was with Twilight, and the Elements to boot. This . . . oh, and no Veil to insulate them, either. Rainbow looked down at her hooves, took a swift step to the bed, the notebook falling to the ground. She leant against it, and then clambered up, spinning around on the spot and tucking herself into a small ball by Rarity’s feet, as if she was on a cloud. She could feel the wood, vibrating against her—no, that was just her shaking.
Such a dark time. Nopony batted an eye at blood, at violence. And for all the exhilaration, Rainbow would be quite happy to avoid it for the rest of her life, thank you very much. The details that stuck with her were always small, unnoticeable things—a peculiar smell, coppery, and a sinking pit in her gut, the sensation of falling. What would Discord be like, surrounded by . . . by all this?
Sun and Stars. How could they even contest him. No Elements. No Twilight. Both Princesses—because now it made sense, oh yes, that’s why Celestia was still fighting, that’s why Luna was nowhere to be found—tied up. If they couldn’t win in the future, did they have any chance here?
She wanted to talk. Wanted to stand up and scream. But with . . . ah, and Rarity still watching, of course . . . she was alone. Could find Blitz and Crisp, perhaps, and then . . . what? Fill them in on the literal God at their doorstep? Find something productive to do, anything, just to be doing something? Rainbow snorted. Walls weren’t going to help here, not for anything more than morale. This Castle was never a defence—not, that is, against the real threat.
She swallowed hard, bit her lip until she drew a little blood. Took several deep breaths.
It’s alright, Dash. Discord, psh. Been there, seen that. What, thinks he’s going to get in your way? Going to stop you getting home? Come on. You’re Rainbow Dash. Fastest pegasus alive. Hell, screw that—fastest pegasus of all time. You know the level of power you’re dealing with. Felt it, even, at your hooves, ripping open a hole in time. Seen it, shaking a mountain.
And—and Rarity’s here. And a small army of Coromancers. Experienced, trained fighters, hardened in a war colossal enough to uproot an entire civilisation. They’re your friends, Dash, and they’re all around you.
And—and two Princesses. Much more brutal than the figures she knew and respected—but much more potent, too. There was an intensity about them, Luna in particular, that was so foreign to her conception. The gentleness that characterised Celestia almost entirely absent. The thoughtfulness that she ascribed Luna replaced with grim determination and unshakable conviction. Luna was still weak, when Discord awoke. Maybe, this time . . .
She knew, already, that they would petrify him. Somehow. It had taken the Elements . . . then would they find them? Wielded by the Princesses—ah, now that thought did make her feel better. Maybe Luna was off, right now, in search. Maybe this would all be over by evening.
And—and Twilight was waiting for her. Not logically, on an abstract level, Rainbow knew that she could arrive back mere moments after she’d left. But that did nothing to assuage her emotional state, the stress and frayed nerves of their prolonged separation. She had to get home.
Relaxing, finally, she stretched her back and limbs, sighing. A warmth draped itself over her shoulders—she started, flinching.
“Easy, darling,” Rarity said, leaning forward to embrace her. “It’s going to be alright.”
***
The world materialised in an instant. Celestia had been here often enough, she needed no time to visualise her mindscape. Instinctively seeking comfort, she recognised her old study instantly. Long, towering bookshelves covering near every wall. A long desk, lamps set low, scrolls and papers, maps, journals, documents and artefacts, all scattered in various mounds. And opposite that workspace, more open area, a large chair piled high with cushions, a small table, still holding days’ worth of cups and saucers. There were no windows, though a small brazier burned in one corner. It was a toasty, familiar space, someplace private and warm, where she could look inwards, to the depths of her mind, without interference.
So to have it so roughly torn asunder was more than a shock. Discord entered just moments after her, appearing hunched over her desk, wearing . . . glasses?
“Oh, no, ‘Tia, no no no,” he said, voice silk and ash. “This won’t do at all.”
And then everything was fire. Celestia screamed—part out of fright, sudden heat at her flanks inspiring the urge to run, sudden noise and light disorienting her, and part out of the threat, the sense of violation . . . her books vaporised by the heat, her notes incinerated, her porcelain melting, cracking, sharp explosions filling the air. She threw up a shield of sorts, purely on instinct.
But this was her mind. A second later, she’d recovered, and the flames disappeared, her study emerging unscathed. Everything were it should be, just so, even the mess, comforting in its own way.
“Aww,” Discord said, though . . . where had he gone? She’d lost him, it seemed. He had to be here, of course—couldn’t leave her mind, now that he was here, without her at the least knowing about it. “That’s no fun.”
“We aren’t here to have fun,” Celestia said.
“Hmm-mmm. And why are we here?”
She gave a toothy grin. “To kill time.”
A face pushed its way out of the stone wall, greyed skin forming from what should be solid rock. It grinned back. “Waiting on big sis’, are you? Think Luna’s going to save you?”
Celestia snorted. “I need no saving.”
“And yet we both wait. Might I-” the rest of his body pulling itself from the wall, dropping to the ground in a wet heap, dripping liquid rock from his skin “-then suggest a game?”
“I think not.”
“Oh, nothing serious. Merely chess. Apt, no?” The floor rippled, waves pushing out from the centre—stone fading back, colouring, lines appearing as if drawn by some great quill—a chess board, with pieces rising from the ground, animated, like beings stretching up from the shore of a lake, partially submerged.
“Discord,” Celestia said, stressing his name. Reaching out, she clamped down on the borders of her world, affixed the walls firmly in her mind. Made the rules more, somehow, more physical, less abstract. Light became brighter. The air grew warmer. The floor firmer. Gravity heavier. “I’m not going to play games. I’m not going to debate. I’m not even going to fight.”
Outside, in reality, the Element draped around her neck shimmered. The rock still dripping from Discord hardened, then shattered as he took a step forward.
“In fact, I’m not even going to listen. You can have the corner, if you’d like. But kindly remain quiet. I wish to think.”
He just grinned, started whistling a tune. “Ah, Celly, Celly. You’re going to try to ignore me? Me?”
She could see how he became the creature from Rainbow and Rarity’s memories. The playfulness was already there, the subversive tendencies, the nothing-is-sacred mentality. How that rose from Typhus’ essence, she had no idea: it seemed almost antithetical to His being.
A snap and feathers appeared, floating all around her. They waved and flicked, stirring in a sudden breeze, against her skin.
And yet, Discord contained the same intensity. Something she’d witnessed in herself, in Luna, most certainly in Him. Just then, outside, the voice . . . there, Discord had reminded her of nothing so much as Typhus. Remove that fire, that mountain of will, and what would remain? An impotent joker, Invested with all the power in the world and naught to do with it but be a nuisance. Could she do that? Quench the Storm itself, even so reduced?
With Luna at her side, maybe. But with the Element—yes.
Some strange device—white, like china, cylindrical and hollow, with a red tapered end and a box in its centre, floated next to her head. Discord appeared at its far end, sucking in a huge breath of end. Some intuition made Celestia reflexively flinch just before a titanic sound issued forth—a veritable shockwave of noise, shattering cups and plates, knocking chairs over, blowing Celestia herself back against a bookshelf. She let go of the magic covering her ears, restored everything with a stomp of her hoof. Discord pouted, pushed once again to the far side of the room. She felt a strange pain, a line of fire crossing her upper chest, and a dull ache in the shoulder.
She remembered the Well. Finally found, far, far to the north, well past the Crystal Empire, past even the nomadic tribes that lived at the base of those mountain ranges demarcating the northern edge of the world . . . it had glowed with golden light. Stepping in was transcendent—power flowed into her, through her. Transformative. Her senses had expanded, her mind tapping into ancient sources of knowledge. Suddenly she knew the history of the world. Knew the source of Typhus’ power. Knew the connection between her own might, and His. Enough to reshape the world, to tear down mountains and raise new ones in their place. Enough to move the stars in the sky, to spin the planet itself into a new trajectory.
She had refused it.
Claiming her body, with as much of that power as she could stand, she arced south—a comet of solar energy, titanic and unstoppable. But the power wasn’t hers, but . . . a hoof came to her chest, where the pain was still growing. Just another distraction—she could see Discord smirking where he waited. It was contained, held in physical form. Energy made matter.
She didn’t know if she could take just some of that. She didn’t want to become God—to become Typhus in Typhus’ place. The Element represented control, represented choice.
She stumbled, her knees buckling. Discord burst out laughing, clutching at his sides. She looked down, saw the traces of magic—dismissed them. Blood pooled, gashes covering her chest, her shoulders, wings, legs . . . she could feel it more, now that she was paying attention. She gasped, sucking in air, only to hear it whistling out. Strength faded, and she hit the ground.
“Thing with chess is, only the King matters,” Discord said, walking forward. “But you don’t need a King to take a King. Any old pawn will do, if it has enough time.”
He loomed over her. “Checkmate,” he said, waving as the world went black.
***
Luna Saw. Saw the destruction of the town, the fires and the battle to retreat. Saw the refugees reach the relative safety of their Castle. Saw the Thrall army swarm over the buildings, reducing everything to rubble. Saw Celestia, drawn high into the sky, away from the protection of her soldiers. Saw Discord occupy her mind as Thralls flew towards them. Saw them buzz around her like flies.
She flew, armour forming around her body—created from a compression, a transmutation of the air. It spoke to her, whispered plans, half-thought-out thoughts and ideas. She still wasn’t sure what to think about that. Now, though, she listened, and poured desperation into her wings. Air resistance inverted to propel her forward. Gravity flipped to pull her onward. She accelerated without end, streaking across the miles in an instant. She felt no wind, no grit collecting against her, heard no sonic boom as she tore past the sound barrier. Everything was sacrificed for the sake of speed, her Conduit nature allowing her to bend the energy moving around her to her whim.
A touch too late to let go of the spell, she didn’t slow in time. There was a tremendous impact across her face and chest—red spray filling her vision. And then she was past the group, slowing down, dropping down and wiping at her eyes. The group of Thralls surrounding her sister was . . . smaller. She glanced down, saw scraps falling through the air, some scattered what seemed to be hundreds of metres away.
Then she looked up, narrowed her eyes to slits, and showed her teeth.
Fangs were just another suggestion from the armour. But Luna couldn’t argue with its logic, with the simple truth that expectation and perception counted for a hell of a lot more than most thought. A pony with draconic eyes and fangs was menacing and strange. The fear in their faces and bodies, the prey-line reaction to her presence . . . it made her feel strong. Had done so, in a time where, more than anything, she had needed that. To feel like the avatar of a people, like the Moon itself. Implacable. Immovable. They scattered. Single-minded, brain-washed into devotion, perhaps, but not suicidal.
Celestia was gravely wounded all the same. Luna’s passage had done her no favours, either, blowing off two limbs entirely, while the rest of her body, covered in cuts and gashes, leaked blood like a sieve. Mangled wings could no longer support her in the air, and she fell, slowly, sustained by the same unconscious will that had kept her in the air while in the mindscape. Luna could see the glisten of entrails, the weak pulsing of her heart, pumping more and more life out of her arteries.
Luna caught her, gathered her into her arms, lowered her head, and touched her horn to Celestia’s chest. The gemstone there, covered in blood, shimmered. She could feel the ocean of power in there, the contained might. She brushed it aside, gathered up her horror, the pounding of blood in her veins, the taut muscles and wide eyes and roaring in her ears. Conduits did more than twist energy. Conduits could heal.
Argent light spread out over Celestia’s body as they reached the ground. Luna laid her out, closed her eyes. Saw skin knitting together. Saw veins close up—roughly, at first, and then finer, once she was stabilised. Saw the stumps of her two missing legs close up, awaiting more critical injuries. Saw the crack in her horn repaired. The tear in her intestinal lining sealed.
“Ah-ahh,” a voice issued from the clouds. “That’s cheating, Lulu.”
Luna ignored it, continuing her work. Stability, that was the focus. Celestia beginning to stir under her. Wind—no, not wind, just intensity, a focus full of desperate control, boiling and breaking and holding utterly, absolutely, still . . . she could hear nothing apart from the half-thought ramblings of her mind, see nothing but the flow of magic.
Celestia’s breathing slowed. Her eyes fluttered. Her lip quivered, working itself spasmodically upward—quirking into a smile. “Lu . . . lu,” she said.
Luna frowned, ears pricking up. They seemed to be alone, for better or worse. Still . . . maintaining the healing magic but relinquishing her fine control over its direction, she sank inwards, opened her Sight.
There was less fog, here, thanks to her frantic accumulation of power. She could See herself, blazing, and her sister underneath her, a faint mote, no longer guttering. Feeding on her warmth. And . . . was there . . . there. A bonfire, a swirling inferno of might. Fiery, brilliant, she could See the magic coalescing and dispersing, flickering around the figure in random swirls. Tendrils extending outward concentrically, randomly, seeming to spin outward without purpose or direction.
Those tendrils were touching her sister.
Luna snarled, standing, kill it, let her anger—her guilt racing down the path of least resistance—spur her to yet greater heights of Coromancy. She swept power outwards, black and potent, save her, more demolished than dismantled the veil that hid the creature. At her strike, Celestia’s countenance relaxed, lapsed back into unconsciousness. A glance downward and a final pulse of health, and Luna had taken off, kill it, accelerating to breakneck speeds in an instant, striking at the creature—tall, sinuous, draconic—with everything at her disposal. Magic, gathered in a spear at the tip of her horn. Speed, concentrated in her wings and the air around her. Strength, in her hooves and body, lashing out. Save her.
It twisted away, not fast enough to avoid her everything. Her magic scored a great gash in its torso, her wings drove it backwards, her hooves crushed it. She passed it, halted, spun on the spot, preparing another charge.
And paused. The damn thing had already healed—blood dripping from her horn, she knew she’d hit it, and yet . . .
She glanced back to her sister. Still breathing, and steadily.
“Who are you?”
“Discord, apparently,” it said, wry tone doing nothing to ease Luna’s mind. “You know, there’s a much more polite way to ask somepony’s name.”
Discord. Celestia had told her of this creature, first seen in the minds of those two Coromancers she’d sent back. He was, she’d judged, by their utter naivete, and apparent success in dealing with him, no real threat. That, it seemed, had been a hasty assessment.
“Come, sister,” he said, spreading his arms. “No need to fight.”
Luna spat. “There is every need to fight. Prepare yourself!”
She gathered her power together, concentrated it. Not in magic, this time, nor in her flight, but rather in her hooves, in the ground underneath her, and the rules of the world around her. There would be no dodging her, now.
And yet, he looked confused. Hesitant, even. “But . . .” Sister?
She charged. As expected, he did not strike back—again, merely trying to avoid her. But where he stepped aside, she was already there. When he slipped away, she followed. Dancing, an endless pursuit, twisting the world again and again. And each step landed squarely on his body, her hooves battering him and horn gouging him, blasts of magic—nothing compared to her full potential, but power nonetheless—charring the flesh and eating away at him, only for that same flesh to reappear, swirling together out of that bonfire of magic that comprised his mental state.
Sister?
He recognises me. Why?
He recognises me!
Luna grinned, a feral, fanged grin, a promise of pain and death. She understood. A fragment of Typhus, then, surely, recognising her handiwork, forged over months of delaying His advance, fighting Him at every turn.
Turning His power against Him.
She reached for that bonfire, found it. Grabbed hold of him, made her hooves grip him like glue. Bent his magic with her wings, called it to her. Swirling, raging, fiery. Collected it, solidified it, brought it into herself. Her armour grew accents, silver on embossed black, grew thicker, more solid.
And he screamed. Discord fought, frantically, like a child fighting against its mother—tossed and turned and bucked in her grasp, and eventually got a hand free and snapped his fingers and was gone.
Panting, Luna reached forward, felt at the fabric of the world. But she didn’t—couldn’t—follow. She relaxed, took a deep breath, let go of the fire. Let it stream from her mouth and her eyes, burning deep holes in the ground where it pooled, a liquid inferno.
She returned to Celestia, cradled her sister’s head in her hooves, bent over her, and resumed healing.
***
“Luna was there,” Rarity said. Rainbow had calmed some, her . . . what looked to Rarity to be some sort of panic attack—not something she’d usually associate with the pegasus—fading. “She did . . . something. And he ran.”
“Discord?”
“The one and only.”
“Ran from Luna?”
Rarity frowned. “Yes.”
“But why?”
It did seem a bit strange. The Discord she remembered had presented a threat such that Celestia had not even attempted to intervene, aside from deploying them, as the Elements. And yet here was Luna, demonstrating some hitherto unknown ability to scare the God of Chaos—to send him running, tail between his legs. And . . . this was different Discord, too, removed from the calming influence of the Veil. A Discord tempered by ruthlessness, by a sick sense of humour, by a . . . a bloodthirstiness that was so unlike her picture of him. Through everything he’d put them through, there had been no real physical trauma, no lasting damage beyond the emotional. Was that, then, entirely the Veil?
She swallowed, hard, suddenly possessed with images of what could have happened that day. How easily he could have slain them! And then what recourse, left to Equestria, but to pit two wholly underwhelming Princesses against him?
Because it wasn’t just Discord that was different. She Saw Luna tearing through those Thralls, smashing them to pieces in an instant, so that mere globs of flesh remained. Power given weight, given consequence.
“Rarity,” Rainbow paused, bit her lip. She hadn’t moved from Rarity’s embrace, though now she pulled away, staring seriously at Rarity’s face.
“Yes, dear?”
“Have you tried looking forward?”
“I don’t follow . . .”
“Well, we’re outside of whatever it was that blocked your Sight, right? A-and we’re here to learn more about it, for Luna.”
“Yes . . . oh.” The Veil’s creation. Now why hadn’t Rarity thought of that? She couldn’t imagine that she was as eager to return as Rainbow, but she had to admit that the thrill of discovery here had paled a little, next to the danger. And . . . she missed home, too. She wanted to see Sweetie Belle again, and the girls. The Carousel Boutique. So look forward, to the Veil’s inception, and at the worst discover how long their visit here might last.
“Yeah. D’you think?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Now?”
Rarity hummed. “I’ve been pushing myself all day, dear. I’m afraid I’m quite exhausted.”
“Please?”
She smiled. “I’ll try. But while I do, could you find somepony in charge? Let them know what happened out there? I think perhaps everypony might like to know that the Princesses will be here soon enough, safe and sound.”
Rainbow nodded, letting a grin play across her mouth. “Sure thing. Anything else I can get for you? Some company, . . . oh, yeah, welcome to the Castle. I’ll give you a tour later.”
“All I really want is a long hot bath and a glass of wine, dear.”
“Okay,” Rainbow said, turning to mock salute as she left the room. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Rarity yawned, closing her eyes briefly, as the door clicked behind Rainbow. She wasn’t lying—exhaustion was a mild word for the bone-deep dullness, the opacity of thought and general weariness that permeated her every fibre. But she wanted, more than anything, to go home, just as Rainbow did. And the thought, the idea, inspired her, gave her some of that old thrill of discovery she’d feel whenever the dots lined up just so . . .
Energy rose, unbidden. Thought and feeing swept forth power, inside her, around her. She sank into herself, felt forward, blindly, reaching out. Further and further, feeling for that curious resistance that had so hampered her efforts, looking for Luna all those months ago. Like trying to stare through a white silk curtain, billowing against your face—moving and shifting and retreating, with no magic, no hooves to hold it still. She felt a pounding, dull for now, but surely growing, developing into a headache. She needed to rest.
And then, there it was. The Veil. Stretching out, a vast barrier against her vision. She opened her eyes, clenched her jaw, and fell back into the pillows, not caring in the slightest as her body flinched, hitting the hard wood underneath.
Tears began to crop up at the corners of her eyes. “Two years,” she whispered, to herself, before huddling over, curling herself inwards and desperately, frantically, seeking sleep.
There is something here. I was right about the Tower, wasn’t I? And Starswirl’s manuscripts, and . . . it doesn’t matter. For all her griping now, she’ll be grateful when I—when we—know more. When we can turn it to the betterment of all.
Fifty-One
THE WAVE SWEPT over her without warning. A great rush, all at once, swamping her with feeling, sudden sentiment. Applejack gasped, her body tensing, head jerking up, snapping towards the north.
Something had just happened.
She found herself reaching forward, hoof plunging through the table before her. Wood splintered, cracked under the force of the blow, and she started to topple forwards before catching herself. Watching her body move without direction, almost in slow motion. She shook herself, took several deep breaths.
She wanted—needed—to act, to move. Getting up from the chair, she kicked the remains of the table, saw it crash into the opposite wall. Her thoughts spiralled, confusion dominating, clouding, preventing her from just slowing down.
She ran outside, not really opening the door so much as throwing it open, bouncing it off its hinges and back into her face, where it smashed itself to pieces, a great crack ripping through her ears. Applejack trembled.
She could use some of this, burn it off, clear her thoughts. It would come back, later, rebound against her. But . . .
A pain lanced across her chest. She fell, gasping out at the sudden burst, hooves rising to touch her heart. Slowly, she looked down, found herself whole. The pain faded, slowly, replaced with a dull ache that spread throughout her whole body.
Never before had the free-fall seemed so close, so readily apparent, so intoxicating.
She reached into her orchard, drew on the stability of the ground, the networks of branching tree roots, capable of weathering any storm. She could feel the change in the air and the ground and her own body. Something taken away—as if she were trying to gallop without horseshoes. Everything seemed a little more dangerous, a little more possible.
She moved forward, wincing with each step. Into the heart of the orchard, the apple trees arranged around her. Not rows, as they had been in the past, but concentric, spiralling outwards. Creating a centre. The pain held less sway over her there, the impulse to act not quite as domineering. She sank down, took the time to calm herself, to tense and relax every muscle. Minutes, to master her thoughts, but just being here afforded her that time. Gave her some semblance of control.
This . . . whatever it was, Applejack highly doubted it was only affecting her. As personal attacks went it was poorly directed, poorly timed. To assail her with strength, and the impetus to use it, in the seat of her power? No.
Fluttershy.
Fluttershy had already encountered manipulation like this. Fought it, eventually to a standstill. She could handle herself, had proven that again and again.
Applebloom.
Applejack turned towards the town with a dawning sense of horror. Indiscriminate, playing off the tensions already running through the town, this was perfectly suited to bring that kettle to a boil. Applebloom was in there, selling produce. So, for that matter, was Big Mac.
She found her way to her hooves, drew further on her orchard. She knew the outermost rings of trees were drying, half-formed fruit falling to the ground, dessicated, in response, but she shunted that acknowledgement to the farthest corner of her mind, and drew more.
Stability lacing her hooves, she galloped for the town.
Was this some ploy by the Drac? She’d forced promises from him, oaths he would not—could not, if Twilight was to be believed—break. A way around them? He’d said that he would stop. That his task was done, ended, complete with delaying Fluttershy long enough to prevent her from reaching Twilight in the Crystal Empire. To prevent her from stopping Boundless.
Or was that was this was? Boundless’ mission complete, the Veil torn asunder? She closed her eyes, trusting her hooves to know the sense of the road, battering down obstacles as she plowed towards the town, and looked inwards.
A whirling storm of emotion. How much of it hers? She could feel it out, so to speak, notice when the flavours weren’t quite right, when the motives didn’t line up. Paying attention, she found threads of an unknown loss, an . . . abandonment. Linked to—Applejack flinched away, her eyes opening, breathing heavily, loudly, occupying her mind with the simple motions of running.
The town loomed up ahead. She listened, focused more of her being into her ears, and heard. Faint sounds of conflict, of raised voices, shouting, and the crackle of fire.
No.
She barrelled towards the sound, coming out of an alley and into a smaller plaza on the western flank of the town. A district largely belonging to the newer members of Ponyville, those traders and merchants that had set up shop here, taking advantage of Ponyville’s position as trade hub between Canterlot and the rest of Equestria.
The crowd were baying, gathered tightly together in the centre of the plaza. Handing out weapons, makeshift, but dangerous enough. Pitchforks, spades, rakes. Torches. Not disciplined, plenty jostling their neighbours, barely restrained by the figurehead leading the charge. Applejack couldn’t see who it was, through the press of bodies.
About them, fire raged. Already claiming buildings towards the east, spreading—thatch roofs and the economical layout, houses pressed up against houses, with only narrow gaps allowing ponies to slip between the buildings, relying more on wider roads between blocks for movement, it resembled a business district more than residential, testament to the prevailing mindset of those who lived here. They’d set those fires first, Applejack realised, in the throes of this uncanny anger, feeding off their distaste for the residents, and their sudden ability, desire, to do something about it. They’d only gathered into a mob as that first wave began to run out of steam.
But the mob would provide plenty of fuel. Self-fulfilling, really. The expectations created by the short-lived burst of destructiveness would only serve to drive more to pillaging. And every step worse than the last. A descent into madness, a push, off the edge of a cliff.
Applejack took a step forward, stopped. No use revealing herself, not yet. She doubted her ability to make them see reason, not here, not now. She needed to break the group’s momentum.
She turned, keeping to the shadows cast by the fires as she made her way around the plaza, eyes fixed on the crowd. Not dark, yet, but she couldn’t wait, either—had to trust to their own focus to hide her.
If she could just . . . Almost too loud to think. She needed to find the leader, the pony this loose gathering was revolving around, break their grip. Establish authority. But the crowd hid them too well, constantly shifting, the only gaps in the crowd moving just a few ranks deep, and closing as quickly as they opened. The cacophony of noise, voices, fire, the cracking of wood and crash of buildings beginning to splinter apart, the metallic screeches of weapons being smacked against each other, against the ground . . .
She heard faint screams, and twisted to glance at the burning buildings again. The fire most progressed at the edges of blocks, too much stone to really gain a footing in the sparse alleys between houses. If there were ponies still inside.
Applejack clenched her jaw. A time limit, on top of everything else. She’d considered attempting to contain the mob, limit the damage they could do, until they petered out, spent. That wouldn’t work if it meant leaving others to burn to death.
She’d’ve killed to have Fluttershy by her side here. A Conduit’s ability to sense energy would have been invaluable, in locating those trapped by the flames. Her ability to manipulate energy perfectly suited to containing those blazes, preventing them from doing further harm. Her ability to see the effects plaguing the crowd, to alter it, subtly, to calm them down.
Actually, scratch that. Applejack knew her friend well enough to know that that was, in all likelihood, exactly what she was doing, elsewhere. Applejack was ill-equipped in comparison. Not beyond the realm of possibility that she’d have struck out on her own anyway, unable to really contribute anything to Fluttershy’s efforts.
Focus. The crowd hasn’t moved yet, but they were gearing up, egging each other on, testing the waters. Feeling, in an unconscious way, for resistance, social or magical, that might hold them back. Testing boundaries. The fire licked up the sides of houses, ate away at their roofs.
Applejack made a decision. Came at the crowd, barrelling forward, fast. Fast enough that nopony could get more than half a word of warning out before she was in their midst, crossing the distance from the dark edges of the plaza. She wove through them, using her shoulders as bludgeons, never striking directly, but bumping, dislodging, disrupting their balance and coordination. Creating a disturbance, and moving on before they could catch more than a glimpse of her, burying herself in the next clump of ponies.
Fighting erupted in her wake. Ponies assuming fault of those next to them turned, faces twisted in anger. Others lost grip on their implements, let them fall to strike those near them. A hundred voices lifted in indignation. Chaos.
Steadily, she made her way forward. Looking for a space, for the gap that influence would need to occupy, to signify, to allow their words to carry. Towards the centre, she found it.
“Mayor?”
The mayor turned, her grey mane twisting around her neck. “Ah, Applejack. Come to join in the festivities?”
“I . . . no!”
“Ah, but we’re nearly ready to go! Come, now, even you could use the release.”
“No, no, this is wrong. You’re . . .” Applejack caught herself. Too much, too fast. How to appeal to a crowd, like this, already swept off their hooves by welling, bubbling emotion. Logic would have no sway here. “My friends!” she bellowed, spreading her hooves wide. Not enough space, they drowned her out, couldn’t see her.
Snarling, Applejack planted her hooves in the ground, reached down through the cobblestones to the dirt and rock below. Just a trickle, and the cobblestones erupted, sudden growth of roots, movement of earth pushing upwards, creating a narrow pillar underneath Applejack. Thrusting her up, above the crowd. A makeshift pedestal. She reared, yelling out, “My friends! Too long we have watched as others tore down our homes! Too long we have waited, trusting in their goodwill! Too long!”
The crowd roared. Their attention on her, now, specifically her, and not each other, not the weapons in their hooves, the fire at their backs.
“Canterlot does not care!” Applejack cried, all but tasting the lies. “They send their upstarts here, those too young or foolish or stupid to have a place on the mountain. They send us their trash!”
Another roar. It grew, in volume, swelling all around her to a deafening din. And the fire crept forward along the edges.
She took a deep breath. “Well, what are you going to do about it?” she screamed, turning her gaze skywards. This weapon, double-edged. She prayed she wasn’t making a mistake, firing their fury even further. But blind emotion was a stampeding herd, a charging bull. Easy enough to direct, for all its strength.
“There!” she called, pointing to her right, where the fires raged. She was all but certain this crowd had been the ones to set it, small groups or individuals rampaging before they had congregated here. “They burn our homes!”
“There!” she cried, pointing forward. The rioting had already dealt damage to the town, had broken windows and storefronts, defaced homes, left ruins in their wake. “They tear down what we’ve built!”
“There!” she pointed to her left. Shadows danced on the walls. “They cower. They fear us!”
She took another breath, found some more magic, used it to strengthen her throat, her lungs. Bellowing, now, loud enough to drown out all other noise, to drown out thought, “Oppose them! Stop the destruction, save your homes! Find your families, your loved ones, protect them! And then we will have a reckoning, my friends, yes, a reckoning indeed!”
Go, go, please, just go home.
It was a spell. She was all but sure of it. And spells wore off, or could be dispelled.
She prayed she wasn’t wrong.
They took a moment, just staring at her. Some mouths slightly ajar, others with hooves over their ears. Others, eyes shining. They hadn’t moved, frozen in place by a strange paralysis, caught up in the spectacle.
“Go!”
And they went. Streamed towards the burning buildings, their torches forgotten. Found water, somewhere, dug up loose dirt to smother the flames. Scattered, individuals, no longer part of a mob, but preoccupied with thoughts of their own: families, lives, selves. Dispersed.
Applejack lowered herself, panting. She wiped sweat off her brow, flicked it towards the ground. A wholly different kind of exertion, this, profoundly dishonest. Her lip twitched.
Applebloom. Fluttershy.
Alone again, she turned towards the centre of the town, and ran.
***
Twilight reeled.
The impact had knocked her onto her rear, the nausea had forced her down, twisting onto her side, panting. Unexpected, though she should have known . . .
No. There was no real way to prepare for something like this. For the indoctrination of a lifetime being brutally removed. For the thoughts—the horrible, horrifying intent that stamped itself over her mind. She glared, picked something, out in the distance, focused her vision on it.
Not your thoughts, Twilight.
She knew that, of course. Didn’t help much, though. In and out, breathing carefully, with control. She could still feel the sensation of the magic, parting flesh . . . was that universal, she wondered. Was everypony in the Crystal Empire, in Equestria, now reliving that awful moment?
A puzzle. She clutched at it like a filly, to her favourite toy late at night. Surely the magic would dissipate with distance. Like any spell, the further away from the casting they got, the more power it would require—and so, the less effect it would have. A smaller impact, a much faster recovery. So that, at the farthest extremes, places like Appleloosa, hundreds and hundreds of kilometres from here, it would register as a faint sense of unease—if that.
Yes, that sounded right. She rolled the concept over in her mind, examining it. Would that lessen its effectiveness? She could certainly imagine a radial map of consequence—that is, the more extreme reactions concentrated nearby, while those spread further out might not notice their new circumstances, but . . . would they still be able to take advantage of their freedom?
It wasn’t murder that Twilight considered. That had ever been only the example, only the worst possible part of what this meant. There were so many things, all tied together, that relied on inter-personal conflict . . . her imagination failed her. She thought of Science, of the thousands of opinions that might now fight for their differences, instead of reconcile them. Of Art, and the myriad of forms, the passion that might suddenly appear. Of Aspiration, and the heights they might reach.
The problem. Any spell relied on a complex interweaving of its various parts, the spell-form an aggregate of laced runes and matrices. The Veil had been opaque, its design hidden, but for all its complexity, for all its power, it could not flaunt those basic rules. Even the Elements of Harmony, the closest thing to raw power given physical form they had, had an internal spell matrix.
And the destruction—the utter annihilation, at the hooves of Trixie—of any part of that matrix, would cause the whole thing to fail.
Hadn’t she merely killed? Spread the feeling out, over as much distance as she could, spurred on by the Coromantic potential within her, within the minds of her deceased friends? For an instant, Twilight froze, nausea forgotten as her hooves rushed to her muzzle. If she had merely freed Equestria, without actually destroying the spell itself . . .
She could feel its influence—or rather, the absence of its influence. Something she’d never noticed until it was gone. She was free. But . . .
No. Something on this scale, with this much power behind it . . . the effects would ripple. Compounded by every individual torn away. Growing until the Veil itself tore. Without ever targeting it, exactly, Trixie could overwhelm it—as if it rent itself asunder attempting to control and subjugate her sentiment. No, it was gone. It could not have survived.
Twilight rolled onto her back. Her breathing had calmed, and she felt better, more like herself. Clambering to her hooves, she saw Trixie, unconscious—to be expected, with that exertion—saw Daerev tending to Cadance, who was moving through her own panic attack, Luna and Celestia huddled together, quietly talking. Saw him. She approached the Princesses, picking a path through the debris their fight had left covering the plaza. Through the air, the sounds of cries, thundering hooves, screams of horror and desperation.
“Twilight,” Luna greeted her. “Welcome back.”
“We have to do something,” Twilight said. “Something right now. I . . . For a minute there, I actually wanted . . .”
Celestia looked haunted. “I know.”
“They’re . . . Some of them,” she gestured out, at the city around them. The sun was beginning its descent, now, abandoning its prior zenith. “Oh, Celestia. Equestria . . .”
“The Palace must make a statement. Immediately,” Luna said. “No delay, no careful wording. They will listen to me, but they will hear you, sister. Go. Now.”
Celestia paused, hesitating for a second, mouth half-open, before she nodded, disappeared in a flash of bright light.
Luna looked to Twilight. “I will monitor the situation, I think.”
“Luna . . .”
“Decisive action supersedes consideration here, Twilight,” Luna said. “Better to do the wrong thing than nothing.”
“No, it’s not that,” Twilight said, fumbling for words. “I just . . .”
Luna sighed. “I know. I wish—but no, there is consolation. Here, let me show you something.”
Twilight hesitantly stepped closer to her, looked up at the Lunar Princess. Those eyes, normal now, but huge, like the great abyss of night, motes of light sparkling against nothing at all. She felt after Luna’s memories, those willingly offered, witnessed—lived—them in an instant.
“Rainbow,” Twilight whispered.
“You know where?”
Nodding, Twilight lit her horn.
“Go then,” Luna said. “I will see to those here. And Twilight? Rainbow will be weak from her exertion. I . . . Nightmare Moon suggests Ponyville, as an ideal place to recuperate.” She looked pained.
Twilight nodded, once, not willing just now to engage with that tidbit. She filed it away for later consideration, and disappeared into a burst of purple light.
***
Applejack hadn’t found any other impending riots, though there were plenty of small pockets: ponies cutting loose with their frustrations, or trembling, hiding from the chaos in their homes, or frantically trying to save what they had from the developing fury. She did what she could to calm them, to channel their energies in different directions. Several times, she stepped in to stop groups terrorising individuals, one time even catching them using fire to drive others out from their homes. The chaos moved like a wave, a ripple, spreading across the town, so that as she got closer to the town’s centre, the damage was more severe. Behind it, looters and opportunists followed, using the flash-mob as an excuse to settle petty grievances or long-standing feuds. It wasn’t often that the violence escalated to physical harm, but not so uncommon, either, that Applejack had to watch where she stepped, moving carefully around the rivulets of blood spreading down towards the gutters.
Screaming and the crackle of fire. Shadows lengthened, the sun now setting, and despite all the years she’d lived here, watching the town grow, she found herself somewhat lost more than once.
It was, Applejack thought, a particular chaos, a loss of control more than any great impetus. Here and there, she encountered those further taken with the swirl of emotion that had caught them, but far more often it was simply a herd mentality, a social pressure. Individuals were less prone to violence. Groups tended to centre around a leader, themselves extreme, in any direction. Twice, she’d been able to defuse a situation merely by appealing to their goodwill. Energy, unexpected and intense, with nowhere to go.
They needed to set boundaries.
Still, her priorities remained simple. Find Applebloom, and Big Mac—though she was less worried about him. Find Fluttershy. Minimise the damage, survive the night. She’d worry about planting seeds for the future later.
Ponyville was bigger than she’d thought, or so it seemed. All the recent developments had gotten away from her: she could remember when the walk from outskirts to town centre took just fifteen minutes. Now, it seemed, she’d been running for hours.
There.
Up ahead, another small group, surrounding a two-storey building that took up most of the block. Squat and ugly, wide gates faced those milling in front of it. As Applejack approached, she could hear their voices, egging on a bright orange pegasus, fluttering at the top of the gate. Straining.
Scootaloo?
“Hurry up!” a high-pitch carried through the air.
“C’mon, ‘loo! Ya can do it!”
Applejack grinned. She recognised the building now that she was a bit closer—one of the new schools. She knew the girls had resented that particular development—saw it as a particular affront, even though they’d long since graduated when it was built. They were trying to get access—why? To deface it, to destroy it, to vent some of that energy on a hated object.
“Girls!” she yelled, approaching.
“Oh, shit,” she just barely caught Sweetie Belle muttering.
“Oh, thank goodness I found you,” Applejack said, closer now. “Y’all’ve given me the biggest scare.”
Applebloom hung her head a little at that, though the others weren’t so easily guilt-tripped.
“We’re fine,” Sweetie Belle said, flicking her mane back over an ear. “W-”
Applejack swept right past her, grabbing Applebloom up into a tight hug. From over her sister’s shoulder, and ignoring the squeak of protest as she squeezed all the air out of Applebloom’s lungs, “An’ what were you all doing here, anyway? This . . .” turning her eyes to the side, pretending to just notice it, “this is a new school! What, y’all planning to bring down the system?” She turned an eye, and associated eyebrow, on Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo, who had dropped down beside her.
“No, it’s just that-”
“Because I surely hope you all didn’t think that this’s the perfect opportunity for a little vandalism, hmm?” Applejack said, bulldozing right over their attempts to taking control. “I imagine that would come part and parcel with some unpleasant chores.” She let Applebloom down, fixing her gaze on her sister. Applebloom wilted.
“No, that isn’t right,” Sweetie Belle insisted.
“Oh?”
“We wanted somewhere to hide out,” Scootaloo said. “You think we can’t see what’s going on? Please, AJ, we’ve spent long enough living here, of all places.”
“Doesn’t add up,” Applejack said. “The school? I know you resent it, at least partially.” She held up a hoof, forestalling argument. “However trite that is, it’s exactly the sort of emotion this . . . spell, seems to magnify. And why now? It’s been at least an hour, maybe two, since this started.”
The three girls glanced at each other.
Applebloom nodded. “Fluttershy told us to stay put. A-and then,” shuddering, “Sugarcube Corner got hit. A group came through, trashed it. Left graffiti on the walls, smashed up the tables and chairs, tore down part of the ceiling . . . we were upstairs, in the kitchen. Sweetie Belle nearly fell down, but Scootaloo caught her.”
“Didn’t want to stay there, after that. But outside was . . . scary. Nopony really hurt us, exactly, but . . .”
“They weren’t friendly,” Scootaloo said.
“Right. So, uhm, we ran a bit, and wandered, and then Sweetie Belle remembered the area. And we came here, because whose going to be at school right now?”
Applejack fought to keep the concern off her face. Expertly applied, she had to admit, hitting just the right notes to override her reason. Appealing to her protectiveness, to the tendency she still had, seeing her sister as a child.
But Applebloom wasn’t a child anymore.
“So,” Applejack said. “You don’t want to trash this place? Not even a little bit?”
Applebloom licked her lips. “M-maybe a little bit,” she said.
“Right,” Applejack said, trotting up to the wall. “I’ll give you a boost over, Scootaloo.”
“What?”
“Everypony’s going a little crazy right now, and you’re right—nopony’s going to be looking in here. Promise me you’ll stay on the ground floor, don’t trap yourself anywhere you could get cut off? I’m worried about fire, mostly.”
“O-ok.”
She waited for Scootaloo to step into her hooves, then threw her skywards, fuelling the throw with just a touch of magic. Combined with a hard flap, she cleared the gate easily, drifted down on the far side. She ran off, heading for the office, presumably in search of keys.
“So,” Applejack said, sitting down against the wall while they waited, her legs sore. “D’you know where Fluttershy went?”
Applebloom and Sweetie Belle shook their heads. “But she was scary,” Applebloom said. “Intense. It was strange. We were . . . agitated, hyped up. Like when you’ve had too much coffee, and you can’t stop moving.”
Sweetie Belle smacked the back of Applebloom’s head. “That was one time.”
“A-anyway, she looked at us, and she got all tense and still, and it faded away. We were calm—well, calmer—but she . . .”
“I think I get it,” Applejack said. Problem. She didn’t think Fluttershy would repeat her mistake, taking in all the negativity, but that she was trying at all . . .
“Sis’,” Applebloom said. “What’s going on?”
Applejack sighed. “I don’t know, yet. We’re waiting ‘till Twilight gets back here, an’ Rarity too,” nodding at Sweetie Belle. “They’ll know more, I expect.”
“But-”
“This won’t last long,” Applejack lied. “Trust me. It’ll all blow over, and we’ll fix the town up and have a party to celebrate. Just like the ol’ days.”
“You really think so?”
She nodded. “Just gotta do the best we can.” She yawned. Tired. What was this? An overuse, a response? A tidal shift, drawing away? “Just gotta . . . hold out.” She shook herself lightly, got to her feet. She gazed to the east. The town burned, sparsely, but still . . .
Scootaloo had returned, was fiddling with the padlock on the gate. Sweetie Belle yawned, though in sympathetic response to Applejack or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“You girls be good,” Applejack said, working up to a trot. “I’ve gotta . . . gotta go. Stay safe!”
Have to find Fluttershy.
She forced herself into a run. She knew where she was, now, could move faster, take shortcuts through side-streets. Much of the new development was behind her, leaving only the established winding lanes of her youth.
Blocks went by. She encountered almost nopony here, just a few tearing down an old wooden shack. She moved to stop them, then blinked, felt more than saw the heat on her coat. They were fighting the spread of fire—trying to prevent it from moving across. She let them be.
She kept moving, stumbling occasionally. Dimly, somewhere, she realised that this stupor wasn’t natural. Like fighting through a fog, her mind worked slowly, distantly, scrabbling after ideas but failing to link them together.
Eventually, she saw the library, the old treehouse, up ahead. She moved to it, no faster than a halting walk, now, all trace of goals lost. She slumped against its bark, took several deep breaths. She was trembling, she realised belatedly, the rough bark vibrating with her.
But it was alive. She reached for it, found it unaffected. A wellspring of strength—old, and weathered, but there nonetheless. She drank, sparingly in respect, felt herself spark to life like she’d been shocked awake.
What in tarnation?
She shook herself, worked her jaw. That . . . was that the same spell? Quickly, her mind put together the danger. The inexplicable weariness would put down the mobs well enough, but those fighting fires, trying to protect themselves and their property . . .
She took a step away, testing her legs. Traces remained, and she wobbled. She turned back to the tree—just one more sip, and stopped.
She hadn’t been trembling.
The library treehouse vibrated, tremors shaking it from the inside out. Cautiously, Applejack approached, stepping quietly, and slunk around the side to a window. Reaching out the edge, she peered inside, and couldn’t stop herself from letting out a small gasp. She clapped her hooves across her mouth, pressed her back to the bark beside the window.
Inside, Discord stopped pulling bookcases from the walls, turned to glare at the wall Applejack hid behind. He snorted, before dismissing the sound, and went back to whatever he was doing.
Minutes passed before Applejack dared peek again. Deathly silent, she watched him for a moment, before moving away.
Searching. He’s searching. For the Elements.
“Applejack!”
The scream could hardly have been more poorly timed. Applejack froze, eyes locked on the window, as the sounds of Discord rummaging through the books there stopped once again.
“Applejack!” Fluttershy screamed again, careening down from the air. “We’ve got a problem!”
She looked manic, hair a mess, eyes wild and bloodshot, her coat flecked with foam. Applejack waved, pointing with her hoof, then galloped away, sprinting, as fast as she could manage, for the darkness, shelter in an alley way nearby.
Fluttershy hit the ground hard, a few steps behind her, following.
“What?” Applejack hissed, as soon as they were out of sight of the library.
“The Everfree,” Fluttershy said. “Applejack, the Everfree. It’s growing.”
***
Luna tore through the Forest. Branches, covered with leaves, obscured her vision, bushes grabbed at her legs, trunks blocked her path. She barely bothered moving out of the way, trusting to her magically enhanced durability—to the durability of the gleaming armour that covered her form—to protect her as she moved straight through most obstacles, leaving a trail of ruined vegetation behind her.
The Forest was alive. More than just affectation: the usual stories of whispers through the trees, birdsong and rummaging critters, the wind and the trickling waters combining to create an ambiance of life. No, this was no illusion. There was something here.
She found the Lethe, followed its waters south.
Their discussion in the Crystal Empire had shaken her more than she liked to let on. Hard, to entirely reject Celestia’s arguments, harder still, to let go of her own. It left her in a state of dissonance, a horrid uncertainty. She wanted—needed—answers. And while Twilight would learn what she could from Rainbow and Rarity, those scouts returning too late to significantly contribute to her present dilemma, there was one name that had cropped up again, and again, and again.
Agyrt Vaeros. Where are you, Drac?
She came to the Old Castle, stopped, hovering in the air. She would recognise his presence, she was sure. Still, she closed her eyes, reached for her Sight. Reached for his mind.
No visualisation came to her, no fog-shrouded picture of him. This was a simpler application, no need to convert his presence back into an image for her to observe, With practice, with the right mindset, her tutor had said, just about any Coromantic technique could be reduced to the basics, simplified, and in the process made more efficient.
She felt outward, a radius several miles wide, searching, and found naught but the life-forms of the forest. That in itself was curious. The Forest was alive, she was sure—but her Sight told her of no intelligence governing it, no mind behind it. Purely instinctual, acting on pre-conceived forms?
She bit her lip. Expand outward, search. She touched the outskirts of Ponyville, dismissed the few citizens she’d touched there. Still no trace. Again, now searching a band outside the Forest entirely. Again, nearly fifty miles out, now, and . . . and caught just the faintest trace, the whiff of him, the fragments of dissipating magic. It had a flavour of its own, separate and complementary to that of her own, or of her sisters. Chaotic.
Again, outwards, a hundred miles, reaching up to past Canterlot and down to the desert, and it was stronger still, there.
Again, a hundred and fifty miles, and she found Appleloosa inside her band. She moved to dismiss them, and halted, sensed panic, a franticness. Trixie’s spell? She paused, debating, and made her choice.
Again, outward, two hundred miles, more, and she found him. Flying south, serpentine and graceless, out of the water. Fleeing. Luna snarled. He would not escape her. She began to gather the energy she required for a teleportation, drawing it from the Forest, mostly, not risking touching the waters below her.
She refined her Sight, reached for the picture of him, the location. She expected desert, dry, barren, oranges and golds extending out in every direction, as the sun set.
She saw a Storm. It drenched the landscape, boiled in the air, tore at the dunes and expanses.
Luna’s spell finished, and, with just a fine adjustment, she melted into the shadows without a trace.
We reached its source today. I’m . . . well, I’m worried, to put it frankly. I wouldn’t tell anyone this, for fear of colouring their thoughts, but . . .
I’ve seen this place before.
Fifty-Two
RAINBOW DROPPED THE FINAL stone into place, panting with exertion. Sliding through the mortar, it got stuck a few inches high, and she smacked her hoof down on it a few times, knocking it into place. Below her, cheers just barely echoed their way up the marble walls to reach her. Grinning, she glanced down and gave them a mock salute, the comparative weightlessness of her body giving her enough of a second wind to throw a few loops on her way back to the ground.
That was the northern wall, done—or, at least, as near to done as she could manage. Tidying up the work, placing the last few decorative details, that was best left to the Wardens. Already, one was being flown up by two pegasi, hooves reaching for the block Rainbow had just left. He’d mould the stone, bond it more deeply with the mortar and its neighbours, smooth out any imperfections or pockets of air.
The walls gleamed as she descended past them. A marble facade, covering burnished steel and thick slabs of rock, it captured the light and refracted it, tiny fragments of glass and crystal embedded in the panelling scattering colours in a multitude of tiny rainbows. It was, she had to admit, a work of inspiration, the equal of anything Canterlot had ever produced. And while the high rises in Manehattan cleared this castle without issue, none of them had anywhere near the durability, craftsmanship, or . . . well, grace.
She chuckled. To think, back when she’d first seen the ruined castle in the middle of the Everfree Forest—that she’d helped build it. She could see the damage, if she thought about it, matched loose memories to what she was looking at now. Most of the detailing gone, the marble dulled and cracked and broken. Some towers fallen entirely.
She landed, somepony pressing a mug into her hooves just moments later. Simple cheer, good ponies around her—it eased her, made up for something that had been missing entirely too long.
Rainbow shook herself slightly, and took a deep gulp of cider. Sweet and tangy, with clear notes of cinnamon and a strong aftertaste that lingered long after she’d put her mug down. It couldn’t live up to Applejack’s, of course, but, staring into the swelling group around her, all lively, happy . . . well, it came close.
“Rainbow,” Blitz called, hitting the ground hard a few feet away, kicking up clods of earth as he skidded to a halt.
Grinning, she hoofed her mug over. “Slow down, buddy,” she said. “We’ve earned a little break.”
He pushed the mug away. “Mission’s come up. You know the drill.”
Rainbow made a face, more for the benefit of the workers around her than anything else. She could feel the tingle running down her spine, the spark that word had provided already picking up her wings, lifting them in anticipation.
A mission. It had been weeks—weeks of hard work, good work, sure, but work. Rainbow drained the mug, passed it on, said farewell, and—fwoosh—spiralled skywards after Blitz.
This was her real purpose here. This was what she was here for, beyond Luna’s mission and Rarity and everything else. Not a coincidence, or a mistake—but something only she could do. Fated, she supposed, if she let herself think the word. She shook herself slightly. The comfort of the loop was becoming all too familiar.
Because what else? Plenty of ponies went through life wondering at their impact, the effect they might have upon the world. Here? Rainbow had no need of wonder. She could see her influence, extending across the years . . .
“Heads up, rookie,“ Blitz said, falling into flap beside her. “Here there be dragons.”
This time Rainbow made a face for herself. “Again? Surely we’ve gotten everything-”
“Nope. We’ve checked the area after Typhus’d swept over—nada. We were busy running for our lives, and those fuckers thought it apropos to pick over our remains like carrion.”
They flew over the walls, out into the vast flat plains beyond the castle. Nearly two years since the attack on the town and still there were ponies out here, felling trees and digging into hills. Unspoken the assumption—the knowledge—that this respite had already gone on for far too long. It lent daily life a precarious tension.
“And we can’t jump over the Storm?” Rainbow asked. She knew the answer: she’d tried it herself, late at night when she’d thought nopony would notice her sneaking out. Not a pleasant conversation, that had spawned.
Blitz shot her a look. “Fly through that thing? You’d be torn to shreds, by Cirrus if not Typhus himself. C’mon Rainbow. You know this is important.”
Always another mission. Rarity had been placating her, peeking ahead a little at a time. She swore they were close, now, just days, if that, out from The Big Thing—whatever it was they were waiting for. Rainbow wasn’t sure she cared anymore. Too much time, away from home. She was beginning to forget things, and the prospect scared her.
And then, the consideration. Was it entirely fair, for her to complain about Rarity, even only internally? Surely she was missing her sister just as dearly as Rainbow missed Twilight? Missed the Wonderbolts, the stadium, the crowds and adoring fans? Missed quiet evenings with a good book?
No, Rainbow. This is what you do. Push yourself a little further every day, a little higher, a little faster. This . . . this marathon is nothing more than another race. One day at a time. Chin up, wings raised, go.
Cirrus and Crisp were waiting for them up ahead, hovering high above.
“Flap lively,” Cirrus barked as they approached. “I want to do this clean and fast. That means no gawking, Rainbow, and no loitering for stragglers, Crisp.”
They nodded, sharply.
“Our target is a family heirloom. Claims it was enchanted with some pretty serious protection spells by a Conduit generations ago. Lost it during the evacuations.”
“Shouldn’t something like that have been catalogued?”
Cirrus sighed. “You know how it goes, Blitz. Things fall through the cracks and we get to pick up the pieces.”
“Sir.”
“Seers report in that dragons were seen approaching a nearby town just ahead of the Storm. They’re known to seek out and acquire Coromantic artifacts, and there’s no reason to suspect this’ll be any different.”
“Swoop in, snatch it, get out before dragons fry us or Typhus catches us,” Rainbow said. “Simple.”
Cirrus glared at her. “I don’t want any more heroics out of you, rookie. Don’t make me bench you again.”
“Do we have to do this now?” Rainbow asked, looking away.
“Yeah, I think we do. I’m not going to have you trash this operation as well.” Cirrus wasn’t moving, hovering in front of Rainbow, even rising slightly to stare down at her.
Rainbow lifted her head, jutting her chin out slightly. “I get it already.”
“Do you? Because I distinctly recall you going out of your way to get yourself killed last time.”
“They were going to die!”
“Get this through your head, Rainbow. You are too valuable to risk. We operate under supervision, but Seers aren’t perfect, we’re not perfect, and that damnable Storm doesn’t make things easier!”
Rainbow sniffed. “If we aren’t even going to try, then we aren’t valuable at all.”
“We take reasonable risks, with calculated odds. We have Seers, scouting for us. We operate as a team. We don’t squander our talents and go flying off on some foolhardy suicide mission!”
“I-” Rainbow closed her eyes, flared her nostrils. She hated the idea that her successes and failures were premeditated, that events were unchanging. It meant that she had no agency here. She’d argued against that, strongly, to Rarity and to herself. But so much of what she feared, about Fate, about free will—the implications of closed-loop time travel and what it meant for her . . .
Rainbow shook herself, put it out of her mind. Focus on the task at hand. She forced herself to meet Cirrus’ eyes. “Alright,” she said, swallowing. “I’ll stay in line.”
Cirrus hesitated a moment before nodding. “Fall out.”
They flew south, separating some distance from each other so as to avoid colliding slipstreams, and, accelerating all at once, sped forward with a great boom, rocketing into the past.
***
“Is that everypony?” Rarity turned, placing her notebook back into her saddlebags, blue telekinesis winking out.
Hoofsteps from behind. “I think so. As well as we can, of course. So many records were lost in the evacuations . . .”
They stood in a records room, shelves of scrolls surrounding them, interspersed with windows allowing sunlight to beam across the room.
“It’s still quite the list,” Rarity said. “There’s enough here to keep Rainbow busy for months, even before we get to the riskier cases.”
“That’s their job,” Foresight said, nodding to the piece of paper. “What about you?”
Rarity blinked. “We’ve still the interviews today. Any information we can add to the loops can only help.”
“Of course.”
“In fact, there’s no reason to wait. Walk with me? We’ve told them—well, I will tell Rainbow to tell them—to assemble in one of the side halls. Shouldn’t be more than twenty or so a day.”
Foresight fell into step beside her. “Time travel is weird.”
“Quite.”
“Still, this busywork can only keep you going for so long. Any thoughts about what’s next.”
“To tell the truth,” I’m not sure.
Foresight nodded. “A difficult spot, for a Seer.”
Silence, for a hallway. Then, “I’m getting sick of waiting,” Rarity said, spitting the words out.
“Waiting?”
“We’re supposed to be finding a solution. Luna is . . . well, our Luna, anyway, thinks Typhus is returning.”
“A thousand year cycle, I believe.”
“Right. Well, I’ve heard from your Celestia and Luna, interviewed soldiers, civilians . . . learnt all about this cycle. The Well is the best lead by far. The font of power Celestia used to turn the tides nearly two years ago. Somewhere far, far north—even of here, which will become Equestria.”
“But Typhus isn’t defeated yet? You refer to the spirit by name of Discord, correct? I believe you, incidentally, were ultimately responsible for that name.”
Rarity shook her head. “No, Typhus isn’t the problem anymore. It’s . . . we didn’t think much about what we were going to find here, understand? We arrived with . . . preconceptions. Celestia had ruled Equestria alone for just about the entire period of time we skipped over. I was personally involved in purging an evil spirit from Luna. Equestria’s founding stories, about Starswirl and Clover the Clever and others . . . none of it seemed to fit.”
Foresight hummed. “So you’re waiting to see how it connects?”
“Yes.” Turning a corner, Rarity could see artworks decorating the stone hall. Tapestries, of looming shadows sweeping over the land, ponies fleeing underneath it. Of bright stars peppering the crowds. Of the Sun and Moon, gathering together on the horizon, touching , somehow, in a way that was not eclipse but union. This was the real foundation of Equestria. A desperate struggle against what was, for all intents and purposes, a God. “I suppose I am.”
“One would think that an unusual predicament for a Seer to find herself in.”
“Back home, some years ago, Luna went missing. They tasked me with looking for her, monitoring the borders as it were. And everytime I went south—went looking in lands Typhus has here swallowed up—I couldn’t see anything at all. Just grey fog, swallowing all light.”
Foresight closed his eyes. “That would mean there was no life there. Just a barren wasteland, from coast to coast.”
“If Celestia’s theories are correct, yes,” Rarity said, swallowing. “That, or there could be a barrier..”
She could see him put it together. “You don’t think we defeated Typhus at all, do you?”
“No. Discord, I know, is turned to stone. But what if Typhus is still out there, roaming the wasteland? What if this barrier separates Him from Discord? We’re here.”
Foresight put a hoof on Rarity’s shoulder. “It’ll work out.”
“I’m tired of waiting,” Rarity said. She squeezed the doorknob, telekinesis pulsing around it, then exhaled and opened the door. Twenty ponies, exactly, most looking like they’d just come from work in the fields. “Hello, everypony. My name is Rarity, and I’ll be conducting the session today.” Pulling her notebook from her bag, “I see you were all picked up between the third and fifth?”
Nods all around.
“Excellent. I’ll ask you all to cast your mind back as well as you are able. We’ll be running through what exactly happened so that we can pass on any vital information to our Chaser teams.” Rarity beckoned the nearest, a stallion whose hooves were clearly still coated with dirt. “Don’t any of you stress too much, it’s just a quick interview and then you can go back to your day. If you’ll follow me, sir . . .”
Retreating to a far table, Rarity lit her horn, quickly constructing a silence spell to surround them, even allowing herself a small smile at how simple that task had become. “Now, then . . .”
“Tumbler,” the stallion said. “I lied.”
Rarity fumbled her telekinesis, dropping the notebook to the table. “What?”
“The rainbow one. She told me to do it. Nopony was going to come for us, otherwise” Tumbler looked down, refusing to make eye contact. “They wouldn’t have gone. They would have left us there . . .”
***
The time-stream isn’t something Rainbow thought she’d ever be able to get used to. Of course, that was before she spent a year making round trips through it.
She could feel Crisp and Blitz at her sides, like distance fliers in slipstream. They keep each other steady, help to balance out any disturbances. Cirrus was ahead, pushing herself as always. They’d nearly been ambushed, once, dropping back into normality right in the middle of a fight. Ever since then Cirrus had been sure to take point, no matter how much Rainbow argued.
Dragons again. The thought, once upon a time, would have given her excitement—it still did, even. But it felt different. Trepidation, mixed in with the familiar thrills. These dragons weren’t like the ones she’d known back home. They’d been intimidating. These were vicious.
For all that, the time-stream was relaxing. Not much to look at, no scenery or landscape, just endless swirling colour. She’d gotten more confident in here, over time, to the point that she thought she might be able to locate the right day, even, and she knew exactly why she’d overshot by two whole years when she’d brought Rarity into the past. Thank Celestia she’d had Rarity even as a rudimentary guide—even with her, it was amazing enough that they’d been that accurate.
Now though, she thought she could get back to Twilight inside of the day she left, if she wanted to.
Up ahead, Cirrus dropped out, left a vortex in the colours. Rainbow dipped her head, dived into it as she swept forward, felt the air greet her with a colossal crack, the colours of the time-stream splitting into an incandescent rainbow that spread across the sky. There wasn’t really any way to make the process subtle, which was okay by her. Subtlety wasn’t Rainbow’s strong suit.
This time, that wasn’t going to work for their favour. Slowing down, Rainbow took stock of their surroundings—the team of four flying at some speed still, abruptly banking to the right at Cirrus’ lead. Typhus some ten-fifteen miles away, already dominating the horizon. No dragons, as far as she could tell. They’d been that lucky, at least.
They flew perpendicular to the storm-front, whipping through air that felt like it had been sucked dry. Rainbow shivered in spite of herself. She could see it growing as it approached, moving at an unbelievable speed. They’d only have minutes—maybe a half-hour, at most. She gulped, and focused on flying.
Cirrus’ aim had been good—they found the small town that was their reference point almost immediately. From there, they banked north-east, taking a small, dusty trail winding through the plains.
Soon enough, she spotted their goal. A small homestead, sitting close to the edge of a large expanse of land. Rainbow recognised the layout: this was a farm, once. The house close to what passed for the thoroughfare, for access; paddocks laid out as orderly as the landscape allowed, slight hills and depressions creating a natural sense of flow to the space.
“On me,” Cirrus said, then dived, making for the house. Following, Rainbow noted the cracks splitting open brown earth, withered trees and the deathly silence. The farm had been parched, just like everything else around here. Was that the Storm?
The house was deserted, and had been ransacked already, the family that had lived here taking most everything they could get their hooves on before fleeing. Shelves had been emptied, cupboards left hanging open, bedding stripped and clothes left haphazardly across the floors. It only took a minute for them to reassemble in the living room.
“Nothing inside,” Crisp confirmed. “We’d be able to feel it if it was here.”
“Barn’s empty. I’ve got wagon tracks outside,” Blitz said. “Reckon they took it with them. We’ll have to follow the tracks north.”
“Good. Crisp, Rainbow, watch the sky. Blitz, you’re with me, stay low and keep your eyes peeled. I don’t want us caught off-guard.”
They flew, all four just a few metres off the ground. Rainbow kept her eyes up, but mostly she listened. There was a sense she had, a feeling regarding the movement of air around her, the winds rising and falling in predictable patterns, everything ordered and sensible. The last time she’d encountered a dragon, however, she’d noticed that that felt off, somehow, as if it was interfering with nature itself. She’d only made the connection afterwards, when the adrenaline had worn off, but now she had a chance to put the theory into action.
They couldn’t move too fast, for fear of losing the trail amidst the broken vegetation and rock-hard earth, and between her vigilance, the lulling monotony of her steady wing-beats, and the avatar of violence keeping pace with them, back on the horizon, Rainbow began to fidget. She’d rock, side-to-side, spinning a little more each time, until she was spiralling, flying intermittently on her back, eyes roving the blue sky above. She’d flick her tail, first at nothing in particular, then when that failed to draw a reaction, at Blitz, or Crisp. She didn’t quite dare flick Cirrus.
It was a good fifteen minutes before they saw their target. Three ponies, stumbling northwards amidst so much brown emptiness. The air, rushing past her, howled, a forlorn sound. Rainbow felt her heart skip a beat, ducking her head and hunching her shoulders, falling out of position to swoop down towards the ground.
“Rainbow,” Cirrus barked, falling towards her. “Stay back, damn it!”
The ponies were dragging a large wagon behind them, cloth pulled taut over the top of it, forming a tall arch that could have held all manner of keepsakes and supplies. It tumbled along the uneven ground, wheels kicking up dust and the odd stone. She couldn’t see inside it, just yet, but soon . . .
She felt a hoof grasp her shoulder, throw her backwards to tumble through the air. Spluttering, Rainbow let herself tumble head over tail a few times, the drag reducing her velocity, before snapping her wings out to their fullest, catching the air and halting her spin. She glared at Cirrus, who ignored her, drawing forward to hover, following the three ponies from a few hundred feet, up in the air. They hadn’t noticed anything, yet, though from the way they tossed their heads from side-to-side, it couldn’t be long.
Crisp flew up alongside Rainbow. “Think, you idiot,” she said. “Why’d they only leave now? Everypony else was gone from this region days ago. Not them. What, they stuck around to smell the roses?”
“Uhh,” Rainbow frowned.
“Yeah. Look at Cirrus. What’s she doing?”
“Just . . .” Rainbow swallowed, traced Cirrus’ eye line. The captain’s wings flickered with magic. “Just watching.”
“And?”
“And,” a horrible thought occurred to Rainbow, “and they might be thralls.”
“Yeah,” Crisp said, quietly. “They could be. We can’t know anything much about what we’re doing, here—for our own protection, as much as theirs. That makes this dangerous. Like, really dangerous.”
Cirrus let out a loud cry, swooped forward, Blitz hot on her tail. Rainbow started forward instinctively, only to be blocked by Crisp’s hoof. “Watch.”
Whisper quiet, the Chasers swept down upon the three ponies still moving on the plain. Cirrus dropped down, brushed past the cloth covering the wagon, her wing cutting cleanly through the material with ease. She continued on, flapping once and twisting, to hurtle past the three ponies, coming within inches of their hide. Her wake hit them moments later, the wind causing them to stumble, and set their manes and tails to fluttering, like grass in a storm.
Blitz pulled up, dropped his hind legs, and settled down on the back edge of the wagon, his head already peering forward. He slipped inside.
A beat, while Cirrus completed her twist and circled around, rapidly gaining height, the attention of all three ponies fixed on her, climbing out of reach . . .
And then Blitz exploded out through the tear Cirrus had made, wings beating rapidly, something glinting off his mouth.
Crisp dropped her hoof and flew forward, Rainbow hot on her heels. The three ponies had stopped moving.
“Damn thing bit me,” Blitz said, as they came up alongside him, putting distance between themselves and the wagon. Rainbow glanced at him, saw blood trickling down his flank. Puncture wounds—sharp edges and deep, bit into the muscle, and the flesh around them was torn. Teeth, Rainbow realised.
“That it?” Crisp asked.
“Nah,” Blitz said, holding up the chain he’d taken. “I was rooting around. There’s more than mementos in there, though.”
“You sure?” Rainbow said, eyeing the wagon. It remained still, a faint breeze fluttering the fabric. It’s owners still hadn’t moved.
“Yeah. I could feel it. Like a pressure, in the air.”
“Great.”
“Report!” Cirrus called, joining them.
This was getting weird. If they’d been lured here, the trap should have snapped shut by now. What were they waiting for? Rainbow looked around again, then pushed her senses out as far as she could, straining.
“They’re not thralls,” Cirrus was saying. “I don’t . . .”
Rainbow felt something. A telltale tremor of nervousness spasmed its way through her body, running down her spine and spreading through each wing. But, it wasn’t . . . the edges of her awareness remained clear. Scanning the horizon she saw nothing save the Stormwall, slowly approaching from the south. They’d kept pace with it, thankfully, but it would swallow them within the hour.
“Captain,” she snapped, breaking the conversation. “How far to the retreat? Where’s Luna fighting?”
“A day, maybe more?” Crisp said, shrugging. Then she looked back down at the ground. “They’re not thralls. Stars, they’ll never make it.”
“They were delayed,” Cirrus said, frowning. “Had to be. Why?”
The wagon moved. Rainbow turned her attention to it, and felt that trembling apprehension triple. She gulped. “We’re about to find out.”
And the wagon’s axles splintered, dropping the floor to the ground, its fabric tore as a huge, sickly green shape expanded through it, unwinding, growing, snapping into the sky as it lunged for them. A deafening roar preceded it.
“Break!” Cirrus screamed, and dove to the left. Rainbow, on pure instinct, shot up, racing it into the air.
She had a head start. But it had been able to kick off the ground, and it was still expanding, whatever shapeshifting magic it had employed to remain hidden amidst the wagon having the effect of propelling it faster still. A mouth, cavernous, came just feet away from Rainbow’s tail before the momentum of its initial lunge began to wear off.
Panting with adrenaline, Rainbow glanced down to see a dragon falling away from her, inscrutable eyes flashing with sunlight. Monstrously huge, the beast dwarfed just about anything Rainbow had come across before, easily hundreds of feet long. Celestia, it was going to crush everything on the ground.
No. Narrowing her eyes, she could see three bolts of colour rocketing out form underneath its bulk. They’d had the same thought—used Rainbow as a distraction to get the ponies clear. She sighed in relief.
Briefly, she entertained the thought of going after the amulet. It seemed important—important enough to send four Chasers after it, when there was still so much work to be done. It was down there, in amidst the remains of the wagon. Except . . . maybe something Cirrus had said had actually stuck around, because Rainbow paused.
Was it down there?
Blitz could have sensed the dragon. They had no confirmation that anything magical was accompanying these three at all, save for their initial mission and location. And Rainbow had no real desire to go up against this thing on the half-chance that there was a reward glittering on the other side.
It wasn’t worth it.
So she spun northward, raced across the sky after the other Chasers. She caught them easily, with their rescuees weighing them down. Unfortunately, so did the dragon.
She felt another burst of power. Glancing over her shoulder, Rainbow let out a squawk, scrambling to get out of the way as the dragon came rushing past.
She had to draw on her frustration, just a little—she’d been trying to do that less, lately—for enough speed to clear it. Even then, the slipstream was a weapon all in itself. A wall of wind hit her, as surely as if it had been brick, and sent her tumbling towards the ground.
She hit hard, bouncing a few times as she bled momentum onto the cracked earth, losing fur and skin until eventually grinding to a halt. Blearily, she looked up, saw the dragon twisting in the air, trying to catch the Chasers buzzing around it like flies.
Rainbow tried to stand, and immediately felt a white-hot searing pain tear through her front leg. Already swelling, there was a long lump where the bone was clearly broken, and the skin was grazed badly. She fell back down, and panted, grinding her teeth in between breaths.
Not everypony had been as lucky as her. Blitz must have taken a much more direct hit from the charge—late to react, perhaps, though more likely the pony he was carrying had simply hampered him too much. He lay motionless, just a dozen or so feet from Rainbow, his burden a few feet further still. She could see their chests rising and falling. Unconscious.
She started dragging herself over to Blitz, hissing as her bad leg scraped the ground.
From where she lay, she could see Cirrus gathering energy around her wings. This close to the ground, and with the sky largely obstructed by the dragon, she couldn’t reach her full heights. That didn’t mean she didn’t pack a mean punch.
Lightning flickered out, splitting the air between her and the beast in an instance, and scored a series of flickering impacts on its hide. The dragon roared, and twisted away, but it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
If even that. It’s tail lashed out, turning with the beast, directly at Cirrus. Crisp was there, tackling the captain out of the way. The tail flew over them.
Rainbow blinked. Where were the others? Surely they hadn’t found the time to put them down?
She reached Blitz, ran a wing over him. Minor scrapes and lumps, thank Celestia. Then, her wing hit something sticky. Blood was gathering at the edges of his body, and with a grunt she hauled him over, to see a much larger wound. Something had torn across his lower back, gouging out flesh. She could see the edges of his spine.
Rainbow took a moment to fight down her queasiness. She rose, as best as she could, over him, draping herself over his wings. She closed her eyes, tried to close her nose against the coppery scent, the warmth of the air. She gathered up her pent-up anger, her burning, incessant desire to return home, and she brought forth the storm.
Differing species of Coromancer used different foci. Unicorns had their horns, earth ponies their legs, or hooves. Pegasi used wings.
Air began to move. A sudden wind, arcing over and under Rainbow’s outstretched limb, generating lift that helped ease her off Blitz’s body. It rubbed together, swirled, formed eddies and pools of stillness. Turbulence.
Lightning began to crackle, feeding off her will. It started near the small of her back, spread out to tingle, running between feathers. With effort, Rainbow focused it down to a small patch, a blade of electricity, held humming and steady. She fed it power, drawn from desire and it crackled its expression.
Slowly, biting her lip, head turned away, she brought that edge down into her friend’s wound.
Instantly, he bucked. Cauterised flesh smoked, a little, and she couldn’t stop herself from smelling it. She clung to him, tears springing to her eyes. She needed to see what she was doing.
She forced herself to look, held her throat shut, refusing the food already in her throat. Quickly, before she could think about it, she lowered her wing again, touching its tip to the exposed vessels, searing them shut.
It took entirely too long. About thirty seconds of intense focus, before she finished wrapping his body in cloth from her saddlebag, turned away, gasping, throwing herself off his body. She didn’t feel her leg at all, couldn’t care about it as she threw up, noisily.
Finally, she turned back to the battle. It was closer, now, just a hundred feet away. Abruptly, she understood. Cirrus and Crisp had gotten their ponies clear—but they’d had to hold its attention. They were providing a distraction, a fighting retreat.
She looked back at Blitz, and at the pony unconscious beyond him. Neither of them were going anywhere right now.
She flew to the pony Blitz had rescued and inspected him, brusquely. No major wounds—had Blitz sheltered him with his body? Coromancer durability would have helped him withstand the impact, far more than a normal farm-pony.
She draped the body over Blitz’s wound, hoping the additional weight would keep pressure on it, and rose into the air.
A retreat wasn’t going to work. Cirrus was waiting for Blitz—and Rainbow—to get up, so that they could flee. That left two options. They could abandon the mission, and the ponies here. Or they could fight.
Rainbow grit her teeth. She didn’t want this—had no desire left in her for the reality of violence. She had scars aplenty, from nicks and cuts, had mental trauma that still hadn’t begun to fade. Flashes of light, the faint scent of blood wafting through a window. But there was no give in her, no choice to make. And she thought she knew what Cirrus would want from her, too.
All came tumbling together, a wave of repressed feeling swelling up inside her, tumultuous, a storm of emotion.
She’d talked endlessly, about home, had turned to exercise and training, as she had before. Nothing provided solace from the growing heartache of distance.
She’d spent hours reflecting, assessing reason and motivation, grasping at straws as she tried to justify the old thrill of competition, the vicious satisfaction that might’ve, maybe, possibly begun to grip her, two years ago.
She’d flown with these pegasi, these warriors. Practised, trained, learnt. Shared meals, and laughter, and stories of the past. That friendship had a power to it, a steady thrum of current that sparked, at the sight before her, an inferno.
Rainbow shot forward, multicoloured streams of air exploding out behind her. She crossed the hundred feet in half an instant, hurtling towards the dragon’s chest, its centre-of-mass. She reached forward as she did it, screaming, sweeping her wings forward to unleash the prismatic energy gathered around her.
She hit it hard, lifting it off the ground a few metres. Leathery skin blistered, ruptured under her impact, welling up with thick blood. She heard a tremendous crack, and a bellow of pain and surprise, and as the dragon beat its wings, rising with the hit, Rainbow tumbled to the ground.
She focused on her breathing, tried to keep the blackness from creeping in on the edges of her vision. She just didn’t have the fine control or the capacity to redirect energy a Conduit did—she couldn’t stop the impact from hitting her just as hard, merely brace herself against it. She felt her lip curl: Fluttershy always had been better, going up against dragons.
She tried to find the emotion that had propelled her, gather the fraying remnants of will.
And then the dragon roared, and a sudden, peripheral, heat splashed out across her limp body.
Fear, the pulsing beat of anger, the desperate desire to move, to get back on your hooves, damn it—all fled. She felt stunned, as if she’d been slapped, a dizzying, dreamlike fugue descending over her thoughts. She slumped backwards, eyes wide and disbelieving, the dragon towering over her. There was no urgency to her study, just an academic interest, following its motions. It lifted a foot, held it high above her, and then sent it hurtling earth-wards.
Something hit her in the side, sent her tumbling across the ground. Fresh pain flared up in her broken arm, and she gasped, abruptly brought back to the present. Twisting, she saw Cirrus lying a few feet from her, shaking her head.
“Wha-”
Cirrus’s eyes locked onto her. “Get up! Rainbow, I swear to Luna, if you make me come over there-” interrupted by the dragon, long sinuous movements bringing its body towards them.
Rainbow flapped her wings, tried to ignore the screams of protest from her arm. She rolled over midair, stabilised, reached for the familiar core of power. And felt nothing.
All just . . . gone. She stared at Cirrus, airborne once more, flitting about the dragon as it tried to swat her from the air. Not a whisper touched her mind. She glanced at her forearm, bone now jutting from through the skin, blood trickling through her dust-coated fur. Debilitating, she realised, without rancour. She began to tremble.
Ah. That made sense. Rainbow nodded at Crisp. “What now?”
She bit her lip. “We’ve gotta draw him away long enough for one of us to get Blitz out. Cirrus isn’t going to be able to distract him forever.”
Rainbow could see that. For all of the captain’s skill and agility, all it would take is one mistake, one well-placed blow, and she’d be out of the fight. Hell, for that matter all it would take is for the dragon to get bored playing swat-the-pegasus and turn on somepony else.
“Alright,” Rainbow said. “I don’t think I can Jump right now.”
Crisp reached out, then hesitated. “Luck, Rainbow,” she said instead, offering a tight smile.
Rainbow nodded. It didn’t seem like a big deal, to be honest. She sped forward, noting the ever-familiar ache right at the base of her wing-joints, just below the shoulder.
She tagged Cirrus, dropping just close enough to her to make sure she’d felt Rainbow’s passage, then sped straight up towards the dragon’s face. She remembered how she’d gotten their attention, in the past. She remembered how Fluttershy had done it, too.
She paused, midair, fixing her gaze on one of the dragon’s eyes. It hesitated just for an instant, then lunged forward. Rainbow, leaping backwards mid-air, matched it, and settled down on three limbs, to stand on its muzzle.
The dragon went cross-eyed, clearly startled. Using her wings to assist, Rainbow stepped forward, closing in on its forehead, then drew herself up and, spinning around, gave it a buck. Her hooves impacted its hide with a dull thump.
She had absolutely no effect—and she hadn’t expected to. But the gesture was contemptuous and impertinent, and the dragon let out a cough of smoke, then shook its head violently. She was flung from her perch, and caught her balance midair just in time to avoid its fangs, flashing brightly as they leapt for her.
She heard a loud boom: Crisp, leaving the area, rapidly followed by two more. She twirled a little, making sure she still had the dragon’s attention. It stepped forward, jaws filling up with liquid fire, dripping to the ground and sizzling there.
Cirrus zapped its flank with lightning.
Time to go.
Crisp flew into her peripheral vision, moving towards them.
The dragon unleashed its fire, Cirrus darting to get out of the way. It washed past her, and she stumbled, wings falling out of their synchronous rhythm, face registering surprise, then dispassionate calm.
Rainbow winced, felt a spark—worry, terror, panic—ignite. She clung to it, like a beacon leading her from a deep fog.
Cirrus fell like a stone, plummeting, and Crisp tore forward, barrelling into the captain’s side. The dragon roared again, turning back to Rainbow. She could swear she saw it smirking, in that reptilian way, baring its teeth.
She felt more than heard the fourth crack as Crisp split time. Rainbow smiled back, felt a prickle as hope washed over her. Pins and needles, a limb waking from sleep.
“Just you and me, now, big guy,” she said.
All alone, free to unleash her speed without worrying about drawing others into his line-of-fire—Rainbow chuckled, under her breath—that was more her speed. Rainbow darted forward, swinging to the side then hugging the body, winding around him. She could see the rippling muscle and tendon, moving beneath the scales and skin. Bursting with power, with eager violence, it gave her a good idea of where he was moving next.
Unfortunate. Like a minotaur trying to kill a fly, she couldn’t harm him, and he stood little to no chance of harming her. She buzzed around, made periodic motions towards his eyes and face—just enough, she judged, to keep him angry, to threaten one of his few weak-points. And all the while she could feel herself steadying, feel the after-effects of his fire dissipating.
She swept under a reaching arm, traced a hoof along his armpit on her way around, slipped between two spines on his back and came around the side of his head, tracing a wingtip charged with nascent lightning against his ear. She gloried in it, in the wind rushing around her, the sweat and exertion, the sense of push-and-pull—a relationship intense and fulfilling. The heat gave her advance notice, as did the bulge in his throat, the arch of his back and sudden tenseness in his neck. She folded her wings tight and plummeted, felt the fire pass harmlessly above her.
Even so, she could feel the telltale signs of exhaustion creeping in. She was breathing hard, feeling the air rasp against her throat. She could feel the blood pulsing through her broken arm—the shock slowly wearing off. Adrenaline and need had taken her so far, but there were limits to everything. She needed to get gone, and soon.
So, spotting a gap, she dived for the distant remains of the wagon.
She didn’t know a huge deal about dragons. About why they’d be doing things like laying traps for Coromancers returning to help refugees, or why they’d want Coromantic artefacts in the first place. Still, true to what little she had heard, they had demonstrated an intense interest in powered objects, things charged with energy, or emotion, or sentiment.
She grabbed the nearest bauble: a locket, sweeping down upon it like a bird of prey, and, drawing forth some little of her flagging power, sent it coursing through her wings to ripple across the gilded brass chain. She whipped it up in her teeth, spinning midair, and made to fling it behind herself, glittering.
And flared her wings, bringing herself to an abrupt halt.
The dragon hadn’t followed. He sat on the ground, eyeing her, one claw raised before him. Wrapped inside, a talon resting lightly against his chest—one of the three they’d followed out here.
No.
She’d counted, right? Blitz, first, then the one she’d left over him. Two more, and . . . four. She’d only counted four.
Shit.
“I have a proposition for you, prey,” the dragon said, his voice rumbling even over the distance between them.
“Oh for crying out loud,” Rainbow said. She drifted closer, eyes on his captive all the while. Reaching a range she judged she could shout from: “It’s always the deals with you guys. Can’t handle being out-flown, huh?”
“As I recall it, twas you who attacked I,” he said.
Rainbow snorted. “Because we’re so threatening. Forget it. Been down that road.”
The pony in his grip struggled for a moment, and opened his mouth before the talon pressed inwards. A trickle of blood appeared.
“Are you sure,” the dragon said. “Consider carefully.”
Rainbow forced a note of bravado into her voice. “Kill him, or let him go. Just stop wasting my time.”
The dragon chuckled. “Hear that, little prey?” he said, leaning his head down to address his captive. “Very well.”
And with a crack the sky split open and Rainbow—another Rainbow—appeared, hurtling from the time-stream and screaming, “Wait!”
Rainbow stared. The captive pony stared. The dragon paused, and grinned.
“You’ll pay for this exertion, you know,” he said. “Weeks, in total, I should think.”
Rainbow ignored him. “He was going to do it,” she said, quietly. “But you’re in no danger. Not really. If he had wanted—had really wanted—to kill you, you’d be dead.”
“Fucking dragons,” Rainbow replied.
“Fucking dragons,” Rainbow agreed.
“What do I do?”
“What you’re best at,” Rainbow said, smiling at her past self. “Brag. Lie through your teeth.”
“Heh. I can do that.”
She flew a little closer, feigned a lack of nervousness. Though, after a moment’s thought, that turned into real confidence—the tremors and darting glances at escape routes and possible threats fading away. She’d spent a long time worrying about Fate. About predestination. This, though, this was devious. Her future self need do nothing but hang back, and be here, to confirm that Rainbow would escape this scenario. She was, for all intents and purposes, immortal, unkillable, indestructible. Fate went both ways, after all—and Rainbow had decided long ago that she’d make her own luck. The inversion sent a ripple of giggles through her, and though the dragon didn’t budge, she fancied she saw a faint tinge of wariness fill his eyes.
“You know, you probably think you’re pretty tough, eh, big guy? Well, I don’t know if you’d have heard of this . . .” Rainbow let her smile grow slowly, eyes narrowing, “acquaintance of mine. Goes by Agyrt. Agyrt Vaeros.”
An immediate reaction. The dragon slumped a little, relaxed his grip on his captive.
“Well, the last time we made a deal, I beat the snot out of him. In fact-”
The dragon had placed the pony on the ground, and was waving a claw at her, amusement now writ large on his face. “Please, don’t let me interrupt. You were saying?”
“A namedrop?” Rainbow asked. “That’s it? That’s all it took?”
“You ponies,” he said, “can be so arrogant. No matter.” He rose up, unfurled his wings, and took off—suddenly moving fast, far faster than he had been, an economy of strength propelling him south. Towards the Storm. The Storm that, Rainbow now noticed, was only a few miles away.
She gulped, and flew back to her double. Frowning, “I’m confused.”
“You’ll realise what just happened eventually,” Rainbow said, smiling. “I did.” Concern touched her face, and she reached forward, took Rainbow into her arms. “Come on. This was a good outcome, for everypony. Let’s get you some rest.”
And, gathering up the shell-shocked survivor, they moved north—as fast as Rainbow could manage.
I remember following him out, under the cover of dusk. His scales rippling, sinuous, his wings spread wide. I dared not track him with magic: he surely would have noticed me then. But gliding after him? Perhaps he was not expecting a mundane solution to my curiosity.
Fifty-Three
“A-AND THEN I kicked it in the face!” Rainbow yelled, her face red. She took another long sip from her mug, and stumbled backwards, walking on two hooves.
The crowd cheered, a roar of sound that washed over her, warm and deep. Familiar and comforting, it was, in a small but important way, like coming home. She felt their approval, felt it solidify behind her, a- a sense of righteousness, a confirmation. Every bit as necessary as her theatrics and death-defying stunts, this brought her full-circle, closed the loop. She’d earned it, dammit, and there was the proof—Tumbler swaying where he stood, toasting to her health.
“She,” he coughed, drank more cider, “she did,” he said, drawing another round of whoops from the gathered ponies.
These were the rearguard of Luna’s defence, a force assembled not so much to battle the elemental forces arrayed against them, but the more mundane threats. The famine and drought that could easily cripple their retreat north-wards. The sanitation crews, and disease experts that followed alongside. Those responsible for shelter, for infrastructure, guidance, and management of the vast swarms of ponies fleeing the desolation of their lands. Tens of thousands passed through checkpoints like these every day. It was a logistical nightmare, made worse by the imminent threat forcing them to move, slowly and steadily. Periods of respite and small victories—these were seized eagerly, and nopony had the heart to deny them the release of tension, once every little while.
And so Rainbow’s appearance had been met with perhaps an excessive amount of good cheer.
“Stupid dragons,” Rainbow said, slurring her words. “I dunno what it was even doing there.”
“You’re so brave,” somepony to her left said. “Facing down a dragon . . .”
“Heh. That ain’t nothing. You should’a seen Fluttershy—oh, a friend from back home,” waving a hoof lazily through the air, “made one cry once. Just yelled at it until it flew off, bawling.”
That drew more scepticism. Rainbow filled her mug once more, ignoring the laughter. This was important, right, she thought, staring down into the amber liquid. A long exhalation, drawing out the slow relaxation of tension. Part—scratch that, most of her was still in disbelief. She should have died, and more than once at that.
Why the hell was that dragon there?
She’d need to Jump back, too, and soon—provide that little tip that somehow caused everything to work out. Have to let the others know, too, that only made sense, or they would have come back for her, too. Right?
Rainbow tipped the mug back, sucking at the cider greedily. She burped, patted herself on the stomach, and stood up. “Hey, uhh, thanks for . . . for all this,” she said. “I’ve just gotta, gotta stretch my wings. Yeah.” A beat later and she pumped her shoulders, shooting straight up into the air.
This land was so strange. Every now and then Rainbow thought she’d recognised something—a river, bending in just the right way, or a series of mountains in the distance. But they were never in the right positions, relative to each other, and they always turned out to have differing features. It caused beats of home-sickness, a deep-seated pang that the cider only accentuated. She took a deep breath.
Here, they were verging on the northern plains. The town she’d woken up in, and the castle she’d been helping build, where she’d spent the last two years—all of that was still further north, out near the forested expanses of land. The castle that would become the ruin at the centre of the Everfree . . . that would place her somewhere near Appleloosa, right? She looked down at the grassy hills where they were camped, and snorted.
The wind picked up a bit, tousling her mane and sending delicious little slivers of cold to scurry between her feathers, caress her back. To the south she saw the Stormwall as a vast blackness, a shadow encompassing the horizon. Sparks of light visible even here indicated Luna—she’d missed the Princess by a few hours, it seemed. She dedicated herself to delaying the Storm’s advance, as much as she could. A delaying strategy, and yet there was no lost cheer down below. Rainbow wished she could share their optimism. Her presence alone was reason to celebrate—to believe in their eventual victory. They waited for Celestia, but they believed in Luna.
Except . . . Rainbow remembered the heat of the dragon’s fire. Remembered it strip the emotion from her, bleed her power out in its furnace. She remembered the cold inside—like its heat had burned her nerve endings, caused the afflicted areas to go completely numb. They could interfere with Coromancy, somehow. Worse, they were associated with the Storm. That wasn’t a logical conclusion, so much as something Rainbow had intuited, an association of coincidence. They operated under Its shadow, they had an agenda, their magic was antithetical to her own. Cross-purposes and . . . and, Rainbow sighed again, heavily, feeling the weight press on her mind. And Discord. A draconequus, she recalled. Dragon and pony combined.
She shook herself all over, fell a few dozen feet to gather speed, and twisted it into circular motion, spinning herself around and around, wings tucked tightly against her body. The cider was warm in her belly, the wind cold against her fur. She could hear the voices below, spilling up towards her. She felt a grin spread across her lips. She’d witnessed first-hoof, more times than she could count, how time-travel had been used to entrap, to assure, to ensure outcomes. She knew she’d go back to help herself against the dragon, there wasn’t anything that she could do to stop that. She might have hated that, once.
Now? Now, she knew, somepony had lied about an artifact. Their mission would never have been approved just to rescue another three stragglers at the expense of advancing the dragon’s nebulous agenda. But the right words, in the right place . . . and who could blame her? After all, it had already happened.
Resolute, she landed, to find everypony crowded around the western edge of their camp, murmuring to each other—eyes fixed on the sky. Rainbow quietly trotted up behind the crowd, craned her neck. Right at the edges of her vision, where the shape began to blur into the background night, she saw the quick, pulsing motions of flight, and of a serpentine body speeding north.
***
Rarity’s eyes fluttered open, taking in the warm wood lining the ceiling above her, travelling down the wall, lined with tapestries, past furniture decorative and functional, ornately carved, and, in some cases, grown to fit their intended purpose seamlessly, to the door.
She cricked her neck, winced at the loud crack, and then stood, briskly moving out. She did nothing to correct the scowl plastered over her face.
Oh, she had a bone to pick, all right. After ceding the rest of the interviews to Foresight, she’d fled to her bed-chambers and sought the incident in question—an expedition occurring some two years, seven months ago. She’d caught glimpses, though, as with all attempts, her Sight had been somewhat stymied by the encroaching Storm. Typhus did not tend to mix well with Coromancy, as she’d learnt.
So she’d fallen north and watched. Saw Rainbow take a survivor, flee to a refugee outpost. Left him there and returned, heading straight to debriefing—this now taking place just a few days ago—with what she probably thought of as a convincing look of heartbreak and defeat.
The fool part of it was that they’d all gotten away. Why she even bothered to trick the system . . .
Rarity’s pace sped up.
She knew where the Chasers were stationed, of course, and flung the door open hard enough to have it rebound against the stone wall.
“Rainbow Dash,” Rarity announced, stepping inside. “You have some questions to answer, missy.”
Her target was sitting a large wooden table, playing cards held tight against her chest. Blitz, opposite her, had his flush with the table, his brow tightening as he turned to Rarity.
“What’s she done now?”
“None of your concern,” Rarity said, her mouth biting at the words.
Rainbow gulped.
“I guess we’ll finish later?” Blitz offered Rainbow, an apologetic half-shrug as he turned away. Rarity tapped the floor as she waited for Rainbow to join her in the hall.
“Look, Rarity, I just-”
“Oh?” Rarity interrupted her, “so you do know what this is about? Oh, excellent, I thought I was going to have to go over all the little details for you.”
“No, it’s just that-”
“It certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with you being a blithering idiot, would it?’
Rainbow bristled. “Now that’s not fair, I-”
“Would do well to keep my mouth shut while we’re in public,” Rarity said. To her credit, Rainbow didn’t try to respond to that, though she did open her mouth.
Rarity took the lead, with Rainbow trailing her, as they made their way back towards the examining hall. She’d asked Foresight to keep Tumbler here—there he was, sitting in the corner looking sorry for himself. The jerk.
Rarity pointed him out from the doorway, and, in a low voice, “Recognise him?”
A somewhat sullen reply, “Yeah.”
“Right,” Rarity said, and let out a breath—a sudden sensation of calmness, a cold frisson running down her spine. She had the right of this, then, and it was not so great a mess it couldn’t be untangled.
She kept Rainbow quiet until they made it back to her chambers, where, with only moderate embellishment, Rarity was sure, Rainbow told her what had happened. How she’d gone looking for an artifact, only to find refugees and a dragon. Fought the dragon to a standstill, sent it running, and saved their lives. Recognised that there was no artifact—no impetus for the mission. Further recognised that that meant she must have faked it in order to save them.
“Rainbow,” Rarity said, enunciating each word clearly, crisply. “You are an idiot.”
Rainbow scowled at her.
“A colossal idiot. A great big flaming wreck of idiocy. A stallion’s taint has more sense than you do. I would rather put my cat in charge of the Boutique than you—at least she’d only destroy all my yarn. The-”
Rainbow waved her off. “Alright, alright, I get it.”
“You realise the only reason this happened is because you’re dumb enough for this to happen, right? That’s how it works. There is no progenitor loop, you’re just always this dumb, and you’ve always been this dumb, and you always will be this dumb.”
Maybe she’d been overdoing it a bit. Rainbow wasn’t looking at her anymore, and the outcome wasn’t terrible. Still, if even the concept that even if she knew they weren’t risking their lives didn’t make it okay to risk their lives was beyond her . . . Rarity despaired. Sometimes, she really did.
But there was something more illuminating under that. Something more important, more real. Despite spending two years here, Rarity still woke up each morning feeling like she was in a dream. She didn’t belong, didn’t fit in, and never would. Rainbow, though—Rainbow she’d clung to, her one lifeline in all the chaos.
And now she was hurting.
“Hey,” Rarity said, dropping the tone. “Hey now, come here.” She moved to Rainbow and wrapped her in a hug. “I just want you to talk to me about this stuff, okay? We’re supposed to be a team here. I need to know when you’re feeling like this.”
“Like what,” came the hesitant reply, though two wings spread to envelop Rarity.
“Like,” Rarity bit her lip, reached for the right words. How had she been feeling, these past few months? Like a leaf, floating down an endless river—cut off, adrift. “Like you’re out of control,” she said, and felt Rainbow tighten her hold.
“It wasn’t even him,” Rainbow eventually said. “That guy in the hall—he was there. But he didn’t call in the mission.”
“He says he did.”
“Nope,” shaking her head.
“They felt guilty,” Rarity said, resting her chin on Rainbow’s scalp. “They know why the systems there, and they saw you all get hurt. I Saw you get hurt.” She pulled back to gaze into Rainbow’s eyes. “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And the next time you need to lash out, let’s maybe not do it with the elaborate life-saving system involving time travel I can still barely get my head around.”
A short laugh. “Okay. But Rares . . . I think I really needed it. With the system, I mean.”
Rarity gave her a lopsided smile. “I get it.”
“You . . .” Rainbow paused, then smiled back. “I guess you do, don’t you. Hah.”
A knock at the door, before somepony they’d never seen before stuck her head in. “Uhm, apologies, Seer—oh, Chaser, sorry. Ah, Foresight said I’d find you here.”
Rarity opened the door fully. “And what can we do for you?”
“Ah, the Princess Luna requests your presence in the audience chamber.”
Both their eyebrows shot up. “Do you know what this is about, dear?”
She glanced at the floor, trembling. “A dragon’s here.”
***
“And so?” Luna asked, stepping forward from the dais lightly.
“A trade, if you will. A bartering of services.”
“I would not hold the world at stake, dragon, no matter what evils you think of me.”
A throaty chuckle. It set Luna’s hackles to rise, a shiver down her spine.
“Granted. And yet, there is much we might do for each other.”
Luna sighed. It wasn’t wrong—but then, they never were. Dragons had been almost as bad as the Storm itself, once the dust had settled. Racing ahead of it, targeting stragglers, refugees, those unlucky or foolhardy enough to be caught alone.
“Your hostilities against my people?”
Agyrt blinked. “Hostilities?” His lips curled up, exposing glittering fangs. “Ah, you speak of His. The Taken.”
“Thralls?” Luna raised her chin. “An easy defence. It does not absolve you of their crimes. Order must be maintained. Justice will shine through.”
“I . . . see your point. Regardless, this peril will not persist. On this, you have my word.”
Luna’s turn to falter, her strong front stumbling against a lack of resistance. “So easily?”
“It has never been my intent to foster disharmony between us. You, of all, have known me long enough to know that much.”
“Luna does,” Luna agreed. “But the Princess cannot.”
Agyrt inclined his head, ever so slightly.
“I find myself wondering, then,” Luna continued, “what possible boon you might request of Us?”
“Your sister works, I understand, to free those caught in His grasp. Your Thralls, you termed them. Apt, if incomplete.”
“Ah. You would request the extension of such a service to your own.”
“Yes. And in return, I shall make sure you all live long enough to see it done.”
“Open cooperation?”
“Nothing so base. An understanding. You are aware of my particular talent for Foresight?”
Luna tilted her head. “As are you, of mine.”
“Defer to your betters in this arena, Princess,” Agyrt said, the stone vibrating, ever so slightly, where he clutched at it, claws sunk deep into the side of the castle, face peering through the window. “The Storm blocks Harmonic inference. But Dragons are of the deep: we have no such difficulties seeing order in chaos.”
“Then why?” Luna asked, bluntly. She stepped closer still, reaching forward to the windowsill to stare Agyrt in the eye. “Your Mad God has done more for you than any other in generations. It would surprise me nothing to learn, one day, of your involvement in his release. In my sister’s obsession, and those damnable legends that caught her eye.”
He just smiled that infuriating smile. “It sounds to me that there is one even I defer to, in your apportioning of blame.”
“I-” Luna began, only be cut off be a waving talon. Masonry crumbled to the ground, far below.
“Never mind, never mind. Nonetheless, my talent. It makes me aware of a great deal of information you will not be privy to.”
“I take it you’re about to share.”
“Hmph. How did you defeat Him?”
Luna frowned. “Another of Celestia’s legends. The Well. She tells me she entered it, and then it entered her—shut up—and she bore it back with her. I caught just the afterimage of that flight, but even then, it was . . . radiant.”
“That power was a match for Him, then. But it wanes, Luna, and it will not protect you again.”
“He is bound, and will remain so forever. I’ll see to that personally.”
Agyrt bit his lip.
“Another threatens you. The mad serpent, and those Taken he has amassed under her wing.”
“I’m not worried about Discord.”
“You should be.”
And then Luna saw it. Perhaps she had been overwhelmed—the constant stress of war and the weight of those remaining lives she remained in charge of pressing down on her, refusing to let her glance upwards, gain perspective. Perhaps she had been stupid, and simply overlooked that little reminder. Mostly, though, she thought it a form of desperation, a last, gasping effort at preserving some semblance of hope.
“The dragons,” she whispered, pulling away from Agyrt. “Where are the dragons?”
Where else could they be? Swallowed up by the Storm—by the culmination of their very being? No, of course not. He had them. Discord had them.
“Then . . . then he lulled us.” Luna’s head shot up, fixed Agyrt in place. She advanced once more, anger, and a desolate fear shooting in little lonely sparks down her limbs, leaving her fur to stand on end and her skin to prickle. “When?”
“Soon,” he whispered back, all trace of levity vanished. “Too soon, my dear, far too soon.”
“Your aid,” she said. “I accept the offer. Celestia will be here imminently”—as she cast out her mind, locating her sister’s, isolated in a tower, spoke to it with urgent words—”and we can plan. We can . . .”
A crack, and Celestia was there, turning to Luna with a frown. “Sister? What is . . .”
But Luna stared out the window, at the empty space where Agyrt Vaeros had been hanging.
***
They entered the throne room at a trot, expecting . . . well, Rainbow wasn’t really sure what she was expecting. Rarity’s Sight hadn’t been able to give them more than a vague deadline of soon, which was both encouraging and infuriating, and on one hoof, the likelihood that this, whatever it was, would turn out to be related to the event that clouded Rarity’s senses seemed high.
On the other hoof, dragon.
But whatever it was, it was gone by the time they arrived, seeing just Luna conferring with Celestia, near a window. The Princesses notived their entrance near-immediately, and with a swift motion, Luna beckoned them over. Rainbow just barely noticed the sound of the throne room doors closing behind them, leaving the four of them alone. That was odd, too, she was sure neither Princess trusted them this implicitly.
“Rainbow, Rarity,” Luna greeted them, her voice clipped.
They both bowed, muzzles coming close to the ground. “Your Majesties.”
Celestia made an amused sound as they rose. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
“You—they said there was a dragon?” Rainbow ventured.
“Quite,” Luna said. “I am told that you knew it, even. It features prominently in the memories on yours my sister saw.”
Ah. Rainbow bit her lip. If she was honest with herself, that little incident still left her a ball of inarticulate rage. Best to simply . . . not think about it. She swallowed, pushing the memories away. It would do her no good, anyway.
“Just one comes to mind, Your Highness,” Rarity said, beside her. “We usually refer to him as the Drac, or Drac, though I understand his given name is Agyrt.”
Luna’s grimace-smile grew tighter. “Quite. What can you tell us of it?”
“He is . . .” Rarity visible searched for words, head tilted just slightly, ears twitching, “odd. Incredibly old, and with wisdom befitting such, with a deep understanding of magic and the world. Inscrutable, speaking with layered meaning and verbal traps. Genuine—at least so far as his tutelage of a friend of mine goes. I would not go so far as to extend him my trust, but neither would I say our goals are far diverged.”
Luna mimicked Rarity’s head-tilt. “And you, Rainbow?”
“Bwuh?”
“Agyrt. Have you found him to be fair?”
Rainbow snorted. “Only to his notions of fairness. That old snake doesn’t play anything straight, and there’s always something else. Uh, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Rainbow,” Celestia said. “Sister, I cannot counsel hesitation. We have but a limited window to act.”
“I concur. Show me.”
Celestia nodded. “Rarity, step forward.”
Rainbow had to physically restrain herself from interjecting. She hated feeling like this, like a tool, acquitted well, but now put aside, the focus drifting to other matters.
Celestia’s horn sparkled, and her eyes sank into a brilliant white as she approached Rarity, leaning down to peer into her. Rarity stiffened, suddenly, then relaxed as Celestia’s magic took hold, the warm glow suffusing her, supporting her. When Celestia withdraw, just a few moments later, she collapsed to the ground, trembling slightly.
Rainbow was at her side in an instant, helping her stand. “Easy, easy there Rares.”
And now Celestia did the same with Luna, looking up, instead of down. Rarity watched them with wide eyes, though Rainbow found herself more concerned with the weight of her friend, leaning against her shoulder. She extended a wing, and wrapped it around Rarity, through it, feeling her heartbeat thumping in her chest.
She looked up when the Princesses separated, though they remained locked in eye combat, minor facial expressions flitting back and forth. Rainbow felt Rarity slowly begin to stand firmer, take more of her weight until, with a slight shake of her torso, she stepped aside, shooting Rainbow a grateful glance. Rainbow carefully folded her wing back at her side, absently preening the odd displaced feather.
"’Tia, no.”
“It is the best way to protect them. I took the concept from Rarity, anyway, and Discord-”
Luna stomped a hoof. “No.”
Celestia huffed. “It works, though. It’ll remove His touch.”
“And replace it with your own.”
“ . . . Is that not preferable?” She sighed. “Look, I don’t exactly see that we’re spoiled for choice.”
“Can you not truly not alter the spell?”
“Not without—well, without abandoning everypony! Much less the dragons that remain! And . . .” Stepping forward once more, Celestia bent to touch her horn to Luna’s forehead. It pulsed, once, then stopped.
“Ah, I see.”
“Protection. Safety.”
“And Agyrt?”
“He knows it is coming. He expects to fight it from within, I imagine.”
“I can’t imagine otherwise,” Luna said, dryly. A smile crept along Celestia’s face too, as if they were sharing some in-joke lost on Rainbow. The greater significance of the discussion, however—that she understood implicitly.
It was everything they were looking for, laid out in stark light before them. And they had placed it there.
. . .
Rainbow was going to punch something, when she got home.
“Sister,” Luna said, trailing off. Abruptly, she twisted, eyes locking onto Rainbow. “Past time for the two of you to leave, I suspect. Confer with my sister tomorrow, before you depart.”
They bowed, once more, and departed, and though they glanced at each other more than once, they restrained their frantic musings to the relative safety of Rarity’s chambers. Even with the relatively frantic activity in the halls and passages of the castle, ponies of all sorts trotting about, it was a near thing, and Rainbow could hardly blame herself for not waiting for the door to close, could she—nor reasonably be expected to monitor her volume.
“Did we jus-!”
“I cannot c-”
Hmm. She could still hear herself, voice bouncing off the walls. She didn’t think this chamber designed for acoustics. Rainbow ducked her head, trying to hide the sudden blush behind locks of hair, and weakly waved a hoof Rarity. “You go.”
With an eyebrow raised, “I . . . suffice that I shan’t complain about returning home. Nor you, I suppose. But the manner of it, well, it irks me somewhat.”
“You mean the way we were basically thrown out like last week’s dishwater?”
Rarity scrunched up her muzzle. “Quaint. But yes, it was abrupt. What do you think?”
“I think we’ve seen just about everything we could, Rares. We’re not particularly wanted her, and we’re damn sure not needed—not anymore, anyway.”
“True enough.”
“I just-” Rainbow, huffing, jumped forward and spun a back-flip. “-just what did Luna even want? Some vague notions of a magical barrier? Some disturbance blocking your Sight?”
“We don’t know-”
“We aren’t dumb, either,” Rainbow cut her off. “You know it’s them. Hell, we even know why—or at least, the most obvious reasons. And if we do stick around, just in case, and get hurt? Or killed?” She shuddered. “Future-proofing only works in reverse. There mightn’t be any home waiting for us.”
Rarity stepped forward to embrace her friend. “I . . . there’s still things we’re missing. But, Rainbow?”
Looking up, Rainbow found sympathy—a shared understanding. And, wonder of wonders, she didn’t recoil, but instead sagged into it, let Rarity repay her for her earlier shoulder-rest.
“I agree. The time for dancing around the issue is—to tell the truth, long since—past. So we’ll just ask, tomorrow, okay? And then we’re going home.”
Rainbow smiled. She could almost taste it. “Goin’ home.”
***
“You will have to Jump past it, I’m afraid,” Celestia said, her head bowed over her work. “It won’t differentiate between space-time and time-space entry, and the border is really more decorative than functional. Still, it should stick out like nopony’s business in your Sight, Rarity, so I doubt that’ll present much difficulty.”
What. Rarity took a second to parse that. Rainbow, of course, jumped right in. “Past it? We don’t even know when that’ll be!”
Celestia snorted. “I doubt it’ll be much after you left. It’s designed to fail, Rainbow. I know the two of you have been busy enough, accumulating information about our age to take back to your own. You must have heard of the Brightstream, and how we released Typhus.”
“Sure, but-”
“Well,” Celestia continued, “Harmony came with more than just the substantial upgrade to my magical potential. There was . . . hmm. A great deal of understanding in there, sort of, implicit knowledge of how all this functions. Most of that knowledge faded, to my great disappointment, when I relinquished my hold, Typhus vanquished. Part of that was, I suppose, the world’s heartbeat. The way energy flows in and around us. Did you know, for instance, that magic isn’t some internal force of will? It’s actually a gaseous material, invisible and odourless, that permeates the world. That’s why our horns glow—they’re connecting and amplifying the energy that already exists—and concentrating it around our Implements . . .”
Rarity was off-balance. Too much, all at once, after years of relative secrecy. She raised a hoof, trying to slow down the diatribe until she could get her footing. Thankfully, Rainbow was there to put her hoof in her mouth.
“What are you doing?”
Celestia glanced down, where her hooves, faintly aglow, were moving over a deep, dark metal. Burnished steel, somehow imbued with the blue of night. Impossible to mistake, the armour of Nightmare Moon. Of Luna. “I’m,” she ran her tongue around her mouth, “preparing.”
Rainbow had her face in her hooves. Rarity just patted her on the back. It was, now that she thought about it, so much easier to just go with the flow and try to put the pieces back together afterwards. Almost zen, in a way. She found she had to chuckle at the thought.
Celestia just stared at them, faintly inquisitive. Oh, she must have thought them crazy, right then. After all, here we are, discussing the fate of the planet and our species over the next thousand years or more. Hardly a laughing matter, Rarity, you know to comport yourself better than this.
Her chuckles abruptly turned into a long peal of open laughter.
When she regained control of herself, the last few bubbles of mirth still rising in her through, she began to wave a hoof at Celestia, urging her to go on.
“Well, it seems obvious now. I suppose you and Luna dreamt this all up, then?”
“I stole most of it from you, of course,” Celestia said. “It’s so easy when you can see the results before the game even begins.” She smiled. “I must thank you, nonetheless.”
Rarity nodded. “I assume you have Discord handled, then?”
Celestia visibly plucked the thought from the air and put it in its own box. Out of mind, out of sight, right? “We have—we hope we have—his measure. Thanks to the two of you, we know what he is and where he came from. Thanks to Agyrt, we know what to expect from him. He’s still a threat—always a threat, but I am confident we’ll be able to contain it. And, in any case, it isn’t something that should worry the two of you.”
“Then I can think of just one last detail.”
“Of course. The Elements.”
Rarity smirked. “Yes. Might I surmise they were what remained of Harmony’s power?”
Celestia raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, it’s nothing much. Twilight mentioned—and I noticed myself, much less Rainbow’s rather explosive growth—a steady rise in magical might, some weeks before we left. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now? Simple logic.”
She nodded, and if Rarity thought that nod a slight bit deeper than earlier, well, who could blame her? “Yes, that would be my hypothesis as well.” She reached around, and brought forth a single rock. A gemstone, topaz, inset in a brilliant gold necklace.
“This is The Element of Harmony—yes, I stole your nomenclature.”
Rarity reached forward, then stopped herself., and took a deep breath. “How does it break?”
Celestia gave a wan smile. “I expect I’’ll find out soon. We shan’t risk you, though. I will be ready in just a few days—you are leaving now.
“Are you up to it?” Rarity asked her friend.
“Y-yeah,” Rainbow said, then cleared her throat. “If I managed last time, it should be a cakewalk now. Particularly if we stock up a bit before leaving.”
“I insist upon it, even,” Celestia said.
“Well, then,” Rarity said, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. “I . . . I don’t know. I had expected something . . . else.”
Rainbow nodded.
“Fleeing in the midst of some great battle,” Celestia suggested, a wry smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Myself pushed to the edge, throwing out some great spell as a last, desperate measure. Literally being chased into the time-stream, hearts pounding? Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. At least not for the two of you. This is our risk, in the end.”
“I think,” Rarity said, “we’ve had enough drama to last a lifetime.”
I was lost well before we reached out goal. The Pool—wide, glittering in the moonlight. I watched with baited breath, hiding some distance away, my vision sharpened with magic, as he dived into those waters, disappeared beneath its surface. I waited until my sun rose, to expose all.
He was gone.
Fifty-Four
APPLELOOSA WAS FAR REMOVED from how she remembered it. She’d taken several Royal Visits here, as part of her tours of Equestria in the months following her release. Back then, it had been ramshackle and country—a hastily put-together, poorly-planned example of national spirit. Perfectly functional, but a far cry from the architecture and city planning she’d seen elsewhere.
Now, though? As she descended from the sky, she could see ponies and buffalo alike moving through ordered streets—buildings set up facing north, in rows, for some reason. There was what appeared to be a half-attended camp located on the eastern fringe, arrayed loosely, but apart from that, the town appeared . . . tighter. More solid.
“Ho, Princess. Greetings, and welcome to Appleloosa,” a stallion called to her, from the centre of what appeared to be a rapidly-growing crowd of every soul here. “And our blessings upon you,” came another, unfamiliar voice—the buffalo beside him?
She favoured them with a smile, and inclined her head. “I apologise in advance, but I cannot wait on custom. I need to speak with your leaders, immediately.”
That sent a ripple through the crowd. She held back a wince, instead settling into the most neutral position she could.
“That’s be us,” the stallion said. “Name’s Bill, and this ‘ere’s Achak.”
“Privately.” She could see the buffalo’s hackles rise at that. Something she didn’t know about? Luna filed the reaction away for later reference—it paled before what was happening right now.
Bill pursed his lips. “We like to hold to transparency here, Princess. I’ll likely be reporting on anything you say, anyways.”
A politician? “Nonetheless.” She stepped forward, enveloped them in shadow. Nopony—or buffalo—would be able to hear through that spell, much less physically enter. She could already feel a few inquisitive hooves, but they only made it a few inches before the fog solidified underneath their touch.
“Listen-” ah, yes, now she had their attention. “- there’s a Storm coming.”
Bill closed his eyes. Achak stiffened, then shot her a disgusted look.
“Look, ah, Princess, we know about the Storms. We’ve had one or two here already, see. The town’s done pretty well so far, I reckon, an’ . . .” glancing at Achak, “the less said ‘bout it, the better. Point is, we’re ready.”
They were prepared? Was that the purpose of their odd restructuring, then? Turning the town . . . north-wards. Houses built with overhangs, slanted roofs to redirect force. Walls thicker on one side, much too thin from behind? Oh, stars.
“I saw,” Luna managed, dryly, after a few moments. “This one comes from the south.”
Bill paled.
“We need to evacuate, now. This isn’t something you can resist. It won’t blow over, or quiet down, or pass. It will keep coming, batter you into the ground, and then proceed.”
“But-” he started, weakly, only for Luna’s glare to pummel whatever he had to say into the ground.
It was the buffalo who impressed her more. “Yes, Princess.” she said, voice hard, crisp, conjuring the image of a salute even in the absence of the gesture. She glared at Luna, some unspoken hostility remaining, but, Luna understood, it would not interfere with this. Her respect for this one rose again.
“I’ll forgive you for not having evacuation plans ready to go, given the circumstances. I will be buying you as much time as I can, but you are the first and only sizable community in the nearby latitudes. Celestia is handling more wide-spread preparation and relocation northwards across Equestria, and Cadence is preparing the Crystal Empire for eventual refugee populations.” Luna paused a beat. “It’s my job to get all of you out of here and assess the threat. To that end, we need to brainstorm. How are you getting your people out?”
Again, Achak was quickest off the mark. “My buffalo are built to run, Princess. We’ve roamed the desert for untold generations. It is not a stretch for the herd to move northwards.”
Luna nodded briskly. “Go. Do it. Try not to cause too much panic, and take as much supply as you can, without it slowing you down overmuch.”
Achak was pushing into the fog before she was halfway through, and Luna had to raise her voice toward the end to ensure Achak heard her. She grinned, a little. So nice, to work with competent people.
“And you?”
“Well, the train is scheduled for this afternoon. Even with the delay, it’ll be faster than running.”
“How many will it take?”
“Less than half the town,” he said, voice steadying as he came to a decision. “Okay. Okay, got it. We’ll send everyone now, following the tracks. We’re not as hardy as the buffalo, we can’t just blithely cross the desert at any sort of speed. I’ll have volunteers stay behind—stallions, our strongest and fastest. We’ll load the cars with supplies, and the infirm, and have everyone else follow the tracks.”
“I concur. Get to Ponyville. I’ll suspect Dodge City will take the same tack—I’ll have them leave a few cars open for any stragglers.”
“Okay,” he said, breathing audibly. “Alright.”
“Go,” Luna said. “Go now.”
He fled, but Luna lingered in the darkness for a moment longer, allowing them the chance to corral their charges before she inadvertently recaptured their interest. That, and she found the void comforting, in a strange way. None of her obligations vanished, the yoke of expectation hung from her neck as stringently as ever. But in here, she felt as if time had stopped, as if she could take that much-needed breath, and allow her thoughts to unfurl.
The threat, so nebulous at the time. She’d used it as a bargaining chip, another argument in her arsenal. That . . . spoke of a callousness, in her character. A willingness to overlook or otherwise fail to comprehend what she was doing. Luna noted that, passed over it. Not immediately relevant.
She’d felt the Veil part, too. That spell was orders of magnitude greater than anything she could wield—greater than anything she had felt before. For all its flaws, it had been a shield, a bulwark against the encroaching darkness. Now exposed, she wondered: if such power was required merely to guard, what could they do now to defend themselves? She sent a quick prayer to her sister, to Cadence and Twilight, and everyone else.
She hadn’t remembered everything the Veil had taken from her, but here and there she’d been getting intuitions she couldn’t quite place. One such came to her now: her genius did not lie in hypotheticals, old legends and theoretical spell-craft. She was the leader, the tactician, the vanguard.
With a stray thought, the fog collapsed inwards on her, reforming itself into her age-old armour. She could still feel the power contained within it, eager to transform her into the mythical beast. Luna was stronger than Celestia, yes, but Nightmare Moon had bested her sister with almost contemptuous ease—and she’d done it while piercing the Veil. It was a mad strength, born of desperation and loss, and it would require Luna to mirror those emotions, were she to plunge directly into that well once more. She didn’t want to.
By the end, she might need to.
***
Twilight caught Rainbow before the rainbow coruscation could so much as begin to fade. Lavender magic, sparkling in the early evening light, carried Rainbow, with Rarity strangely serene upon her back, to the ground in moments. She could feel the breath whistling through Rainbow’s slightly ajar mouth, felt Rarity shift around a bit, loosen her death grip on Rainbow’s limp body.
In retrospect, she should have known they couldn’t have returned before the Veil fell, lest they fall subject to it in the same manner as Luna. Was that . . .? She shook her head no.
“Twilight! Ah, I . . . well, we really didn’t think this through, did we?”
“No,” Twilight said, laughing. “I guess not. Rainbow passed out the other way too?”
“And half,” Rarity murmured.
Twilight ran her hooves through Rainbow’s mane, felt her coarse hair contrast with the velvet fuzz covering her neck. She inhaled, deeply, dew and petrichor, sweat and, her nose wrinkling, a touch of morning breath. She supposed they might not have had toothpaste, a thousand or so years ago.
She nuzzled deeper into the crook of Rainbow’s neck, pausing there as she felt little lines of tension, unacknowledged but always present, melt away. A moment later, their situation caught up to her, and she backed away.
“What about home?” Rarity asked, pressing forward. Twilight could see her own eagerness reflected in her friend’s eyes—the desire to finally end this waiting, but so much stronger. She saw Rarity furrow her brow momentarily, and close her eyes; “It’s only been a few weeks,” Rarity said, sagging, then caught herself. “At least Rainbow won’t be out for weeks, this time.”
Weeks? This time?
“Home is . . . actually, I don’t know,” Twilight said. Still longer, still more. “There’s been . . . well, a lot has happened.”
“The Veil’s down,” Rarity said, with a sharp nod. She paused, took a moment to collect herself. “Good. We don’t have much time.”
Twilight swallowed. “Rarity,” she said, “I think you’d better show me what happened.”
“Mm,” Rarity said. “Hold on, actually. One thing first.” She reached into a saddlebag, drawing forth four large red apples, practically bursting at the skin with juice. Levitating them down, Rarity broke one into chunks, magic holding all the liquid in—to the point that Twilight couldn’t even catch a hint of its scent—and dribbled it over Rainbow’s lips.
Rainbow, for her part, seemed to yawn, mouth reaching after the fruit. In moments, Rarity had her gently working away at it, Twilight waiting with some consternation.
Rarity caught her look. “Just- Twilight, it’s been a long time. Don’t freak out, okay?”
Twilight cocked her head to the side, mind making the connections all at once. She took another look at her friend, noted the differences, slight, subtle, but there now that she was looking—a few more lines of crow’s feet around the eyes, coat a touch thinner, mane less lustrous. Rarity would never have allowed such changes normally. “How long?” she asked.
Rarity bit her lip. “Two years.”
Years?
Twilight opened her mouth, and couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Hey, now, it’s okay. It’s alright. We’re back home now, okay? We haven’t changed.”
“o-Okay. Okay. Show me.”
Their eyes met, and Twilight saw.
She saw the Storm, Typhus’ fury spreading over the landscape. Saw Luna’s desperate attempts at delaying him, fully embracing the power of the moon, all the defenders lined up, fighting, dying. Saw Celestia’s return, and their pyrrhic victory.
She saw the town, Rainbow awakening, and the slow process of healing. Saw Celestia invade their minds, and take. Saw Discord, and his throngs of corrupted. Saw their flight, and the castle, instantly recognisable, no real trace of the Everfree surrounding it. Saw long days and hard work, the slow development of their abilities to match the prowess of the age.
Too much to process at once. She fell backwards, hitting the ground with a thump as she breathed. “So different,” she said, eyes boring through Rarity to stare at the sky behind her. “It’s the same.”
“Twilight?”
“I wasn’t sure, you know? Could never have been sure, I suppose. The nature of the beast. But she was right. I was right. Not in vain, never in vain. He . . . He-” she sniffled, eyes dropping to the dirt.
“Twilight, what in Equestria are you talking about?”
“Hmm, oh!” Broken from her reverie, Twilight started back up. “Here. While you’ve been gone,” and she imparted the memories of their trials, from Trixie’s tutelage to her discussions with Luna, with Celestia, Cadence’s rage and their eventual arrival in the Crystal Empire. Their decision. The fallout.”
Rarity’s turn to pause. She turned away, looking ill, sucking in great lungfuls of air before forcefully exhaling. “I see. A-and Ponyville?”
Twilight blinked, before compassion overtook her. “Not too bad, I don’t think. Sweetie’s smart. I’m sure she’s perfectly fine.”
“I- I- no, no, you must.” Rarity mumbled, before sinking back into her Sight.
Twilight had barely caught the transition before; where once Rarity had required hours of meditation, it now seemed to take just seconds. Idly, she wondered how Rainbow might have grown into her own power—Rarity’s experience of it was bereft of the more physical understanding Twilight had come to know through her partner.
“Thank the stars, she’s fine,” Rarity said, sagging back down. “Applejack and Fluttershy are there. O-or, were. I can’t . . . can’t See much farther forward.”
Twilight frowned. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Rarity said, frowning. “I’m hardly all-seeing. But when I can’t . . .”
“It’s never good,” Twilight finished, nodding. “Celestia and Luna have Equestria mostly in hoof, I think, at least when it comes to the big picture. You have something else planned.”
Rarity smiled a tight, worn smile. “Quite.”
Twilight had seen Rarity’s mind. “You want to find the Well.”
“Twilight, the Well was the only way to do anything more than slow Typhus down, last time. We don’t have a choice. We need to find it.”
“Rainbow’s out . . . the fruit. You had the Wardens enchant it.” As if prophesied, Rainbow, finishing the second fruit, was mumbling, now, under her breath, muscles stretching and shifting. Twilight could now remember how like death she’d seemed, comatose and unresponsive, for weeks after their journey to the past. The difference was startling. “Still . . . they told you it took Celestia how long to find it? Days? Weeks?”
“Typhus isn’t going to wait, either. We need to go now. Twilight, you need to understand, to feel in your bones, how badly we need the Well. The full might of a nation, thousands of Coromancers, an unleashed Luna . . . all of it were helpless as foals before Him. We don’t have time to run around Equestria putting out fires like the old days.”
“And your sister? Ponyville?”
Rarity grimaced. “We can make sure she’s safe. Move her and her friends to Canterlot, even. But I’m not taking her into the Crystal Mountains, and I’m not delaying more than an hour or so.”
Twilight felt . . . torn. Not in resolve, or even intent; not conflicted or warring. She’d always operated with goals, with set paths, and some amount of planning. Tunnel vision, taken at times to extreme lengths. It was a failing she’d often had to acknowledge. So she closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, sat down. Slowly, forcing herself to take the time, she counted out ten long seconds. She felt, bit by bit, the tension between expectation and reality—between what she had expected to find, what she’d hoped for, and the necessity staring her down—dissolve. “You’re absolutely right,” she said, opening her eyes. “We’ll leave Rainbow here, just for a few minutes. She’ll be up in, what, a half-hour?”
“Hard to say,” Rarity said. “A Jump like that . . . Rainbow’s the only one to even attempt it, even among the old Chasers. The stuff of legends. Remedies like those apples are poor substitutes for real rest, especially after something so draining. The equivalent of using coffee to stay up for three, four, five days in a row.”
Twilight shook her head. “We need her, in the Mountains. No question about that.”
Rarity frowned. “Even Celestia walked, in the end.”
“But she flew first,” Twilight said. “Nopony’s ever charted that far north before.” She shook her head. “Nopony’s even tried. I can’t believe how insane that sounds, now.”
“Alright,” Rarity said. “Enough delaying.”
“Have you found her?”
A flutter of the eyelids. “The school. Do you know it?”
“I know it,” Twilight said, enveloping them both in lavender. Her eyes lingered on Rainbow, until the spell completed, and they vanished, carried outward by the light.
They burst out into a courtyard, the magic quickly fading into the concrete around them. Drab, lifeless, dimly lit by the sun gracing the horizon and the flickering orange of fire, somewhere beyond the walls.
This Ponyville was a different place. There was almost a flavour to it, a texture that hung on the air. What had once been a quaint, lively village, bustling and peaceful, charming, backward, slow to change and slow to grow, was now modernised. Still lively, still colourful, but efficient, fast, in a way that could only be felt. Like a fever, an energy had gripped the town, spoken in seductive whispers of the wonders of change and hadn’t mentioned the often-accompanying growing pains . . .
“Rarity?”
“Hush, and wait for them,” Rarity said. “They’ll be just a moment.”
Sure enough, in a minute Twilight could hear quiet voices from the other side of the wall. She retreated, with Rarity, and waited as what seemed to be Scootaloo eventually staggered over the top of the wall, landing on the other side with some small grace, and unlocked the gates. Applebloom and Sweetie Belle promptly followed her in, and they locked the gates behind them.
Rarity rushed forward three beats later, apparently unable to restrain herself any longer, letting out a painfully quiet squeal. “Sweetie!” She closed her sister in a hug, squeezing her tightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”
“R-Rarity?” Sweetie Belle cried. “Wha- Rarity!” Fiercely, she threw her own arms out, clinging to Rarity. “You’re back!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Rarity said, nuzzling. “I’m perfectly fine, as you can see.”
“You have to tell me everything!”
Twilight winced at their volume. She wasn’t entirely sure why they had been keeping quiet before, but now that the atmosphere had been established, it seemed a shame to ruin it. She was well aware of the phenomenon of social whispering. She actually thought it was kinda fun. And there was probably a reason the girls had been whispering before . . . breaking . . . into the school.
Huh.
“Scootaloo, Applebloom,” she greeted them. “Tell me you weren’t just breaking into the school.”
Scootaloo made an exasperated sound.
“Nuh-uh,” Applebloom said, shaking her head. “Applejack let us in. Boosted Scoots over the wall and all.”
Twilight lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“We were hiding, mostly,” Scootaloo said. “Surely you’ve seen them? The whole town’s gone crazy, Twilight. What’s going on?”
“It’s . . . complicated.” Twilight laid a hoof on the young pegasus’ shoulder. “And it’s going to take some time to settle down. So, Rarity and I came to take you three to safety.”
“That bad, huh?” Applebloom said. “Can’t tell us anything else?” She sounded, if anything, tired. A familiar, well-worn phrase.
“I . . .” And Twilight felt her words catch in her throat.
She’d been all fire, explaining herself to Trixie—by extension to Luna, to Celestia. Certain, not of her conclusions, but of herself. Ideas and words came easily, flowed, an almost stream of consciousness state of position and rebuttal.
Was that so esoteric, that she stumbled now? Confronted not with the decision, but with explaining its aftermath. Some element of shame, guilt caught her in its immediacy.
“Twilight?”
Easier to push it away, deal with the explanations and accusations later, surrounded not by this violence, but by its antithesis; Typhus, a storm come to destroy.
She couldn’t hide. They’d see right through her, they’d already insinuated as much. And, worse, she recognised the impulse, saw the implied disconnect. Saw how easily it could dissolve her.
“It’s not easy to explain,” Twilight began. “But we, collectively, with Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna, and Princess Cadence and a few others, chose this. We had reasons, of course, good ones. But it isn’t random, or malicious, or unknown. It’s deliberate.”
Scootaloo jumped in first, with the obvious; “Why?”
Twilight stared at her helplessly. “We thought it was the right thing to do.”
Applebloom made a sound, then shook herself. “Later,” she said, loudly, catching Scootaloo’s eyes. “Where are we going, Twilight?”
“Canterlot,” Twilight said. “And we really shouldn’t delay. Come on, let’s get Rarity and Sweetie Belle.”
The two were still talking, heads bowed and held close, rapid words flying back and forth. Twilight interrupted by tapping Rarity on the shoulder, and, not giving them time to protest, covered them all in lavender magic.
She set them down in the basement of her building in Canterlot, the place at once familiar and alien, the wood and stone seeming to groan at their sudden appearance, shattering its solemn silence. She set the three girls up with access to the kitchen and bedrooms, let Rarity wish her sister a good night and issue a stern warning to stay inside. Then, barely allowing herself to slow down again, caught Rarity in her magic once more, and returned to Rainbow.
The apples were all gone, now, and Rainbow was stirring. Twilight leaned forward, nuzzled her once again, luxuriating in her scent.
“She’s awake,” Rarity said. “Good. We can go—she’ll recover over the next half-four, or well enough, anyway.”
It was still a bit of a surprise to her—she wouldn’t have said that particular feature to be one of Rainbow’s strengths, nor would it be described, presently, as particularly pleasant. Perspiration, dirt, and the indescribable ozone that was wrapped up in her fur and feathers . . .
“Twi,” Rainbow murmured, reciprocating. “Missed you . . .”
“Missed you more,” Twilight said, half-smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“M’ good. C’mere, okay . . . I-I want-”
“Hmm?”
“Wanna feel you again.”
Twilight glanced at Rarity, whose blush was blooming like the rising sun. She smirked.
“N-no,” Rainbow said. “Up here.” And she lifted her head to meet Twilight’s gaze. The connection, well-worn like a beaten path through scrubland, formed easily, quickly, and in an instant Twilight was swept away on a wave of memory. She noticed an odd trace, an unfamiliar lingering magic, and understood—this was Celestia.
Outrage. How could she tread here, trespass on this union. Rationale. Of course she had. She hadn’t known—couldn’t have known. There was nothing special about it, to her. Denial. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to justify this sense of betrayal. It was just . . . Acceptance. She stopped paying attention to the differences, and started paying attention to Rainbow.
There you are.
Welcome home.
***
“Manehattan seems to be the most stable right now, Princess,” Lily said. She was to Celestia’s right, decorative petals running through her mane in disarray. Celestia remembered it as it was a week ago, marbled and leafy, lifelike, a vine growing through her. An odd thing to recall, now. “I suspect they were less surprised—that is, that the aftereffects didn’t drive them too far from the norm.”
Limelight snorted. “You would say that.”
Celestia opened her mouth, paused a fraction to get the timing right. “Tell me we have word from Cloudsdale.”
“Ah, yes, they’ve instated martial law. I’m told it was very formal, and more than a bit gung-ho. There were more pegasi signing themselves into the local Guard—a temporary civilian peacekeeping force—than there were actually disturbing the peace.” Limelight, pegasus though she was, was smiling with this. She’d stayed behind, though the rest of her family had returned to the city in the clouds. She must have been worried.
“It hasn’t been good news everywhere, though,” Lily said, narrowing her eyes. “Fillydelphia and Baltimare are in curfew after riots broke out—mostly looting, but the hospitals are barely keeping up with the injured, and there have been numbers of fatalities. Los Pegasus reports a marked increase in gang violence and most of the casinos have, at this point, been robbed. Incidentally, the structure of organised crime there actually seems to have been a stabilising influence on the region. We haven’t heard from Vanhoover, as of yet.”
Celestia sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Alright. Keep on that, Lily, and good work. We’ll be needing all hooves on deck for weeks, I suspect.” A tired laugh. “Limelight, I want you to focus on public outreach. Canterlot must be a bastion for Equestria—an example and a safe harbour. But neither can we allow our citizens to feel unsafe in their own homes.”
“Mixed messaging,” Limelight said. “I can handle it, Princess.”
Celestia inclined her head to Limelight. “Dismissed,” she said, and waited for her to leave the room before turning to Lily. “I’m also going to need to speak with law enforcement here in the city. We’ll be extending the Palace Guard to bolster their ranks, and be conducting patrols through the more populated areas, as well as the business districts. I want the Palace Grounds open to the dispossessed, and a number of clerks made available to begin cataloguing and taking census. Got that?”
“Yes, Princess.”
“Send Lancer in on your way out.”
“Princess,” Lily said, dipping her head before hurrying out of the room.
Celestia took the brief moment to bow her head and close her eyes. It was all falling apart, everything she’d worked so hard to build. Except—could she even claim that anymore? The Veil . . . she was no exception to its influence. And even if she had been, what then? Was Equestria just some collective hallucination? A period of respite?
Did she have any hoof in its creation?
She supposed it said a lot, about her, and the situation writ large, that her mind was caught on this question, on her pride, when so much more demanded her attention.
A startled yelp drew her gaze, Lancer stumbling as a younger stallion galloped past him. She frowned, beginning to rise from her chair.
“Princess!” he said—far too loudly, his voice carrying through the still open door to the attendants waiting outside. “The garden! Discord’s gone!”
Shit.
Celestia called on a trickle of magic, teleporting herself to the gardens in an instant. She’d come here often, centuries ago—and again, after the first time he’d escaped. Now, staring at the flakes of stone surrounding the pedestal she’d kept him on, she wondered if that had been a sign. The first signal of a growing sickness, a weakness in Equestria’s heart.
He could not hide from her. She reached for the Sun, and the Sun answered, its dying rays conveying information everywhere they touched. She saw magic.
It was everywhere, had always been everywhere, but never had it been used like this. The whole world seemed afire, a kaleidoscope of intensity, spells of all colours, all variations hurtling about seemingly at random. She could see the star-craft of unicorns, a lost art, untouched for centuries, being explored once more. She could see pegasi loosing waterspouts in the middle of cities, tearing buildings apart with their wind. She could see earthen magic, seeking deep underground, looking for the channels, the leylines, and the deposits that lay along them.
No, focus, focus. None of that, for all its chaos, was chaotic. Discord could not hide from her, not here. There was nothing like him in Equestria save that one wilderness, the Everfree, and—got you. He was in Ponyville. With a thought, so was she.
“-ou will not!”
Celestia emerged in the twilight. Around her, Ponyville was lit as if with candles, small fires carrying their incandescent hues just above the skyline. The streets crackled with power, the charged air humming. Her descent disrupted the flux of it, the back-and-forth struggle, and Applejack and Fluttershy staggered, their focus broken.
Across the street, standing with his twisted spine thrust forward—a rooster crowing—standing in front of Twilight’s library, Discord smirked.
“Why, Celestia, so kind to grace us with your presence.”
“Hush, hush,” she said, stepping over to the Bearers. “Easy, now. Let it go slowly, and close your eyes. I’m here, now. I won’t let anything happen.”
“Big promises from an inept old fool,” Discord snarled at her. “And to think I hadn’t even noticed, last time! I must congratulate you, dear, such a fine piece of work.”
“Are you alright?” She reached down, helped Fluttershy to the ground, tsked as her hoof found scrapes, the more tender flesh eliciting a groan, even, on her wing, singed feathers and blackened fur. Applejack was already asleep, her face sunk deep in pallor. Celestia felt her throat catch, felt the furnace in her chest, familiar and ancient, catch light.
She stood, sent sunlight down her limbs to gird the street. Gold blazed through the cobblestones, already blasted from their seats, ran around the Bearers where they lay. Motes of light coalesced in the air, flickering, as she turned away, turned towards Discord.
“Aww. And we were having so much fun!”
“You will not force the Elements from them so easily,” Celestia spat. “Nor, I think, will you find this newfound freedom much to your liking.”
“What, are you going to pretend you can just throw it all away?” Discord stepped forward, hooves hitting the ground with a weight behind them, a belied intensity long hidden. She remembered . . . something, perhaps, maybe. Or were those memories lies too?
She hesitated, the brief scent of chocolate hitting her nose.
Discord sprang forward, his eyes already swirling vortices of colour. He crashed forward, wings beating erratically, claws scratching at the ground. His mouth bared, single fang gleaming with saliva.
But Celestia stood firm. Golden light caught her, buffered her. Her horn sparked, and time seemed to slow, Discord’s lunge altered in an instant from a shrieking rush to a creeping advance. She sniffed, took her time moving forward, feeling the sunlight play across her coat. She met his eyes.
And when he reappeared, weeks later, though I made no mention of it, he looked at me, and shook his head.
I do not know how, or why. I do know that I was warned, then, as sternly as anything Luna could manage: to stay away.
Fifty-Five
THE COLD BIT DEEP. Jagged ice had taken over from the thick snow, providing firmer ground that continuously proved more treacherous, prone to skating out from underhoof at the slightest provocation. Twilight couldn’t stop herself from trembling, even under the weak blanket of warmth she’d woven around herself.
“You’re sure,” Rainbow said, for the umpteenth time.
“Yes,” Twilight said. “I’m sure.”
“I’m trying, too,’ Rarity said. The glow surrounding her horn was barely visible, even in the growing black of night around them. “It’s as if there’s just . . . nothing here. Nothing to grab onto.”
“Hrmgmnmm,” Rainbow said, pulling her wings tighter around herself.
“It’s really interesting,” Twilight said. She ducked her chin into her chest, focusing her eyes on the ice beneath her hooves. “As if, connected to . . .”
The magic’s draining away, Twilight. Of course it’s connected, anypony could see that. The question is, why? Coromancy is supposed to be internal—it draws power from within. Something is wrong. Not with me, at least I don’t think so. Then . . . what?
“Maybe it’s not connected,” Rainbow said. Her voice just barely carried back to Twilight, a few feet behind. “Just our shitty luck.”
Twilight felt the chuckle in her throat and grabbed it, drew on it for more warmth.
Temporal? But magic’s been growing stronger—I could feel the Element of Magic pulsing, back in Equestria. Are we just too late? Past some invisible unknowable point of no return?
Twilight shook her head.
Then, spatial? It isn’t going north, there’s no difference in potency between Canterlot and the Empire. Vertical? Rainbow can’t fly, and her natural enhancements against the cold aren’t doing her any better. But, Cloudsdale? How high are we?
She bit her lip.
They’d been climbing for what felt like days. At first carried by magic, Twilight had carried them across miles of landscape, moving strictly within line-of-sight from the moment they’d left the Empire. They’d passed numbers of ponies, set up in convoys or small groups, trekking northwards, apparently all for curiosity’s sake. They’d found the mountain ranges, moved from peak to peak, taking breaks in small valleys and ravines where they could shelter from the weather.
Eventually, Twilight had been forced to rest her horn, and with the three of them Rainbow couldn’t do more than scout ahead. Even then, she was staying low to the ground, moving in short bursts, and returning covered in sweat.
At first, they’d waited for the sun to rise in vain. Eventually, they’d had to press on, Twilight and Rarity sharing the duty of lighting their way with the moon doing little to help.
And all the while, she’d been reaching out, trying to feel for that magical beacon, that pulsing glimmer of potential that Celestia had described, eons ago. The urgency, the spur to action; that she felt, warring with the cold in her muscles and the frozen air in her lungs. But no Well.
Maybe it’s just not meant for me?
Should they have gone to Celestia, to Luna? Would they have been better equipped, here, more able to handle these conditions. Earth pony hardiness wasn’t something to be underestimated. Yet Celestia had been reduced to movement by hoof, too. They just had to keep moving.
And if we find it? What then?
She was utterly convinced that the Well was the only reasonable hope they had of resisting the coming Storm. Everything she’d seen—experienced—in Rainbow and in Rarity’s memories convinced her of that. Celestia had immersed herself in its power, brought it back with her, even carved the Elements from its remnants. Twilight couldn’t imagine the sort of magic that would consider the Elements of Harmony leftovers. Could she handle that? Could they?
A sudden break in the wind let Twilight hear Rarity, whispering, timed with each exhale; “there, we’ll, get, there, we’ll.”
She stumbled, the ice splintering, and caught herself, freezing in place. They were on a ridge high above the cloudline, with white blanketing everything as far as she could see. A fall here would be fatal, by injury if not by the actual collision. The line connecting her to her friends went taut. Rainbow turned her head, keeping each hoof perfectly still.
“Twilight?”
“I’m fine,” Twilight breathed. “Carefully, now, Rarity, watch your step.”
They inched forward until the fault was feet behind them, hardly daring to think.
Inexorably, however, Twilight’s thoughts returned to their circling.
Equestria had need of the Princesses. Times past, Luna had been able to hold the country together while Celestia searched—they were united, and not just against a greater foe. Now, with the timing of the Veil’s fall . . . There was no social glue helping out. Typhus would sweep across them as if harvesting wheat, with each grain standing tall, but standing alone. Celestia could not abandon them now, and Twilight could not replace her—not in their eyes.
On both counts, she had failed.
Failed her mentor, in a very real sense her mother. Failed Rainbow, who had gone through so much to bring her this sliver of hope—and Rarity. Failed herself, her aspirations and sense of purpose. Her self-aggrandising surety.
She put one hoof in front of the other, and slowly, time passed.
***
She woke slowly, drifting into consciousness like squinting through a thick fog. Sound came first, seemingly drifting here and there as it moved around the room, scattered words, voices both raised and hushed. Then warmth, a hoof grasping her own, a trickle of clarity that made its way through her. Finally, light.
Applejack blinked her eyes open. She was inside the Library, it’s rooms devastated by the magical aftermath. Books trashed, walls blackened and burned, it was, to her raw senses, a scene profligate in destruction.
It had taken all of her, to sustain the Tree throughout, and somewhere, she had failed, her memories blacking out. Discord . . . unleashed, like nothing they’d seen before. Her earlier encounters with him seemed paltry, feeble, like he had been a child, playing with his food. This beast was adult, and incandescent in his long fury.
She groaned a little, and felt the hoof grasping hers tighten. A face came into view.
“Applejack?” a voice said. “You’re awake. Oh, thank Celestia. I- I was so worried.”
Vera frowned. “‘Mac’s alright. Nopony’s seen Applebloom—or Sweetie Belle, or Scootaloo—since last night. D’you . . .?”
“School,” Applejack said. “Put ‘em in, old school.”
“I’ll make sure somepony checks, okay?” Vera said. “Discord—Applejack, we found you by them. By Celestia. He did something to you. You wouldn’t leave; we couldn’t carry you away.”
It was the Tree, Applejack remembered. She had invested herself so in its survival, in that ruse of sentimentality. Had it worked? Except—she was tired, so tired. And still the Tree was there, in her mind, it’s pulsing body drawing more from her, more to replace the lifeblood draining away, the structural and spiritual damage dealt to it by Discord’s ravaging.
Biting her lip, she withdrew, cut the link between herself and it. All at once she heard the Tree groaning, felt the limbs sag a little, the trunk begin to wither. Vera let out a small sound, craning her neck to look around.
With a groan, Applejack rolled over, got her hooves underneath her. She immediately spotted Fluttershy, asleep beside her.
“Oh, no, AJ, don’t . . .” Vera trailed off.
Fluttershy was still tense, her muscles bunched together and face held in a perpetual snarl. Her wings were clamped against her side like vices, the flesh blackened and charred. Lacerations ran down her side, blood matting in her fur, and bits of gravel and chips of wood still clung to places she’d scraped.
Applejack swallowed. “Tell me . . . what happened.”
“I- I don’t really know,” Vera said. “We found Celestia guarding the two of you from Discord. They’re still out there. Just . . . standing still.”
Applejack walked to the window, stretching her legs through the cramps, and opened the blinds.
“What’s the time,” she asked, staring at the motionless figures of Celestia and Discord. They were close, eyes locked on each other, chests barely rising. Applejack didn’t know so much as she could feel the titanic struggle ongoing, the clash of wills entirely internal. Not, she reflected, her strong suit.
“Eleven, or thereabouts,” Vera said. “The sun should have risen six hours ago.”
***
Princess Cadence faced down the most tightly packed court she’d seen since her coronation, and bit her lip. The general chorus continued to throng with demands for information, for explanation. They wanted to know about her recent decisions, her emotional state—Shining Armour’s death was still fresh in their minds, and it seemed impossible not to connect that to her isolation; not unfairly. They wanted to know about the Crystal Heart, and Boundless, and what were Celestia and Luna doing here, in the middle of yet another death—another murder, now that news of Hornwall’s predicament was spreading. Most of all they wanted to know about the Veil, about the spell of morality woven over all of them—what it was and what it had been, and, perhaps most pressing of all, how long had it been there.
Cadence waved forward an advisor, and bent her head down to whisper with him.
“Princess?”
“Above all, I need to calm the populace,” she began, thinking fast. “Ensure that the Guard are positioned to relay my words beyond this hall—to the edges of the Empire, if need be.”
The advisor bowed. “I understand, Princess.”
“Citizens of the Crystal Empire,” Cadence said, rising to the posture drilled into her over long, long years. She focused a trickle of magic on her voice, letting it carry her worry and resolve to her citizens. “I know you’re scared. What happened yesterday was a great tragedy, but it was also a great revelation. I ask only for your forbearance as we move forward, so that we may do so safely. There are still a great many questions regarding the events of the past month. I assure all of you, normalcy will return. Safe passage has been once again extended between Equestria and the Empire. We must be as one with our brothers and sisters in the south; yea, this event extends to their borders as well. I am engaged in talks with Princesses Celestia and Luna—what we know will be passed on to all of you.
“We don’t yet know if today will be remembered as a triumph or a tragedy, but we do know that it will be remembered. I encourage all of you to embrace your newfound gifts: and to see them as gifts, for the future is in our hooves.
“It is paramount, however, that we exercise caution and approach the coming days with safety in the front of our minds. For those with concerns, we will be establishing a Royal Consultancy Service available to all citizens, to provide support. For those with questions, we will be in constant communication.
“I must emphasise the newness of our situation. We are in uncharted waters, my friends, and the continued calm you display as we learn to navigate is both necessary and appreciated.”
Relaxing her stance, Cadence sat back. Not perfect, not by a long shot, but she could work with this narrative, adapt it as needed.
A Guardspony approached, scroll in hoof. He cleared his throat as his fellow Guard cleared a path, and bowed low to her. “Princess,” he began. “Report from Southpeak.”
Cadence frowned. Southpeak was the southern-most mountain in the Crystal Ranges—well north of the Empire, and just about outside the habitable range. She didn’t think there were even any farms that extended that far north.
She unfurled the scroll, to find another few scraps of parchment fall from it. She reflexively caught them with telekinesis, only to glance up at a shout. The tableau froze in her mind.
The Guard was sprinting forwards, head held high, jaw clenched tight. His colleagues leaping forward, reaching out. The knife gleaming in the crystalline light, Cadence’s magic compensating, here at the least, and for a few blocks across the city, for the absence of Celestia’s sun.
The knife grazed her chest as another Guard tackled him, launching the both of them to the side. They went sprawling, knocking aside dozens of ponies clustered around the dais, all staring at them, shock and terror writ large.
Cadence unfroze. “Citizens,” she boomed, standing tall. “Return to your homes. We will find normalcy again.”
They were scattering before she’d finished standing up. Pandemonium, no longer in her control, spread through the crowd, and they cleared remarkably quickly. Cadence stalked towards the Acting Captain of her Guard, a mare named Thorn, ice masking a sudden trembling in her veins.
“Captain,” she said. “I trust you’ll take appropriate steps?”
“Yes, Princess,” Thorn replied, for once choosing to keep her mouth shut.
“See to it, then,” Cadence said. “And deal with him.”
She didn’t let herself relax until she reached her quarters, locking the door behind her. Quickly, barely allowing herself to stop moving at all, she found her desk and unfurled the scroll, and attached scraps.
There were a few farming reports from nearby regions—generally a touch lower than she’d have liked. They’d have to do, though, Cadence suspected there would be no aid forthcoming from Equestria. The scraps, though . . . Seemed to have been penned in haste by Twilight, at a northern border town.
Huh. He’d actually been on the level, at least somewhat. An opportunist?
It didn’t really matter.
Twilight talked of Typhus, the great Enemy, lurking south of Equestria. She’d listed a few notes of how He had been defeated in the past, prominently featuring a Well—something Cadence had never heard of. They were planning on venturing north, “as far as it takes,” to find it.
Cadence glanced at the cot where Trixie lay, unconscious, got out her quill, and began to write.
***
Daerev kept to himself, leaving the door to his quarters shut. He had no desire for the inevitable argument with Pinkie, much less the awkward discussion with Cadence he envisioned. He knew her about as well as he cared to, or at the least understood that she could not offer him any way to better understand his own conflicted mind. Maybe that was selfish.
Dragons were good at brooding. He found he never really grew restless, or uncomfortable, from remaining in the same pose for hours on end. He curled himself up, wings resting lightly against his torso, tail wrapped around his body, chin lying atop a stack of pillows, and he stared out the window at the city below.
The initial damage had mostly been repaired: the presence of a Princess and Guard sworn to her service provided a tremendous amount of stability. Since then the city had stayed quiet, almost suffocatingly so. Patrols moved through the streets hourly, vendors sold goods through half-shut windows, necessities were parcelled out and carefully monitored. Mistrust reigned.
Did that parallel to himself? Was this his personal dilemma writ large? An imposition of freedom did strange things, after all.
He had resolved to defy his teacher. Agyrt had given him explicit instructions to bring this about; had had a claw in every pot. Those revelations hadn’t changed Daerev’s mind—that the ultimate gift was worth the price. He knew his vendetta against Boundless had tipped his scales somewhat, but he couldn’t quite care.
No, what stung him was the sense of being used. It was hard, even, to justify to himself. He hadn’t been lied to, hadn’t been misled. At no point Agyrt even given him partial information. And yet he found his decisions laid out for him far in advance, as if he were but following another’s path. It prickled, sat uneasy.
Now Twilight had run off somewhere, Celestia and Luna saw to Equestria and this threat, this Typhus, Cadence managed the Empire. There wasn’t anything for him to do, no further way he could think to contribute. How did a dragon fit in this new world? Could he simply return to his library?
His whole life, he’d been able to protest his independence while remaining squarely on the path laid out for him. And now, now that there wasn’t any more time to coddle the children, he’d been left behind.
Bitter. Twilight had taught him rhetoric, well enough at the least to catch the more egregious of his arguments. But self-awareness didn’t make the solution, the obvious, well-charted, suspect solution any easier. Brooding was comfortable, his flame crackled peacefully, he could stare at the cold outside, dozing, with something approaching contentment.
Pinkie would not find it so comforting.
He sighed, smoke roiling around his teeth. He really should say something to her, give her room to vent or provoke her into some egregious display. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since she’d disappeared into the Palace, mane and tail flat and drooping, despondent, lifeless. He supposed he could understand her, too, a mixture of impotence and horror, a mounting frustration and shock at the escalation of mistakes she could not stop nor correct.
What would he do, in her position? Curl up and hide away? Try, yet again, to step in and lend improvement to the situation, create some semblance of return to the worldview stripped from her? He could see that, actually, could model Pinkie as that stubborn hero. Or, perhaps, she would leave, seek to go home, as much as she could. He could not imagine Ponyville would much match their memories anymore, but there was no requirement for rationality, here, nor any expectation of wisdom. Perhaps . . .
And did he feel any responsibility? Speculation and self-pity aside, Daerev could acknowledge his own role here. He wasn’t without blame, without his small piece of the puzzle. Did that give him some claim to this aftermath? Some right to help shape the nascent world? The idea appealed, in its own way. If he was more sure of himself, it might have even seemed viable.
A knock at his door. Daerev let his flame rumble in his throat, an implicit warning. It was ignored, and the door opened, a soldier of Cadence’s Guard standing there.
“Letter for Miss Twilight,” the pony said, staring Daerev down. “The Princess directed it here.”
Daerev flicked his tail in acknowledgement, and reached out a claw to accept the missive.
Heavier than it looked. He opened the paper and plucked out a small fragment of crystal, gleaming in Cadence’s magic. Frowning, he turned it over, then glanced down at the letter itself.
A minute later, he was hurrying down the hall, thoughts racing, and Fluttershy’s call for help clutched tightly in his fist.
***
Typhus raced northwards across the desert. Lightning lashed the ground with great booming strikes ahead of his advance, the wind crept closer to a shrill shriek, sand slashed through the air every bit as dangerous as the boulders, torn masonry, and shredded tree trunks. Rain and hail poured down from the heavens, soaking into the ground and spreading deep into the Earth.
He blanketed the entire horizon, as far as Luna could see. Roiling nuclei of deep black, argent lacing the thick clouds gathering into a series of colossal points, concentrating momentum and an ancient, ardent hate.
Chaos embodied. She could see the wisdom in the Veil, now—and the trap in the Drac’s prophecy. What that serpent gained from unleashing this monster on the world, she would sort out later.
Luna had hoped to avoid the mantle of Nightmare Moon. But the power it afforded her, through reserves built into its metal, through the myth it carried still, through the connection to the past both fond and tragic, was undeniable. With a thought, she felt it settle around her once more, cold iron spiking her with adrenaline. It felt right, or at least, not unfamiliar: a meeting between old friends, lapsing into all-but-forgotten patterns of speech, a jolt of familiarity.
Luna, it spoke to her, it is time.
Yes, she replied. He comes.
We have faced this creature before, and sent it running before us. The armour seemed almost to sing its jubilation, a war cry saturated in triumph.
Our sister is not with us today, Luna said. It is to her to placate the populace, to us to keep it safe.
Fear not, it said. The moon also rises.
And Luna could see the spell, engraved on her mind. She sipped the hatred embedded in her armour, at once regretting and appreciating the necessity that lead to its presence. Armour of hate enabled, she thought, where armour of love endured. With this, she could act. With this, she could do.
Hate burned in her veins, spread through her limbs. It called to her, demanded motion, demanded power and the expression of power. All at once, she roared, a bestial sound bursting from her throat to challenge the face of the Storm bearing down upon her.
She gave magic to her voice and to her horn, sent a vast outpouring into the spell she wove with her old partner. Argence graced her, moonlight enveloped her, cool and warm, austere and welcoming. It pooled in her joints, gave grain to her mane, sent her tail threading out hundreds of feet through the night sky. She reached up, connected again, and called OUT.
The Moon answered. A tremendous shudder ran through the world, the air itself vibrating along with the ground. She could hear the breaking of waves hundreds—thousands—of miles distant. Feel the trembling mountains before and behind her. The fabric of the world lurched, butter beneath her hooves, and she laughed.
Laughed her scorn, her hatred, her unending undying defiance. Laughed at the temerity of this thing, that it could challenge her, Luna, Princess and Goddess, Patroness of the Moon and the Stars Eternal. He came and He struck at her with all his might and Luna laughed!
She laughed her mirth, her throat closing, and opening, and closing, and opening, the sound changing. She laughed at his defiance and she laughed at her bent to the theatrical. She laughed, finally, because surrounded by Chaos itself, she found that in the end, she wanted to.
But the moon supported her. Ethereal light reached her even through the tumult of Typhus’ rage, lifted her up, made her strong. She lashed out, connecting herself to the ground, to the sky. She found the thrust of his Chaotic advance, challenged it. A conflagration of argent and blue-white engulfed her.
It could not touch her. Not here, in the seat of her power, with the moon suspended mere miles overhead. She gathered more hatred, found only mirth, and poured that into her magic, too, an ecstatic, desperate, stand.
She could match Him in ferocity, perhaps, but not in endurance. Experience had shown her that much. And—as Luna returned more and more to her mind, recovering from the excesses of the power she was channelling through her, she realised she was not doing much more than slow Him.
Around her position, the edges of Typhus curled inward. The Stormfront was not bound to a single position, as she was—and for all her power, she could not spread herself to cover all the border. She had no army, no Coromancers to support her, and to carry out her will.
She would not budge, and He had slowed. Appleloosa might even have time to evacuate.
We will not be beaten, Nightmare Moon whispered to her, distinct even over the thunderous detonations of Typhus’ assault.
No, Luna thought. That’s what I’m afraid of.
***
Applejack thought she really should be beside herself. She could recognise the symptoms, she’d had more than enough experience with the emotional fatigue that followed overuse of Coromantic talent. Still, she expected some pang of worry to follow her, some nagging tremble obsessing over the mystery of where her sister had got to.
Nopony had seen Applebloom. She remembered leaving them in the school, and then . . . nothing. All three of them had disappeared from Ponyville completely.
Instead she felt numb. A tired lack of reaction; her attention wandering away, her eyes drooping closed and limbs aching just a little with every movement. It was an active chore to force herself out of the Tree, to move through the darkened streets lit by makeshift torches and the dying embers of last night’s excesses, and one that got harder and harder to hold to. Even the vast shift that passed through the world, shook her to her hooves, and left the moon hanging huge and silver, miles across and as colossal in the sky as Canterlot from the base of its mountain, did little more than startle her to a briefly-held trot.
And there was more than Applebloom to pay attention to. She shook herself, yawning, and waving her torch through the air before her, its light illuminating little more than a few feet beyond the vague argence of the moon. It was enough.
She was standing just beyond the outskirts of Ponyville, an orchard’s worth of grassy earth separating her from the nearest cottage. The land here was gentle, spreading outwards from the paved over plains of Ponyville to the verdant lowlands abutting the Lethe and the Everfree forest. Or—it should be.
Instead, the Forest was here. Already crossing the vast majority of the distance between its ancient borders and the town, the tangled undergrowth and roots quested outwards, reaching and claiming so fast Applejack could see them move. Brush covered the ground, green wood springing up from nothingness and clawing for purchase, vines wrapping themselves up trunks as fast as the trunks could grow. It was an evil, sick thing, vegetation spurred to unnatural effort by something insidious, some explosion of energy forced upon them.
Applejack waved her torch back and forth, leaning away. She didn’t want anything to do with this; she was even intermittently grateful for her numbness. This . . . this corruption could barely reach her in her exhaustion, the thought of what it might achieve were her nerves as raw and untempered as they might have been was sickening.
Fluttershy was right, that much was clear. What it had to do with the events spiralling around her, though, completely escaped Applejack. She was no longer content to insist on her capacity to handle this: no longer willing to stake herself against problems bigger than her out of sheer bullheaded optimism.
What she could do was delegate. Others knew the situation in the town better than her—others could care for Fluttershy, could look for Applebloom better than she could.
Or was that just the siren call of her fatigue? She would not forgive herself for turning her back on her friends and family. Most especially not here.
“Applejack?”
Vera had followed her, citing worry. Applejack hadn’t tried particularly hard to brush her off, some token effort towards her pride was almost more than she could manage. And the mare had been helpful, keeping her awake, keeping her upright.
She’d been a rioter, though Applejack couldn’t remember her, trying to find some outlet, some way to express the raging storm instilled within. The way she described it seemed almost clinical, events that had happened in another life, to another pony.
And then she’d stumbled upon Celestia, and Discord, and in the shambling remains of Ponyville’s organisational structure, took it upon herself to see to Applejack. To take Fluttershy and tend to her injuries, to take that driving force to act and turn it in a direction totally new. She had been a painter, her Cutie-Mark a brush-stroke of red.
“We need to evacuate,” Applejack slurred. She was swaying back and forth, almost hypnotised by the flame of her torch. The plant-life seemed to reach out towards it, branches mimicking the figure-eight trail of bright orange and yellow light.
“What in Celestia’s name . . .” Vera said. Her coat was cold, pressing up against Applejack’s side.
“It’s not going to stop,” Applejack said. “I can feel it underneath.”
“Okay,” Vera said. “Alright, AJ. You’ve seen it now. Let’s go back, okay.”
“Okay,” Applejack said. All her resistance was collapsing, she could feel the walls coming down and was powerless to halt them. “Luna.”
“Celestia put out a statement just yesterday, remember?” Vera said. “Luna went south. Assisting with the recovery efforts.”
“Need Luna,” Applejack said. She leaned on Vera more heavily, now, her torch held close to the ground. She blinked, languorous, and yawned. “Some . . . pony . . .”
“Easy, AJ. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Vera,” Applejack said. “Vera, tell them all to leave.”
“Alright. Alright, AJ.”
“Canterlot. Have to . . . Have to get to Canterlot.”
“Because the Forest is coming. I’ve got it, AJ. Don’t you worry, okay? Just leave everything to me.”
Applejack pressed further against Vera’s side, comforted by her acceptance of Applejack’s weight. It was a peculiar release, for Applejack, a deflating without resolution, a passing of responsibility. She did not want to give in. But her pride could no longer sustain her without sustenance, without hoarding her own importance.
Applejack didn’t consider what might become of Celestia, didn’t think to ask Vera to round up the animals on the neighbouring farms or to scout out the borders of the Forest or to find some way of contacting Luna. She just let her eyes close, and drifted off.
He has been gone for centuries. We have flourished, grown, learnt. If the Brightstream is at the heart of his presence and disappearance, the answer to where he went . . . is that secret not worth the risk? There is something here. Bigger than I, than Luna, than even our civilisation.
Fifty-Six
CELESTIA WAS, in some far away corner of her mind, aware of her body. Stiff and unyielding, it would not budge for the ponies tugging on it, trying in vain to awaken her to their evacuation. Her legs had long since cramped, her back ached and mane had fallen flat against her neck. It didn’t matter.
She was more removed than frozen, safely ensconced in her golden shield with that creature trapped in her mind. If they could not reach her, then he could not reach them, and that was okay.
And rage as he might, wail and scream and gnash his teeth, she had the power here.
Celestia had long emphasised the unicorn aspects of her magic. She was one of the greatest Sages ever to live, a scholar and practitioner older and wiser in the nuances of magic than even Discord. And she knew herself, to a degree that brooked no uncertainty. In here, in the palace of her mind, she was inviolable.
The shattering of the Veil had challenged that. Freed, she was vulnerable. Discord rampaged, lashed out at her, at the walls and ceilings and accoutrements of her beliefs. Chaotic magic, hot-cold, paradox and prophecy, he took her conceptions to their extremes and threw them back at her.
Her citizens, all the millions and millions of souls she had cared for over the long, long years, became her prisoners. Chained underneath her magic, both literal and metamagical, slaves to her will. They looked up at her upon her golden throne and cursed her name, spat upon the earth, and struggled themselves to death working to break free.
She stared down, stony silent.
Oh, but I have no power here, he mocked her. No illusions or lies. This is you, Celestia. An extrapolation of your innermost core, and nothing more.
Her sister, clasped in the armour that she had forged. Nightmare Moon’s raiment was a symbol for that hardship, for the untold pain and anguish she had demanded of Luna. She watched as she asked her sister to become hated, to become a bedtime nightmare.
Who created the Nightmare? Discord sneered. Have you remembered? Can you remember?
She felt sick to her core.
Twilight received the Element of Magic under her faraway gaze. The light of the sun could not penetrate Luna’s fog, and yet she knew her sister’s role, had helped choreograph the drama playing out before her. She had written the part Twilight might play a thousand years ago, and in doing so consigned her to this fate. The myriad of horrors visited upon her, and upon those friends caught up in her wake—all those were carefully considered by Celestia, and deemed acceptable.
Where is the line, Celestia? I cannot yet see it.
She broke her silence, lashing out. “I reject your web of lies, creature! My motivations are mine alone, and you have neither the faculty nor wit to understand them!”
Oh, but ‘Tia, she could feel his grin, crawling all over her. You invited me here.
She forced the environment around them to change, the images he’d plastered over the walls of her mind splintering to reveal her throne room. She hauled Discord before her, bound him in spell-sealed iron, and slammed shut the doors.
I think I preferred the library, he said. It was . . . more intimate.
She stared at him. Even now, he could not sit still for a moment, his muscles twitching underneath him. He fidgeted, his claws striking the ground in an odd tempo, his tongue flicking out to taste the air, his eyes roving around the room. Even his form seemed to shift, alternating between emphasis of the draconic elements; the fangs and the horns seemingly growing, the long, serpentine body elongating, and hardening with scales, before the equine side reasserted itself, hooves taking shape, eyes growing round, tail gaining fur . . .
A being caught between. It made an odd kind of sense. Part dragon, part pony, Discord was made entirely of Chaos, there was no Harmony in him to temper the wild fluctuations in his behaviour. Every part of him rushed to extremes; he could not think differently, could not perceive the myriad shades of grey, some lighter some darker, as anything but black.
Her many, many small failures, in all the important little details, spanning back over time immemorial, meant to him a history of despite, of abject misery and complete character assassination. Her past, to him, defined her. Ironic that a being built upon total change should be so absolute in his judgement.
Because if there was an equine form in his chaos, then so too did Celestia have Chaos within her. Her long legacy represented not a series of equal failures, but a slow progress, a growth, a story full of lessons and moments of minor inspiration. She looked back on her past mistakes not with spite but with understanding, and with that took away the sting from her grief. On him she levelled pity; he could not change any more than he could stop fidgeting.
It’s coming, he rasped, looking up at her on her throne. It’s coming for you, and He is coming for me.
Celestia let her serene smile wash over him. She could feel, somewhere, the Forest encroaching on her position. Vines gathering around her limbs, branches brushing past her—it was not malicious, but indifferent. Immovable, the Forest washed over them, past them, claiming the centre of Ponyville for itself.
And Celestia waited. She could do no more than restrain him, and trust in the friends she knew were out there, fighting for some chance to hold back the coming tide.
***
Daerev found Cadence in her sitting room, poring over reports from elsewhere in the Empire. He approached quickly, but found himself reluctant to speak, keeping his mouth shut until she turned to him, her magic closing her books with a loud thwack.
“Daerev,” she said. “How’re you doing?”
He waved the question away. “I’m sorry, Princess, but I was just given this.”
Fluttershy’s letter described the situation in Appleloosa, the conflict spurred on by Agyrt—he felt a little sick, even now, at the notion of all the deaths caused by his mentor for seemingly no gain—and what they’d done to resolve it. Some of the questions she posed Twilight he had pondered himself; regarding precognition, fate, and prophecy, in fact, the peculiar nature of her gifts, her Dreams, reminded him of Pinkie’s predicament, and he resolved to introduce the similarity to the two of them.
But more relevant was the shard of crystal in his fist.
Cadence reached the end of the letter and turned her eyes up at him, questioning. He brought the crystal out, palming it over and handing it to her.
Pink telekinesis seized it and lifted it up the face. She turned it over slowly, brow creasing.
“This is . . .”
“From Appleloosa. Far, far south. I know the Empire sells the odd trinket to Equestria . . .?”
“I’d go so far as to call it an actual export, actually,” Cadence said. She moved a hoof over the crystal’s surface. “Barik!”
“Princess?” The guard stationed at her door poked his head through the doorframe.
“Go and fetch me a few crystals. A display, a jewel, and a scribe. Hmm. And a locket.”
“Princess, after this mornin-.”
“I did not ask you a question, soldier,” Cadence said, turning her head slightly towards him.
“Princess.” He closed the door, his hooves making clear clacking noises as he trotted away.
“This morning?” Daerev asked. He knew he hadn’t been paying attention, but that sounded like something he should know about. Cadence wasn’t normally so sharp.
She shot him a glare, and Daerev blinked.
“I cannot be sure without comparison,” she said, placing the crystal on her desk. “But this does not strike me as something we might sell to Equestria. The design is archaic, the surfaces scratched, and the core largely without function. A piece of jewellery, perhaps, but not one of our current lines. How it came to be in the southern deserts, I do not know.”
Daerev nodded, swallowing. “I see. Fluttershy mentioned that this was not the only one of its kind, either. A stolen shipment, o-or cancelled series . . .?”
“Mm. I doubt it.”
They waited in silence for ten minutes, until Barik had resumed his posting outside the door.
The display crystal was designed to capture an image within its crystalline matrix, and show it on every facet. Even blank, they had an ethereal quality to them, the crystal so clear as to be almost invisible. Cadence scratched at one face with the tip of her quill—and when that broke, with the edge of another. But while minor damage disrupted the illusion of transparency, it was clearly not related to the damage done to Fluttershy’s mystery crystal.
The jewel was what Daerev had placed his bets on. These were designed to be flattering in and of themselves, without any additional purpose attached. But Cadence was correct—while they agreed the discovery could safely be assumed to have been jewellery, it did not match the design of the piece they had now, and likewise for previous iterations.
The locket they discarded almost immediately. Configured to hold and display an item contained within, it’s design totally different.
The scribe conveyed words. Each face of the crystal could be written upon, generally using an older script that did not translate altogether well to Equestrian—or even to parchment. Scribes, Cadence explained, were mostly relics, now—after the reappearance of the Empire and its reintegration with Equestria, the denizens of the north had by and large switched to the more modern quill and parchment; and with it, the Equestrian language. It made things easier, things like trade, tourism, and cultural pollination. As a result, though, the older scripts were being forgotten, phased out, and scribes with them, kept largely as mementos and records of a forgotten age.
Its internal design, the crystalline lattices, structures buried deep inside to support and bind the material—they matched far more closely to the design of Fluttershy’s mystery crystal.
“So it’s, what,” Daerev began.
“It’s a relic,” Cadence said. “It’s old. Really old. From the Crystal Empire before Sombra.”
Daerev swallowed. “Uh, alright. So-”
“So how did it find its way into the southern desert?” Cadence said. She tossed it onto her desk, spinning around and putting her head into her hooves. “I thought we were done with all this.”
“Okay-”
“Twilight’s far, far north,” Cadence said. “I’ll send a message up to the border, she’ll get it when she comes back.”
“I-”
“Thank, Daerev. Even if it wasn’t quite as urgent as you implied.”
“Trixie.”
Daerev and Cadence both jumped, Daerev lashing out with his wings instinctively to stop himself from toppling over and striking the walls, Cadence slamming her rump into the edge of the desk, stumbling forward with a pained look.
“Wake up Trixie,” Pinkie said, stalking out from the corner of the room.
“You-” Daerev started.
“Don’t forget, Princess, that I can do that too,” Pinkie said, to Daerev’s confusion. “I’m not much in the mood for games. We need Trixie, right now.”
“And what makes you think I’m just going to take your word for it,” Cadence said, rising to her full height.
“You’re the fortune-teller,” Pinkie said. “Have you even looked? Too afraid, now of all times? Or too preoccupied with your people?” She deflated, just a little, losing the edges to her frame. “I have, Cadence. I’ve been very, very busy. You just found the missing link.”
“The missing link to what?” Daerev burst in.
Pinkie shot him a withering glance. “No clue,” she said. “That’s not how it works. If it wasn’t important I wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s absurd.”
“No,” Cadence said, staring at Pinkie. Her ear was twitching, for some reason. “She’s right. It’s not predictable, because it’s only half the loop. Like looking backwards.”
“Call it Pinkie Sense, if you have to,” Pinkie said. “If it makes it easier to believe. I’ve felt the future. I can’t change it, but I can guide it. Adjust details, here and there.”
“And . . .”
“And Twilight knows what to do with that crystal,” Pinkie said, pointing at Cadence’s desk. “It’s meant for her, somehow.”
Cadence nodded, walking across the room. “I’ll get her up, then,” she said, gathering magic to herself. It quickly spread from her horn to her shoulders, and then out onto her wings, the pink glow illuminating each feather.
In moments, Trixie came to, leaving Cadence asleep in her place. Pinkie explained the situation, shoving the crystal in Trixie’s face repeatedly, until the groggy mare finally shook herself into comprehension.
Daerev half wanted to offer to accompany her. He wanted to get away from here, away from the intensity of Pinkie and the confusion of his own thoughts. He knew there wasn’t enough magic—that he would only slow Trixie down, or cause other problems, but he wanted to go anyway.
Trixie vanished in an azure blaze, and without a word he slipped out the door, quietly returning to his solitude.
***
Appleloosa was gone. Braeburn watched from atop a ridge in the land, the Stormwall passing slowly over the tops of houses, water and ice running down the backsides of their hurried shelters. At first, he’d hoped they could simply reverse the direction of those barricades, weather the Storm like they had the last one. Now, though, he could see the difference in scale, the mind-bending ferocity contained here. This was nothing they could handle, nothing Applejack could ground through them—no force of cooperation or long years of preparation could have matched this.
Just about everypony was here, some dozen miles along the train tracks. The worst of the infirm, pony and buffalo alike, had been sent ahead on the train, but there weren’t enough carriages for everyone, and already the convoy was beginning to stretch out, the slower groups making their way, inevitably, towards the back.
Bill was down there, doing what he could to get carts hitched, find spaces for children or those too sick to maintain the pace to ride, but it was a hopeless task.
“They’re despondent,” Achak said, coming up alongside him.
Braeburn grimaced. “I get that,” he said. “But we need to move faster. You’d think that would inspire more dread,” gesturing south at the Stormwall.
“In normal circumstances,” Achak said. “But we have fought tooth and hoof for our home here. Against all odds, again and again, delivered by some combination of arcane secret and sandy grit.”
Braeburn nodded. “And we won.”
“And we won. A terrible thing, to have hope snatched away.”
“You think they’ve given up.”
“Yes. Have you not?”
“Achak?”
Braeburn turned to look at her, really look. She was . . . the only word that came to his mind was tired. Lines he didn’t remember crossed her face, crinkled the corners of her eyes and her mouth. Her posture sagged, one knee shaking back and forth as she watched the procession.
“Hey. You . . . Are you alright?”
She smiled at him, and turned away to slowly clamber down the hill.
The Stormwall advanced, and Braeburn watched it until the wind began to whip at him, cutting through his fur to chill the flesh beneath. Its shadow reached out after the convoy, far past him, cast in a silvery glow. As the line of water marking the soaked earth advanced towards him, he turned and fled, rushing down and towards the last of the Appleloosans, just a few hundred feet ahead of him.
The Moon by which they could see was proof of Luna’s struggle, giving them time to flee, to make it just one more step towards safety. But safety could there be? Lost and desperately alone, even the high city of Canterlot seemed fragile, almost inconsequential in comparison. Even the Princesses, helpless before the Storm’s sheer might.
Despondent. The word rang in his mind, whispered to him from his hoofprints. He glanced at the ponies and buffalo he passed, saw the edges of madness around the rims of their eyes, the mania of fear fighting through their depression. It broke him.
He put his head down, staring at the wet sand, and galloped north.
***
He was pushing her back.
The initial exaltation of her defiance had guttered out, spent in a blaze of glory that left her enemy helpless, futilely raging against her like an squalling infant. Typhus, God of Storms, God of Chaos, was nothing before her might, the conjoined powers of the Moon and the Nightmare elevating her to peaks she’d hardly dared dream of. She could have moved planets, caused the stars in the sky to wink out, sent her will crashing and thundering against the fabric of reality and seen reality give way.
She could not, however, sustain her passion.
It was a truth beyond even her, that the peaks and valleys of life make a greater sum than their parts. In the fullness of her power, Luna exceeded Typhus, but that peak was short-lived, and His static plain, His enduring, constant, unchanged rage clawed against the sides of that peak, waiting for her to slip.
So she had paced herself, doled her might out as sparingly as she could, that she might hold out for longer, might give her ponies longer to flee. Elsewhere, Typhus reached around her to continue his march; but he was slowed nonetheless, and like this the full brunt of his onslaught could be divided and borne.
Luna was not the brute her sister was. She did not fight with brunt force, applying herself directly, with hard counters and tremendous exertions, designed to end her opponent as quickly as possible. She was a Seer, a Conduit, and an Anchor, she danced through the possible futures in every instant, Saw her enemies attacks and felt how the battle flowed through her. She turned blow against blow and spent only what she must, turning her enemy’s might into fuel for her own onslaught.
Once, she had sustained herself for days like this, sipping from the unending fountain of emotion that charged the battlefields. Not so here, Typhus’ energy was maddening, tainted, and she knew, instinctively, that this was what created Turned—Nightmare Moon whispering in her ear that Chaos would not be taken, but only forced upon.
For hours, she fought. Not only Him, the constant ebb-and-flow of spellwork, each taking form in mere instants to be scattered against His lightning, redirecting wind to shield her from ice, catching the thunderous detonations of sound to channel their energy against the boulders, trees, and hidden grit that tore at her, but also herself, managing the drain upon her mental and physical reserves, resisting the siren song that cried out crush him beneath you and soar over his remains. Always, Coromancy begat Coromancy, always indulgence demanded more indulgence: there was never enough emotion. Addictive was only the smallest sense of it, and here Luna was drunk on power.
Until she began to slow. Typhus didn’t even seem to notice her flagging, responding just a little slower to each hit directed at her. He began to grind forwards again, building momentum despite the extravagances of her effort.
Retreat, she counselled. We may provide no aid dead.
And so Typhus advanced, claiming Appleloosa and the southern desert, blasting the lands apart and leaving scattered ruin in his wake. What small homes had been built—not only the town itself, but the beaten tracks carved into the sand over generations of migrations, the artwork driven into craggy outcroppings and tiny communities that grew from watering holes, tightly-knit and knowing nothing of the outside—all consumed in His unending outpouring of water and jagged death.
In time, Luna began to feel the earth underneath her change. The harmonies flowing through Equestria were weaker in the desert, but now they had disappeared entirely, lost in an alien, chaotic sensation. With a jolt, she recognised its basic patterns; enough, at the least, to extrapolate her position—she was over the Everfree. The realisation cost her, and her wing was clipped, feathers turning to char in an instant and flesh underneath catching fire. She screamed, caught the next, and returned to her dance with grim resolve, the support of her Nightmare thrumming through her body.
Where Equestria sustained her, the Everfree fought. The rhythms she maintained changed instant to instant, the forest spreading its ravenous influence underneath her, undermining her. She felt trapped, suddenly intuiting the corner into which she was boxed; Typhus surrounding her on three sides, with the centre of the Everfree at her back.
Luna fled steadily, faster, pushing herself, but the seed of despair had been planted long ago. One moment was all it took, like tripping over a vine snaking over the ground, and the Storm struck her, shattering the moonlit weave that protected her body. Electricity melted the armour clasping her body, wind hurled droplets of midnight metal into the abyss. Fragments of the Nightmare were stripped away, chunks and pieces scattered into the chaos. He didn’t even spare her time to scream.
Turning properly, deflecting what she could and absorbing what she must, feeling abruptly cold for the first time in a long while, Luna fled.
***
He’s here, Discord said. You lose.
“We’ll see,” Celestia said, from her seat above him.
She might have stood, another time. Prowled around him, let her stance, her presence make her point for her.
Now, she kept to her seat, not trusting her legs to support her.
The paralysis was more than physical, locking the both of them in Ponyville as the Everfree spread over them. It had spread to her mind, as well, her reliance on this palace trapping her just as effectively as it trapped him. It was, she supposed, the perennial fate of the jailor—to be locked away with her prisoner.
Buds of green and verdant yellow had even begun to sprout in the throne room of her mind, the Everfree making itself known even here. Discord had been delighted, of course, playing with them from time to time, always with one eye watching her, drawing her attention to the gradual corruption taking root.
So now, as the winds began to pick up around her, icy malice and bone-biting rain sweeping forward, she could not break from her prison, could not abandon her chosen post. She had put down responsibility for all else—this was one promise she would not break.
Flexibility, he said, sneering at her, is not so easy after all.
“No,” Celestia said. “I suppose not. Maybe I understand you a little better.”
I doubt it.
“It is a horrible thing, to be trapped like this.”
You do it to yourself.
“I did, didn’t I. I thought it better. To be insulated. Kept safe.”
He tossed his head, spat on the ground, and Celestia sighed.
Typhus was here, now, and no doubting it. The forest around her grew steadily, fuelled further by his rain and fury. It leapt from the ground to meet him, surging outwards and upwards, tearing the earth apart.
Celestia could feel the waters slicing into her, ice melting against her coat and grit worming its way to her skin. She could feel the spreading power under her hooves, claiming these lands for its own.
You’ll be freed, too, Discord said. He sounded almost happy, his spine relaxed and fidgeting ceasing. All traces of the desperate anger that had consumed him was gone, washed away, transcended.
For Celestia, that anger was only now beginning to rise. Her hackles stood to attention, her fur rigid and wings splayed tense. She bit her lip fiercely, drawing blood.
You’ll see, he said. What you’ve been missing. What everybody has been missing.
Typhus came fully overhead, and all Celestia could see was rage, incandescent, unthinking, burning like the sun. She blinked, turned herself from where she had held Discord, now just a blackened patch of cobblestone, and underneath the Storm, in the light of the Moon, eyed the mountain to the north.
***
Twilight’s slow hoofsteps ground to a halt. Behind her, she could hear Rarity panting, frigid breath frosting in the thin air. In front, Rainbow gave a single, tug on the rope before realising, and stopping herself.
“T-twi?” Rarity said, nuzzling against her side.
“It’s not here,” Twilight said. ‘It-it’s just . . . I-”
She’d been struggling with the thought for some time. Hours of movement, occupied with nothing but managing her breathing, had let her mind wander freely. The evidence seemed, to her, and in this moment, incontrovertible.
Twilight was more than familiar with cognitive biases. She knew her discomfort, the physical and magical hardship the journey was imposing would provide her mind with weak—and growing steadily stronger—evidence that the Well was, impossibly, elsewhere.
That knowledge sustained her for yet more minutes.
But it wasn’t just that. Part of her conclusions, absorbing Rainbow’s, and Rarity’s, memories of the distant past, were founded on the growing swell of magic she’d been noticing over the past months. Her Element had pulsed, beat in her head like a drum, a faraway march, a heartbeat. It had drawn her, drawn from her, and returned to her.
That pulse was gone, now, completely. She had passed beyond its influence, somehow leaving behind her connection to Equestria, to the world. Was it mere coincidence that her magical ability was so greatly reduced here, so as to prevent her from so much as a dim nightlight?
Why. That was the question, wasn’t it? Twilight had been circling it for hours, returning again and again to that central problem. She couldn’t tell the difference, in the end. Was she moving farther from the source of magic, the source of the Elements and the growing pulse in her head, or was her connection straining simply thanks to the dampening effect the northern ranges were having.
“Need to, test it,” Twilight said, musing. “Go, down. Not south. Just down.”
“It’ll take, forever, to climb back,” Rainbow said. “Harder to stop, then start.”
Twilight nodded. “Little bit. Not all at once.”
“Fine,” Rainbow said.
They trudged north, not trusting themselves to go backwards looking for a ravine, or crevice. Eventually, one did present itself, the mountain plain turning to a ridge that dropped sharply down into a craggy gorge. Twilight began testing the ground, pushing her hooves into the rock and snow, but Rainbow insisted on taking the lead. She disappeared down, moving slowly. At the edges of Twilight’s vision, she stopped, hollering back up at them; “It’s safe!”
They spent half an hour moving down. At first, Twilight thought she was imagining it, but she could feel the air growing thicker, bit by bit, around her. Somehow, they’d found themselves a pocket of atmosphere, in absolute defiance of what she thought of physics. She filed it away, and breathed deeply.
“This is crazy,” Rainbow said, hovering off the ground. “We’re still thousands of feet up in the air, but it feels like Cloudsdale.”
“Oh, stars,” Twilight said. “It sinks.”
“What?”
“Magic. It’s heavier than air. It’s like . . . a pool.”
“A Well?” Rarity said. Her horn sparked, then caught, a translucent glow illuminating the canyon better the further down they—and the light—travelled.
“No, but-” Twilight waved her hooves, “similar. This is why we couldn’t do anything—the air was too thin to hold magic. Like a fire with no oxygen.”
“And-”
“And it’s not here,” Twilight said. The distance, the ability to compare, made all the difference in the world. “I can’t feel it nearly as strongly as I could in Equestria. Part of that is the magic. But part of it is something else.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
The beacon was lit in her mind. Not clearly enough to provide a direction, nor was it something that mapped onto cardinal points. Like a game of warmer-colder, Twilight had only a tenuous connection to Harmony to rely on, and the bone-deep certainty that she was drawing away from it. “But doesn’t that make sense? It gathers lower down, not higher up. Where the magic is concentrated, in Equestria.”
They gathered together, Rainbow taking them as low as the land allowed them to go. Twilight gathered her strength, the resurgent magical potential around her, taking it in and depleting the pool almost entirely. A familiar spell, and a familiar destination. They teleported, lavender light stretching up to peter out just feet below the mountain crest, and arrived in the central street of the frontier town that marked the edges of the Crystal Empire.
And waiting for them was Trixie. Her mane dishevelled, coat worn and ratty. She seemed downcast, sagging, but at the sight of them perked up, trotting forward, magic outstretched. In her grip hung a crystal.
“Twilight,” she called. “Thank Celestia! Fluttershy sent this. She said it’s from Appleloosa, but Cadence says it’s thousands of years old. We don’t-”
Twilight seized it from her, spun it around herself. The pieces fell into place all at once, as if she’d been on the edge of this realisation for days. It made sense, in a way the mountains hadn’t. She turned to Rainbow, eyes sparkling.
I will open the Brightstream. Bring in talent, Sages and Seers, Conduits and Wardens. To study, to learn.
To delve.
Fifty-Seven
CANTERLOT WAS OVERRUN. Refugees trickling in, choosing to seek safety in the sanctity of the mountain, residents fleeing further north, the Guard closing avenues and rerouting travellers—all contributed to the chaos. Every attempt at instigating order only added another layer to it, another system by which confusion could take hold.
The streets were gridlocked, so, in a panic, many took to clambering over homes, running through the Undercity tunnels, getting lost and causing only a greater pile-up of bodies. The roads leading up the mountain, train tracks and carriage alike, were crammed with the surging crowd, pushing back and forth.
Twilight fell into the teleporting room in the Agency, her friends in tow. Cadence hadn’t wanted to abandon the Empire, but she had helped, contributing an alicorn’s might to the teleportations, bringing Pinkie and Daerev back with them. They found the Crusaders, watching through the windows with wide eyes. Somehow, they’d located the Ponyville contingent, halfway up the mountain—Sweetie Belle reporting that fact with the utmost confidence.
Applejack and Fluttershy were both just now awakening, apparently recovering from injuries dealt them by Discord, of all things. From here, Twilight could see the Storm, advancing in the distance. It had been barely twenty-four hours, and was just beginning to sweep over the edges of Ponyville, the Everfree forest visible as a darker green patch spreading its influence in all directions.
They couldn’t provide the same emotional succour a proper Warden or Conduit could, but Trixie was more than a Sage, and she’d learnt from Cadence. The channels were carved into her mind, she lacked only the implements to express them. And so she drew Applejack into her, spoke to her, mind-to-mind, and tapped into her from there, provided energy the same way Cadence had given energy to her. It left her distraught and vacant, spent for a time. They tucked her into bed upstairs, begrudging her no time or resource.
It was more than sentimental. It was a statement. Here, and no further.
Applejack drew from the mountain strength, a resolve, resolute stubbornness graven in rock, added to the surety of home imbued in the apples taken from her orchard, delivered by the wagonload up the mountain. To Fluttershy went the lion’s share, but each of them partook, and felt the apple’s juice invigorate, revitalise.
Twilight could feel the Element of Magic calling to her, beckoning, with an intensity that almost hurt. From here, it was a simple matter to call it to her, reaching out across the blanket of magic that saturated the land and part time and distance between her and it. It settled onto her head comfortably, as light as a feather and as heavy as the mountain. It was no great effort to follow suit for her friends.
And all the while Typhus advanced. Ponyville consumed, the Everfree nigh entirely under his shadow. The Moon, hanging low in the sky, seemed dwarfed, the barest sliver of its edge visible above the Stormwall.
“Alright,” Twilight said, turning to the assembled line of the Elements of Harmony. “You girls ready?”
“Hmph,” Rainbow replied. She was smiling, an energetic, defiant grin. “Chump won’t know what’s hit Him.”
“Good to go,” Applejack said, favouring one side. Her leg was hurt, but she’d waved off Fluttershy’s fussing.
“Ready,” Fluttershy said. Her injuries didn’t seem to bother her at all; instead a nascent flame was lit underneath her, an eagerness that left no room for trepidation.
“Of course,” Rarity said. She wouldn’t forgive herself the oversight for a long time to come, but in the here and now, with the opportunity to rectify it in front of her, she stood tall.
“Yes,” Pinkie said simply. Her, Twilight was most concerned about. She’d seemed dejected beyond anything Twilight could compare to, when they’d found her with Cadence. Applejack had helped with that, somewhat, and yet she was still fragile, stood just a little apart from the others, held herself just a little too carefully.
Twilight didn’t quite dare take them directly into the Storm. Instead, moving to the base of the mountain, she threw up a shield spell to ward off the stirring wind, and they cantered forward, making straight for the heart of the Everfree, with the turbulent waters of the Lethe flowing beside them.
This was Twilight’s last gamble. There was no possibility of reaching the Well in the north; if, somehow, she was entirely wrong it would take them weeks to locate it, and Equestria would be lost.
If she was right, though? If Celestia had moved the Well, moved Equestria while holding the full might of Harmony, such that the Crystal Empire of the far north had once been somewhere further south? If the Everfree wasn’t an aberration, but a perfectly normal phenomenon. If the Lethe wasn’t a strange entity, or dangerous trap, but something more fundamental?
Magic flowed down. Twilight thought she might just know a pool, in the deep dark depths of the land.
The Everfree spread itself out before them, and the Element bearers charged forward into the still-growing undergrowth with the moon shining steady overhead.
***
Rainbow hovered, a few feet ahead of the others. The Forest, and Twilight, protected them from the Storm, for now, but the Stormwall, that huge grey barrier, loomed overhead. They would need to go through it.
She swallowed. Her bravado was easy to slip back towards, but she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. This wasn’t the sort of challenge that could be tackled with grit and determination alone. Together, they had done more than Rainbow could have ever dreamed of; alone each of them had little to offer.
So what was her role, here? What could she do to lighten the burden on her friends, to provide aid. The Forest, dappled in the moonlight, swayed about her, branches and trunks creeping forward, vines wrapping themselves skyward, the grass growing, stretching, to tickle at her hooves . . .
She could scout. She didn’t even have to abandon them to do so, either, requiring only that she sacrifice some of her future self’s time . . . it took her just moments to make that resolution, and feel the sky split open.
She took off, ignoring the sudden cries of her friends. Her double would be with them in seconds, and ease their gallop back into the sustainable canter that kept them safe from the Forest’s changing form.
Relying on instinct and reflex, Rainbow hurtled herself forward through the trees. Twilight’s protection fell behind, leaving her somewhat exposed. With every flap, the winds grew stronger, threatening to hurl her into wood or rock or earth. Rain began to penetrate the canopy, covering the light of the moon.
She ignored it, following the river forward. The Forest’s growth was more rampant, here, but with nowhere to go it manifested by growing in, gathering density and bunching itself together into a nearly impenetrable thicket of sharpened brush and tree. Rainbow began spending herself, gathering lightning to her wings and sending it, burning, to explode against the plant life barring their way.
Slowed, now, she cut a way forward. And as the rain and wind intensified, bits of ice joining in now, she began to hear whispers. Unintelligible, but conveying a terrible inevitability, a sense of implacable doom. It whispered of slow anguish, a millennium in the dark, trapped and bound; of the exuberance of spreading her wings and seeing the world from above. Her Element began to shine, dim.
“Stupid . . . Forest,” Rainbow panted, smashing her way through yet more, leaves sticking to her face and coat, twigs digging into her skin and leaving small scrapes down her body. “Gonna . . . break you!”
It whispered of hate, of a deep wound, a tearing of its psyche. Of lonely misery and an ancient search for something missing.
Rainbow hurled herself into a tree, splintering the wood and sending the upper side of the trunk to topple back. The wind aided her, helped press herself into the Forest with growing urgency, using wings and hooves and teeth to smash and tear and trample a path. She tossed her mane, eyes roaming skyward, and felt a bubbly mirth growing in her chest. She snarled, and let the wind cool her skin, carry the rain-mingled sweat away.
Where were they? She was doing all this work for them when she could be high, high above, soaring through the sky with the wind underneath her wings. She hated this, this menial labour, bleeding and battered, fighting the Forest only for it grow in behind her as she moved.
She stilled, glanced backwards. Sure enough, the damage she had wrought was already closing over, the scab of the Forest’s unnatural verdant vigour trapping her in.
She screamed. Hurled herself skyward, tearing through the canopy to let the Storm wash over her. It was purifying, distilling, seeping into her through every pore. It whispered to her of hate and despair and despite.
But the Element was glowing.
Slowly, Rainbow began to laugh. The Stormwall was mere feet before her, lightning now lashing down to sear her eyes and flash-fry her body, debris hurtling towards her to bludgeon her from the sky, ice sleet turning its edge upon her flesh. This wasn’t pure, wasn’t her.
She opened herself to rage. “You think it’ll be that easy? Huh?”
She could feel Him, crawling inside of her. She shuddered, but she let the emotion run through her, let it find expression through her voice and her magic. She screamed defiance, darting about, unable to back down, unable to stop.
The Stormwall passed over her. The assault upon her intensified, and she felt herself begin to fail, to give in, each strike she failed to surpass driving more and more of the fight from her. The Element on her chest was afire, bright under the blue-white of the Storm and the argent moon.
She hung on, minutes passing with no respite, until it was everything she could do to simply remain airborne, to grit her teeth and hold onto her mind.
Until she broke through, and suddenly Rainbow found a moment’s peace. Not silence, not stillness, but the terrible surge, the awful looming doom—that had passed. In here, behind the fury and inexorable death, there was a calmer chaos, a swirling world of indifference. The eye of the Storm, just a few hundred feet past its frontier. His whispers had no power over her.
With terrible foreknowledge, Rainbow turned about face, and dove back into that whirling maelstrom, fleeing back to her friends.
***
Rarity was expecting the duplicate Rainbow the second the original left. But it had been minutes of shared worry with Twilight, a fair amount of Applejack’s grumbling, Pinkie’s stoic silence, and Rainbow still had not materialised.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Rarity said.
“Yeah,” Twilight said. She was keeping pace, but Rarity noted the way her eyes were fixed on some distant point, the way she never watched her hooves for the snarls of the Forest.
“It’s just a darn silly thing to do,” Applejack said.
“Nopony’s arguing with you,” Pinkie replied.
“Hmph.”
Rarity bit her lip. Rainbow’s intentions, as always, were surely both honourable and self-serving—it was the absence of her duplicate that worried her. It implied, as much as she strained to ignore it, that there was no future Rainbow to Jump back.
“She’s perfectly fine. She’s been through worse than this,” Rarity said, quietly.
The Forest seemed to be barring their way. The deeper they went, the more the foliage bent down, pressed by wind and rain, to obscure the path, the more roots rose from the ground, and branches spread themselves in great tangles. The Lethe ran free, waters racing south, a convenient and deadly shortcut.
Rarity glanced down at her chest, where the Element of Generosity lay inert. She should be able to do something! Surely there was some task for her, some fragment of this peril that was hers to overcome? She wanted a way to express her frustration, her mounting despair. It flickered across her fur and whispered in her ears.
She knew better than to expect that, of course. Life was not so neatly laid out. She reached towards Twilight, thought better of it, and dropped her head down to watch the ground.
Pinkie had taken the burden of forging the path ahead, trusting to her earth pony hardiness and natural enhancements while Applejack languished towards the back, her gait slowly succumbing to the limp she still bore. Rarity didn’t understand why Applejack had so staunchly refused Fluttershy’s healing—some nonsense about it being unnecessary, no doubt, and to save her strength.
All of them had given so much, of late. Too much, by anypony’s standard. Twilight had lost more than anypony, overcome more still. The brief account Rarity heard of Applejack and Fluttershy’s trials in Appleloosa and beyond had turned her stomach. And Pinkie—what bothered her was still hidden, but it was plain as day to see it writ across her form. Even Rainbow had spent herself to the brink, undertaking those legendary Jumps into the unknown.
What had Rarity given? Time, and energy, no doubt, lending her intellect and presence wholeheartedly. But there was no great sacrifice in her past, no moment of immense loss.
She swallowed. This was a stupid idea, all right, about as dumb as Rainbow’s foolhardy notion, rushing ahead without consulting the others. The Element on her chest grew warm.
They had been forced to slow down; even Twilight preferring to conserve strength rather than bludgeon a path wide enough for the five of them. The Forest fought their efforts at every step. Rarity lit her horn, adding her own pale light to Twilight’s efforts to illuminate the area around them.
The noise of it was growing louder, to deafening levels. She could See, through the leaves, the green and brown, the violence inflicted on the Forest—the ground torn up and flung high into the air, the savage explosions, blue-white force lancing into the highest trees, blasting their trunks apart. She swallowed.
She had to do something.
She could See no farther than the Stormwall. But where her talents weren’t applicable, she nonetheless had strength. She could feel power coursing through her, responding to her Element, to her desire to give aid. She was sick and tired of sitting back, of waiting, she’d spend two years waiting!
The influence was clear, now that her attention had been brought to it. She pulled her attention away, put up what mental barriers she could, and felt the Element lying against her chest dim, its warmth fading.
Rarity made a decision.
Her fortitude was not hers, not truly. She owed so much to those around her—more than just the four friends she had in the here and now, yes—a debt of encouragement, of investment and patronage. Time spent on her that could not be reclaimed. Energy, in a very real sense.
It was hers to return.
Rarity reached out through her Element, felt it spark to life against her breast once again. She felt towards the Storm, its texture rough, effervescent, a tumbling, spinning, mixing energy. She was stable, she was secure, she was a guarantee.
She touched her friends. Exhaled over their shoulders, made clucking noises over the state of their spirit. They were tired, worn, Pinkie especially—taken through the wringer.
In this, Rarity could help. She took some of their burdens for her own, felt the her back sag and her knees tremble.
She could bear this small part for them. How they had managed for so long with the full load, Rarity had no idea. But as the weight settled onto her shoulders, and she saw Twilight, Applejack, Fluttershy, and Pinkie straighten, saw their stride lengthen and their smiles brighten, she felt awed.
Element of Generosity afire, she fell into step, and, gritting her teeth, matched them step for step.
***
Pinkie was fuming. The end-of-the-world around her wasn’t the cause, the Storm holding little to sway her from her introspection. No, she had sunk deeper than that.
Twice, she’d stepped in only to be stymied by those around her. Twice, she had imposed herself on the world to find the world uncaring, pushing back, forcing its horrific version of events upon her. Hornwall had refused her, had forced itself into her despite her protests, despite everything she could do to get away. In a sense, Pinkie was still there, looping herself over and over in a never-ending shiver of Pinkie Sense, implicitly informing her of all the paths that ended in death. Boundless had refused her, had done everything in his power to prevent her efforts, going so far as to turn her companions against her.
And she couldn’t do anything.
That perhaps cut at her the most. Pinkie was unused to impotence, to being ignored. She had always enjoyed her abilities, from far before any of her friends had awoken to theirs. Pinkie Sense had been more than a random danger sense, it had been a mark of her importance, of her place in the world around her. It marked her out and gave her opinion weight.
Twice, that had been struck down. Twice, she had been attacked at the core of her being—and both times with murder.
It made her reticent, quiet. She hadn’t felt a shiver run over her shoulder or a tug on her tail since the Veil fell, and she knew exactly why. She didn’t want to be proven irrelevant a third time.
She felt Twilight’s eyes on her, felt Rarity’s concern and Fluttershy’s gentle support. She felt the aura Rarity had provided, felt it bolster her steps. But she kept her head down, held the whispers at bay, and prayed they wouldn’t question her.
But she couldn’t escape herself. Pinkie ran circles in her own mind, spinning between two impossibilities. Useless, powerless to help her friends, they would fail without her help. It squirmed in her ears, tied itself into knots in her throat, and she whimpered.
Ahead, the Stormwall loomed.
Pinkie had a sense for mood—always had, really, and entirely separate from her more magical talents. No, this related more to her parties, to her ability to cheer up those most in need of cheering up. It was her comedic timing, her nose for despondency, her infectious laughter.
Laughter. Pinkie didn’t much feel like laughing right now.
She shook her head on its side, like a dog trying to get water out of its ear. Twilight was right, something was interfering with her thoughts. She felt fuzzy, almost immaterial.
But what could she do? No Pinkie Sense could change what would happen. The most she had managed was to witness evil dozens of times more, have her heart broken dozens of times more. What use was that, when she could not change it?
“Steady!” Twilight called. “It’s here!”
And Rainbow burst forth, a tiny blue cannonball, careening towards them. She blurred, stopped abruptly. Before unfurling into her proud figure, highlighted in lightning and argence, her ruby blazing against her chest.
Pinkie felt lighter already, her ears clearing, and The Element of Laughter sizzling.
A groundswell of support urged her forwards. She opened her mouth, let loose a battle cry as first Twilight plunged into the Stormwall’s fury, Pinkie following close on her heels. She cried out her pain, her anguish at the repeated misery she had subjected herself to. She cried for all the lives she couldn’t save, all the despair she could do nothing to reverse. It was not hers to fix the world.
But the whispering had stopped, replaced with the flickering warmth of Rainbow’s smile. The vanguard of wind smashing itself into them had fallen away, crashing and scattering against Rarity’s ardour. The maelstrom of the Storm engulfed them and Pinkie cried out her guilt and her exuberance.
Lavender light shielded them from the lightning, from the whirling trees and desperate struggle of the Everfree to remain rooted. Pinkie could make out nothing through the constant strobing light, detonations bright enough to blind, could smell ozone and sweat and dirt and torn plants. Her whole body jittered, vibrating in time with the cacophony around her. She couldn’t feel anything—no signals from the future, no messages crossing the borders of the Storm.
And she began to laugh. Low, lingering in her throat, but building, growing and looping on itself.
No, she could not save them all. But here, standing amongst friends, finally cut off from the link that anchored her to her future, she could just about start to believe that she could save somepony. Not enough, never enough, but some.
She had engineered this future, had she not? Recognised the crystal shard that brought Twilight, Rainbow, and Rarity back from the north, devoted dozens of signals to decoding the path that lead them back to each other.
It had worked. Pinkie laughed, full-throated, and knew it reached her friends. Her Element pulsed in time with her breath, a colourful sparkling glow that pushed the empty chaos around her further away.
She ran, hard, and she laughed, and she felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders.
***
Fluttershy watched the Forest’s struggles with horror.
She could not see through the Storm, but she could feel—connected in some small way to the ambient energies around her, she could trace the already-turbulent magical flows thrown into disarray.
The rapid growth hadn’t been healthy. She had sensed a desperation to it, a drive to spread and claim and grow outwards. Not just running away, but also an anchoring, taking root in the most literal sense . . . she could see why, now.
The Everfree had always been regarded as a place of malevolence. Its strange resistance to the magical order of the rest of the world, its seeming nigh-sentient attempts to rebuff visitation—the general strangeness and inhospitality that put most ponies off; this all contributed to its classification as a danger, and subsequent sequestration from the wider Equestria.
Fluttershy had spent years in the wilderness. She understood forests, understood the patterns of animals and plant-life that made up a natural landscape. The Everfree had never fit those models, it did not conform to her expectations.
But that was no reason to ignore it.
She could not think of it as any other forest; had not for a long time. She had too many experiences here, had spent too much time contending with the Forest itself to think of it as anything less than a complete entity unto itself. But were she to consider it in that light, and view its rampant spread, she would have thought it terrified.
That made sense, approaching the Stormwall. But now that she was inside it, galloping beside Pinkie, she found herself doubting it. O-or, at least, doubting the shape of it, the whole of it. Twilight’s defences were holding, buffered as they were by Rarity and Rainbow, but even outside that, the damage done to the Forest by the passing Storm wasn’t irrecoverable. Cataclysmic, yes, a swathe of devastation; with the landscape seared and grated, but . . .
She had seen huge forest fires. The aftermath was a blighted scene, trunks scorched white, felled branches, the soil blackened and everything, everywhere, absolutely still. It reeked of charcoal and death. And yet life sprung from those scenes, within days there were buds of green dotting the corpse of the old forest. It was natural, part of its life-cycle.
That was what Fluttershy was reminded of, leaping over debris and trying not to flinch as trees dashed themselves against Twilight’s shield. The ground they covered—already seared by the Storm—was destroyed totally, but the word that sprung into her mind was tilled.
They sprung out the other side of the Stormwall and into abrupt peace. Typhus still reigned overhead, rain and wind and ice beat down upon them, but the all-encompassing rage of the Storm had stilled. And, looking around, Fluttershy knew that the Forest would survive Him.
So why the terror. Taking deep breaths, she reached out, feeling the Element of Kindness spark against her skin as she exercised her power. It was more than kindness, though; she wanted to understand. To be there, for life, if only as a witness. It was important in a way she couldn’t put into words, and something that she, uniquely, could accomplish.
Too many times her involvement had taken the form of an intervention. Too many times she had entered situations only to impose herself upon them. That approach told her nothing, taught her only about herself.
The magic around her was more than swelling, more than desperate. It was directed, guided by an arcane intelligence—it flowed outwards, but, Fluttershy intuiting the answer in a slow, dawning instant, it flowed upwards as well.
Overflowing.
The Element of Kindness burst alight. She seemed struck like a tourist, over-awed, the contrast between the death and destruction she saw and the abundant well of life she felt all the more marvellous for its incongruity.
And in turn the Forest saw her. New shoots of growth drank in the rain, pushed bugs skywards. Great cracks resounded through the clearing, ringing out over the racing Lethe and the ever-present Storm, old wood splitting apart to dissolve into the ground, new life springing from its ashes. They saw her and made her a part of their design.
All the way along the bank of the Lethe, the Forest stayed its hand. Thick vines slinking across their route slowed, trees leaned away, new foliage already spreading above them formed a natural arch.
Fluttershy smiled, nodded her head.
“It’s for us,” Twilight said, beginning to lead them down the makeshift path. The wet earth solidified, holes filling in and patches of water sinking below the surface.
“No,” Fluttershy said. She felt a part of something huge, connected through the Forest and through her friends, to a design she could only watch unfold. “I think it’s for me.”
***
Applejack shook herself. The sacrifices of her friends were not lost on her, nor the tremendous burden they had shouldered getting this far. She would not be the weak link, she would not let them down.
She forced herself to a steady trot. The pain lancing through her was a constant spike of agony, peaking with every stride. It became rhythmic; a tempo for her to match herself against. Step, pain. Step, pain. Step, pain. Rarity’s bulwark gave her strength; Pinkie’s laugh kept her focused.
She could keep up. She had so far, after all, managing through the worst of the Forest’s resistance to their incursion, the vile growth targeting them specifically—this, only she could feel, how it sought them out and acted to bar their way—and even the Stormwall. In the relative calmness Typhus’ interior, she had only the last stretch, the final sprint to her goal.
And Fluttershy needed her strength, her focus. There was no time to waste on frivolous waste. She’d learnt that lesson all too well, spending herself all too thin before the storms. She’d watched Fluttershy give of herself, again and again, until there was barely anything left. She would not impose that on her friend. She would not.
So she bore the pain, the deep, almost subconscious knowledge of the damage her steps were doing. Her joints inflamed, swelling, her movements growing steadily more stiff. She hung towards the back of the ground, where her gait was less likely to draw attention, and huffed, intermittently accelerating in bursts to draw even with Fluttershy, then falling back as the pain briefly overwhelmed her.
Beside her, the Lethe grew deep. Its roiling waters, frothing in tiny crescendos, had only sped up, as if sensing the descent fast approaching. Somewhere in the gloom ahead, the Castle loomed.
And then, like the trap snapping shut, she descended. Twilight, leading the group, ground herself to a halt, with Rarity and Rainbow fast on her heels. Applejack clamped her mouth shut rather than voice her protests, and only slightly collided with Fluttershy, momentum carrying her up her friends back before depositing her on the ground. She hissed despite herself, despite Rarity’s comforting glow and Fluttershy’s lasting warmth.
Celestia rolled her shoulders, her smile more teeth than Applejack could recall. Her eyes burned, a bright conflagration.
“And what,” she hissed, lowering her head like a snake, “do you think you’re doing.”
Twilight stepped forward. “We’re going to stop you,” she said. “We’re going to stop all of this.”
Around them echoed Discord’s mad laughter. Applejack flinched, though nothing materialised, and Fluttershy spread a wing over her.
“Stop me? How do you propose to do that?” Celestia said, stalking forward, one leg in front of the other, the way Applejack had seen Opalescence prowl towards a cotton mouse.
Twilight swallowed. The Element of Magic resting on her brow sparked. Rain ran down her face, wind tore at her fur.
Applejack wanted to step in, wanted to stand before the Princess and be the one to say no. She wanted that with a fire that she had thought dulled by the years, a fire that said these are my people and this is my home.She was the Warden, damn it, it fell to her to defend! She glanced at her shoulder and winced, the injury now a deep purple, mottled colour reaching down her limb. She couldn’t.
Her Element grew warm.
She hadn’t wanted Fluttershy to worry—hadn’t wanted to see her throw herself into healing the way she once had. She had seen the cost of that, the pain Fluttershy had taken each time she consumed another’s injuries. But wasn’t that just as selfish as any other demand, just as foolish as her stubborn insistence on holding onto her burdens?
She thought she’d moved past this!
Applejack had once thought Honesty as simple as telling the truth. If only. Were she honest with herself, she wouldn’t have been so helpless here. She could have stepped in—repaid that debt!
Not debt. No transaction was needed, no obligation. Merely the shared assurance, the mutual interest—the trust.
Her Element grew warmer, steam rising from its surface. Applejack leaned forward, shaking it loose from her skin.
“Fluttershy,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I-”
“Applejack,” she was at her side in a moment, as if waiting for this. “Don’t worry so much.”
“I can’t,” Applejack said. “I- Ah need you.”
Fluttershy exhaled, a long, drawn-out thing. “There it is, then,” she said.
And Applejack remembered, the frantic rush through the desert, the desperation in her friend as they tore through the Forest, all those days ago. The Dream, repeated and handed down, a prophecy and legacy, now subverted.
And Applejack closed her eyes, ashamed. Her reticence was born of stubborn pride and honest care in equal measure, neither had any place here because they both abused trust. Fluttershy’s magic filled with with warmth, matching and surpassing the Element on her sternum.
Celestia’s magic reached forward and swatted Twilight to the side. Rainbow flashed, moving faster than eye could track, catching Twilight and taking her safely to the ground. Rarity stepped forward, barring Celestia’s path.
Her friends, more than willing, in the end, to fill her shoes for her. Applejack felt the lump in her throat, felt the need to be on her hooves, and accepted both, artifacts of her own problems. What she needed was to be better. Sometimes, that meant being helped. She blinked, letting tears mingle with the rain. Celestia smashed Rarity into the ground.
Her Element caught light.
Fluttershy’s magic falling away, her friend collapsing to the dirt by her side, face screwed in pain, mouth forming a little ‘o’, Applejack strode forward. Under her gaze Rarity straightened out, the earth surrounding her reforming to mould itself to her body. She stepped over Rarity, eyes boring forward and hooves digging into the dirt.
She was the Warden, and no Princess would further budge her.
***
Twilight gathered herself to her hooves just in time to watch Applejack absorb the first of Celestia’s hits. Impossibly, her friend remained standing, knees locked and hooves digging into the soil, but Twilight could see how much the blow had rocked her.
The Princess gathered magic for another. This was nothing to her, the most minuscule amount of effort, and it was all Applejack could do to resist.
“Easy, Twi,” Rainbow said. “Let’s be careful, okay?”
Twilight nodded. “Together, I think we can,” she coughed, spitting a gob of saliva to the side, “beat her.”
Rainbow nodded slowly, and patted her on the back. “Together,” she echoed.
All five Elements her friends wore were shining, not terribly bright as they had when they had freed Luna, or petrified Discord, but a muted, steady glow. Twilight could make a few guesses as to why—and she could most definitely feel their influence supporting her as she teleported herself and Rainbow back into formation.
Celestia had been Turned—something Twilight hadn’t been sure was even possible.
“Girls!” She called, gathering herself and concentrating—on her Element, and on theirs, and on the near-visible bonds between them. With this much magic, saturating every possible aspect of the area they were in to the extent that Twilight was surprised her fur wasn’t standing on end, it was shockingly easy. She felt the familiar chain-reaction begin to build, the spell reinforced by itself in a regressive loop, bouncing around between them, slowly growing to a high-pitched crescendo.
Celestia didn’t wait for them. Stepping forward, she ducked her head and slashed her horn across their group. Twilight’s hooves had just barely left the ground, picked up by the spell, when the Princess’ counterstrike hit, a savage telekinetic strike lashing across them.
Twilight didn’t have to react. The Elements handled that for her, a shimmering barrier springing into existence for just the brief moment of impact, absorbing the blow without so much as a tremor, and disappearing. Twilight grinned, exultant, rejoicing in the familiar magic coursing through her. She was a tiny conduit, a focal point, and it carried her away.
The rainbow lance sprung out and took Celestia square in the chest, wrapping around her and purging all traces of corruption from her. Twilight sang out, mentally, as it worked, the rush ringing from the tip of her horn to the backs of her hooves.
Slowly, she was lowered to the ground, the incandescent light of the Elements of Harmony fading.
Celestia stood before them, head lowered. Twilight approached, her step light.
“Princess! Are you oka-”
Celestia snapped her horn upright, magic striking Twilight from above and crumpling her into the ground.
I harbour a suspicion, to this day. Beyond even the well of power that informs our abilities, the source of Harmony itself. That concern is terrestrial. I lie awake, surrounded only by writings, by imaginings, and I cannot but dream. Perhaps the proclivities of my sister, honed over the long years of proximity.
I dream of the stars.
Fifty-Eight
LUNA HOVERED ABOVE Canterlot. The city below was in turmoil, mad panic descending on the streets as Typhus loomed near. His pace had only accelerated, without her to slow Him.
Her presence in the sky would help bring order below—as a symbol, visible to all, of resistance and hope. There was, much as it chafed her, nothing better she could do, as drained as she was. It took all of her strength to remain airborne, still, and allow the light of the moon overhead to shine down.
Reports from the city, filtering through the populace as gossip is wont to, had lead her quickly to the Ponyville contingent. They spoke of Celestia battling Discord in stillness, even as the Forest overran them. Luna knew that battle, knew, too, that Celestia had lost as Typhus came overhead—that Discord had dissolved into the Storm-God from where he had come. That vital edge, so hard-won, now lost, and made all the worse by her loss of her Nightmare.
She looked at the apples in her grip, gifts—Warden-grown, as she had interpreted their explanations. Applejack’s power, a form of temporal stasis, was more fundamental than most Coromancers realised, it went back to the same interactions Chaser’s exploited in their Jumps, the way Seers peered forward and backward through time. The apple, floating in her telekinetic grasp, represented literal power, stored away—power and the emotion that entailed.
And Luna wasn’t sure if she should take it.
She had already held such might. Unassailable, god-like power. She had threatened, once, to cast the land into eternal night, and had known—known—that it was within her power to follow through on that threat. She had held the God of destruction that loomed now over her city at bay. Every time, she had failed.
Small victories, eked out where she could. But always—always—ending in defeat, in submission.
Her sister was in there. Twilight, the Bearers of Harmony—they were in there. But they had all pulled off the impossible before; each of them responsible for the most astounding of victories. Luna feared, now, at the precipice, that her aid would be in vain. Worse.
Were she to succumb to the Turning, the havoc she might wreak . . . it did not bear thinking about.
So Luna hovered, and thought, turning the apple over and over. She could not hold Typhus here, anymore than she could in the southern deserts. She could aid the evacuation, but it would consume her—take up the last of what strength lay here, in Ponyville’s fruits. There would be no more forthcoming.
The bottlenecking was the worst of it. She could clear the mountain, leave everypony in the valleys below, clear to flee northwards. Except she had no doubts as to the results such confusion and panic would produce. They were lost, now more than ever, bereft of the fundamental morality that had persisted, the undercurrent of calm that had pervaded their lives. It would be carnage.
She sank through the air, towards the ground. She could help, a little, with words. Part of her knew her delay, recognised it, but she pushed that part away.
She called for the Captain of her Guard—the stallion standing to attention beneath her for long, stretching minutes, as she pondered. She gave him direction, to clear the pegasi to the north, with what they could carry, to prep a unit to be stationed at the base of the mountain, to reverse the stream of refugees attempting to begin the climb, direct them around. Belongings, she decreed, were to be abandoned. They would make for Hornwall, and from there into the Crystal Empire. Cadence, perhaps, would have a better idea.
She teleported him to where he needed to be, his soldiers to the base of the mountain.
Then, licking juice from her lower lip, she faced south. Faced Him, the Stormwall that haunted her.
Magic thundered through her, and it was unfamiliar. Luna was used to uncertainty, to anger, to a burning passion that demanded action, brought out the protectiveness, the motherly elements of her. Hers was an acerbic love, a recognition and acceptance of responsibility.
This—Applejack—was something else. It was parochial, familial. It spoke to her of the orchard, the long green hills and flat plains of the land. Of Ponyville, and the friends that it consisted of. The smell of summer, cut grass and petrichor. The sound of birds greeting the rising sun.
For the first time in a long, long while, Luna became a part of Equestria. Not just its ruler, its protective spirit watching through the night, but an integral participant in it. Not mine, she thought, but ours.
There was ultimately no choice at all. From here, it was win or die, with nothing held back and no thought to protecting some small remnant that might survive the coming apocalypse.
Invigorated, she reached out and met Typhus, threw herself, body and mind, into His depths.
***
Celestia looked up at the swelling storm from her tower window high in the castle. The dragon bargaining with her sister had long gone ahead, their visitors from a far-flung future trotting away from her, heads bent towards each other in dialogue.
She tumbled the Element of Harmony over and over in her hooves, lips pursed. All the pieces, shards of hope that she’d found in their memories, the leftover knowledge of her time wielding Harmony itself . . . the picture coming together was not something that Celestia relished.
And part of her was tempted to defy that future. To turn away from Nightmare Moon and the frozen statue of Discord, to reject the shield erected around their borders, tied, inextricably, to Harmony and the prison surrounding the enemy. It carried hope, and love, and a promise of happiness for a long, long time. But it also promised heartbreak—demanded sacrifice.
She was not so callous as to dwell on her sacrifice. What she asked of Luna, implicit and understood, was beyond anything she would have to face. Did she not think it necessary, Celestia would do everything in her power to avoid it.
But.
The dragon’s demands would be met, trading present aid and acceptance in return to future absolution. Discord stopped, preserving the lives of those seeking refuge in the stone underneath, even those currently under his sway . . .
She swallowed, watching the clouds gather. This was no Typhus—no unstoppable force. Discord was but a weak imitation of his master, his attempts at intimidation feeble in comparison to what they had faced. He seemed so . . . mortal, so fragile. Surely they could defeat him?
Still, the dragons were lost.
And in the end, it was that that tipped her scales. She would not consign those souls already Taken to the void, she would risk anything to free them from their torment. That was her failing, perhaps, or her salvation. It didn’t matter; she was responsible.
Celestia broke the Element of Harmony over her knee, felt the energy trapped within spill out. She drank it in, familiar and comforting, at first a trickle and then a surge, a tidal wave, sweeping her away. Her awareness exploded out of her, reaching towards the vastness it had once occupied—only to fall short.
She recognised this. Expected it, even. But it drew a pang of regret nonetheless, as her grasp fell short.
She placed the boundaries of her spell as far as she could. Reached north, towards the Well, empty and lifeless—drained—and fixed herself upon it. The world shaped itself to her will, but not without protest, earth and stone shrieking, massive tremors sweeping across the plains. Mountains split, avalanches of rock tumbling down, the sea spilled in to great fissures, exploding in towers of steam, forcing the land apart. She broke the world, and then healed it, forced it back together just so.
And at the centre, the castle, preserved at the eye of the storm.
She shaped Harmony into a river, feeding into the Well at the base of her castle from the peak of a nearby mountain. She drew every beast, every plant into her weave, touching their minds and spirits with the flame of Harmony. She found Discord, raging, and touched him, too.
She completed the Veil.
It fell into place all at once, a terrible weight settling onto her shoulders. Her mind flashed, memories altering themselves as she watched—her past erased, and replaced, a new, sanitised version of mythology replacing it, drawn from Celestia’s imagination as much as from Rainbow and Rarity’s memories. Just a little, just enough—figures of legend and the shapes of old stories—so that they would fill it in for themselves. And embedded in the heart of life, a morality shaped upon Celestia’s heart, a code, upon which her nation would be founded.
Discord, screaming, struck back.
His magic was far more directed than hers, for all of its impotence. He struck at the Well, at the castle, chaos ageing the stonework and ripping into the plain around it. Her city shuddered, vibrating, sinking, ever so slowly, into the ground as it collapsed around her. Plant life sprang up, surrounding her, closing over the disappearing roofs and binding itself together.
Celestia watched him work, somewhat detached. The Veil would do its work—reshape even him into something safe, without edges, a monster to frighten but never to harm. He would never threaten hers again. Almost idly, from her ruined tower, watching her ponies flee the rising forest, she froze him to stone.
She turned her power inwards. There wasn’t much left, she realised with a start, the river rapidly running dry. She took pieces, and condensed it, forged it as she had Luna’s armour into artifacts of Harmony. Stone baubles, set upon the floor.
Then the last. Celestia took still, even breaths. She could feel Harmony at work, out there, in the world.
Nightmare Moon burst in through the stained glass set high above her seat. She screeched, swooping down at Celestia, eyes burning with betrayal and hate, the curse of jealousy consuming her entirely.
With the last of her strength, Celestia struck her down, and banished her to the moon.
***
Twilight watched Celestia advance, His hatred writ across her face, all screwed up in an unnatural sneer. It seemed so alien, so bizarre, to see that upon her mentor’s face. She struggled to draw breath, struggled to rise.
But her friends were around her, Fluttershy reaching into her to provide succour, Rarity bolstering her spirit and Pinkie firming her resolve. Rainbow stood tall against the profile of lightning and rain, her silhouette defying the elements, Applejack shielded her with her body, sliding in between her and Celestia.
Overcome, Twilight let out a hiccup, which became a sob, which became a weak chuckle.
And then a falling star crashed to earth with a thunderous detonation, piercing the Storm and striking Celestia’s back. The flash blinded Twilight, the screaming wail deafened her.
Slowly, the ringing began to abate. She rubbed her hooves in her eyes, spots on her vision beginning to recede. She could feel, much clearer than she could see, the tangled magics flying through the air, weaves and blasts of power moving faster than she could track.
“Twilight, come on,” Rainbow was saying, hovering just a foot over her. “We’ve gotta go!”
“Wha-”
“Luna’s buying us time.”
Her vision cleared enough for her to make out two forms, one midnight blue, the other noon white, facing each other. Luna tossed her head over her shoulder, eyes tinged with the same madness that corrupted Celestia.
“My Element’s helping her,” Rainbow said. “But it can’t get to Celestia. Come on, Twilight!”
She let herself be dragged to her hooves. Stumbling, she broke into a trot, following Rainbow.
After a few steps, she looked up, taking deep breaths. She was okay, she was alright—she hadn’t expected that. Fluttershy? She glanced around, saw her friend up ahead, waiting for them at the lip of the castle entrance, where the Lethe plunged down into its depths.
The castle. It loomed above them, even now, weathering the Storm with the same quiet stoicism it had weathered the years. Not without injury—and grievous at that. An entire tower had been blasted free, rubble cascading across the Forest in every direction. New blackened charcoal trails marked electrical impacts, sections caved in or stone cracked and torn asunder marked the Storm’s physical brunt.
She tore her gaze down, slipped briefly on the wet rock before Rainbow caught her.
“Easy, now, come on. I’ve got you.” Rainbow picked her up, hooves under Twilight’s shoulders. “And down we go.”
She remembered the route; she’d followed it more than enough, over the years. The first time unknowing, and from then always with an excitement, a sense of discovery, save once. The darkness didn’t bother her, though Rarity had made sure to illuminate their way, nor the rushing waters, cacophonous, beside them.
The sounds of Luna and Celestia reached them still, though the Lethe had swallowed up the residual noise of Typhus’ movements. Twilight focused on her ears for a moment, then pulled back in Rainbow’s grip.
“Twi’?”
“What’s Luna doing?”
Rainbow paused for a moment before continuing down. “She’s leading Celestia down here, after us.”
“Why?”
“Maybe she thinks the distance will help? I dunno, Twi’. Maybe she’s just getting pushed back.”
“No,” Twilight murmured. “She wouldn’t lose.”
“Ahuh.” Rainbow tightened her grip. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here.”
The pool glittered in the darkness, reflecting the five stars shining at the heart of the Elements. Twilight reached up and patted the Element of Magic, felt its cool metal under her hooves, then pulled it from her head.
“This is the Well.” Her voice carried, across the cavern and back, echoing from some far distance side. She was certain of it now. The air felt thick, to her, her skin tingling and her horn reverberating. “We . . .”
“Twilight?” Rarity said. “What now?”
Twilight gingerly approached the pool’s edge, gently easing her head under its surface, careful to keep her mouth shut. Instantly, the voices sprang into her mind, shouting, now, in terrible contrast to the whispering chorus all those years ago. They cried out to her, begging her to join them—to become them.
She pulled herself backwards, gasping. “Celestia crafted the Elements of Harmony from the remnants of this power. We need to put it back. Make it whole, again.”
“We need them,” Rainbow said, coming up alongside her and staring down into the water. “Can’t you just . . . I don’t know, take it?”
Twilight shook. The enormity of it—it was beyond her, beyond any of them. “The Elements are a fragment’s fragment, Dash. I- I can’t . . . I couldn’t. None of us could.”
Numbly, she let her crown slip through her grasp. It plinked on the stone edge, bouncing once, before falling into the water with a quiet splash.
There was a muted flash, and when Twilight peered over the edge, the Element of Magic was gone, vanished into the dark depths or dissolved entirely.
“Come on,” she said, waving her friends forward. “It’s time.”
One by one, they deposited their necklaces into the water—Rarity laying hers out reverently, where Rainbow threw hers as far as she could manage. Each was followed by a brief flicker of light, coloured to match, and as Pinkie, the last of them to follow suit, gingerly let go at the water’s edge, the cavern began to rumble.
“Is it done?” Luna asked, striding through them to watch. Twilight hadn’t gotten a good look at her earlier—now, in the light given off by Rarity and herself, she could see the signs of battle. Singed, muddied coat, tangled mane, torn feathers and patches of exposed skin, blood running down her muzzle . . . The Princess was beaten half to death. “Celestia is barred some distance out, yet I fear she will not be denied for long.”
“It’s done,” Twilight said, lowering her gaze. “Harmony is restored.”
“It’s waiting,” Luna said.
“Waiting for you,” Twilight said. “It has to be you.”
Luna looked down at her, abruptly mortal. “Must it?” she asked, sagging. Twilight could see her leg trembling, jerking intermittently.
“Oh,” Twilight heard somepony whisper before she found herself pressed forward, into a collective hug. “It’s alright.”
Luna took a long, shuddering breath, sinking into their embrace for just a moment.
Then she nodded, swallowed, and strode out into the Well, small ripples cascading out from her entrance.
***
The power came to her quickly, seeping through the skin and rushing through her nostrils, her mouth when she opened it to scream. Her body felt afire, muscles spasming and skin itching with a terrible ferocity.
She was glowing. She felt the power of the Well, like the heights of her Coromantic excesses, the peaks of her passion, yet somehow more potent still. A bonfire, to her matchstick. She felt the emotion of it, felt it scour her mind, a force of love and hate and despair and exultation.
She could force Typhus back. Reshape the world—she saw, now, how Celestia had done so, drawing the north down here, shattering the ground to create new ranges of mountains, flattening others . . . even altering the orbit of the sun. She could fix that.
She rose from the Well, barely hearing the gasps of the Bearers nearby. The bonds holding her sister she collapsed almost absent-minded, reached down to touch her inflamed mind with a cooling brush of magic. It was so easy, now, to exert her will.
Some small part of Luna was screaming.
Already it was a struggle to maintain awareness of this small place, and still her mind was growing into its new vastness. She could see simultaneously the blighted lands of Appleloosa and the frightened masses pouring from Canterlot, some already arriving in Hornwall. Further—she could see the farthest traces of land in the north, before the world gave way entirely to ice and snow, see the terrible expanses of dead land to the south, where even now the Drac roamed, intermittently roaring.
She could see the past.
All at once her memories returned to her, a great rush of information. She remembered their deal, a great ploy, designed to give the dragons one last chance to return. She remembered Celestia, defeating Typhus and splitting Discord from Him, separating that force from its own mind. She remembered trapping the body of it, tricked, in the Brightstream.
She remembered Nightmare Moon, her sacrifice, and the lies that followed. She remembered Celestia’s betrayal.
Yet Luna wasn’t overcome. She remembered without association, no emotional core attached to those memories. She was beyond them, now, lost in the depths of her own extravagance; they could not reach her.
She held fast to her purpose, almost dispassionate in her determination, and drove herself against Typhus.
Agonising. They met, and there was a friction between them—a clash of raw energy. Her power was not meant for destruction, that was his purview. Yet he held back. And mixing with him, she knew his mind.
There, Discord laughed. He had been driven insane—tamed by the Veil but not healed. Within Typhus, he longed only for chaos, for the movement, the expenditure, the action.
Luna was apathetic by comparison. There was no life to her, no surge of potential. She was a mountain of pure force, unstoppable and immovable. In the time it took her to gather herself together, he struck out a hundred thousand times, lashing at the ground and at the life there.
But he was not merely Discord. She heard her Nightmare there, too, her Nightmare Moon, created in Harmony along with the Elements.
She cried out, in agony, for help.
And there was Typhus—Luna recognising Him instantly, the voice that had trapped her for ten long years. He rang in her, resonating, scornful laughter and triumph mixed together, subsumed by the deep-seated anger that had driven Him across the ages.
Thou meets me at last, awakened.
***
Celestia felt His grip on her fall away. Like a puppet cut from its strings, she collapsed, boneless, to the wet stone.
She lay there for some time. She was spent, entirely, in spirit and body. Caught in a tidal wave of desolate regret, a deep depression, pent-up and building behind every thought. She had struck Twilight. She did not move, but Celestia was wailing nonetheless.
How very apt. Her final act of sacrifice—a delaying tactic she accepted, embraced, even, if it kept Discord from them—had only worsened their fate. That she was freed at all she counted a miracle beyond her wildest dreams.
She envied Him. In His blind rage, He had no further capacity to change—the thought she had pitied she now longed for. So easy! To simply accept herself, flawed and broken, and expect nothing more.
She breathed, quietly, feeling the water trickle around her.
Always, her mind had exceeded itself. Reaching outside her sphere of influence, outside her domain. It inevitably lead her to ruin. She had freed Typhus. She saw that vision, imprinted upon her like a searing brand, saw herself uncover the Well at the heart of the Brightstream, excavate it in high hopes for the future. Oh, what foolishness!
His rage was all-encompassing, but it was not without cause. She had felt the edges of it, trapped within—her prison given the same shape. He could not change: her prison could be no different to His.
And the truth was, He was broken. Not just metaphysically, but literally, too—shattered, and torn apart. His fractured mind was barely held together by the gibbering spectre of Discord, absorbed once more; to her, his power felt undirected.
The Bearers reached her, picked her up with a gentleness she did not deserve. Almost, she rasped her derision at them, catching herself in time to recognise His stamp upon that thought. She bore their treatments stoically, turned her eyes away from them, and did not respond to their questions, until quietly, they bore her upwards.
Slowly, she bent her neck to the side, feeling her old bones grate against each other. She had . . . she had to . . .
“T-”
“Yes, Princess?” Twilight was there instantly. Celestia hitched her breath.
“I’m . . . sorry,” she said, her breathing devolving into a series of rasping coughs. “I . . . doomed us all. Mirrored Him . . . His prison.”
“Princess?” Twilight said, drawing the word out. “You couldn’t have known.”
“He is . . . Broken, Twilight,” Celestia said, slumping to the ground. Her eyes shut, and she struggled to drag them open.
She felt a wing touch her shoulder, and felt a surge of strength. She opened her eyes to see Fluttershy, smiling down at her. Frantically, she seized the lifeline. “Un’erstand?”
“Yeah,” Twilight said. She was looking up, now, at the colossal battle overhead. “I think I do.”
***
And Twilight did—or thought so.
Celestia spoke of similarities, parallels, and Twilight had plenty of her own to add to the mounting pile. The borders of the Veil; a vast prison encircling the land—trapping them not just in space, but in time, too. The corrupting anger of Luna’s raiment, claiming eternal night for itself. Discord, refusing cooperation entirely out of hand, even in the face of petrification.
She gazed up, the maelstrom of conflict raging in the skies. A thousand years, and still they fought—drawn together and held separate, end-opposites and functionally identical. The heart of the paradox.
“Luna,” she called out, her voice stripped from her throat by the winds, boiling around them. “They’re one and the same. They’re the same thing!”
***
Luna heard, at the edges of Her awareness. Slowly, the words filtered through towards the forefront of Her mind, losing their shape but retaining their meaning.
She shut down an attempt at pushing further north far to the east, over Fillydelphia. She pressed a sliver more of Herself into the Storm over Ponyville, forced Him to give another few feet, and lost ground in the west for it.
One and the same.
They were stalemated, matched almost precisely. But where She had the power, the inexorable weight of mountains, of planets, behind Her, He moved quickly, acted, in a thousand small ways to erode her control.
The Moon remained in the sky, so near to Her that She could touch it. It focused Her, gave Her a sense of purpose.
She was growing more accustomed to Herself, now, feeling out the extremes of Her power. It was designed to preserve, to hold still, a power of balance in the extreme. She could not exert change, nor, as She directed it and it directed Her, did she particularly want to.
This was the God Equestria had languished under for a thousand years. This powered the Veil, presented a utopia perfect enough that none had attempted to leave. Was that goal not admirable enough for Her, too? A place free of misery, of the reality of nature.
She brushed against Typhus once more, rubbing against Him like rough stone against flesh, and felt Nightmare Moon. She was shouting, calling out.
-hen we retur-
And as thine entrapment falls, so do you seek another!
Luna reached out again, held the contact for longer.
-ow hopeless it was. How empty? I remembered those streets, those designs. How small their borders, how pitiful their laws. Nothing had gotten better.-
Hypocrite! Betrayer! Snivelling, weak, fool!
Luna would have snorted if she’d had a muzzle. Of course not. What was there to be improved, under Harmony? All was one, and existed in perfect balance.
One and the same.
Luna jolted. She gathered herself, abandoned the coastline on either side, drawing inwards. Typhus reacted almost instantly, spreading Himself out and retreating, His core fleeing before her.
She drove forward, reaching out for the last shard of herself still absent. It was there, buried inside, calling to her, reacting.
-ere, sister, I am here!-
She found Her Nightmare, surrounded her in Harmonic power, glowing strands of moonlight swirling about to section off the sky. She tore her from Typhus’ grasp, every fettered aspect of herself, endured the pain of that divorce.
And then she was free, recoiling back towards Canterlot, the Everfree where the heart of her power lay.
“The same,” She said. “I know.”
She knew Celestia’s conclusions, felt the ragged edges of Typhus—felt, too, the edges of His shattered mind. She heard Twilight, felt Her Nightmare concur with her conclusions.
She collected Herself once more, gathered Her essence to her, a chorus of voices gathered underneath the moon. And, carefully, She passed it away, let go of that power. She felt it stream away from her, crying out—abruptly divorced from its guiding light.
She let her Nightmare Moon take her place, and with the last of her direction, she passed the both of them into the Storm.
***
The Nightmare froze.
It felt Luna’s gift—the power crashing into it, unbidden, its mind elevated all at once to match the vastness of its celestial body. It felt the planet, underneath, the expanse of the stars above. It felt the edges of itself.
Luna fell away, her body dropping from the frozen clouds above the devastated Everfree. The Nightmare caught her instinctively, sheltered her from her counterpart’s relentless attacks, and set her down upon the ground by her friends.
It did not know quite what it had done to make Luna trust it so—to make Luna endow her with the end of everything. It had never had freedom before, never had the agency to disobey. Armour, made to enhance and protect, all it was was embedded in its function; a tool, serving a master.
It had surpassed Luna entirely. Who was its master, now?
Something was happening. Something foreign, painful, trickling into her, like liquid metal pouring down its throat. It stripped the Veil away, flung the last of its constructed jealousy, its artificial rage to the winds.
It fought back. It did not want its newfound agency taken from it, though it did not know why. And it was in agony, a searing, grinding pain that penetrated deeper and deeper into its core.
It heard a voice.
-sister-
Discord slammed into it all at once, his inflamed mind meeting its own. She recognised him, in part, consumed as he was by the conflicting emotions pouring through him. A channel, a guide, a sapience to a natural order. He had no choice.
It hurts.
Did she?
The Storm collided with her in truth, high above the old castle, with the moon’s light bearing down upon her as an old friend. There was a period of nothing, swirling power meeting and cancelling, meeting and conflicting, meeting and clashing in great fiery swathes, every colour of the rainbow and far beyond arcing out over Equestria. The world shuddered underneath them.
And then light.
She pushed the moon back to its rightful place, easing the swollen seas back into their beds. She brought up the sun, drew it over the eastern ranges on the far side of the sea and let its light illuminate. She eased the fire underneath the forest, drew its fervour back into itself and spread it out over the world, a thin veneer of life.
She turned her attention outwards. She was everything, now, beyond them and of them. She soothed the land torn apart by her one half, freed the land bound by her other. The great gulfs of blasted earth returned to sand and dirt, crevasses joined together and fractures melted back into each other. The magic-soaked trees and grass eased their grasp on life, became just a little less vibrant, less alive.
She went south, passing over the Southern ranges and into the blighted wastelands that were once Equestria, spreading magic as she went. The Brightstream prison she tore away, reclaimed, and spread.
She settled over the world, a thin blanket of power. And where she went, she brought not chaos, not harmony, but life.
There is something here. I have never been more certain. Today, I felt it, at the edges of my grasp.
I was suspended exactly one metre deep in the waters, three-point-six metres from the eastern shore. I tugged on the rope one hundred and twelve seconds after submersion. I tugged to mark the time.
Fifty-Nine
EQUESTRIA, at least in the beginning, didn’t know how to react.
The long night passing brought an end to the panic, the mad stampedes that had broken out here and there, on the forefront of Typhus’ Storm. Some, ashamed, went back to help, others fled, or continued to flee. Hornwall, and by extension, the Empire, bulged, barely able to handle the influx, plenty hiding there, unwilling, at first, to return home.
Ponies died.
Some from the flood of refugees, or the aftermath—the Empire failing to distribute food, or bottlenecks crushing bodies against walls and the cobblestones underhoof. Some from the wildlife, so tame for so long that the sudden aggression took ponies by surprise. Word spread quickly that, for all intents and purposes, Equestria now resembled the Everfree.
Some died from the Storm. Scores of buffalo and Appleloosans, too late or too slow, were swallowed up, chewed up by the Stormwall, hurled about and dashed against rocks, blasted with lightning, or frozen and torn apart. Others were Turned, advancing slowly under the cover of the Storm, ravaging the lands further, butchering what life managed to survive—burrowing underground or slipping through the Stormwall by force of numbers, and now Freed, to wander, clueless, confused.
That evening, the Princesses returned to Canterlot. Together, they told a tale, mostly true, that pointed Equestria firmly towards the future—a bright future, they claimed, and a challenge. Relief was arranged, martial elements moving in to redistribute the population, pushing ponies further south where possible.
The Crystal Empire proved a vital ally in staving off the worst of the aftereffects. Above and beyond, Cadence insisted on sending aid south long after the last of the Equestrians returned to their homes, further strengthening the bonds between the two nations.
Technology began to advance. The first years saw more development than the last four hundred, often provoking public outcry at the perversion of the natural order. They saw long-distance communication spread to the masses; at first enabled by the Empire’s crystals, and then Equestrian magic replacing crystalline matrices with buried metal and magic, navigation by the stars transitioned to magnetism and magical anchors, enabling the first sea voyages to spread outwards from the western and eastern borders.
Appleloosa was excavated, over one long year. The hardy spirit of the frontier, found in pony and buffalo alike, saw them through the hardships and perils of the desert, no longer quite as hospitable to life. Cloudsdale’s water shipments were often waylaid by unpredictable weather patterns, and the sun beat down with renewed strength. New lore sprang up, devised and tested largely by the youth, and, together, they prevailed.
Ponyville found itself completely destroyed, little more than half a brick wall remaining standing. Old divides in the town torn away, nopony found they could quite find the exact position of their plot of land, all the pieces of the home they’d once had. Instead, the town was rezoned, parcelled out amongst the survivors, now bound together by more than just length of stay. Tourism to the Forest, and the old castle therein, rose steadily, and trade through the town provided ongoing income. Residents found less harm in the development, somehow the thought of the eventual city at the base of the mountain filled them with the tingle of far-flung hope instead of the spectre of dread.
Hornwall found itself governed largely by the disciples of Boundless, for better or for worse. Repentant and deeply disadvantaged, they were uniquely positioned to understand the trials facing their town and the wider world, and did what they could, as a whole, to spread empathy. Hornwall became known as a bastion of the underworld, no longer the heart of a smuggling ring but a place where ponies could find a second chance, in Equestria or the Empire. Individually, they were less forthright—Hornwall was also quick to gain a reputation for a certain seediness; a place where a few bits in the right hoof could get you nearly anything you wanted. Both halves existed together, and though far from perfect, it was stable.
Slowly, Luna assumed more and more control over the government of Equestria, Celestia steadily slipping away from daily life to retreat to her study high above Canterlot. One day, she, and a select group of proven explorers, departed Equestria, heading south through the mountains, in search of parts and places as yet unknown, and resolved to keep an ancient promise.
The Storm was chronicled, canonised as a new legend, though the Lethe river was kept secret, and warded with powerful magics. Coromancers began to emerge, seeking tutelage for newfound abilities. Twilight saw patronage as the head of Luna’s new School of Magic, teaching in the great tradition of Canterlot though based in Ponyville, and watching for the emerging talent. Each of the Bearers found a select few, naturally gifted, to pass on what they knew.
For the first time in a millennium, Equestria, glancing backwards, looked forward.
***
Twilight stepped carefully through the dark. Her horn glowed lightly, lavender light spreading just a few feet around her. The cracked stone and trickling water was as familiar as anything, yet she moved with a slow reverence, breathing deeply and slowly, feeling the gentle wind brush across her back.
She hadn’t been here, to the old city, in something like thirteen years. She still remembered her initial joy—the unfettered excitement at Rainbow’s discovery, once she’d woken up to what it meant, her resolve to investigate, to delve into the depths and learn. She also remembered the pain the city had dealt her, the danger it represented.
That was all past, now. Luna had passed to her her old memories, complementing those of Rainbow and Rarity: the layout and design, the relics and dangers therein. She was competent, strong, and knew the risks. She hadn’t had a panic attack in years.
Still, she took her time. Even now, the cold air sparked a trepidation in her, a sense of trespass. As if she was intruding on something sacred.
She slipped through the crevasse and onto the hill overlooking the city, sending her light forward and widening it considerably.
The ruined buildings, grid-like streets full of rubble and overgrown plant-life, crystals dotting the sidewalk . . . All as she remembered, as they remembered.
She walked down the hill, skidding a little on the loose gravel. They’d need to fix up a proper entrance to this place, though, widen the crevasse and provide a structured, safe tunnel to it, as well as a more solid ramp down to the city proper.
The crystal lights worked well enough, Twilight supposed, in daylight—and perhaps they could dig a few holes in the ceiling to allow the daylight in—but there would need to be proper lights, lining safe routes and guiding tourists away from the more important areas of excavation. She retrieved a notebook from her saddlebags and jotted down her thoughts. As she moved forward, she left marks on the rough map she’d transcribed.
There was still magic here. She knew of relics—one in particular sprang to mind. She’d never found the library Rainbow had described, either, all those years ago. It surrounded her, thick and old, like the air in a musty attic.
She took up one thread and followed it, sketching out her route as she went. Everything was so still here, so dead. A crypt. She snorted a little, pushing dust from her nostrils, before weaving a quick spell to clean the air in front of her.
She was forced to navigate around a few mounds of rubble, collapsed buildings blocking the streets, sections where the stone had cracked and the Forest had claimed the ground, thick plants leaving no room to squeeze past. Backtracking, she saw her hoofsteps marked in dust inches thick. She took her time, long minutes of silence, circling around obstacles, gradually closing in on her goal.
Finally, ducking under a doorway, she came to a stop.
The trail pointed at the wall of this building—a small house, Twilight guessed, going off the square wooden table, chairs pushed back and toppled over, joining wall leading to what appeared to be a sleeping area. She approached the wall, where a picture frame still hung. Simple, carved wood surrounding a pane of glass. She peered inwards and-
-They were sitting around a rug, smiling, chatting. The sun was bright, Celestia’s warmth shining down over them. Ruby played in the stream, with Growler watching over her.
Abby lay back in the grass, letting it bend around her and spring back to its full length at her sides, tickling her all the while. Benny idly threw a dandelion at her, and she caught it, nibbling on its petals.
Even old Chisel and his wife—Abby’s parent’s-in-law—were smiling, rocking back and forth gently on the rickety things Benny had made last winter.
She was so, so warm.-
-and Twilight lurched backwards, horn flashing as she cut the connection. She took several deep breaths, letting the residual feeling wash over her.
The cold felt abruptly alien, hostile. She looked again at the table, crockery lying there, covered in dust, around the room, where other affects and belongings remained. She exhaled, a long, low whistle.
Carefully, she took the painting from the wall, secured it in her saddlebags. She’d need to study the magic used here, compare it to the crystals Cadence had supplied her. She marked her location down, both on her map and on the wall of the house.
Then, carefully, Twilight returned to the world above.
***
The other Wonderbolts had gotten lazy in her absence, Rainbow thought. Used to be the routines she’d come up with would be mastered with that little something extra added—each member one-upping each other, beating Rainbow’s times in the obstacles, or doing it the same but with just a touch more flair. Now, she left them all in the dust. So to speak.
“Damn it, Flare,” Rainbow said, flying up alongside him. “I’ve told you a million times!”
Sweating, he looked away. “Yeah, yeah. I’m trying, okay?”
“Try harder,” Rainbow said. “Watch.”
Rolling on her wing, she dove underneath him and sped up, leaving a rainbow contrail circling past his face. She spun into a series of acrobatics, whirling past imaginary targets in the sky, old memories of Turned pegasi lashing out at her with their weapons. She flinched, covered it up by throwing herself into a backflip, and tapped just a little into her emotions, letting her frustration with his performance bleed into her wings.
The burst of speed carried her into the final few tricks, snap-turns that reached G’s way beyond anything most pegasi would experience and twirls that used her wings as anchors in the air. She pulled up, bled off excess speed, and returned to Flare, hovering in place.
“See it?”
“The back-flip? That’s not part of . . .”
Rainbow slapped him on the head with a wing. “No, not the back-flip.”
“I can’t match your speed,” Flare said. “None of us can.”
“No,” Rainbow agreed. “But you can go faster than you are. So stop trying to beat me and start trying to catch me.”
Flare glanced at her, then away, his eyes roaming the stadium around them, mercifully empty for this practice.
“Okay?” Rainbow asked. “You’re a Wonderbolt, right? Not just a mewling foal, who needs daddy to watch over him every time he leaves the nest?”
Flare stiffened. “Yes, ma’am!”
Rainbow grinned. “Good. Again.”
He burst into action, following the routine sans her flashback. She didn’t expect him to reach the heights of Coromantic-assisted flight—that was years away yet. She was watching for the twitches, the tiny moments of hesitation before the plunge that meant she could squeeze more out of them. It was the only way forward she knew, a philosophy that had served her her entire life, and she meant to give it to them if they hated her for it. The chase, the relentless pursuit of perfection with no intention of ever catching it.
They had to trust their bodies—know what was going to happen before they ever did it. Pegasi were Coromancers of the soul, they had no horns to channel their mind’s will, or the intrinsic, bone-deep connection to the earth of the earth ponies. Pegasi sang in flight.
“Again!” she called, and turned to observe others.
The tour was starting in ten days, and they were ready. They’d been ready for weeks. But Rainbow would hold off on that, refuse to admit it to them officially until they were on the bus. Besides—watching them in the sky, some of them stepping out of the routine just for the hell of it—she thought they already knew.
***
Rarity spun out the spool of fabric, feeling it run through her hooves. She had been assured of its quality, the producer going on about thread count and these new looms, but nothing beat feeling the fabric under her skin, feeling it play through her fur.
Satisfied, she nodded, tossing one end over the table to drape down towards the floor. She dropped her glasses onto her face, and bent down to run the edge through the sewing machine’s needle.
The pattern was deceptively simple, full of long arcs meeting in clusters and spinning back out. The real trick was to keep the thread separate—to stop it from bunching up. Even half a millimetre off, and it would be noticeable, out-of-place compared to its immediate neighbour.
She closed her eyes, and Saw.
Her hooves moved, magic making slight adjustments to position and angle, but always based on the result. No second guessing; she created exactly what she wanted, a perfect, seamless transition between the vision in her mind and the material under her hooves.
She hummed as she worked, other worries dropping away. This was the simplicity she lived for, in the end—not the grand design, the line of dresses and the spectacle of the parade, but the act of creation, purely in the moment.
These were to be drapes, hung from the central tower overlooking the entrance to Twilight’s new university. The school year was starting in a few weeks, and everypony was chipping in to help mark the date. Celestia was giving a speech. Rainbow had arranged a show. Pinkie was hosting the aftermath; Applejack helping out with the food. She’d even heard Fluttershy would be coming back from one of her expeditions.
And then she’d be off, leaving behind fashion for the moment to attend to some of the planning around Ponyville’s eastern developments. A few developers from Manehattan had smelt blood in the water, apparently, and were lobbying the Mayor for permission to build over there. Nothing egregious, they had promised.
Rarity knew better.
The high rise and high density accommodation that they knew had its place. Ponyville wasn’t there yet—would never be, if she had her way. That didn’t mean it couldn’t grow, couldn’t become a bustling metropolis. Just . . . a more elegant one. She envisioned soaring arches, hidden gardens and large public squares. An openness, a promise of intermingling and fresh air.
The fabric ran out underneath her, and she blinked her eyes open, coming out of her trance. Perfect, as she’d Seen. She moved the drape over to one corner of her working room, and drew the second, frowning a little as her hooves ran over the fabric. No, this wouldn’t do, that lump there was going to . . . she drew the threads together, twisting a little with telekinesis, her control fine enough to nudge the strands apart.
She dropped the bolt across her table, and went over it carefully, not trusting the one fault to remain alone. Sure enough, she picked out a few more; spots where the threads caught on a defect in the surface, or were somehow twisted together.
She sighed. She’d be having a word with their quality control.
Slowly, she teased each flaw from the fabric, using magic to sever and reconnect threads where required. She’d need to go back over the first bolt, now, her less-than-thorough check called into question. She resolved to do so, and closed her eyes, quickly checking what she’d find.
There would be more and more, over the coming years. She could see the trends developing, even without her Sight. A push towards the functional, the rapid. Not necessarily out of greed, or apathy, but a desire to keep pace, to seek out the Next Thing. She could see her influence; how she might spread it out across Equestria. A check, a balance, an eye to luxury and aesthetic where it was sorely needed.
She bent back to work. She’d always wanted to live in Canterlot, to be a part of high society. But when she considered the future, now, it was Ponyville with which she identified. She saw a rustic appeal, a charm to it, that resisted the ongoing modernisation.
If she wouldn’t join high society, then perhaps she could bring high society to her. Grow Ponyville into the trade metropolis it had always threatened to become. Meld the rural aesthetic with the sweeping marble of Canterlot. Invest in theatre, dance; the thriving arts community that graced Manehattan.
It would work. She could already See it.
***
Pinkie smiled as she handed over the scroll. The little filly, barely coming up to her knees, giggling, scurrying away with it clamped between her lips.
“Thanks,” the filly’s mother said, passing over a few bits.
“Welcome,” Pinkie said, turning to deposit the bits on the bench beside her. “She’s a good kid.”
The mare ducked her head. “Somehow this is her favourite part of the day. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Pinkie tilted her head to the side. “Trouble?”
“Nothing so much.”
Pinkie leaned forward over the windowsill she was selling pastries from. “Come onnnn,” she said. “Talk to Aunty Pinkie.”
She smirked. “It’s just a little harder to find those bright spots nowadays. Just a little less eager to jump in and help.”
“Ah,” Pinkie said.
“What, no sudden balloons?”
“I don’t think you really need balloons anymore.” There was something indescribably sad in that, to Pinkie. Perhaps it was inevitable, perhaps not. Either way, the lustre was gone—the shine and the accompanying thrill that it sparked in her heart. “Maybe just an ear, once every now and then?”
She smiled, now, properly. “That sounds lovely.”
Indeed, Pinkie reflected as the mare left, ushering her filly in front of her, less room for spontaneous parties wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her. It didn’t change her, not really, not where it counted. She wanted to see ponies smile; wanted to pursue their happiness.
Somewhere along the line, a combination of her own failures, her impotence and the deep-seated fear of being seen to be foolish had taught her something. A personal story, buried in amongst all the Big Things that went on around her.
She’d never been one for prophecies and ancient evils. That was more Twilight’s schtick, she wanted nothing to do with it. She liked the quiet days, the warm feeling of acknowledgement, the visits to the market where she knew everypony’s name.
Pinkie smiled at the next customer, a harried-looking stallion who dropped his coin and left without much more than a muttered “thanks.” So what if she didn’t mind so much that there was no impetus to celebrate, no drive to jump out into the street and inspire glee. She was beginning to see how much more she could do, back here. Moving almost unseen, talking quietly, listening. Being there, for anypony and for everypony.
What power she’d had had been based on recognition—on her brand. No more.
Pinkie closed her shop window, the line of customers all served to their first preference, with no goods left over to go stale. Her Pinkie Sense was useful, still—would allow her to always be prepared, always have an answer ready at hoof. The difference was in her, was about the sorts of responses she elected to prepare.
She ducked around the back of the shop, doffing her apron, and heading through a tangled series of alleys. The outskirts were better organised than this, streets going up in a grid, but here it was the same old warren of the Ponyville she remembered and loved.
Finally, she came to a deep blue door, inset in the wall of a particular back-alley. She knocked furtively, enjoying the little thrill of subterfuge while it lasted.
“Pinkie,” a gruff voice greeted her.
“Hey,” she replied, stepping inside.
It wasn’t just fillys and foals that needed her. These days, more than ever, it was the adults, fixed into their old ways and struggling to adjust. The workers suddenly uprooted, their stability lost in pursuit of the next Big Thing. The families destroyed by newfound curiosity, in good and bad ways. The uptick in crime, and, horrifically, reports from metropolis’s of murder, here and there.
She couldn’t stop that—had proven that to herself time and again. But she might, in a small way, make the transition less painful, and promote, in lieu of Celestia’s, her own sense of morality where she went.
Maybe that way, she could reclaim something of what had been lost.
***
The orchard was thirsty. Applejack could hear it from here, so to speak, sitting at the table in the Sweet Apple Acres farmhouse. Rain was much less regular—it made it harder to make sure her trees were getting watered as much as they needed.
“So,” she said, drawing the attention of her sister. “Baltimare?”
“It’s contract work,” Applebloom said. “Half the year, or thereabouts. I mean, they might want to keep me on, but Ah wouldn’t exactly bet on it.”
“Mm,” Applejack grunted. She couldn’t say this was unexpected. Applebloom had been heavily involved in a number of projects around the town—word was bound to get out, connections making their way up the chain until something higher profile showed up.
Still, something about it rubbed her the wrong way. She’d never really considered leaving the farm—not after the fateful day she’d gotten her Cutie Mark. It just . . . wasn’t done. Mac was still here, still heaving great loads around. She was content, here, happy to continue her work, aided by just a little spark of magic.
Not to say that things hadn’t changed. They’d had to adapt to new times—change the focus of their business. Sweet Apple was no longer involved in bulk farming—automation had, or would, in a few years, render that model obsolete. No, now they sold a premium product. Sweet Apples apples were made with love—literally.
And there was demand for that, would always be demand for that. They were comfortable, here.
But Applebloom wasn’t.
There just wasn’t all that much opportunity for her to apply herself about the farm. They worked as a well-oiled machine might, all excess and confusion long since cut out of the process. And Applejack and Big Mac were sufficient, if truth be told, to the reduced size of the farm as it stood today.
“Alright,” Applejack said, wincing internally at the drawn-out silence. Applebloom visibly relaxed a little, sinking down into her seat.
“I’ll take apples,” Applebloom said, suddenly. “Ah can sell them for cheap, o-or give them out to friends and co-workers.”
Applejack smiled. “Don’t be too eager,” she said. “Ah still remember you forcing them down ponies throats, y’know.”
“Sis!” Applebloom protested. “It ain’t like that.”
“It’s a good idea,” Applejack said. “Take a few bags. Just—keep a few, okay? Reminder of home.”
Applebloom nodded.
And it wasn’t all bad, either. Twilight had a few promising students she’d flagged to send Applejack’s way—experience on the farm helping new Wardens acclimatise to their magic, and shoring up production. She’d also found other uses: Rainbow and Rarity—but mostly Rarity—waxing lyrical on the benefits Wardens brought to city construction and building—their connection to the land allowing them to detect and solidify weaker sections of the foundation, sculpt stone and wood extremely rapidly, and ensure structural stability via micro-tremors in the ground . . . all of which more or less went over Applejack’s head until she got down in the dirt and did it.
Applebloom had taken much more of a shine to it.
Applejack pushed her plate back, and stood up. “Trees need water,” she said. “Mac?”
“Eeyup.”
They went outside, heading to a barn and taking a long hose down from where it was wrapped around a drum. It wasn’t always enough, to cover over holes in nutrition, water, time, with emotion. She could have spent an hour in the orchard, giving herself to the trees to alleviate their thirst, but the end-product would have suffered for it, and required much more of her. The world took its due, as it always did.
She drew the hose out to the edge of the orchard, where Applebloom had planted an opening in the ground. The irrigation system was still alien to Applejack—she understood it, a simple system of pipes and small holes buried underground, but compared to the weather schedule of old . . . she shook herself, and planted the hose in the opening, then shook it in a particular pattern, watching the signal travel back down the length of the hose to Mac.
Some few seconds later, she felt the swell of water rushing through, and held the hose in place as the initial rush pushed it back. The pressure abated soon after, and she stood back to feel the water move through the earth, reaching the roots of her trees.
This was a stopgap, a sip where they wanted a glass, but it did buy time, help them, in a small way, to adjust. Applejack breathed the dusk air in, staring out over her orchard with a small smile on her lips. Perhaps, with a little luck, it would even be enough.
***
Fluttershy bent down to whisper to the small bird. Just a nestling, a crow, it must have fallen from its nest. She scooped it up in one wing, feeling it tremble against her feathers, lean into her, and placed it on her head. It stamped its little feet down into her mane, securing its grip.
Slowly, she lifted them off the ground, coming up into the tree level where the branches grew thicker. She wove them about, rising, until she spotted the nest, nestled into the crook of a trunk high above, the odd bit of grass poking through the thick cluster of twigs.
Carefully, she placed the nestling back with his nestmates, all of them chirping at her for food. She looked around, wondering where the parents were. They wouldn’t go far to forage.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain at the back of her head. Wincing, she spun in the air, confronting a larger crow, the father, likely, swooping down at her.
Fluttershy folded her wings and feel a few feet, feeling the crow’s feet scrape across the top of her head and coming away with a tuft of her mane. She grimaced, patting the wound down, and flew back towards the ground, listening for any of the slight sounds that might tip off pursuit.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t an isolated problem. More and more of the animals she was encountering were attacking her, or at the least watching her warily. It wasn’t even that she’d lost her talent at communication, she was usually able, with a little work, to earn their trust, or hold simple conversation. Just that it took longer to get there, that she could no longer assume friendship.
The influence was obvious, the Veil’s extension even to Equestria’s wildlife a little surprising, but, in retrospect, entirely clear. What distressed Fluttershy the most was the idea that this state of affairs was natural—that in-built behavioural patterns were designed to protect against potential threats.
Except . . . she’d always accepted the predator prey cycle on some level. She’d fed bears fish, heard wolves track deer, and watched vultures circle the old and the sick.
No, what distressed Fluttershy was that she was now counted one of those potential threats.
Ponies didn’t eat meat—but they could. Eggs were a staple part of most diets, fish a rare delicacy in some places of Equestria. Certain climates could produce farming shortages—snap-freezes killing off a crop, or drought resulting in the produce coming out shrivelled and malnourished. Pegasi did what they could to improve weather conditions—it would be a huge industry, in just a few short years, bigger than it had ever been before, she predicted—but they could not account for random chance. And ponies needed proteins, needed certain fats.
Simple math, reflected here in the aggressive defence of a crow’s young.
But there was a beauty in it, too. She reflected on the willingness of a bird to attack her—so much larger, more capable than he’d ever be. Hopelessly outmatched, and fighting nonetheless. Was love a survival mechanism? She didn’t think so, in the end. Out here, on the fringes of Equestria, surrounded by not a hostile landscape, but an uncaring one, Fluttershy could feel the magic in the land move, swaying to and fro as if blown by the wind. There was a rhythm to life, distinct from the rhythms of the cities, a nurturing, challenging dance.
She fit herself into it, walking forward, hearing the snap of dead leaves under her hooves and the chirps and rustles of the life around her, seeing the natural beaten paths, routes cleared through the undergrowth. It was every bit a city.
She made notes of the paths, of the crow’s behaviours with her speculations on their motivations and what she might infer from that. She carefully noted what she could on population density’s, watching movements through the skies and looking for more nests as she walked.
She’d been a Ranger for years, applying what wisdom she’d learnt over her life to the safety and protection of Equestria’s many preserved areas. That wisdom was obsolete, now—not gone, but no longer sufficient, either.
She’d do what she could to relearn it, and she’d pass what she knew back, to the next generation.
This, she thought, the breeze tickling the back of her neck and her breath frosting in front of her, was worth preserving.
It is close. So close, now. My Seers have reported something different—a vastness, an expansion of their capacity. They dare not reach too far, and I am loathe to push them overmuch.
I feel something different. An entity. A consciousness, slumbering in the depths.
Sixty
TRIXIE PASSED the folder over the desk to the waiting sergeant. It wasn’t tremendously thick, no little scraps of paper fell from it as he took it. It didn’t need to be.
“Huh,” he said, opening and looking at the first page. “Well now.”
Trixie waited.
He flipped through the photos, quickly reaching the back. “This’ll do nicely. We don’t usually get tips quite this . . . thorough.”
“My pleasure,” Trixie said. “He’s staying at Mason and Third, at the moment. If you hurry, you might even catch him.” She turned to leave.
“Hold up!” he called. “There’s a reward for this guy. Reckon you’ve done more than enough to earn it.”
Trixie ignored him, walking out the door and onto the streets of Manehattan. Boiler was a nasty one, she’d be happy to have him behind bars. The file, however, hadn’t told the full story.
It would, eventually. Trixie was quite done with taking the law into her own hooves. She’d learnt better, learnt to trust not in her own sense of justice, but specifically in her own fallibility. There was a peace in that, too, in the idea that she might never reach her goals. She wondered what Cumulus and Brash might have thought about that.
For now, though, she had another target. Boiler’d typically stuck to small gangs for small jobs. For this last one—the one that’d gotten him square in the eyes of the police—he’d have needed something more. Somepony a little bigger, with a fair bit of pull.
Trixie smelt blood.
She reached an intersection and turned, pulling her scarf tight around her neck. She had a destination in mind—a little-known diner in the heart of downtown. She glanced around, checking that nopony was watching her, and gathered energy to herself, her horn briefly sparking azure in the morning light.
Her teleport took her to a shaded alcove, the door inset a foot into the wall around it. She’d scouted this area specifically, she needed to be unseen and in place well in advance. Fortunately, her talents lay in that direction—she quickly covered herself with an invisibility spell before stepping out.
The diner would normally play host to a number of professionals going about their day, but some time back Trixie had noticed a backroom that was perennially unoccupied. Some snooping had revealed that a certain businesspony—Big Tones—liked to take a late breakfast there, most days, keeping a low profile via a series of back door entrances. She slipped in, following the open doors and absence of dust on the ground. It took some doing to get the illusions just right, but she was able to open and close the door to the back room without drawing attention.
This was her gamble. She suspected a connection between the two—further theorised that there might be a link of corruption keeping Tones in the game. If she could be in place, here, watching, when it happened . . .
Big Tones was already here, wolfing down a plate of pancakes while two large stallions wearing suits stood guard by the door. She took a position by the fireplace, and waited, trusting to her magic to keep herself hidden, and silent.
It took some time, but eventually the door burst open, a nopony scurrying in to be immediately accosted by the guards. He thrust forward a scrap of paper, protesting, and, grabbing at a bit thrown onto the ground in front of him, scampered.
Big Tones scanned the paper—then paused, went back to the top and read it again. Cursing, he strode across the room to the fireplace by Trixie and made to thrust it into the fire.
Trixie froze time.
It took an incredible toll on her, but over the course of a second, the scene playing out slowed down, exponentially approaching zero, until each actor was still, each moment extended into an eternity. They looked like paintings, almost—magic replacing light, substituting its sense for her eyes. She couldn’t see, but she could feel, and that was enough.
She could feel the grain of the paper in his grasp, the strength of the grip he had on it. She could feel the impressions left by the quill tip, digging into the material. Slowly, she traced them out in her mind, forming letters and then words.
Boiler caught.Found evidence. Might want to lay low for a little while.
Interesting. She hadn’t expected the corruption angle—she’d thought, perhaps, he’d have somepony staking Boiler’s place out. This note, the way it was worded, implied that it had been written by somepony on the inside.
Trixie knew what the evidence was already. She’d planted it.
She let go of her grip over time, and, moving quickly, followed Tones as he made for the exit. She slipped after them, catching each door on the backswing, slipping around their tracks by inches.
Once on the street, he caught a carriage, so Trixie settled for tagging it with a spark of magic, nestling the bolt up against the inside axle.
She found a cafe and bought a coffee, resting her hooves on a stool by the counter as the steaming liquid warmed her from within. It wouldn’t take all that long for Tones to reach his destination—wherever that was. Trixie still felt the little thrill of excitement that accompanied these sojourns, this was the first real anything she’d had on him since she’d come back to Manehattan.
She sipped away, waiting. It wasn’t her first time around, and, if she had her way, it’d be far from her last. Something akin to duty, she felt, a responsibility she accepted for their existence in the first place. She’d played that moment over and over again, in her mind’s eye. She thought she’d spend her life trying to atone for it—and that was okay. She felt . . . anchored, by it, in a peculiar way. Given a purpose.
Tones’ carriage came to a stop on the edge of the city. Trixie didn’t know the area—just that there was a lot of development, construction, out that way, the suburbs giving way to the rapid expansion of the metropolitan. She paid, thanking the staff, and found a secluded spot to continue her pursuit.
The carriage continued on, circling back towards the city. Trixie let it go, her mark fading, and looked around the street for tracks. He wouldn’t be far, she knew, but neither would he be right here.
Was that . . .? A whiff of something pungent, she recognised it almost immediately from his back-room breakfast. Concentrating, Trixie formed the idea in her mind. This was a new one, actually, and not a terrible idea for a stage show. The magic trickled out of her, shaped by will and a natural talent, coalescing around the lingering scent and highlighting it.
A haze of azure, hanging over the area. She was in the middle of it—she couldn’t see the trail from here. She walked to the side, reaching the edge of the cloud and turning to see it disappear down a side alley.
Trixie grinned.
Big Tones’ hideaway was a small house amidst a number of small houses, indistinct from those around it. Trixie crept up to a window, listening carefully.
“I don’t care how,” Tones was saying. “Just get it done, idiot.”
“The alibi will hold,” somepony said. “It’s important not to overreact.”
“Screw you. I’m not going to sit back and do nothing.”
Trixie peeked over the windowsill, invisible. Tones was pacing, back and forth, while another pony Trixie didn’t recognise sat at a table.
“Then do something smart.”
“Ponies need to know not to mess with me,” Tones said, smashing his front hooves together. Trixie quirked a lip. “We’ve got to set an example. Make sure they don’t get away with this.”
Quietly, Trixie retrieved her camera from her bag, and snapped a shot of the two of them. The unknown ponies’ face was away from her, but she’d get a shot of him soon enough.
“Take your time. There’s no need to rush.”
“Like shit. What’ve they got on me?”
“A few documents, is all. A photo of the two of you together. Uhh, at a restaurant. And an agreement I know you didn’t sign.”
Tones sighed. “Somepony’s framing me.”
“Seems like it.”
Tones growled, punching a wall, hard. The whole house shook, dust shaken loose from the ceiling to drift down over them. Trixie paused, mouth opening slightly. That . . . wasn’t normal. That was Coromantic.
Well, then. That changed things, if only slightly. The trouble was, prisons wouldn’t hold a Coromancer, not for long—not even one as nascent as this guy. He probably thought himself just a little stronger than everypony else—a little better. Without control, the teaching Twilight provided . . . Trixie could see, she thought, how that might lead a pony here, to this suburban hideaway.
“Well, they’re going to pay. I want to know everything, you understand?”
“Yeah, I got it. Try to relax. I’ll keep you in the loop, okay?”
“Mm.”
Trixie snapped a few shots of the apparent police officer leaving, before resuming her stakeout. She wanted proof—incontrovertible proof of the connection between Big Tones and the crimes Boiler had been caught committing. She wasn’t satisfied with misdemeanours, with implications.
Boiler had been a petty thief, akin to Trixie herself, from back in the day. Not harmless, but far from a pressing threat, too—part of the underworld that Equestria was learning to deal with, day by day. That was, until last week.
A crime gone wrong, or something worse; Trixie leaned towards the latter. What started as a snatch and grab had quickly turned into a fight that left two bleeding out—response fast enough to save just one. She didn’t know what the turning point was—not yet.
But she doubted it was coincidence that at the same time as the city pulled all its enforcement over to the street brawl engulfing Boiler’s small troop, Big Tones’ had hit three warehouses by the docks, leaving two engulfed in flames and the third conspicuously empty.
The police agreed with her, but their hooves were more or less tied—they had to respond in force to Boiler, and without anything more than circumstantial evidence, they couldn’t spare the ponies.
But as the hours passed, it seemed Tones was more in control than she’d thought, content to sit still, cooking himself a meal and spending most of his time reading, or pacing, stiffly, his body rigid.
Eventually, she retired for the night, leaving a magical mark on the hideout and on Tones’ himself, hidden underneath a ward.
Her hotel room was a small thing, cramped, just a bed and a desk with a tiny bathroom taking up one corner. She unfurled some parchment, penning a quick letter to Twilight, letting her know the situation, sealing it, and leaving it with the staff at the front desk to send. It’d be a few days in transit, and by then Trixie hoped she’d have what she needed to get a prosecution—and a proper one, too.
She slept unevenly, tossing and turning. The hotel wasn’t the quietest, and her room far from the highest: the city at night just seemed to keep on rolling, the soft sound of carriages and voices pulling her from fitful sleep at every other hour. Finally, the light of day spilled through the edges of the her blinds, creeping upward to play over her sagging face.
She groaned, pulling herself out of bed and giving herself a quick wash. Breakfast was a croissant and an apple, with a takeaway cup of coffee floating beside her as she headed out.
Her marks were still together. She doubted she’d get anything else from the hideout, and she was suddenly suspicious of letting the police know where it was. Might be useful if she wanted to drive Tones’ out of his bolthole, but not yet.
Instead, she took a long look at the face in her photographs, sculpting it into her spells, and with a few quick pulses, donned it as a mask.
Celestia, sometimes she loved her talent.
Strolling, Trixie entered the police department, smiling at the receptionist. “Hey,” a glance at the nameplate on her desk, “Bets. How’re you doing?” She nearly giggled at her voice, pitched deeper than her own, and quite clearly off, going by her recollection. Nothing for it now.
“Mornin’, Wheat,” she replied. Aha. Trixie suppressed a giggle.
“Say, I was thinkin’,” she said, mimicking the mare’s drawl, “how’s about you and me catch a show tonight? I’ve got two tickets an’ a table at Straw’s . . .”
Blushing, “Why, Wheat, I never thought- I’d love to!”
Heh. Perhaps a little mean, Trixie thought, leaving through a window in the stallion’s room. She should send some flowers as an apology to Bets.
Musings aside, it was good to put a name to the face. Even better, she sensed her mark moving—Tones heading out, against advice. He wouldn’t do that for just anything—this was what she’d been looking for.
She followed the mark, teleporting to it and freezing time when it came to a proper stop. Tones was halfway into a tall building—Trixie let him rush forward, until he unlocked the door to an inconspicuous office, rushing inside.
She froze time again, and spent some time wandering around, looking through the documents there. Mostly receipts and long lists, she recognised a few names here and there, connecting crimes from months ago she’d thought solved. A proper empire, run not entirely out of this little room. There were still too many pieces missing.
She took the more important files and let the scene play out, watching Tones’ shred through the majority of the paperwork here, only relaxing when he was done.
Was this enough? Certainly, if she wanted to bring him down—to watch the police collapse on top of him like a house of bricks, see Wheat sell him out to save his own skin. Trixie wanted more. She wanted to grasp the full picture, as ugly as it was, bring it to light.
She could find that information in Big Tones’ mind, or Wheat’s, or Boiler’s, for that matter. She’d done worse. But now Trixie hesitated, held back, with a staunch refusal even to consider it. She took photographs of Tones’ movements, documented his paperwork massacre. She followed him back to the bolthole, just in case he was planning to meet somepony there. Alas, no such luck.
Wheat, then. She found him in downtown, on patrol. His partner was the boring sort, not much of a conversationalist, and Wheat did little to hold his attention anyway. Instead, they walked in silence, heads roaming, glancing around.
They stopped a few times, but though Trixie took her time poking around their business, they were never out of line—all just check-ins, chats with business owners, or responses to noise complaints and the like.
And that was Trixie’s day.
Back in her hotel room, washing down a dinner of oats with a little milk, she mused. She could be at this for months before something slipped through the cracks—stirring the beehive hadn’t done much more than confirm her suspicions. She needed something useful, and that meant the status quo, that meant following them when they weren’t looking over their shoulders. She’d made a mistake.
She shook herself, turning her mind elsewhere, horn flashing as a spell came to the forefront of her awareness. She’d been practising this every day for the last few weeks, but it was still draining, still took all her concentration to cast, and too much concentration to maintain. She suspected it always would.
She lay back on her bed, eyes closed, and drifted off into a hazy slumber, the spell active, flickering beside her. She’d sleep later, properly, once she’d lost it; for now she pushed herself to maintain it even through a light doze.
Over the next week, Trixie kept to this routine. Slowly, Tones lost the edge that had marked his movements, he grew comfortable heading out into the city for luncheons, and became more open with his business. He couldn’t simply vanish for too long without losing his control—that, she had been able to count on. So after six long days of nothing, Trixie got her break.
A few of Boiler’s little crew had gotten free, and somehow tracked Tones down. Trixie herself had been loitering across the street, watching for ponies coming and going in the apartment block Tones was currently using. So when she’d recognised the faces heading in, she’d felt a spike of alarm, and quickly moved herself after them, not wanting to have to teleport into an occupied room blindly.
They’d stormed past the guards, kicked down the door, and filled the room, angry faces and loud voices all of them. Trixie, following, slipped her camera out and started taking shots. It was almost too easy, she thought, idly. A good thing, then, that virtually no unicorns could manage proper invisibility—let alone time stops. Satisfied, she put her camera away, and focused on another spell. This one was a little different to her usual fare—an application of illusion magic she’d only recently begun to master.
Reproducing voices was easy, she’d done that all the time back in the day. Reproducing voices accurately, however—that was a fair bit more difficult. Nor was it even that useful, in her current line of work—the first time she’d tried it, triumphantly listening along with the police to the overheard confession, she’d been laughed out of the room. It wasn’t exactly proof, after all.
In a different context, though . . .
“Aren’t gonna let you have him take the fall for this,” one of the hotheads was saying. “It ain’t right.”
“Yeah! We’s stuck our necks out for you.”
Tones shrugged, sitting back down. “And I’m supposed to do what?” he said, affecting calm. Trixie could see the nervous little twitch of his back legs, hidden from the rest of the room. “Boiler knew the risks. It’s done.”
“No way.”
“We took a risk. Now its your turn. Step up.”
Tones scrunched his muzzle up. “You little shits already got paid. The hell else are you looking for?”
It was, she supposed, a story being repeated all across Equestria. The biggest response she’d felt—after everything, all the panic and pain and loss—was fear.
It wasn’t a fear of each other, as she might have speculated, though that undoubtedly played its own, small, part. It wasn’t even a fear of the Outside, the big, wide world suddenly exposed to them. It was a fear of the future, of the vast change brought upon them. Instability—layoffs and redirection of labour, societal shifts that brought towns to economic powerhouses and cities to their knees.
These ponies had been happy, before. They’d had work, perhaps a little shady, but stable enough to feel the firm earth under their hooves.
“If you’re looking for somethin’ else, I can dig around,” Tones said, and Trixie mentally upgraded him a few ranks. “There’s a security detail next week, still need bodies for.”
A beat, then, “What’s the pay,” Trixie spoke, magic projecting the voice so that it came from the middle of the group, the voice a mix of each of the three, such that anypony could have spoken. They glanced at each other, but nopony shot the words down.
Tones was smiling, broadly. “Pay’s good,” he said. Was that a trace of relief in his voice? He leaned forwards, now, his front legs propped up on the desk. “Fifty-an-half, for a few hours work.”
Trixie raised her eyebrows. That was good, better than good, even. Too good—she’d think he was overplaying his hand, if this group were any wiser. A set up? An empty promise?
But they took the bait, a spit-laced-hoofshake sealing the deal. She stuck around as they left, musing.
It was an obvious stakeout, and tempting. But the clock in her head was prodding her, every day an implicit failure. She’d been ready—at least, she thought so, there was no real way to tell—for a few days now, holding off out of a peculiar sense of hesitation. She’d have waffled about Manehattan for weeks longer with this case, refusing to admit it quite so bluntly, had she not just had an example shoved in her face.
She was afraid, too.
In the end, who did she want to be?
She could make quite the career out of this penitence. She had the knack of it, mistakes due to a lack of experience. Her personal crusade, pushing back against the Boundless’ of the world. There would be more, she knew, now, so many more. She was even suited to the work, it made a certain sense to her. It was safe.
But there was more she could be doing. She knew that—extrapolated it from long discussions with Twilight, with Rainbow and even Rarity, and their experiences in the far-flung past. Coromancy was meant for more than stalking about the city. She could be more.
Once, Trixie would have jumped at that chance. Now, she dreaded it.
She teleported, first back to her hotel room where the spell she’d been fuelling all day was still lying, as lifelike as it had been this morning. Then to the police station, badgering her way into the chief’s office with a few minor tricks and a saved favour, playing the conversation back to him and sharing her theories on Boiler’s employment. She kept Wheat’s true colours to herself. She wanted to shake the beehive once more, see which way they ran
Finally, she teleported to Canterlot. She hadn’t been back here in months.
The street was nearly empty, the buildings white stone on either side. The high wall stretched down the block, slight blemishes marring its surface. She came to a tall arch, gilded gates replacing the wall for a few feet, the plaque high above.
What would Cumulus and Brash think? She thought she knew, somehow. As if their voices hadn’t been lost at all, but were instead with her, floating around in there, whispering encouragement.
In their memory, then.
Trixie gave the orphanage a little smile, twisted and full of hope. Then she vanished from the street in a little pop of azure light.
***
“Rainbow? Trixie. I’m ready.”
Rainbow knocked at her window half a second later, causing Trixie to jump, dropping the phone. She hurried over and opened the window, letting the cyan pegasus in.
Rainbow immediately picked up the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, she jumped about a foot. I know, right? Heh.” She hung it up, and turned to Trixie, who was blushing something fierce. “Ready?”
“Ye- just . . . yeah. Let’s do it.” Trixie took a few deep breaths. This was it. Everything she’d been working towards the last few months. Every bit of practice, every exercise, every time she’d had to slow herself down, control her emotions and reign herself in. All to get this right, to make this chance count.
She nodded, and Rainbow scooped her up, effortlessly carrying her out the window. She’d refused to let Trixie find out if this would work ahead of time—said it could doom them to failure just as equally. Operational security, she’d said. Need-to-know basis.
And Trixie could see the logic. If he wasn’t there . . . well, then he’d never be there. And that, simply, was unacceptable.
Rainbow flew them up, high into the sky. Hovering there, she could see miles around, the countryside of Equestria spilling out before her, all unbounded woods and endless plains. Green, she thought.
And then they were flying in truth, the wind rushing past her ears, deafening her, her eyes bleeding tears, blinding her. The acceleration put a pit in her stomach, made her feel weightless. There was a great boom! resounding, and she flinched away, forcing her eyes closed and holding onto Rainbow for dear life.
It was probably only a few seconds, though it felt a lot longer, but Rainbow was patting her on the shoulder, speaking softly. It took Trixie a little bit to parse the words. “ow, it’s over, we’re here.”
She searched her memory. This was their greatest fear—their potential downfall. Rainbow had avoided Jumping back in time for just this reason, the same reason Luna had lost memory of Typhus upon her return. Entering the Veil was not something to take lightly.
They had prepared. She had an artifact, made for her especially by Luna. She had her own strengths, as a Sage. She was ready to give months of her life to this, should it go poorly—should they become stuck.
But the shard of metal in her grip was pulsing, softly, and Rainbow looked down at her with some degree of care, instead of confusion. “We made it.”
Trixie let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I guess we did.”
It was a constant pressure on her, beating at her mind with a single-minded relentlessness. It would be so easy to let down her guard and be swept away—to be happy, again, blissful and ignorant. With a grimace, she pushed her will forth, spreading her awareness across herself and Rainbow, her resolute determination.
Rainbow relaxed, her shoulders coming down. “Thanks,” she muttered, turning to look up.
They stood at the base of Canterlot. Trixie nodded, gathering herself once again, before Rainbow glanced at her, shaking her head. “I’ll take us. Come on.”
Wordlessly, Trixie agreed. Rainbow swept her up, carried her high aloft. Trixie scanned the city, finding one of the houses she knew. They touched down, there, a few ponies noticing and rushing towards them—Rainbow’s fame coming back to bite her.
Trixie let them in and shut the door, locking it behind her, then showed Rainbow the trapdoor leading down into the Canterlot Undercity. They disappeared within, flashes of photography catching just Trixie’s tail through the windows.
The tunnels were dark and winding, but Trixie knew the route—had walked it a thousand times in her nightmares. She found the room quickly, and hid both herself and Rainbow in a corner, veiled.
Shining Armour was brought in not long after that. Bound to the table, watched, interrogated. She saw it again, with Rainbow steady beside her. Not touching, but there, nonetheless, another heartbeat to race alongside hers.
She had to be careful, oh so careful. An illusion wasn’t sufficient, here, it would not stand up to the brutalisation and the aftermath. She needed to convince everypony—herself, Boundless, Twilight, even Shining Armour himself. It needed to be convincing for weeks afterwards, through the funeral, the internment. She swallowed.
The spell came to her easily—she’d practised it daily for months. It formed just underneath Shining Amour’s skin, materialising as a thin layer of magic, wrapping through his dermis. She held it, let it mingle with his tissues, and waited.
Waited for the knife to come down.
She caught her own magic as it parted his flesh, worked allow it free passage, kept it from interfering with her own spell. She caused blood to spill out, holding to her own sense of disgust, her own sense of violation, to reproduce the cells underneath, the wound already sealed but blood still pouring out, Shining Armour choking, now, as she cut off his air supply with telekinesis and sent little pockets of air bubbling out through his throat, closing her ears, as best she could, to Twilight’s scream.
Rainbow caught her as a wave of pure force washed across the room, Twilight exploding into lavender light. Trixie couldn’t avert her eyes, almost losing the threads of magic in the wake of Twilight’s incandescence. Rainbow buried her head in her shoulder, quivering.
She let Shining Armour open her eyes, sent a spark of panic to him, inflating the weakness that he felt as he was slowly choked unconscious. She traced a gleam in his eyes, catching Twilight’s attention, and then, with a heart-wrenching tug, wove the illusion of fog over those wide eyes.
That wasn’t the hard part.
The hard part, Trixie found, was standing there, for hours, as first Twilight, and then Cadence grieved. Watching, as the mountain shook underneath them—remembering how she’d stared up, flinching at every tremble in the ground. Listening to Rainbow’s frantic, desperate attempts to comfort her, and feeling Rainbow tense against her.
Eventually, a moment came where their attention was diverted away. She lashed out with magic, suddenly desperate to get away, to be done, nigh blinded by her tears, transporting the body away from the scene and substituting it with a construct of her own. It was good—good enough to fool even Luna, so long as she was nearby, so long as she fed it with her life.
And so she did. She could accept no less. Her penance, manifesting as devotion, a single-mindedness that saw her through days of grief—through Cadence’s heartbroken confessions and one-sided conversations, through the funeral, and the dedications of everypony Shining Armour had known and loved, Celestia herself interning the body in the ground.
It took two weeks. Within days, Trixie was exhausted, by the end she was almost insensate, capable of no speech, no action beyond Rainbow hoof-feeding her. The spell drew from her more than emotion, it drew the very will to live, all her desires and dreams and fears. She simply had nothing left.
Until, finally, Rainbow slapped her—hard—and told her to let go. Trixie stared at her, dumbly, with Shining Armour watching over the both of them. “It’s time to let go,” he said, not unkindly, and, as the words penetrated her consciousness, she fell immediately into a deep sleep.
THE WIND BLEW NORTH. A gentle wind, made of breezes and gusts, it blew in calm tranquillity. It covered the ground, coating it like a blanket of soothing balm. It crept through the ruins, the dirt-mounds, the decomposing wooden beams. It held, with a nourishing, protective strength.
There was movement. As the wind caressed a series of hills, it cried out in cheerful tunes, a welcoming wave, spread for miles around. It was carried in the rustling of leaves, the swaying of trees, the babbling waters.
The Mourning Mountains, they were called. Deep, in their bones, the rocks knew that. The wind knew them by a different name; Remembrance. It tangled itself in the twists and turns and it listened. It listened to the long tale of history.
The sun was warm, content to play across the land’s face. Summer nurtured the growth all around, the slow spreading of green and blue. The ground melted in its path, loose and supple. Replete.
The wind blew east. It moved with great strength, flecks of sand and grit wrapped up in its embrace. This wind was the easy grip of a father, a restrained power. It cherished the world around it, and relaxed into its path with simple laughter.
Eventually, it came to a shore. Distantly it heard the caw of seagulls, fishing for food in the ocean. It heard, and it responded, chasing the waves out to sea. It needed nothing out there, hoped to find nothing. It would always return.
The Great Sea, though some had argued that title belonged west. But the sea knew. It knew it by the depth of its floor and the weight of its waters. A great mass, a body larger, more ponderous, than any other; the wind stirred its surface. It danced in the waves, a duet, unobserved and precious.
The moon’s shackle was much the same. It carried no extremes, and the crisp chill of autumn covered the land in soft stillness. Like the crisp morning air at dawn, the wind’s wake carried with it the promise of the day to come.
The wind blew west. It stayed low, close to the earth. It had no speed, no force, just a cool kiss as it glided overhead. It touched everything, took a little, gave a little. It brought together things from far away places.
It blew for an age, never rushing, never changing its speed. It came to a quiet sea, spilling out across it like a warm blanket over a bed.
The Calm Sea, named for its gentleness, for a passive fulfilment of nature. It rocked under the gentle touch of the wind. Here, though, the wind rested; asleep with the Sea itself. It waited, content.
Spring, here, at the other pole of the moon. Gentle, rejuvenating; the land was verdant here, overflowing. The wind knew spring, could taste its sweetness in the air. And in its neighbours it found balance: a warm blanket, and a long night.
The wind blew south. It blew with the laziness of a gorged animal, a general apathy that gave way to the slightest resistance. It moved, and that was enough—the minimum to define its existence. All power the wind had once held was spent, scattered.
It traversed the plains slowly. It needed no rubble, no sand or fallen branches: no past to arm itself with. The high hills, twisting valleys, and deep ravines offered no barrier, but a rolling ramp, pushing the wind towards the sky.
The Salvation mountains had fulfilled their age-old promise, but it was not through them that the wind found freedom. It settled into the mountain tops, found there a home.
Winter, along the sun’s beam; a distant sun, was aloof. There was sharpness, here, a taste of metal. Water from the east and west, from the south beyond the mountains, froze into pebbles of ice in the air, rained down to renew the ground. Streams became bridges, lakes playgrounds for the animals that came to drink.
Then the wind felt something new. Something it had been waiting for, without knowing it. Nothing heard the whispers, conjured and carried by the wind. Nothing greeted the winds at their extremes. But at their source, at their centre, there . . . there the winds felt magic.
The great pool, held deep within the midnight structure, rippled. From its depths, a fuzzy head, led by two ears on pinpricks, emerged. It lunged upwards, as if catapulted out of nowhere, and fell back into the pool, lying on its back.
It took a deep breath, and started moving towards the edge, only to stop abruptly. It looked down, peering into the water, and held up two hooves. It squirmed, sighed, and then paddled slowly to the edge.
It clambered awkwardly onto firm land. Power thrummed in the air. But the pony only sighed, and sighed again.
It—he—was ash-grey, fur covering his entire body, shaggy fetlocks spilling over his hard hooves, and long, black tail and mane, soaked, and clinging to his body. Deep brown eyes turned, gazed around at the darkness.
A spark shot out from his horn, and he jumped. Gazing up, he smirked, and summoned another, and then another. Soon enough, the tip of his horn glowed with a pale brown light, enough to illuminate his surroundings.
He turned his light back at the pool, and found his reflection staring back up at him. Wide eyes, proportionally at least thrice the size he was used to, stared back.
He groaned. “I told them,” muttering, “I told them. This, this, is why you don’t give a Shard to a six-year-old. Adonalsium preserve me . . .”
The pony shook his head slowly, then, without another word, without so much as a backwards glance, he swam back out into the pool, and ducked beneath the surface.
The ripples from his passage reached out across the pool. Gliding, gliding, gone.
