//------------------------------// // Chapter Seven // Story: On the Nature of Alicorns // by Typoglyphic //------------------------------// Twilight sat at her desk with Star Swirl’s spell book beside her. She flipped a few pages, and stopped on a random spell. She ran a hoof over the page, feeling the indentations of the quill marks and thinking of the eccentric mage who made them. Her pages of deciphered journal were still completely disordered and unlabelled. She would have to organize them as she went. She gathered all the loose paper in her study into a tight pile, which she set next to her on the desk. She took a deep breath and dove in. Star Swirl’s inability to come up with clever names apparently extended to poetry. While his spells rhymed, as most incantations did in Star Swirl’s days, their meter and word choice was all over the place. The main purpose of each spell—most of them, anyway—was to tie together different portions of spellwork. The first few chapters contained mostly utility spells with very basic functions, many of which were typical of verse spell construction. Two phrases, usually in iambic pentameter, though Star Swirl flouted that particular rule constantly. Connected verses rhymed, and sometimes carried over bits of meaning through simple word association. However, the further into the book she read, the more spells there were which only tied different sections together, leading to some truly ridiculous couplets like ‘the nest of reeds wrapped within crowning cocoon; from shattered magic, ascendance balloons’. If not for the journal, Twilight wouldn’t have been able to follow the bouncing internal logic of the spell book for more than ten pages or so. As it was, her notes were becoming distressingly similar to Star Swirl’s in their disorganization. She found herself marking two or more lines in the spell book along with an annotation from the journal, followed by personal comments, all crammed together in a tiny paragraph to one side of the page. Even after filling up several pages worth of notes, and reading through the spell book cover to cover twice, Twilight was still only slightly closer to understanding the spell book’s construction than she had been after her first glance through it days ago. The few spells that actually did things weren’t distinguished in any way from all the spells that combined and guided them, and, even in his personal journal, Star Swirl hadn’t bothered writing down what each utility spell did. As the shadows grew longer and longer across the floor of her study, Twilight’s curiosity started to give way to exhaustion. She started miscounting letters as she flipped back and forth to find the cipher key, and even screwed up the basic algebra to decipher it more than once. She reached the back cover of the spell book again, and let the book fall closed. She stretched out a hoof and slid off the chair, barely pulling the rest of her legs in before she hit the floor. She stumbled for the door, intent on getting an early night, for once. A pile of papers toppled as she pulled the door open, and something hard landed on one of her fetlocks. She blinked her bleary eyes at the offending… biology textbook. Oh, right. She’d also grabbed some of Star Swirl’s other work. She lifted the book up in front of her and paged through it. As she ran her eyes over the lines of careful hornwriting, she felt her exhaustion start to drain. She turned the page, and her eyes shot open as the word ‘chromacord’ leaped out at her a few paragraphs down. This was exactly what he’d been looking into before writing the spell. Maybe she’d been starting in the wrong place? She poked her head out of her study and glanced longingly down the hall in the direction of her bedroom, then turned around and walked back to her desk. She set the book down and started at page one. This book contains the results of almost ten years of research and experimentation. I have facts, hypotheses, and pure speculation. Unlike many of my contemporaries, I do not claim to understand even half of my subject of study. None of the leads presenting in the following pages have been fully explored, and few are even demonstrably relevant. Despite my ignorance of the finer details of this new field, what information I have to present is dense and abundant. Twilight grinned. This was what she loved. No ciphers, no cheap rhymes. Just her and a bunch of knowledge made tree-flesh. She shifted on her hard wood chair and she turned the page. For the most part, this book only confirmed what she already understood from reading Star Swirl’s journal, but the exact phrases he used… the terminology he created… She looked at the closed spell book. Maybe… maybe she should take another crack at it. She flipped open the very first page and read the first spell. Rend the mundane, bring power to surface. Right, that was common in Star Swirl’s era. She read the next. Within the mind’s eye lies magic’s purpose. Okay, she could work with that. A scrying spell. A lot of primitive teleportation magic had used spells like these to lock onto a destination. She kept reading. Transient thought reveals patterns of grey. Drifting apart, but connected they stay. Twilight groaned. And she was lost again! What did patterns have anything to do with…what did he call them… chromacords? They were threads, not patterns. Or… wait, were they… Twilight lifted the biology book and flipped around a bit. Star Swirl hadn’t been generous enough to include a table of contents, an index, page numbers, or headings of any kind, so navigating the book was a challenge unto itself. She eventually found a few paragraphs describing chromacords. While at first glance chromacords appear to be the most fundamental building blocks of pony heredity, further study has revealed that they are in fact composed of even smaller particles. My current hypothesis is that each of the thirty-two chromacords are composed of different combinations of these strands. A particular chromacord’s composition appears to be ubiquitous across all cells of a subject’s body. Twilight frowned. So the chromacords themselves were made up of specific combinations of smaller threads? And if every pony cell had identical chromacords with identical weaves, then a pattern detection spell could be modified to lock onto every identical chromacord in a pony’s body. She looked back at the spell book, her face slowly lifting into a wide grin. The next two spells were simple little couplets, each of which seemed to describe a different pattern. One unicorn chromacord and one alicorn? The scanned down the rest of the page. The rest of the spells either invoked other simple effects, or built off of the first few, combining and qualifying them. She read forward a page or two. They all merely modified the spells on the first page, so far as she could tell. If Star Swirl had only prepared the spell for it to be used by a unicorn… well, obviously, only a unicorn could cast the spell, but it raised the question… how could this spell be turned outward? Cast by somepony on somepony else? She shook her head vigorously. She had to unravel the mystery of the spell book before experimenting with it. She shivered as she thought again of Star Swirl’s final journal entry. If she could ever raise the nerve to experiment with something as dangerous as this! The further she delved into the journal, the more intricate the spell combinations became. Star Swirl may not have been an poet, but he had certainly known how to pack as much into two rhyming phrases as he could. Some spells spun half a dozen or more previous spells together, and others applied strange alterations and transformations on those already tenuously connected effects. Despite her advanced knowledge of magic, and her extensive reading of works by the greatest minds in Equestrian history, she couldn’t help but marvel at Star Swirl’s ability to develop a spell so complex in such an inefficient medium. She was almost scared to imagine what he might have been capable of if given access to modern inventions like spell matrices and runic incantation. As she neared the end of the spell book once again, she still didn’t truly know the evolution of Star Swirl’s masterpiece, but she felt that with enough time, and patience—lots of patience—she’d be able to truly grind down into the mechanics of the spell, and perhaps even apply some of it to… She shook her head. She had a decision to make, and all the studying in the world wouldn’t prepare her for it. She could either turn all of her notes over to Celestia and let all of this fade away, or… She tapped her hoof against the floor a few times. “Or what?” Sometimes, decisions are hard. In retrospect, Twilight had a tendency to fixate on difficult decisions.Sometimes, decisions are hard. In retrospect, Twilight had a tendency to fixate on difficult decisions. A rhythmic tapping echoed throughout Castle Friendship as Twilight’s hoof beat against the crystal floor of her bedroom. She knew everything she needed to know, so why did it feel like a storm was brewing beyond her control? Why did she feel like a filly crouched in a closet, hiding from her parents even though she knows that she has to face them eventually? She had tried reading. She had tried sleeping. Even pacing had failed to quell the hysteria rising in her throat. So here she was, curled up against the side of her bed. Tapping. How long did it take for a letter to get to the Crystal Empire and back? She did the math in her head. She liked math. Math was simple. She frowned. Her letter should have gotten there by now, and, if they had written back immediately, which she was sure they would have, then it should have shown up hours ago. But the mailmare had already passed, and no such reply had arrived. If only Cadance was powerful enough to cast dragonfire. Twilight gave up tapping with a forehoof, rolled over onto her back, and resumed tapping with a rear leg. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. She should be doing something. Coming up with a plan to deal with Celestia if she really was crazy. Reading further into Star Swirl’s spell. Fighting a monster from the Everfree. Something other than laying on the floor like a foal before a visit to the dentist. But the thought of getting up, of just ignoring the alicorn-shaped shadow that loomed over her, sent a cold shiver through her. She was fine. Everything was fine. She just had to think things through. That was why she’d come up here, after all. To sit down and think. And tap, apparently. Tap tap tap. So Celestia had sent her Star Swirl’s spell book, all those… well, months ago—it felt like a lot longer—knowing that Twilight could die if she messed it up, and now that Twilight was close to the truth, Celestia was trying to… what? Scare her into giving up her research? Twilight frowned. That didn’t sound right. Celestia wasn’t vain. She wouldn’t go to such extreme lengths to cover up a mistake. Although… As far as Twilight knew, Celestia didn’t make mistakes. How many other things had Celestia censored over the years to maintain her image? Twilight decided that the floor was too hard and too cold and that tapping was boring and she needed to pace now. She rolled to her hooves and started trotting in a tight circle, her legs tingling and her joints popping but she didn’t slow down. Censored. Star Swirl had made huge medical breakthroughs thousands of years ago, and Twilight was the first to rediscover them. That was bad. She wasn’t a doctor, or even a scientist, really. She was a princess, and a student before that. How many ponies had pursued this sort of knowledge before her? The Star Swirl the Bearded section of the Canterlot Archives were locked to all but a very select few, all of whom were personally connected to Celestia. If Star Swirl’s work were common knowledge, she was sure the Pegasus Magic shelf in the library would be much bigger. Probably the Earth Pony shelf too. Even in her admittedly half-panicked state, Twilight could imagine two or three entire branches of study based on the contents of Star Swirl’s journal alone. All of that lost because of Celestia. So why? Crack! Pain shot through her head and neck as she stumbled away from the wall, leaving a horn-sized scratch in the crystal. She fell to her haunches and swayed as she waited for the stars to clear. Maybe she wasn’t quite as good at pacing as she thought. She need to get out of here, to do something. She was almost tempted to teleport right back to Canterlot and just ask Celestia to explain this whole mess away. Still, Rarity’s advice had been good. She should wait to hear back from Cadance. Ugh, waiting. She should have just taken the train right to the Crystal Empire. Letters were inefficient. Heh, maybe she could just fly there right now. She was eyeing the window and shifting her wings when the dull throbbing in her skull reminded her that she had a still very potent horn. Why fly, when… “Spike!” she called, hoping her voice would carry all the way through the castle, “I’m going out. Be back in a few hours, okay?” She didn’t hear a reply, but Spike was used to her heading out on sudden adventures anyway. He’d probably be thrilled to have the castle to himself. The Crystal Empire was almost a thousand miles away. More than four times the distance to Canterlot. Twilight lit her horn and focused on North. On the cold caress of snow on her ankles. On the crisp, fresh air. On the dazzling lights cast by an entire city of crystals. A flash lit her bedroom, and she felt the familiar sensation of the world dropping out from under her. Her eyes shot open as a blast of freezing wind slammed into her, and she stumbled sideways. She struggled to catch her balance, then looked around at crystal buildings, shimmering in the cold afternoon light. Apparently she’d made it. The towering spire in the centre of the city was all the direction she needed from there. After a few minutes of trotting and another few minutes of ‘mandatory security screening’ by vaguely terrified palace guards, Twilight found herself in a warm, thankfully non-crystal sitting room with a cup of tea before her. She sat back and took a sip, grateful for the warmth and relative dimness. Just as her chills faded and her headache began to ease, the tall double doors across from her opened, and a familiar pink alicorn stepped through, followed by an even more familiar white stallion. “Twily!” he shouted, dodging past his wife and pulling Twilight into a hug. Twilight grinned despite herself and returned the embrace. She glanced over Shining’s shoulder and caught Cadance rolling her eyes and smirking. Shining Armor pulled back after a second, though he was wearing a grin to match Twilight’s own. “What brings you, Twilight?” Cadance’s voice wavered as if she was suppressing a laugh. Her eyes wandered back to Shining, and her lips twitched upward again. She looked back at Twilight. “It’s not like you to drop by unannounced.” “Equestria isn’t in danger, is it?” Shining asked. There was genuine concern in his voice. Twilight shook her head. “No, no. Nothing like that.” It was probably a bad sign that ponies thought the world was ending when she showed up unexpectedly. Maybe she should visit more. Although… “Actually, now that you mention it, I’m not… uh… this isn’t a social call.” Twilight winced. It hadn’t sounded much better in her head, either. “I’m glad to see you both, of course, but…” She paused, brow furrowed. “Wait a minute… did you not get my letter?” They both shook their heads. Huh. Weird. It definitely should have arrived by then. “Well, no matter. I’m here now. And I could really use…” She trailed off as Shining and Cadance shared a look. It was hard to tell with them looking away from her, but Twilight was pretty sure they were smirking. Great. “Of course. How can we help, Twilight?” Cadance asked smoothly. She and Shining settled onto a love-seat opposite Twilight’s chair. There was a moment of silence as Twilight gathered herself. She had discovered a lot in the past few days, and the jumble of half-connected thoughts still raging in her mind didn’t suggest a good place to start. Her audience seemed patient, though, so… Right! Star Swirl’s spell. That’s were all this began. She had stumbled across it while… no, she’d gone looking for it, because Celestia was avoiding her questions about alicorns. Questions which had yet to answered, now that she thought about it. That was fine, Star Swirl had probably figured it out at some point. Twilight took a deep breathe, and then, “Celestia wants to take my book away.” That didn’t come out right. “I’m, uh…” Cadance’s face twitched, her eyes visibly watering. Twilight appreciated her restraint. “I think—” “Dark magic again?” In stark contrast to his wife, Shining Armor was as serious as ever. “Twilight, I know you have wings now, but you’re still a young mare. I’m sure Princess Celestia knows best—” “No. No to both—let me try that again.” She set herself. “Celestia is hiding something from me. From everypony. But I figured it out.” She glared at them. “And what she’s hiding is a book. That’s what I meant.” A moment passed. Cadance’s smile slowly fell. “A book?” “Star Swirl’s spell book. His masterpiece. And one of his journals” “Spell book? The one that you rewrote before your ascension?” Twilight grimaced. “Well, yes. But I didn’t rewrite it, I finished it. And it wasn’t before my ascension—it was my ascension.” Cadance winced visibly. Twilight hadn’t meant to sound quite so defensive. “Okay,” Cadance began slowly, “so what is it about Star Swirl’s book that Princess Celestia is trying to hide?” Cadance was using her foalsitter’s voice—kind, patient, indulgent. Twilight hated it when she did that. A few words in that voice could make her feel like bumbling filly again. Not this time, though. She wasn’t being a foal. This was serious. “Star Swirl discovered a new aspect of pony biology. All of the cells in our bodies contain the exact same thirty-three tiny threads. Star Swirl named these threads ‘chromacords’.” Twilight stood and started to pace. There wasn’t much room between the coffee table and her chair, so she had to squeeze her shoulders in every time she passed in front of them. Still, pacing helped. She kept her eyes on the floor. They hadn’t interrupted her yet. “A pony’s chromacords seem to be connected to their overall physiology in ways that I don’t understand yet.” She finally looked up. Cadance and Shining Armor stared at her in rapt attention. She continued. “Star Swirl recorded all of this in a coded journal that Celestia has been hiding in her study for years. Probably millenia.” Shining Armor licked his lips, then asked, “So… how did you get your hooves on it?” Cadance gasped. “Twilight! You weren’t rooting around in Auntie Celestia’s study, were you?” She sounded horrified. Twilight frowned at that. Sure, it was rude to snoop, but Twilight had never gotten the impression that Celestia’s study was off-limits in particular. “No, I didn’t do any rooting around. Luna did,” Twilight answered, resuming her pacing. “She heard from Celestia that I was digging into Star Swirl’s masterpiece, and she gave me the journal. She found it a year or so ago, after we defeated Nightmare Moon. I took it back with me to Ponyville and deciphered it.” Shining squinted, his jaw tight in concentration. “Okay, so Princess Celestia hid one of Star Swirl’s journals from you. I understand why you’re angry but…” he glanced at Cadance as if seeking support, “don’t you think you’re blowing this all out of proportion a bit?” Twilight stomped a hoof. “No. You don’t understand. I’m not being idealistic. If I published the breakthroughs in that journal, it would revolutionize modern medicine overnight! And that’s just the start! How do you think I got these?” She flared her wings dramatically, the purple plumes stretching out past either end of the coffee table. “Star Swirl knew how to manipulate chromacords so well that he wrote a spell to create alicorns.” Cadance leaned forward, her eyes wide. “Alicorns? You mean… more than one?” Twilight paused. From what she knew about Star Swirl’s spell, the fundamental building blocks could be adapted for just about anypony. The bits at the end about the elements of harmony, though… those might not work for anypony who wasn’t a bearer. She met Cadance’s eyes and nodded. “Not right now, but with a bit of work… probably. Although,” Twilight bit her lip, then continued, “Star Swirl miscast the spell, and it killed him. I don’t know if I could ever feel confident enough to try it on another pony.” Cadance swallowed. “Well, I think Aunt Celestia was perfectly justified in hiding a book like that. Can you imagine what could have happened if you had miscast the spell?” Twilight narrowed her eyes. “Yes, because I did miscast the spell,” she growled. “Don’t worry, I was fine. For some reason it didn’t affect me at all. My friends, on the other hand…” She trailed off, leaving the possibilities to hang in the air. “Celestia sent me that spell book and encouraged me to attempt Star Swirl’s final spell. It could have killed me. It could have killed them. And now that everypony is safe and sound, she’s doesn’t want me to understand the spell I cast, even though it could do so much for ponykind.” She looked at her brother. His ears were flat, his eyes wide. “That’s why I’m angry.” There was a moment of silence. Twilight glanced down and realized that she had her front hooves planted on the coffee table. She cleared her throat and awkwardly stumbled back into her chair. “Are you sure?” Shining asked. He was breathing deeply, purposefully. “Because if the Princess really did risk your life—” his nostrils flared, “without even warning you…” A pink hoof pressed against his shoulder, quieting him. Cadance’s eyes were narrowed, and she peered at Twilight coolly. “I know Celestia, and so do you, Twilight. She’s kind, and generous, and compassionate. Do you really think she’d do something like this?” Twilight shuddered. “I don’t know. Maybe this is all some big test? Maybe I’m just crazy.” Her ear twitched, and both she and Cadance turned to look at Shining. He was staring past her at the wall, breathing strained, shallow breaths. “Uh, Shiny?” Twilight said. “What’s wrong?” “It’s her, isn’t it?” he rasped, his eyes wide and wild. “She’s back. As Celestia this time. It all makes sense.” It took a moment for Twilight to realize who he was talking about. She gulped. Could it be? Cadance rolled her eyes. “Not this again, Shining.” She shifted so they were side to side and draped a wing over his broad shoulders. “We’re fine. I’m fine.” She glanced back at Twilight. “He’s been obsessed with the changeling queen ever since the wedding,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “She’s still out there, Cady,” Shining muttered. “You know that she’s going to try again someday.” Cadance sighed and returned her attention to Twilight. “Why don’t you go and ask Celestia about this?” Cadance said. She was trying to do her foalsitter voice, but the words came out a bit too strained. Too desperate. Twilight imagined a white alicorn standing before her, the downy wings that had comforted her as a filly looming up and around her like a cage of feather and bone. She imagined Celestia’s serene expression twisting with rage and fear into a grotesque parody of the regal princess. “Because I’m scared,” Twilight whispered. Cadance gave her a gentle smile. “Of Celestia?” “What if she’s as perfect as ever? What if the problem’s me?” Twilight hung her head. “Or what if she never was perfect? What if I see through it all?” “Or what if it’s her…” Shining whispered. A nova of green light lit the room, startling all three of them. Shining shot to his feet, crouched and ready for battle. Cadance whipped her head around, before settling her attention on the loose roll of paper that slowly floated to land on the table between them. Twilight almost laughed. She levitated the letter up to read it. Twilight. Celestia’s in Ponyville. She’s looking for you. I don’t know where you are, but she seems really mad. -Spike. Twilight’s blood boiled. She dropped the letter to the table, and Cadance levitated it up and stared at it. Cadance frowned. “Twilight… you have to talk to her,” she said, passing the letter to Shining beside her. He stared at it for a moment, then jerked his head to look at Twilight. “She won’t hurt him, right?” he asked. There was a dangerous edge to his voice. “Shining!” Cadance exclaimed. She stared at her husband askance. He didn’t turn from Twilight. Twilight was staring past them, her eyes unfocused. She let out a shaky breath, relieving a bit of the tightness in her chest. “No,” she said, starting for the door, “she won’t.” Cadance jumped up from the couch and rushed in front of her, wings splayed. “Slow down, Twilight. You’re not thinking. Spike is fine.” Twilight glared. “Have you ever seen Celestia mad?” Cadance pursed her lips, then slowly shook her head. “Can you even imagine it?” She shook her head again. “Well, I can, and I’m not going to leave it alone with Spike.” Twilight lit her horn and physically lifted Cadance out of the way, dropping her roughly back onto the love-seat. Twilight shoved the door open and stepped into the hall. “You used to worship Celestia!” Cadance called from behind her. “What happened to you?” Twilight turned around. “You’re right. I did.” She eyed Cadance for a moment, taking in her carefully preened wings and gleaming horn. Thirty-two. She looked at Shining. Thirty-three. “If you fear something for long enough,” Twilight reached out toward Cadance with her magic, “you’ll eventual grow to resent it.” There they were. Thirty-one normal pony chromacords, and one large, twisted alicorn chromacord. “Maybe that’s not really fair,” Twilight said, reaching out now toward her brother, “but now I realize,” thirty-two little threads glowed in her mind, “I’ve been afraid of Celestia for a long time now.” She was about to turn away when something about Shining’s chromacords caught her mind’s eye. In the space between his fourteenth and fifteenth chromacord, a tiny filament of magic seemed to dance, connecting the two threads. It almost looked like an alicorn chromacord. “Twilight?” Shining asked, taking a step back. “What are you doing?” Twilight blinked, then turned back to the door. “Leaving. Sorry for wasting your time.” She took a step beyond the threshold before remembering just how she’d gotten here in the first place. Lavender light spilled from her horn, and she vanished in a blinding flash of light.