//------------------------------// // The Soulshear // Story: PaP: Bedtime Stories // by Starscribe //------------------------------// "Why did we have to go so far, Paladin Forge?" Meadow Sweet pressed her head up against the window of the Skimmer, watching the ocean blast by below them. She had seen so many incredible things over the last few months, the least of which had been her initial recovery. Much of those early months had passed in a blur of travel, spent in one of Athena's Skimmers. The craft was barely large enough for four ponies, though this one contained only two. Herself, and Night Forge. Forge sat at the controls in the front of the skimmer, surrounded by glass and levers on all sides. Between his massive size and impressive wingspan, he barely fit . But Forge was not unique in that way. All of Athena's ponies were impressive, often as much as a full foot taller than average. Mares were not exempt from this, though she'd been told she wouldn't be nearly as large as Forge when she finished growing. Mostly she tried not to think about that. Forge himself had a dark purple coat with a darker patch under his belly. He had a white and yellow mane, and a white scar that ran up the length of his face through his glass eye. Sweet did not know where it had come from, and she did not intend to ask. Not from a pony big enough to eat her if she annoyed him. "Because you cannot learn to use a Soulshear in a training ground," he said, glancing over his shoulder to look her up and down. "This is the first and greatest weapon of a Knight, and it will be useless without an enemy. We must find Unmade for you to fight that will not tax your abilities too heavily." Sweet slid out of her window seat as though she'd been petrified, sliding along the glass bottom until she came to a stop near Forge's control chair. "I... uh..." she wilted. "Are you joking, master?" Forge laughed, so loudly it echoed over the roar of the propellers outside, so loudly it drowned out the rumble of the engine. "Unfortunately not, squire. Athena is nearly certain we are dealing with only a single Outsider in this case, weak and small enough that it should present you with an excellent opportunity for training." "I haven't been a squire for a year yet!" she protested, rising to her hooves again and backing away. It was a little harder--Sweet wasn't naked anymore, as she had spent most of her life. Now she had a fabric jumpsuit, as thin and breathable as cotton but somehow strong enough to stop a knife. On it was Athena's Owl crest, along with a few spells woven into the fabric. Athena might not be the god of magic, but she knew more about it than anypony Sweet had ever heard of. Her old world had been so small, so limited. She hadn't known there were whole countries across the ocean, she hadn't known about aircraft and machinery and electricity. She hadn't even known about germ theory, or algebra. She knew all those things now, and many others besides. Most of a scholar's time was spent learning. No, all of it. She was learning now, though not theory today. "Can you summon your Soulshear?" Forge asked, turning back to his controls. Far below them, Sweet could see land in the distance, a series of tiny green islands surrounded by water. There was a much larger continent in the distance, though she didn't recognize it. Sweet had learned a great deal about the world's geography from Athena's maps, but she did not recognize wherever they were going. "I... yes," she reluctantly admitted. "You make me do it fifty times every morning, remember?" "I do," he smiled at her. "Today, you will do more than summon the weapon. Today you will use it. First on me, then on objects, and finally on one of the Unmade. Your first kill is a mark of pride you will carry for many years to come." Sweet nodded. "I..." she blushed, looking down at the ground. "I'm ready to see what it does for real. I know it's impressive magic and all, but... it's hard to believe. All the things ponies say... if you can kill an army of Outsiders, why are there still petty kings? If Athena had been ruling my country instead of some king I'd never met, my family might be alive. Forge did not answer right away. The pony concentrated on the landing, leaning forward and resting both forelegs on the sticks. Sweet didn't watch him, though she badly wanted to. Instead she made her way to one of the three seats in back, and strapped herself in. She had only had to be slammed into a wall once to learn that landings could be bumpy. This one wasn't. Forge touched them down in a tropical forest surrounded by thick trees. How he could navigate them through so many towering trunks and connected vines, she didn't know. Probably comes from being a bat. All that practice flying in caves. Of course she didn't say that either. "Alright, Sweet. We received reports of a single injured spawn lurking in the swamp near some ancient ruins. We have landed as close as possible, about one mile away. What should we bring?" "Well, uh..." Sweet unbuckled herself, looking up at the armory shelf above the seats. "We might need... no, you just said one. And it's too close to need to camp or hike. We won't want boots in a swamp, ummmmmm... Armor and the Soulshear should be enough, right?" Forge hopped down off the pilot's chair, removing a glowing crystal from within and pulling the chain into his own cloak. Forge had not brought his armor this time, only the padded jumpsuit like hers. His had the marks of a paladin instead, but otherwise it was practically identical. "Good, you were listening. A knight travels with as little as possible, in case he is captured or killed. Everything we use is irreplaceable, and anything that falls into an enemy's hooves might be turned against us in time.” They made their way out of the skimmer, which closed behind them like a sturdy insect withdrawing into its shell. The skimmer’s delicate propellers and spindly wings curled up within the shell, until the craft had shrunk down to the size of a large boulder. A boulder with a steel shell. It did not smell sweet outside. Sweet curled up her nose at the swamp stench, a smell that was halfway rotting fish and halfway methane. The ground sunk a little under her hooves, though not very far. It wasn’t full-blown mud, for which she was thankful. Night Forge stopped her with a hoof. “That is far enough, squire. We will practice here before we track the beast. Ready your blade.” Air seemed to rush in around Forge’s extended hoof, as though he had open a door leading to deep space and it was all rushing away. Light burst forth from his skin, spreading and lengthening until it was nearly twice as long as she was, a massive blade that no pony could’ve lifted if it were made of metal. A Soulshear was not made from metal. She looked away, backing up and shielding her face from the warmth. Yet the wet ground wouldn’t start to smoke, no matter how hot it might feel to her. A Soulshear was not fire, and it did not produce true heat. The blade acted a little like Forge was a unicorn, in that it remained attached to his leg without any straps to secure it there. It would move at his mental command, though it would remain attached. Once he broke contact with it, the weapon would be instantly destroyed. Forge swung the sword through the air in one of the practice-stances, whirling it in front of him, dancing with the blade. It looked almost as though he were fighting an invisible enemy with a sword of their own. “What are you waiting for?” He asked. “Prepare your blade!” Sweet froze, closing her eyes. It took a great deal of focus, imagining the shards of crystal that had been implanted into her legs by Athena’s skilled surgeons. Remember your pain. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to see Whitewater again. Her cottage on fire. Her mother’s screams. Your pain is the key. As Sweet remembered her suffering, she found an energy building in her, as though she were a small gear in a very large machine, yet the designer was focused on her. She heard distant music, and her terrible vision of Whitewater transformed. She saw ancient stone buildings, a path winding in the distance, and an endless desert of white sand. Energy flooded into her, though it didn’t come up from the Earth as she had come to expect all her life. That power needed an outlet, and the crystals provided one. The air rushed in, a maelstrom wrapping around and around her hoof, coalescing into a Soulshear. Her own weapon was only as long as one of her legs, a short sword of modest size. It looked like fire, frozen in mid-burn, warm through her coat yet not hot enough to burn. If anything, it was a pleasant sensation, like a warm bath after many hours walking through the cold. The Soulshear came with a price. Your weapon is your soul. Sweet felt it--an indescribable emptiness in her body, which felt physically drawn towards the blade. She still remembered falling limp and helpless the first few times she had drawn it, as the icy nothingness strangled her. Months of summoning and practice stances had helped her through that. "Good." Forge gestured, and his own blade vanished in a flash of light, which drifted slowly towards him until it had been completely absorbed. "You have learned the first three rules. Until this point, you have been ordered to use your blade on neither object nor pony. Have you honored those instructions?" She nodded. "Yes, sir. I have." "That rule is now lifted." He pointed at a nearby stump, sticking out from the ground. "Slice through the top half of that stump. A single stroke, as quick as you can." Sweet grinned, rearing back and preparing to strike. She had heard so many stories about how a Soulshear worked, but been unable to confirm them. It wasn't like she'd been invited to fight with the troops before. Sweet swung, in the same motion she might've used with a practice sword. The Soulshear passed through the stump like it wasn't there, like the sword had been made of mist. Its shape remained coherent as it came out the other end, leaving a fresh slice in the wood. Her cut had been at a slight angle, and the top began to slide to the ground, perfectly flat and smooth. Like cutting through ice with a hot wire, only much more quickly. "By Arinna's own hooves... I can do that?" "You can," Forge said. "And now you have learned the fourth law: The blade parts all things. Repeat it." "The blade parts all things," she said, matching his tone. "The forth law." "There are two others, and you will learn them both today." He spread his legs, opening his wings wide, and staring at her. "Stab me." "W-what?" Sweet staggered back, though not very far. "Master, are you certain--" "In the head! Don't you dare touch my uniform, not even the collar. Right through my head and nothing else. No hesitation squire, or you swim home!" "Yes sir!" Sweet closed her eyes, stabbing forward with one hoof. right at his face. She couldn't watch, not after what she'd just seen with the wood. She'd just learned the law, after all. A Soulshear could cut anything. She felt no resistance as she shoved it through her master's face, until the curved cross guard connected with his cheek and refused to pass further. She opened one eye, expecting to see some terrible wound... but she saw nothing. The Soulshear had faded to mist as it passed through Forge's skin, emerging on the other side of his head without passing the distance in-between. "What?" "Out," he barked. "Oh!" she pulled back her hoof, blushing fiercely. "W-why didn't it cut you? Is it because you're a Paladin? Did Athena's magic make you immune?" "No," Forge summoned his own blade, a hundred times faster than she could've hoped to do. No hesitation, no closing his eyes, no breathing exercises. A simple effort of will, a rush of air, and Forge had his towering Soulshear. "Hold perfectly still." He extended one hoof, aiming the blade at her. She could see its sheer point, steam rising from the end. Sweet froze, squeezing her eyes as tightly shut as they would go. "No!" Forge barked. "Watch it happen! You need to know what this is like. You cannot fight if you fear your most potent weapon." She reluctantly forced her eyes open. As her concentration faltered, her own blade vanished in a puff of light and magic, passing through her, and dissolving into her body. The change was immediate, as familiar sensation swallowed the emptiness that had gnawed at her. The despair burned away as her soul returned to where it belonged. Well, that was how Athena had explained it. She had no reason to doubt what the goddess had said, though she also had no way of confirming it. Forge didn't chastise her for losing the sword. Instead he shoved, thrusting his own blade right between her eyes. Sweet froze, watching as the searing warmth that could cut stone and steel passed through her face. She had expected pain at least... but she felt nothing. A warm breeze, a distant memory of pleasant things. The sound of a forge, drinking tea in the summer and looking out on the cliffs. She remembered good things she had never seen. Then Forge removed the sword. "Repeat the forth rule for me again, squire." "The blade parts all things." "Yes. But you are not a thing, and neither am I. The fifth law is this: To all that lives, I do no harm. Repeat it for me." She did. "Good," he gestured around them, at the jungle plants, the vibrant life that crowded close together, soaking up all the sunlight they could. "The Soulshear cannot quell a native spirit. It doesn't matter if that spirit is in a bird, a tree, a deer, or a pony. Your spirit recognizes its brothers and sisters, and it will not harm them. Do not take this as license to use a Soulshear without restraint, however. Dead matter has no spirit, and so the sword can still kill. Remove an important support on a building, damage a skimmer in flight, or break open a dam... these things can kill without needing to sever the soul directly." "It cuts dead things, but not the living," Sweet said. "What about... things that aren't either one? What about the Unmade?" "The sixth law," Forge answered, grinning at her. "I will not tell you until you see for yourself. Know, however, that this was the first and only purpose for your blade. A single Voidseeker knight can fight a hundred lesser spawn without fear. The greatest paladins, with armor to protect them, have fought thousands." Forge's sword vanished, and he leaned in close. "A Soulshear is a powerful weapon, and lesser spawn have little defense against it. Know, however, that having a sword that can fell one of them in a single strike does not make you immortal. A trap will still kill you. If they drag you under the water, you will still drown. If they shoot you, you will still bleed." He turned away, facing into the jungle. "The fisherman's Kampung is this way. We will speak with his family, and determine where to go to find the beast." They walked a long time. Sweet wasn't sure why they couldn't have just landed closer to the house, but she didn't ask. Such questions often ended with her doing even more exercise when they got home, and still not getting an answer in the field. She could do nothing but trust that Forge had his reasons, and only question him after the mission was over. He was far more willing to explain his reasoning in retrospect if she obeyed in the moment. The Kampung wasn't unlike the cottages she'd seen back home, though it had paper windows instead of glass. It also stood a full pony's height above the ground, raised on posts clearly made from the trunks of whole trees. No smoke rose from the chimney, nor was there any other sign of activity. Nothing but a slightly unusual smell, strange spices Sweet didn't recognize. A set of wooden stairs led up to the door, and Forge gestured for her to follow him. "You won't understand this," he whispered. "You're too new for the language implants. Just smile and back me up if anything goes wrong." "Uh..." Forge knocked on the door with one hoof. Silence. He knocked again, frowning at the closed door. "That's weird. His wife should be home at least." This time, something did move from within. Hoofsteps made their way to the door, and a metal latch moved. The door swung open. The interior of the house was very dark. A pony's face emerged, visible only through a tiny crack in the door. An older stallion, an earth pony like she was, with a pink coat and bright blue mane. He didn't look nearly as cheerful as his coat suggested he should be. "你好," Forge said with a bow. "你今天捕的鱼儿怎样?" "你好,它们还行吧," said the fisherman. "可是我看你还是走吧." "我们可是根据你的要求而来的!" Forge argued, sticking his hoof in the door before the fisherman could shut it again. "我抱歉如果你不相信我们的主任,可是她只是想帮助你们的。 我保证我们来的原只是为了知道你在哪里看到那个怪物。知道了这些,我们就会马上离开。" " 你们不可以来这里的。" the fisherman said. "我看你们还是离开吧。" Even though she couldn't understand what the fisherman was saying, she could recognize a change to his tone. Something was wrong. The smell had become much more intense with the door open, and there was something familiar to it. It was the same smell she had scented in Whitewater, the night her old life had died. Meadow Sweet ignored the conversation as it became more intense, closing her eyes and remembering her pain. It was much easier this time, with the familiar smells, the darkness she sensed in those words. It was pain, a quiet forced desperation. Remember your pain. Your pain is the key. Your weapon is your soul. The blade parts all things. To all that lives, I do no harm. It seemed as though the Soulshear itself was eager to be summoned. She felt no emptiness as she did when she practiced, no numbness and pain. Only an eager anticipation. Everything happened at once. The flimsy wooden door exploded outward, smashing into Forge. The blow deflected him off the platform, sending him through the railing and onto the ground with a dull thud. He'd obviously blocked the blow meant for both of them. Unfortunately, that left her alone with the fisherman. In the full light of the tropical sun, Sweet could see that this pony wasn't quite what she'd expected. A thick growth spread across the back of his head, a spindly white fungus that twisted through his flesh, sprouting mushrooms and leaking with sickly green fluid. The stallion charged at her. Sweet's Soulshear formed on her hoof a second later, bursting into brilliant light. It curved slightly towards the oncoming stallion, as though anticipating the blow. Sweet screamed, raising the blade to cover herself. She didn't stab the fisherman so much as held it out at him as he charged. The pony tried to come up short, tried to slow his approach, without success. Sweet felt resistance on the blade for the first time, as it sunk into the Fisherman's neck. It wasn't like the stump... it didn't cut a clean line through flesh. It didn't seem to be cutting at all. The stallion still crashed into her, sending Sweet bouncing down the stairs. She lost her Soulshear as she fell kicking and screaming. Something heavy landed on her, crushing her into the soil. It was a corpse. Sweet screamed, clawing and bucking to get out from under the thing. With the strength of earth, it did not take very much. She bucked, rising to her hooves in a single furious motion. The Fisherman's body had no cut in its neck, where she had stabbed only moments before. As she looked down, conscious of Forge rising again beside her and brushing away chunks of wood from where they clung to his uniform, she could see only a faint burn-mark on the surface of the skin. Even as she watched, something like black tar bubbled up from the tiny incision, seeming to boil on contact with the air, hissing and popping as it burned away. Sweet stared down, eyes wide with shock. "I won't make you suffer through what must be done," Forge said, walking past her. "Wait a moment, I will return." He hurried past her, up the stairs into the house. Sweet listened after him, to the sound of a struggle from within. There were a few screams, high feminine screams filled with loathing. They didn't last. Glass broke within the house, and something clicked several times. By the time Forge walked out, the first flickers of orange flame were already visible behind him. "What..." she began, trailing off as she realized. "His wife?" Forge nodded, eyes downcast. "And the creature we came to hunt. It acted more boldly than we expected." He reached out, closing the poor fisherman's open, staring eyes. Blackness continued to boil out from the cut she'd made through his neck, though the flow seemed to be dying off. "Is there..." Sweet hesitated. "I'm guessing this growth on his back..." "Yes," Forge walked around to the other side of the corpse, pointing at the back of the neck. "There is no way we could have erased this. This infection has no cure. The greatest kindness we can offer is a painless death. That, and a prayer to Athena that the soul survives." He straightened. "The sixth and final law for you to memorize, Squire: Never spare the unmade your blade." "Never spare the unmade your blade," she repeated, staring down at her hooves. "Corruption spreads, squire. The orchard is vast, and we its only tenders. Every one of the unmade you destroy is another family that survives."