//------------------------------// // Book Two: Chapter Two: Vestiges of Control // Story: Myths and Birthrights // by Tundara //------------------------------// Myths and Birthrights By Tundara Book Two: Duties and Dreams Chapter Two: Vestiges of Control The army was nervous. Not the usual pre-battle jitters, but a deeper, more primal sort of anxiety clung to the neat rows of soldiers. Their necks crawled with an unnatural chill, and a few of the less resolute trembled so their knees almost knocked together. They all stood a little straighter, armour polished as if they were at an imperial inspection rather than standing in the middle of a golden field of grass, waves rippling across the surface from a hot, dry wind, awaiting the horns that would send them marching into battle. At the very heart of the army stood the reason for their added tension; Lord Halphamet. He was a huge, imposing zebra, broad across the withers and chest with toned flanks marked by a flaming lionspaw. Piercing blue eyes tore through anything unlucky enough to fall beneath his gaze. The tension in his strong jaw spoke his contempt more than any mere word could convey. Mane clipped into a spiky line so as to not get matted by his helmet, he cast a fierce visage on all those who looked on the lord. Confidence and cold determination oozed off the lines of his steel barding, enhanced by his every movement. Beside the imposing lord stood his spirit-companion, Shaleh, only adding to the oppressive weight in the air. An ifrit, the spirit stood clothed in snapping flames, her body composed of shifting embers over a core of shifting lava, fissures glowing red-black, and all held in the shape of a proud lioness. A low crackling accompanied the ifrit wherever she went, along with the pungent, overpowering aroma of sulfur and burning hot sand. They all avoided the spirit’s eyes of molten gold, sweat prickling their brows and hooves trembling. Behind Lord Halphamet, indifferent eyes fixed forward, were a dozen other Dahkrit Ifrit-Lords, each paired with a similar spirit. None of the other ifrit were as large as Shaleh, their flames pale, lesser things next to her glory. As her master was lord to the zebras, she was a noble among the ifrit, greater than her fellows and far more fearsome. The command tent for the generals was situated a little ways in front of Halphamet, white against the yellows and browns of the plains. No movement had been seen from the tent since Halphamet and his party had been spotted marching towards the army in the morning’s early light. Clearing his throat loudly, Halphamet waited with waning patience. “Perhaps they do not know your magnificence has deigned to grace their presence, master?” Shaleh purred and flicked her tail, a line of scalding embers hissing into the dry grass where they began to catch until a hoof from one of the Ifrit-Lords stamped out the budding flames. Her grin was reciprocated by her fellow ifrit, all baring their fangs in anticipation of Halphamet’s ire being unleashed. “Then they are sheer fools, in addition to incompetents,” Halphamet replied in a heavy growl. The same moment Shaleh chuckled at her master’s growing displeasure, the flap to the tent was tossed open and five ornately armoured zebras emerged. Bowing stiffly, a short dip of the head, no more, the generals guided one of their own forward. He glanced at his fellows sourly but squared his shoulders and took a deep breath for what was to come. “L-Lord Halphamet, this is an unexpected, but pleasant, surprise.” “I am not here for niceties, general.” Halphamet brushed past the cringing creature to enter the tent and survey the strategy table. “Our Empress demands an accounting of why her commands have failed to be properly executed.” “The griffons have been putting up a sterner response than anticipated, my lord,” one of the other generals said. Lord Athekra, a loyal, intelligent zebra from middling background, neither low-born nor distinguished. Perfectly unremarkable and overlooked, and in that way he’d managed to surprise his peers and earn his position. “Their harrying tactics impacted the supply trains just enough to slow our advance so they had time to fortify their positions.” “You possess the largest army on the continent, general. Are you saying a single, tiny garrison of birds is preventing you from advancing?” Halphamet asked the question earnestly, flickering his gaze over the wincing generals. “It is with deep regret, but yes, your lordship. We were overconfident and prideful, and slow to respond as a result.” Halphamet nodded slowly, and then smiled. “Good, your lessons are well learned.” The tension in the room dropped precipitously, the generals all breathing deep with relief. His role was very simple, to make the Empress seem invincible and all-knowing. That even when plans fell apart, to make them appear as if that had always been her goal, or anticipated. The Empire survived as much on the myths surrounding her empress as it did the strength of her armies and the revenue of her soon-to-be fully renewed trade. Twenty-one years of planning and preparation had led to this campaign, one that would determine that fate of all zebras, and perhaps the entire disc. It was unacceptable that a few inept generals would nearly bring it to disaster before the campaign had truly begun. Clamping down on his anger, and turning it into a steady bead that he used to infuse his voice with additional power, he turned to these professed leaders of the army. “There must still be an accounting for these failures.” And like that everyone was tense and on edge once more. “Lord Tethaamen, you are relieved of your duties and position. Your clan fined for half of the armies’ losses. The Empress has enjoyed the company of your sister these past few seasons, and it is for her benefit that you’ll be permitted to retire to your clans estates. Lord Athekra, you’ll take command of the armies and carry out our Empress’ designs.” Tethaamen stood stunned for a few moments, eyes bulging and lips moving in silent protests. Collecting himself, the general sagged just a little and nod. “The Empress shows her generosity once more,” he said as he bowed, far deeper and with reverence this time. Halphamet shook his head as the former general left the tent to gather his retainers and ready his possessions for the trip west. The fines would certainly cripple Tethaamen’s clan financially for years to come. As the senior general, the bulk of the rewards would have been his, but so too the responsibility and the costs were his to bear. It could have been worse, for the lord and his clan. None of them would have to debase themselves in indentured servitude, or sell their prized sons to fight in the arena. “Aw, I really thought you were going to let me eat him,” Shaleh huffed, a little pout on her burning lips revealed her large fangs. He frowned at the ifrit, letting his displeasure sparkle through the bond they shared. Grinning at his sudden promotion, Athekra stepped forward at Halphamet’s behest and explained, in detail, the plans for the common assault. Halphamet paid keen attention to the plans. While in truth they mattered little to him, results were his sole concern and not how they were attained. He did enjoy a good campaign. It had been years since he’d been able to lead whole armies, his role as the Empress’ Hoof keeping him busy with other duties. He found his initial estimates of Athekra to be accurate. The young general had a keen mind and laid out a solid plan that was at once over powering and brutally efficient. Under cover of the artillery the hoofsoldiers would advance on the fortress. The griffons would almost certainly attempt to send light harassers to cover the retreat of the cataphracts. Waiting for the birds would be crews of field cannons in the adjacent hills, their weapons loaded with grapeshot. If the cataphracts joined in the counter-attack, or attempted to hold the walls, the empire’s latest invention would be waiting; the dragon. Cousin to the cannon, the dragons were much smaller and could be effectively operated by a single zebra. Taking their name from the original ornate dragon headed weapon presented to the Empress by its inventor, the dragons had yet to prove themselves. Part of Halphamet sneered at the short metal tubes stuffed with magic powder and iron pellets. Crude, ugly weapons, they were near impossible to reload in the heat and fury of battle. They more than made up for this disadvantage in destructive efficiency. Watching his beloved empress test the first dragon before a crowd of nobles had brought a rare chill up his spine. More so for the smile the empress had worn after the smoke had cleared to reveal the target half blasted apart. “With the Stars’ blessings, the fortress will fall before this evening.” Athekra sweeped his hoof over the maps to the nods and murmured agreement of his fellow generals, bringing Halphamet out of his reverie. “I am pleased with your plan,” Halphamet replied when the eyes of the generals settled on him in anticipation. “There is only one thing to add. We must show our magnanimity. I will give the birds a final chance at surrender.” He did not wait for a response from the generals and spun to march from the tent and towards the fields. Shaleh kept pace the entire way, his cohort following suit. The army rippled with uncertainty as he entered their midst, determined stride carrying him through their heart on a cleared avenue. Around him, the soldiers tensed and snapped to attention to a rolling clash of spears. Gaze fixed on the border fortress, Halphamet did not let his pride show. These were all the finest of zebras, willing to give their lives for their empress. Emerging from the neat ranks of soldiers Halphamet slowed, and then came to a stop a few yards into the sun dried grass. Sol’s light glinted off helmets behind the murder holes and parapets of the fortress. The tops of spears could just be seen, and he knew near every eye was directed at him. Reaching through the aethereal cords that bound him and Shaleh, he touched her fiery magics and brought them forth. He did not shape any runes, directing her magic with pure will and intent. Shaleh did the rest, merging the magic in his stead and feeding it to him. Warmth leapt into his throat, an unnatural heat settling in the back of his mouth and spilling over tongue, teeth, and down into his lungs. “Griffons of Southstone, I am the Empress’ Horn,” Halphamet’s magic enhanced voice thundered over the fortress. “Hear me and know; should you lay down your arms now, you will be granted clemency and allowed to live under Her rule. Abide by Her laws, and you will be treated to the same rights and privileges of the common caste. Resist, and these fields will be wetted with your blood. Your fortress will be torn down to its foundations. Those in the towns and villages beyond put to the torch along with their homes.” He did not flinch at the griffon’s response, a crossbow bolt sinking into the earth between his hooves. Turning his back on the fortress he strode towards the command tent and dismissed Shaleh’s enchantment. “Just as she foresaw. Such a pity,” he said to himself. On reaching the waiting generals, he gestured with a lazy nod towards the fortress. “Sound the drums.” Three lengths across and sitting atop a cross beam trestle in a wagon, the drums were spectacular and ornate. Flags fluttered from the corners of the base, deep crimson tails caught in the warm breeze. Gold trimmed almost every edge, leading to a snarling dragons head that acted as a protective canopy for the team hitched to the wagon. Both ends of the drums held taut dragonhide leather and bore the crest of the empire. At Halphamet’s command, the two drummers, one painted pure black, the other white, and each wearing special shoes, reared up. At the first deep booms of the drums, one hundred and fifty thousand zebras began to march beneath the fluttering banners of the Gold Empress. Further in the distance there came the echoing groan and rumble of trebuchets. Boulders as big as a griffon spun through the afternoon heat, mere grey specs they were so far away. For a moment they hung in the clear blue sky, and then fell upon the fortress walls in a series of resounding, crackling booms. Chunks of stone blasted back onto the defenders. One unfortunate griffon was sent plummeting from the wall. He landed in a broken heap, flopped a few more yards, and was still. “They will take wing to counter-attack,” general Athekra said to his aide-de-camp. “Ready the cannons. I want the birds drawn close before the first barrage.” Turning to Halphamet, he put on a grimly eager smile. “You can trust us, my lord. We’ll be at Southstone’s gates before the Summer Sun Celebrations.” “I know you will, Athekra,” Halphamet assured the general as he took his leave, marching towards his waiting cohort. “Carry your head with pride, for it is destined that your name will be carved into Southstone’s epitaph as the architect of the griffons’ demise. The Empress has foreseen it. Oh, and general, have the griffons’ pelts sent to the elders of the Shali and Zebenese tribes. Let them know that we at last march to finish what our ancestors began. The griffon race will finally be purged from the disc, their cities put to the torch and their monuments torn down. When we are done, naught but a few, scattered families will be left clutching and grasping at the protective pity of ponies. May the Stars illuminate your path.” “May Her light guide your way, my lord,” Athekra replied in rote fashion, his mind already entirely consumed with the task at hoof. Under a private smile, Halphamet whispered, “That is yet to be seen.” From the depths of clouded dreams, chased by nightmarish tendrils of the sleeping world, Zubu was startled back into the waking lands. He jerked out of his cot, mangled leg thrust out to take up his staff as he looked for the danger that had hounded his restless sleep. Phantoms of an army and an encompassing sense of dread pressed down on him. Heart racing and breath taken in sharp, shallow gasps, he hobbled forward a few paces before the dreams fully parted and recognition of his hut took shape. Seated at the table, a spoon hovering just before her beak, Gilda watched Zubu with some concern. “Ha, nice to see even the mighty and terrible Zubu can have a bad dream,” she snorted before returning to her meerkat stew. A bandage covered a large lump where she’d failed the last series of tests, the throbbing in her head leaving her temper even shorter than usual, and her tongue more acidic. “The oneiras have carried to Zubu a dream through the Horn Gate from the Dreamlands,” he said after gulping his water. He began to pace, muttering under his stale breath to himself while Gilda watched with growing agitation. “The empress begins to make her move. Why march on cat-birds now? All they owned is already taken or in ruins. They pose no threat in their crumbling cities. Except…” Zubu darted a meaningful look to Gilda, then out the small window. He snatched up his best staff and made for the door. “Come, come apprentice, we must learn more.” Zubu hurried from the hut, taking only a small satchel stuffed with dried roots and medicines. So startled was she by the announcement that Gilda hardly moved from her seat. It wasn’t until Zubu poked his head back into the hut, and gave a sharp, “Stop dawdling with slack beak,” that she darted up. She hurriedly took up her own staff and slipped it beneath a wing, and grabbed a ratty set of saddlebags. Into them she tossed a haphazard selection of preserved foods and sundry supplies. Almost stumbling as she left the hut, head already aching from fear of Zubu’s potential punishment, she cinched the bags tight. His good forehoof tapped the ground with growing impatience as she rushed to join him while his mangled right leg twitched the staff held in the fused joint of his elbow. “It will be some time until we return, if ever. You made sure the bags were properly packed, yes?” His critical, milky eye darted over Gilda as a sour frown pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Will be bad, very bad, if there be no food for silly cat-bird after a few days. Can’t hunt where we are going. They won’t take kindly to that.” A grumbled retort was bitten back, along with the familiar yearning for the easy life she’d abandoned in Equestria. It was a very slight desire, one tempered by time and the lump of hatred lodged into her heart like a broken blade. “I’ve prepared a good supply, master,” she growled in response. He nodded, satisfied with her response, shifted his own staff again so it more comfortably rested on his back, and started off down a little used path. “It is far we must go. Far and dangerous, even for Zubu. Especially for Zubu.” He spat the words with a heavy weight of disgust. At the edge of the little dell where Zubu’s hut resided, Orenda greeted them. The kitsune was draped across a stout branch, her three tails dangling like puffy blue vines, chin resting on a white paw. “And just where are you off to in such a rush?” She demanded, cracking an eye open just enough that the gold orb could peer down at the pair. “To Zerubaba.” Zubu responded at once without slowing in his long, limping-hop steps. “A vision has been received, and we must answer the summons.” Mouth falling open, Orenda dropped from her perch, bounced off Gilda’s flank, and darted up onto Zubu’s back, then over his head. “Have your herbs finally ruined what was left of your mind? You can’t go to Zerubaba,” Orenda protested, blocking Zubu’s path, tails spread in a dancing fan. “They’ll kill you both on sight. That is assuming you survive the journey. I don’t know which is worse; crossing the plains or going through the jungle. Either the Dahkrit and their ifrit slaves catch you, or the others do. Each are as bad as the other. No, you will go through the jungle for sure because you are afraid of the ifrit. Twenty-five years we’ve kept the peace with them. Why risk it now because of some vision?” A chill spread up Gilda’s back and into her wings, and though she was certain she didn’t want the answer, she asked, “Who are you talking about?” “You cat-birds call them the White Apes. Silly name, as they are not white.” Zubu flopped his mangled hoof in a dismissive gesture. “What else would you suggest Orenda? Ifrit and their masters do not bargain. Best to avoid them as long as possible. The white apes are mostly harmless.” “Only because you stick to your little corner of the jungle.” Orenda massaged her forehead. “Just… What was this vision? Some clouded mess? Was it the iboga or the yellow lotus? Or did you fill your nose with that ancient batch of dream root? Those visions are always unreliable. No, I take that back. They are all unreliable.” “Bah! The vision is clear; the Gold Dragon has sent her armies east to fight the griffons. We must stop her plans. And, to do that we must cross the jungle.” “You stubborn old cripple!” Orenda shot back, her tails snapping and smoke rising from their tips. “The White Apes barely tolerate you being in what they consider their jungle! Going deeper into their territory will only aggravate them further. Besides, we know who she wants; Talona. The alicorn filly Beaky here lost. Remember?” “Beaky?” Gilda huffed, and was quickly shushed. “Do we?” Zubu hummed and tapped his staff against his shoulder. “She’s no prize to the empress. Oh, no. Too dangerous. Too likely to attract the Sun, or Moon, or Stars. She had opportunity before. Let it pass. Did not try to steal the dreamer. No, there is something else going on. Some other reason for her actions. The creaky and old Zubu can taste it.” “You’re seeing ghosts in the corner of your eye, again.” Orenda snapped, wagging her tails at Zubu. “Maybe, if this was more than just some drug induced vision…” Orenda’s voice trailed off, her tails ceased their dance, and then drifted down. Her muzzle twitched, ears fell, and then she threw up her paws in exasperation. “Fine! It’s not like I care what happens to the silly griffon. She’s your pet project, not mine. Don’t whine to me if they skin you both for intruding into their territory.” “Ha-ha! The cautious Zubu knows how to slip past white ape city. We be across the jungle within a week, maybe two, with them none the wiser.” Enthusiasm sinking, Gilda dragged her paws as Zubu lead the way towards the heart of the jungle. Hidden in the canopy, a cotton pink cloud watched and, were it possible, seemed to grin before darting off. Heart twisted in knots, Iridia moved to a drumbeat of her own hooves through Canterlot Castle’s corridors and hallways. Faces swam into view, some concerned, others frightened, all scrambling to get out of her way. She hardly gave them more than a glance, even when they were a little slow to clear a path and she almost bowled the unfortunate pony over. Only when High Priestess River Sparkle appeared down one corridor did Iridia give any sign of seeing what was happening around her. Her jaw tightened, face flushed, and stumbled a step as she shifted between turning back and moving faster. Catching herself before she tripped, Iridia halted there in the middle of the corridor. Noticing the queen, River’s own face took on a dark cherry hue. She apologised to the pony with her, and then, after giving Iridia a stiff bow, hurried off. Any other time and the odd dismissal would have tweaked Iridia’s curiosity. River was very much like an adopted daughter… or pet cat. Few were the mortals that ever held Iridia’s interest for more than the fleeting time they walked the disc. It was simple practicality. Their lives were so brief, and hers… was not. Nopony was served by growing overly attached. In the corner of her eye Iridia spied for an instant a familiar form. Breath caught in her throat, and a name unspoken danced onto her tongue. She half-turned, wings spread in surprise, and found nothing there. Just a tapestry ruffled by a slight breeze. For a few more seconds she stared, and hoped, and almost tugged the tapestry aside to see if anypony hid within the folds. Somepony asked if she were alright. She did not answer so silly a question. Iridia was far, far from ‘alright’. Picking up her pace, she set her mouth into a sharp line to dampen the quickening of her heart. Servants and pages darted out of her way faster now, and it wasn’t until she approached the royal quarters that anypony thought to check her advance. The barrier came in the form of Celestia’s aged seneschal as he went about his usual duties. Peering over his glasses, Chronicle stepped into Iridia’s path. His tail flicked back and forth, with ears pressed back. “Your Highness,” Chronicle said, a slight quaver in his voice. “Princess Celestia is rather busy, and—” In a voice like the snapping of a crocodile's teeth, she asked, “Do you know where I can find Cadence?” Caught off guard, Chronicle blinked a couple times, then directed her to the guest wing. Thanking him, Iridia spun about and headed off back the way she’d come. A few minutes later she stepped into the red drawing room and a light bubble of conversation that ended at her appearance. The warm scent of spiced tea tickled Iridia’s nose, rising from an elaborate serving set as it steeped. Scones, biscuits, and triangular cut sandwiches dotted a nearby tray. The afternoon tea was positioned within easy reach of the card table, where Magnum and Shining Armour sat across from Cadence and Fluttershy. From the demure grin on the latter, and the pinched brows of the former, it was clear who was winning the rubber of Whist. “If I am not mistaken, this is about to be another grand slam,” Cadence giggled as Fluttershy played. Gaze flicking up as Iridia approached, she gave a happy smile, “Aunty, I’m so glad you’ve come to join us.” For a brief moment Iridia was taken aback by the genuine warmth in Cadence’s demeanor. No stiffness, no withdrawn curtness, just a pleasant, curious tilt to her smile. It was such a welcome change from the responses given by the other members of their extended family that Iridia was taken aback. Still, she could not smile in return. Not with the worry pinching at her insides. Not with the lingering taste of Mountain haunting her lips. “Cadence, I need to speak with you in private,” Iridia said without preamble or further explanation, and made for the door to the adjoining blue sitting room. Placing her hand on the table, Cadence apologised to the other players, and went to join Iridia. Closing the door behind her, she asked, “What is the matter?” Iridia rounded on her and, in a breathless rush, said, “I need you to take it away.” Surprised by the vehemence, Cadence tilted her head a little and pressed her brows together. “Take what away?” “My love!” Iridia cried, throwing out her wings. “You have to take away my love for Mountain.” Cadence’s eyes, so similar to those of her mother and grandmother, darted over Iridia’s face. Iridia could feel Cadence extend her essence, probing the connections of Love. After a few seconds, Cadence’s expression shifted back to her usual small smile. Settling on a couch, she indicated that Iridia should join her. But, Iridia couldn’t. She still had to move, more so now that she was with somepony else. Sighing, and shifting so she was more comfortable, Cadence said, “Tell me what brought this about.” “It’s just… I love him!” Iridia moaned, as if it were so obvious all the problems that entailed. “He is—was—a mortal, and I love him. I can’t get him out of my head, and it is eating me up. Do you know what that is like? No, that is an asinine question, don’t answer.” Cadence laughed. “So you fell in love with a mortal. I’ve done it a few times, and each has been special in their own, unique ways. I don’t see the issue.” “You wouldn’t. You are Love.” Iridia flicked a dismissive wing. “I am the Spring, Birth, and Fertility. It’s different.” Brow raised, Cadence clicked her tongue. “I don’t think it is, but go on.” Exasperation growing, Iridia paced further. Her wings jittered, and her heart twisted more and more, like it was a boulder tumbling down a cliff towards the onrushing embrace of an icy bay. “I love him still, and he is dead. And worse, I can’t even talk about him because…” Iridia clamped her mouth shut, and for the first time she realised what she was doing. Cadence didn’t know the truth about Thundering Mountain and Twilight. Well, there was nothing else for it but to continue. She needed this resolved, and Cadence was the only pony in existence that could possibly give her the assistance she craved. “He is Twilight’s father.” The implications struck Cadence at once, and the mirth she’d been wearing disappeared just as quick. Letting out a long groan, Cadence reached up to rub the side of her head. “Why is nothing ever simple with our herd? This explains why Luna has been avoiding you, again. I’m going to assume that Twilight is the only pony left who doesn’t know.” Face pinched with a sour frown, Iridia tried her best to ignore the bite in Cadence’s tone and press on. “I’m scared, Cadence. I’m scared I will lose Twilight, too. I am scared that I will lose myself, as I did when Namyra was taken from me. I need you to take away my love for Mountain so that doesn’t happen.” “Why stop with Mountain?” Cadence snapped, her words causing Iridia to stop pacing as if she’d been struck. “Why not ask me to cut away your feelings for Twilight? Or for your sister, Celestia, Luna, and myself? You love us all, as well. Have me pull up all the love you’ve ever felt by the roots. Encase your heart in blackened armour so you can never love again, while I am at it. Turn you into an unfeeling thing no better than an animated statue.” Speechless, Iridia withered underneath the glare Cadence sent at her. Getting up, Cadence continued, “There is no easy fix for grief. You’re worried about becoming a nightmare again? Good. You should be. That fear is honest, at least. But, you’ve come to the wrong mare if you think I’d massage your guilt and coddle your concerns. My mother at least has the thin excuse of having carried a shard of madness in her soul. What excuse do you have for what you did during the Long Winter?” Each statement, every question struck Iridia like a hammer blow. She staggered back, breath caught in her throat, the room reeling around her. The scent of blood, and death, and ice engulfed her. They mingled together, swirling in a potent mixture, drawing forth hundreds of faces. Too many to be named. Starved voices scratched at her ears, pleading, praying for her to return spring. And she sat silent upon her throne, mourning her little dreamer. It was so close to happening again. Her heart ached. It pounded against her chest, and demanded something be done. “That is why I need my love for him removed!” Iridia shouted back. “If I don’t love him, I won’t grieve or strike out at those who stole him from me.” Cadence gave a shallow laugh. “Well, I’d certainly like to see you try, seeing as it was a demon he died fighting. What, are you going to march on Tartarus? Bring Eternal Winter to the underworld?” Iridia took a step back at Cadence’s vehemence. “N-No! What if I blame the town?” “Do you?” “Of course not,” Iridia admitted. “But, what if I do later? What if I close myself off again and deny the disc the next spring?” Softening, Cadence came up next to Iridia and extended a wing across her great-aunt’s back. “Well, you have all of us to help you through this. Take it from me; cutting away your love is not the solution. Instead of hiding in my tower, why don’t you join us?” Biting her lower lip to hold back a reflexive refusal, Iridia considered the offer. If Cadence refused to give her the relief she so fervently required, other means of control were a must. Iridia could not allow history to be repeated. She had to buttress her cracked heart with something. “I will take you up on that offer.” Iridia sighed. “I still feel it would be better if you just took away the pain.” “Excellent!” Cadence clapped her hooves, ignoring the latter statement entirely. “Since you’ll be joining us, I could use your help with a puzzle. I am having difficulty with Fluttershy. There is something odd with her that I can’t place.” In place of explanations, Cadence guided Iridia back to the red drawing room. She was bright, chipper, and so warm against Iridia’s side, giving the queen hope that, perhaps, the right choice had been made. Perhaps, this time, the cruel winter of guilt would be weathered. Three bells ringing from the temple tower signalled to one and all that school had ended for the day. Fillies and colts, wrapped in a cloud of happy chatter, darted from the schoolhouse, their teacher shouting instructions for homework as they raced home. Only one of the children didn’t flee the classroom as if it were on fire, covered in cockroaches, or cockroaches that were on fire. At the back of the classroom, Soir placed her books into her saddlebags at a sedate pace. She hummed to herself a little tune devoid of meaning that switched between bouncy, sad, and a low rumble without any discernable pattern. It was a private tune, one she’d worked on for as long as she could remember. Her teacher came up, shaking her head at the folly of her other students, and said, “Well, Soir, you should canter along. We don’t want your mother worrying again, now do we?” “No, ma’am,” Soir replied, not looking up. Her favourite pencil was missing. The dark blue one with the cutie mark of Princess Luna. Darting down, she looked under her desk, in her bag, spun around a couple times, checked her bags again, under the desk once more, and then the tapping of an impatient hoof and a gentle shove saw her out of the schoolhouse. “But, Miss…” The door snapped shut in front of Soir’s nose, and the lock was clicked in place. Slumping her shoulders with a long sigh, Soir turned and trudged away. Her pace was slow, as it was most days. Meandering through Lourdes’ she stopped frequently to peer through windows into the various shops. Boasting only a single cafe, Lourdes’ was the cultural center of its little region of southern Prance. The window Soir lingered the longest by held a dress of soft satins and shimmering gems. Based on a design from Equestria made popular the year before, it was all dark blues and royal velvets meant to hint at the history of Princess Luna Invictus, but with modern sensibilities in mind. Face pressed almost up against the glass, Soir wondered what the distant princess was like. According to the Book of Selene, Princess Luna had grown up in one of the valleys along southern Prance in what was then Trotalonia. She enjoyed imagining that it was the very same valley within which Lourdes sat. A dream of Luna darting through woods and over a pond flitted across Soir’s thoughts. The Princess of the Night was chasing her. Her! It was a game. An old one that they’d played many times before and would do so again. Cheating, Luna caught up to her, and they tumbled together through the grass. The day dream passed as quick as it came, leaving an empty pit in the bottom of Soir’s stomach. Or, that was just the pinch of hunger. Food rationing had grown worse just the other day. With the poor crops of the past year, and the needs of the army for the war with Hackney, there simply wasn’t enough to go around for every pony. Hope existed, however, as word spread that Lady de Lis had secured several shipments of grain and other goods from Equestria. The ambassador’s name was the toast at many a table as the good news spread, and every pony in Prance looked eagerly to the west for relief, if not outright salvation. This did not stop the very next breaths bemoaning that they had to go, hat in hoof, begging Equestria’s aid. No doubt, many agreed, Princess Celestia would enact a steep toll for her benevolence. Soir was luckier than most in this regard. Her mother’s talent in gardening allowed them to fill out their plates, enough so that they could spare a few cucumbers and radishes for their neighbours. Not looking where she was going, it was only natural for her to walk into another pony. Soir bounced off a large, black leg and landed with a thump. “I’m sorry,” she hurried to say, looking up, up, up to see a pair of vivid blue eyes staring back at her from down a long muzzle tipped in a pointed, silver beard. The stallion let out a long, huffy sigh, but didn’t say anything in response. He just looked on her as if he’d never seen anypony less interesting. Soir began to apologize again, but a crawling sensation underneath her skin made her stop. There was something very familiar about the stallion, though she was certain she’d never seen him before. Or, had she? So much of her life before waking in her mama’s bed following the Long Night of Princess Luna’s return was an indistinct blur. There were faces, shapes, feelings of terror, joy, and rage that permeated her dreams, but the specifics fell through her hooves like grains of sand. “Do I know you?” She asked, following that thread of her lost past. “Perhaps. Has the inevitability of death taken any pony from you?” The question made Soir’s insides squirm. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Are you an undertaker?” “Of sorts.” Came the clipped response. The stallion now looked at her with far more interest. He stepped around her, inspecting her from various angles, taking in her dusky blue coat, silver mane, and cutie mark. She possessed an intricate weave of rainbow lines within a golden rope circle, with a feather each from a Taigan Roc, a Phoenix, and a Paradiso dangling beneath. Soir had long wondered what her cutie mark meant. A click of his tongue, his gaze shot up to pink eyes, lingered on her mane broach, then let out a slight snort. “You should take care where you trot in the future.” And with this he brushed past her and headed towards the cafe, where a large, grey stallion sat waving. Soir watched him leave, perplexed by his abruptness. She was more and more certain that she’d seen the stranger before. The fragments of memories slithered along the back her head, prickled her mane and made her skin crawl. Eyes scrunched tight, she followed the trail of memories as if they were a line of ants, but could reach no revelation. Only the same shifting sea of coarse sand formed of her missing past. She prodded and attempted to push deeper, to find some clue as to why so much of her life was a blank. Just as she felt certain of a breakthrough, a shrill voice intruded into her thoughts. “Hey, if it isn’t the weirdo Equestria lover.” A heavy groan left Soir. She didn’t have to look to see the wide, malicious grins worn by the trio of bullies that had plagued her life for as long as she could remember. In a few short weeks, it’d be three years. Three years of the same group of fillies making fun of her, throwing her things into the mud and calling her names. Setting her shoulders, Soir reluctantly faced her tormentors. “Looking for this?” The leader of the trio held up Soir’s missing prized pencil. That it was hers was not in doubt. Bite marks showed Soir’s habit of chewing on her pencil’s end while working through a difficult problem. Soir locked onto the pencil, hovering in an orange glow, and shouted, “Give it back, Bella!” She reached out, only for Bella to yank the pencil away. A fairly plump filly, Bella belonged to House Trembler. Though only a relatively minor cadet branch of the House, the local Tremblers held almost all the political and economic power in the valley. As such was the way of things, Bella Trembler possessed the attitude that everything within Lourdes and surrounding area was hers to do with as she pleased. Especially when it concerned the ‘low-born’ unicorns. Something she went out of her way to remind Soir at every opportunity. “Why? It’s just a silly piece of Equestrian trash.” Bella covered her mouth with a faux gasp. “I forgot. You are all ga-ga for Princess Luna, aren’t you? I bet you even sleep with a doll of her!” “Look, she’s blushing!” “Ha-ha! She does, she does have a woona dolly.” The two, thick set fillies behind Bella snickered and nudged each other. “N-no, I don’t,” Soir stammered, with rather unconvincing effect. The simple truth was that she did have a wicker doll of Luna, made by her mother. At night she loved nothing more than to curl up around the doll, straw crinkling every time she moved. It was the only way she could sleep, her princess fending off the nightmares that otherwise prowled through her sleep. “So, you don’t want this back then?” Bella pulled the pencil away and gave it a little waggle. “Of course I do!” Soir tried to reach out with her magic, only for her aether to clump in her horn. Rather than the grasping aura most unicorn produced, all she managed to conjure was a wispy strand that barely had the strength to lift a feather. “Look, she’s trying to do magic,” the left bully pointed and laughed, drawing an amused snort from her friends. “It’s almost cute, if it weren’t so infuriating,” Bella agreed, spinning the pencil this way and that with casual ease. “What kind of unicorn that has her mark can’t even make a proper aura? Even blank-flanks can manage that at least.” A thick blush on her cheeks, and tears building in her eyes, Soir whined, “So I can’t do magic! Why do you even care? Why can’t you leave me alone? I never did anything to you. I think.” “Except going on and on about how you dream.” Bella put extra emphasis on the final word, turning it into a vicious growl. “You aren’t a unicorn. A real unicorn is able to do magic, dreams only once a year as is proper, and doesn’t write with their mouths like a common mud pony. You’re a freak.” With this last statement, Bella snapped the pencil and threw the bits into Soir’s face with a cruel laugh. Heart oddly still, Soir looked down at the broken halves of her pencil. She pushed them across the ground with a hoof. Anger at everything filled her gut and throat. It was so unfair. She’d never hurt anypony. Why did she have to be the pariah? Even the adults went out of their way to snub her and her mother. The spinster and the freak that showed up following the Long Night. Bad omen, they whispered under their breaths when she passed. Even then, from the corners of her eye, Soir could see no less than a dozen adults observing the scene while trying to also look anywhere but in her direction. With a word, any one of them could have ended the charade. But no, they stayed quiet and made no move to intervene. They probably silently cheered the bullies on! Lifting her chin, Soir glared daggers at Bella and her cronies, the bullies bumping hooves as they celebrated their latest victory. In the instant between rage and action the town melted away into a dusty desert plain. Soir stood at the heart of a chaotic maelstrom of clashing metal, death screams, and swirling sand. It filled her nose and stung her eyes, carrying a red tinge and the scent of iron. Her aura was strong, vibrant, clasping a longsword stained and nicked from years of use. She reared, hooves striking the air like hammer blows. Around her, the remnants of an army—her army—rallied, and drove into the enemy, and was slaughtered. A long scream rattling in her throat, Soir lunged at Bella. Guided by instinct, Soir didn’t just kick or attempt to throttle Bella, not with the bully’s accomplices right there to pull her off. When Bella attempted to back away from the maddened filly, Soir ducked low, snaked her hooves around Bella’s leg, pivoted, then threw herself forward. The surprised Bella shot over her back, leg held fast and twisting until it gave an audible pop. Screaming, Bella writhed in the street, drawing the attention of everypony. Shocked by Soir’s ferocity, the two remaining bullies backed away. Through bared teeth, Soir challenged the other two bullies to interfere. She knew exactly how to fight the pair, how to inflict the most damage in the shortest period of time. Sneering, Soir applied more pressure, drawing another howl from Bella. “Some friends you—Hey!” Soir was plucked off Bella, lime green magic preventing any attempts at escape. “Soir, what are you doing!” Jardin screeched, marching up to her daughter, a bag holding their allotted loaf of bread falling discarded in the street. It took all her effort to hold Soir, little sparks darting from the tip of her horn. “They started it!” Soir shouted, trying to thrust a hoof at the trio. “I do not care who started it,” Jardin snapped, her tone such that Soir knew better even in her anger than to argue further. Bending down, Jardin felt Bella’s shoulder. A yelp broke through the sobs. “It’s dislocated,” Jardin explained, more to the other adults coming to help now that somepony had been hurt. “Send for the doctor,” somepony said to another in the growing crowd. When a fleet hooved mare had darted off, the pony said to Jardin, “You should take Soir home.” Jardin didn’t argue and retrieving her bread and daughter marched off, Soir bobbing along at her side. “Interesting, brother,” Zeus said to Hades, the brothers sitting at one of the cafe’s outdoor tables, “She is clearly divine. But appears as a mortal.” Far more interested in his coffee, Hades didn’t glance up from the steaming, creamy brown liquid. He issued a noncommittal grunt, and nothing more. “You know more of this world. Have you ever heard of anything like this?” Zeus pressed, tapping a hoof on the table in an attempt at getting Hades’ attention. “Very little, in truth. Ioka is a backwater, with only a small district in the south-west of Tartarus. They have no god of the dead or death, and so fall nominally under my supervision. It has been a few millennia since I had cause to take any interest in that portion of the city. On the whole, the Iokans are rather quiet and keep to themselves. I’ve never had reason to do more than bother learning that Iridia and Faust held sway over this world, and let the district take care of its own affairs.” Zeus was entirely unsatisfied with his brother’s explanation. He clicked his tongue twice, swirled his own bitter, black coffee, and then swallowed it in a single burning gulp. “An alicorn filly doesn’t concern you, then? One bound by such a powerful curse as to appear mortal?” Zeus pressed after watching Soir and Jardin disappear down the street. Shrugging the wings he kept hidden behind layers of illusions, Hades asked, “Why should it? Who can say what made Iridia or Faust cast their daughter down to scrape out some meager existence among the mortals.” “Have you no sense of adventure? Of curiosity at all?” Zeus sighed, then tugged on his beard as some new thought came to him, “I wonder at her lineage.” “There are only two options. Flip a drachmas.” A playful swat jolted Hades forward just as he was about to drink his coffee, causing it to splash all over his face and chest. “No, the father, you blockhead. Who could be the father?” Zeus rumbled with his natural good humour. Dabbing at his coat with napkins, Hades glared at his brother. “How should I know, or care? I imagine that they either went to one of the other worlds, or some god or other passed through. Those mortals by my gate did mention them having a herd. Why do you even care, brother? Jealous that there might be some other god out there with a brood as large as yours?” “Ha-ha! Never! My sons and daughters are legion!” Zeus beamed. Hades glowered. “What about Poseidon?” Hades pointed out. “He cheats, being father to the rivers,” Zeus waved a dismissive hoof, then hopped off his chair, “Come, let us follow her and find the truth for ourselves.” Hardly seeing the point, but aware that arguing was futile, Hades followed at a languid pace. A prickling of the mane told him they were being watched and he had little doubt that before long one or both of the divine sisters responsible for the disc would make their presence known.