//------------------------------// // Part 14: The Moon // Story: A Million Miles from Home // by TooShyShy //------------------------------// Lyra trotted for what seemed like hours, hypnotized by the glowing orb in the sky. She remembered stories from her foalhood. Tall tales about tribes of ponies living on the moon. Cautionary tales of Nightmare Moon and fables about the moon guiding the lost to their families. In a way, Lyra had been following the moon since her adventure started. She'd been chasing something just as elusive and just as beautiful. Lyra came to a halt, blinking in the darkness. She swung her head back and forth, taking in her surroundings for the first time. Where am I? she wondered. The question was more relevant than usual. In her trance-like state, Lyra had wandered further into the uninhabited wilds of Equestria. She had found a few trees, but civilization was still a mere want. Lyra couldn't see the shack in the distance, nor did she see any sign of Marble following her. Lyra pressed her forehead against a tree. Her head was throbbing with the light but vivid agony of a fresh headache. Where was she meant to go? How could she get back? Lyra tried, but her thoughts couldn't squeeze past the pain in her head. Her mental map stopped short miles back. At some point Lyra had been on complete autopilot, her hooves moving with no direction from her brain. If there had been landmarks, Lyra had missed them. Sleep, she thought. That was what Lyra needed above all else. She wanted to doze under the protective light of the moon. Her eyes had just begun to close when she heard the hoofsteps. Lyra's senses were working at half their usual efficiency, but each one reacted to the unexpected sound. Her eyes shot open and darted around groggily. The openness of the landscape and the lack of hiding places sent her brain into a mild panic. “Hello?” Lyra called. A protest rose from a distant corner of her brain, but she had already given herself away. A shape—Lyra's size—casually strolled into view. They stood there, observing Lyra with interest rather than malice. “I see our paths have crossed again very soon,” said the shape. “You were wise to follow the moon.” Lyra nearly burst out laughing in relief. “Zecora?” she said. The shape stepped into the light. It was indeed Zecora. She was wearing a traveling cloak and carrying several saddlebags. Despite the late hour, she looked completely awake. “How did you find me?” said Lyra. Zecora gave Lyra that gentle reassuring smile she seemed to have mastered. “I knew we would meet again some day,” she said. “But I did not think it would be this way. I had no idea you would be here. I was simply traveling to a place very near.” Lyra sat down, back against the tree. Questions were queuing up in her brain. Most of them were things she did not think Zecora could answer. Then again, Zecora obviously knew more than Lyra could ever imagine. “Why did you tell me to follow the moon?” she said. “If you didn't know we would meet, why did you want me to follow it?” Zecora placed her saddlebags on the ground. She curled up with her back legs underneath her, her front legs laying somewhat possessively across the saddlebags. “The moon has fascinated ponies for years,” she said. “A single glance could bring certain ponies to tears. But sometimes this fascination would turn tragic. For the moon is the source of all dark magic.” Zecora gestured at the moon, her expression turning completely serious. “The night was a time for mischief and sorrow,” she said. “Ponies plotted for a darker tomorrow.” It was Lyra's turn to raise her eyebrows. She was always in the mood for a good long story, but she wasn't sure about the point. “What does this have to do with Ponyville?” she said. Zecora shrugged. “All roads lead back to that place,” she said. “Ponyville is merely a single piece of the mystery. A larger truth you will soon have to face. You must look deeper into history.” Zecora got to her hooves. “You must figure this out on your own,” she said. “Only then will you be able to go home.” She reached into one of her saddlebags. She rummaged for a second, then withdrew a mirror. The mirror was oval in shape and about the size of Lyra's hoof. It didn't look special in the slightest. However, Zecora turned it around to reveal the familiar crescent moon shape carved into the back. Lyra took the mirror from Zecora. She gazed at her reflection. She didn't see anything unusual, but Lyra was mostly focused on how utterly wrecked she looked. The lack of sleep seemed to have aged her. “Use this to find what is hidden in the light,” said Zecora. “A mirror reflects what is wrong and what is right.” She picked up her saddlebags. With a kind farewell to Lyra, Zecora started on her way. However, she stopped after a few moments and turned back to look at Lyra. “If you keep going, you will eventually face the city,” she said. “To stop now would be a pity.” Lyra was about to ask which city in particular, but she stopped. It had to be Canterlot. Lyra was going back to where it all began. “Thank you,” said Lyra. She heard a shout in the distance. Lyra instantly recognized it as Marble's voice calling out her name. It didn't sound too far away. “Marble?” Lyra called. She could hear hoofsteps approaching at a rapid pace. Lyra did not even notice Zecora making a discreet exit. She was focused for the first time in a long while. Lyra remained sleep-deprived, but her brain had temporarily upped its productivity. Lyra looked up at the moon yet again. “The light,” she whispered. Lyra looked at the mirror. She had an idea of what she was meant to do. Hopefully she would get the chance. The moon would be full again the next night. Lyra had a plan. Marble—having actually slept—had accurately mapped out her journey from the shack to Lyra. She was able to get them back there in less than an hour. Lyra hadn't wandered too far away after all, as Marble herself confirmed. The worst part was re-navigating all the twists and turns a very transfixed Lyra had taken during her impromptu quest. “I'm so glad you're okay,” Marble kept saying. She guided Lyra over the threshold, her face still alive with worry. Marble seemed to think that Lyra might run off again if she didn't cling to her. She needn't have held onto such a notion. Lyra was in no state to do any running. Lyra collapsed onto the bed. Between yawns, she told Marble the whole story. While the entire account was undoubtedly important, Marble chose to focus on one specific thing. “Canterlot?” she said in awe. “We're going to Canterlot?” The Pie family knew a lot about Canterlot. It was—according to guidebooks—the “most beautiful city in the entire land”. It was “a wonderful triumph of ponykind” and “a land of scholars and wonders beyond the imagination”. Marble never dared admit it, but she'd always wanted to visit the so-called “greatest city in Equestria”. “It looks like it,” said Lyra. She was thinking about a potential encounter with Fleur or anything of that nature. Lyra was thinking about all the libraries, all the information she would finally be able to access. If she could answer at least one question, Lyra would risk running into Fleur. “But won't ponies recognize you?” said Marble. Lyra shrugged, disinterested in the prospect. It had not even occurred to her. “Its been a while,” she said. “I'm sure half of Equestria has forgotten about “Liar Lyra”.” She was going to miss the fabricated importance that title gave her. Lyra had once been all over the papers. It had been stressful and altogether invasive, but a part of her had reveled in the attention. She had believed that when—not if, but when—she found the truth, she'd have an audience. Perhaps there were some ponies still following her and waiting for the big reveal, but it wasn't the audience Lyra had wanted. “We'll start out right away,” said Lyra. But Marble shook her head. Her face had become stern, reminding Lyra of Cloudy Quartz. “No,” she said. “You need to sleep.” Lyra opened her mouth to object. What came out instead was a particularly immense yawn. Marble patted Lyra's head as one would a tired foal. “Canterlot will still be there when you wake up,” she said. “There's no hurry. The truth will wait for you.” Lyra pressed her head to the pillow. When it came down to sleep vs. truth, she knew sleep would win. Two minutes later, Lyra had fallen into a dreamless sleep. Lyra slept until the next night. She woke up immensely disoriented, briefly believing she'd stumbled back into her hectic university days. The place definitely smelled like her old dorm room. But when Lyra rubbed her eyes and looked around, she saw that it certainly wasn't. It was a lot cleaner. Marble was outside. She was packing things into the carriage, humming a cheerful tune as she did so. She didn't turn around when the door of the shack opened and Lyra stepped out. “Almost ready,” said Marble. Lyra rubbed her eyes again. Previous events had been coming back to her at a steady pace. “The mirror,” she said blearily. Lyra looked up at the sky. The moon was indeed full again that night. She went back inside and retrieved the mirror. Lyra departed the shack once again, mirror held aloft in her magic. She reflected on the perceived insignificance of the object. At least I can look at myself, Lyra thought. She lowered the mirror, balancing it on one hoof. Her reflection hadn't changed much. Lyra appeared healthier, but otherwise the same. However, Lyra couldn't stop looking into her own eyes. She thought she saw something there, something that perhaps everypony else had seen many times before. Sadness, she thought. But it wasn't mere turmoil. It was a kind of deep and inherent feeling of defeat. Lyra told herself she'd discovered many things, that she'd gotten far. But had she? There were so many things Lyra needed to know. There was no guarantee that a library in Canterlot would drop all of the answers onto her back. Lyra held the mirror up. Its reflective surface caught the moon in the sky. Marble had finished packing up the carriage. She trotted back into the shack. Marble was sure they had everything they needed, but she wanted to give the shack one final shakedown. Perhaps there was something useful in that chest. Lyra felt the mirror shift in her hoof. She felt ripples across its smooth surface, followed by a light vibration. Puzzled, Lyra lowered the mirror back to her eye level and peered into it. The mirror had changed. It no longer showed Lyra her reflection. The reflection of the moon lay frozen upon it, as if the mirror was buffering between scenes. Another pocket dimension? Lyra thought. But it was too small for her to stick her head into. Lyra wasn't certain whether this was a relief or a disappointment. As she could barely fit a hoof into the mirror, Lyra reached into it with her magic. She almost expected it to be empty. She trusted Zecora, but she didn't want to let her hopes soar at such an important moment. But the second Lyra reached out with her magic, she felt something within the mirror. She wrapped her magic around it, steadily and carefully easing the object out into the real world. A small book about a size or so smaller than Lyra's head emerged from the mirror. Another book? she thought. She was somewhat disappointed. Books had been a recurring theme during her adventure. Lyra had wanted something new, something vague. There wasn't even anything on the book's cover for her to decode. However, Lyra's heart leaped for a second. Given the book's small size and the fact that it was hidden, it could very well be the key she needed to translate the spellbook. Lyra opened the small book. An incredulous expression took over her face. The book was blank. It lacked a title, cover art, or anything of note both inside and out. The pages were utterly bare. Lyra tried holding the open book up to the moon, but nothing appeared. Marble emerged from the shack. She was carrying two traveling cloaks from the chest. She felt bad about stealing, but she had a feeling the shack's former inhabitant wouldn't mind. Lyra was casting some basic revealing spells on the book. But even though the spells confirmed that text certainly existed, the words never stayed long enough for Lyra to read them. She caught some words—the name “Spike” appeared more than once—but nothing Lyra could string together. There was something about the book that was resisting Lyra's magic. “Are you ready to go?” said Marble. But Lyra was still casting spells. She was holding the book in front of her, concentrating on yet another revealing spell. Surely one of them had to work. Lyra's arsenal was rapidly emptying, but she was determined. Marble trotted up to Lyra. She waved a hoof in front of Lyra's face, but Lyra seemed entranced. “Um, hello?” said Marble timidly. She placed a hoof on the book. Lyra continued to cast spells, oblivious to Marble. She was trying—and failing—to combine two revealing spells in the hopes of strengthening the overall effect. The second Marble's hoof touched the book, her intention was lost. What felt like a jolt of ice cold water rocketed through her body. She froze in place, a quiver scampering across her back. Pain burst inside Marble's head, but her hoof remained firmly planted on the book. Images—vivid and bare—pounded at the edge of her skull. With every pulse of her mind, the images became clearer. They came in faster succession, shoving aside rational thought and leaving Marble on the precipice of scared tears. Lyra was pulled from her trance. Noticing Marble's alarming state, Lyra yanked the book away. “Marble!” she said. Marble fell to her hooves. She lay there trembling and perspiring, the aftermath of the shock coursing through her body. Marble knew precisely what she had seen. She didn't understand how or why, but she knew what it had been. Lyra dropped down next to Marble and patted her head. “Are you okay?” she said. “Please say something.” Words came shuddering out of Marble's mouth. Her head shook slightly as she spoke, every sentence a gargantuan effort. “The well,” she said. “I can take us to the well.”