//------------------------------// // Part Two // Story: The Rariad // by Tundara //------------------------------// The Rariad By Tundara 2:Tartarus Built on a low hill in the western quarter of the Iokan district, Sombra’s tower was an imposing edifice of green crystal clasped in dark steel fingers. Several floors high, it loomed from a hilltop of the quarter. Little windows pitted the side here and there in cracks that leaked golden light. At the base of the tower stood a cluster of bulbous outbuildings that appeared closer to fungal growths on the crystal spire than natural extensions of the crystal itself. A tall iron fence pushed back the other buildings on the hilltop, giving enough space for a pleasant, little, actually living garden. A few hydrangeas stood clustered to one side, and sickly, but alive, stubby pine tree leaned over a well-worn bench. Though tinged yellow, even grass grew around the tower, clinging to the warmth given by special lamps set about the grounds. Lacking a gate, or any opening, there was no way to pass the fence except by climbing, flight, or unconventional means. The air before the fence was sickly, heavy in the lungs and left Trixie’s eyes stinging. She pulled her cloak closer about her face, in part to ward off the miasma but mostly to keep herself hidden from the clusters of souls at the fence. Hooves stretched towards the oasis of life contained within, the crowd brought to mind stories of formless, shambling zombie hordes. Low groans issued from gaping mouths did little to banish the idea. Trixie and Anchor stopped short of the shifting mass pressed against the fence, neither certain what to do next. How were they to enter the tower’s grounds or gain the attention of Sombra? There was no way to sneak past the desperate dead, every available inch taken up by their mangy, sodden souls. On the other side patrolled guards; hounds of charcoal black, thick green smoke pouring from the corners of their mouths, and gargoyles perched on the tower or wheeled in slow circles in the sky. As they watched, a few of the spectres managed to scale a portion of fence. Before the spectres hooves touched the grass, the hounds bayed and lunged, and the gargoyles screeched as they dived. Fangs clamped down on the spectres’ legs, the unfortunate souls howling and thrashing, and were dragged off into a secluded, dark corner, there torn apart, their final shrieks drifting across the hilltop. Stone talons latched onto those that managed to escape the hounds, and yanked the intruders into the sky. A few flaps carried the gargoyles and their prey out over the city. Unable to watch, Trixie turned away before the gargoyles dropped their victims. Screams echoed above even the rain as the spectres fell several hundred feet to the unyielding stone roads. Though too far to make out clearly, the sound of their spectral forms shattering twisted her stomach. “Ideas?” Anchor tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the tower. “None yet. Give Trixie a minute to gather information,” she replied. They retreated to a sheltered porch from which Trixie could stare at the tower, the fences, the crowds, and the surrounding buildings without drawing unwanted attention. She stared so long, and so hard, her cheeks began to set into a hard squint. If not for the occasional swish of her tail, it would have been easy to mistake her for a statue. The minutes rolled into hours, and the hours into days, and then weeks. But, no answer could she divine on how to reach the tower. No pony ever came or went, only the gargoyles. They alighted on a sill at the top of the tower before slinking inside. As a joke, Trixie once suggested shooting herself over with a cannon. Assuming a functional one could be found. Otherwise, she was at a loss. “Figured anything out?” Anchor asked as they began the return trip back to the manor at the end of the second week watching the tower. “Trixie has had many ideas, but only for the fence. The hounds and gargoyles, however.” She shrugged and shook her head. “The Great and Powerful Trixie… is perhaps a little confounded. Fighting is not her usual area of expertise. Trixie is an entertainer, not battle-mage. She tells stories, does stage art using illusions both magical and mundane. Having to fend of some fell hounds and magic resistant flying statues; this is beyond Trixie.” At the disappointment that sagged Anchor’s ears, she added, “For now.” “Well, I’m sure that—Hold up,” Anchor thrust out a hoof to block Trixie’s way. There, ahead on the main thoroughfare, coming quickly towards them were the zebra brothers, and with them a coitre of assorted thugs and ruffians. Trixie and Anchor darted through the nearest door, mouths pinched tight, and both preparing whatever spells or weapons they possessed. For Trixie is was a repurposed fireworks spell. While harmless, it would at least create confusion enough to escape. Anchor, meanwhile, drew one of her many knives, teeth clamped tight on the grip and eyes pinched into a grim line. Where the mare kept her knives, Trixie dared not ask. Breaths held they watched the door. The voices of the brothers, muddled by the wood and omnipresent rain, drew nearer, and nearer. Shadows fell across the gap. The planks outside groaned beneath hooves. The voices stopped, and then started again, growing fainter with every moment. Trixie let out her breath, her heart beginning to still. “What are those pricks doing up here?” Anchor hissed through her teeth, peeking her head out to check if the coast was clear. She caught the fleeting flick of a tail rounding the corner, and heading down the opposite slope of the hill. “So much for Sombra controlling the entire district, unless they work for him,” Trixie snorted and rolled her eyes. “Aye, this is bad if they’re desperate or confident enough to poke their noses up here.” Taking a more cautious route back to the manor, Trixie wondered just who it was the brothers served. She’d never gotten a name. Part of her wished she knew who it was that was after her. Another part wondered what she’d even do with the information. Nothing different. Deep in thought, Trixie didn’t notice the crowds on the street swell until she was being pressed in on all sides, almost unable to move. Shouts rippled from ahead, hooves stamping on the rain slick cobblestones as ponies attempted to move out of the way of whatever approached. Pushed to the side by the crowd, Trixie couldn’t see the cause for the commotion, or fight the current of bodies. Anchor clamped onto her tail so they wouldn’t be separated in the noise and chaos. For a second, Trixie turned over her repertoire of spells in her head. A ringing din of marching hooves touched Trixie’s ears, rising over and crushing all other sounds in a rhythmic chorus. The noise grew, fear now coursing through the crowd, pushing up harder against Trixie in a mad dash to clear the road, but there was nowhere to go. And then the ponies on Trixie’s right vanished. No, they were thrown out of the road, flung like the spray of the ocean on the prow of a ship. Spectres thudded onto the roofs of the tall houses that hemmed in the streets. With the sudden loss of pressure, Trixie stumbled off the sidewalk a half-step. Just as quick she was yanked back by Anchor, and she was fortunate for the assistance, as the cause of the commotion appeared out of the fog. Alicorns. Hundreds of them, marching in precise lines, gleaming armour hugging flanks and withers, with shield, spear, and swords at their sides. Broad bands of black paint covered their faces and extended down neck and shoulder making them appear as some artistic impression of a zebra. Those souls that didn’t get out of their way and were not cast aside fell beneath the alicorn’s hooves, trampled into the ground with no more concern than if they’d been insects scuttling across the pavement. Far too many such spectres lay in the alicorns wake, twitching and spasming as they attempted to reform, or broke into a hazy mist and were lost for all time. Golden eyes fixed ahead, the alicorns marched with a singular purpose. “Who are they?” Trixie asked in a low whisper. “The Furies,” Anchor answered, and she made a mark in the air before muttering. “Stay out of the way of that lot. Think of ‘em like the Royal Guards back home, but rolled up with the Judicators, army, clergy, and nobles into a right nasty mess.” “But, there are so many of them. And they are all gods?” Anchor gazed long out of the corner of her eye at Trixie, long enough for the Furies to pass and the normal flow of activity to return. “Like ponies, not all gods are made equal. At the top you have the big chaps like Hades and Celestia. Great, honking beacons of power, them. Then you got the ones in between. Still important, mind you, but they also tend to answer to somepony else. A few don’t, though. Enough so that you can’t really say it’s a rule one way or the other. Princess Cadence would be a good example, I suppose. Then you got the ones on the bottom who always have somepony holding their reins. The Furies are in that division. Now, that don’t mean they are pushovers by any stretch. They are low on the pecking order among the gods, but they are still gods, and we little mortal souls got to get out of their way or be trod over, as you saw. Never seen them in our district before. Come on, Trixie.” Trixie didn’t follow right away, transfixed watching the furies until they’d vanished deeper into the district. The remainder of the journey to the manor was, thankfully, uneventful. The same could not be said for the manor itself. Upon stepping into the warped entrance hall, Trixie knew something was amiss. There was a tingle of recent magic in the air. It buzzed and filled Trixie’s mouth, like wool on her teeth. Powerful magic had been at work. Heart catching in her throat, Trixie dashed up the steps, calling out for Rarity as she went. She took the stairs two at a time. At the top she stumbled, hooves catching on the edge as the same, strange magic crackled down the hallway from Rarity’s room. There was almost a musical quality to the aether. A jarring, heavy, electrical sound twisting around a core of startling beauty and wailing majesty, crashed down on Trixie. It pulled at the edges of Trixie’s essence, faded her vision, and for the briefest of instants, she was certain that she floated on a cloud. Then the wave passed and cold reality crashed down on her senses with numbing vibrancy. Catching herself, Trixie hurried to Rarity’s room, casting the door open with such violence that it banged against the wall and left a spiderwork of cracks that began to heal at once. Half in the room, Trixie was brought up short, hooves scraping across the rich carpet in her attempt to stop. She gaped, and only just heard Anchor come thundering behind her over the humming noise of her adrenaline. An elder oneries sat perched on the leg rest of Rarity’s lounge. Plumage a rich, vibrant gold, flecked with black and white, the spirit was far larger than any other of its kind Trixie had before seen. Easily the size of an eagle, it fanned large wings towards Rarity, feather tips just barely avoided touching the quiet pony. Thin tendrils of silvery aether lifted off Rarity with every beat, rose up in a coiling dance, and settled like beads of morning dew on the spirit’s wings. Each time another pulse of the strange magic rippled over Trixie. Eyes like two polished silver coins darted towards Trixie, and the spirit ceased its magic. “What are you doing to Rarity?” Trixie demanded, clouding her horn in the beginnings of a spell. “Nothing that will cause her harm, Elysian,” the spirit spoke, her voice a fluttering hum that tickled the ears. “I was sent to gather a dream of Rarity, no more.” “A dream? Who for? What bugger requires a golden oneries to bring her some fancy dream of my Rarity?” Anchor advanced up beside Trixie, a deep set scowl sent at the spirit. “Answer me or I’ll decorate the floor with your innards and wear you for a hat.” The spirit fully faced the two ponies, and spread her wings. A wall of fire leapt up between them, and consumed the room. Through the blazing wall nothing could pass. Heat, enough to curl and sear the edges of Trixie’s fur slammed into her. Shielding her face with a leg, Trixie missed the oneries leap and vanish into the folded curtains surrounding Rarity’s bed. Flames collapsed, and the spirit was gone, teleported away. Within moments the room regained its pristine shine, leaving no evidence of fire, or Trixie’s forceful entrance. And, then, the flawlessness began to fade. The wallpaper peeled here and there, the furniture took on a beaten, loved texture, and small, threadbare holes dotted the curtains. Issuing a low groan, Rarity reached up and massaged her temples. Crystalline wings faded into glowing patches on her withers, hooves and horn regained their natural forms, and the light of reason glimmered in Rarity’s eyes. A wide assortment of expressions flitted across her face. “Who are you?” Rarity blinked a few times, and then narrowed her eyes into a stare. One that quickly drifted around the room at large. “Where have you taken me? And what is with this turn of the last century decor?” Nose crinkled, Rarity pushed herself from her seat, and took a slow turn around the room, peering at the walls, the ceiling, the furniture as if she were in a museum exhibition. She stopped when she came nose to nose with Anchor. Trixie held her breath. Terror flooded Rarity, head jerked back and a pitiable squeak constricting her throat. She scampered back until her flanks were wedged into a corner. “You’re dead!” Rarity shrieked. “You can’t be here, mama, you’re dead.” Rarity gave her head a violent shake. “Snap out of it Rarity, you’re having a nightmare again. Yes, this is all a bad dream. A very bad dream.” She pressed her eyes tight, a tremble working it’s way from head to dock, and back again. “I see you still have your grandmother’s sense of dramatics,” Anchor quirked up the side of her mouth into a lopsided smile, and took a hesitant step closer. Rarity was less amused, her face growing more pale, if it were possible. “Oh, this is pointless.” Trixie stamped a hoof. “We are all dead, little miss perfect. You, her, and even Trixie.” “Trixie!” Anchor snapped, her upper lip twisting into an almost feral snarl. “Coddling her is pointless. This is Tartarus, and—” “I’m dead?” Rarity cracked open an eye and took in the room, and its occupants, again. “I… don’t remember…” Taking Rarity in her hooves, Anchor brought her into a tight hug. She made a soft noise, and rubbed Rarity’s back. “It’s okay, mama is here to make it all alright.” Hooves pressed to Anchor’s chest, Rarity pushed herself away. “No! I am not dead. That is impossible. This is some trick… Yes, that is it. A trick!” “Come here,” Trixie barked, repeating the command when Rarity just stared at her in confusion. Hesitantly, Rarity shifted closer to Trixie. “Look out the window.” Trixie pointed to the grey, bleak city beyond the panes of glass. Covering her mouth, Rarity gaped. She sputtered. And then let out a tiny whimper and curled in on herself. “How… did I get here? How did I die. I can’t remember.” “You and the Elements of Harmony got into a fight, and you sacrificed yourself to save the others,” Anchor began, only to cut any explanation short as Rarity gave her a quizzical expression. “Elements of Harmony? Mama, isn’t that some old mare’s tale?” Trixie and Anchor shared a concerned look. “No. You are one of the Elements, along with your friends Jacqueline Apple, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy Posey, Pinkamena Pie, and Twilight Sparkle.” “Rainbow? Applejack? Oh, mama, you must be mistaken. I am not friends with them. And Twilight is upper Canterlot nobility! Heiress to a Barony, and the princess’ apprentice. Why, her older brother was just made the Captain of the Sword. It was in all the papers. Me? Friends with Twilight Sparkle? It would be delightful, but no, that is impossible.” Pinching her brows together, Trixie shook her head. She should have foreseen this. Rarity was a broken mare, in mind, body, and spirit. The papers Rarity mentioned… Captain Armour… That’d been only a few months after Trixie left home and started her traveling magic show. Those days were so clear in her memory. The pangs of jealousy as House Sparkle’s star continued to rise. Twilight’s face present in many of the pictures of Princess Celestia, articles on how she was a magical prodigy, the gossip rags with stories of a growing connection between her brother and Princess Cadence; they’d driven Trixie to Ponyville, and the long road that had lead to her death. For years she’d tried to claim even just a small article in the arts section of a modest, provincial rag. When even that level of obscure fame seemed so far out of reach, she’d marched towards the fateful encounter with Twilight Sparkle. What she could not know, though had long suspected, was the interference of her older sister. Fearful of her House losing any more prestige, at the behest of her husband, the insufferable Lord Parallax, Lady Lulamoon had used her contacts within the press to keep Trixie out of the public eye and hush up any incidents. Even the confrontation in Ponyville, where by two of Trixie’s first fans riled up Ursa Minor and Ursa Major enough that the town was attacked by the titanic star-beasts, was kept quiet and out of the larger public eye. And certainly out of the gossip mill on which Canterlot thrived. Trixie chewed on her lower lip, lost in thoughts and memories enough that the conversation between Rarity and Anchor was just a dull hum at the edge of perception. She did have the presence of mind to wander into the kitchen and allow Rarity and Anchor some privacy. From the pantry, Trixie retrieved some ancient green tea and put it on to steep. The tea was weak, even by Trixie’s lax standards, and she only put it on to have something to do. While the tea filled the kitchen with it’s mild, pleasant scent, Trixie wondered why she hadn’t struck out on her own yet. Anchor would look after Rarity, of that much Trixie was confident, even if there was a lingering suspicion of the mare in the furthest recesses of her mind. She did not yet turn over whence these suspicions arose, and soon Trixie’s thoughts moved onward. After what Rarity did to her, diverting her from Elysium, stealing away her promised after-life in the golden fields and silver city, why did she remain? Because a goddess had commanded it be so? No, Trixie knew her own heart well enough to say with certainty that Lethe’s protections and commands held little weight. The threat of angering Princess Celestia, the great goddess and protector of not just Equestria, but the entirety of Ioka’s disc, had not stopped her from confronting the princess’ prized protege. Nor was it a need for stability. Trixie spent her entire adult life travelling, pulling her home by herself. Even in Tartarus, she spent more time away from the manor than in it. At that moment, the pull of travel, of seeing what secrets the next section of the city held, tempted Trixie to leave. Her hooves yearned to wander the cold, wet roads of the underworld, to see what wonders there were hidden in districts beyond that of Ioka’s former denizens. Eventually, Trixie gave up her contemplations, and went to check in on Anchor and Rarity. She stopped at the door, held back by some sense of intruding where she didn’t belong. It was there, standing half in shadow and watching the family reconnect that she experienced a sharp pang of jealousy directed at Anchor. She’d been the one to tend to Rarity the last year, and in that time a possessive bond had formed of its own accord. Some part of her rebelled against having the dues owed for losing not only her place in Elysium, but for seeing to Rarity’s comfort, and seeking their way back home, taken by somepony else. She’d thought herself long past such selfish motives. To have them strike her again after so long dormant left Trixie stupefied and uncertain. She shook her head to clear it of the base emotions, and almost missed the close of the conversation in the room. “I’m still not sure if this is a bad dream or real.” Rarity swept her gaze over the room again, and then out the window. “However, even if it is a dream, we can talk a bit. I just…” She sucked in a sharp breath, and squeezed her face. “Ritty?” Tears filling the corners of her eyes, Rarity shuddered, and said, “It’s been so long since I heard that name.” “What’s wrong?” Anchor shook Rarity, just a little, enough to get her attention. “My head hurts,” Rarity stumbled to her settee. A diamond wing extended from her withers, reaching up to rub at her temples. The light of understanding faded from Rarity’s eyes, and Anchor collapsed next to Rarity, clasping her herd-daughter’s hooves tight in her own. “Look at me, Ritty. Look at your mama. Tell me about Sweetie. Tell me about Magnum and Bonnie. Tell me about all the years I missed,” she commanded, but it was for naught. Rarity slipped further and further and was gone again. Breaking down, the hardened seamare sobbed, and Trixie had to look away before tears came to her own eyes. “We are getting into that tower, today,” Anchor growled through clenched teeth, and looked up at Trixie. “Damn those hounds and ‘goyles. No more sitting around sucking our own tails.” Trixie shrugged, but didn’t protest. They departed shortly after Trixie laid down some wards around Rarity’s room and the manor itself. Her charms were pointless, as she was well aware. The manor was already surrounded by magic far more potent than anything she could weave. If the oneries had gotten past those spells, hers would be useless. Anchor stamped her hooves with impatience while Trixie worked. On the way to the hilltop they discussed every idea either possessed on how to get by the tower’s defences. Trixie’s biggest concern were the hounds. She was somewhat confident that the protection provided her by Lethe and Hades would be honoured by the gargoyles. Lethe said that all the gargoyles knew Trixie was a ‘guest’ of the King of Tartarus, and would bring no harm to her. The hounds, however, were another matter. Then there were whatever wards and charms the tower must possess. It was a risk she had to take, or give up on helping Rarity and finding a way out of Tartarus. Before Trixie and Anchor reached their usual spot down the road from Sombra’s tower, they noticed that things were unusual. The normal hordes of aimless souls were absent. They were nowhere to be seen, and even the hounds that patrolled the grounds were missing, and the gargoyles refrained from flight, instead watching from their perches at the tower’s top. No longer filled with souls pressed up against the fence, the hilltop was unnaturally still. The grounds were not empty, however. A solitary figure, draped in a green travel cloak tended to the flowers and tree. She sang as she weeded, tugging out creeping vines and strangling tendrils from about her garden with a gentle glow of magic. Trixie’s mouth fell open, words formless in her throat with the shock of what she was seeing. Over the distance, the song began to take shape, forming into a haunting ballad that Trixie could not understand. The last few days of her life flickered through Trixie. On a pilgrimage to find their missing goddess-queen, the halla saved Trixie’s life and nursed her back to health. Stern faced and serious by nature, the camp was filled with the babble of conversation all through the day. Time enough for Trixie to recognise the language, but not comprehend its meaning. With a halla warrior, she’d lain down her life in the fight against the doshaa. He’d been a friend, though they’d known each other only a short time. The doshaa possessed him, twisted him, and used him in the worst way imaginable. Since coming to Tartarus, Trixie had not seen any of the halla. At least, not in the district the rest of Ioka claimed. She did not, and could not, know that the halla of Tartarus refused the city, and instead wandered the wastelands beyond the city walls, much as they wandered their forest home. Eventually, they’d hear the call of the next life and enter the Cave of Iridia, so named for their queen and the Goddess of Spring, Rebirth, and Life on Ioka, and rejoin the Great Cycle. Entranced by the haunting lyrics, Trixie continued down the street to the fence. Something about the song pulled at her, made her heart ache and lips turn cold. The hind, sensing Trixie’s approach, ended her song with a little gasp and began to flee towards the tower. “Wait!” Trixie called, tossing back the hood of her cloak. “The Great and Powerful Trixie needs to speak with you!” Near the tower door the hind hesitated and turned back, causing the cowl of her cloak to slip down her slender neck. Trixie had only a moment to take in the slight hind, small by the standards of the halla, barely taller than Trixie herself, before a black form burst from the tower. Over the hind the newcomer leapt, body covered in thick smoke, with eyes of burning red that glowed like sinister coals fixed on Trixie and Anchor. With a deep, resonate roar of force, the smoky form crossed the fence and landed next to Trixie. She was hit by a bone numbing blow of noise just below perception, a heavy thump that lifted her off her hooves, and flung Anchor away like she were a leaf caught in a gale. Trixie stared in a confused stupor as her friend tumbled in a long arc and then came down on a roof at the distant end of the lane. Anchor struggled to get up, only to collapse and ceased any further attempt. Movement in the corner of Trixie’s eye brought her out of her shock in time to dodge a blood-red greataxe formed of crystal. Chips of stone pelted against her legs and side as the axe dug a deep furrow in the street like it were a plow in a soft field. It did not slow as it came up, and then down again, brilliant edge directed at her neck. Energy filled Trixie, a surge of primal impetus to survive the next few moments, her dead nature forgotten in the need to survive the onslaught. She hurled herself to the side, a powerful illusion thrown up to create a half-dozen mirror images of herself, all moving in different directions. Tuned to her, they acted in time to her own steps and magic so as to distract and confuse her attacker. The crystal greataxe split into two dane axes without pause. Each tore through an illusion, sundered blue-white aether curling around the weapons as they moved to the next images of Trixie. Dropping to her knees, Trixie ducked beneath one axe as another of her illusions was destroyed, and leveled her horn at the smoke clad attacker. Sombra towered over Trixie, unmoved after his thundering arrival. A thick chested stallion, taller than near any other pony Trixie had ever met, he regarded her with seething disdain. His eyes locked onto her, and with a jolt, she realised he could see through her illusions. Pure magic fired from her horn in a gleam of silvery-blue, and was met by a ruby-black lance. A grin slashed across a stormy face, fangs glinting in the glow of clashing spells. Trixie’s heart raced faster, her legs buckling under the pressure of pouring unrefined aether through her horn. Shining silver shards burst up around Sombra, and absorbed Trixie’s beam of magic. Seamlessly, his assault continued in a shower of splinters broken off from the edges of the crystalline shields. Black spines, like the quills of a monstrous porcupine, herded Trixie, brought her closer to her demise. Trixie was reminded of the day she died. Of the fight with the doshaa. Of how powerless she’d felt as she ran from the demon. The desperation mingled with dread on finding she’d been driven into the demon’s trap. She knew Sombra was doing the same, and that there was nothing she could do to alter the outcome. Anger at her helplessness burning up her throat, Trixie resorted to the only spell within her possession which could possibly overcome his defenses. It was the same spell which had killed her. The runes were all still there from when they’d been burned into her psyche, tall shapes in the gloom that loomed over all her other runes. A quick step forwards brought her into the very jaws of the trap laid, but also made avoiding her spell impossible. The beam that had been so mighty at her death, with power enough to carve away the side of a distant mountain, held little of its former fury. Still, it was greater than near any other spell possessed by mortalkind. The air howled at the touch of the scintillating red-blue beam that burst from her horn. Surprise flashed in Sombra’s ruby eyes. A great gonging clang sounded over the hilltop as his shields were broken, and he was struck on the chest. Exultation bloomed in Trixie as he staggered back, eyes staring out towards nothing, faded and foggy. With a deep roar, Sombra gave his entire body a mighty shake, and cast off Trixie’s spell. Trixie was unprepared for the hammer-blow that struck her mind. Her psyche cracked, the underworld briefly vanishing into a blinding flash that left her numb and senseless. Tartarus spun wildly about and the ground rushed up to meet her head. Blearily, Trixie knew she had to move, to act, or all was lost, but her legs refused her commands. Then Sombra’s hoof was pressed against her throat. He breathed deeply, excitement pulling at the corners of murderous eyes. For a long moment he observed her through a narrow, ruby gaze, upper lip pulled back to show his long fangs. “For weeks I’ve observed you greedily peering at my tower,” Sombra growled, his breath pungent with rot as it washed over Trixie. “So unlike all the other souls clamouring to steal what is mine by gift and sacrifice. You reek of magic foreign to the underworld. Who sent you? Have the archons come to take her from me? If they make the attempt, I warn you now, I will tear down the very gates of Elysium to free her. She does not wish to be among your self-righteous, arrogant kind.” Hooves gripping the leg of her captor, Trixie stared at the rage twisted face above her, and gasped out, “Who in Celestia’s mane are you talking about?” “My light! My love! The singular joy I ever found in centuries of misery. My. Wife. You tried to steal her, and I would know who sent you before I destroy you, Elysian.” The absurdity of his assertion, mixed with the force it was delivered and the waning tension now the fight was lost, made Trixie laugh. “I don’t care about her,” Trixie said with a weak, wheezing laugh, “I was trying to get her to take me to you because I need your help.” “Help? You desire my help?” An incredulous laugh filled Sombra’s throat until it burst out in a long, loud boom. Trixie expected him to release his hoof and let her up. Instead, he pressed it harder against her throat so all she could do was let out a choked gurgle. “Lies. You are an elysian, touched by the power of an alicorn, in Tartarus. Since the archons would never give any mortal soul passage from their realm, there is but one explanation for your presence in this bleak wasteland; that you serve one of the gods of this place, or another. It has been known before. Heroes waylaid on their voyage to the golden fields makes a pact with one of the gods of the Underworld, bartering their services for safe passage from this desolate realm. Or, those who descend to the Underworld on errands for the alicorns or archons. Whom you serve I have yet to determine, but that you are servant to one of the capricious gods is not in question.” “Sombra, stop this nonsense!” A cloven hoof was laid on Sombra’s withers, and he seemed to wilt under its touch. “The gods lack all interest in this district. Even when Abaddon herself cast us here they did not rise from their own territories. And what more could draw the attention of an alicorn than the Angel of Death herself? We are all naught but motes of dirt to them, and should be thankful that the games played by the gods of the underworld do not involve us. You need to let go of your suspicions and over-protectiveness.” Face twisted in a deep grimace, Sombra released Trixie and stepped back. “My apologies,” Sylph said after introducing herself and helping Trixie to stand. “His draconic heritage has asserted itself more and more since we died. He was not always so greedy and possessive, nor so paranoid, once upon a time. I fear Sombra will one day lose himself.” While they spoke, more and more of the dead had begun to gather, their slavering gazes directed at Trixie and Sylph. Holding a leg close to her chest, Anchor stood among the crowd. She gave Trixie a knowing look, and then slunk away. There could be only one meaning; that they would meet up at the manor at a later time. Through his teeth, Sombra snarled, “Come inside before any lost souls think to intrude.” He pried open a hole in the fence and indicated Trixie should enter. Following Sylph, she hurried through the gap. An odd sensation crawled across Trixie’s skin as she stepped onto the thick, living grass, like beetles crawling through her coat, clawed legs pricking flesh. She held her breath, and only relaxed when the baying of hounds failed to materialise. Sombra hurried Trixie along, and forced her towards the tower with his shadow. Over her withers, Sylph asked, “How have you survived Tartarus so long? I can not imagine what it is like in the city without any protection. When we arrived, I was almost torn apart by the dead. By Iridia’s blessing, we discovered this refuge.” “And a good home it has become. I like crystals. Excellent for harnessing Tartarus’ ambient magic.” Sombra huffed as he reset the many barriers and wards. “Trixie has learned to stay hidden,” Trixie replied. “It is one of the Great and Powerful Trixie’s many talents.” Sylph gave Trixie a flat stare, then shrugged. If Trixie did not want to answer, she would not press the issue. The inside of the twisted crystal spire stood in complete defiance of any expectations. The inner walls were painted a soft creamy tone, with magic lanterns set between banners that proudly displayed Celestia’s mark, golden thread glimmering on pure white backdrops, alternated with those of Faust’s black inkwell and quill, and third banner with a rainbow circle of petals Trixie did not recognise. Couches and a plush chair were set in a semi-circle around a lit hearth, a half finished pint of beer sitting next to partially eaten cranberry biscuits on a small, round table. Opposite the sitting area stood several bookshelves, full to bursting with texts and tomes, many sporting languages on their spines Trixie could not identify. At the back of the room a small door lead to stairs running up the space inside the walls themselves to the upper floors. At the very center of the large room grew a column of green-blue crystal, branches splitting off to form platforms higher up the tower, leaving it open and airy inside. The scent of sandalwood and old books tingled Trixie’s nose. Not unpleasant or overly strong, it brought up memories of sneaking into her mother’s library at night to take one of her father’s journals penned when he travelled as a Judicator. It was one of the few good memories Trixie possessed of her fillyhood, and made her like the odd tower all the more. “So,” Sombra drew the word out into an arrogant yawn, “for what honour does a pony so loathsome as I deserve to be visited by an elysian?” Mirth swam behind his red eyes, and Sombra’s entire demeanor shifted now they were inside the tower. He threw himself across a threadbare, high backed chair, leg extended over one of the rests so as to jut out to the side. From the table next to his chair he levitated a large book and pretended to skim its pages. Trixie settled into another of the chairs, and considered how best to respond. She wanted to avoid giving Sombra too much information. But, it was impossible to avoid the nature of Rarity’s condition and hope to gain any usable assistance. So, Trixie laid everything bare and open. From the moment she’d been grabbed by Rarity while crossing Lethe’s waters, to her wanderings to find an exit from Tartarus, the encounter with Anchor, and the nature of Rarity’s condition. Several times she was asked to repeat some detail. Sombra was insatiable when it came to knowledge about Rarity. He picked over how often she grew lucid, how long the periods would last, and what she would say. “Another failure of the alicorns falls before my hooves. Is this providence? Or does Faust simply enjoy testing me so?” Sombra let out a long breath through his nose and closed his eyes in thought. After a long time, he stood and went to the bookshelves. He rifled through them, selected a couple, and quickly skimmed over a few chapters each. “You mentioned she has wings, but only when lucid? Yes? Translucent and gossamer as the feathery down of a gosling in the light of the sun, or are they whole and real? No, you mentioned them being crystalline in nature. Interesting. I like crystals.” He eyes traced a wistful path around the tower, and Trixie had to suppress an annoyed response. She could not afford to alienate the stallion now. “You will help the Great and Powerful Trixie?” She tried to keep hope out of her voice, but was little successful. “Yes. Yes.” Sombra gave his tail an absent minded swish as he considered his library some more. Trixie was ecstatic. For the first time in months there was hope that she would soon be out of the dismal prison for the dead. How assisting Rarity regain herself translated to leaving the city did not matter. Trixie made the leap at once. She could almost feel the sun on her face again, a warm wind ripple through her mane, or the taste of real food as it melted over her tongue. First, she would return home, and make amends with her sisters. Wouldn’t they be surprised! Trixie wondered if news of her death had reached the rest of House Lulamoon. They had to know she’d died. Everypony must know. She carved away the face of a mountain fighting to protect a goddess from a demon. Correction, her family would be the second ponies she visited. Before them, she had to make certain that Shyara was safe. What a scene that would be! She wondered if they would hug, or would they both put on their stoic masks of pride. Either way, they’d both be overflowing with joy! The first books Sombra selected thumped down next to Trixie, breaking her from the pleasant thoughts. “Before we can get to any lessons, we must first ascertain your level of knowledge and skill.” Trixie’s happiness plummeted as she saw on top of the books a ratty standardised entrance exam for Honigwein College. Hate for the standardized entrance tests boiled in her chest, and her gut twisted with anxiety. “Is this really necessary? Trixie has magic enough to destroy a demon, after-all.” Sombra laughed. Head tossed back, eyes crinkled, he shook with deep, wild, laughter. “Of course it is! Wild acts of heroism say nothing of day-to-day capabilities. More so when the alicorns are involved. Now, come, we’ll test you in one of the studier spell-chambers, just in case.”