//------------------------------// // 20 - The Fireball // Story: Predictions & Prophecies // by Kinrah //------------------------------// Million bit question: How could Twilight have learned a spell from a page that burned four hundred years before she read the book in the first place? Nothing felt different, there weren’t any magical entities appearing out of nowhere to let her know that she’d done something that didn’t happen originally, and, well, she still knew Prophetia, so there wasn’t any indication that she had changed time. Of course there’d be no way of knowing until she returned to the present, but it was an even bigger paradox if she never learned the spell that brought her here in the first place. Comparatively, herself and Sweeping Stroke learning the spell from each other again and again in an infinite loop was peanuts. Just another thing she’d have to put on the… actually, ‘backburner’ was a bad phrase, considering. The moment Twilight hit the hay she was already up on her hooves and dragging a reluctant stallion down the street. Sweat was sticking her fur down, and the smell of smoke was everywhere, the scraps of cloth she’d stolen from the dressing room at the last minute doing the bare minimum to prevent her from inhaling too much. She had no idea where she was going, but away from the fire was a good enough start. It would have been a bizarre sight if anypony were concentrating on them; her pulling a great artist along while also carrying a battered book full of loose pages. When they’d been in 611, Sweeping Stroke had seen first-hoof the power of the Iris. He knew that it was not a force to be trifled with, and, to be more precise, not something to leave lying around where anypony could steal it. He would have hidden it someplace safe, someplace where he knew nopony would be snooping around and— “My workshop…!” he coughed behind her, and she stopped, turning around. “It’s… in my workshop. I…” he refused to look her in the eyes. “I had… planned to allow you to return to your own time when we were finished.” Twilight opened her mouth to argue when a burning ember dropped worryingly close to her face. She didn’t have the time. Instead she lifted his head and made him look at her. “Where?” “Just… keep going. I’ll remember when we get close.” “You don’t remember?!” How could he not remember?! How could he not know where his own workshop was?! “I—” and for the first time, Twilight noticed just how frazzled he looked. His eyes were unfocused, his mane was a mess… Sparks were even running up and down his horn. “I spend so much time looking into the future I… forget my present,” he admitted. “And any moment I may be whisked away again.” “But the workbook—” “I still know the spell, and sometimes, there is just so much magic…” They had to keep moving. Shaking her head, Twilight turned back and continued at a canter. Hopefully Reeds and Ditzy were safe. She’d never forgive herself if they weren’t. But they were pegasi, they could fly, they’d probably get roped into searching for the rainclouds that weren’t there. She had to trust that they were safe, and she hoped that they trusted her to find them and take them back to where they belonged. In the middle of the Great Fire of Manehattan, trust and hope were the only things ponies had— Behind her, Stalleonardo spasmed, and she stopped again. “Are you—” When she finished her sentence, she was in Canterlot. Except no, she wasn’t. Around her, the castle walls shimmered, and bits of a burning city were flickering in and out of view. Next to her, Stalleonardo was leaning to one side, his horn alight, his eyes the pure white of magic overload. So this was what he meant… Still moving! They weren’t out of danger yet! They might seem to be in Canterlot but if they stopped the fire would— Oh no. Oh no. Twilight recognized the room. She recognized the time. She recognized little herself, standing over a book with her eyes shut in concentration— Stalleonardo brought himself back to reality just in time to see the wall of water coming towards him as the music room flooded. Instinctively he flinched, and even though she knew it was a prophetic illusion, Twilight did too. Then it was gone, and they were back in Manehattan, and they were running again. “That… is the sort of future I hoped to avoid!” the stallion shouted to her. “That is what the future holds for Eq—” “Stalleonardo, I did that!” He stopped, and she had to drag him into motion again. “Wait, you did?” “Yes! Five years ago from my perspective!” Gee, Rainmaker would really have come in useful right about now! Erasure was really useful too but also really annoying when it had to be! “That’s not the apocalypse, it’s a student making a mistake!” He looked away again. “Haven’t we all.” The fire was spreading quickly, but this street, at least for now, was still mostly intact. A heavy cloud of smoke obscured the night sky above, when it was visible at all through the narrow gaps between the building overhangs on both sides of the street. This must have been a purely residential district. Without any modern landmarks… there was no chance of ever finding this place again in the present. “Wait, I—” Stalleonardo stopped yet again, but this time it looked like he was remembering something. “This way!” He took off down an alleyway, and Twilight let him take the lead. Hopefully now he knew where he was going. Trust and hope. She certainly didn’t want to get lost now. There was too much at stake. Eventually, he stopped in front of a plain wooden door with a viewing shutter in, and retrieved a key from a flower bush next to it. Under any other circumstances, Twilight would have been squeeing with glee at the thought of entering the workshop of the great Stalleonardo da Colton, but now her tapping hooves were betraying her impatience and fear rather than sheer unbridled joy. She was only going to be in and out of it, of course, just long enough to grab the Iris. The workshop would be lost, eventually, along with everything it contained. There was no changing that. Any works left within were to be left to time and the flames. So when the door creaked open, revealing an unlit, inky blackness, in spite of herself she was the first to enter. “Okay, where did you put the-” Slam. Click. Suddenly afraid again, she whirled around and tugged on the door, confirming that those sounds had indeed been the indications of Stalleonardo locking her in. After a moment of fumbling, she found the handle for the viewing shutter, and slid it open. “What are you doing?!” “I’m sorry, Twilight. For everything.” Stalleonardo stood back and looked up and down the alley. “The workshop walls are lined with the magic-proof rock, so you cannot teleport and follow me. The front door is unlocked and unbarred, you aren’t trapped, but… I cannot come with you. I’ve… done too much, here. My whole life… up in flames, you might say, as will be my work, shortly. It has been a privilege to know you.” “No! Don’t—” This couldn’t be his final— “I am aware that your history says I vanish here, never to be seen again. But…” he winked. “We both know that the history books don’t mention everything, don’t we?” Twilight was breathing heavily. What she was about to witness… she never imagined that when she’d traveled back to save him that she’d be doing it like this. “But Princess Celestia—” “Understands. I told her that I would eventually resort to something drastic, and specifically requested that she did not interfere.” Somewhere nearby, a house collapsed, and a wave of heat surged past them. “You’ll find the Iris on the bench near the back of the room and remember: What has been started must be finished. The Vault will be opened, and the power within laid bare for anypony to see.” Trixie. The vault. Suddenly, Twilight remembered all of it, facts she’d been compartmentalizing while she’d concentrated on what was going on with Stalleonardo. She glanced down at the workbook. “But I don’t know where it is!” Stalleonardo smiled, and this time, it was warm, but weak. “You do. You prophesized its opening, after all. Now hurry! Seek the first and last, in the last and first! And…” he paused, as if he was unsure whether to say something, then nodded to himself. “…ask Celestia what happened in 617!” Then he was gone, his hoofsteps barely audible above the encroaching roar of the fire. “Sweeping Stroke!” Twilight pounded against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. As he said, she could see a thin line of the material that had prevented her from using magic molded along the middle of the wall; any teleport spells she tried to fire through them dissolved harmlessly. She’d lost him again. When did she prophesize the vault opening? That had been on the sandstone slab, hadn’t it? First and last in the last and first? 617? What about 617? That was the year Princess Celestia had purchased the Mona Luna from him, but… she shook her head, pushing aside all the questions. She had no time. First and foremost she had to get the Iris, second was finding her friends, and third… she looked at the workbook. It still had hundreds of years to go before it became what Spike had found in the secret compartment in the library. It may no longer contain Prophetia, but it should still hold the information about the mirror pool that they had needed. The interior of the workshop was still pitch black. Her eyes had adjusted slightly, she could see the bare outline of some nearby tables, but if she was going to find the Iris quickly, she needed light. That was easy enough. Her horn flared, and the following sound of her jaw hitting the floor could probably have been heard above the roaring flames outside. Black had been washed away by vibrant color, reds, blues, purples, even some colors that against all common sense seemed to be changing depending on the angle of the reflecting light. Some easels were covered in dust sheets, but there still had to be dozens, scores of previously unknown da Colton paintings! There had to be several years worth of his life in the room! For a moment, but only for a moment, she forgot the situation outside, and the fact that the stallion who painted the masterpieces before her had not an hour before been attempting to overthrow Princess Celestia. She had to make notes! She didn’t have time! The temperature was already rising! Agh! Nervously trotting on the spot, Twilight did a 360, trying in vain to memorize everything, to note everything down in her thought-journal, from the paintings, to the loose pieces of paper upon which were sketches, to the loft space and balcony above… Right now she was definitely standing below ground level, which meant that at least some of this should survive and subsequently be built over. Not all of it would remain in the future. But hopefully some would. Bench at the back of the room. Right. Over there between the half-finished portrait of… of Stalleonardo tackling Twilight out of the way of that burning beam earlier (so that’s how he knew), and some bizarre sculpture which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a posh restaurant. On top of a few more loose sheets sat the Iris, completely innocuous, just a beautiful crystal to anypony who didn’t know its true power, her bag sitting next to it. At last, it was back in her magical grasp, and the rejuvenating sensation caressed her, relieving her stress. Step one. Now on to step t— Hang on a moment. What was written on those sheets the Iris had been resting on? On top of the pile was a series of sketches, of a round device, and some patterns for… Princess Luna’s telescope! Translating on the fly, Twilight worked out that he’d modified it to point through the Bearers of Harmony windows that he’d designed. Why, probably he only knew, but that wasn’t as big of a deal. Second sheet held some notes about the anti-magic stone, she was having that. Underneath… She blinked. “On the longest day of the thousandth year, the stars will aid in her escape, and she will bring about nighttime eternal,” she read aloud, making sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. “But that was in…” a chill ran up her spine, and she looked about at the paintings, at the glimpses of the future. “Of course you did!” she exclaimed to the empty room. “You wrote Predictions and Prophecies!” All its critics had said that its writer was a loony, and that most of its contents that claimed to be myth and folklore was just made up on the spot. That fit his method, all right… Predictions and Prophecies had been published in 651, right before Stalleonardo’s five-year disappearance, his last public work. He’d been responsible for alerting her to the Elements of Harmony in the first place! No wonder it had appeared in his workbook! He’d written them down there before putting them in his own book about prophecies! Twilight couldn’t help but snort. In a roundabout way, he had found a way to tell the ponies of the 7th century about the future. Nopony had believed him. A crash and sudden blast of heat interrupted her moment of epiphany, and Twilight turned to realize in horror that a burning timber from another building had just crashed down into the roof. She’d stalled. Bag. Carefully Twilight put the Iris into it, then followed up with the workbook— darn. She hadn’t been expecting to carry anything big when she’d picked the bag up, there was no way she’d fit both of them in. Making a quick executive decision, she took as many of the loose pages as she could back out of the book and stuffed them into the bag alongside the Iris. She’d just have to carry the book. Now it was time to get out of there! Where was that front door? There, upstairs on the balcony. Could she get there before the fire reached it? Maybe? There was really only one way to find out. Slinging the bag on and making sure the couple sheets left in the workbook wouldn’t fall out, she ran for the stairs. Time to get out of— Slamming the brakes on, she skidded to a halt again. What were the chances of… Under the stairs, half-hidden by a dust sheet, still on its easel, was the painting of the sonic rainboom over Canterlot. “Funny, isn’t it, how time seems to be made out of circles, rather than straight lines?” da Colton’s words echoed in her head. There was no doubt about it. This was the exact same painting which had been mailed to Rainbow Dash in 1001, and… she was sure she’d seen it somewhere else in the interim. Royal Portrait Gallery, her brain said, pulling the answer from nowhere. Princess Celestia. Princess Celestia owned this painting. And with the fire as it was, there was no way it could just be carried out of here. How had it survived?! Thoughts occurred, conflicted, fought for attention and resolved. Twilight couldn’t carry everything, but maybe she didn’t have to. Here she had a painting that disappeared in 656 and reappeared in 1001. Here she had a workbook that disappeared in 656 and reappeared in 1001. Excepting the ways in which they were found, the fate of the two were almost identical. If she were to… The timber that had crashed into the roof now fell to the floor, smashing, scattering embers everywhere. Now or never. Twilight lifted the painting off the easel, spun it around, and jammed the workbook into the back of the frame. Call it a hunch, but she suspected Princess Celestia would know what to do with it, assuming she got it, that is. The question of how to get the painting out of the workshop remained unanswered, but she had a feeling that a solution would present itself— Almost immediately she was proven right, as one of the paint containers on the bench nearest to the burning beam exploded. Of course, 7th century paints were very flammable, and given the right sort of spark, they’d combust. Put enough of them in one place, and they’d make one heck of a bang. Good enough. Twilight grabbed as many containers as she could, that weren’t empty or already sizzling, and some blank paper to use as a fuse. One shot, that was all she had. While she was doing so, she repeatedly ran over in her head the matrix for her brother’s signature shield spell. Where Shining Armor could, admittedly with effort, shield an entire city for several days, when Twilight cast the spell the shields tended to be smaller, lasted for a very short amount of time, but compensated for in strength. For its duration she essentially became a living pinball. With a strong enough kick, it’d knock through just about anything. Moments before she allowed the fuse to light, she looked around, wincing at the sight of the priceless works of art burning in front of her. She couldn’t save everything… wait, why was the floor… sticky? Out of curiosity, she looked down, to see… paint. There was a painting on the floor, and from the part she could see, from where she was standing over to where it disappeared out under the burning beam, it was huge. Judging from the wear on the part she could see, it was also very old, but the heat was still making the paint run. Maybe she could have seen what it was from the balcony, but given that the stairs were now on fire too, it was just another work lost to time. Okay. Here goes nothing… Twilight lit the fuse, held the painting and her bag close against her, and cast the shield spell, screwing up her eyes. One, two, thr— BANG. Before she could even start screaming, she was flying upwards towards the ceiling. In her last look at Stalleonardo’s workshop, the last pony to ever see it, her eyes dropped to the floor just in time to see the message in the painting before the burning wooden ceiling splintered around the shield and she shot upwards into the smoky sky. SAVE HER At heart, Twilight was a student. That was where she belonged. Switching careers to become a professional living firework was not on her agenda and she didn’t plan to quit her day job anytime soon. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—” As expected, the shield spell had disintegrated, though thankfully it had lasted long enough both to take her through the roof and the thick cloud of smoke that hung above it. Now she, the painting with book, and the Iris-and-pages-in-bag were still hurtling upwards into the sky, above the city, above the heat, up to where the Mare in the Moon stared down disapprovingly. From its position - there wasn’t much else to do but think as she was screaming her way up to the heavens - she guessed it was sometime around 5AM. Below her, panicking pegasi were dots against the smoke, too occupied with trying to fight the fire with what little cloud they had to notice either the explosion or the cannonball rocketing into the sky. The other thing she had to try and think of on the way up was what to do when she reached her zenith and started heading back down again. In hindsight, she should have tried to find something she could have used as a parachute before detonating the paint. Also, she had probably just obliterated what was left of Stalleonardo da Colton’s last works. Probably shouldn’t be thinking about that. Gravity would suddenly catch up to her soon. Cushioning spell? For a short fall, yes. Terminal velocity, probably not. Teleport? Unless she found a way to scrub her momentum she’d just be going splat against a wall rather than the floor. The river? Again, terminal velocity. At that speed the water would just be as solid as stone. Shield spell? Could work, but she might just as easily end up buried underground. Hmmm. How did Rainbow Dash go about course corrections while traveling at the speed of sound? Twilight didn’t have wings, but she had magic. If she reshaped the flow of the magic out of her horn to emulate the flapping of a pegasus’s wings— Then she hit the zenith, remained suspended in the air for a moment, then submitted herself to gravity. Being in freefall above the Great Fire of Manehattan really wasn’t what she’d expected to be doing in the past! Immediately the wind whipping in her face broke her concentration, and while the bag remained secure around her barrel, the painting wasn’t so lucky, and it started spiraling away from her. “No!” Twilight grabbed for it, but both she and it were moving too fast, far too fast, and already it was several yards away and gaining distance. She’d lost it. What were the chances of it landing safely? Stupid question, really, they were rapidly falling towards a burning city. If by some fluke it overshot the city chances were it would just land in the river and then both painting and book would be ruined. Wait, what was she even thinking? She had bigger concerns than the fate of the painting and the workbook right now! Before anything else she had to be concerned with her own— A familiar feeling was emanating from the Iris, apparently resonating with her panicked urgency. Could it slow her down? If it had enough magic to temporally displace three ponies and a dragon, enough to completely hide their magical signatures for half an hour, and - the thought sprang into her mind completely unbidden - enough to sustain a construct in the dream realm while it was masking their magic, then it should be able to slow her down, right? Hay, she could even use it to time travel back to 1001 with it! If only Reeds and Ditzy were with her… of course, if they were with her, she wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. She didn’t really have enough time to second-guess it. If she experimented, she was just going to land back in the city again before she could work on the third hypothesis. Iris it was. Screwing her eyes shut even tighter against the wind, she concentrated on the charm and felt the bag pressing it into her side. Come on, Iris, she thought, feeling the relaxing magic flow through her, battling the fear of the fall. Show me what you can do. What are you doing up here? Ah! The sudden voice in her head nearly broke her concentration, but she managed to hang onto it. Tall mare, her mind said, from the dream. The sword wielding unicorn. If anything could tell her what the Iris was capable of, she could. A telepathic interface with the construct, saving her from having her words lost to the air above them. What an amazing charm. That fits my general description, yes. Is the Iris capable of safely slowing a pony traveling at terminal velocity? The answer came without hesitation. Yes. Oh, happy days! Twilight would be crying in relief if the wind wasn’t whipping up tears in her eyes anyway. Do— Suddenly she stopped mid-thought. How would it do it? By converting the accumulated gravitational energy into magical energy, allowing the pony’s fall to be cushioned. What happens to the magical energy afterwards? Buildup cleared through detonation. That sounded… How big of a detonation? It told her. HOW MUCH?! A figure that high— that would level the entire city! No way in Tartarus was that an option! Nonononononono! Don’t do that! Twilight could hear the fire now. Sixty seconds to the smoke layer, less. Rapid fire question time. Can the magic be vented any other way? Only if you provide a spell conjunction. Conjunc— oh, of course! If Twilight was casting a big enough spell at the same time, all the magic would get used safely! And call her crazy, but Twilight was starting to get an idea… okay, she was starting to get desperate, but it was an idea, and at this point any idea had to be a good one. Can you assist me with a teleportation? Yes. Can the Iris seek out specific ponies? Given an accurate approximation of their magical signature, yes. Where are you going with this? It was ludicrous just how much this charm was capable of, but there was no time to quiz it on everything. Twilight tried to picture Reeds Melody and Ditzy Doo in her mind. The two ponies I came back here with, I need to teleport them to me and then time travel back to 1001, as quickly as possible. Will that scrub enough magic? Even the Iris’s construct seemed taken aback and it took her a moment to respond. Even with the gravitational buildup there is not that much magic. It is possible, but the Iris will need to assist. This particular conjunction will cause a significant power drain. To be more accurate, 98.72 per cent. Twilight, this construct ceases to function with less than 5 per cent power remaining. Ceases to function? Twilight already knew what it meant, of course. But that means you’ll— Be dormant, nothing less. There was… something about the voice, the tall mare from the dream, that Twilight found hauntingly familiar. Maybe it was that that caused her to balk at the idea. I can’t tell you to do that! You can. Returning was that motherly tone, of a parent reminding her child exactly what they’re capable of. I will tell you again, Twilight, I am not a real pony, only a memory. You know that. I will merely be… ‘sleeping’ until the Iris has regained sufficient power. It was now or never. Here comes the smoke… Do it! At her side the Iris was suddenly red hot, before the bag erupted in a white magical light that would have blinded her were her eyes not shut already. From the ground, if anypony could see through the thick smoke, it would have looked like a star was falling to the earth. For the briefest of moments, Twilight was the Iris, seeing invisible tendrils of life magic moving impossibly fast, seeking out her friends. The window of opportunity was closing. There! Two zaps of magic and suddenly where there had been one unicorn in a ball of light there was one unicorn and two very, very confused pegasi. That was step two. Step three… the time travel spell drew itself around them. Just a few more seconds— With her last glimpse at the world of 656, Twilight looked up to see a silvery arrow racing across the sky, and could just make out the glow of Princess Celestia’s magic as it caught the painting. Then the Princess banked towards them, and… The destination time is obstructed, Twilight. The voice of the tall mare came through once more as the outside world finally faded into white. There will still be considerable magical discharge. Returning to the moment you left will not be possible. Unless the spell safeties are disabled, the time elapsed in the past must equal the time elapsed in the future. “What was that?!” yelled Ditzy, and with a start Twilight realized the others could hear the construct too. “What does that mean?!” “It means that every minute that we spent here is a minute we have to be gone from the future!” Twilight returned, doing the math again. “Almost twelve hours!” “Not so bad, when you think about it!” Reeds said, adding her five bits. “What’s twelve hours in the scheme of things?!” Your friend is correct. “Oh, yeah, sure!” Bits of white were starting to be flecked with the streaking magic of the ether. “I want compensation for those muffins!” Twilight, the Iris still needs a location. To minimize impact it should preferably be an uninhabited— Twilight shouted the first thing that came to mind. “Ponyville lake!” Twelve hours from when they’d left would put them in the evening, at which point the town’s park was usually deserted. Nowhere in Canterlot was ever that empty at night. “Aim for Ponyville lake!” “Oh great!” both of the pegasi behind her said at the same time. “In the water again!” This is a very stupid idea, Twilight. I know. I approve. Twilight shut her eyes again as finally the white gave way to the ether. Rest calm, and remember me. SPLASH! Thought journal, bookmarked entry; April 20 CE 1001, 11:39PM … … Things are going by so quickly now, I… I just need some sleep.