//------------------------------// // 2. The Summons // Story: The Face of Magic // by Carapace //------------------------------// Deep within the mighty Rolling Thunder Mountains, nestled within the winding caves and endless labyrinth dug out by generations upon generations of Seekers from centuries long past, within the hive’s famed Library—the safeguard of knowledge thought long-lost, books stolen, bought, and won through trickery, and secrets which made even the Eternal Sisters speak in hushed whispers—a young changeling princess sat at her desk and sighed. Another failure. Hardly the first she’d ever seen, let alone the hive on this subject, but she’d been so sure this would be her breakthrough, her greatest achievement. A testament to her status as heir to the Throne of Halla Eolais. The warm glow of flickering candlelight bathed her mulberry carapace in its glow, caressing it like the loving embrace of a parent rocking their nymph. Her tail, brushed straight to perfection, not a lock of tricolored hair out of place as the light played along deep blue, soft purple, and striking pink stripe, flicked. The young changeling princess ran a hoof through her similarly styled mane and sighed as she let her slitted amethyst eyes scan over her methodology for the umpteenth time. There were few things in the world which could ease Twilight Sparkle’s worries such as this. A visit from the Eternal Sisters, perhaps, or the lovely pony couple who named her after saving her life, or one from Cadence and Shining— Twilight’s breath caught in her throat. The news, that accursed letter with its cold, block script was still fresh in her mind. Shining and Cadence. Her dear friends. Her brother and sister in all but blood. Taken, tormented, charmed, and fed upon until their wedding day. Until a precocious young mare from an unfavored house just couldn’t keep her nose out of changeling business stumbled upon it all. And her. The Princess of the Seekers’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach. She sighed again—as was habit since the news broke. But what more could she do? She knew. They all knew. It was no secret how that hive felt and viewed ponies, no secret how she saw them. But of all the foolish errands, all the gambits … Twilight shook her head. “Breathe, hold, release,” she whispered that old cleansing routine Cadence taught her during one of her visits to the capitol. Under her favored disguise, of course. No sane changeling would think to walk into pony territory unhidden—or any, for that matter. No sane changeling. So why had they? Why had she? With a hiss, she bared her fangs in frustration and forced herself to turn to the latest object of her obsession. Academic study, as her father always said, was the best medicine for a Seeker. And this, well, there was no better subject. There hadn’t been in the last four hundred years. Not since Princess Celestia asked her mother to steal it right out from under House Shimmer’s noses. Set upon a golden pendant backing upon a polished gold metal which curved elegantly to form a necklace, the perfect size to fit around her own, without any need for shapeshifting. A mercy, really. Though, come to think of it, her mother wore it in natural form for centuries as well, and she was full grown. Nearly a head and again taller, in fact. A property of its magic, perhaps? Did the Element of Magic itself have a sort of awareness about its bearer? Was it a function of its nature to harmonize perfectly, both in terms of size and weight and how it rested around her neck whenever she was called upon to wear it? She raised a chitinous hoof to touch her neck, just beneath her regalia. The first time she’d put it on, a young nymph’s curiosity coupled with her want to dream, to see herself big and powerful and wise, just like her mother, drove her to sneak into her mother’s room and remove it from the stand. It always stuck with her how the necklace seemed to resize itself to fit her tiny form the instant her eyes weren’t upon it. When her parents found her, they found themselves awestruck. A little nymph, their little nymph, beaming up at them with the Element of Magic around her neck. And the Element accepted her. It was the first time her mother had done more than merely hint that her time would soon come, both as bearer and researcher. When she found her voice, Sireadh Firinn solemnly stated that it would be she who answered the call when it came. And after that … Twilight gave an uneasy, chittering laugh. “Thinking too far ahead,” she muttered. “Mother’s still got plenty of years left in her. I’ll have a few centuries longer before I wear the crown.” Blowing a breath out through her nose, she returned her gaze to the top of her summary page and began to reread again. The Element of Magic, henceforth to be referred to as “the subject,” has shown minimal response to any outside influence other than the touch of its bearer. My first test, as detailed on page 73 paragraph C, was to determine whether there was a discernible melting point, as there is with most gemstones. In order to avoid actually destroying such a powerful artifact—and the possibility of untold damage to the entirety Halla Eolais with magical backlash—I attempted to collect a small sample by lightly scratching the surface with a scalpel. The same methodology used to collect stone samples. It was here that I discovered this quite literally impossible. Upon first attempt, the subject yielded no samples. No, that is not a mistake in wording, I do not mean the subject yielded unusable samples—I mean not a single shard was dislodged, not even a scratch was shown upon its face. Just as had been for four hundred years, examination of the subject yielded nothing new. It remained undaunted. Curious, I decided to see if there might be a change with a little more force added. My research assistant, For Suntasach, volunteered his services for the attempt. Regrettably, it would seem that the subject can be quite volatile when … provoked, shall we say. Fortunately, his injuries weren’t extensive. A brief stay in the infirmary to help repair a bit of cracked carapace on his chest, as well as a sizable bruise upon his wing casing. We’re all quite relieved to note that he suffered no major injuries, nor did his passion or interest for this project take any blow. If anything, my assistant’s interest is further invigorated. “We made it react!” he’s said to everyone, friend, family, and even my parents. He’s only just an adult, but still a nymph at heart. For Suntasach will make a fine Seeker in his right. Returning to the subject at hoof … Three sharp knocks upon the heavy wooden door to her study drew a flick of her ear. Twilight’s eyes flitted up, her lips pressed into as thin a line as her fangs would allow. “Come in,” she called. With a rattle of the metal latch, the door pushed open to reveal a broad-chested guard with polished blue carapace and gleaming black armor. His slitted eyes met hers for an instant before he bowed low. “Your Highness,” he greeted. “The King and Queen have sent me to escort you to the Assembly Chambers.” Her ears flicked. “What ever for?” “Her Majesty received word from Canterlot by way of fire path,” he replied. “Her Majesty has called an assembly of the hive.” His eyes flitted away. “All nymphs, students, educators, librarians, guards, and Black Helmets currently in residence are required to attend.” There it was. She knew it would come. Twilight drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes tight. Again, all she could do was ask that question. One she felt she only knew half the answer to at this point. Why do you have to look at them as little more than food or entertainment? The princess released her breath in a sigh. Why can’t you just listen? Slowly, she began to rise, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Well, no use crying over a cracked pod,” she said loftily. “We knew this day would come when we received word of the invasion.” With a sad smile, she nodded to him. “Lead on.” Through winding tunnels lined with torches and paths branching off into different sections of Halla Eolais’s nigh endless library and classrooms, Twilight walked in the wake of her guard escort. Idly, she amused herself by letting her gaze flit about to seek out those hidden holes, those secret passages leading back to the guard barracks for ease of ambush and counterattack. She knew them all by heart. Every Seeker did. But such thoughts helped distract her busy, ever-analytical mind from the plethora of questions buzzing about like bees in midsummer. What was the situation in Canterlot? Why had Princess Celestia waited so long to call upon them? Were Cadence and Shining well? Night Light and Twilight Velvet? Princess Luna? Above all others, though, that same, damnable question haunted her so. Why, Chrysalis? Why them? A pang shot through her chest. Twilight forced herself to swallow a discontented groan with a flick of her tail. There was little point for speculation, the logical side of her said in its cold, apathetic tone. What happened, happened. There was no changing the past. Only adapting to the future. It did little to silence the cries of her other side. That raw, emotional side, the force within all changelings, Seeker or otherwise, which demanded she protect hers and avenge all slights. Twilight found herself in an odd place, on that front. How could she protect and avenge at the same time? She was saved from such puzzling musings by the sight of a great oaken door, made some centuries ago after a wild lightning storm struck down an old oak tree. The entrance to the assembly chambers stood wide open, with a pair of guards and a black helmet standing at the ready to admit them. The black helmet turned to face her, the high fin on her crest designated her the Captain, the master of her shadowy craft. Her cherry redeyes met Twilight’s, softening just a touch. “Your Highness,” she greeted with just a hint of warmness. “Good evening, Captain Labhrais,” Twilight replied, inclining her head. “Just Silín, please, Your Highness.” Her cheeks colored a dusty pink beneath her gray carapace. “My rank doesn’t change the years we studied together.” “And yet, you refuse my command to call me Twilight.” Feigning a sigh, she smiled, despite the dour mood hanging overhead. “Perhaps I should ask mother to assign you some menial work as reminder.” “You wouldn’t dare.” Her smile fell to a deep frown. Silín Labhrais’s eyes lost that playful gleam as she flicked her short, blue-white tail. “There have been whispers as the hive entered, Highness. Rumors spread like plague, I’ve heard no less than a hundred different, each concerning recent events. And why Princess Celestia would wait so long to call.” Twilight sighed at her lost distraction. “I don’t know much,” she admitted. “Nothing more than she’s waited until now to call upon us regarding the invasion of Canterlot. If I were to guess, I’d presume she wishes to know what we knew and when, if anything.” Silín grunted. “Mine as well. What was that idiot thinking?” she muttered the last part more to herself, but Twilight heard it nonetheless. The Captain of the Black Helmets shook her head and stepped aside with a bow to admit them. “After you, Highness. The hive awaits.” With a nod of thanks, Twilight stepped by her and let herself look out over the chambers. The assembly chambers was shaped like a giant pod, carved out by some of the finest builders the hive had ever produced. The ceiling climbed high, high until one could almost swear the tip of the conical, egg-like top just might end a mere hair beneath the peak of Halla Eolais’s central mountain. The walls themselves were as smooth as marble, with steps cut out of the stone leading up and fanning out wide to lead up to rows upon rows of benches upon which her hive mates sat and waited for the assembly to begin. The younger changelings, the students, were dressed in robes designating their age groups—the youngest in sky blue, the middle in yellow, the teens in slime green, the young adults in deep blue, and the research assistants and teaching assistants in purple. Twilight offered a crooked smile at the bemused looks her lack of dress earned her. In her haste to make it to the assembly, she’d left her own cloak, purple with green trim to signify her royal blood, on the rack in her study. At the center of the room, standing upon a stone dais adorned with a grand green carpet, stood her parents. Her father, Eolas ag Iarraidh, stood tall, his black carapace polished and shone with the flickering torchlight and messy blue mane sat beneath a shimmering crown wrought out of silver and decorated with sparkling gemstones. His face showed concern and careful consideration, yet when he took notice of her, he aimed that warm smile she knew so well. Then he brushed his hoof against his wife’s ankle. Sireadh Firinn’s gaze was upon her in an instant. Her eyes the very same color as Twilight’s, shone with concern. The silver, twisting crown upon her head, the diamonds sparkling like the very stars in the sky, even more brilliant than her husband’s. Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, the only tell she gave before the hive. Then her expression turned blank, a stately mask slipping effortlessly into place as she beckoned Twilight forth. Twilight could feel the gazes of thousands of changelings upon her as she trotted toward her parents with her head held high. She came to a halt a step before the dais, bowing her head in deference. “Mother, father,” she greeted formally. “Twilight,” Sireadh replied, inclining her head just slightly. That tiny smile flitted across her face again, there for but an instant and gone once more. She and Eolas stepped apart to allow Twilight space, Sireadh gestured for her to take it and join them with a wave of her hoof. An invitation she took without further hesitation. Twilight exchanged an affectionate brush of shoulders with Eolas before turning to offer the same to her mother, then awaited her to speak. Never one to keep them waiting, Sireadh turned to look out over her hive and began pacing about the dais. “My fellow Seekers,” she greeted, her voice carrying throughout the chambers. “Thank you for joining me this evening, I do wish I called upon you under better circumstances, but—” the Queen of the Seekers allowed herself a sardonic smile “—if wishes were fishes, as the saying goes.” A ripple of chittering mirth swept through the hive. Twilight, on the other hoof, had to hold back a grimace. Opening with a joke. Not good. Sireadh continued her slow circuit around the dais, her smile melting off her face like ice on a hot stove. “As we shared with you once the Black Helmets sent word from Canterlot regarding the ill-fated invasion of our cousins from the far west.” She paused, allowing a few members to hiss or grumble obscenities in various tongues. The news had spread quite wide across the land, and made it difficult for those who liked to travel and teach to connect with their students, and Sireadh Firinn knew their plight well. “I confess, I do share your sentiments, but lingering on them too long would be quite counterproductive. Especially in the face of recent tidings from our longstanding allies.” All grumblings of discontent died in an instant. Twilight perked her ears, her slitted eyes focused on her mother as she stopped her circuit where she began, and lit her horn a deep, verdant green. In a burst of light, a scroll bound in red ribbon and fastened with a golden seal popped into existence. Twilight’s keen eyes went to the emblem engraved into the metal. A sun and moon entwined together, signaling the endless cycle of day and night and the harmony it brought. It was official, not just a letter between rulers. A cold lump settled in her throat. There were only two or three reasons Equestria, namely the princesses, sent such a letter in times of crisis. Her mother undid the fasten and ribbon binding, and unrolled the scroll so she could relay Princess Celestia’s words as written. “To my old friends, Queen Sireadh Firinn and King Eolas ag Iarraidh,” she read aloud. “I write to you today under poorer tidings than I wish, as our land is clouded by the shadow of fear and suspicion due to your cousins’ recent actions, as you once worried. Ponies, uncertain of who is true friend or not, clamor for answers, some demand searches and laws. I ask that you and yours know that my sister and I have, and shall, hold our end of the bargain to protect your kin living within our borders. But with such fear, some quite justified, I worry this time a few soothing words from us won’t be enough.” She paused to let the words sink in. Twilight felt the lump in her throat work itself into her chest, freezing her very heart. It was happening. They’d always known the day would come when she was called—she had always known, deep in her heart. But not like this. The little nymph in her wanted to drop down and beg for something else, anything. Not this. Not because of her. “It is with heavy heart that we ask this of you,” Sireadh continued, her tone betrayed nothing. “We have called forth the other five, each of whom were present at my niece’s wedding the day of the invasion. Now, we must ask that the sixth come forth from Halla Eolais to restore the damage done to the harmony between our races, and represent her hive as diplomat to our land. My friends, Luna and I sincerely apologize. We will continue to protect your kin, but we cannot protect our own from the fear lingering in their hearts.” In another flash of verdant green, she sent the letter away. Still, her face revealed nothing. “You’ve now heard the word of Princess Celestia,” she said, “you’ve heard what she asks of us, and know the bargain made the day I accepted Magic in exchange for the protection for our kin. It is my feeling, and my husband’s, that we are obligated to answer. However, I will not deny your voice, the word of all Seekers is welcome in my hive—let any who disagree rise and share their reason. Speak now, or let it be done.” All around her, Twilight heard her hive mates discussing the matter in hushed tones, each holding their debates on the consequences of going or staying and ignoring the call. Changelings young and old whispered their points, gesturing wildly with their hooves between one another and her. Of course they’d point her out. She was the one who’d been called. After several tense moments of intra-hive debate, one young nymph, barely out of his hatchling years stood and adjusted the yellow youngling’s robes so they sat more comfortably on his shoulders. Twilight recognized him from one of the classes she’d helped teach, Hipitéis, if she recalled. “The hive will recognize Hipitéis,” Sireadh called, silencing all conversation in an instant. Her slitted eyes locked upon the youngling. “If you’d be so kind as to open the debate.” Hipitéis bowed low. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Everyone.” The little nymph stood up straight, his head tall, like a proper Seeker presenting his case. “Fellow Seekers, I may be young, but I cannot stay silent when everything we’ve heard from Princess Celestia’s letter, her summons, rather, smells of trouble ahead. What happened to our friends, Shining Armor and Princess Cadence, at their wedding was tragic, and I’m sure I’m not the only one here who feels utmost relief for their safety now.” A round of nods and polite thudding of hooves brought a hint of a smile to his face. “However, I do worry this might bode ill for more than just our kin abroad. The ponies aren’t just asking for the bearer of Magic to step forth, save the day, and then recede into shadows and whispered stories as before. They’re asking for the bearer to stand in the light to answer for crimes our cousins committed against their kind. Perhaps it’s out of place, but I feel I must ask: how long until they put two and two together and realize the bearer is one of us?” Silence greeted his question. Out of the corner of her eye, Twilight noticed her father giving a little tilt of his head in acknowledgement. The youngling had made a sound point. But he wasn’t quite done. Hepitéis then turned his pale brown eyes upon her, offering a small bow before he spoke again, “How long before they realize we’re sending our Princess and those causing the Eternal Sisters grief try to put pressure on her? Or worse?” “Rebuttal!” an older changeling called from the opposite side of the chambers. She stood tall, her platinum silver mane long and flowing down to her shoulders. “Hipitéis, you raise valid concern and show promising insight. However, with age, comes understanding. With respect, youngling, what you ask us to do in ignoring our allies spits in their face just as much as if we’d been flying upon their city with our cousins!” Beside her, a student in green robes stood and nodded. “I second Belladonna’s assessment,” he called. “I would add that there has always been risk with our hive holding Magic, lest we forget the return of Tirek last century!” “All the more reason to be cautious,” a guard stepped forward and removed his deep green helm. “I won’t go as far as seconding young Hipitéis entirely, but I would agree that we cannot simply send Princess Twilight off to Equestria in such dire times.” “What’s more,” Hipitéis added, “Queen Sireadh has been learned in magics forgotten by most since long before any of us were alive. I intend no disrespect, Your Highnesses—” he offered another bow to Twilight specifically “—but our Princess is young. And, though it pains me to say, her past health issues do bring great concern to her strength and endurance.” It was at that point the calm broke. Changelings leapt from their seats, some hissing in outrage and shouting him down to demand apology for the offense, others rising to his side to note the objective truth and need for consideration. Others found way to play both sides, noting the validity of his concerns while pointing out the necessity to maintain the long-standing alliance with the House of the Eternal Sisters, and Equestria as a whole. Twilight tried to maintain a stately mask, just like her mother and father. Even as she felt her father drift closer to touch his hoof against her wrist in comfort, stinging tears gathered at the corner of her eyes and threatened to well. She blinked them away and took a deep, soothing breath, and released just as Cadence taught her. It wasn’t her fault she’d gotten sick when she’d hatched. It wasn’t her fault she was shorter than she should’ve been at her age. Nor was it her fault it took some years for her to gain her strength, and then some. Just like it wasn’t her hive’s fault the ponies had reason to be afraid. But that didn’t take away the sting each time a reminder came. Through it all, she watched her mother. Queen Sireadh Firinn gave no hint as to which side of the debate she fell. Her ears swiveled and flicked, taking in each point as it was raised and countered. After what seemed a small eternity, she raised her hoof and struck down upon the dais with a thundering stomp. She was done hearing arguments. Silence fell upon the assembled hive once more. All attention turned to their Queen as they sat in near-perfect unison. “I have heard your arguments,” she began slowly. “Now, we shall raise ours.” Sireadh turned her gaze upon Hipitéis and regarded him in silence for several seconds, then spoke, “I appreciate each of you raising valid concerns, Hipitéis, though I would remind you to take care with your wording. My daughter was sick upon hatching, yes. And if not for the timely intervention of two outsiders, I might yet be grieving her loss.” Her eyes turned colder than ice. The youngling quailed beneath her gaze. “Two outsiders from Canterlot named Night Light and Twilight Velvet, sent to study in our halls upon request of our friends, Princesses Celestia and Luna. Two outsiders my husband and I embraced as our own and named kin in all but blood, and granted the privilege of choosing her name.” The silence held fast. One could’ve heard a quill drop throughout the assembly chambers. Eolas’s hoof left Twilight’s wrist. Her father stepped forward to stand at his wife’s side. “Furthermore,” he said, his tone level, “our daughter has quite surpassed expectations in terms of her prowess and fortitude since then. As counterpoint to yours, Hipitéis, I submit her campaign to defend Halla Eolais against the tatzelwurm as most recent evidence.” Twilight took note of the way the youngling’s ears drooped and eyes fell to the floor, abashed. She bit her lip. He wasn’t wrong. Nor was he necessarily right, both in wording or in assessment, but his points weren’t to be ignored. She thought carefully on her own words, wetting her lips with a lash of her forked tongue. “If I may,” she cut in, but remained in place. All eyes fell upon her once more. “I don’t take offense to what Hipitéis said, though I would ask that he take the time to think a little more on his wording in the future, so valid concerns are not lost in the midst of a heated argument.” Hipitéis’s ears perked back up, his eyes met hers, showing confusion and just a hint of relief. A low rumble of thudding hooves sounded out the hive’s agreement. “Continuing on, yes, it is true. It’s no secret I was a sickly hatchling, as my mother said.” She nodded to Sireadh and received one in turn. “But as my father counters, I’ve grown into my own. Height excluding, if you’ll pardon my need for a stepladder to meet my parents’ eyes.” Her comment earned her a ripple of chittering mirth, drawing a small smile. Good. Tension removed. Which meant now she could make her actual statement on the subject. The hive was waiting. But Twilight found herself conflicted. The burden of bearing Magic had never been kept secret. Her mother had been open on the dangers it posed, and scrutiny from ponies across the land—especially those who would try to coax her to remain and give details. But there was something else in Princess Celestia’s message. Or, something subtextual, rather. The bearer, Twilight, wasn’t being called forth, save the day, and recede into shadows, just as Hipitéis said. What was being asked was more … involved. And open. And her answer was going to set off the hive again. Twilight drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. It’s my burden now. “While I don’t think I quite agree with Hipitéis on being so cautious or apprehensive on the matter of helping our longest standing allies, I would point out that he is absolutely correct on another matter—that being what is asked.” She turned to face her parents. “I don’t think it wrong to presume your interpretation matches, would it?” “It would not,” Sireadh replied. To the hive, she said, “Princess Celestia, in essence, does not merely ask for the bearer. She asks for the bearer to act as our diplomat, just as my daughter and Hipitéis say.” There was almost a chorus of sharp inhaling. Changeling eyes flitted about to one another in silent conversation. Then came call from somewhere near Hipitéis, “What about disguise? Princess Twilight could act as though she were a local representing our interests!” “That would beg more questions than it answered,” another said with a scoff. “And if that happens, it could make things worse for our kin within their borders if we’re seen as lying.” “It’s served well when Queen Sireadh goes to act as bearer!” “In fairness,” Sireadh put in, “I’ve made certain to leave my home vague each time. And take on different guises each time.” Twilight could only frown as the hive began to launch into open debate once more. They weren’t seeing it. Even her own parents were missing it. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps it was more that her parents hoped it wouldn’t come to such an unprecedented notion. Her own mother hadn’t been so bold when she went to accept Magic on Princess Celestia’s behalf four hundred years prior. But times had changed, and so must they. Thanks to their own cousins. “Rebuttal,” Twilight said softly, her voice so low only Eolas could hear. “And counterpoint.” Eolas blinked and fixed her with a quizzical look, but stomped his hoof to call for silence all the same. Nodding her thanks, Twilight turned to properly address the hive. “In Princess Celestia’s letter she requests that we send the bearer, myself, as our representative. Now, as Teoirim noted—” she nodded to Hipitéis’s older brother “—in his counterpoint, disguising myself as a pony or one of our local friends might raise more questions than anything. In the event that things don’t work out well, it could also prove a problem.” A round of wincing came in reply. “Exactly. To that end, I believe our usual methods might work against us in this case.” Her father frowned. “And how would you address that?” he pressed. His eyes, however, told another story. They showed a hint of warning. A look he wore so often when trying to silently counsel her away from a path he saw as foolhardy or ill-suited. Or dangerous. Sadly, Twilight had never quite been one to back down when that look was in play. “I would have us address this with proper representation, father. I’ll answer her call, as bearer and as diplomat. I’ll address them and represent our hive as Twilight Sparkle, Princess of the Seekers …” she trailed off and drew in a deep breath. It was time to flick a match onto the powder keg. “In my natural form.” It took several seconds for her words to register. Several long, agonizing seconds of complete and utter silence. None dared to breathe. Then every member of the hive, from the youngest students to the oldest teachers, to Silín Labhrais and her Black Helmets, to her parents themselves launched into a flurry of objections. The entire hive against Twilight in a debate. Oddly enough, a smile began to spread across her features. A debate against the bulk of the Seekers. Now there was a worthy challenge.