//------------------------------// // The Night // Story: Peaceable Kingdom // by AShadowOfCygnus //------------------------------// By nightfall, the word was on every pair of lips. From the streets of the city to the halls of the palace, and as far as the airwaves would carry, the news was spreading across Equestria—a bomb. A bombing, in Canterlot. Twenty-one dead in the heart of the heartland. Celestia had expected more anger. Hooves and horns and swords crossed, demanding answers, demanding reprisal—the who, the how, the why of it. But she had not had to tell a single page, a single noble that those were her questions as well, that the Guard were investigating and answers would make themselves known in due time. Blueblood—Blueblood!—had asked her leave to go down into the city and lend a hoof where able. Was it strange that after so many millennia, so many years spent watching her people grow—nurturing them in that growth!—that solidarity should still seem so alien to her? Was it still so very hard for her to believe that tragedy could do more now to bring them together in their anguish? And yet, the warring impulse remained: were it truly so, would we be here tonight to watch them do it? This does not happen in my kingdom. She opened her eyes, and was once again on the terrace adjoining her sister’s observatory-tower, Luna beside her, gazing out over the southern Wards—at St Hestia’s, at the garden pavilion adjoining, at the Railyard. There, in the dim half-light of evening, as ponies in dusty overalls went about lighting the gas-lamps on every street corner, a brighter light was to be found there. A hundred-hundred candles, a hundred-hundred horn-tips, bathing the cordon in softly-shifting spectra of orange and blue-white light. A kilometre’s separation—up, away—was not enough to mask the snatches of song the wind carried to their ears. Luna shifted a little. ‘Awaited they the night for this?’ ‘Many are just coming off work.’ ‘Ah.’ They stood there in silence for a while longer, watching lamps come on across the city—watching the line of light stretch further and further back from the Railyard cordon. ‘You left Twilight with the rest of the Elements, yes?’ ‘Verily. And left instruction clear that we be informed the moment she be like to wake.’ ‘I would feel her. I’ve been listening since . . .’ ‘I know, Tia.’ Silence again. Then: ‘Solidarity.’ ‘What of it?’ ‘Were you not pondering it but a moment ago?’ ‘I was.’ ‘You read the Guards’ final report, then?’ ‘Why ask the question when you already know the answer?’ ‘Courtesy. Love. Refusal to let dark thoughts lie untended—all things we promised in ages past.’ Luna’s shoulder pressed lightly against hers. ‘And mayhap an end to endless circling.’ Celestia smiled a little; it was an old refrain. ‘Yours or mine?’ ‘Peradventure both; mayhap neither.’ Celestia’s smile widened—faltered, a little, as she guided the sun through its final eventide moments—but remained. ‘You always know just what to say.’ ‘We are your sister, after all.’ Luna’s eyes were closed, guiding the moon onto the perfect curve of its nightly path, but Celestia could see the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips, too. ‘They have a saying, you know; they came up with it while you were away.’ ‘Oh?’ ‘Yes. The moon also rises. Mind, the particulars may have changed in the last century; I don’t keep track as well as I should.’ ‘’Tis in parallel to the sun, then? Their art hath always reflected the duality.’ ‘Yes, but I think the implication was more that, while there will always be darkness, it never comes without a light to guide them through it.’ ‘More the flatterers they. But, verily, here we are.’ ‘Here we are. The greatest loss of life on Equestrian soil in a hundred years, and the moon still rises.’ Luna opened her eyes, and regarded the moon quietly as it began its steady, unimpeded ascent. ‘And yet, here we are. Solidarity.’ Silence. ‘The report, then?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘. . . your thoughts?’ ‘Troubled, but you knew that. That it was so well-distilled speaks to something organised, or at least premeditated. Equestria still has its enemies, though I spent a thousand years lessening their potential to harm. Save possibly Crystal—sorry, Chrysalis’—swarm, any of them would have the technology.’ ‘Yet, ‘twere neither Griffon nor Diamond Dog within fifty miles of Ponyville this morning, should the alarum-wards be held in account.’ ‘. . . nor on the train at any point on its route, as I’m sure you were able to confirm when you walked the scene.’ ‘Nay, naught but the resonances of ponies, stem to stern.’ A pause. Then: ‘Pray, how long?’ ‘Barring the odd crime of passion? Centuries. And there hasn’t been a killing in sixty years, let alone a score.’ ‘And nary a word as to motive?’ ‘No suicide note, no manifesto. Nothing. Violence for violence’s sake, if that.’ ‘Be it wise to disregard the swarm, then? We would fain hazard ten-score of theirs fell the night of the Wedding.’ ‘She lacks the subtlety to pull off something at this scale. With figures like that, it would have been ten bombs, or none.’ ‘Then, mayhap . . . ?’ Luna nodded in the direction of the castle gardens, far below. Celestia followed her gaze to a single, irregular outline there—positioned so as to be immediately distinguishable from the rest of the statuary at this angle. A bit of cloud scudded across the moon as she looked, and her heart missed a beat, but—no. No, for all that he looked ready to leap out and dance for them in the pale moonlight, his face told the real story—the manifest rictus of frustration, fear, pain. He wouldn’t be caught dead in that colour, if he had his way. ‘It’s not his style anyway,’ she said, half to herself. But even as she said the words, even as Luna nodded, she considered that. It was not his style, no; but then, whose was it? Not the Griffons’, and not the Minotaurs’; not the Diamond Dogs’ or the Changelings’; a Dragon wouldn’t bother, and neither would the odd Everfree megabeast. For too many, there was too much honour at stake, else too much goodwill to be lost. Nothing about it added up; nothing about it made any kind of sense. No culprit, no motive, no reason—no parallel, no analogue, no reference point. Had the rules of the game changed? Had it been somewhere, somehow agreed, this is how things shall be? If so, she had not been informed. She had looked up from the table to find the pieces scattered, the board up-ended, but no-one else even an inch from their seats. But was that even fair? One bomb, one cold-blooded murder in two-hundred years—what else could it be?—was it really a paradigm shift unto itself? It felt like it, there, under the cold gaze of the stars. A thousand years of careful tending, yet the garden was never free of weeds. A weed? The question rolled back and forth along her tongue, but she could not bring herself to voice it. Instead, she matched the gaze of the stars, and silently shook her head. Beside her, Luna broke the lengthening silence—and once again saved her the trouble of speech. ‘Verily, indeed. Here we are, sister. The moon also riseth, yes . . . but what doth it rise on?’ Celestia shook her head, mutely. This does not happen in my kingdom. Does it? ‘Fast, you’ve been here since—’ ‘I know, Weather. You go on home. And take tomorrow off, alright? Crown’s already announced a national day of mourning, there’s . . . nothing we could really do, here.’ ‘Alright, but . . . you get home safe too, mister. And if you’re still here when I switch on the radio back home . . .’ ‘Yes ma’am. Weather Eye, everyone: our Pegasus correspondent for lifestyle, traffic, and—you guessed it, everyone’s favourite news item—the latest styles sweeping the streets. We’ve all put in a long day, but hers was the longest—three before dawn, she gets in here. Criminy. ‘Folks . . . there was one last thing I want to say before . . . before I switch off for the day and go home—to my wife, who works at the bank about a mile up the road from St Hestia’s, and to my two beautiful foals. We—we’ve got a lot, up here in Canterlot. And I—I’m not always sure we’re as thankful for it as we should be. Up here on the Mount, we don’t get a lot of—a lot of Dragons, or Parasprites, or the kind of craziness that comes with living next to the Everfree, like the good folks down in Ponyville. ‘But—consider, in the past few moons, we had the Green Wedding, and then—today, what some ponies are calling the Railyard Bombing, others the Wards massacre . . . I’m not saying there’s some kind of . . . of pattern there or something, because I don’t think there is, but . . . ‘But I want to you to consider, w-whether you lost someone today—and our hearts—the hearts of all of Equestria go out to you if you did—if you’re at the vigil down at the gates right—right now, or if you’re at home, wherever that may be across the wide Equestrian world . . . I want you to consider a-all the good things you’ve got in your life, a-and . . . and I want you to be thankful for them. Grab your spouse, your marefriend or coltfriend, your foals, your parents, your best friend—anyone you really care about. ‘You grab them, and you give them the biggest minotaur-hug you can. Because if they’re there, then no matter how much we’ve lost, we still—still have a lot to be grateful for. ‘Goodnight, Canterlot. Goodnight, Ponyville. Goodnight to . . . a-anyone and everyone who may be listening, wherever and whenever you might be. This is Fast Talker for Canterlot Radio One, and I can promise you sure as the sun rises, we’ll be back on the day after tomorrow with your weather, traffic, and news needs. Signing off for now; goodnight.’ Her head swam, adrift in a sea of clouds. She was nearer, and further, and nearer to herself again, and yet she still found herself a-swimming. Faint outlines became clear—long parallels, sharp perpendiculars, abstract white geometries on the ceiling (ceiling? where had the skies gone?) opposite. The befuddlement of skies carried her, turning, twisting, darkening, until abstract shapes were abstract no longer—a carriage, a cabin, seats opposite. And eyes—eyes the colour of sapphire, of still waters, regarding her with concern. Darling, whatever is the matter? You look like you’ve just seen a gh— Twilight’s eyes snapped open, and the bed lurched as she heaved and twisted. She did not know where she was, but it wasn’t where she had been, and it was wrong, and everything was wrong and she needed to go, and her leg wasn’t moving for some reason, and— She froze, panting with exertion, tangled in sheets, staring wide-eyed at the unfamiliar door swinging open into the unfamiliar room. Applejack stood there, with the nurse right beside. They were pale under the dull hospital lights (a hospital; that would explain the ceiling—bed, sheets. Leg?), but paled further still on seeing her awake. Applejack seemed almost rigid with shock, but the nurse—an unfamiliar Earth Pony mare with a violently green mane—recovered almost at once, and made a great show of bustling in, business as usual. A few readings taken, a clipboard grabbed from the end of the bed, a few diagnostic glances taken, and she was gone. And that just left Applejack—face lined, eyes hollow, still somehow managing to look confused. Twilight, not really knowing what to say, still compromisingly tangled in sheets, just kind of . . . waved. A sad little wave, one-hoofed, from where she lay. And the absurdity of it was too much for either of them, and they laughed. They laughed. Hollow and awkward as it was, it was laughter, and it was enough. Applejack shut the door gently behind her and crossed to the bed, giving Twilight a look that told her in no uncertain terms that if she hadn’t been bedridden, she would have been subjected to the biggest running tackle-hug in the history of Equestria. Instead, she settled for a slightly-choked, ‘Well hey, you.’ ‘Hey yourself,’ Twilight croaked, a little surprised at her own hoarseness. She pulled herself upright, wincing a little as inadvertently flexed the leg in the cast, and held out her forelegs. Applejack eyed her, as though afraid she might collapse under her own weight, but Twilight shook her head. ‘I’m okay. Come here.’ Applejack needed no further prompting. Awkwardly, carefully, tightly, they hugged—Applejack doing her best to balance on two hind-legs, Twilight trying very hard not to move hers. It was odd, and silly, and uncomfortable, and yet they found that all they could do was squeeze harder, and hold tighter. Applejack broke away first—held her at hooves’ length, took her in. Took in, Twilight imagined, the burns, the cuts, the bruises; the eyes, rimmed with dark circles and the shadows of tears; the trembling half-smile. She wondered if it was anything like Applejack’s—taut, tired, hopeful, amazed. It was the kind of look that prefaced passionate speech-giving—or else a flood of tears. But Applejack did none of those things. She just stood there, fidgeting a little. The brim of her hat came down over her eyes, then popped back up again, the lid of some self-conscious jack-in-the-box trying to hide her wet and black-circled eyes. She started toward the bedside table, stopped, fumbled with the glass, stopped. Filled it—held it out. ‘Thank you.’ Twilight took proffered glass gratefully and downing it in a single go. In her newly-upright position, she could get a much better look at the room than she had before—single-occupancy, no curtain, decently-modern med-tech, and a high window, showing nothing but dark face of the building opposite. ‘What time is it?’ she asked Applejack, hoofing back the glass. AJ refilled it slowly and set it on the table, squinting out the window. ‘Ehh, lil’ after moonrise? You were out fer a good twelve hours, sugarcube.’ ‘This doesn’t look like Ponyville General.’ ‘Nah, some lil’ number called St Hestia’s, a little ways up from the Railyard—budge up yer leg there, I’m sittin’ with ya—we came up from Ponyville as soon as we could.’ ‘We? The girls?’ ‘’Course, silly-filly, who were ya thinkin’?’ She sounded better, Twilight noticed—the words coming easier, the cobwebs beaten away. Warming—like a crystal focus gathering energy, or an eng— Her stomach turned over, and she blinked, hard. Applejack seemed not to have noticed. ‘Honestly, we’d been here since mid-mornin’—reckoned we’d be here well overnight, too, given how restful you were sleepin’ an’ all. So Dashie went to go grab us some dinner off the carts they got set up out on the pavilion, took Spike with her. Lil’ guy didn’t want leave ya, but we talked him into some food. And Fluttershy said she had t’get home an’ feed the varmints their supper, ‘cuz a’course she did.’ She frowned a little. ‘And then there’s Pinkie. Zipped off without a second glance ‘bout an hour ago, and we haven’t seen her since. Couldn’t say when she might get it in her head to come back, only that she will.’ Twilight waited for her to continue. Applejack shifted a little at the foot of the bed, getting her hooves tucked under her, but said nothing else. Her eyes seemed riveted to the cast on Twilight’s leg—though whether in an attempt to avoid it, or simply for the solid fact of it, Twilight couldn’t be sure. She shifted a little, under the covers, and Applejack started, locked eyes with her for the briefest of moments, and just as quickly looked away again. ‘A-and, err, let’s see, here—yer parents came by while you was asleep, ‘fore we left. Came in, watched over y’all fer a bit. Yer ma ended up fightin’ with the nurses, sayin’ they wanted to take you home. And the nurse just looked at her and said she should feel—f-feel . . .’ She broke off, and lifted her eyes to the ceiling, shaking her head slightly. ‘Damn it,’ she said quietly, half to herself. ‘Ah can’t . . . how am I s’posed to . . . ?’ But Twilight was only half-listening. On an impulse, she had pulled back the curtain dividing the little room, and her eyes swept distractedly over the deserted landscape of chairs, tables, standing lamps. She turned back to Applejack, heart in her throat. ‘A-Applejack, where’s—?’ Applejack’s head whipped around. Her eyes were wide, her mouth caught half-open—and what little colour there had been in her face drained silently away. They sat there, caught in that moment, Twilight’s heart pounding in her chest, her throat, her ears, knowing, knowing, but hoping— And then Applejack’s gaze fell, and the slight tremble in her lips was all the confirmation Twilight needed. ‘Oh.’ ‘Oh?’ echoed Applejack, faintly. Her eyes remained unblinkingly locked on the cast, now. ‘Oh.’ She felt the gorge rise again in her chest but she shoved it down, opting instead to let herself sink back into the mound of pillows. ‘Oh.’ Applejack squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again. ‘Ah’m sorry, Twi.’ Twilight said nothing, but hot tears were already coursing their way down her cheeks. Something unreasoned, half-conscious, burned through her like bile—how could she have been so stupid, how could she not have seen it in Applejack’s face the moment she came in? She had asked for water before she asked about her friend. Heartless. Thoughtless. Stupid. In that moment, everything about her was Wrong; everything about her was a mistake, and a sin, and a grievance. She hated it, and she hated herself for being weak, and in that moment she could do nothing but lie there and sob. She felt a tentative hoof near the fetlock of her good hind-leg—a gentle, soothing motion. She wanted to scream that she didn’t deserve it, but at the same time she needed it, and the realisation only made her cry harder. How could she have been so stupid? How dare she be there, when Rarit— When Rar— Sightless fog washed over her—grey, heavy, leaden, crushing. She crumpled beneath it, sobbing. Applejack was a pin-prick, now, a tiny bud of orange in a swelling field of grey. She was slipping again, slipping into the sea, and her chest hurt and she didn’t know why and everything was growing dark again and she hated it and she hated herself for slipping but she didn’t want to stay she couldn’t because that would mean thinking about her again and knowing she was gone and she couldn’t she couldn’t she didn’t deserve to be there to think about it if she couldn’t take it back make it better take her place instead and it was all too much. Then darkness—complete and all-consuming—sliced through the whirl of images, and she was gone again, adrift and aloft and far away in blackness and sorrow and guilt. How long she slept, if sleep it was, she did not know. Periodically the darkness would lift for a moment—punctuated by the distant outlines of sounds—the hazy echo of colours and familiar shapes, crowding and melting together like summer sherbet. And then she would sink again, and again the dark curtain would fall. Time and again, like the tide, she ebbed and flowed; time and again she washed up and was dragged away, and she hadn’t the strength to resist. But eventually the dark surf receded, the curtain lifted, and she lay again in a dark room. She lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, feeling the grimy tracks of tears in the fur of her cheeks, cold and empty and alone. Not alone? She lifted her head slightly. The lights had been turned out, but the moon was high out the little picture window, and bathed the room in a silky white cast—a shine like snow. Applejack was where she had been before—legs tucked under her, at the foot of the bed, just shy of Twilight’s bound-up leg. Her head was down, now, her breathing slow and regular. Rainbow Dash, it seemed, had pulled up a chair beside her, and was sprawled uncomfortably along it—legs splayed, head cocked, mouth open, snoring. In the corner, Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie took up opposite ends of the short couch beside the table—Fluttershy, tucked up like Applejack; Pinkie flat and stiff as a board. She made to move a little, to adjust her position around the cast, but stopped when she felt pressure on her right side. Spike had wedged himself into the crook of her foreleg, a tight, tiny ball of scales and frills, pressed up against her as though ready to burrow into her side and never come out again. And he, too, was asleep, so she settled back again, and let her head hit the pillow. She lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the moment when it was all supposed to make her feel better. It didn’t come. She lifted her head again—and again, and again—and scanned the room, each time looking for the empty chair. Each time she looked, each time she found every seat taken, the sick feeling in her stomach grew a little more pronounced. Of course it was her fault. Of course she was to blame. She hadn’t done anything to stop it. She hadn’t even known. She’d been stupid and thoughtless and wrong, and that was that. And now her friend was dead. She waited to cry, but her eyes were dry. She tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat prevented her. She let out a ragged breath as the last images flashed before her eyes again—blue eyes, wide with friendly concern, a gasp, a shove, then heat and pressure and light and darkness. And . . . Darling? She shuddered, violently—felt Spike push himself harder into her side in response. And, too, seemed to stir movement in the hall outside. A soft light pooled under the door, growing steadily in intensity as the latch clicked, and Twilight swore to herself that if she stepped through that door, she would scream. But it was another figure, taller, shining white—whiter than the room itself. Warmth washed over her like a wave—a cresting wave, of fresh sea-foam. She closed her eyes, and basked in the familiar warmness. And then she heard her name. Not angry, not frustrated, not even afraid. Just the thing itself, with love, and motherly warmth. A familiar voice, within and without, soothing and close and firm. And she opened her eyes. Celestia was there, Luna beside her, close enough to whisper, and the dry tears suddenly threatened to leave her again. She was here, she was close, and everything was going to be alright. Her warm smile, the soft, motherly look in her tired eyes, the feeling of gentle sunlight on her cool fur—Twilight felt herself sigh, and relax, and almost close her eyes again, a foal nestled against her side again, but she couldn’t, because it was suddenly very important, and she had been derelict in her duty, and she had to be strong, she had to tell her— ‘Twilight,’ Celestia said softly. She settled herself gently by the side of the bed, never straying far, always near, her eyes never leaving Twilight’s. There was an odd expression on her face, one Twilight couldn’t quite place—almost fondness, almost maternal warmth, but tinged with an overpowering sadness, and regret. It was the same expression Luna wore, standing as she did at the foot of the bed, surveying the sleepers arrayed about the room—the same expression she wore as she lit her horn, and every one of them visibly relaxed; Pinkie even rolled over, with a little, contented sigh. It was the same expression Twilight was sure she was wearing, as she snuggled Spike closer to her chest, and matched gazes with her mentor of many years. ‘You know why we’re here?’ Celestia asked, gently. Twilight nodded. ‘And you know what we need to ask of you?’ She nodded again. ‘And you feel up to telling us whatever you can?’ Nod. Celestia inclined her head. ‘Anything you can tell us would be appreciated. Don’t worry about working around what we already know—we just want to hear what you saw. We can stop at any time, and we can come back later, if you need us to. Are you ready?’ Twilight found her voice, at last—smaller, hoarser, than when it had just been Applejack. ‘W-where would you want me to start? I don’t remember seeing anything out-of-place on the platform.’ ‘Whither thou believest the tale beginneth,’ said Luna, louder but no less gentle. ‘We know ‘tis no easy task we set thee.’ And Twilight took a deep breath, and Twilight told them, voice growing stronger, her words more confident with each syllable that fell from her lips. She told them about how she and Rarity had boarded the train—second carriage from the front, first row. She told them about how they had talked and laughed, and conspiratorially shared all the little things they were going to do when they got there. And she found herself telling them about what those plans had been—how she was going to take her old room-mate out for a cup of coffee and catch up after nearly three years apart; how Rarity had planned to buy some fabulous Saddle Arabian silks for a new dress Cheerilee had saved up a year’s worth of bits for. And she told them more than that—what she’d thought about Rarity, how she’d done her hair that morning, the look in her eyes as she walked Twilight through the steps the dress would take from cloth to dress-form to finished work: the spark, the grin, the muted bounciness of artistic fulfilment. And then they started pulling into the station, and Twilight’s telling slowed. ‘We . . . we were just getting ready to up and start making our way to the doors, and then . . . there was . . .’ She trailed off. Darling, whatever is the matter? ‘Twilight?’ She shook her head, violently. ‘I’m sorry. There was a . . . a mare. Grey coat, black mane. Thin, uh, and bright green eyes. No horn. I never saw if she had wings. She was wearing a big heavy parka—really strange for the middle of summer, obviously. Rarity and I talked about it when she got on board. She . . . she was right near the middle of the carriage, and she kind of got to her hooves real quickly, and threw the parka off, and there was something under it. And I kind of gasped, because my seat was facing hers, but Rarity was across from me the whole time, and she couldn’t see and she never saw it coming and— A-and—’ ‘Twilight?’ You look like you’ve just seen a gh— ‘And I couldn’t tell what it was I could never tell what it was but it was big and it was bulky and had lots of compartments all close together and she had something she fitted into her mouth and she never said anything and it was over so quick and she just bit down on it and—’ She could feel herself breathing, hard—as though she’d just run a marathon. Her heart was pounding. How had she gone from confidence so quickly? Part of her screamed to say the words that were burning in her throat; part of her clung desperately to her chest and bade her hold her tongue. How long had she been talking? How loud had she— And then the soft cradle of wings surrounded her, and for the briefest of moments she was safe again. Everything seemed to slow, and fall away—her breathing, her hitched shoulders, the subtle pain beginning to make itself known again in her leg—all of it disappearing in the soothing warmth. She was a foal again, being cradled close and gently reassured; the words a language she desperately wanted to understand. And then that, too, fell away, and she was back. A little sick, a little hitch in her chest, but somehow so very much lighter. She looked around at Luna, at her friends—and something about them seemed almost lighter. She turned back to Celestia, almost longingly, but the look in her eyes told Twilight everything she needed to know. There was a steel there now there had not been before, and a kind of resignation. But she turned to Twilight, and all Twilight could feel was warmth. ‘Thank you, Twilight,’ she heard—a whisper, directly in her ear. ‘Thank you for telling us. Thank you for being strong.’ And the warmth and the closeness increased, draped over her like a warm blanket, and at last, Twilight was asleep. Ponyville Express—Editorials by Plum Partridge I’m sitting here at my desk, and I just don’t know how to put any of this in words. Y’all have heard what happened up in Canterlot this morning. And y’all know that we’re a daily, so we gots to write these things up as they happen. But I just don’t know what I can say about something like this. Here in Ponyville, we got our troubles. Three years, we’ve had Nightmare Moon, and Discord, and big old Star-Bears running amok through town. My cousin gets Timber-Wolves on the farm, there’s always some Dragon lurking just over the horizon, and Celestia only knows what might come gallivanting out of the Everfree any given night. We ain’t no strangers to danger or kerfuffle, is what I’m saying. Y’all know it, I know it. Celestia knows it, way up Mount Canter. But I know that when I went out this morning to pick up some roses from the gals in town, and I looked up and I saw that smoke plume, my heart just stopped. I couldn’t tell you why, or how I knew in my good Earth pony hooves that something was wrong, something different, but I did. Caramel. Fizzle Plume. Rarity. Type Setter. Four ponies. Four ponies, and those are just the ones from Ponyville. And I’m sitting here, reading over those names, thinking about the ponies I knew, and I just don’t know what to say. I knew these ponies. I chatted with them in the market, waved to them in the street. I drank in the same bar as Fizzle, bought my wedding dress from Rarity, worked with Type Setter for I don’t know how many years. And all of them got swept away in just one second. How am I supposed to handle that? How are any of us? I can’t do them or their lives justice in just one page, and I’m not gonna try. Scribble Dibble, our new editor, said she’d handle the obituaries. Read them, when you get a chance—if I know Scribble, she’ll do right by them. Maybe I’ll put in a few words, a few of the best memories, in the column this week—maybe give you all a chance to share your stories. And to the families, the spouses, the partners, the friends—y’all have our love and good wishes, and all the help we’ve got to give. That’s what Ponyville does. We got our disasters, we got our troubles. We don’t usually walk away from them with these big of holes in our hearts, but when we see a pony get hurt by them, we always stop to help. I’ve lived here all my life, and I ain’t never seen different. And no matter who cost us near thirty ponies this morning, or what, that’s who we gotta still be. Help your neighbour, help your friend. Help anypony who’s hurting today, tomorrow, next week. And help yourselves, too. There ain’t never a time to pull a wagon with a broken wheel. Take the time to fix that wheel and come back strong when it’s ready. The Sun, the Moon will still be there in the morning. The last tendrils of warmth were long gone when Twilight awoke in the early hours of the morning. She remembered the blanket of comfort and gentle feeling, remembered being lulled into a soft and untroubled sleep, and part of her was conscious enough—clever enough—to realise that had probably been deliberate. Asleep, she knew, she would not dream. Asleep, she could not relive the conversation, the train ride, the . . . explosion. Asleep, she could rest. Unfortunately, asleep or no, she was still bound by physiological laws, and the pain response was one her subconscious mind was sadly well-acquainted with. The dull pain of whatever she had tweaked under the cast lingered, almost resentful, and—now that there was no blanket of warmth to distract her—the rest of her was inclined to feel the same way. She resented her leg, she resented her incredibly self-aware mind (Ah, see, Princess Celestia knew you would have trouble sleeping without outside help, so she helped you fall asleep; ergo, without her, you will now not fall asleep!), she resented that her friends were no longer in the room to resent, she resented the fact that she was here at all, she resented the big pile of train ride-explosion-conversation that she was resentful she couldn’t even bring herself to get into yet, and she very definitely resented that part of her brain that was trying to get her to get into it. It was a more wakeful guilt from before—an angrier one. She wanted to lash out, to find or summon or manifest some acceptable target for her frustration, but there wasn’t so much as a ‘call nurse’ button for her to throw something at. So she just . . . lay there. Sighing intermittently, and trying very hard not to close her eyes and see Rarity’s face again—see those last confused seconds play out again and again in perfect play-by-play. Whatever is the matter? Stop. You look like you’ve seen a gh— Stop it. Darling? ‘I said stop!’ She was sitting up now, head in hooves. Something—maybe a pillow, maybe a water glass—had bounced heavily off the wall opposite, and now there were hoofsteps in the hall. She didn’t even have the strength feign an apology as the door cracked open—she was tired, she was angry, she was miserable, and she just wanted to go back to sleep and make it all go away. ‘Twilight?’ But it was only Applejack. She peeked through the crack in the door, and opened it a little wider when she saw Twilight sitting up in the bed. ‘You . . . you okay?’ Twilight let her hooves fall. ‘No. No, I’m not.’ ‘What’d she say?’ Applejack and Rainbow Dash, then. ‘I can’t sleep,’ she said, loud enough for the both of them to hear. ‘I wouldn’t mind the company.’ They edged in, quietly, and Dash flicked on the light with a wingtip. Twilight blinked stupidly for a minute, waiting for her eyes to adjust, and once she had done so, she found the pair of them in chairs by her bedside. ‘Hey, dude,’ Rainbow Dash said, wan smile not carrying to her drooping eyes. ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel like I slept a wink.’ ‘Ah did,’ said Applejack, almost apologetically. ‘Woke up for a bit when we got . . . moved outta the room? But fell right back asleep after that. The other three, too.’ Rainbow smirked. ‘Well, which is it—three, or two?’ ‘Oh, ain’t you the big joker all of a sudden.’ They chuckled, then lapsed back into silence. Rainbow shifted her wings a little, trying to get comfortable—splayed across her chair as she was, it couldn’t have been easy. Applejack kept darting looks at Twilight—first her face, then her leg, then away again. And Twilight . . . Twilight found she just didn’t have much to say. All of her anger seemed to have evaporated the moment the girls had come in, to be replaced with . . . what? More than an empty feeling, but less than either melancholy or contentment. There was nothing to be angry about when everything she wanted to be angry at was right there in front of her; there was no chance to close her eyes and see the scene play out again if she had something to look at. Her self-awareness ticker spun a few cycles and promised to get back to her about it. Rainbow looked like she was about to doze off when Applejack spoke, her words directed at Twilight. ‘Ah . . . Ah’m sorry Ah didn’t just come out and say it,’ she said, and immediately cast her eyes back to the floor. It took Twilight a moment to register what she meant. ‘Ah didn’t want . . . not so soon after ya done come ‘round. Ah . . . Ah couldn’t stand the thought’a . . .’ She looked up and away, swallowing hard. ‘Ah knew it was gonna hurt—gonna hurt bad—Ah didn’t wanna make it any sooner than . . .’ She broke off, shaking her head. Rainbow Dash extended a wing, looking uncharacteristically concerned, and Applejack scooted her chair a little closer to be under it. Twilight . . . still didn’t have words, and just reached out a hoof, instead. AJ took it in hers, smiling a little, gave it another tight squeeze. ‘So . . . how did we all end up in the hall?’ Rainbow asked Applejack, scratching the back of her head with a free hoof. ‘I remember coming in here, seeing you all balled-up on the bed and just kinda . . . stayed put.’ Applejack shrugged, morosely. ‘Search me. All Ah remember is watchin’ you,’ she nodded to Twilight, who looked up. ‘Mutterin’ in yer sleep and cryin’ and . . . Twilight, Ah’m so sorry it had to be me to tell ya. Ah reckon just about anypony else coulda done it better.’ Twilight shook her head, finding her voice again at last. ‘No, AJ. It’s not your fault she’s . . .’ She took a rattling breath. ‘. . . that she’s gone. That’s all on m—on somepony else.’ She knew what would happen if she tried to take on the blame, and she just . . . didn’t have the energy to fight that battle now. ‘And to answer your other question,’ she went on, ‘the Princesses came by while you were asleep, wanted to . . . ask me about what happened yesterday. I guess they must’ve thought . . . thought you’d be more comfortable outside?’ ‘. . . or wanted to make sure you got yer rest without untoward fuss,’ Applejack smiled, reading right through Twilight’s flimsy pretence. ‘Don’t worry about it none. Ain’t none of us liable to hold it against ya.’ ‘On that note,’ Rainbow cut in, looking unsure. ‘Well—what did happen on that train? I mean, all we got was that it was some kind of bomb in the passenger section, but . . .’ ‘Rainbow!’ Applejack snapped, horrified. ‘Ain’t you got any kinda—!’ ‘It’s . . . okay, AJ.’ Twilight’s soft voice cut neatly across Applejack’s indignation. ‘I mean . . . I was going to have to tell you all eventually. Might as well get a headstart, right?’ ‘Sure you wouldn’t rather wait an’ . . . an’ do it all at once, sugarcube? One time through, one fell swoop fer everypony? If’n you want to at all, that is, an’ ain’t no-one sayin’ ya gotta.’ ‘Can’t I . . . lease the cart before I buy?’ Twilight said, smiling nervously in spite of herself. ‘Or . . . demo the cider, or—something? Metaphors.’ She flailed, mock-helpless, and the other two scoffed appreciatively. ‘Can’t keep a girl down, can we?’ Rainbow Dash said, shaking her head and laughing. ‘Long as you’re sure, dude.’ And Twilight told them. She told them everything that she had told Celestia and Luna, and then some—the little Rarity details that only they would care to know. What she’d thought of leaving Opal for the day, the colts they might meet on the train (Rainbow and Applejack shared a dubious look), the gossip Rarity had planned to follow up on in the capital. When they reached the platform once more, she slowed, but a gentle squeeze and reassuring words saw her through. And when she had finished, the girls just sat there, seemingly lost in thought. Rainbow broke the silence, frowning. ‘Not . . . really much to go on, is it? I mean . . . the papers already kinda figured it had to be a pony, since they couldn’t find any record of, like, Griffons or something on board. Or Changelings, apparently, what with those crazy spell-wards they’ve got around the big towns now. You sure you didn’t see anyth—oof!’ Applejack had whapped across the ears with her hat, scowling. ‘Y’all got absolutely no sense of propriety what-so-ever, do ya?’ ‘Tell me what that means, so I know if I’ve been insulted.’ Rainbow winced. ‘Means that when a pony goes and pours out her heart for ya, ya don’t ask for more, ya dingbat!’ She turned to Twilight. ‘Ah’m sorry, Twi. Thanks fer tellin’ us as much as ya did. Can’t’ve been easy.’ Twilight was worrying the blankets again. ‘I wish there were more. I-I mean . . .’ She looked up at them. ‘I wish there was more I could say. I’m sorry. Thanks for . . . listening.’ And her head drooped again. Dash sighed, and massaged the bridge of her muzzle with her a free hoof. ‘I’m sorry, Twi. I’m not trying to make this harder on you. I’m just . . . so bucking mad.’ ‘Yeah, and what else is new?’ Applejack snorted. ‘You want my very generous comfort-y wing or not? Pipe down, peanut. ‘Sides, everyone else got to say their piece.’ ‘Alright, alright, Ah’m pipin’.’ Rainbow lapsed into silence for a moment. Then: ‘I . . . I don’t know. The worst part is, I can’t even wrap my head around what I’m supposed to be feeling, right? Like, I know I should be upset, or sad, or cry more that Rarity’s gone, but I just . . . can’t. I can’t stop feeling like somebody out there got off scot-free, and that I need to be out there pounding their asses into the dirt.’ ‘Pony did it’s “gone”, too, Dashie,’ Applejack pointed out, quietly. ‘And Ah gotta say, yer a mite calmer than ya usually are when ya say yer “angry”.’ ‘Only because I’m bone-tired.’ Dash yawned. ‘I promise I’ll be a real joy to be around tomorrow.’ ‘Oh joy.’ ‘That’s the one. But, still. It feels like the only thing that’s . . . that’s gonna make this right, is getting out there and beating the glue outta somepony else.’ She shook her head. ‘And . . . even that doesn’t feel right, right? Like it’s just . . . gonna make the same things happen over and over again, like how the old tribal stuff used to be.’ ‘”Propagatin’ a cycle of violence?”’ ‘Yeah, that, thanks.’ Rainbow sighed, gesturing futilely with a hoof. ‘So I’m not . . . trying to make it seem like less than it is, gals. Just . . . wanna find something I can do.’ Twilight looked at them with something like wonder. ‘How . . . how are you two doing this?’ she asked, shaking her head a little. ‘How can you just . . . talk? Like it’s nothing?’ ‘’Cuz it ain’t nothin’, Twi. It’s everythin’’ Applejack said, still quiet. ‘It’s in everythin’ we’ve said to each other tonight. It’s in everythin’ we’ve talked about all day. It’ll be in everythin’ we talk about tomorrow. Once it’s everythin’—once everypony knows it’s everythin’—it just . . . gets easier to talk about sumthin’ else.’ ‘Yeah, that’s probably the other part,’ Rainbow added. ‘We have had about eight more hours than you to process everything. Cuz, y’know, sleep.’ She shifted, so that her wing draped a little more comfortably over Applejack’s withers. ‘But, y’know—Twilight . . . we’ve been talking an awful lot, and you . . . I mean, you told us what happened, but . . . how are you holding up, dude? Twilight looked down. ‘That’s . . . a lot. And I’ve already put a lot on you girls already. I don’t want to keep you if . . .’ ‘D’these look like faces that plan on gettin’ sleep?’ said AJ, a hint of humour creeping back into her tone. ‘C’mon. We’re here all night.’ Rainbow nodded. ‘Dunno if you could guess, buuuut . . . everything’s cancelled tomorrow. Celestia is supposed to make a speech, but that’s about it. Everything else is gonna be closed.’ She shrugged. ‘For once, I know I can sleep in.’ Twilight put her hooves to her face for a moment, sighed, and nodded. ‘Rarity,’ she said, after a moment. There was an intake of breath from Rainbow Dash, and Applejack shook her head. ‘She . . . they . . . they were able to identify her. That’s all Cap’n Prissy Black-britches would tell me when Ah asked.’ ‘Able to?’ Twilight echoed, hollowly. Applejack just nodded, and Twilight didn’t press. ‘Any—anything else?’ ‘Her family’s comin’ up to pick up . . . pick her up tomorrow, but that’s all we’ve heard from the Ponyville side’a things so far.’ ‘Sweetie Belle must be . . .’ Twilight blanched. ‘Sweetie Belle. How are she and Applebloom holding up? Scootaloo?’ ‘Not . . . not great.’ Applejack’s tone was pained. ‘We caught yer balloon back down to Ponyville this afternoon when it looked like you wouldn’t be wakin’ up anytime soon—uh, we borrowed yer balloon, by the by—and . . . Ah’m still not sure Sweetie understood me when Ah told her, but Applebloom was in a right state. She wanted to come back up here with us, but . . . Ah didn’t have the heart to make her sit through all’a this.’ Rainbow gave Applejack a thoughtful look. ‘Y’know who surprised me, though? Granny.’ ‘Granny Smith?’ ‘Yeah, I thought she’d be a total battle-axe and just power through it, but she was right there with Applebloom.’ Applejack frowned. ‘Yer right. Ah wasn’t sure it was worth mentionin’, but yeah. Sobbin’ and screamin’ and carryin’ on. Kept sayin’ she’d thought it was safe. That the last time she sent somepony off to war was sixty years ago—that it shoulda all been over. That it was finally safe to raise a family.’ She bent her head. ‘An’ Ah didn’ know what to tell her, Twilight. Ah didn’t know what to say.’ Rainbow squeezed her shoulder, and Twilight her hoof. She sniffed a little. ‘Thanks, y’all. Ah’ll find the words, don’t worry. Just . . . couldn’t. Not today.’ Twilight shifted slightly in the bed. ‘That . . . that’s almost the worst part of it, isn’t it?’ She looked away, out the dark window, at nothing. ‘It’s not the destruction, not even the death, not even . . . It was other ponies, girls. Not some mythical creature out of the Brothers’ Grimoire. Nothing huge, nothing mysterious, nothing inscrutable. Just . . . ponies. Just ponies like us.’ ‘A pony,’ Applejack corrected, gently. ‘One, singular pony. Ain’t no ravenin’ mob marchin’ on Canterlot with . . . pitchforks and knives in their teeth. That’s gotta mean sumthin’, right?’ ‘And if one pony could do this much damage?’ ‘Well . . . at the risk of repeatin’ m’self . . . that pony’s gone, Twi. Not much more harm she can do a body now. Doesn’t change a lick’a a what she did do, but . . .’ Twilight’s brows furrowed. ‘And . . . if she inspires other ponies to do the same? Or was inspired by someone else?’ ‘On . . . what, just the basis’a hurtin’ folk?’ ‘That—maybe power. We’ve met our fair share of ponies who’d stop at nothing to get power.’ ‘What, like Trixie and that stupid amulet?’ Rainbow snorted. ‘Hey, look at it this way. She had a lotta power around her neck, Twi, and the best she could manage was two hind-bred foals to pull her great and powerful sled. This . . . pony you said you saw was just some nopony, right? Some face in the crowd. What makes you think she could even do that much?’ ‘Trixie never killed anyone.’ ‘Yeah, but Trixie was also an idiot,’ frowned Rainbow. ‘And kind of a punk, if we’re being honest. If she’s the kind of pony to get her hooves on the kind of power that could change minds, what’s there to be worried about?’ ‘Yeah?’ Twilight’s voice was trembling, her tone hard. She had pulled her hoof away from Applejack’s. ‘And what if it doesn’t take that much power? What if all you need is one pony, one . . . family, one town to convince themselves that something—everything about Equestria is wrong, and they have to do away with it?’ ‘Not gonna happen, obviously. There’s a lot of Equestria to get through before they even make a dent. I mean, sure they might hurt some ponies along the way, but—' ‘How many ponies, Rainbow Dash?!’ If Twilight could’ve been on her hooves now, she would’ve been. ‘How many ponies would it take before they were through? Before they had the kind of power that could—that could—!’ Rainbow threw up her hooves, wings flared angrily. ‘Buck, Twilight, I don’t know! Why are you acting like this is my fault?’ ‘Sugarcube?’ Applejack had fixed Twilight with a probing look. ‘She’s right, yer gettin’ awful worked up about this. What’s goin’ on?’ ‘Seriously!’ Rainbow Dash shot at Twilight. ‘It was one incredibly bucked-up mare who pulled a cut-rate Trixie gig with some fertiliser and something she scraped off a cave wall somewhere, and blew herself up in the process. Why do you always gotta overthink—?!’ ‘Because it wasn’t just some bucked-up mare, it was a foal!’ Twilight shouted. A ringing silence fell. Rainbow Dash’s wings were at full attention, quivering with barely-suppressed anger and—now—confusion. Applejack just stared. ‘A f—‘ ‘A foal. Younger than Applebloom. Tiny, grey filly.’ Twilight slumped, shaking. ‘And she had that coat, and she had that bomb, and she . . . she killed . . .’ She buried her face in her hooves, and began to sob. They stared at her for a moment, open-mouthed. Then Rainbow swore loudly, practically knocking the chair over as she got to her hooves. Trembling, she cracked open the door, and peered out into the hall. She muttered a few words to somepony outside, then closed the door quietly behind them. Trembling, she walked back over to the bed and resumed her seat, still looking ready to hit Twilight. Her voice shook. ‘The others are up. Fluttershy thought you had a bad dream. I told ‘em to just go back to sleep, but Jacks . . .’ She turned, pale, to Applejack, who had followed Twilight up onto the bed and was now hugging her tightly as she cried. ‘What do we tell them? What are we supposed to do?’ But Applejack wasn’t listening. ‘Twilight? Sweetheart? Listen to me, it’s okay—yer gonna be okay, just don’t—!’ Twilight shook her head wildly, half-wailing. ‘And I lied about it, because of course I did! How am I supposed to tell you all something like that? How am I supposed to explain something that doesn’t make any sense?! How am I supposed to know how to deal with that, with a world where a child can kill one of my best friends?!’ Rainbow’s look of anger had evaporated as quickly as it had come. ‘Shit. Celestia doesn’t know—the investigation . . .’ Applejack looked over her shoulder, still struggling to keep a hold on Twilight. ‘Well, then get Spike! Get . . . somepony! Get ‘em to send a letter!’ Rainbow was out the door before she finished the sentence. Twilight suddenly buried herself in Applejack’s grip, clinging to her like driftwood on a stormy sea. ‘A-and she looked at us like she hated us, Jackie . . . how—how can s-something so . . . small carry that much rage?’ And then she broke down completely. ‘Ah wish Ah knew, sugar,’ Applejack murmured blankly, pulling the now-wailing Unicorn into a tight hug, rocking her gently. ‘Ah wish Ah knew.’