Liz stared down at the blade, where it sat on the edge of the little table in her quarters. Most objects from the surface did quite poorly when you brought them into a seapony settlement—metal rusted, silicone rotted, electronics short-circuited. But this knife appeared to be an exception, its metallic construction wasn’t steel and didn’t seem to be corroding.
Much like Liz’s faith in Jackie. The bat was still out there somewhere—the Dreamknife had survived so much, how could she be dead now? Because of Jackie, the bats of Thestralia were alive and free, instead of living short lives under the lash of Athena’s datamines.
Things were less optimistic for the ponies living in Mundi, where Athena’s systems had once dominated every aspect of life. But helping that population to distribute and adapt was not something Liz worried about. There were other ponies for that—Alicorns no longer bound by their contracts since the other party in it was dead. Let the princesses keep everyone from dying. She’d done enough hero stuff.
“She’s not coming back for it,” said a little voice behind her. Liz spun around—her watery quarters weren’t inside a tree anymore. The new settlement was on a different part of the Australian coast, with a protected harbor for the growing seapony population. There were actual walls around her, and an actual door. She hadn’t met any other seaponies she wanted to share quarters with yet.
But there was one in here anyway, one whose mannerisms still brought back painful memories of Alex. “Misty, you don’t know that. Everyone says she won’t be back, but… that doesn’t mean they’re right. Jackie’s basically an Alicorn. She survived the end of the world like three times now. You should know that better than me.”
The fish circled around her head, moving with unrealistic swiftness through the water. She stopped just a few inches away from the side of Liz’s face, where her song could reverberate through her chest. “I know better than anypony in the world, Liz.”
“How’s that?” Liz scooped up the knife, careful not to undo the buttons that held it into the scabbard. It looked quite a bit like real leather, though of course it should already be falling apart underwater if that was the case. It hadn’t yet. “You’re not even a pony, Misty. Why should you know more than the Alicorns?”
“Because she created me,” Misty answered. “I know how… weird it sounds, talking about a figment in the abstract. You’re not a bat, I don’t expect you to fully… I guess it’s the real me that understands the academic side of all magic.”
Liz didn’t look away from her, didn’t give her an easy out. She wanted to hear the little figment admit that she was wrong. Pretending she was small wasn’t going to make her go any easier on her.
Misty hummed a mournful melody, darker than whalesong. “Every spirit has an anchor—the thing that keeps us stable. The more powerful the spirit, the more powerful the anchor. It can be a physical place, an idea… or a person. Figments are really spirits, and our anchors are the ones who created us. Usually the connection is weak—you make dozens of figments every time you dream, and when you wake up they dissolve. They weren’t really alive, couldn’t think, so there’s no drive for them to hold on. They’re gone.”
“Okay.” Liz swam out through the door, through the portable shelter Alex had sent for her from orbit. As much as Liz resented her sister’s interference in her life, she had been grateful to have somewhere proper to live.
There were always strings attached. A population of other seapony scientists that would be assisting Thestralia get onto its hooves again in the reconstruction. But however much Liz resented it, she knew the ponies were thrilled. She could contain her disgust for them.
“Jackie made me,” Misty sang quietly. “I felt it the second she died. My anchor… gone. I don’t have any right now. Every second I drift, wondering who I should be. Wondering what I am. Patterns mix, memories merge, but some of them are wrong. I know they’re wrong. I studied… figments. I know how we’re like. Listless, wandering, fickle. Our sanity is proportional to our tie to the physical world.”
She swam forward, clinging desperately to Liz’s foreleg. She wore no armor here, so there was nothing stopping her from pressing tight. “I know she’s gone because of how much I need you, Liz. Please. I need… purpose.”
“Can’t you give yourself a purpose?” Liz asked. But her words were already sung to a different melody. Without ever saying a word, without admitting it, she’d switched to tune of mourning. “Humans don’t have anyone to tell us what to do with our lives. We have to discover that for ourselves.”
Maybe that wasn’t quite true of land ponies anymore. They had their cutie marks, confirmation of their talents and mission in life. But seaponies didn’t have that. They were closer to the old ways, the most human of any of the new world’s creations. They lived in the songs, they were true with each other about their feelings, and they relied on the natural sciences for every aspect of their survival. It was a good thing to be. She could see why her sister had wanted to join her.
“Can you get a new… anchor?” she asked. The words came much slower when she sang them to mourning. The melody rumbled through from deep in her throat. “Jackie wanted me to help you if I could.”
“Yes,” Misty answered. “In… time. Attachment to something new creates it over time. That is why I haven’t left you. Attachment cannot be faked. There is no spell to cast. Like changelings harvesting love, only the real thing is enough.”
“I don’t know what purpose I can give you,” she said, removing the knife from her side again, holding it up in front of her with one hoof. She stopped in the hall, staring down at the little gold lines worked into the handle. The blade was just as beautiful, she remembered. “I guess…” She chuckled, wiping away at her eyes for tears that weren’t there. You couldn’t cry underwater.
“Jackie gave me my purpose too, goldfish. Without her… we’re both just flotsam in the current.”
“You have that,” Misty whispered, floating in the water near the blade. “The Teleutaia Makhaira. Maybe that’s why she left it for us. A purpose big enough for us to share.”
“Teleutaia Makhaira…” she repeated, fumbling with the clasps holding it in. Even without a unicorn’s specific magical senses, she could feel the power there. The knife seemed to have its own attention, which it focused on her the longer she held it in her presence. It was like the eyes of a predator. A little time in their presence was not so dangerous, unless they saw weakness. “What does that mean? What does this thing do, anyway? All I know is that it’s magic.”
“The last blade,” Misty said. As soon as she started opening it, the fish zipped around to her shoulder, where she was well away from it. “It’s one of six…” She struggled for a moment. “Plutonic forms. It comes from above, its nature ties to the Arcana themselves. This one is the subtlest of all… Mind. And the most unforgiving… Death. Why you can wield it—you are bound to death too, through me—through your sister.”
Could a magic knife give her a purpose again? For months Liz had floated here in this shelter, occasionally popping onto the surface to look at the way that Thestralia was rebuilding. But the fairy didn’t need her help the way Jackie had. She was a queen of many years, who sat on a throne of petals but ruled with a will of iron. Liz was just an accessory.
“I always thought the real power came from Jackie,” she muttered, undoing the other clasp. “She was so old… so experienced. She could move between the dream worlds so fast, dream herself into any shape she needed. We went to a planet of clouds! We swam off to my sister’s colony. I can’t live up to that!”
“I don’t think it matters how the magic got into the knife.” Misty settled down on her shoulder, leaning forward so she could watch as Liz fumbled with it. There was only one clasp left sealed.
“And do what?” Liz went on, her foreleg hesitating over the last of the sheath’s buttons. “I still don’t understand what this thing is even for. The world doesn’t need someone to fill Jackie’s shoes, it needs her back. I can’t be her.”
“It needs someone to do what she did,” Misty whispered. Her song was low, dangerous. “While other ponies hid behind their walls, waiting for someone else to make problems go away, she acted. She gave tyrants a reason to fear. She made the same threats as your sister, promising terrible things if they mistreated their ponies. But who do you think they were afraid of the most? The Alicorn’s economic sanctions? Or that knife?”
Liz closed her eyes, feeling the strange magic contained in the blade. Touching the hilt, she felt for a moment as though she were looking back through time. There were thousands of corpses on the other side of this knife. Slavers, murderers, rapists, and worse. The worst excesses the Event had caused. That’s where the power came from, she realized. This is blood magic. Every time she killed another monster, the knife got stronger.
If Liz put it away, if she tried to hide it or bury it, somepony else would find it. She could feel the blade calling out to her even now. Her own attachment to death was enough to let her use it as few others could. I could destroy it. Take it to Eureka, ask him to melt it.
Destroy the knife, and erase the thing Jackie had spent her entire life creating? If she wanted it broken, she could’ve done that herself. Jackie wanted it to be used.
She swam up a little further, through the door set into the building’s ceiling. The bay was crystal clear, and somewhere far above she could see the light of the moon shining down. There weren’t any other seaponies awake right now, and so she was alone.
Alone except for Misty and the last creation of her friend. Jackie wasn’t like her sister—Jackie had trusted her. Jackie had made her part of something. Now even after she was gone, the thing they’d helped make together lived on. Liz would always have a place in Thestralia if she wanted it. Many of the bats saw her as Jackie’s successor, though successor to what when the fairy now ruled as princess, it was hard to say.
“I hope you knew what you were doing, giving this to me,” Liz muttered. She flicked the holster open and drew the knife.
It clung to the side of her hoof as though invisible fingers gripped it there. As she lifted it up, gold inlay under the blade caught the light of the moon. An angel’s face, with hooves and bat wings spread. Was that always a pony?
“I’ll do it,” Liz declared. “We’re not safe yet. At least Jackie believed I could do something with my life.”
It was like the knife was speaking to her, whispering into her ear. It wanted her to cut something, something she couldn’t see. Without knowing how she knew, Liz drew the blade through the air, leaving a slice in reality. And through it—the Dreamlands. A forest of gigantic trees, glowing purple and blue flowers, and the toadlike zoogs.
Liz swam through the opening, and into eternity.