//------------------------------// // Coda: Many Moons Later // Story: The Archetypist // by Cold in Gardez //------------------------------// I was on the castle balcony, basking in the late morning sun with my wings stretched out to dry from the shower, when second breakfast arrived. Let’s be clear – I’m not the kind of pony who normally takes two breakfasts. Sometimes I barely remember to eat breakfast at all, or I just grab a muffin from Sugarcube Corner as I go about my day. On the days fate chooses to keep me in the castle longer than normal and I’m feeling peckish, my usual answer is a bowl of oatmeal, maybe with some brown sugar or a sliced banana. Simple things. The kind of food even a mare with absolutely zero culinary knowledge can produce without creating a fire hazard. I’d had one such breakfast already, a bowl of toasted cornflakes with milk. And now, it seemed, I had another breakfast. A much better one, by the smell of it. The warm, heady scent of caramelized sugar and butter and cream invaded my muzzle and set up camp. I turned my head, careful to keep my wings oriented toward the sun. They were still damp and needed its rays. Behind me, sweeping through the crystal doors out onto the balcony, bearing a platter stacked high with pancakes and whipped cream and maple syrup and blueberries, came Trixie like the wind. She darted forward, brushed against my left wing, spun behind me to my right, and slid the pancakes onto the crystal rail. They teetered there, balanced above the high drop to Ponyville far below, and it was only just in time that I caught them with my magic. A single blueberry, unbalanced from the pile, rolled away from its brothers, slid through the cream, and escaped off the edge of the plate to begin the long fall to the ground. A tiny bright blue fruitbat launched out from its nook beneath the balcony. It caught the berry, somersaulted through the air, then retreated with its prize. I heard him chittering with his mate through the crystal below me. “For me?” I asked. Silly question – there was nopony else out here. But I’d feel pretty foolish if I started to eat and it turned out the pancakes were for somepony else. Trixie didn’t answer. Unencumbered by the plate she danced like a flag in the wind, catching the sun in her brilliant fluttering folds. A wavering portal into night. She ran her tasseled edge against my chest, flicked my chin lightly, then vanished back inside. A few moments later her hat followed, bobbing along like a duckling chasing its mother. Huh. I stared after her, then turned back to the pancakes. They smelled delicious. No sense in letting them go to waste, even if I wasn’t hungry. I took a bite, then another, and another, and soon the memory of those poor toasted cornflakes was gone. It could never have competed with this. Only later, with my wings dry and the pancakes a warm lump in my gut, did I wonder about the source of the gift. In all her years here, I could never recall Trixie bringing anypony breakfast, and certainly not me. We were barely any warmer toward each other than in the days when she took Starlight from me, and she was more the type to steal somepony’s breakfast than make it for them. Huh. There were a few blueberries left on the plate. I tossed them over the balcony edge to the circling fruitbats, watched their shadows play, then went back inside. * * * Starlight was downstairs in the library foyer, apparently waiting for me. She wore her old form, minus her cutie mark, and smiled as I floated down the stairs. “Hey.” I gave her a polite nuzzle, just a brush of cheek against cheek. “The weirdest thing just happened.” She fell into step beside me as we walked through the library. “Was it Trixie giving you a big stack of pancakes, by any chance? I just saw her in the kitchen with them.” “It was.” We stopped by the check-in desk, and I pulled out the bin of returned books. None of them appeared to be late, and I floated them over to one of the reshelving carts. “Did you put her up to that? They were delicious, by the way.” “Maybe.” A flash of green fire washed over Starlight’s form, and in her place stood the old Trixie, complete with her horn. “Or maybe she just felt like being nice. She’s allowed to do that.” “Trixie’s only nice to me when she wants something,” I said. Then I stopped and sighed, because suddenly everything made sense. “So, what does she want?” Starlight snorted. The fire consumed her again, and she became the changeling whose form she normally wore. Her wings clicked at her sides. “I don’t know. She won’t tell me.” “Really.” I looked around for the magician. Trixie wasn’t in the room, but her shadow could never hide from me. It was several levels above us, in the personal quarters she shared with Starlight, draped over a writing desk. Even through several meters of crystal I could see the glint of the sun on her silver threads. What’s your game, Trixie? I watched for a few more moments, to see if she would give herself away, but soon enough I had to return my attention to Starlight and the library. A mare could only stare at the ceiling for so long before ponies started to wonder about her, after all. * * * “Sounds to me like Trixie’s trying to turn over a new leaf,” Rarity said. We were on the patio of the new Starbucks, mulling over our drinks. Rarity preferred the shade, and she made a point of bringing it with her wherever she went. She caught the shadows in her web and strung them along like balloons bobbing from strings, and she reclined beneath them like they were a parasol. She blew on her macchiato to help it cool. I sat as close to her shade as I could bear. The mid-afternoon sun pounded on my back like hail. I felt it in my bones. It was wonderful. “She’s had years to do that,” I said. I took a sip from my chai latte, not minding the hot sting on my tongue. One advantage of being an alicorn – we could drink anything without waiting for it to cool. “Why start now?” “Who says she’s starting just now?” Rarity countered. “You remember when she first came to Ponyville, don’t you? That was hardly the same mare Starlight fell in love with. Maybe it just takes her a while to warm up to ponies.” “Rarity’s right,” Fluttershy said. She lounged in the light beside me, patiently grooming herself with her tongue. I could feel the heat of her body competing with the sun against my coat. “Maybe she just wants to show a little kindness for all you’ve done. Letting her live in the castle is very nice of you.” “Precisely.” Rarity smiled. “If Trixie were not a good mare, then Starlight could never have fallen for her. If you won’t trust our judgement, at least trust hers.” “Of course I trust your judgement,” I said. “And I trust Starlight’s. Though, in Starlight’s case, her judgement may be a bit, uh...” Fluttershy smiled a tiger’s smile. She sat up, muscles rolling beneath her coat as though her skin were merely a cloak draped over her body, and she leaned against my side. Her legs snaked around to pull me into a loose hug, and she set her chin on my shoulder. The burning heat of her belly felt very different from the clean, sterile light of the sun. Okay, yeah, I’ll admit it. I started to breathe a bit faster. “Would you say,” Fluttershy stage-whispered in my ear, clearly loud enough for Rarity to hear as well, “that her judgement is clouded? Maybe even blinded by her love?” A field of blue magic surrounded Fluttershy and tugged her away. She gave Rarity a little pout and settled back down on her belly, a puddle of languid and grace that drew the eye of every stallion (and several mares) sharing the patio with us. Next to her, I felt like a plum-colored crow. “Darling, don’t tease her like that,” Rarity said. After a short pause, “Or, at least, not in public. I encourage you to tease her in private.” “Thanks, Rarity.” I tried to flatten my feathers with a hoof, but they insisted on standing on end. “Anyway, what should I do?” “Anyway, about what?” Fluttershy asked. “About Trixie!” “Well, unless you have some objection to demonstrations of generosity and friendship from a mare who lives in your castle, I suggest you keep enjoying the pancakes.” I did enjoy pancakes, so that course of action had one thing going for it. But a stubborn pebble in my heart resisted. “Why, though? Why now, of all times?” “You’re her lover’s best friend,” Fluttershy said. “Isn’t that a good enough reason?” It should have been. More than any other pony, I should’ve known that an offer of friendship, no matter its reason, should be accepted. That friendship was the most valuable treasure ponies could accumulate, beyond gold or power or even knowledge. And in the end I felt that stubborn little pebble in my heart erode, its layers washed away by the ceaseless flow of blood. But even as it vanished and I came to to the realization that a good mare in my position would accept Trixie’s offer, a shadow on my thoughts remained. It was an ugly thing, unworthy of me; I felt it blocking the sun like greasy smoke. Trixie was still the mare who’d taken Starlight from me. And that wound still hurt. * * * Starlight found me while I was reading. She hopped up on the couch beside me and settled in with her own book. We exchanged wordless smiles and went back to our respective pages. Equestrian literature had undergone something of a renaissance over the past few years. Not as many ponies wrote, but those who did imbued their stories with an almost tangible effervescence, as though they had discovered how to pour their very beings into their work. Perhaps they had discovered how to dream of writing. My own book was one such tale, published the summer before by a Canterlot unicorn who was either a mare or a stallion, depending on the day of the week. Lost Nights was half-diary, half-fantasy, and engrossing in a way that few novels managed with me. At heart I still preferred histories and biographies, but these new works were forcing me to reassess what I liked. Perhaps one day I would relent and permit that display of monthly bestsellers in the library foyer that Starlight kept insisting we make. I don’t know how long we read. Long enough for the sun to sink below the horizon. Starlight got up to light the lanterns I no longer needed. When she came back, Trixie was with her. The marvelous hat and cape floated before us, then settled down, as though draping themselves on an invisible mare. I could see the outlines of a pony’s shoulders, back and rump beneath the cloth. The formless mare bowed to us both, reared up as though upon her hind legs, and began to dance. Even just laying on a table, the cape Rarity had crafted for Trixie was beautiful beyond words. I’ve tried to describe it to ponies who haven’t met her, and I always fail. It was like a piece of the night sky, trimmed out of the heavens by a seamstress’s shears and sewn with silver stars. In its depths dwelled the shadows of beryls and opals and sapphires and every other nocturnal gem. Even I, who could no longer see the night sky, was entranced. Laying still on a table, Trixie was beautiful. Dancing, flowing, living, she transcended that. She spun around the room, pirouetting as though clasped around an invisible neck. Unseen hooves grabbed her hat and swung it about in time with her hips. For minutes she flew; she hopped above the furniture, over our heads, and snapped across the high vaulted ceiling. From the heights she fell, her folds flowing with waves like water over stones. She came to a rest atop Starlight’s back, and she tied herself in place around Starlight’s neck. The cloth seemed to vibrate, as though still breathing heavily. The hat followed a moment later, landing with far less ceremony atop my rump. Starlight snickered. I had to swallow the lump in my throat. “That was beautiful.” The cape fluttered. One edge lifted away from Starlight, gave a little flick, and suddenly it held a piece of paper. It fell, and I barely caught it before it hit the floor. Huh. I pulled it closer. Starlight peered over my shoulder. It was a flyer. The Third Annual Canterlot Performance Art Show. A list of performers followed the title. The only name I recognized was Trixie’s, third from the top. It was in three days. I smiled. “Would you like me to come, Trixie?” She couldn’t answer, of course. But a ripple ran across her, and Starlight giggled at the sensation. “We would both love it if you came,” she said. Grudges were comforting things, in the same way picking at a scab is comforting. They did nothing but draw out pain. I knew that in my heart. It weighed on me as I stared at the flyer. Still… if any of the performances were even half as good as what Trixie could give, it would be worth it. But more important, my best friend… friends, perhaps… wanted me to. And that was all the reason I needed. “I guess It would be nice to visit Canterlot again,” I said. * * * The capital had settled down a bit after the Dawning. It was no longer perpetually night, though there were enough unicorns (or former unicorns) in the city that the stars always shone, no matter the time of day. The moon and sun kept a cordial distance from each other in the sky. I frowned a bit at the sight of the former – there had been two natural eclipses over the past four years, and they were the only times I could not see the sun. Those were cold minutes that left me shaking for hours afterward. A few foals noticed us disembark the train, and they galloped over to pelt us with questions. Yes, I was a princess. Yes, those were real wings. No, I hadn’t dreamed of them. Yes, Celestia really did like cake that much. I was about to launch into an inspirational speech about the importance of libraries when their parents arrived, apologized for the bother, and pulled them away. Starlight smiled after them. “I guess foals still want to grow up to be princesses.” “Well, maybe they will.” The wind picked up, ruffling my feathers, and I wished for a moment I’d brought a scarf. Every time I came back to Canterlot, the mountain surprised me with its cool air. Trixie must’ve noticed me shiver. She lifted off of Starlight’s shoulders and settled onto mine. I raised an eyebrow at Starlight (the only reason I still had eyebrows), but she just shrugged and smiled. Hm. Maybe she didn’t mind the chill. I suppose living for years in the cold desert that was Our Town might have inured her to it in the way living in Ponyville had inured me to random acts of chaos. So, warmer at least, we we walked into the throng of ponies and once-ponies, finding our way to the garden at the city’s heart. * * * A sizable crowd had assembled for the performances. Most were ponies, though a few gryphons and sphinxes and odder forms filled out the audience. A shadow that looked like a lamia’s haunted the edge of the garden. A few mares glowered at her and shuffled the nearest stallions to the far side of the courtyard, where she couldn’t tempt them. Some ponies had more dangerous dreams than others. We were early, still. As time passed the crowd became more of a festival, as merchants relocated their stalls from Canterlot’s normal markets to the edges of the garden. A bevy of scents flooded my muzzle – beer and fruit juices and seared vegetables and sugary confections and fried everythings. School groups showed up with herds of foals that turned the garden into a constant shouting match. At one point a daring amber filly snatched Trixie’s hat away, and it became the object of some game or other that involved running and tripping and squabbling and frustrated teachers trying to corral chaos itself. I wondered, briefly, how near Discord’s statue had to be for the ambient chaos to break him free. Then I wondered how Trixie was tolerating all this. She didn’t seem to mind. Or, at least, the cape half of her didn’t. It fluttered calmly on my shoulders. By the time the performances began, the crowd was in a good mood. Ponies still enjoyed any excuse for a festival; or, perhaps, the ponies who remained in cities did. The more reclusive ones had gone off to find their own meanings in solitude. Trixie unclasped herself from my shoulders and floated over to Starlight. Her hat reappeared from wherever it had vanished to. I gave them both a curious look. “We’re going to go get set up.” Starlight stretched up to nuzzle my cheek. “Enjoy the performances.” “I’m sure I will.” It would be colder without them, but not unbearably so. The sun’s rays, though dimmed and reddened by their steep angle, were still enough to fill me. I caught them with my magic and fashioned a necklace with them. A few nearby ponies ooh’d in appreciation and crowded closer for their warmth. The first performance was a drum ensemble, inspired by some zebra myth. They even had a real zebra on stage with them, leading the pack. I wondered if he knew Zecora, then chided myself for the question. Not ever zebra was bound to know every other. I let the beat of the drums roll over my silly thoughts, and in time the audience began stomping their hooves with the drums. It shook the hollow spaces in my chest and vibrated my feathers. Not bad for an opening act. I realized, as they left the stage, that I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Not bad at all. The second act was a dramatic reading from a popular collection of poems. Interesting, if one was into poetry. I wasn’t. I clapped politely while waiting for Trixie’s performance. Finally, Starlight walked out onto the stage, wearing Trixie as usual. She bowed to the crowd, then reared up onto her hind legs and threw off the cape and hat. But rather than fly away on an arc, both pieces of cloth froze in mid air, just inches from her hooves. They hung there, unmoving as flies trapped in amber, while Starlight returned to all four hooves and walked off into the wings. The silence that followed as absolute. The crowd leaned forward as once, barely breathing. Still the hat and cape hung in space, still as a picture. Ponies around me began to mumble to their neighbors. Finally, when the tension was thick enough to chew, Trixie began. A violinist began to string behind the stage, and Trixie flowed in time with it. Her dance flowed across the stage like water, and though I had seen it before, it still took away my breath. When she finished, the crowd cheered. The cape and hat dipped low in a bow, then zipped off the stage. The performances continued. At some point Starlight and Trixie reappeared beside me. The cape fluttered with exhaustion, and I noticed several tears along her edges. Starlight noticed my concern. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Little rips heal in a few days. Rarity can fix anything bigger.” Ah. Convenient, having a seamstress for a doctor. I wondered if Rarity had ever tried mending real ponies with her new silk. The next several acts were impressive, in their own ways. A pyromancer set the stage on fire with her dances. A pair of pegasi brought down a cloud and sculpted it before our eyes into a willow tree so lifelike that each hanging frond of leaves swayed in an unfelt breeze. A unicorn mare somehow sang both parts of a duet – only at the end of did I notice the glow of her horn, and realize she was using time magic to burn her life twice as fast. They were all spectacular, though I thought Trixie’s was still the best. I clapped along with the crowd. By the time the maintenance teams were cleaning the stage for the final performance, the sun had sunk below the horizon. I could see it still, shining through the earth below the city’s roots. For everypony else, lanterns were strung across wires over our heads. The wind grew cooler, and I squeezed up beside Starlight to share our warmth. Trixie adjusted herself to drape across both our backs. “This is the big one,” Starlight said. “The headline.” Hm? I pulled the flyer out of my saddlebags. The finale was a duet of some sort, to judge by the name. The Lovers. I glanced around at the crowd, which still contained a fair number of foals. “It’s not… nothing inappropriate, is it?” “Oh, no.” Starlight shook her head. “Just watch. You’ll see.” Up on the stage, the lights dimmed. A spotlight popped on, and a lone earth pony stallion walked out. He bowed to the crowd, sat on his haunches, and began to sing. It was… nice, I guess. An a capella rendition of Celestia, the Dawn Breaks for Thee, a popular romantic ballad a bit over a century old. I was wondering who his partner was for the female voice when she landed on the stage. She was huge, in the way of adult gryphon hens. The wood planks beneath her buckled as she landed. The feathers on her chest were stained purple in the pattern of the Griffonstone exiles. Her beak looked big enough to crack a pony’s skull. But I noticed none of these things because, like most of the crowd, I was staring at her wings. They were nothing but bone. Twin skeletal fans extended from her shoulders. Enormous, ivory beams bound at the joints with dry ligatures. Little holes dotted their lengths, as though the bones belonged to a centuries-dead corpse rather than a living gryphon. It was so shocking I barely heard when she began to sing. Her voice was like the wind in the mountains. Haunting, echoing, filled with loss. It transformed the joyous verses of the song into a mournful cry for what might have been. She sang the song in the minor key for which it had never been intended. In her words, the old song became new. She knelt on the stage as she sang. The stallion walked up beside her, took in a deep breath, lowered his mouth to one of the holes in the wing bone near her shoulder, and the performance truly began. Pegasus bones were hollow. So too were gryphon bones. My bones were hollow now, or at least some of them were. And at some point over the years I should’ve remembered that the bones of large birds were used to make the earliest flutes. Funny how little facts like that never matter until they hit you in the face. She sang, while he played. His hooves danced over the holes in her wing, changing the flow of air. A sound began to build from the edge of hearing, rising like the dawn and bursting into life. She sang and he played with notes that resonated through the thin walls of her bones. A dreamlike, melancholic swell of music drawn from a still-living instrument. The crowd fell silent. And when the lovers finished, it was as though we woke from a dream. Scattered applause dotted the field, but in the main only whispers reigned. The two on the stage seemed to expect this; they bowed and retreated without waiting for us to recover. “Not bad, huh?” Starlight asked. The lights came back on, and the crowd finally began to applaud. It built and built and lasted for minutes. In time, I was able to reply. “I can see why they were the final act. I’m sorry, Trixie, but I think you’ve got some…” I trailed off. Trixie was missing. “Where—” I started. “She just went off to get something.” Starlight stepped around me and began to walk across the garden. The crowd turned into a slow flow of ponies beginning to disperse. “C’mon.” I could still see Trixie’s shadow, of course. She was across the garden, in the direction Starlight was walking. Probably basking in the crowd’s appreciation. For a moment a shadow of that old disdain colored my thoughts – the disregard I felt for her boasting and pride. But only for a moment, and then it subsided into a grudging and perhaps even welcome realization, that Trixie deserved this attention. That I ought to be admiring her too. So it was that I smiled as we made our way through the crowd. My happiness for her built and built, and I was ready to put away all the resentment and ill-will I’d harboured in my heart all these years. I was finally ready to be her friend. Then we broke through the last line of ponies, and I saw Trixie draped around the shoulders of an orange pegasus mare. The cape turned, pulling the mare with it, and for the first time in years I looked into Applejack’s surprised face. I froze. Applejack blinked, as though not recognizing me. Finally, her gaze traced its way from my sealed eyes to my horn, then my wings, and she nodded. “Well, howdy princess. Fancy meeting you here.” She shrugged Trixie’s cape off her. I turned to Starlight. She wore a strained smile, made of equal parts hope and anxiety. I could smell the sweat breaking out in her coat. Trixie floated over to me. She fell onto my shoulders, and her folds billowed up to my cheek. She gently turned my head back to Applejack, who watched us with bemusement. “Looks like you three are doin’ alright,” she said. “How’s things in Ponyville these days?” Good, I wanted to say. Better than good. But I could not force my jaws to open, or my lips to form the words. All I could remember was that night in Ponyville when things weren’t good. One of the worst nights of my life. The night Applejack had cut herself loose and flown away. “Your family’s fine,” I said. Then, because I wished words were knives, I twisted them. “If you care.” Applejack shrugged. “As much as I care about anypony, I suppose. Wasn’t trying to hurt them or anything.” “You burned down their home. Your home!” A bit of fire entered my voice. Ponies began to mumble around us. “You think that didn’t hurt them?” “I know it did.” Applejack looked around at the crowd, barely acknowledging their stares. As if we weren’t the center of the night’s final performance. “But I had to do it. Can’t fly if you’re too weighed down.” I swallowed. “They’ve forgiven you, you know.” Applejack nodded. “No surprise. They’re good ponies.” “Do you even care?” Applejack stared at me. Her eyes fixed on my face, where my eyes had been, and I realized this was the first time she’d seen me like this. I wondered what she thought. Finally, “Will you forgive me?” Trixie squeezed tighter around my shoulders. I heard Starlight stop breathing. I imagined what might come next, if only I said yes. “Ponies change,” I said. “Maybe someday I'll be a pony who can forgive you. And you'll be a pony who wants forgiveness. But... but neither of those ponies exist today.” Applejack grunted. She looked like she wanted to say more, but she just shrugged. Her wings beat, and with much more grace than I remembered, she lifted into the night. In a few seconds even her scent was gone, and I could breathe again. Starlight sagged. Trixie floated to her and bundled tight around her shoulders. I waited for them to reproach me. She didn’t, though. She was too good for that. Better than I deserved. She just stared up into the sky after our departed friend. Former friend. Whatever. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I couldn’t.” “Yeah.” She dabbed at her eyes with her fetlocks. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. But it was what we had chosen. And even in this new world of mirages and dreams and impossible things, our choices were still what defined us. I pondered that all the way home.