It was a long walk to the Crystal Empire, still, but the miles passed quickly. Out of the Crystal Mountains, a vast snowy plain spread out before Bitterroot and Amanita, the only thing between them and the Empire. With every step they took, the green border grew just a little bit closer. Circe had given up straining against her fetters and seemed resigned to her fate. She didn’t even struggle. Perhaps because of her lichdom, her coat grew back at a far faster rate than was ordinary. Bitterroot carried her through the snow without complaint — she was tireless, after all.
But there was one thing Bitterroot did complain about.
“Hold still,” growled Amanita, her horn glowing.
“I’m just walking,” said Bitterroot, continuing to do so. Circe was draped over her back, conscious but limp. She nudged Amanita’s horn out of her face again. “Can’t you-”
Amanita forced her horn back at Bitterroot. “Hold still. I’m trying to heal you.”
“From what? I’m dead, nothing’s bothering me.”
“No, but when you come back to life, you’re going to be dead again in five minutes if I don’t do anything. Do you have any idea how much smoke you inhaled? Seriously, I bet your esophagus is scorched.”
Bitterroot picked up her pace. “You did a healing ritual for Catskill, right? Can’t you just do that again? Do you need to get all horn-in-facey?”
Amanita picked up her pace. “I don’t have enough ingredients for the ritual. I used them all up semi-resurrecting you and Circe didn’t have the right ones.”
Bitterroot sped up even more. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I-”
Amanita’s horn sparked; something tangled around Bitterroot’s hooves and she tripped. A broad, flat shield pinned her down as Amanita got all horn-in-facey. Bitterroot gave up trying to escape and let it happen. A tingle ran up her nose, down her nostrils, down her throat, up to the ends of her hairs. Something clotted in her windpipe, but her lack of reflexes meant she didn’t start coughing. When she finally managed to force herself to cough and get it out, she hacked up small chunks of blackened meat.
“The insides of your throat, given second-degree burns,” said Amanita once she released Bitterroot. “And I also fixed a bunch of little wounds you didn’t know you had.”
“Great,” mumbled Bitterroot.
“You’ll probably want some more healing tomorrow, once the resurrective spell finally runs its course and you’re alive again.”
“I’m good, thanks.” Bitterroot adjusted Circe’s position on her back and started walking again.
“We’ll see.”
When night fell, Bitterroot didn’t bother putting up her tent. “I’ll just stay up and watch her-” She lurched a little, tossing Circe as roughly as possible onto the ground. “-okay? I’ll be fine. Bored, but fine.” She paused. “Right?”
“Right,” said Amanita. “And I… don’t think it’ll be bad for you when you come back to life tomorrow, so go ahead.” She squinted at Bitterroot. “Don’t faint on me with ten miles to go.”
Bitterroot chuckled. “Sure. Sure.”
Sure enough, Bitterroot didn’t feel tired the whole night. She alternated between making sure Circe hadn’t moved and stargazing. Between uncontrollable clouds and the light from the Crystal Empire, the view of the stars wasn’t the greatest, but it was calm in a way she’d been missing for the past few days.
She turned an ear towards Circe, still fettered and muzzled. It sounded like she was sleeping. By now, Circe had healed enough that it looked like she’d barely been burned at all. Bitterroot considered waking her up just to annoy her.
Morning dawned, and Bitterroot still didn’t feel tired. Circe made some muffled complaint about stiffness during packing up. Neither Bitterroot nor Amanita listened to her and they were soon on their way again.
It was around mid-morning when Bitterroot felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer, a fire extinguisher stuffed down her lungs and fired, a lit match jammed up her nose, and a balloon popped inside her eardrums. The suddenness of it all made her stumble to a stop. She screamed raspily, doubled over, and hacked until she thought her lungs were coming out. And considering her spit looked blackened, she didn’t think that was as out-there as she wanted it to be. Her legs ached and her heart pounded in her ears and she was hungry. She figured she was alive again, and being alive stunk.
“Healing?” asked Amanita, raising an eyebrow.
Bitterroot gagged, feeling like she’d inhaled steel wool. “Healing,” she croaked. “Please.”
“Told you so.”
After over fifteen minutes of horn-poking, Bitterroot felt well enough to get back on her feet, although Amanita took up her Circe-carrying duties. She spat out a hunk of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to identify. “Why can’t I just stay undead,” she mumbled, “and not have to worry about… anything?”
“The magic powering you isn’t infinite and can start eating your soul if you don’t watch it,” said Amanita, adjusting Circe’s position. “You need extra magic to keep your body from rotting. You can only eat certain things that are metaphysically tied to death, like unleavened black bread or unfermented wine. Damage to your body can only repaired with magic. You can’t feel the damage you’re doing to yourself since you can’t feel pain. If somepony ever dispels the magic around you, you stop being undead instantly and go back to being plain old dead. You slowly grow more aware of just how disgusting your body is. Your will can easily be subverted by necromancers. You become a transmission vector for deadly diseases.” She raised an eyebrow at Bitterroot. “Would you like me to continue?”
Bitterroot blinked, then coughed again. “…No, I’m good, thanks.”
They were only a few miles from the Empire when Bitterroot asked, “You’re really going to just turn yourself in?”
“Why not?” said Amanita. She shrugged. “I had a bounty posted on my head, so I can’t just hide out in the North. If I try to make a new identity and it ever comes out that I engaged in necromancy, I’ll be locked up anyway. Might as well get it over with now.”
“But you’ve changed. You’re not a bad pony anymore.”
“So? I did wrong. I deserve to be punished. I-” Amanita looked at the Crystal Palace, but something in her eyes said to Bitterroot that she was looking past it. “All the ponies of Grayvale… I see them whenever I sleep. They need justice. And if I go to jail-”
“Grayvale wasn’t your fault!” yelled Bitterroot, flaring her wings. “It was Circe’s.” She stopped walking for a moment to smack Circe in the head. “Circe’s going to jail, probably executed, and good riddance. But you-”
“I sat by and let it happen,” said Amanita. “I could’ve stolen Circe’s phylactery earlier. I could’ve-” She sighed
“But prison sounds pretty lousy.”
“That’s the point,” said Amanita, lightly jabbing at Bitterroot. “It’s a punishment. Do you think I’d be going there if it was a spa and resort?”
“It’s a punishment you don’t deserve.”
“You might think so, but I don’t.”
“Why do you think-”
Amanita adjusted Circe’s position on her back. “We’ve been over this,” she growled. “I don’t care what you think of my past, but I think I need to do something to… I don’t know, atone for it, I guess. So, please, just- shut up about it, okay? You sound like my mother, trying to teach me some lesson about proper responsibility or something.”
“What’s so bad about that?” mumbled Bitterroot under her breath. “More ponies should’ve listened to their mothers.”
But Amanita didn’t respond. The rest of the trip passed by in an uncomfortable silence, all the way to the city limits.
Bitterroot knew the Crystal Empire well, and once she and Amanita had stepped over its boundaries, it didn’t take them long to find the nearest guard station, although carrying Circe meant they attracted quite a few stares. Bitterroot shoved the door open and walked up to the front desk, Circe over her back. “I’d like to claim a bounty,” she said to the bored clerk. “Circe. She’s a necromancer and a lich.”
The clerk blinked at Circe, but he was quick enough. It took less than thirty seconds for him to find the relevant bounty files. “Yes,” he said, looking back and forth between Circe and her picture on his clipboard. “I’m pretty sure that’s her. Bounty of six…” The clerk coughed and rubbed his eyes. “Dang, six hundred thousand?”
“Right.”
“Hoo. You’re lucky. That’s the largest bounty I’ve ever seen. If you sit tight and keep a hold of your… captive, we can have ponies be right with you for confirmation and processing.”
“Great. Thanks.” Bitterroot stepped aside and waved Amanita forward. “And my partner has a separate issue to take care of.”
Amanita looked like she’d prefer drinking drain cleaner to what she was about to do. But she swallowed, took a deep breath and stepped up to the desk. “My name is Amanita,” she said. “I’m also a necromancer. And I’d like to turn myself in. Please.” She smiled.
The clipboard fell to the ground. The clerk blinked again. He turned around and yelled, “Uh, sir?”
Circe had been taken away to somewhere secure, while Amanita and Bitterroot had been thrown in a holding cell; the former for necromancy, the latter for involvement, considering she’d said she’d been Amanita’s travelling partner. Amanita paced back and forth the same ten feet over and over and over. “You could’ve gone,” she said to Bitterroot. “Just left me alone. You didn’t need to associate yourself with me and put yourself through this.”
Bitterroot wasn’t restless at all and simply lounged on one of the cots. “If it makes things easier for you,” she said, “you bet I’m staying. I’ll be a character witness. I’m not just going to throw you to the wolves.”
“I deserve to be thrown to the wolves.”
Bitterroot shrugged. “A lot of ponies deserve a lot of things they don’t get, good and bad both. Life isn’t fair.”
“It really shouldn’t be unfair in my favor,” mumbled Amanita.
“Do you want to be miserable?” Bitterroot pushed herself into a sitting position.
“Kinda!”
“Then just feel guilty. A little guilt goes a long way. Maybe you’ll get lucky and have trouble sleeping tonight.”
“Joy,” said Amanita darkly.
“You said you wanted to be miserable!” Bitterroot protested, flaring her wings. “And then I suggested a way for you to be miserable, and-”
“I want to feel miserable as in emotionally tormented, not miserable as in sleep-deprived!”
“So now you’re saying only you get to decide how you’re miserable?”
“Don’t make me kill you again.”
“Oh, please. We both know you’d bring me right back the second you could.”
“That’s beside the point!”
The guard sitting in the cell block stared at the two of them. “This is the second-weirdest argument I’ve heard this week,” she said.
Eventually, the pair was hauled to an interrogation room. Bitterroot and Amanita sat on one side, both their hooves cuffed to the table and Amanita’s magic suppressed. Across from them sat Prince-Captain Shining Armor himself. Once Amanita had admitted to being a necromancer, his presence had been fast-tracked.
Amanita told him everything, from start to finish. Bitterroot interjected every now and then, but Amanita kept shushing her, even asking Shining to cast a silencing spell over her. She’d shut up after that. Shining’s face remained impassive throughout the whole talk and his ears were stiff. One hoof rested on the table and he didn’t even drum it. Bitterroot wondered if he’d seen worse when he was still Captain of the Guard. Either way, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
“…and once we’d put out the fire,” Amanita said, “we took Circe and… came here.” She swallowed.
Shining sighed. “A village, an anti-necromancy squad, two bounty hunters, and a ranger dead. A large patch of land burned down. A lich captured, her phylactery with her. Possibly. And a necromancer turning herself in for all that.” He grinned crookedly. “Mondays, right?”
“Heh heh…” Amanita forced out.
Shining’s grin slipped away. He tapped the table once. “On the one hoof, I want to believe you… and I know it’s possible for even the worst people to change…”
“But I still did a lot of black magic,” said Amanita glumly.
“Yeah.” Shining nodded. “We’re going to let the arson on the scru-”
“That was my idea,” Bitterroot said quickly. “She had nothing to do with it.”
“Either way, we’re letting that slide,” Shining continued, waving a hoof dismissively, “because it was contained quick enough and ultimately isn’t important in the grand scheme of things. Not next to a lich and her soul jar.”
Somepony knocked at the door and a guard leaned in. “Captain? The captive is definitely Circe, and that crystal is indeed her phylactery. We’re working on unraveling the enchantments on it now. Until we can destroy it, Circe has been imprisoned in one of Sombra’s old oubliettes.”
“She deserves no better,” muttered Shining. “And her guards-”
“No less than four at all times, sir.”
“Good. Keep me posted.”
The guard saluted and left.
Silence. Shining said, “I’ve looked through her files. Circe’s one of the longer-lived liches we know of, and we can’t even be sure we know when her life began. Celestia’s been trying to catch her for centuries. And suddenly, a necromancer and a bounty hunter walk through our door and drop her and her phylactery almost literally gift-wrapped on our counter.” He started tapping his hoof on the tabletop. “And that’s part of the problem. Somepony who does something like that probably isn’t the kind of pony who should go to jail. But if a necromancer gets off scot-free, the public will cry bloody murder.” He sighed and ruffled his mane. “Thank Celestia I’m not a judge.”
Bitterroot took a chance and raised a hoof as much as the cuffs would allow. “Um, excuse me, but if I can make a suggestion… All those things she did as a necromancer, she did them outside Equestria. Doesn’t that mean she’s not subject to Equestria’s laws?”
“Only if she’s also not an Equestrian citizen,” said Shining.
Amanita coughed quietly. “I am.”
“Then-”
“Listen,” said Bitterroot, “I know she’s done some bad things, but she’s not like that anymore! She-”
Amanita tried lunging for Bitterroot, but her fetters stopped her. She pulled halfheartedly at them and growled, “Stop whitewashing me. Yes, I hate that I did those things. But I still did them! Don’t act like that didn’t happen!”
“Look, I’m just trying to point out that you’ve changed!” protested Bitterroot, shying away and flaring her wings. “Why are you so touchy about all this?”
“Because as long as I remember how terrible what I did was, then Celestia forbid, it’ll never happen again! By Luna, I got pulled into black magic the first time because my marefriend died. Do you have any idea how- how- how pathetic that is? And you keep on going, ‘oh, she’s good now, it’s not so bad’, like I just went through a bad phase as a teenager.”
“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth, I’m-”
“Ma’ams, please,” said Shining stolidly. They both shut up. “We’re not going to discuss what you think is right and wrong. We’re just trying to figure out the nature of the crime.”
Bitterroot jumped off her seat as best she could. “It wasn’t a-!”
Shining glared at her. Bitterroot folded her ears back and sat down again.
“And based on Amanita’s testimony,” Shining said eventually, “you’re free to leave-” He nodded at Bitterroot. “-but you need to go back to holding. Sorry.”
“ ’S alright,” muttered Amanita, hanging her head.
Amanita and Bitterroot had their fetters unlocked. Bitterroot was nudged back to the lobby of the guard post, watching after Amanita as she was led back to the holding cells.
Although Bitterroot didn’t have to stick around the guard post as the particulars involving Circe’s bounty were sorted out, she hung out in the lobby for a few minutes. It kind of made her feel like she was supporting Amanita. Somehow.
Then a guard walked up to her. “Do you want to talk to Amanita?”
Bitterroot’s ears twitched. “Well, I-”
“You’ve been glancing at the doors to the cells every thirty seconds,” said the guard, “and I’ve heard some of the story. Look, visiting prisoners is completely legal. C’mon.”
He led Bitterroot back into the cell block. Most of them were empty, with the exception of Amanita’s. She was resting on her cot, but got up when she saw Bitterroot. She walked up to the bars. “Hey.”
“Hey,” said Bitterroot. “You… You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?”
“For the tenth time, yes,” Amanita said, sighing and rolling her eyes.
“So…” Bitterroot swallowed. “Is there… anything I can do to… I don’t know, make this easier?” She wasn’t sure why she said it; it just seemed like the right thing to say.
One of Amanita’s ears flopped down. “Really? Like how?” Her voice was half-skeptical, half-serious.
Bitterroot had a few ideas, but only a few. “I can visit you every few days.”
“I don’t know how long it’ll be until I’m prosecuted. You could be here for moons.”
“I can pay for your bail once it’s posted. I’m rich now.”
“Where would I go, even in the Crystal Empire? Tomorrow morning, it’ll be all over the papers that I’m a necromancer, which… yeah.” Amanita tapped the bars. “I think I’ll stay in here, thanks.”
“I’ll… support you at your trial?” tried Bitterroot.
“There isn’t going to be one,” said Amanita. “I’m just pleading guilty anyway.”
“Really? But-”
“I’d still be found guilty!” yelled Amanita. “There’s enough evidence-” She groaned and rubbed her head. “Please, please, stop trying to stop me. We’ve been over this, what, ten times in the past few hours? At least? This is my decision. Maybe it’ll help me get over my guilt.”
Bitterroot sighed and leaned against the bars. “Prisons ought to be more about rehabilitation than punishment, you know,” she mused, “and you’re rehabilitated already.”
“And if the law agrees, I’ll be out soon. But-” Amanita reached through the bars and lightly touched Bitterroot’s hoof. “Listen. It’s not like I… don’t appreciate the sentiment or anything, don’t get me wrong. I’m really happy that you think I’m a good pony. It’s just… I don’t.” Her hoof slipped away. “And I don’t think I should be out there until I think I am.”
“This can’t be healthy,” said Bitterroot. “You’re obsessing over what you did wrong, and I’m worried that-”
“It’s probably not healthy,” Amanita said, “but… three weeks ago, I learned that I’d been violating my dead marefriend’s mind every time I called her up. The only other pony in my life was unsympathetic. Since then, I’ve seen a village killed, raced across the Frozen North, killed several ponies, and saved somepony’s life only to have them turned into a necromantic thrall and need to be put down. It’s not like I had time to stop and go to a therapist.” She giggled shrilly. “I barely had time to stop at all. Maybe now that I can stop worrying about Circe, I can get my head back in order.”
“Do you really think that?” asked Bitterroot, looking at Amanita. “Or are you just trying to get me off your back?”
But Amanita said, “No, I really think that. I… I’m just so tired, and now I get a chance to sleep.” She smiled. For the first time since Bitterroot had met her, it wasn’t forced or nervous. “You know?”
Bitterroot smiled weakly back. “Yeah. I know.”
“But if you’d like to… I don’t know, be pen pals or something, I think I’d like that.” Amanita’s voice had grown much quieter.
“…Sure. I’ll leave you my address.” At least Amanita would have some connection to the outside world.
When Bitterroot left the cell block, most of the bureaucracy regarding Circe had already been handled. After double-checking with the clerk about some last-minute facts, the clerk said, “You know, I gotta say, not one but two necromancers? Ha. Not bad.”
“I had a lot of help,” said Bitterroot. It felt strange, saying that Amanita had helped her turn her in.
“Still. So that’s one million, two hundred thousand bits, pre-taxes, which means…”
The clerk laid out the totals after taxes, but Bitterroot wasn’t paying attention, only nodding and giving vague “uh-huh”s or “right”s. There had to be something she could do to help Amanita. Maybe not now, but after she got out of jail. If her new brand of necromancy — raising the recently dead solely to keep them alive — was legal, then she’d be a big help to Bitterroot. Or hospitals or… a huge number of places. But what if she didn’t have anywhere to go? What then? Did she have family? Would that family even want to see her? It didn’t seem fair that, in Equestria of all places, somepony could leave jail and not have anywhere to go. But Bitterroot had no idea when Amanita was going to get out, so she couldn’t really plan ahead. And bounty hunting was an unpredictable job, so it wasn’t like she could just take a vacation, even with her new wealth.
Then the clerk brought out a check and Bitterroot knew what she could do.
“Wait a minute,” said Bitterroot. The clerk’s pen stopped over the check. “I’d like to set up a bank account in Amanita’s name and put half of those bits in there. When she’s granted parole for good behavior — which will happen — she’ll need some money, and a million bits is more than I know what to do with.”
Bitterroot held her breath. There had to be plenty of reasons for this to be denied, even if she couldn’t think of any. External circumstances. She couldn’t make an account for somepony who was incarcerated. Heck, maybe she just couldn’t make an account for somepony else.
But the clerk just shrugged. “It’s your money,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do about it. If I can’t get an account set up, I’ll put some bearer bonds in her possessions so she can retrieve them when she’s released. Good?”
“Good,” said Bitterroot. She made a note to double-check it later, just in case. Paranoia told her it wouldn’t get done.
After some recalculations, the clerk scribbled down the relevant number on the check and handed it over to Bitterroot. “Interesting story, somepony getting paid for their own bounty,” he said.
“Believe me,” replied Bitterroot, “you don’t know the half of it.”