//------------------------------// // Act II: Everfree Night // Story: The World is Filled with Monsters // by Cold in Gardez //------------------------------// “Tell me about the horror again,” Luna said from atop her throne. “Leave nothing out.” Under any other circumstance, Vermilion would not have called the mountainous heap of debris beneath the princess a throne. It was a pile of junk, a collection of every ancient thing created or grown or exhumed from the earth over Luna’s long, long lifetime. She sat on decrepit rugs knotted in fantastic peacock patterns stacked upon a welter of pitted bronze armor fitted for gryphon warscouts. Out from the mass spilled a legion of books, their pages mouldering with age, black as ink, and a river of coins – gold, copper, aluminum, iron and tin – stamped with a thousand different faces in profile. An ocean’s worth of polished seashells flowed out like the tide, washing around basalt sphynx statues and telescopes and racks of swords in rotting sheaths. His hooves brushed aside cowries and sand dollars when he moved, and in the spaces between the foam of endless mess he saw the granite floor of this cavern, Luna’s warehouse and her office, inscribed deep with the touch of an artist’s chisel, drawing some picture whose form was lost beneath the carpet of ages. Yes, a junkyard, anywhere else. But here, in the depths of the night queen’s lair, even the most profane things became exalted by her touch. She reclined upon rust and turned it to treasure. So sitting, staring intently down at Vermilion and his friends with eyes as cold as winter, she was enthroned.  They were in a part of Luna’s office he’d never seen before. Or, at least, the items were different. As always, the dark cavern seemed to stretch endlessly away in all directions, far wider than the palace or even the city. Its edges were lost in fog. Dim shapes acted as landmarks – over there, he thought he saw a twisted bronze sculpture of a pegasus chevalier tearing herself in half. It was a statue he’d seen before, west of the entrance, so they weren’t too deep into her lair. Unless Luna had more than one sculpture in that style.  It was possible, he decided. Not just possible, but likely. Everything that could exist, in the waking world or in dreams, seemed to be in here somewhere. Why she gathered it all, he could not say. He had already told Luna of their failure. In excruciating detail he’d recounted their journey to Hazelnight, their mission to Cirrane to recover the Heart of Winter sapphire, Lord Graymoor’s fatal gambit, and the destruction of the town. For hours it seemed he had talked, rambling at times, lost in the tangled pathways of frozen memory. Every word tore open the scabs on his heart, bleeding him again. Sometimes Cloudy or Quicklime or Zephyr broke into his rambling to offer a detail he’d missed. For her part Rose was silent.  He swallowed again. The cold air tasted like snow. “It came out of the moon,” he said. “Or, it was the moon. You know those… those little bugs that pretend to be leaves or sticks, and they are such good mimics that it’s not until they start to walk or fly away that you realize what they were? That’s what it was like. The whole time, watching us, until it moved.” “We’re not cowards,” Cloudy said. He stared down at the bits of junk between his hooves – tortoise shell buttons and fine crystal tumblers and the broken pieces of an ancient bone flute. “But when it appeared… I’ve never felt so afraid in my whole life. Not even in Hollow Shades. I fled. I abandoned my…” His eyes darted to Vermilion, and his cheeks flushed with shame. “My friends. In that moment I didn’t care about them. Whether they lived or died. All that mattered was escaping.” Quicklime flinched. Her hooves kicked away a shard of ochre pottery. Zephyr stretched out a wing and laid it over the little unicorn’s shoulders.  Rose remained immobile and silent as a statue. Vermilion tried to catch her eye. No dice. He licked his lips and plowed on. “It was the second time for me,” he said. “I saw it in Cirrane first. It was… it was like they said. I couldn’t move, and then I couldn’t stop running.” Luna grunted. Her breath formed a puff of fog that froze into little gems on her dark coat. “What did it look like?” “A monster.” Quicklime’s voice cracked on the word. “Like death.” Zephyr licked her pale lips. “The thing that chases you in nightmares,” Cloudy said. He glanced over his shoulder into the darkness behind them as he spoke. “Disease,” Rose whispered. It the first sound she’d made in hours. “Everything,” Vermilion said. “It was everything. Every beast, every insect, every jealous thought or hatred dredged out of a pony’s heart. And it had eyes, Luna. Enough eyes to watch every pony in the world.” “Do you know what it was?” Cloudy asked. His wings beat unconsciously, scattering bits of rotting scrolls out from beneath him. “Have you heard of anything like it?” Luna drew herself up straighter. “I have not. But the moon is my domain, and anything, be it beast or pony or god, that dares intrude upon what is mine will be destroyed. I do not fault you for failing to defeat it, noble Cloud Fire, for clearly we were not prepared for anything so dreadful. But our path now is clear. This thing, this… Nightmare is the source of all the evil that has befallen the world. It is the new darkness, and if we do not stand against it, then the world outside Equestria’s borders will fall as surely as Haselnacht.” Vermilion closed his eyes. For a moment the cold of Luna’s chamber was replaced by the infinitely greater chill he’d felt in Hazelnight, when the Windigo hovered just feet from him. He remembered the flight through the snow, leading hundreds of ponies to the boats, while behind them the city was buried in beneath a mountain of ice. His heart caught, stuck between beats, and when it finally resumed it shook his whole chest. “The ponies,” he croaked. “The ponies in Hazelnight. You can see their dreams. What has become of them?” Luna frowned. The moment stretched out, silence broken only by the hammering of his heart. Beside him, Cloudy swallowed loudly. “My sight of their dreams is hazy,” Luna finally said. “Something still lays over the north. But nothing can prevent me from seeing dreams forever, my Vermilion. Their lights have all dispersed. Some you brought south, some escaped. But where Haselnacht was, only darkness remains.” Ah. “They’re dead, then.” “Likely so.” For a moment some mortal emotion touched Luna’s face, pity or sorrow or remorse, and then it was gone, replaced by her royal mein. “Many of them, though not all. Your efforts were not entirely in vain.” He grimaced. “But we should have—” “No, my Vermilion.” Luna leaned forward, sending a small rockslide of ruin tumbling down the slope of her throne. “You carry out my will, but I am the arbiter of your success. When you fail me, I will be sure you know it. There will be times when even your greatest exertions, the most powerful of sacrifices, will purchase what seems to be a meager reward. But in a thousand years, Vermilion, when I survey the land of dreams, and in those lands I find the minds of all the myriad descendents of those whom you saved in these desperate hours, only then will the true scale of our triumph be apparent.” A thousand years? He barely knew what he was doing tomorrow. In five years or ten? He tried to imagine the future out that far and found it blank.  He risked a glance at the others. Cloudy looked lost. Quicklime’s face was filled with determination. Zephyr seemed at ease. And Rose… He was on her blind side, so whatever emotion stirred in her eye was lost to him. “Tell me, my Vermilion,” Luna said. Her tone softened, addressing him with a gentle ease he rarely felt around her. “Have you been reading Canopy’s journal, as I asked?” “Slowly. Not as much as I should. Her writing is dense and difficult at times.” “To be expected.” Luna’s horn glowed, and out from the pile beneath her lifted a slim green tome. She opened it and flipped through a few pages before snapping it shut. “But remember, she was writing for herself, as an aid for her memory. Part of my task to you is to organize her thoughts, parse them for wisdom, and write it anew, so that others may have access to her insights without so much exertion.” Rose spoke up. “Is that…” “A replica,” Luna said. She set the book back down, where it was lost in the clutter. “There are simple spells to copy books. I felt it was wise to do so for Canopy’s journal before entrusting the original to a servant who might take it with him into death.” A cold shiver wormed its way down Vermilion’s spine. He swallowed. “I’m relieved you have made plans to save that which is valuable.” Luna clucked her tongue. She stood, and with a mighty beat of her wings rose from the throne. Bits of junk flew out from the pressure she exerted, and she landed with a crash before him. The palpable cold flowing out from her body crawled into the hairs of his coat and seeped into his skin. He braced himself for the reprimand that was sure to follow. Instead she bent down, settling on her knees, and wrapped her wings around him. They enveloped him like a feathered cloak, warm and dense and somehow freezing all at once. He shivered and welcomed the sensation deep into his bones. “I told you once, my Vermilion,” she whispered in his ear. Her breath turned his mane white with frost. “I am not my sister. I am not afraid to risk the things I love. I cherish you, all of you, and when you die I will mourn for my loss and rejoice that I had you to lose.” Luna’s wings extended, and she gathered all of them together in her embrace. Quicklime shuddered and leaned into Luna’s leg. Rose pressed her blind eye against Luna’s chest. The pegasi twined their colorful feathers with Luna’s midnight plumes. “You are all precious to me,” Luna said. “Never forget that. When you face death, draw strength from it. When you fail me, as you someday will, remember that I am a kind and loving god. You serve me, and so long as you serve me you can never be truly defeated.” Luna stepped away, releasing them. Her wings beat, and she leapt back atop her throne. She stamped her hooves to flatten the priceless artifacts into a suitable shape, and she sat again. Absent Luna’s embrace, the cavern air felt stagnant and warm, stinking of ages and rock. Sweat prickled his skin. He wanted nothing more than to scrabble up that throne and recline against her perfect form until he froze in place beside it. Rose stirred beside him, like a dreamer waking. Her shoulder brushed his, and the scent of cotton and sea salt and pepper brought him back to the present. She shook herself, and they both looked up at Luna.  “What shall we do?” Vermilion asked. “For now, rest. You have been through a terrible ordeal. Take the time you need to heal your bodies and your hearts. Vermilion, continue to read Canopy’s journal. The knowledge within will make you a greater servant. Rose Quartz will help you understand it.” Rose gave a little jump at the mention of her name, but she dipped her head. “Yes, princess.” “And the rest of us?” Zephyr asked. “As I said, rest and heal. You are young and have lives to live outside the bounds of my service, and I would not deny them to you.” Luna’s eyes flicked to Cloudy as she spoke, and something passed between them. The corners of her lips turned up as she continued. “When you are rested and whole, return to me, and we will survey the world and view all the dark places therein.” Vermilion glanced over his shoulder at Cloudy. The pegasus had a smile on his face that quickly vanished. Huh. He turned back to Luna and bowed. The others echoed his gesture. “Thank you, Luna. We will do as you command, and return soon.” “Not too soon, my Vermilion,” Luna said. “This is a long war we are waging to save the world from darkness. It cannot be won overnight. Now, go, rest and recuperate. When you return we will seek out the next foe to destroy.” So saying, Luna reclined back onto her throne. She closed her eyes, and Vermilion felt a familiar pressure on his mind, there and gone, as the princess sent her awareness out into the dreamscape.  He turned and led the team out of Luna’s lair, slowly picking their way over the debris of ages, while behind them Luna rested on her dark throne, a silent god awaiting the slow resurrection of night. * * * Luna’s secretary, Starry Night, was waiting for them outside the office. She gave them a moment while their eyes adjusted to the relative brightness of the palace outside Luna’s lair. When they were recomposed, she passed a small pouch to Rose and whispered something in her ear. To Vermilion she gave a polite bow, and then she vanished back into the maze of desks and bookshelves where dozens of bureaucrats and functionaries kept the kingdom running as best they could. “A small bonus for our trouble,” Rose said. She floated the pouch into her saddlebags and tied them shut. “I suspect she wants us to treat ourselves to something nice.” Cloudy nosed in closer to the saddlebags. “Like food? We should get more food.” “He’s right,” Zephyr said. “All we have at the apartment is oats. Dry oats!” “I’m sure we have enough to restock,” Vermilion said. He took the lead and started down the mazelike corridors of the palace’s Night Wing. As always the halls were nearly empty, with the only sign of other ponies the occasional echo of hooves on marble distantly reaching their ears. After three or four visits now the path through the wing was fixed in his mind, and with only one or two wrong turns he managed to reach the palace’s public areas. A crush of ponies greeted them, thousands of merchants and peasants and lawyers and courtiers and nobles and pages all rushing too and fro to carry out Celestia’s bidding. He pushed through the masses as only an earth pony could, breaking a path for his friends.  In time they reached the entrance, and the crowds ebbed. The gardens and the streets outside were broad enough for ponies to disperse comfortably, and they could speak again without shouting.  It was late summer in Everfree, and though the longest days had passed, the air was still sultry and hot as an oven. It laid on them like a wool blanket, and in moments their coats were soaked through with sweat. As always the pegasi had it worse, and started fanning themselves with their wings in a desperate attempt to stay cool. Vermilion tilted his head back, letting the sun wash over him. It bled into his pores and baked his bones. Every part of him dripped. His mane hung in limp strands against his neck and forehead. Just like back on the farm. It was wonderful. “You look way too happy,” Quicklime said. She blew a puff of air up at her sodden forelock as it dangled over her eyes. “Just remembering.” He stretched. “Feels good to be back.” “Speak for yourself,” Cloudy grumbled. “Too hot. I can’t wait for tonight.” Zephyr’s ears flicked. She watched Cloudy as they walked. On Vermilion’s other side, Rose did the same. Her eye narrowed. They walked in silence for a few more blocks. Finally, Cloud Fire noticed the mares’ looks. “What?” “Mm. Nothing.” Zephyr glanced at Rose, then back at Cloudy. Rose nodded slowly. “Just thinking about something Luna said.” Quicklime stopped. The rest of them moved on a few more steps before realizing. Vermilion turned back to see the little unicorn’s face twisted into a frown. She squinted, tilted her head, then suddenly gasped. Her eyes went as wide as saucers, and a shocked grin replaced the frown. “Oh, oh!” She bounced in place, practically vibrating. “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?” Vermilion blinked. Zephyr’s ears danced liked flags. Rose raised her eyebrow at Cloudy. “Uhh…” Cloudy licked his lips. “I mean, why would you, uh—” “Oh my gosh you are! You are!” She ran up to Cloudy and placed her forehooves on his chest, shoving her face up into his. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Cloudy pushed her back and began to edge away from the group. “Okay, first off, that’s kinda private, you know? And it’s no big deal, okay? We just—” “No big deal?” Rose was smiling too, now. “You hear that, Zephyr? It’s no big deal.” “No big deal!” Zephyr rushed forward, as fast as Vermilion had ever seen her move, and wrapped Cloudy up in a headlock, dragging him back to the rest of the team. “Uh, you’re fucking the princess. That’s, like, the definition of a big deal, buddy. C’mon, spill!” “Fucking her!” Quicklime chirped, and a little piece of Vermilion’s soul died. “What’s it like? Is her hoohaa freezing like the rest of her? I thought the cold made stallions shrink? And she’s so tall! Do you, like, have to stand on a box or something to—” “Okay, that’s enough,” Rose said. She pulled Quicklime out of Cloudy’s personal space with her magic and gently pried Zephyr’s grip loose. “Leave the poor stallion alone. He’ll tell us everything when he’s ready. Which will be very soon, I’m sure.” “Uh.” Vermilion was missing something, surely. Obviously this was all a mistake. “What’s going on? Cloudy, are you… you know?” “Does it really matter?” Cloudy tried to smooth down his ruffled feathers with a hoof, but it was no use. They just floofed back up again. “She’s a princess, she’s allowed to do whatever she wants.” “Or anypony she wants.” From Zephyr. “Ooh. And however she wants!” Quicklime said. Her eyes filled with joy at all the possibilities. “We work for her, Cloudy!” Vermilion protested. “That’s inappropriate!” “Okay, first off, everypony works for the princesses,” Cloudy said. He picked up his pace down the road, as though he could somehow leave the topic behind. No dice; they all followed close at his hooves. “And nothing is inappropriate for her. She’s like, the patron deity of casual sex. I’m just another stallion to her.” “More than that, I hope,” Rose said. She sounded almost affronted. “Well…” Cloudy slowed, his voice trailing off, and he nearly tripped when the tip of his hoof caught on an unsettled cobblestone. He scowled down at it and continued. “Maybe a little more. She’s very different, you know, in that, uh, circumstance.” “When you’re inside her, you mean,” Zephyr said. Quicklime gasped and doubled over giggling. “Okay, done with this. Cherry, there better be some food back at the apartment. Later.” Cloudy said. He stretched out his wings before anypony could reply and jumped into the air. In seconds he was just a black dot against the sky, and then he was gone behind the clouds. “Hm.” Zephyr’s wings flexed, as though she wanted to give chase, but she just shrugged instead. “Eh, we’ll tie him down later, get all the dirt.” Vermilion gawked up at the sky. Any second now Cloudy would come back and admit it was a joke and they would all laugh at how gullible he was. Any second now. “Hey, Cherry!” Quicklime called. The mares had moved on without him. “You coming?” “Y-yeah!” He jumped after them. They were nearly halfway to the Osage district and their empty apartment. Hopefully it hadn’t burned down or while they were gone. * * * The apartment was still in one piece. There were kittens now, too. Zephyr took one look at the fuzzy balls of energy streaking across the wood floors, hissed, and flew up to her room. Quicklime went insane and spent the next hour chasing them over and around the sparse furniture, while Rose and the mother cat watched in amusement. Vermilion made a note to buy some more cream at the market. Cream at the market. It was nice to have such simple, easy tasks. As he went through the motions of cleaning the kitchen and setting out the beginnings of a simple dinner, his mind raced back through the seasons, past their adventures in the north and in Maplebridge and in Hollow Shades, back before he was a chosen soldier of Luna or an accidental hero or even just somepony known by name to Major Canopy. Back to when he was just a simple private, an earth pony quartermaster’s apprentice, responsible for cooking chow for the officers and real soldiers. Back when his only concern was having enough food ready for when the pegasi woke. The potato wedges were sizzling nicely in the oil. He flipped them and hit them with a dash of sage. The earthy scent rising from the pan was like a balm on his busy mind. His mother, Amaranth, had cooked potatoes this way, and so had his grandmother Einkorn, and he presumed all the mares of his line back as far as earth ponies had been farmers. He wondered if any of his sisters had foals yet of their own to whom they would one day bequeath this simple inheritance. “Hey, smells good!” Quicklime bounced at his shoulder. She reared up to place her hooves on the sill, sniffed at the hot pan, and flinched away from the sting of the popping oil. He shooed her away with the spatula. “They’re almost done. Set the table, would you?” “Yes sir!” The little unicorn flipped a quick salute and raced over to the cabinets, pulling them all open at once with her magic. There was a calico kitten riding in her mane, its claws dug into her braids to hold on for dear life.  By the time Cloudy returned Rose was back from the market with the rest of the ingredients for their first home-cooked meal in months. Carrots, oats, millet, sugar and honey, beer for the pegasi, wine for the unicorns, and water for him.  Finally, everything was set. The plates were loaded and ponies in their seats. Zephyr and Cloudy stared at the steaming food, just waiting for the word. Quicklime played with the kitten beneath the table. Rose was as placid as always, her eye on him. Well. He cleared his throat. “Welcome home, everypony. Dig in.” * * * By the time the sun set the pegasi had nearly re-emptied out the larder. After years of cooking for dozens of pegasi as part of the Company it should have come as no surprise how much food they could pack away, but somehow Vermilion was amazed anew. He’d have to visit the market again in the morning. Cloudy was the first to move. As the stars began to emerge outside he pushed away from the table and stood. He made some bland excuse about visiting a ‘friend’ for the night and edged toward the door. Before he made it to the threshold Zephyr zipped past him, vanishing upstairs for a brief instance. She returned with a scarf she tried to make him wear, and all the mares burst out laughing. Even Rose was taken by it. Cloudy blushed harder than Vermilion had ever seen and escaped out into the night. Vermilion had no idea what was so funny, but he laughed anyway. It seemed like the right thing to do. Quicklime left next. She tried to take the calico kitten with her, but Rose said it was too young to be away from its mother. The mother cat didn’t appear to care one way or the other. She grabbed the kitten by the scruff of the neck and padded off into the shadowed space beneath a wallside tea cabinet. Vermilion expected Zephyr to stay – she lived upstairs, after all – but no sooner had Quicklime left than she made for the door as well.  She noticed Vermilion’s look. “Chinook’s unit should be back in town. Gonna see if I can go surprise her. Might not be back tonight.” She gave him and Rose a nod, then vanished out into the night with a flash of brown feathers. “Well,” Rose said. She lifted the greasy plates from the table with her magic and carried them over to the sink. “Looks like everypony’s adapting to being back.” “Shouldn’t they be?” Vermilion couldn’t carry all the plates at once, but he could wash them pretty well. He filled the sink with hot water from the stovetop pot and began scrubbing. The caustic, abrasive soap cake tickled the sensitive soles of his hooves. “They’re all strong ponies.” “I didn’t mean they weren’t.” Rose muscled up against his side, vying for space at the sink. She lifted the soap in her magic, gave it a little sniff, then began rubbing it against the dirty stoneware plates. “But we’ve all been through a lot the past few months. Suddenly returning to normalcy after going through trauma can be stressful. Ponies sometimes act in ways you don’t expect.” He frowned. They’d all seemed normal enough during dinner. Maybe a bit giggly from the drinks. “I didn’t notice anything like that.” “It can take a few days.” She dunked the soapy dishes in the clean water, swirled them about, and set them to dry in the rack. “How about you? How do you feel?” Ah, so that’s what this was about. “Good, I guess?” “Mm.” She offered him a towel. Her own hooves were dry, of course. “That’s good. Better than you felt on the ship back?” He played with the towel, rolling it between his fetlocks until they were as dry as they were going to be. And then a bit longer. “Talking with Luna helped. And you. I mean, uh, talking with you did. It’s… it still feels like we failed. No, I mean, the mission was a failure, but maybe we didn’t fail, you know? Maybe what we wanted was impossible. Maybe… am I making any sense?” She smiled a little smile. “More than you think. You’re allowed to have doubts, Vermilion, but remember that you’re leading us, too. Canopy had doubts all the time, but she never showed them, because she knew we needed a fearless, confident leader. We couldn’t afford to have her moping in her wagon every time something bad happened.” “I’m not Canopy. She was…” Amazing. Courageous. Everything he wanted to be. “...better than I am.” Rose shook her head. “Someday we’ll get you to admit you’re a good pony too, Vermilion. Maybe I’ll make that my job. After all, the medic’s not usually busy.” “I like it better when you’re not,” he admitted. He draped the damp towel over a bar near the window to dry. “Less painful for us all.” “Us all? Have you noticed that you’re the only one who ever gets hurt during our little adventures?” Hm. His eyes snapped to her face, focusing for a moment on her blindfold. The coral pink strands of her mane concealed most of it, but the burgundy fabric was like a shadow, impossible to miss no matter how much she tried to conceal it. Did it still hurt? Could she feel the scratch of the fabric against the bare scar? He tried to look away before she noticed. Too late. Her remaining eye narrowed, and her lips peeled apart. But then her face calmed, and whatever rebuke she was readying died unspoken. She let out a sharp breath through her nose and returned to the table. “Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t, though. Hadn’t she just been lecturing him on putting the past behind him? It seemed a little hypocritical of her to still be all wrapped around the plow over her eye, but of course he would never in a million years give voice to that thought. Unicorns weren’t earth ponies. Scars mattered in different ways to them.  Well, it was as good a time as any to end the night, now that he’d set the pleasant mood on fire. “It’s getting late. I’m going to go read a bit, then go to bed, I think.” “Canopy’s journal?” Rose raised a curious eyebrow, and when he nodded, she continued. “Good. I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.” Ah, right. Luna’s charge to her. Truthfully, he didn’t mind the help – Canopy’s journal was harder than any textbook he’d ever read; it wasn’t even meant to be read. Canopy left out parts of sentences, finished her thoughts halfway written, utilized obscure pegasus terms he could only guess at, and frequently abbreviated her words to the point of indecipherability. And that wasn’t even considering the nature of her thoughts, some of which were so counterintuitive it was hard to believe a pony could have had them at all. Having a sharp mind like Rose to help parse through her logic would be greatly helpful.  And her company was welcome for other reasons too, of course. Even if he had to walk on the tips of his hooves around her at times.  Conversations with Rose were like piloting a ship through rocky waters. The deadly shoals were always visible, but sometimes the currents bore even the most cautious captain towards them. It was a bit like talking with Luna, he realized. Perhaps all mares were like that. They went up the creaking stairs to the second floor. The rooms were all dark and empty, the bedrooms smelling of dust and stagnant air after months of abandonment. Rose watched in quiet amusement as he pulled new sheets and covers out of the closet and carefully tucked their edges around the mattress in his room. He threw open the window, letting the warm evening air swirl through, teasing the curtains and bringing the scent of the river and the trees with it. Canopy’s journal was still in his saddlebags. It had survived their adventures in the north none the worse for wear, though given all that he’d been through while carrying them, Luna’s caution in making a second copy started to feel like a good idea. He was sturdier than books, after all – one tumble in the sea might’ve destroyed this little journal forever. Rose cleared her throat, startling him back into the moment. He gave himself a little shake and hopped up on the bed. The cotton duvet was pleasantly dry and scratchy on his belly. “Sorry,” he said. “Just thinking.” “You’re allowed to think.” Rose jumped up beside him. She started to settle down on his left, then reversed course and sat on his right, so her good eye was toward him. Her horn lit, and the knot on her blindfold came undone. She unwrapped it from around her eye, shook her head to loosen her mane, and set the fabric down on the bedside table. “I encourage it.” He brushed his hoof over the journal’s cover, then opened it to a random page. Canopy’s meditations were not in any particular order or sequence – she’d written down her thoughts as they came to mind, and while the ones toward the end of the volume were more mature and refined, the earlier entries were filled with a passion and doubt that were so at odds with the officer Vermilion knew that she sometimes seemed like a different pony altogether. Tonight he settled for something in the middle. I asked Celestia today about the afterlife. She just smiled and told me to talk with her sister. I replied that I already had, and Luna said the same. Celestia. Huh. He knew Canopy spoke with Luna, but apparently she’d been on speaking terms with Celestia as well. Would he ever feel so comfortable around the princesses? He shook his head. No, of course not. He was an earth pony. The relationship he had with the Luna was one of master and servant, and the most he could ever aspire toward. To dare for more was unfitting for his station. Rose’s horn glowed, casting faint light on the pages. He realized he’d been reading in almost complete darkness; the moon, half-obscured by high summer clouds, brought only a pale illumination through the window, barely enough to paint the floor with silver and shadows.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.  “It’s fine.” Rose’s eye danced across the page. “Your eyes are still better than mine, but it must be close. Every night it feels like I can see a bit better than the night before.” “That doesn’t bother you?” She shrugged. Her shoulder rubbed pleasantly against his. “Not really. We serve the princess of night. We chose this purpose, and she shapes her tools to serve her better. As long as we accept that bargain, we have no grounds to complain.” “So you trust her now?” “I understand her. I trust her desire to defeat the darkness threatening the world, but I don’t trust her to keep her temper when provoked.” “A good reason not to provoke her, then.” He moved the book closer to Rose, so they could both read. Celestia then asked why I was curious about the afterlife, and why I thought she might have any special insight into it. I answered the latter question first: as an immortal, surely, she had some insight into the workings of life and death that eluded us mere mortals. To this she replied, “Quite the opposite, young Canopy. In my experience, life without end has only made it harder to understand both life and death. But neither Luna nor I are eternal; all things must end in their appointed time.” I told her, then, about a dream I had, of a mare I knew, a soldier I served with for years. Verisimilitude and I were lieutenants together, and if the minotaur’s spear had not intervened, she might now be a captain with me. But fate had ordained for her to die that day in Calypos, and for me to carry her bones back to her family for the pyre. And I told Celestia that in my dreams I remembered the moment Verisimilitude died. How she looked down in surprise at the spear in her breast, and how as she took her final breaths, she smiled. Why, I asked Celestia, did a dying mare smile? What did she know? Celestia took her time to answer. I know she is not unfamiliar with death – as a monarch she has exercised its power countless times. Perhaps she sifted through her own memories of death, seeking the answer I needed. In the end, though, she gave me a question. “Young Canopy, does it matter if there is an afterlife?” Of course, I answered. What else could matter more? All the pain of this life, the sorrow, the suffering, the grief. To know an afterlife waited would be the greatest possible balm for a pony’s soul. If we knew a better life awaited us, we could be our best possible selves in this life, fearless, always making the right choice, guided by virtue. She nodded. “And what,” she asked, “is stopping you from doing that now? Only fear?” Canopy’s writing ended there, with a thin black line across the page. Beneath it she had written the start of what appeared to be a short letter to a friend. Several scratches and scribbles marred it beyond the point of legibility. Verisimilitude. A unicorn’s name. There was a wall, back at the company’s headquarters, where the names and marks of all the company’s fallen were inscribed. He’d walked past it every day before the morning formation, and at night on the way back to the barracks, but he’d never stopped to read. Ivy and honeysuckle vines grew on a trellis bordering the wall, and he’d paid more attention to those simple plants than the ponies they honored. Was Verisimilitude’s name written there? Was Canopy’s? He flipped back to the start of the passage and read through it again. He turned to ask Rose what she thought. Too late. Her head rested on his shoulder, her eyes closed. In sleep she seemed far more at peace. Perhaps there was wisdom there. He closed Canopy’s journal, set it on the bedside table next to Rose’s blindfold, and rested his head beside hers. He closed his eyes and let the scent of cotton and sea salt and the linens beneath them and the osage trees outside the bedroom window and the steady rhythm of Rose’s breath slowly lull him to sleep.