The hearse was curiously weightless, but still had drag. Not totally weightless, of course—Sundance could still feel the pull of the harness—but the deceptive featherlightness seemed so impossible that it messed around with his brain's ability to process it. It was spooky-light and as he flew, he wondered if such a system could somehow be installed upon the sky truck. Of course, his faithful sky truck wasn't at all streamlined; it was a square bed with sharp corners and no thought given to aerodynamic qualities, no doubt due to its military origins.
In a crash, the sky truck would survive; the hearse would be matchsticks.
He watched as the ground went rolling and racing by beneath him, like film on a projector. Flight was even more effortless than usual—so much so that he was in real danger of boredom. His eyelids felt heavy, his awareness was dulled, and a part of him desperately wanted a nap. The pain in his back kept him awake though, and the tightness of blasted skin was just enough of a shock to his senses that he maintained some of his awareness.
"Twilight wanted me to talk to you about anomalies, but I don't know what to say, exactly," Sumac said as he flew in formation with Sundance.
"Anomalies?" asked Sundance.
"Yes, anomalies." As he flew, Sumac tucked his legs a little closer to his body. "Like the one you have. Or the one I have. We're meta-equines."
"Skyla mentioned meta-creatures," Sundance said to the pony who flew beside him.
"Yes, I suppose that is the prefered term now, because anomalies come in all species." There came a pause in Sumac's words, a moment of thoughtful silence, and when he continued, he did so with a somewhat raised voice so that he might be heard over the wind. "Magic is changing. Long ago, we had powerful wizards to protect us. But there were fewer ponies overall back then, so there was more magic. But now there are more ponies, and more creatures, all of whom draw upon a finite resource of magic. There's only so much to go around. So the nature of magical manifestations has changed.
"Instead of wizards doing everything well as a means to counter supernatural threats, individuals with subtle but powerful talents and magical gifts exist. Most of them can only do one thing, but they do that one thing so well that sometimes, they bust reality. Me, I have grift magic and I'm a sorcerer. My grift magic is far more powerful than my knack for sorcery. Rainbow Dash, the fastest pony alive, has speed magic, but so much more. She can fade into the astral plane. It's hard to explain, but she can make her body a little less than real in this plane of existence, this realm, and when she is in her less than solid state, she can absolutely shatter the known laws of reality. Rainbow can bend and warp time. She can fly so fast that she becomes a quantum organism and can be in multiple places all at once. Rainbow Dash might very well be the most powerful pegasus that has ever lived."
With no good response at the ready, Sundance chose to listen.
"Twilight believes that every anomaly exists to counter a specific threat. Not just common threats, day to day stuff, but big threats. Like, end all life sort of threats. This is a hotly debated subject. There are some weird meta-creatures that would only be useful against very strange, very specific threats. Then there are those like you. Absolute resistance to fear would be useful in quite a number of situations."
"Why tell me all of this?" asked Sundance.
"So you are aware of it," replied Sumac. "We meta-equines are the future. Some say we're the next step in evolution. Our evolution was planned… well, everything that brought us to this point. We were able to survive because of what we had. But these meta-magics, these weren't part of our blueprint. This is us adapting to the world as it is, as it changes. You have a powerful gift… one that could do much for your barony… and for Equestria at large. The world, even. I guess you could say that Twilight wanted me to broaden your horizons."
"So there might come a time, a crisis… when everypony is frozen with fear and I'm the only pony who might be able to do something?"
"Maybe, Sundance. That is Twilight's opinion."
"But what could I do?" he asked as he shook his head. "I'm just a pegasus. I couldn't fight some world ending monster. I don't have magic. How do I fight a threat like that?"
"At least you'd be able to fight, Sundance. That's the point. That is what matters."
"But I don't see it being useful."
"All that matters is that we fight… and never give up. At least, that's the lesson I've learned. I grew up with other meta-equines. We fancied ourselves superheroes as foals. Some of us grew up and chose different lives." There was something of a sigh, but it was lost in the wind. "But some of us embraced what we pretended to be. Well, pretend is the wrong word. What we played at? When I was younger, I was Professor Egghead. But as I grew older, that sounded silly. I guess I distanced myself… but some of my friends, some of the Wipe-Outs, they embraced what they were. Found purpose and meaning in it. Me… I'm an undertaker. A mortician. Really, that's all I need to be. It makes me happy."
"Skyla mentioned the Wipe-Outs."
"We wanted to be like our big heroes in the comic books that we all loved," Sumac said with more than a little wistfulness to be heard in his voice. "For me, I reached a point where I could no longer be a mild-mannered undertaker by day, and Professor Egghead by night. There came a day when I had to pick one or the other. It was a hard choice. Flurry embraced the night. She embraced the night and we both chose very different lives. Boomer and Megara, they lead night and day lives. They try to have both… though it pains me to say it, they have little of either. But they're happy with their choice, so I am happy for them."
"Why couldn't you have both?" asked Sundance.
"Because," Sumac said with a great deal of hardness in his voice, "somepony in my profession can't show up for work with black eyes and a body covered in bandages. I can't get myself to work with my wing in a sling and a leg in a cast. I have to be the embodiment of comfort and refinement, which I can't be if I'm all busted up. Ponies are grieving their loved ones when they meet me, so I have to be as nondescript as possible. Nothing about me can stand out. Nothing about my appearance must call attention to itself. I can't have ponies worried about my black eye when they should be thinking about the dearly departed."
These words gave Sundance ideas, and he thought about his public image. He needed a public image… so what if he had some say in it? What if he took a more active role in it? He was already a subject of conversation on the radio, and a headline in the papers. But what if he was a baron with black eyes? He thought of the bandits to the north, of the monsters roaming his lands, and thought of the opportunity that they presented.
He thought of the armed ponies of Canterlot and how the image of the nobles had begun to change. As a baron, how was he seen? How did he want to be seen? His lands were some of the wildest and most dangerous lands in all of Equestria, and while that might be considered a detriment, he saw opportunity. But he knew nothing of fighting. Nothing at all. But he knew ponies that knew how to fight, and surely, they could teach.
They could teach and he would learn.
"We're almost home," he told his companion as his thoughts turned to what could be done. It was better than thinking of his grandmother. She was gone—about to be buried—and he couldn't deal with it. He needed a distraction, any distraction, and this was as good as any. He would reinvent himself. An image wouldn't need to be crafted for him—he would make one for himself.
An image that his grandmother would be proud of.
Something was ahoof in the barony; there was an airship parked in the field. Not just any airship, but something sleek, shiny, and modern. A monobody design that didn't have an external lift nacelle. It was vaguely fishlike, almost bulbous, and gleamed in the summer sun. Beside it, planted in the grass was a purple flag with a snowflake, the emblem of the Crystal Empire. Two guardsponies stood on either side of it, and even from a great distance, Sundance could see how the two crystal pegasus ponies sparkled.
It seemed he had visitors.
"That's The Whiteout," Sumac said to Sundance. "Flurry named it. Part of the Crystal Empire Diplomatic Fleet. It has a sister ship called The Squall. I love the design! The Crystal Empire takes a wholly different design approach to both trains and airships."
"I wonder, why are they here?" asked Sundance.
"I have a feeling we'll find out," replied Sumac. "I think I'll drop in and say hello."
Word spread fast and soon there was quite a crowd around the parked hearse. Sundance stood beside it, a sort of solemn honour guard, and he heard ponies speaking to one another in hushed whispers within the crowd. Even his visitors were present, all four of them. There was Sunburst, the Court Wizard of the Crystal Empire, and his apprentice, a young mare of extraordinary colour named Chartreuse. Bourgogne Blintz, Twilight's representative, was present, as well as Starlight Glimmer, who was also here on Twilight's behalf.
Under Hollyhock's watchful eye, the gaggle of little ones picked wildflowers.
"I knew Dawnrise Shimmer." Sauerkraut Pie's voice, always so hale and hearty, now sounded frail and creaky. "She left, when the other pegasus ponies did. Just flew away. Was a dark day when they left. Noonfire, you say? Dawnrise's daughter was named Noonfire?"
"She was," replied Sundance.
"She came back… why?" The old mare's nose crinkled, the sadness in her eyes intensified, and she shook her head from side to side as she stood there, otherwise unmoving. "Nopony's ever come back."
"Paradox came back," Sundance said to Sauerkraut. "I did too. I can't pretend to know my grandmother's reasons, but she wanted to come home. This place was home. Even if she wasn't born here."
"Like birds returning in spring," said Hoe Hum.
"I never met Dawnrise," Sundance said to those around him. "She died before I was born. Pneumonia. My grandmother told me that her mother crowed like a rooster."
"She did." There was a soft nod from Sauerkraut. "She'd stand up on yonder rock, above the waterfall, and she'd puff out until she was twice her size, and then she'd crow to greet the morning. Sometimes, after the sun had risen, and we'd start to work, she'd sing."
"Yes," Hoe Hum said, "she'd sing. I was young, but I remember her songs. Gave me strength to work."
"One day, the bird did not sing." Eggplant's voice quavered and the old stallion's eyes were glassy. He stood on creaky, wobbly knees that threatened to give way beneath him at any moment. "She took her younger sister, Nightfall Shimmer, and she flew away. The Milord was furious… one of our unicorns was gone. I remember his rage."
"We all do," somepony in the crowd muttered.
"She was gone, and so was her song," Eggplant said as he sat down suddenly in the grass.
These words were almost enough to shatter Sundance's stony-faced facade, but he somehow held on.
So many were present; it was an unexpected turnout. Sundance could not help but feel that Noonfire would be pleased by those present for her burial. Sumac had finished excavating a grave and rich black soil formed a smooth mound. Quite a crowd formed around the now-opened coffin, and many who had themselves a look saw the face of Noonfire's mother. Paradox stood among the crowd and seemed strangely subdued. It wasn't hard to guess why, as she and Noonfire were remarkably similar in appearance.
Sniffling just a little, Paradox broke away from the crowd. With her ears down and her head held low, she beelined for Sundance. When she brushed up against him, he froze, not knowing how to react. He felt how she trembled, and dared not move for fear that she might bolt. She leaned up against him now—her weight against his side felt strange to him—and he had no idea how to comfort his cousin because he feared that he might scare her away.
"Hold me," she whispered, "please."
Slowly, and with much hesitation, he slipped a wing over her back, fearful of all the ways this could go wrong. Paradox shivered as if she were freezing, and there could be no doubt that she took this far harder than he did. Why though? What had her in such a state? He didn't know and he couldn't even begin to guess. When the tears came (and they came in a flood) she hid her face by turning into his neck.
Hennessy moved among the crowd, offering calm reassurance to those in need.
"Are we ready to begin?" asked Sumac.
The gathered crowd went still and all eyes seemed to turn to Sundance.
In a solemn voice of dignity, Sumac asked, "Sundance, do you have anything to say?"
Nothing came to mind. Not a word. Self-conscious, self-aware, Sundance was painfully aware of his own silence, which seemed to gain strength with each second that passed. As the silence held sway, he felt his throat go tight and his mind raced to find suitable words. The summer wind stung his eyes and caused them to water. He wanted to wipe them, but he didn't dare move for fear of spooking Paradox, who seemed to be in a fragile state.
Then, he thought of something to say.
Perhaps it was the only thing that he could say, but he would say it.
If only he could somehow swallow the lump in his throat so that he might speak.
In a voice that was remarkably foalish and fragile, he said, "She's the reason I'm here with all of you. She started me on this path. You all have her to thank for what we all have now, what we share together… this life we have."
With her head bowed, Sauerkraut Pie said, "Thank you, Noonfire."
Another said, "Yes, thank you, Noonfire."
"Thank you, Noonfire, for returning our wayward sons and daughters."
"To the pegasus that remembered the way home."
A flood of voices happened all at once, a torrent of words, and Sundance could not make them all out. But he could feel them; it was a mournful, yet happy sound, almost triumphant. It was a reminder that old bonds could not be severed, that old roots endured. Still as a statue, his eyes glazed with moisture, Sundance pondered these connections. He wished his mother and father were here to witness this, but he understood why they could not be. His mother (and his grandmother as well) had trusted him to get this done, and he had.
Noonfire Shimmer had come home; tired and weary as she was, it was time for her to be put to bed. Bedtime was a special time for Noonfire. She was a plumper of pillows, a tucker of blankets, and a teller of stories—only some of which were tall tales. She had once told him that everything begins and ends in a bed. As a foal, he had no understanding of these words, but he liked to think that he understood them now. Foals were made in a bed—at least most of the time. It was the reasonable place to make them. And, if all went right and circumstances were kind, life ended in a bed.
His expression solemn, Sumac closed the open coffin, lifted it up out of the open hearse, aligned it north and south just so, and then slowly—ever so slowly—he lowered it down into the yawning earth. A final place of rest. But Sundance wasn't ready for bedtime, and it pained him so. His grandmother had no pillows, no blankets, no means to make a nest. A wooden box had little comfort.
The ground swallowed her whole.
"Sundance, it's time for bed."
"Do I hafta?"
"Yes, you do."
"But I wanted to say goodnight to my mom."
"She's working a double-shift."
"Aw po—"
"Don't you say it, you little goof. Get in the bed."
"Will you tell me a story?"
"Have I ever told you about the first pegasus?"
"No."
The bedsprings creaked.
"Once upon a time, there was a pony named Reckless. He was true to his namesake. His heart was full of courage, and he lived by his wits and bravery. A mighty warrior he was, and long was his shadow upon the ground. One day, he decided that he would steal the sun, and he would put it in a jar so that ponies would have fire, a way to turn back the dark. There were only ponies back then… no pegasus ponies or unicorn ponies, just ponies."
The pillow was plumped and the blankets stretched tight as his grandmother sat down upon the edge of the bed. Little Sundance waited for the story to continue, though the magic was already working. As much as he did not wish to be, he was sleepy, and he failed to stop an escaping yawn. But as sleepy as he was, as tired as he might be, he'd already decided that he wanted to be Reckless when he grew up. It sounded like a good time waiting to be had.
"Reckless had no way to reach the sun, so he set off on a journey so that he might find his way. He faced many dangers, fought many battles, and braved many perils. All of these are stories in their own right, and would be long in the telling. Reckless crossed the ocean, it is said, with the help of a tricky talking spider who promised to help him steal the sun.
"Lost in a strange land, a savage land full of monsters, Reckless met a zebra. Not just any zebra, but a zebra that knew the spider. She was impressed that Reckless somehow survived his journey and had crossed the ocean. This enchantress offered Reckless the means to steal the sun in the form of a magic potion, given to him in a gourd.
"Reckless, who never thought about anything, he only did things, he acted, he drank the potion down. It changed him profoundly, and he endured a terrible transformation. He got the wings he wanted, but at such a cost. The wind carried his pained cries all the way back home and his tribe heard his howling from all the way across the waters."
The blankets were pulled up and tucked just beneath Sundance's chin.
"With his new wings, Reckless could fly, and he was given a magic jar so that he might capture the sun. It was made of fine glass, and the lid was made of wood from some sacred tree. So armed, Reckless set off on yet another journey, this time to the land of sky. Up and up he flew, into the clouds, into the blue. Up here, there were dragons, and griffons, and all manner of terrible beasts. He had to be careful, he had to be sneaky, and he snuck from cloud to cloud.
"Reckless was a clever pony. Though born of the earth, he took to the clouds like a fish to water. Such was his determination, his drive, that he never stopped. He was a tiny pony in a big sky, one full of monsters. These were wild times, a time when dragons and griffons were not tamed, and they ate little ponies, who lived on the ground. Which was why Reckless had to steal the sun. If his tribe controlled the sun and had its fire, they could be safe. They would have a future."
Little Sundance, snug in bed, yawned and wondered if he could fly to the sun.
"Curiously enough, as Reckless flew higher, it grew colder. The air grew thin, and he had trouble drawing breath. But he would not be turned back. Onward he pressed, too stubborn to quit, too stupid to turn back. No matter how high he flew, the sun seemed just out of reach. Yet, he would not quit. There were no clouds now, not much of anything, and there were no dragons or griffons either. Just emptiness and a sun that was frustratingly out of reach.
"Reckless would not be denied. His stout heart drove him ever onward, and he knew, he knew that if he wanted to catch the sun, he would need a burst of speed. He summoned all of his courage, all of his wit, and all of his gumption, and he willed himself to go faster.
"This was the first rainboom, and it split the sky asunder. It tore the heavens open and all the creatures down below saw this rainboom. The torn sky rained, and new magic poured down upon the world. So touched by new magic, many creatures changed, and some say that this is when unicorns came into being. They were the silly ponies that tried to catch the strange raindrops with their tongues.
"Reckless reached the sun at last. It was a tiny thing, not much bigger than an orange, but fiery and bright. Acting quick, still infused with speed, he popped it into his magic jar before it could burn him. But the moment he did, his wings vanished, and he was all the way up there at the top of the world. With no wings. So down he fell. Down, down, down. But he held on to his prize, the sun trapped in a jar, and he hoped that somehow, he might return it to his tribe if he survived his fall.
Eyelids heavy, little Sundance struggled to stay awake now, and he just had to know how this ended.
"The fall was a long one. Why, Reckless fell for what felt like forever. He fell for seven days, it is said, which is why we have seven days now. He did not let go of the sun, nor did he sleep, and hunger gnawed at his belly. His thirst grew great. But he had time to think about his actions, and what he had done. He had time to think of his journeys, his travels, and the creatures he had met.
"But mostly, he thought of home, and he wondered if he would ever return there. It was important to return home after a long journey, he decided. How else would they know his story? For his story to survive, he had to return home. But first he had to return to the ground, and that was a long way down.
"He landed in a spiderweb, unharmed, and whole of body. The sky above him was dark, and he held the sun in his hooves. All around him, the world had gone dark, and being a pony, a creature connected to the land, he could feel the sickness of the soil. The land was dying. He felt this slow death, and was sad. The tricky spider freed him from the web, but then trapped him, wrapped him up in webbing, and dragged him and the sun back to the zebra.
"But the zebra was no zebra. The wily enchantress was Celestia herself, the owner of the sun, and she was in a poor mood after her prize was pilfered. Reckless had stolen something that belonged to her, and he had thrown the whole world out of balance. He had stolen her power, her mojo. Reckless had done the impossible, and with a grin true to his namesake, he held up his prize to show it to her."
Yet another yawn escaped Sundance.
"Needless to say, the Sun Goddess was a bit cross. She took back her sun, and she tried to toss it back up into the sky, but it would not stay. Again and again she tried, but the sun was broken, and refused to hang in the sky as it once did. When the sun would not stay, she had her spider friend try to make it stick, but the spider burned his tiny, hairy feet and his webbing did not survive the efforts.
"Reckless wasn't supposed to be able to steal the sun; it was supposed to be unfetchable. An impossible action. But fetch it he did, much to Celestia's vexation. To make things right, she changed his name to Hubris, wove him a harness made from magical spider silk that she herself enchanted, and she tasked him with pulling the sun across the sky. Forever. He broke it, so he had to fix it. To help him in his task, she made him a harem of mares from the clouds. Some she made from puffy clouds that were beautiful, and others, she crafted from angry thunderheads. Before his banishment, she restored his wings once more, and then she cursed him so that his hooves might never know the feeling of cool, moist earth.
"But before she sent him away, she laid upon him one final curse: his offspring would inherit his pride. Every pegasus would be prideful. Every pegasus would bear the traits their founder was named for: recklessness and hubris, for such would be our shared burden till the end of all time."
This time, some words escaped with his yawn: "Is this story true?"
His grandmother, who leaned over him, and caused the blanket to smoosh him into the mattress, rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter if it's true."
"It doesn't?"
"Every myth, every legend, has a grain of truth to them. But that truth don't matter. What matters is, the questions we ask, and the lessons we learn. This is why we have legends and myths. They are lessons from the past. A story that teaches. The sun was supposed to be some unreachable object, a thing forbidden, something we were never meant to have. This story could mean anything, Sundance. But we should be careful of what we want and what we do to get it, because we might just get exactly what we want, and the consequences that go with it."
"Oh."
The tiny colt felt the blankets almost crush him into goo as his grandmother leaned over to kiss him. He wondered if there were other meanings to this story—surely there had to be—but he would have to think about them tomorrow, because he was way too sleepy right now. A warm kiss was planted on his head, right above his eye, and then the delightful tension of the blankets eased as his grandmother sat up.
Awareness struck him quite suddenly but the memory persisted. Sundance could almost feel the flannel sheets, which were worn thin from far too many washings. His grandmother would tuck them as tight as possible, and it was then, and only then that he felt safe and secure in bed. His ears pricked, pivoted, and he would almost hear the hiss of the old radiator, which sometimes scared him when he woke up in the middle of the night.
How many times had he come running out of the kitchen, tried and failed to make the turn in the living room, and skidded butt-first right into the sizzling hot radiator? Once, he showed his mother his blistered bottom, and he asked her to kiss it and make it better. His father and grandmother laughed—he remembered the sound so vividly that he could almost hear it right now—but his mother didn't laugh.
She'd just gotten off work and was covered in bandages. Officer Mom had booboos of her own. He recalled how she'd scooped him up off the floor, held him, and he remembered how she smelled: coppery. Like the sound of laughter, the stench of salty copper was so real that it almost made him gag. The crinkle of bandages was far too real in his ears. As a colt, he had no idea what that smell was, but he knew it now. In fact, he knew it all too well.
There were far too many times his mother came home in bandages, and reeking of copper.
More memories surfaced; they came so suddenly and in such numbers that they threatened to overwhelm him. He fought against the rising tide, but the incoming wave proved too much. When it broke over him, it left him with wet eyes and a soaked face. His grandmother was gone, and once the soil covered her, he would never see her again. No more stories or tight-tucked blankets.
Wherever Hubris might be, one of his descendants was now returned to the earth from whence they came.