//------------------------------// // 8. Out of Mind, Out of Sight // Story: Bon-Bon the Demon Slayer // by ObabScribbler //------------------------------// Preparations for the Summer Sun Celebration continue on apace. Princess Celestia has elected the town of Horseshoe Bay as her destination and the court is in uproar preparing for the journey. Horseshoe Bay is some great distance from Canterlot, though I confess ‘great distance’ to me is not as it is for more well-travelled ponies. I was shocked to discover that Fell is quite near Canterlot, as the crow flies. My journey from home to the castle seemed too long to be such a small part of the map on the wall of the workroom. Master Starswirl is most displeased at the news. He has devoted himself to his studies of late, possibly owing to several altercations with Silvertongue the Gifted. He is always more bookish after they meet. I feel he hides himself in work as proof of his superiority. Alas, their rancour has not lessened, much to my own sorrow. I should like it better if Lord Silvertongue were to befriend Master Starswirl instead of vex him. I nurse fantasies that he would visit with smiles and I may serve them both and listen to their conversations on magic and other pursuits, which would be weighty with cleverness to each other and compliments to me. I am a silly fool to think such things but sometimes such fantasies are all that stand between myself and misery at Master Starswirl’s actual conduct. His temper has been even blacker than usual. The notion of leaving his workroom to travel to the shore does not sit well with him. Ordinarily I do not trouble him with words, as not speaking eases my time and allows it to pass faster so that I may escape his company without delay. Yet his mood has been so vile of late that I attempted to tell him the salt of sea air is a powerful panacea for aged lungs. His expression at my words fair made my heart stop, though he seemed as angry that I should know the word ‘panacea’ as at my reference to his ripeness of years. He remarked that a dullard earth pony such as I should not try to appear learned by using words I do not grasp. Well, I do not know what came over me. Mother taught me many long words as a foal, which I committed to memory after she died. They are my way of remembering her, since now I find it harder to see her face in my mind than I once did. Master Starswirl’s remark seemed an insult to her memory and before I could remind myself that he is my superior, I told him that panacea means medicine and is named for the ancient legend of Panchrest, the elixir said to cure all known diseases and prolong life indefinitely. The very moment my tongue stilled there came about Master Starswirl a terrible stillness. It was as if I had cast a spell of my own to transform myself into an insect, which he wanted very much to crush with his hoof. I begged his forgiveness and escaped from his presence with more speed than was fitting. Such was my haste that I left behind my sewing basket, which I had been using to mend the curtains of his workroom. I shall have to creep back there tonight and retrieve it after he is gone to bed, for I have no wish to see him until he has had time to recover from my impertinence. Nopony has yet some to remove me from my small chamber, therefore I think that I am employed still. I do not wish to provoke Master Starswirl to make me otherwise. Oh, Lord Silvertongue, I should think you would not be so cruel to anypony, even a servant. Why can you not teach Master Starswirl how to be a gentlecolt instead of the horrible curmudgeon that he is? -- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AS. Cankerblossom is a most discourteous creature. If I were more of a mind, I would dismiss her in favour of a less troublesome sort, yet I do not wish to spend the time educating another in the correct ways to attend to my needs. Despite her outburst, she has learned well and does not bother me overmuch. Verily, I do find her lack of chatter preferable while I work. She is oft-times a shadow who passes silently through my chambers and, in her wake, tasks are completed that allow me to go about my loftier goals without care or need to think of lesser chores. To upset this balance now would be troublesome and I do find I have enough trouble from that boorish Silvertongue the Gifted. Once again he has called my prowess into question within her Majesty’s earshot. Once again he compliments his own skills and does vaunt them above my own. Today I did find him conjuring before the entire court in the throne room itself! The upstart had not even the grace to await my arrival before beginning his display, allowing me to appear foolish when I entered at the very moment he did cause the doorway to be filled with flowering vines! I could not allow anypony present to perceive that the force with which I was repelled did cause me injury. That would only play into the confounded upstart’s hooves, for me to appear weakened and so infirm that a mere fall could cause me harm. Instead, I did perform conjurations of my own to counter his. He did not appear quite so satisfied when I did transform his vines into butterflies in every shade of her Majesty’s mane, though she did seem delighted at their fluttering colours and the rest of court did applaud me greatly. Silvertongue the Gifted did claim his trickery a mere jest, yet I know with the certainty of ages that this is yet one more attempt to raise himself above me in her Majesty’s favour. It shall not be stood! Soon we shall depart Canterlot for Horseshoe Bay, a place of which I have only dimmest memories, since I have not travelled thence since my colthood days. I am not fond of the sea, though its presence does bestow many an opportunity for spectacle during the Presentation of Spells, if one is of a mind to marshal its awesome power to one’s own will. This twelve-monthly display to her Majesty is my customary occasion to throw upstart conjurors back into the mass of lesser spellcasters like the underwhelming minnows they are. Each year, without fail, they do pit their skill against mine, attempting to outshine my presentation with their own. Thus it will be with Silvertongue the Gifted. I have heard talk amongst other courtiers that he does plan to present a spell for her Majesty that o’ertakes mine marvellous much. I do say again, it shall not be stood! If he does indeed intend to wrest my place at court from me then he shall not do so with cheap trickery and underhoofed scheming. My brain rages with spells half-begun. My ire with Silvertongue and the hurt from my hip do plague me beyond my ability to concentrate. Yet I cannot leave my workroom. It is here that I shall remain until I have decided upon the means by which I shall demonstrate to the upstart conjuror his proper place. -- Extract from the journals of Starswirl the Bearded, 488 AS. I write this by candlelight, though I find it fair difficult to see and my wick burns low so I must be brief. Yet I feel I must commit this to paper, that I may reflect upon it in later times when I am given to thoughts of how overbearing a stallion is Master Starswirl. When night fell I did indeed return to his workroom to retrieve my sewing basket. I expected to find the chamber empty, as it was dark as pitch within. Indeed, I was halfway across the floor before I realised I was not alone. Master Starswirl was asleep across his workbench! I snatched up my basket and made to leave as fast as my hooves could carry me, but my candle did light his face in the process and it fair stopped me in my tracks. For you see, his expression was one I am unused to seeing upon his face. Gone was the terrible scowl and in its place I viewed what I think was anxiety. Many cares seemed to be weighing on his slumbering mind and they cast away the dignity of his station, instead revealing the aged pony beneath. It is inappropriate for one such as I to remark thus, yet who is to read this but me? I saw him there and for a moment I did not see a veritable magician whose apprentice helped to found this land we call Equestria. No, I saw an old stallion, a pony just like any other pony. I confess, I am unsure of Master Starswirl’s age. It seems he is as immemorial as the land itself. He is at least a century in the world, perhaps more. I believe he was a young pony when he taught Clover the Clever and did travel much in his youth, gathering the knowledge that raised him to such stature in the Princess’s court once she returned to rule over us. He even journeyed to other lands, such as Gryphona and the places where dragons dwell! His bravery and determination to learn all that he could about magic have followed him long into his waning years, though it seems for him that his waning years last as long as a single earth pony’s entire life. Perhaps magic elongates life and all the spells he discovered during his time away in the Dark Ages have made him much longer lived than any other pony. Even one such as I know of the Dark Ages, when earth ponies, unicorns and pegasi were so divided during her long absence. The time was well-named. Had it not been for Clover the Clever, Smart Cookie and Private Pansy, the land may have remained at odds and the age may have become darker still with war. I wonder whether events would have resolved themselves as they did if Master Starswirl had been present. His dislike of earth ponies remains acute to this day, as he frequently reminds me with his insults. Perhaps he would not have helped the situation at all. Perhaps his personality would only have roused things to more anger and the Windigoes would have consumed the land before it could ever be named. Perhaps it is a good thing that he did not return from his travels until after Equestria became Equestria and Princess Celestia returned from whence she had departed centuries before. I cannot imagine she would have been pleased to discover that her absence caused the three races to learn hatred and forget they we are all ponies beneath our differences in magic and flight. Certainly, I had forgotten this fact until I looked upon Master Starswirl’s face tonight. Since coming to the castle I have been preoccupied with thoughts of how far above my station courtiers are. I had forgotten for myself that we are all ponies at heart. I am a pony and so is Master Starswirl; an old pony who shivered at his workbench because the fire had gone out of the grate and the room had acquired a chill. His cloak is magnificent but it is made from thin material to billow as he walks; not acceptable for keeping old bones warn in a cold room at night. I did not wish to wake him, so I put about his shoulders the shawl I had used to warm my own body on the walk from my chambers. Maybe it did nothing, but I confess that I felt better to leave him with practical brown wool instead of billowing stars. My candle gutters so I shall end this writing now. I only hope that tomorrow I can retain this lesson in the face of Master Starswirl’s waking ill-temper. -- Taken from the diary of Peaseblossom, 488 AS. Bon-Bon had developed a way of walking with hooves but sounding like she had cat paws. Maybe it was a Slayer thing. Certainly, she couldn’t remember being able to do it before she inherited the powers. Then again, she had never really cared about her hoofsteps being too loud before then, so maybe she had been quiet and just never noticed. Being stealthy only really counted when you had something to hide from. The loving couple on the other side of the garbage cans billed and cooed like a pair of doves. She could hear the mare giggle coquettishly and the little tickety-tock of her hooves as she danced away, forcing then stallion to trot to catch up. It was sweet, in a sick-to-your-stomach kind of way. Bon-Bon sighed, peering over the cans. Don’t be so bitter, she chastised herself. Why shouldn’t they be happy? Just because you don’t have anypony … Nope, not going there. Bad thoughts. Staying away from those toxic things. Keeping well, well, well, well away from – Too late. The sword billowed in response. She gritted her teeth. It was a nice attempt but the sheer force of it was overwhelming, as if the thing was trying to squash her bad feelings away. Swords were weapons. Weapons use force to make problems go away. What else was to supposed to do? It was magic but it wasn’t a singing sword. She was going to have to get used to that. Easier said than done, though. Having ideas float right into her head from ostensibly nowhere was not terribly appealing. It wasn’t telepathy and it wasn’t empathy, but more like remembering a few scattered song lyrics out of the blue and them circling around and around in her head, not doing any harm but taking a long time to fade. The sword has no mastery over words. Something without a mouth or ears couldn’t learn language as more than an alien concept, like Bon-Bon trying to imagine what it was like to beat wings she didn’t have, or use magic through an invisible horn. Yet the sword could make itself understood. Hoo boy, could it do that. Right now it was like a child finally let out to play after a long illness spent cooped up inside. “You have to be quieter.” How could it be quieter when it wasn’t making any noise at all? That one pulled her up short. The sword sat silently in its scabbard. The noise wasn’t really noise, except inside her head. How did you quantify that? Maybe the problem was with her. Maybe she was just on receive all the time and had to bung up her mental receivers to stop them taking in so much – Demon. She felt it clearly. She could never explain the feeling of knowing one was nearby. The range of what she once jokingly called her ‘Slayer sense’ was wide but not exponential, so it didn’t encompass the whole town. She had to move around rather than stay in one spot and wait for something to come within range of her when on patrol. Now something had. Despite its previous grumpy protest, the sword sang. It was a high, fluty smell-taste-sound inside her head, like eating music and hearing the scent of burnt sugar. It was also very, very distracting. Stop that! She snapped out the thought, wondering whether it would work. The sword reeled itself back in, radiating apology and promises to behave. Bon-Bon checked to make sure the mare and stallion had gone, shimmied up a drainpipe and hid behind a chimney. She sensed the demon to the east, moving slowly. It felt big. Whether that meant it was big in size remained to be seen, but it contained enough magic to have stripped a few auras. It was still moving towards town, so whoever it had feasted on, it wasn’t anypony from Ponyville. That didn’t make it any better, though Bon-Bon felt a spurt of relief that immediately turned to disgust at herself for being grateful that nopony she knew had been hurt. Did it make it any less tragic that she wasn’t personally acquainted with a demon’s meal? She made her way across the rooftops. It was quicker than the ground and fewer ponies thought to look up when the night already made them cautious about tripping over things. There was always the worry of pegasi, of course, but unless they were night-fliers she didn’t encounter many on patrols. In ancient times the night had been the province of unicorns, who conducted their rituals to raise and lower the sun and moon during the Dark Ages, when pony fought pony and all three tribes vied for independence from each other. Daylight was when earth ponies could tend their crops and pegasi could see to fly. Things were different now, but the trend started back then continued today genetically, since pegasi and earth ponies still tended to have poorer eyesight than unicorns at night. Pegasi who went night-flying without a flashlight claimed it was a rush equivalent to abseiling without a safety harness. The demon was moving. Bon-Bon altered her trajectory accordingly. She found it lumbering through a celery field on the farm bordering Sweet Apple Acres. It was indeed large in shape, though its body was thin and it hunched over as it walked. It stood upright on two legs, its chest like a toast-rack covered in beige-brown skin. Prominent spinal discs jutted up from the back of its neck and its collarbones stood out sharply, giving it a malnourished look, though Bon-Bon could sense it had fed well and recently. What poor soul had paid the price for this thing to feel able to come here? It stopped, raised its head and sniffed. Even Bon-Bon’s eyesight found the nostrils difficult to spot among the throbbing veins that bulged on a huge pink beak. The beak was studded, needlessly, with yellow fangs along each edge. The demon looked like a dead baby bird that had fallen from its nest – if that baby bird had fallen out of the tree and into a nightmare. It turned, clambered over the fence and passed into a copse of silver birch, swinging arm-like limbs that ended in crab pincers. Bon-Bon shoved aside her disgust and followed. She knew where it was headed. It had changed direction towards Golden Oaks Library. The sword chuntered excitedly. Swords liked nothing better than an enemy to smite. This one was an enemy, yes, and it would smite it with a thousand years of pent up – Be. Quiet! Bon-Bon yelled inside her head. Could you yell inside your head? She tried to picture the instruction in capital letters in case that helped – although would the sword be able to read? And read Equestrian, not Equus, as had been the language when it was sealed away from the world. Ah, why was she even thinking this? She was getting distracted. Distraction meant death. She had to concentrate now. BE QUIET! The demon froze in the shadow of crisscrossed branches as if it had heard her. Bon-Bon also froze. Had it sensed her as she had sensed it? Demons knew when she was around. The Slayer’s presence alone had been known to save entire towns when demons knew she was there and avoided the place. Slowly, the demon turned. Its eyes were so deeply recessed in its head that it was like looking into the empty sockets of a skull. Its beak clacked, bringing the baby bird comparison to Bon-Bon’s mind again. No wonder cuckoos laid their eggs in other birds’ nests. They probably just didn’t want to look at their own ugly babies after they hatched. There was a moment in which the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Bon-Bon and the demon each waited for the other to make the first move. Then, in a blur of movement and animalistic irrationality, the creature struck. Bon-Bon was ready. She ducked sideways, out of its careening path – and then reeled at the Lunar Sword’s cry of protest, which ripped through her like a seizure. Why was she not cutting, slicing, slashing and stabbing? Why was she running away from the enemy when it was right there? Why was she not attacking it when it was RIGHT THERE? She gritted her teeth and gathered her feet under her. The demon had, as she had anticipated from its bunched muscles, thundered on past her. For all its thinness it was heavy and could not turn quickly. That did not, however, mean it could not use those pincers quickly. An ability to run did not necessary mean an ability to strike like a snake, and vice versa, as she had learned to her cost before. She needed to get a better idea of how it moved before she engaged it properly. It was too big for her to make a mistake. That, however, turned out to be the problem. The Lunar Sword had no such qualms. Bon-Bon had experience at fighting demons. The sword did not. Neither did it have a body that could be easily damaged by not listening to that experience. The sword yearned to do what it was made for and Bon-Bon’s mind just kept getting in the way. She refused to draw it, even though its edge might well have been useful. If it was blasting her so badly while still sheathed there was no telling what would happen if it was unleashed. Shut up! she thought wildly as the demon came at her again. The sword pulsed with a desire to ram itself into the thing’s abdomen. Yet Bon-Bon had already learned from a glancing blow that this demon’s skin was much tougher than it looked. She did the first thing that came clearly to mind through the sword’s demands. She jumped straight up, using the demon’s long skull as a platform to launch herself into a tree. It let out a huffing hiss, the only noise it had made so far. Demons she had encountered weren’t generally very noisy, no matter what stories or movies said. It came from needing prey to not know they were there before they struck. The tree branches shook as she ran along the thickest. The demon huff-hissed below, snapping its pincers at her. She considered leaping higher but immediately dismissed the idea. She wasn’t trying to escape it, just buy herself a little time to gather her thoughts. The branch juddered violently and bent downward. She glanced behind to see the demon had locked one claw around the base and already sawn more than halfway through. It huff-hissed, arm muscles contracting to finish the job. The branch pitched and so did Bon-Bon, pinwheeling through leaves and twigs now falling at a different speed than her. The sword shrieked with fury. Bon-Bon reeled. The demon knocked aside debris to run at her falling body. Unsure what was up and what was down through the mental noise, Bon-Bon allowed pure instinct to quash her conscious mind. It was a dangerous route to take in the middle of a fight but it paid off. Adrenaline and her Slayer’s instincts sizzling through her like volts of electricity, she twisted in mid-air, grabbed the falling branch and tore off the end. The tip was nice and jagged. A split second before the demon reached her, she thrust forward the makeshift stake and buried it in one massive sunken eye. An agonised noise split the air like a punctured balloon releasing too much air at once. The demon clutched at its face. Bon-Bon dropped to the ground and rushed under its flailing body. It barely noticed her as it yanked at the branch. Her momentum hadn’t allowed her put it deep enough to kill. She quickly rectified the situation, running up the trunk of the same tree and using impetus to power a kick to the back of the demon’s neck. She felt the jutting spine crunch under her hooves and the demon dropped. It didn’t move. Nonetheless, she didn’t go closer to poke it. Sleeping dragons and all that. Or was that lions? The Lunar Sword wailed in frustration as she extracted a vial of banishing powder from a pouch and drew a circle around the body. The demon’s remaining eye stared sightlessly at her. She had been lucky. Not all of them came with spinal cords. “Spirit, soul, mind and heart, By these four you now depart. Mind and heart, spirit, soul, Mare to filly and to foal. Spirit, heart, soul and mind, I protect all ponykind; You are banished, dark doomsayer, By this hoof: so says the Slayer.” She panted her way through the incantation that shoved the demon back where it had come from. Or at least, she presumed it sent back where it had come from. Maybe it sent it somewhere else entirely, where it couldn’t just come back through the rifts to Equestria. Not that this one would be coming back again. She watched as it was consumed by cobalt flames. She had been right; it had fed recently. The magical aura escaped the demon’s body in a shower of sparkles and dissipated like someone had dropped a bag of vacuum cleaner dust. By the time the flames died down all that was left was ash. Bon-Bon held out the Lunar Sword, stretching its strap taut across her back so she could look at it. The stylised hearts on the scabbard glinted in the moonlight. “You,” she snapped, “just nearly got me killed!” She should have drawn it. Everything would have been all right if she had just drawn it. “No, it wouldn’t!” It would! The certainty ribboned through her. It would have all turned out differently if she had pulled it free and … a succession of gory images swept through her mind. “I’m not having this conversation!” She allowed it to swing back into place at her side. “This is why I haven’t been bringing you on patrol with me! You’re a … a liability!” It felt vaguely disrespectful to say this of an ancient artifact, especially one crafted by royalty and full of magical power. However, it also felt good – and truthful. Stories never talked about the inglorious things heroes did. That didn’t mean they didn’t happen. She wondered whether the warriors of myths and legend had ever stood next to celery fields arguing with their sentient weapons. Then she wondered who had won those arguments. With the smell of banishing flames in her nose, Bon-Bon left the scene. In the morning, if anypony came this way, they might wonder at the light dusting of ash on the ground but that would be the only sign. The blue flames didn’t leave scorch marks like normal fire. There was no damage to the surrounding area; they just spirited away whatever they encircled after she instructed them to take it away from the ponies under her protection. A jolt of unwanted memory jangled through her so hard she had to stop walking. She pushed it back into its box, locked the box and shoved it far, far back in her mind. Just because she had accepted what happened back then did not mean she wanted to relive it. Feeling suddenly even more drained than the situation warranted, Bon-Bon pulled her cloak tight about herself and disappeared into the night. Zecora’s house was a beacon of calm against a sea of chaos. At least, that was how it seemed to Bon-Bon. She felt like she was being followed by a cloud of mosquitos that had slipped inside her ear and were needling her brain into submission. She didn’t quite stagger up to the front door but it was close. Maybe if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might have realised something was strange before the door opened. As it was, Zecora’s slightly strained expression was her only clue before she stepped aside and Bon-Bon got a clear look at her Watcher’s guest. “Good morning,” said Princess Luna, sipping delicately from a small clay pot Zecora typically used for drinking. It glowed with her midnight blue magic as she raised it to her lips. “I see that you are shocked to see me, Slayer. Please, come inside and I shall explain my presence here.” Bon-Bon hesitantly came over the threshold, trying to catch Zecora’s eye, but the zebra concentrated on shutting the door and she was instead forced to approach Luna with no hint of what to expect or how to treat her. Meeting a princess in her own castle is one thing; meeting her in an earthy home in the middle of the Everfree Forest was quite another. Luna smiled. It wiped away some of Bon-Bon’s doubts. “I see you are carrying the Lunar Sword.” “Uh, yes.” Bon-Bon decided honesty was the best policy. “Although tonight was my first time taking it on patrol.” Luna nodded. “Ah, yes, that would explain it.” “Explain what, Princess?” “The turmoil I could sense from it.” She gestured with the clay pot. “Apparently my link to the sword was not completely severed when I transferred ownership of it to you. I am still able to sense certain things from it.” She took another sip. It was timed too well to be anything but a pretense at nonchalance. Bon-Bon read in Luna’s flickering eyes that she was rattled by the continued connection. “Such as the conflict of this night. I travelled here as soon as I had lowered the moon, while my sister was still in the process of raising the sun.” “Wow, you sure are fast.” “I was anxious to see for myself how you and the sword are … I believe the modern term is ‘gelling’?” “That’s one word for it.” Bon-Bon had not met any more demons since the baby bird monstrosity but the sword had not let up its insistence for one second. Being out in the world had created in it an effect like feeding a metric ton of sugar to a kindergarten class of fillies and colts and then sending them off the play on a bouncy castle. The only difference was that Bon-Bon was the one left feeling sick and knowing she would have to clean up the mess afterwards. Luna set down her cup. “Please, come and sit down. You also, Watcher.” Zecora did not react to being given an invitation to sit in her own home. Instead, she dutifully went to sit opposite Luna. Bon-Bon, after a moment’s indecision, chose to sit beside her so she could face the princess. Luna nodded as if answering a question she had asked herself. She leaned forward. “Slayer, did you fight a demon this night?” “Yes, around midnight.” “That is when my own connection with the sword seemed clearest. I must first explain that my link is nowhere near as strong as it once was. It is more a … how can I say this?” Her brow creased in thought as she struggled to put those thoughts into words. “It is like an echo over a great distance. The Lunar Sword truly belongs to you now but my blood remains in its fabric, therefore it is somewhat connected to me.” “Does that mean I’m connected to you?” Bon-Bon wasn’t sure she knew how she felt about that. Distant or not, her mind and heart were her own and she didn’t want anypony else getting a look at them without her being able to filter what they saw. “I do not think so. I did not sense any of your thoughts, only those of the sword pertaining to you. Unless you, also, wished to unsheathe its blade and bloodily rend asunder the flesh of whatever demon you were fighting?” “Uh, no, that one wasn’t me.” “I didn’t think so.” Luna sighed. “I confess, Slayer, this development was not my intent and has surprised me as much as you. It was not my purpose to cause you any discomfort. My gift was to aid you in your quest, not hinder it.” “It didn’t … hinder me …” Bon-Bon trailed off at the look she received. “Please do not lie to spare my feelings,” Luna cautioned. “Once again, my attempts to help the ponies of Equestria have fired back.” “I think you mean backfired, Princess.” Luna winced. “Thank you. Sometimes vernacular of this age is a most perplexing creature and few ponies feel able to correct me when I use it mistakenly. The point I am trying to make is this: if what I felt was only a fraction of what you felt from the sword, then I am very impressed at your composure at this moment. It seemed to me that it was a most unruly companion to carry with you, as well as a most distracting one.” Bon-Bon made a face. The wave of indignity that swept over her brain was sickening. The sword wasn’t unruly and it definitely wasn’t distracting! It was a great asset! It was a fine weapon! It was a – Luna also grimaced. “Lunar Sword!” she said in a voice that seemed to echo with power. “Desist your prattling!” The sword fell grumpily quiet. Bon-Bon exhaled, only then realising she had been holding her breath. “Thank you, Princess.” Zecora looked between the two of them, confused. “You give thanks,” she said, pointing at Bon-Bon. “You say desist.” She pointed at Luna and then spread her hooves in a wide shrug. “Is there something I have missed?” “The sword has no voice, as such, but it is a most loquacious thing,” Luna replied, tapping the side of her head with one hoof. “It is loud, it is uncompromising and it is driven to complete its goal: which is now to slay all demons it comes across, just as you do, Slayer. I fear my apologies will not be enough for what I have inadvertently heaped upon you.” “You didn’t mean to,” Bon-Bon said lamely. She was a little miffed that Luna had managed to subdue the sword so easily. Then again, it had belonged to her for a thousand years, even of most of that time she had spent in exile. Luna shook her head. “No, that is not an excuse. I should have foreseen this, or at least warned you of it. I had not touched the sword in so long, it did not even occur to me that this might happen. Therefore I would like to present to you a solution to this problem.” “A … solution?” Bon-Bon echoed. There was something about the way Luna said this; a hungriness to please that stayed in her eyes even when her voice was perfectly level. “Yes. I would like to teach you how to properly use the Lunar Sword.” “You want to teach me?” Bon-Bon watched Luna’s reaction. “You want to teach me how to use a sword?” “Perhaps ‘use’ is the wrong word. ‘Work with’ might be a better choice. The Lunar Sword is not like other swords.” “I kind of noticed.” Bon-Bon muttered. For a moment Luna looked surprised and a tad irritated at being interrupted. Bon-Bon fell silent. She went on after ostensibly waiting for someone to say more. When they didn’t, she said, “Wielding the Lunar Sword is not a case of simply picking it up and whirling it about. The sword reacts to your emotions. I had thought that your mental discipline would be enough for it to ‘gel’ with you easily, but that is apparently not the case. I did not have to learn how to use the sword when it was forged, as it was a part of my being from the very beginning and Nightmare Moon’s forceful personality rode roughshod over any protests the sword may have had. You, however, do not possess that amount of raw power and that is apparently interfering with your ability to use the sword fully. Therefore it only makes sense for me to teach you how to replicate the way that I wielded the sword and for you to adapt this to your own level of power. Does this not make sense to you too?” Bon-Bon looked at Zecora. Zecora looked at Bon-Bon. As one, they looked at Luna, who waited for the answer with almost foalish expectancy. “Princess,” Bon-Bon said slowly, “I’m not saying I wouldn’t be grateful to you, but are you sure that’s wise?” “Excuse me?” “Well, how long would this take? I’m sure you have duties in Canterlot to take care of, right? Can you really afford to take time off from those to train me? Plus, the last time we spoke you were, um, really insistent that you didn’t want anything more to do with the Lunar Sword. Now you’re suggesting spending extra time with it. Would you be okay with that?” Luna’s expression shut down. “I do have duties in Canterlot,” she said flatly. “But many are not essential. My sister has given me several duties that are just busywork to keep me occupied while I acclimatise to life in this new era. While I am grateful to her for trying to help me thus, I feel I would like to be more useful than I currently am.” “Princess, you raise the moon and stars every night!” “A task my sister performed most admirably for a thousand years without me. She has many duties beyond that as well and still makes time for her subjects. It would be remiss of me to spend all my time reading about Equestria without experiencing it, and experiencing without actively getting involved in it.” Bon-Bon watched Luna as she spoke, every word clipped and blunt. She didn’t sound at all like herself; not like the expressive pony Bon-Bon had met at the palace, nor the volatile ruler who had landed in the middle of Ponyville’s Nightmare Night celebrations. Instead, she sounded impassive, all emotion exorcised from her words. She was neither eager nor resigned and that didn’t fit with what Bon-Bon knew of her. “Princess,” she said, “you don’t think you’re … surplus to requirements, do you?” Luna looked away. It was a tiny movement but it was enough. “Because you’re not. Equestria has been so much happier since you came back.” Okay, so that was a little white lie. Equestria wasn’t any happier but Celestia was and that made most ponies feel at least a little cheerier. “You just haven’t found your niche yet. It’s amazing that you’ve learned as much as you have in such a short time – this country has changed a lot in a thousand years and you’re coping really well with it all.” “Your reassurances are most kind, Slayer,” Luna said briskly. “But they are not what I wanted. I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put you through in giving you the Lunar Sword without fully considering the consequences of doing so. My sister wondered whether it was the best decision and I told her that I was sure you were the right pony to bear such a weapon. Now I must make good on my promise and help you to make the Lunar Sword truly your own.” I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put you through. Though it was only part of what she had said, the admission resonated in Bon-Bon. She regarded Princess Luna, who stood straight and tall in the middle of Zecora’s plain house. Her silvery shoes seemed out of place; her breastplate too shiny for the carved wooden walls and furniture. Luna was a pony out of time and place, trying desperately to catch up while also battling with the past that had rendered her this way. I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put all ponies through. I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put Equestria through. I wish to make amends for the suffering I have put my sister through. Yeah, that fit. Luna was terrified of repeating the past. She was also afraid of making fresh mistakes now she had been given this second chance at life. Giving Bon-Bon the Lunar Sword had been an attempt at that, while also being an attempt to show Celestia that Luna wasn’t the same pony she used to be. If the gesture failed, Luna would be humiliated. Bon-Bon sighed. “I’d appreciate your help, Princess.” Luna beamed. It was like moonlight breaking through blank grey clouds. “Splendid! When shall we begin?” “I’m tired after last night.” Bon-Bon sensed the sword stir sullenly. “But if you’d like to start this morning, I wouldn’t say no.” “Even more splendid! However,” Luna nodded at the bubbling pot in the centre of the room, “I believe your Watcher had some breakfast prepared for you first.” “It may not be a big ‘wahoo’,” said Zecora, “but Princess, would you like some too? It seems to me you’ll need some fuel. Besides which, I can see your drool.” She wisped delicately at the side of her own mouth, indicating Luna should do the same. Luna instantly wiped at her mouth. “Princesses do not drool!” she said defensively. “But, ah, I would indeed like to partake of that lovely food I can smell.” “We’re having Uji, Princess Luna. I should have served it up much sooner, but I thought it best to wait so you could focus on your plate.” “Uji?” Luna said doubtfully. “Is this some new food of modern times?” Zecora gave a short chuckle. “It is from a world made of sand: my home, the sallow brown Pride Land.” Bon-Bon’s head snapped up. She stared at Zecora, though the zebra didn’t meet her eye. Finally, she had a name to go with Zecora’s mysterious past. Yet that was apparently all she was getting today and Zecora’s easy manner communicated that she had not intended to even say that much. For a moment Bon-Bon considered pushing the matter, but then she thought better of it. There were other things to concentrate on this morning than wherever her Watcher had come from. Even so, as she sat down to eat with her mismatched breakfast companions, she couldn’t help questioning Zecora’s phrasing just as she had Luna’s: the ‘sallow brown’ Pride Land? It didn’t sound like a very nice place. And, once again, she wondered why Zecora had given up her old home and what had led her here, to this place and this life. Bon-Bon muttered to herself as she headed back into town. Distancing herself from the Lunar Sword was a stopgap measure but it would have to suffice until this evening, when she returned to fetch it and reconvene with Princess Luna. At the very least, it would allow them both to get some rest while Zecora, the only one among them who could not hear or feel the sword, looked after it. Luna had been just as tired as Bon-Bon from raising and lowering the moon. To begin with she had watched Bon-Bon run through some basic kata with the Lunar Sword. However, the sword had remained sheathed as, partway through, it had demanded so loudly that they go off and find some demons to slay that Bon-Bon had accidentally stabbed a tree and knocked it sideways, pulling half its roots from the ground. “Lunar Sword!” Luna had bellowed, again in that slightly echoing timbre. “Behave thyself!” “That’s … not actually … helping … Princess,” Bon-Bon had panted. “It is not?” “No … the sword … listens to you … because you use … that voice … but I … don’t have … an equivalent …” “Oh.” Luna had looked a little embarrassed but carried on by saying, “Well then, we must find an equivalent for you. You have Slayer magic, do you not?” “It doesn’t … work that way.” Bon-Bon had been forced to explain that Slayer magic was self-contained and pretty much anti-magic in the traditional sense. “Apart from being able to sense demons, it’s all about physical stuff: strength, agility, skill with weapons, that sort of thing. I can’t channel it into my voice like you do. I can’t really control it at all, I can just use my body and the magic comes along for the ride and makes my body … well, better.” “So are you saying magic cannot affect you?” “Oh, it can affect me,” Bon-Bon had said with chagrin, thinking back to the many times she had been affected by other ponies’ magic. “Although it would make life around Twilight Sparkle a lot easier if it didn’t.” “I do not understand.” “She once cast a spell that made a whole bunch of us crazy in love with a smelly stuffed toy.” Bon-Bon had shuddered at the memory of clamping the thing between her teeth and running pell-mell with it across Ponyville and the surrounding countryside. She had been irrational and actually given Berry Punch a real punch that blackened her eye. She was just lucky Berry had immediately folded like a cheap suit and she hadn’t had the opportunity to break the other mare’s face entirely. Luna had listened to the story of Smarty Pants and Twilight’s meltdown with interest. “I did not know of this,” she had said at the end, surprised. “My sister did not tell me of it.” “Maybe she didn’t want to embarrass Twilight.” “Hmm. Maybe.” Sensing Luna’s thoughts had turned in an unpropitious direction, Bon-Bon had wrenched the Lunar Sword free, causing the tree to rock back and squash several of its own roots. Zecora had forced them to use a combination of telekinesis and a shovel powered by Slayer strength to repair the damage. “Mental fortitude,” Luna had said after a period of silence in which all they could hear was the sound of foliage settling gratefully back into place. “Excuse me, Princess?” “We must strengthen your mental bond with the sword before we can strengthen your physical bond with it. You must become mentally stronger, Slayer, so that the sword immediately recognises you as more dominant and submits to you as its master. Currently it senses you are not comfortable being its master and instinctively seeks to make itself dominant instead.” “It sounds like a dog or something.” “Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to think of it that way,” Luna had said without irony. “In a pack of two, you must be the alpha and your authority must be absolute. If the sword senses any weakness or hesitation it will rebel and … well, do more of what it has already been doing.” So now Bon-Bon was travelling back to Ponyville sans sword and would remain without it until she could master it the way Luna said. No pressure at all. Not tricky in the slightest. Not a problem. Nope. Nada. Problem-free, that was her. She hung her head and blew out a sigh. “That sure sounded heartfelt.” Her neck arched up in alarm. “Noteworthy!” “Hi.” He ambled up beside her as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Which, probably, he didn’t. Lucky pony. “Out for a morning constitutional?” “Uh …” “A walk?” he chuckled. “Oh. Yes. It’s good cardio, y’know!” Bon-Bon pranced in place to illustrate her point. “Helps to keep the pounds off.” “I’d agree, if you had any pounds to lose. You’re skinny as a rake!” “Uh, no I’m not, but thanks anyhow.” Bon-Bon really couldn’t give a monkey’s butt about her weight, however it fit in with the persona she had cultivated and she was stuck pretending she worried about her thighs when she could happily inhale three fried breakfasts and have metabolised them all by lunch. “Are you on your way to work?” “Uh-huh. Would you like to walk me there? You can protect me from all the muggers and robbers.” “As if! Ponyville doesn’t have any muggers or robbers.” At his expression she added, “But if you’re really scared of the boogeypony, I’ll walk you to work.” “My tattered male pride thanks you. Although, you’re wrong about the mugger thing.” “I am?” “Mmm, there have been a few muggings in this town.” “Not enough to merit a police force.” It was true; Ponyville did not have policeponies the way bigger places like Manehattan or Canterlot did. In Canterlot they had both police and the Royal Guard, while in Ponyville there was so little crime they borrow officers from other towns if they ever needed them. Truly, Ponyville was some kind of idyllic throwback to a storybook world where law-breaking was unheard of and everypony helped everypony else. Noteworthy conceded the point. “Why would we need police when we have caring ponies like you to keep order?” For a second her blood froze. Then she realised he was joking. “We try our best to make sure all poor, defenseless stallions get to where they’re going unharmed. Later I might even do traffic duty. Cranky Doodle Donkey goes way too fast pulling that old cart of his and Granny Smith is a menace with jaywalking.” Noteworthy laughed. It was a nice sound; full-bodied and mellow. Bon-Bon abruptly wondered what his singing voice was like. “Do you have a full day planned?” she asked. “Pretty full,” he replied. “Mostly singing lessons and paperwork. Did I mention how much I hate paperwork?” “Only a lot.” “I really, really hate paperwork.” “You should get a secretary to do it,” Bon-Bon suggested. “Or an accountant if it’s numbers. I was always awful with figures – I failed Math every semester of high school.” “I was top of my class,” Noteworthy admitted. He cupped a hoof around his mouth as they walked. “Don’t tell anypony, but I was a complete geek in high school. A band geek.” “Your secret’s safe with me,” Bon-Bon whispered back. “I was the moody filly in the corner who just scraped a passing grade in all her classes. Every school has one.” “Yeah, I know. Lyra was ours.” Bon-Bon blinked. “She was?” she said at normal volume. “Lyra-Lyra? Lyra Heartstrings? She was your moody filly?” “You don’t know the half of it,” Noteworthy chuckled. When she didn’t respond he raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you really don’t know the half of it, do you?” “Half of what? Are we talking about the same Lyra who always acts like she swallowed a bottle of happy pills?” “Uh, yeah.” “Was she moody the way Ponyville is thriving with muggers and robbers? Because I’ve got to tell you, Ponyville’s threshold for stuff is way different than anywhere in the rest of Equestria. What did she do, write a sad poem in Creative Writing once?” Noteworthy shook his head, forehead puckered in bemusement. “No, she …” Instantly the easy atmosphere between them shifted as he became uncomfortable. “I can’t. If she hasn’t told you, it’s not my place to.” “Told me?” Bon-Bon echoed, her interest piqued. “Told me what?” Noteworthy just shook his head. “Don’t push me, Bon-Bon. Lyra’s my employee but she’s also my friend. If she wants to, she’ll tell you about it in her own time.” “Tell me what?” Bon-Bon frowned in frustration. “Okay, if you can’t tell me exactly what you mean, can you give me clues?” He shook his head again. “Can you at least tell me whether it’s something I should worry about? She’s my friend too, Noteworthy.” He blew out a sigh. “It’s nothing you need to worry about now. It was high school. High school sucks for anypony and everypony, right? I’ll bet it was no bed of roses for you, either.” You don’t know the half of it, Bon-Bon’s mouth leaped to retort. She held herself back, realising what an utter hypocrite she was being. She wasn’t willing to share the secrets of her past with anypony yet here she was grilling Noteworthy for details of Lyra’s? Shame coloured her cheeks. “You’re right. I was out of line. Sorry.” “Don’t be.” The tension in Noteworthy’s face eased. “You were just being concerned. That’s a good quality for a friend to have.” Bon-Bon shot him a sidelong look. “You know what? You’re too nice.” “Uh … thank you?” “No, I mean it. You’re a really nice guy. You’re kind and understanding and generous and … and just plain nice!” “Not nice enough for you to go out with, though,” he said ruefully. Bon-Bon tried not to groan. “All I’m saying is that you need to watch that. There’s such a thing as being too nice.” “There is?” “Of course there is! Like my grandmother used to say whenever I ate so many candies I got a tummy ache: too much of a good thing makes it bad. If you’re too nice, you’ll get taken advantage of, or you’ll miss it when somepony isn’t as nice as you are and leave yourself open to being manipulated.” Noteworthy screwed up his nose, clearly not putting much stock in this idea. “That’s a really cynical thing to say.” Bon-Bon shrugged. “Then call me a cynic.” Noteworthy looked at her oddly. “Is that a leftover from being the class moody filly?” “No, that’s hard-won experience.” “Is that your way of saying ‘nice guys finish last’?” “No.” Bon-Bon stopped. “It’s my way of saying we’ve arrived.” Noteworthy blinked at the Music Makers shop-front. “Wow, we are. Usually my morning commute takes way longer.” Bon-Bon rolled her eyes. “Ponyville’s not that big.” “Actually, I think it just went faster because of you.” Noteworthy treated her to a genuinely happy smile that made his eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. Everything about him exuded ‘nice guy’. It exuded it so loudly, in fact, that when he unlocked the door Bon-Bon almost expected to find a brass band blasting ‘It’s a Small World’ but singing ‘He’s a nice guy after all’ from a practise room. “Have a nice rest-of-your-walk, Bon-Bon.” “Thanks.” She pranced in place again, pasting on a bright smile of her own. “I’ll get those pounds shifted yet!” Noteworthy rolled his eyes good-naturedly and went inside, leaving Bon-Bon to continue home with even more mixed feelings than before.