I awoke before arriving in Ponyville, my heart racing and my body slick with sweat.
Many would believe, given my station and royal appointment, that I have physical contact with The Princess on a daily basis. However, despite Her choice to take me on as a protégé, my teaching came primarily through intimate knowledge of rituals and texts forbidden to more common ponies, or the work and instruction of other scholars that came before me. In truth, I have only met Her once, and it was much to my chagrin that, despite my vast knowledge of the eldritch, I had suffered from nightmares for several months since that meeting.
Last winter, The Princess asked to see me personally, alone. I left Spike at the observatory to catalogue some books that had arrived and made my way to the castle. I had been there before, to dinners and lessons and even to a party held by Prince Blueblood, though it was on my brother’s invitation. It looks much as regal inside as it appears from afar: hallways lined with fine silk draperies, works of art, and colored a mixture of silvers, golds, and whites. It was pure and pristine, like Her image in art and history. However, The Princess does not stay there; only Her royalty does.
Instead, The Princess takes residence in Her tower: a massive, imposing spire of obsidian that rises out of the deepest courtyard, behind a throne room where courts are held by a figurehead that speaks Her will and judgement. As I entered the courtyard, the tower loomed high above, reaching higher even than the mountain upon which Canterlot was built. Its shadow drowned and engulfed me. Not an inch of the monolith was marred, not even by the fresh snow that fell over Canterlot that day. Two guards stood at the entryway, just past which dark purple lanterns of magical flame lit the path to a stairwell. Presenting my summons, they let me pass.
Inside, amidst the faint glow of almost light, I passed servants; each of them was blinded, guiding themselves via a series of wires that lined the walls of the stairwell and halls. I did my best to pay them and their duties no mind, and focus on my ascent. Less easy to ignore were the sounds I heard in the distance, the doors and hallways that seemed to lead somewhere the tower physically was not, the sensation of being watched at every moment, even when alone. The climb took what felt like hours, though I am mostly certain after the fact that it was thirty minutes at the longest. When I arrived, there was no doorway to Her chambers, only a vast archway at the top of the stairs which gave way to blackness. Not even the magical light from the lanterns nearby pierced the darkness.
Steeling myself, I marched forward. With each step my surroundings slowly came into terrible, crystal focus in that impenetrable dark. The room was stories tall, and pinpricks of light made it seem like a starry, twinkling void in every direction except where I came from and where I trotted. Even though part of me wanted to stop and examine the room, I kept moving forward; I had an appointment to keep, I thought. At some point, eyes on my destination, I looked up.
She towered above me, seemingly taller than the ceiling. Her form was an impossibility, however perfect it was: three bodies—pegasus, unicorn, and earth pony—of undulating mass coexisting within the same space and time. Wings curved out of Her haunches and then shriveled into dust, their faint silhouette like lungs expanding and deflating. Her visage was three and one, shifting and sliding against, within? and without one another. Two and four and six eyes focused on me and I finally realized that I had stopped.
“Princess,” I forced out of empty lungs.
Her response came not from the three and two and one mouths that moved, but from within my mind. Booming, echoing whispers of a dozen tongues and voices assaulted my thoughts, somehow coalescing into a semblance of greeting. “My most studious protégé. Thank you for coming, Twilight.” Her lips moved out of time with these words that I came to understand. My vision drifted away from Her perfect, impossible face as I bowed.
“Why did you summon me, Princess?” I heard myself say, though I have no recollection of attempting to speak at all.
“I wished to see your progress for myself,” the voices muttered. “Your teachers tell me that your studies of my magic have progressed splendidly. However, my ponies’ understanding of its intricacies are always flawed. I wish to ensure your approach is unhindered by mortal thinking.”
As I came out of the bow, my vision stopped on Her barrel. A glimmering patch of colors caught my attention. Every other part of Her shifted and changed and unmoored itself from reality, but the colors were constant. My mind still spinning, I focused on it to maintain balance.
I believe I muttered some acknowledgement and began. I concentrated on my blood, felt the power coursing through it. Deep rivers of energy flowed to the tips of my hooves from the depths of my heart. It was overflowing, eager to come forth at my beck and call. I recalled when, as a child, I first looked inward and saw the choked, dry riverbeds of my vessel. Since then, they had grown and filled and been cleansed of that which hindered me. Words of a language I could not truly speak seeped from my lips while my eyes focused on that glimmering kaleidoscopic point.
I knew from the green tint that filled the edges of my vision and the taste of iron on my tongue that some spell had been cast, though I cannot now, and did not then, know which. Gratitude and satisfaction filled my mind. I still felt my power flowing out, like water through a cracked dam, like blood from a fresh wound. “Very good, Twilight. Your mind is still malleable to the true ways. Relax, and I shall see you improve further.”
I breathed slowly, in and out, feeling every inch of my lungs expanding and every surge of blood and power through my veins. My vision ground to a razor's edge and I saw that splatter of prismatic color for what it was. I saw the scorch marks about it, the faint flecks like twinkling stars amidst the void of her body, and how it shifted with Her barrel, rising and falling in time with Her and my breaths. It was Her wound, the one mark on this world of any resistance from ponies to Her rule. The only other was in the heavens above.
In the corner of my eyes, I saw one of Her wings reach out and touch my horn. Her prominence graced my mind and knowledge I could never learn from a book poured into me. Other thoughts leaked out, lost for eternity, but She, and so I, knew they were unnecessary. Methods and techniques and pronunciation were replaced and morphed and melded. As my “lesson” ended, my vision went black.
“Sleep well, my little pony,” was the last thing I heard the voices mean to say.
When I awoke, I was at the bottom of the stairwell. I felt refreshed, as if I had slept for hours. If that was true, the still shining sun meant I had been gone for at least a day. Spike never mentioned any prolonged absence.
For months, flashes of that meeting, that form, that horrific perfection, assaulted me in my sleep, though they were molded by my subconscious. Sometimes She had flaying tendrils, other times decaying wings. Once Her body bubbled and melted as a thousand maws took shape, shrieking with those voices to shatter me like glass. I had always seen terrifying glimpses of… other things from my studies, the side effects of rituals and incantations improperly performed, pictures and descriptions of strange beasts, but this was more affecting. I doubted my resolve and purpose: if contact with my teacher, who sought to teach Her ways directly, had shaken me so soundly, was I worthy of my position?
It was childish to dwell upon, for I'd known for many years that we all suffer such things. It is only natural in Their presence, but Her grace has granted me sound slumber. Both before and since then, my nightmares would often be dispelled by a golden light and the warm, smothering comfort of a black void. The last thing I saw in those calming dreams was Her silhouette, that perfect form solidified to true simplicity of body, wing and horn: Alicorn.
That night on the train, I was not blessed. Instead, I woke with a start to the dimness of the train car and the pounding of heavy rain on the window. Spike was sleeping soundly, curled up under a blanket and resting his head on the top of a trunk.
I was sure sleep would not return to me—it rarely did after such nightmares—so I resolved to do as I always did. I put a shade over the compartment's lantern for Spike's sake, lit it, and continued my research. I only had an hour left according to my watch, but it was enough to find no reference to the prophecy in the works of Crystal Clear and Boundless Horizons.
I started to wonder if the prophecy had been divined outside of ponies' eyes, away from The Princess and smuggled in by an enemy of our eternal ruler. Griffon servants of Aevos, while our neighbors, had a tenuous alliance with Equestria. War after war had been waged with us and others for any number of reasons: petty squabbles, imagined slights, sometimes simply greed for treasure or land or subjects. The griffons were as fickle as Aevos’s whims. It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility to consider that they would find or even manufacture such a prophecy to sow worry, to create any weakness to exploit for whatever gain they sought. How easily I had fallen for it if it was false, but no, caution was important and I would eventually be vindicated.
There were the skittering, shifting swarms of Kurraxis that had infiltrated, if rumor was to be believed, every nation. Any number of attributes and reasons were appointed to their schemes, but constant vigil was kept for their influence. Despite the danger that something which could become anything posed, they had never waged open war. Perhaps Kurraxis, like Their progeny, could mimic Their kin. The worry of usurpers could draw The Princess out, leaving an opportunity to replace Her.
Then there were allies less close to home. Hippogriffs’ changes in their communion with the Deep Ones were often molded by rumor into the ability to mimic pony shape. It was an animosity between ponies that traveled to Mount Aris and the hippogriffs who lived there, and if Aevos was liable to take any slight as justification for war the distrust of their population could drive whispers into the ears of Queen Novo, Mother Hydra and consort to Dagon.
In truth it could come from any of Them, for any reason, real or imagined. If Equestria fell, if The Princess fell, there was something to gain: followers, land, resources, knowledge, sacrifices.
Some of the works Spike acquired in Canterlot did come from foreign divination, but I would not be able to read them until I was settled in Ponyville. I packed the finished books into their cases and watched the view outside of the train. The rain came down in booming sheets against the glass, but the cloud cover near Canterlot was sparse, and I could see the Moon shining down upon it.
The faint color of buildings and the castle showed through the distance, but not even the moonlight would illuminate The Princess's tower, leaving it only a vague, dark shape. I wondered if She was still busy with preparations or had found time to "rest" in Her own way. Of course She had little need for sleep; Her vigil was eternal, as eternal as She, as eternal as Her rule.
Closer to Ponyville, the hilly portions of the countryside gave way to wider plains, giving a lovely view of the pure essence of mud and muck amidst the rainstorm. Luckily, the downpour lessened as we pulled into town.
My studies had never taken me far from the level of civilization I saw in Canterlot. Some trips to Manehatten or Trottingham were necessary, but it was still considered high society, metropolitan, and urban. Ponyville was the essence of rural. Sparse thatch-roofed cottages dotted the wide dirt roads, though a few sturdier buildings stood out. One looked like a pastel carousel that I'd seen once at a fair, while another seemed stately and was the tallest in the village. Off in the distance I could see farmhouses, closer to the Everlorn Forest. And then, as the rail wheels screeched to a halt, a quaint wooden station came into view.
I nudged Spike awake, giving him a minute to stretch and limber up as I ensured nothing was left behind. With him hauling a majority of the luggage and a porter handling the rest, we were left under the station's awning as the train pulled away. I approached the service window, finding a sleeping mare seated just behind the glass, illuminated by a dim lamp. I could make out the red of her mane and what looked like a trio of strawberries on her flank.
I tapped lightly on the glass and then loudly, to which she scrambled to wake and act natural, her wings knocking over a stack of papers in the process. I presented my royal insignia, asked for the key and left her to return to what little duties she likely had left for the night. The key came with a small letter of directions, though in the dark downpour it was difficult to make out without hornlight. I removed a pair of raincoats for myself and Spike, and after checking the instructions we began our journey through town.
The essence of mud and muck I noted on the train was even more prevalent up close. The stench of refuse and grime hung thick in the air, and our progress soon ground to a steady trudge rather than a quick jaunt to our temporary home. Thankfully, the streets were vacant, though they would not be for long.
As I struggled with the directions while keeping the luggage Spike could not carry out of the mud, I came face to barrel with one of the local residents. The impact sent me tumbling back and the suitcase dangerously close to the ground. When I regained my senses and looked up at who I hit, I found a pink mare, horribly underdressed for the weather at such a late hour.
Her mane was soaked, practically stuck to her face and flanks as it came down in straight tresses. Her expression, however, was the antithesis to our predicament: a wide smile that showed pearly white teeth.
"I'm sorry," I muttered in apology. "I didn't expect anypony to be out so late and in such weather. I'm visiting on business. Can you direct me to… Golden Oaks?"
She didn't blink or break her facade. All I could hear for several moments was the muted downpour of water into mud, and the pitter patter of droplets landing on my raincoat. "Darkness is safety for beast and burden alike," she finally said in a chipper tone.
I exchanged a wordless glance with Spike, who was fidgeting in the mud. "Apologies, again. Golden Oaks? It's a local library, I believe," I tried to clarify as my mind attempted to make sense of nonsense; I have a penchant for challenging puzzles and this mare certainly made the list in short order.
"Shelter safeguards surface solely. Shortly shepherds solution, saga, scripture, sparkle and shimmer alike." She shook her head and flank, like a shaggy dog attempting to dry itself. The attempt was futile and her smile lessened, though I was unsure of the cause. Then, she gasped and her pupils shrunk to pinpricks. "You're new!"
I managed to suppress a groan, though I could hear Spike chuckle over the downpour. "Yes. I would appreciate some directions, or maybe assistance with the luggage? Either would do considering the late hour and my frankly waning constitution."
She shook her head again and the last vestiges of smile gave way to a frown. "Sorry. I lost my marble and…" She ground a forehoof against her head, her brow and mouth twisted into a grimace. Finally, she turned, free forehoof pointing down the road, between two houses. "Past sweet and lies. Tree filled with lumber and ink. Can't miss it." Her smile suddenly returned,and she began muttering words that seemed all together unrelated ("Hearts, cake, and purpler point") as she bounded off down a different road.
I double-checked that I had not misplaced something, or had it stolen in the chaos of meeting an all but raving lunatic. Satisfied all was in order, I followed her directions towards the two buildings. I noticed two marks on their mailboxes as we passed: a piece of candy and a lyre. "Sweet and lies" I assumed.
Past them, Spike and I found a large, solid oak tree in a clearing. Its sturdy exterior had a doorway, sign, and several windows. There was even a balcony built in some of the upper branches. Stepping to the door, I put in the key and sighed with relief when the lock clicked open.
Minutes later, we had secured my luggage in a corner of the entryway, taken our coats off to dry, and lit enough lamps to see and warm ourselves. As I took in the shelves that lined the main room of the library, some of the strange mare's talk came into focus: lumber and ink inside a tree, holding "saga, scripture." A "Sparkle" now was also inside, though I accredited that, as well as “shimmer,” to the flickering of lamplight now seen from outside. It made more sense than her knowing my name without introduction.
In addition to the shelves, there was a small desk shoved into a nook along a wall to the left of the entrance and a large round table at the center of the room. There was a wooden bust of an earth pony seated atop it and a scroll rolled up next to it. Unfurling it, I found it addressed to me.
Dear Royal Scholar Twilight Sparkle,
I trust that your journey has been swift and without incident. Hopefully, these accommodations are to your liking, as it is all we could offer on such a short notice. You will find the kitchen well-stocked and the upstairs bedroom prepared for yourself and your assistant.
Any of the books in the library are yours to peruse. It's a meager collection and not often used by our residents, but it should have information on our town and its history if you happen to need it to assist with preparations for the Summer Solstice Celebration. We're very pleased that The Princess has sent a royal envoy to ensure everything goes perfectly.
If you require any additional supplies, please let me know and I will see your needs met as swiftly as possible. Below is a list of the tasks with which your assistance would be appreciated, and those you can meet with:
Feast - Applejack and the Apple Family at Sweet Apple Acres (southwest of town near the Everlorn Forest)
Decorations, Finery and Dress - Rarity at Carousel Boutique (east of town square) or Town Hall (center of town)
Music and Marvels - Fluttershy at her cottage (to the south, at the edge of the Everlorn Forest)
Weather - Rainbow Dash, usually found in the skies above Ponyville or at her cloud home (north outside of town)
On behalf of our lovely town, I hope you will enjoy your stay.
Sincerely,
Mayor Mare
A quick inspection of a small kitchenette showed the letter was correct. It was stocked with over a week's worth of fruit, vegetables, bread, cheeses, coffee, beverages, and sweets. I assumed it was the town's finest offerings if the mayor had prepared it. Feeling peckish, I helped myself to an apple, some aged cheddar, and a glass of cider, the bottle of which was marked with the name "Sweet Apple Acres." I noted the adjective as rather apt at the time.
Spike, still groggy from trudging through the rain and waking from a nap on the train, made his way upstairs and I followed him. A stairway carved out of the tree led up to a room, cut off from the library below. It was quaint, though spacious enough, and had a mezzanine which held two beds and a large window that looked out over the village. One final stairway, a tight spiral built into the trunk, led off from it and went to the balcony I'd seen from outside.
Spike pulled himself into the smaller of the two beds and mumbled what I assumed to be "good night." Still alert from my nightmare aboard the train and encountering the strange mare, I started to unpack my things. The books remained downstairs, sorted on the desk and large table at the center of the room, while I took the suitcase of clothing upstairs, still packed so as not to disturb Spike.
The sound of rain against the window panes began to soothe me, along with the building warmth from the lamps, and I was thankful to call the place home for now. Of course, that led me to wonder about the town and so I scoured the library's shelves for information.
I eventually found one that detailed the town's founding. Apparently, Sweet Apple Acres had been awarded by the crown to the Apple Family for services to Equestria generations ago. At the time, there were minor border skirmishes with the griffons and yaks, so it was given on promise to assist with supplying the troops. That required the establishment of roads, the hiring of laborers, and the rest of the town simply sprung up as a consequence of that. Comparison of maps within the book and another on Equestrian geography showed that with the farm and town's help, the Everlorn Forest had been pushed back a few miles on this boundary.
There was another book that covered some facts about the Everlorn Forest, its creatures, and behaviors. I had come across many of these creatures already in my own studies: Suvoks, Shoggoth, Nightgaunts, Cockatrice, Chimaera, Manticore, Shamblers, Yore-fangs, and Timberhounds. There was also documentation of strange plant-life found growing at the edges of the woods, often harvested by local alchemists and scholars: moonshroom, daevra, sunspine, and cowerbark. The rest concerned the forest itself, though it was mostly recitation of facts I'd read long ago.
The Everlorn Forest, existing since time immemorial, was the only part of Equestria outside The Princess's grace. While we were Her progeny and most beloved, She had other worshippers and servants that could harm us just by proximity. So, at the center of Equestria, She devoted a woodland, enchanted and hearty with ancient magic, to be their home. Of course, even Her magic wanes with time, and the woods continue to grow beyond their original bounds. At least those things within do not seek escape like the wilds themselves.
One last book about the town drew my attention, as the rain finally died down to a trickle. It was a history of their Summer Solstice Celebrations. Pictures adorned the pages, along with dates and information about each. Festivities, feasts, and even a wedding filled the pages, though I saw not a single picture that covered their sacrifices. The Princess asks little of the cities or towns not chosen to host that year's festivities for Her, but I know that some still take pride in it. Perhaps Ponyville was far different than the likes of Canterlot and Trottingham.
I wondered what the town had selected, in the past or now. Deceivers? Unmarked? Faithful? Riches? Knowledge? Each meant something for the town that offered it, though they were all the same at the core: a show of devotion to Her eternal glory that She and all would bear witness to. My mind filled with remembered screams, desperate and eager, and I slammed the book shut.
I tried to return to the books of prophecy, but focus would not come. Instead, I went upstairs, shut my eyes, and waited for dawn.