//------------------------------// // Chapter 33: Fateful Flight // Story: The Enforcer and Her Blackmailers (Enhanced & Augmented) // by scifipony //------------------------------// I heard the princess' voice. Unmistakable, really. "...magic this direction, this height, strong. That pony was her." Celestia on roller skates! I'd braided my hair magically, reflexively! Twelve stories above the city, she'd gotten an inkling of it. Of course she could taste the difference between the way I cast magic and how a low level average unicorn might. Combine that with what I'd cast less than thirty seconds after I'd swatted her... Doors opened and closed. Ponies searched. I looked at Streak. She shook her head barely perceptibly. I let out my breath. The pegasus wasn't giving me away, though the reward might be rich. I didn't understand, but did at the same time. Friendship. They walked around the corner and I heard a tinkling laugh. "Let's not publish this. Of course, I'll arrange an interview..." Great. She's already arranging an interview with The Canterlotter to introduce her next protégé. How could somepony rule a country without cynicism? By being evil? Okay, pushing it. Still, her level of optimism nauseated me. We didn't move for 10 minutes. Streak, still cowed, whispered, "Cursed, huh?" I nodded. "But trying to fight it?" she asked. I looked away, thinking about our battle of wills in the library nearly two hours ago. Celestia understood the limits on her; she did try to communicate around them, regardless of how futile it looked. She'd said she needed somepony to do what she could not. Streak continued, "Maybe it's your duty, since you've seen this curse, to work with and around her—" she coughed "—problem?" I closed my eyes as a sharp pain grew behind them, and shook my head. She said, "You resent her—" "I do. Deeply. Not just for my parents. She even hired my butler, the son of her majordomo, who regimented my life until I had to run away." "You had— a butler?" "Did you have to use the word, 'duty?'" "Uh... Responsibility?" I growled. That was worse! I didn't like the trajectory of her thinking. I glowered at her camera instead of her because I needed to glower; I knew she was sincere. She realized I'd clammed up. Quietly, she moved to her icebox, steel grey, one of those heavily insulated ones that had a compartment for real ice instead of needing magic. She unlatched the heavy door, then frowned at the contents. "Um," she asked, "You don't eat seafood, do you?" My mouth dropped into a sudden smile. "White Towel, the stallion who trained me as a prizefighter—" "Prizefighter? Yeah, somehow, that makes perfect sense for ya." "Anyway, he wanted more protein in this pony's diet. Took me to a restaurant named The Petite Pescatarian Pegasus. Started a love affair!" "Don't get so excited. It's spinach and crawfish calzones. Got a bunch on sale, left over from the day before. Kinda spicy." "I like spicy!" Lots of red pepper flakes, basil, garlic, and oregano. Funny how anything cheesy and pizza-like tastes considerably better cold the next day. We ate like pigs, complete with a burping contest, gazing out the hoof-height crenelated windows at the never-ending dawn view of the city. No princesses or constabulary showed their wings or hooves. "She's really pissed at you," Streak said, pointing outside. I nodded. "Or depressed. Maybe depressed. Very depressed, on further contemplation." "So..." Streak put aside the plates and pointed a wing at my flank. "You got your cutie mark?" I looked at the cutie mark. It conformed to the curves and creases of my flank, looking flabby, sitting as I was. Fascinating and disgusting at the same time. It colored me skin deep, purple and white around the stars, aurora-green in the sinuous auroras, with subtle color gradations. The purple star cast a greenish shadow on the white one from the auroras. The hairs looked like they'd grown out that color. It looked natural. The abomination could be ripped out by the root, restoring my original coloration—except for the equal sign that, as I thought about it, looked like burn scars. I bit off complaining that cutie marks were the root of all evil. In her eyes I was already spooky and slightly crazy, which was well earned. In the back of my mind, I had expected my marking to be like somepony taking an axe to my hindquarters and chopping out flesh to make a place for it. It had been anything but. I said, "Better than sex." She blinked at me, tucking her lower lip under her upper teeth in embarrassment. Her face didn't color, however, as her indigo eyes glanced away and she muttered sotto voce, "She must have ridden some pretty lousy stallions!" "Really?" I frowned. "Absolutely. Yeah, I got mine at eight—" I opened my mouth and she cut me off. "My cutie mark, Grimoire, sheesh. I may have been young, and my epiphany really deep, but I've compared the feeling. Not in the same league, if he knows—" "But I researched how—" "In books? Riiight—animal husbandry, I'll bet." Having learned to run an agricultural estate that had livestock, of course she'd accidentally pegged me. Yes, I'd actually practiced livestock breeding. I thought about Steeple Chase and some of Carne Asada's lieutenants... Animals. In a good way. Male animals. "They were all handsome, or powerful..." "Which means the colt thinks he doesn't have to try hard. The shy and common ones start with knowing they have to convince you, then impress you. Aim lower." This from a mare that had at least five years on me, if not ten. My face turned beet red, imagining where I'd look "lower" on a stallion; I could tell because my face felt on fire. I thought about two of the bodyguard team I'd assembled. Rugged Safe with his various scars looked more workpony than glam, and often acted it. His wife, who took Quantum Thaumadynamics at Prancetown University, talked enthusiastically about her role-playing "adventures" with him, but now I understood the attraction. Some ponies were smart in different subjects. Really, needing to aim lower wasn't a bad revelation. I had something to look forward to! Which reminded me of somepony else on my team. Aim lower. Citron, now lost, had had a crush on me. My age,unlike all my other stallions. Had I let him in, I had no doubt he'd have done anything to please me— Streak tapped my mark with her primaries. "Mine has to do with hauling heavy loads. Yours?" I prevaricated, warming up to answer the question I'd clammed up on minutes ago. "It's my name." "That grimoire you painted on was your name. This— Oh, right, real." "Aurora." "I can see that. Up in Vanhoover, we see them in winter." I added, "Auroras are visible when the sky is darkest. My mother's name was Midnight." She gave me a sideways narrow-eyed look. "No chance— I mean, Midnight's not a common name. The—" "—opera singer. The black beauty unicorn. She named me Aurora Midnight." My mother had been midnight black from nose to tail, including her hooves. Her magenta eyes had made her look ethereal. Words spilled rapidly from her mouth. "My Pa is an opera buff. He's got all her records. I got sick of hearing the Canterlot! Bridleway Cast Album and— Ugh! I can hear her voice on What Do Simple Folk Do? even now..." She had her wings over her ears. She sobered, shrugged, then startled. "Midnight... who died tragically young—" "My mother died because of a mission Princess Celestia sent her on." Breathless, I went on, getting it out. "She named them Heroes of Equestria and dubbed him an earl and her a countess, post-equus. I'm the second Earl of Grin Having. Don't dare call me Countess, though! It's blood money and connivery. My name is Starlight Glimmer. Carne Asada named me that and she gave me my emancipation papers in that name as a present for fighting a griffon assassin. They had to revive me because I died saving her life. I earned that name. Unlike all the others, it's truly mine!" "Starlight?" I beamed and felt tears form. "That's my real name as far as I'm concerned." Streak nodded. "Is connivery a real word?" "It should be. In our meeting, Celestia called my mother Mage Midnight, which I thought really weird, but I guess it means my mother had some special magic. She also implied she trained her. Maybe she thought her daughter might be good at magic, too. She admitted to manipulating me, conniving to create an earl. As you said, I'm already her student, a student by a different name. I've been somepony's tool all my life and I'm sick of it." "Do you think you're qualified?" "To be an earl?" I shrugged. "I can fight. Leading an army, though?" Her eyes grew saucer-shaped. Then she laughed. I guess she didn't understand the peerage, or decided to laugh to show she got the joke she thought she'd missed. I was the joke. "You can see why I'm dangerous to hang around. You're a good listener, probably too good. I should listen to you now. What are you planning to do?" "Well... Guessing that the never-ending dawn will mess with anypony patrolling the precipice, gliding away is my best bet, a? I'm thinking, if you're really wanting to skip out on ya duty—" I growled. She grinned. "I get it. I want to haul, not be stuck taking pretty pictures for somepony, or worse. I'm thinking I could get my wagon and take you with, if you could break a certain garage lock?" she asked, hopefully. "I, uh, um... borrowed it?" When she blinked at me, I explained how I got Rye Bald to Zecora's. "Guess I shouldn't be miffed. The Everfree is safer than nosing around Running Mead's safe-house right now. I don't need fancy tack or a wagon to carry stuff." "By 'stuff,' you don't mean me?" "Silly, of course I mean you. I don't have a big enough sack, but I have other stuff..." That turned out to be sheets, a blanket, and package twine. Somehow, she convinced me that rather than me trying to sneak out through the basement, or chance being seen trotting on the street, that she could jump off the building with me in tow. Crawling through a roof door two pony height above the floor—without steps, with muscles strained across my withers and in my haunch—brought tears. Fluttering through on wings was an advantage compared to pedaling legs and pushing on rafters. Before the griffon devastated me, I could have simply done a pull-up. I doubted I'd ever grow that strong again. "Put your hooves together," Streak said, glancing into the sky worriedly. When I did, she clamped mine and dragged me the rest of the way, clunking one then the other of my rear hooves on the way out. It felt spooky to see the same dawn sky as a few hours ago. Bulky enchanted fans and air funnels made the roof an obstacle course of motes of darkness. With only a small population of pegasi, who were probably now at work, and no air taxis as in Las Pegasus, I saw clouds but nopony. Close to the edge of the roof, I scanned for alicorn wings. "I wish you had your glasses. Eagle eyes would be useful." "How'd you like to be called four-eyes?" she quipped. I reared and raised hooves as if boxing. "One time, thereafter self-correcting." "When you were a filly, too?" "I was the little Lady Presiding of Sire's Hollow. Nopony ever got close after Sunburst abandoned me." "Right, not happening." I helped her tie herself into the harness we'd rigged over her front legs to cross around her messenger bag and hindquarters, then around her back legs. Twin tails of fabric tied with twine made loops to wrap around my front legs. Her sheets were brown, which made me think of real tack, something designed for the task that might actually be safe. She said, "I made something like this to haul my little brother around. Don't worry." "He's alive, right?" She snorted. "Pa got me real tack and kit after he found out. Yes, also. Keep up when it goes taut and jump with me, alright?" She started trotting toward the edge of the roof, flapping her wings, her camera swaying across her chest. At the tug, I trotted, too. A pegasus could jump directly into the air herself. With a load, she had to "convince" it to come along. After about ten pony lengths, I felt an upward tug between my forelegs and barrel. I thought about the contact I needed with something like a book or another pony to teleport it. Clothes, saddlebags, and hats always teleported with the wearer. Pegasi had magic, so their Aerial Buoyancy worked the same as Teleport in that respect. She jumped. I jumped... And found myself flailing in midair, pedaling my legs because I'd gone up and hadn't come down! I felt pulled forward and up... and over the edge of the building. I saw tarred surface transition to a balcony edge of mortared brick before transitioning to the outer crenelations glazed with glass between. I peered into offices, rapidly retreating as I realized I was nearly tilted upside down. Wind, cooled from our flying, blew my mane and tail. I did not hang like a load on a crane, but stayed level with Streak as she banked and slid through the air. She manifestly wasn't level. To my upper right, Alicorn Way and Ponyville yawed crazily and rotated as Streak banked, dove, and then used the extra momentum to bring us level moving quickly over roof tops paved in copper and then others tiled in purple shingles. I swiftly realized that I felt more stable if I continued to trot in the air, rather than go stiffly frozen as my growing unease demanded. Maybe that's why I'd seen other pegasi trotting as they flew. It anchored me, maybe allowing Aerial Buoyancy to flow through me, and made following Streak easier as she flew us out of a plume from wood-burning chimneys, both coughing. She aligned us with alley ways, while keeping close to the roof line. We whizzed across streets perpendicular to minimize being seen. As we flew very near to brick walls, and my hooves got pelted by leaves from the urban trees we passed over, I realized what bothered me most. You'd think it was the half-hoof length of fabric snugged up in the pits of my legs being the only thing keeping me aloft. That was a close second. No, it was the lack of control. I trusted Streak this much, but I'd given up control to do so. My whole life at some level had failed due to me giving up control, or never having had it in the first place. That's why Streak's use of the words "duty" and "responsibility" irked me so much. If I gave in to Princess Celestia, I would have no control. How could I steer the alicorn if I didn't have her reins in my teeth? I'd made that mistake with Carne Asada. I'd helped the thestral make big changes in the syndicate. I'd used everything I'd been tutored about running the business of Grin Having, and the town of Sire's Hallow, applying it with research I did night and day, together with doing a lot of listening to gripes, helping ponies make less violent choices, and suggesting nicely, always always making sure ponies understood I was acting at Carne Asada's—my "mother's"—behest, because that was the racket Carne Asada had dreamed up. She did correct me now and again, but in the end I'd accomplished everything she desired. She'd taken my good work and started a gang war. This to be able to plant a bomb to wipe out all the EBI's records on her, which she'd learned had been stored in Hooflyn. No control. Who had made me this way? Celestia. I'd started as a knife she'd honed. How could I do what Streak suggested if I had no control? No matter what I devised, no matter what I would plan, the princess and her curse would overrule me. I'd rather be figuring out cutie mark magic and how it affected ponies psychologically. If I were ever to help bring true equality to Equestria and stop the oppression marks fostered, I needed to follow up on what I'd learned, especially what I'd seen in Sunset's, Running Mead's, and especially Celestia's marks. It was what my cutie mark was telling me. Which made everything I thought suspect! I needed to study myself, too! Ensuring that I understood how the abomination guided my actions now that I had one, and keeping my mind clear about it so I could counter it. What I'd learned would be way more effective than trying to guide a cursed alicorn away from... who knew what insidious purpose the curse had! Something to do with the 1000th Summer Sun Celebration, I'd bet, since that millennial event was less than two years away. That circled me back to the duty and responsibility thing. By making my father an earl so she could train me as his heir, Celestia had cursed my life from the very beginning. I wanted to cry, but Streak had banked over on to the Strand, the boulevard that separated Canterlot from the wooded Palisades Park. I had to pay attention! Hard to avoid over-flying ponies in this crowded Cliffside restaurant district. We flew a couple blocks east of Canterlot Castle. The hulking edifice was softly lit in colors of red, orange, and purple. Streak glided silently; nopony looked up as the dusk threw our shadows far afield. I'd already been trotting in the air, so I trained my eyes on the path into the woods that Streak targeted, ready to match her ground speed. All those factors worked to hide anypony flying nearby. A sudden canvas sound, like a sail opening, startled me. I got buffeted by a great backwash of air off to my right and behind me. Belatedly, I realized I hadn't prepped any spells in the naïve idea that I didn't want to attract Celestia and therefore Celestia wouldn't find us. I was so naïve.