The Last Nightguard

by Georg

22. Mea Culpa in Vino

“Every flight begins with a fall, the crow said.”

No matter how high he flew into the chill air, Ebon Tide could feel the guilt follow him. He had nearly slain an innocent, he had struck his liege from behind, and he had sworn an oath to betray the Crown out of his own petty rage and vindictiveness. Oathbreaker, he deserved to be cast out, scoured from the ranks of the Guard, and left to die in the wilderness instead of in the gilded palace on the mountain where only a fort had once stood. Well, and one of Starswirl’s bizarre hideaways embedded into the heart of the mountain where he vanished whenever it fit his fancy.

He missed the old coot, wherever he was. Over a thousand years since he had last been seen and Eb was starting to believe he might be really dead for once. Never one to mince words or spells, Starswirl would be able to cure his magical disorder or kill him. Maybe both. Or turn him into a turnip.

Without shedding his armor, Eb could never have reached these rarified heights, and without Luna’s so-called gift of dragon wings, he never could have caught up with the child at this altitude. She was small for her age, with wings twice the size he expected. Eyes closed, legs drawn up near her body, and looking for all the world like some peculiar kite, she did not move a muscle other than the slight flexing of her wings to catch every single updraft. Three days she had been aloft, despite the best efforts of the Guard and families alike to reach her. Three days since a wildstorm out of the Everfree swept across Canterlot and bore her up. Three days with neither food nor water, and if Eb was any judge of her condition, she would never recover her mind.

This close to the ragged edge of his endurance, Eb could not call out to the comatose child, but he could edge ever so carefully under her and bite down on the snapped rope tether her relatives had been using to allow the child access to the sky without danger, or at least until it had parted under the strain. At first, he did not think his weight would be sufficient to lower her glide to a more reasonable altitude, but ever so slowly he could feel the air thicken until he could breathe almost normally again.

“You will be safe, child,” he said through the rope in his teeth. “Lean upon me and permit my assistance. There is naught to fear as long as I am here with you. Fold thy wings.”

Below, he could see the family of the child circling at the top of their ability, growing ever larger as he descended with his terrified burden. Their presence only seemed to make the child even more frightened as she spread her broad wings to ascend again, yanking on the rope that he was holding onto so firmly.

“Calm thyself,” he snapped, trying not to lose his grip while talking. “I swear by the moon and stars, thou art the most stubborn of children other than Luna. Yes, Luna,” he added as the child’s trembling slowed. “Thy gifts are from her will. Do not repay her generosity by foolish actions. If you will not listen to my voice, then certainly you shall listen to hers.”

The collection of batponies circling below him passed by as Eb continued his descent, giving the relatives who approached him with the intent of taking his burden a sharp, vicious look that scattered them like quail. The thicker air of Canterlot was a relief to his stressed wings, but he did not carry the child to the family or clan as the following batponies seemed to expect, or to the palace as he had first considered. Instead, he curved his path in the direction of the Gardens, and a large dark shadow resting between the silent stones.

By the time Eb landed beside the oldest gravestone, the child on his back had pulled her huge wings around herself and was quite near to falling off, despite his broad shoulders. He really did not know why he was bringing the mind-damaged child to a mind-damaged princess, but it seemed a good idea at the time, as long as he did not think too much about it. The sight of Luna comfortably stretched out on the dry grass with little bits of frost forming around her in the chill air did little to reassure himself about this being a good idea, but he stopped and took a deep breath anyway.

“Your Highness,” said Eb quietly. “Your subject requires an audience.”

“We are busy,” said Luna without opening her eyes.

“We shall wait.” Behind him, the silent forms of batponies settled down into the dry grass of the graveyard like shadows, an unseen horde of darkness like the flood of Luna’s monsters that he had faced so long ago. Only these were meek and subservient to their dark mistress, waiting patiently for a sign while Eb eased the child off his back and placed her before him much like a sacrifice. He remained within touching distance so the child would know she was not alone, keeping one hoof resting gently on the overly large shoulders of the young filly where powerful muscles twitched and jumped from fatigue.

The sensation of landing pegasi behind Eb continued for far, far longer than he expected. More than just her family or clan, it seemed as if an entire world of dark creatures pressed together in silence were all looking at him from behind. It started to build an intolerable pressure in his mind until he forced himself to glance over his shoulder at the myriad of golden eyes looking back at him.

“Now is not the time,” said Ebon Tide to the dark mass of batponies. “There will be a time, I promise. For now, we must tend to the needs of a child.”

He really expected some sort of argument, or a few stragglers. The entire collection of dark wings and bodies fading away into the night like an ebon tide was a shock, leaving only the child and Luna, who was most certainly not pretending to sleep any more.

“That was most unexpected,” said Luna, arising from her so-called slumber and approaching the quiet child. “When we set you upon this task, we expected you to return with one of our subjects, not all of them at once.”

“They deserve an explanation for their condition,” said Eb. “It has been long-delayed, but I trust it will occur.”

It was less of a question than a statement, a shocking assertion of Ebon Tide’s questionable authority, but Princess Luna nodded regardless. “In due time. I pledge my word upon it. Now, what of the child?”

As she looked down at the trembling young batpony, Eb could not remove his reassuring hoof from her shoulder, but gently rubbed the cramping muscles there instead. Something deep inside him forced words out of his mouth despite his wish to remain silent. “She needed you.”

Eb swallowed back a curse and looked up, capturing Luna’s eyes when she glanced at him. “Much as Princess Celestia’s student rose to the task of saving you in her stead, it was my task to rise to a rescue in your place. She did not fear your dread presence. It was your name that calmed her flight. It is your presence which makes her breathe easily now. As much as you fear the shadow that Nightmare Moon casts upon your subjects, you should know by now that some ponies prefer your shade. You are needed. And I am not.”

“All of our little ponies are needed.” Luna looked down and stroked the child’s face where a terrible tension had just begun to ease. “This one dreams of a higher place to which she is barred. Should I crush her dreams or nurture them? For the path which she seeks to climb is your path, rugged and filled with pain. To our last breath, to the last drop of blood in our bodies, to the end of our days we shall serve thee. The words have changed in the interim, but the meaning goes beyond simple words, as you know too well. So do I.”

Simple words or not, there was no response he could make to the Princess of the Night.

“In dreams, we enter a world of our own making,” said Luna, bent over the child to nuzzle at one fuzzy ear. “Dread or desire, joy or tragedy, it is ours to create. You of all ponies made me recognize that when I began to walk the Dreamlands again. Without your influence, I would still be a cowering shadow beneath my sister’s light, unwilling to let my own light show. Who knows what this child will be able to accomplish in her life unless we nurture her dreams. She shall swim in the deepest ocean or fly above the highest cloud in search of her destiny, and my will shall guide her. Now, your service to us this eve is at an end. We shall take this child to one who is skilled at healing wounds of the mind and sit with her until she is well enough to return to her loved ones.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Eb bowed. “I shall go to the hospital and have one of the nurses prepare a bed.”

“Nay.” Luna hefted the child in her magic and held her close before starting to walk, one slow step at a time. “We shall take her to Celestia.”

Eb made to respond, looked up at the moon and the hour it represented, then turned back with a short nod.

“I shall have the servants prepare coffee, then. Much coffee.”

The Hole was everything Eb expected and more. A proper bar had darkened timbers overhead, the rustle of soiled rushes underhoof, and a sharp scent of spoiled beer that closed off the nose to any lesser odor. More than simple beer and ale were served here, though. A pair of Diamond Dogs were lapping up some strange orange liquid at a corner table, a parrot was pecking absently at a bowl of seed gruel, and three Abasinians were having a hissing discussion over a game of darts while guzzling what appeared to be milk from a generous tankard at their table.

And then there were his sparring partners.

Greta had a pale lager that was the house special, and incidentally half price today, while Pansy was nursing a spring water under the excuse that he really was not off duty as long as Eb was in the vicinity. Tar held a tankard that could have drowned most ponies and was well on his way to the bottom, which baffled Eb to no end how he could drink like that and never slur a word. Crimson had scoffed at mere pony beverages and was happily slurping something nasty and smoking that she occasionally had to chew chunks from between drinks, and left smoldering rings on the table whenever she put the stone mug down.

Eb had decided on beer, a thick dark brew that reminded him of home only without the insects and dirt, and to help him with the unwelcome task of informing his almost-friends about his impending demise.

“Companions,” he managed, “I have called you here today for a solemn announcement.”

“You’re dying,” said Greta. “We know that. Have you mentioned us in your will?”

“Wait. How do you know?” asked Eb, completely taken off guard

“We work for the diplomatic delegation from each of our races,” said Tar. He took a deep swig from his huge tankard and slammed it down on the table. “We know things. Besides, everybody spies on everybody else here.”

“If Grandpa Gruff expects a report, I expect to get paid,” said Greta. “This spy stuff is for the birds.”

“Besides,” added Tar, “your little friends have been all over Canterlot asking about your ancestors. They’re really worried about you. So, how long do you think you have?”

It irked Eb to be cut off like this. He had a whole speech planned out with Lightning, the young mare who had taken on the role of Nightmare Moon for the children. They had spent several days with Peanut and Pineapple, exploring her knowledge of the past. The young mare had been so eager to help, viewing Eb as her own personal history project, that she had even dragged the shy Pansy into helping research.

They made interesting pairs, large and quiet paired up against tall and curious, small and studious paired up against smaller and talkative. The five of them had even gotten Princess Cadence involved in the project, although she was of little help other than to admit she could feel the dark magic in Eb’s gut and confirm that it was growing more powerful.

Eventually they had come to the conclusion that Eclipse had been one studly batwinged pegasus with a habit of avoiding credit for his accomplishments like a duck shed water, but gained no insight into how any of the batponies of that age had survived the removal of Nightmare Moon’s magic.

He shook his head, trying to concentrate on his own problem instead of playing matchmaker with Guards and children. “I do not believe I will see Hearth’s Warming,” said Eb carefully. “Before then, the dark magic will take me over and I will need to be…”

“Killed,” said Crimson, who had been unusually quiet this evening, even for a dragon.

“Or something similar,” said Eb. “Princess Celestia says she may be able to turn me to stone with the right spell, but I refused because I do not think it is worth the risk. If it backfires, she could be harmed. Same for the Elements of Harmony,” he added before Tar could speak. “They have been tried and failed. And Tartarus might make me stronger, so I dare not be imprisoned there. A hundred alternatives have been explored and they all fail one test or another.”

“So no gifts,” said Greta. “Bummer.”

“Actually…” The dragon reached under the table and removed a small bag very carefully. Unwrapping the contents, she placed it onto the center of the table and added, “For you.”

Eb knew what the box was, he just had no idea why it was sitting there, faded and scratched with the bare ghost of a calla lily engraved in the lid. His heart raced while he tried his best to keep a straight face, but a trickle of sweat began to work its way down his forehead. He could not have been more stunned if his long-dead wife had strode into the bar, and he could not make a coherent thought break through the whirl of emotions that filled his chest to breaking and extinguished the fire of Luna’s dark magic like a dose of water. He was barely able to form a few words, and those were almost too quiet to hear in the noisy bar.

“What is it?”

Crimson shrugged. “Uncle Torch said to give it to you right after the first Nightmare Night after Luna’s return.”

“Give,” said Eb in an effort not to think about the meaning behind the plain wooden box that was driving his mind into an incoherent froth of confusion. “Dragons know that word?”

With another shrug, Crimson raised her bubbling mug and took a sip. “Don’t look at me. He said it wasn’t his, and it wasn’t mine, and that if I didn’t give it to you, he’d find me and pound it out of me.”

“Ah,” said Eb. He took a welcome breath and added, “The dragon-form of the word.”

“Yeah, right.” Crimson peered at the simple wooden box. “So what is it?”

“It’s mine,” said Eb numbly. “It’s the betrothal gift I gave to my wife over a thousand years ago. It holds a lock of our manes, and a lock of mane from each of our foals. After she died, I told my children to place in my grave when I joined her, so why is it here?”

“It is quite a unique antique,” said Tar after finishing off his ale and signaling the barmare for another. “A thousand-year-old artifact from the time of your ancestors. Do you think it holds the secret to your survival?”

“Oh, don’t look at us that way,” scoffed Greta. “After you and your little friends have been sniffing around like grandma after a lost bit, it’s about time we got to see what’s going on. Besides, it clunked when Crimson gave it to you, so there’s something inside that isn’t hair. Gonna open it?”

“I don’t think—” started Eb, only to pause when Tar pushed his fresh tankard to one side and produced a slim knife, which looked almost like a toy in his broad hands.

“Give it here,” he rumbled. “You’d probably break something getting it open. I can see glue from here, and it’s going to take a gentle touch to keep from splitting the wood,” he added with a quelling look at Crimson, who had shifted forward and was in the process of reaching out with extended claws.

Eb passed the fragile wooden box over without much thought. Most of his mind was a thousand years back, picturing his wife and his family as they were back then. His girls finally beginning to laugh again after Calla had passed into the Shadowlands. The way that they both had made rather oblique references to the box a few weeks before he had been imprisoned, implying there would be additional members to the family if certain obstinate colts would allow common sense to percolate through their thick skulls. Neither of them could have possibly known that he was going to return from the moon, and certainly would not have enlisted the Dragonlord of all creatures to pass him a message from the past.

They were questions he could not answer without the contents of the box, and forced himself to sit motionless while the big minotaur manipulated the thin knife with practiced ease.

“Fair crafting,” he murmured as he worked. “Made it yourself, I presume? Can tell because of the carving. You wouldn’t pay nobody to make a box like this without it looking a lot better, but I heard of pony betrothal boxes before. Mark of love and all that stuff you don’t find by purchasing it off no shelf anywhere. A box with no locks and no key, to hold between me and thee. Pegasus hoof glue lasts forever. Ah, there we go,” he added as the box gave off a quiet pop and a squeak from ancient hinges.

There was no mane hair inside, only a loose sheet of gold that filled the entire bottom of the box, with two words inscribed so deeply on it that he could see through each of the letters.