“Well, that’s ominous,” Murky said quietly.
“I’m surprised you know that word,” Echo snorted. Her ears pinned back into her dark blue mane.
Flurry Heart ignored them and stared at the line of stakes before a collapsed fence. Each one had a changeling head speared atop it, usually wearing a Hegemony helmet or black officer’s cap. She wrinkled her nose at the smell; the heads were old.
She flapped her wings and leapt over the fallen fence to the interior of the plantation. Most of the buildings were shoddy wooden structures, partially collapsed and burnt away. In the months since the start of the war, the jungle had already reclaimed the exterior. Flurry flapped her wings and ascended while a golden shield flickered around her. The Changeling ‘manor’ had been burnt to a framework of brick and mortar, and the heads doubtlessly belonged to the guards and garrison.
It was the third plantation she’d encountered on her trip through the jungle, and it matched the others. Nightshade brushed a hoof over some jungle leaves and kicked up some shell casings. From above, Flurry could see the remnants of shrapnel from grenades and craters along the fence line.
Probably attacked during the night, slaughtered the Changelings and freed the slaves, Flurry summarized. It’s what she would have done. The staked heads were new; the other plantations had just piled and burned the dead before disappearing back into the jungle.
Flurry checked her compass, dangling from a string around her neck. It was the middle of winter, and it was the harshest winter on record, but the southeast had always been jungle. She was sweating under her uniform. “Let’s keep pushing for Tenochtitlan.”
“Princess,” Echo responded, “just so we’re clear, we were born in New Mareland.”
“I know,” Flurry called down.
“Did you just bring us along cause we’re bats?” Murky shouted up to the floating alicorn.
“Yes.”
“I dunno any tribal talk,” Murky retorted. “Useless, that.”
“You should’ve brought Dusty Mark,” Nightshade flapped up to Flurry, hovering outside the shield.
“She only spent time in the north; she’s not Daring Do,” Flurry replied. She dropped the shield and cast a life detection spell, immediately recoiling at the overload of signals from the jungle. Too many to pinpoint.
“Hello?” Flurry called out into the surrounding jungle. The trees and vines swayed in a slight breeze. It was quiet. Flurry wanted to credit that to winter silencing the insects, but she felt very out of her element. Mother never came down here. I’m named after snow. The Baltimare guards had simply left her in a clearing beyond the city.
“We’re not welcome here, Princess,” Nightshade said.
Flurry stared into the jungle, trying to pick out yellow eyes. “They know we’re here.”
“We’re being watched,” Nightshade nodded. “If they wanted to talk, they would’ve talked.”
“We keep going,” Flurry commanded. “We need their help.”
“I don’t think they want to help,” Nightshade answered. She whistled to her siblings and the four ponies flew above the plantation and further inland. Flurry checked her compass again while untamed jungle stretched out before her. It looked more like a postcard from Zebrica than Equestria.
“Tenochtitlan had an airstrip, Princess,” Nightshade said. “We could go back and take a plane.”
“If it’s still there,” Echo added. “Jungle might’ve taken it back by now.”
“We’re traveling by hoof and wing,” Flurry reminded them. “It’s slower, but we’re flying under the radar. I’m not getting shot down in a metal tube trying to save time.”
Murky adjusted the straps on his backpack radio. “Not looking forward to flying back to Manehattan, Princess.”
“We get the southeast sorted out and we can take a convoy back,” Flurry replied. "We'll sail up the coast and save time."
"You sure you want to ride a Reich ship back?" Nightshade asked.
No, Flurry thought, but kept that to herself.
They continued flying over the jungle until dusk, stopping at rogue clouds to drink and eat small bits of dried hay. Echo spotted lights in the distance and the group turned towards them. Flurry summoned a large bubble shield on approach. So far, nopony had taken a shot at them from the jungle.
An ancient flattop pyramid sat in a small clearing in the jungle. The lights were attached to the top and ran down the carved stone stairs. An anti-air gun was placed at the top of the pyramid, partly covered with a tarp for camouflage. Below the pyramid, a few wooden structures were built along the sides with tin roofs.
Hardly a village, Flurry thought. Outpost, maybe. We’re still a day away from Tenochtitlan. If the bat ponies had a capital, it would be their ancient ancestral city. The southeast was clearly neglected and far from Canterlot. Flurry read that bat ponies were still ‘uneducated’ in the southeast, but those books were written before Luna’s return. Nova Griffonia hardly had a good selection available.
Flurry circled the pyramid with the siblings, looking for anypony. Nightshade shook her head. “It’s deserted,” she whispered. "I don't see anypony."
Flurry Heart landed next to the anti-air gun anyway. The pyramid was about three stories tall, and the alicorn peeked under the tarp and inspected the gun. “It’s one of ours, not the Changelings,” she announced.
“Why would they just abandon it?” Murky asked.
“Bug planes are all over the Equestrian heartlands,” Echo said. “Maybe they just don’t need it?”
Nightshade pointed a wing to the stone floor and unslung her submachine gun. Flurry followed the leathery wingtip to a burning cigarette next to the anti-air battery. She paced to the edge of the roof and looked down towards the buildings, then out into the jungle. Her ears prickled at the hum of a generator, and she stamped a hoof against the stone. It echoed. Pyramid’s hollow. Rooms inside.
“I am Princess Flurry Heart,” Flurry called into the jungle. “I just want to talk.”
Murky walked up next to her and squinted into the jungle. “Maybe they don’t know Equestrian?”
“Everypony in Equestria knows Equestrian,” Echo nickered. She walked up to her brother and swatted him with a wing.
“Just makin’ suggest-” Murky cut himself off with a hiss and snapped his tail. “Damn bugs!” He shook out his leg.
Flurry Heart paused for a heartbeat, then seized Murky with a hoof and pulled him to her. She grabbed Echo with her magic and tugged her away from the ledge. “Nightshade, to me!” The mare dove towards Flurry as a shield flared over the four of them.
Flurry pinned Murky down with a hoof. “Don’t move.”
“What?” Murky blushed and wiggled under the alicorn. Flurry’s golden shield provided enough light to see the thin dart sticking out of Murky’s pants, right over his cutie mark. She plucked it out with her magic and examined the orange tip.
“What?” Murky repeated. He couldn’t see what she was doing.
Nightshade looked at the dart and crouched beside her brother. “How do you feel, little bro?”
“Annoyed,” Murky answered. “A little itchy from the bug bite.”
“It wasn’t a bug bite,” Echo said. “Somepony shot your fat ass with a dart.”
Murky’s eyes widened. “Sweet Luna, am I going to melt? There’s mushrooms out here that make you see things!” He twisted to look at Flurry straddling him. “Oh, it’s already goin’ down!”
“Shut up,” Flurry groaned. “Keep your heartbeat steady.” She stood and stared at the dart floating in her magic.
Nightshade pressed a wing to her brother’s head. “You’re sweating.”
“I got poisoned and I’m goin’ to die! Why wouldn’t I sweat!?”
“Just tell me how you feel,” Flurry ordered.
“I feel…” Murky trailed off. “Little itchy around the flank. Actually, not that bad.”
“Take your pants off,” Nightshade ordered.
Murky looked at Flurry and blushed. “Uh, sis.”
“Moth brain,” Echo whickered, “we gotta check for a rash.”
Flurry sighed and turned around while the siblings fumbled behind her. She glared out into the jungle through the shield. Her eyes glowed as she cast a night vision spell.
“Got you right on the cutie mark,” Nightshade mumbled behind Flurry. “Long distance and good aim.”
“Lemme see the dart,” Murky said.
Flurry passed it back and felt one of the siblings pull it out of her magical grip.
“Smells like mangos.”
“They shot you with mangos?” Echo asked.
“There’s some swelling. It’s definitely something. I don’t know what.” There was a thump as Nightshade slapped Murky. Her brother yelped. “Still have your reflexes,” she commented. "No dilation in the eyes."
“Don’t hit me there!”
“Are you finished?” Flurry called over her shoulder. She didn’t see any movement in the jungle.
There was a brief silence and Flurry heard shuffling as Murky slipped his pants back on. “Yeah, Princess.”
“Cover your ears,” Flurry ordered. She inhaled as the siblings crouched down. “Whatever you just shot my friend with better not kill him,” she threatened at full volume. The golden shield crackled. “I am Flurry Heart, the Princess of Ponies. I am here to talk.”
Flurry stood at the edge of the roof for several minutes. The generator below sputtered off, and the lights turned out. The rooftop was dark, except for the light from her shield.
“That wasn’t a coincidence,” Echo muttered. She braced her submachine gun against her shoulder at the rooftop edge, scanning the jungle.
“They want to play at horror, fine,” Flurry snorted. She dropped the shield and stepped back from the ledge. Her horn lit up and she fired a bright golden flare above the pyramid. The jungle around them lit up. “Last chance.”
Echo whinnied and raised a hoof. A thin dart stuck out from her elbow. She sprayed into the jungle with her other hoof on the trigger. “Bucking dammit!”
Flurry snarled and her horn blazed with golden flames. She stepped to the edge of the roof. “Princess, stay back!” Nightshade shouted.
Flurry unleashed a wide golden laser into the surrounding jungle. The trees were blasted apart from the concussive force, and the ground was set alight with blue flames. Wooden shrapnel sprayed through the jungle. Flurry charged her horn again as she inhaled, then fired another shot with an exhale. More jungle was blasted apart. She stepped to the next edge of the square rooftop and repeated. Golden lances of magic fired from the top of the pyramid for the next minute, destroying the surrounding jungle and setting the charred remains burning with blue flames. Each blast cleared away a dozen trees, making a shallow crater in the ground.
Flurry’s ears perked as she heard a screech of pain from the jungle. She turned back and her eyes glowed with the night vision spell. A bat pony struggled to crawl away from a crater, dragging a hind leg. Flurry’s horn flared; she seized the mare in her magic and pulled her through the air. The bat pony shrieked again.
The mare was dressed in a mix of Changeling and Equestrian equipment. Her leathery wings were bloody from bits of wooden shrapnel and covered in black war paint. She only wore faded gray pants and a Hegemony bandolier.
Flurry’s grip was imprecise. The mare struggled against the golden magic, biting down into her bandolier and pulling out a stick grenade. She pulled the pin with a fang.
Flurry ripped the grenade from her jaw and held it in her magic. The alicorn summoned a small bubble shield around the grenade as she flung the mare to the rooftop. The grenade exploded with a muted puff, and Flurry dispelled the shield.
The bat pony struggled to stand, only for Nightshade to club her across the head with the stock of her submachine gun. “Stay still, bat.” Nightshade shoved the submachine gun under the stunned mare’s muzzle.
Flurry summoned another bubble shield around the roof. The jungle smoked and burned from every direction. She stalked towards the mare and pinned her to the ground, restraining her movements with her horn.
Flurry Heart wiped her bloody nose. “Talk. Now. I tried to be nice.”
The mare spat something in a tribal dialect Flurry didn’t know.
“Equestrian,” Nightshade hissed.
“Leave,” the mare rasped in accented Equestrian. “Begone, false one.”
Flurry studied the gray pants, recognizing the ELF uniform. “Were you part of the Equestrian Liberation Front?”
“I am of the Tzinacatl,” the mare sneered. “You destroy our jungle.”
“You shot my friends.” Flurry’s eyes narrowed. One side of the bandolier across her barrel was covered in darts with cloth coverings around the tips. “What is this poison?”
“Poison,” the mare laughed. “It is no poison. It reveals things for what they are.”
Echo pulled the shaft from her leg with her muzzle, spitting it out. “It itches like Tartarus.”
One of the tribal’s rear legs was bent awkwardly and bleeding. Flurry straightened the leg in her magic and cast a mending spell. The mare screeched in pain as the bone corrected. “Keep talking and I keep healing,” Flurry said. “Are there more of you?”
“We are everywhere.”
“Who’s in charge?”
The mare hissed up at Flurry. The alicorn slowly pulled a long chunk of wood from her wing. She removed it at an awkward angle, and the mare tried to squirm in pain, but Flurry’s magic held her still.
“Who’s in charge?” Flurry repeated. “I want to talk.”
“The Tlatoani has nothing to say to you.”
“She or he can listen, then, because I have a lot to say,” Flurry growled. “What does the dart do? Is there an antidote?”
“It reveals false faces,” the tribal rasped. “The bugs come to our jungle and destroy it, just like you. They take away our family and return wearing their muzzles as masks. We found a way.”
“I wouldn’t have destroyed anything if you had just talked to me,” Flurry spat. She fluttered her wings. “How hard is it to say hello?”
“We have nothing to say to you, false one.”
“Why do you call me that?”
The mare looked at her wings and horn. “You are not the Moon.”
Flurry raised an eyebrow. “You know there’s more than one alicorn, right? I am the daughter of Mi Amore Cadenza,” Flurry pulled more shrapnel out of the mare’s wings and cast a blood-clotting spell. “You know who I am.”
“Who you claim to be,” the mare corrected.
Flurry pointed a wing beyond the shield to the burning jungle. The fire was beginning to spread through the trees. “You think a disguised changeling could do that?”
“Love never came here,” the mare stated.
“I am here, right now,” Flurry said bluntly. “My mother officiated several weddings for bat ponies in the Crystal Empire. She never discriminated against you.”
“Thestrals,” the mare corrected. “We are Thestrals, and we are not born for snow and cold.”
Flurry sighed. “I would like to talk to whoever leads the Thestrals.” She finished pulling shrapnel from the mare and cast another spell. “You’ll live.”
“Why have you come here?” the mare asked warily.
“I need your help. There’s a war, in case you haven’t noticed.” Flurry released the mare from her magic. Nightshade still kept the submachine gun trained on her, as did Echo and Murky.
The mare laid still on the rooftop, glaring at Flurry with yellow eyes. She twisted her head to the side and gave a low, warbling screech. The jungle screeched back and three dozen Thestrals emerged from the treetops and smoke. They carried assorted weaponry and hovered around the shield. Some were naked and covered in streaks of war paint; some wore bandoliers and shreds of a uniform.
Murky and Echo shifted their guns away from the mare and to the hovering bat ponies. “Not good, Princess,” Murky whickered with his tail lashing in agitation.
Flurry looked around, then returned to glaring back at the mare. “I’m not worried.” She clicked her tongue. “Is your Tlatoani or whatever at Tenochtitlan?”
“Princess, we should just leave,” Nightshade pleaded. “Teleport out.”
“I am the Princess of Ponies,” Flurry stated back. “All ponies, even Thestrals.”
“Are you?” the mare laughed with an eerie shriek. “The Sun claimed that title as well, and she did not warm us with her rays.”
“I am not Celestia.”
The mare looked up at Flurry with half-lidded eyes, then clicked her tongue and screeched a short cry. The surrounding Thestrals lowered their guns and landed below the roof, along the stone structure. Flurry Heart narrowed her eyes, then dispelled the shield.
She turned back to the burning jungle and fired a wave of frost from her horn. Flurry moved in a circle along the roof. The plants wilted under the frozen stream, but the fires guttered out. The night air was chilled by the cone of frost and the Thestrals shivered.
“Ice and fire,” the mare muttered.
Flurry turned back to her and doused her horn. “Good enough?” she challenged.
“No,” the mare shook her head. “Prove you are not false.” She slowly retrieved a dart from her bandolier and held it between her hooves. Nightshade shoved the gun barrel against the back of her head.
“Nope,” Nightshade snorted. “Absolutely not.”
“It is harmless if one is not a changeling,” the mare retorted. “We will escort you to Tenochtitlan.”
“Murky, Echo, how do you feel?” Flurry asked.
“Little itchy, but I’m fine,” Murky offered. “Still a solid no, Princess. Let’s just get.”
“Not worth it,” Echo added. “I don’t trust these bats.”
The mare bared her fangs at Echo. “You have forgotten all the old ways.”
“Yeah, I like literacy, moth brain,” Echo retorted.
The mare said something in her own language that was doubtlessly very offensive. Echo shrugged a wing in reply.
Flurry looked over her withers to the edge of the roof, past the anti-air gun. A few sets of golden eyes stared back, peeking over the edge of the stairs and watching her. Flurry returned to the mare. “What’s your name?”
“Amoxtli,” the mare answered after a pause.
“I saved your life and stopped you from bleeding out,” Flurry stated. She waved a foreleg at the mare’s bloody wings, then took the dart from her and held it with her horn.
Amoxtli stood up and tested her rear leg with a wince. “You shall not be harmed.”
“Nor my friends.”
Amoxtli glanced at Nightshade, who aimed at her head with narrowed eyes. “As you say.”
“Say it,” Flurry ordered.
“We believe in what you call hospitality,” Amoxtli said, annoyed. “You and your tribe shall not be harmed.”
Flurry brought the dart close to her muzzle and sniffed it. It does smell like mangos. “Nightshade, lower the gun.”
“Princess, no,” Nightshade answered.
“Everypony lower your guns,” Flurry repeated, “or I’ll just take them from you.”
Murky set his rifle down. “Ain’t worth this, Princess.” Nightshade and Echo nodded in unison, but set their guns down as well. The Thestrals gathered around the edges of the roof, watching.
Flurry unbuttoned her high collar and held the dart between her forehooves. She stared at Amoxtli and raised the dart to her exposed neck, then jabbed it forward before she reconsidered it. This is so stupid.
She felt a prickle and a mild itch. Flurry pulled the dart out and tossed it to the ground. Her neck burned like a mosquito bite, but nothing more. Flurry blinked and felt a little embarrassed. “Okay, now what?” she asked Amoxtli.
The pyramid under her rumbled. “Now, you go to Tenochtitlan,” a voice called up. Flurry stood and turned to the edge. A thin bat pony limped up from the steps; the tribals stood aside and let him past.
Flurry called him a bat pony instead of a Thestral. He wore a tribal necklace of assorted claws and feathers around his neck, and red war paint around his golden eyes, but his vest, worn blue bandana, and black cowboy hat were decidedly Equestrian. A braided dark blue mane rested uneasily under the hat.
He was also scarred. His left front leg was a wooden prosthetic, carved in an intricate design of a curled snake. The bat pony’s left eye was also covered with an eyepatch; a scar ran down his muzzle under it. The bat pony removed his hat with his left hoof and bowed his head. “I am the Tlatoani,” he said in a Baltimare accent. The Thestrals around the roof bowed low.
“You’re not a native,” Flurry replied dubiously.
“Baltimare is part of the southeast,” he pointed out, “but no, I am not of the Tzinacatl tribes. My name is Light Narrative. I was a journalist before the war. I covered your mother’s wedding, Princess Flurry Heart.”
“You were here the whole time?” Flurry asked. “I know the pyramid’s hollow.”
“There are rooms inside, and tunnels below,” Light Narrative replied. “You have been watched since you left Baltimare.”
“You could’ve said hello,” Flurry answered.
Light Narrative looked over his shoulder at the devasted jungle. “I apologize for your treatment. The Tzinacatl distrust outsiders.”
Flurry looked over her shoulder at Murky, Echo and Nightshade. They hadn’t picked their guns back up and looked unconcerned. Amoxtli still bowed. “Why’d they make you leader, then?”
“The Moonspeakers of the Tzinacatl know the Thestrals needed leadership, and none could agree on one of their own. Have you read any of my articles?” he asked hopefully.
Flurry shook her head. The Tlatoani deflated.
“Do you know anything about us?” Light Narrative asked. “Our customs, our history, our legends?”
Flurry opened her mouth, then closed it with a click of her teeth. “No,” she admitted. “Not really.”
“And yet you come here and make demands,” Light Narrative accused softly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to get a crash course in cultural appreciation,” Flurry apologized sarcastically. “I didn’t exactly have access to reading materials about Thestral culture. And asking to talk to somepony isn’t a demand. ‘Talk to me or I burn down your jungle’ is a demand, Tlatoani. I was far shorter with Baltimare, no offense to your home.”
Light Narrative smirked. “Your pronunciation is off. My name is fine, Princess.” He waved a scarred left wing. “Come with me. I can give you the short version of our history.”
“Nightshade,” Flurry ordered. “Everypony, with me.”
“Your friends can remain,” Light called over his shoulder. He limped down the steps of the pyramid and out of sight. “You are protected, as are they.” Flurry looked behind her at the siblings.
“We’ll be fine, Princess,” Nightshade whickered and waved a hoof. “Go on.”
Flurry blinked, then followed Light Narrative through the circle of Thestrals. Some of the steps receded into the pyramid and light poured from the opening. Flurry squinted at the hanging electric lamps on the interior, eyeing the wires strung along the ceiling.
“We’ve gotten with the times,” Light chuckled. “Infrastructure has always been poor in the southeast. Not many ponies are eager to brave the jungle. The largest cites are Baltimare, Stableside, and Mareida. All port cities along the ocean where we are a minority at best.”
Flurry matched his pace, following behind. He limped down more steps and pointed at a carving of the Mare in the Moon. “For a thousand years, the Thestrals were left to the jungle, developing their own languages and culture. The Sun did not warm us with her rays; we reminded her too much of her lost Moon.”
“Amoxitl said something about that,” Flurry recalled. “Things were better before the war. Twilight helped with an acceptance campaign.”
“We were ignored and abused for a thousand years,” Light Narrative replied sourly. “That pain is not easily forgotten. I spent my life writing articles about the abuses of the nobility, the low nighttime wages, and harsh workplace conditions.” He glanced at her wryly with his right eye. “I was never paid as much as the other reporters.”
“I am sorry,” Flurry apologized. “It wasn’t right.”
Light Narrative stopped at an intersection, then turned left down another hallway. They passed by more carvings of Thestrals dancing below the moon. “You were a foal,” Light said softly. “I do not expect you to cry from the cradle for our rights.”
“I know my mom officiated marriages between bat ponies.”
“Those who could travel to the Empire, yes,” Light nodded. “The blessing of Love extended into mixed marriages between a Thestral and another Pony Tribe. Quite scandalous. I interviewed her about it.” He paused. “Your mother was quite extraordinary. Your father treated the Night Guard as equals.”
“My parents were good ponies,” Flurry stated softly.
“Are you?” Light Narrative asked neutrally.
“No,” Flurry answered without thinking.
Light Narrative nodded. “Perhaps that’s for the best. War is not a place for good ponies.”
“You know why I came here,” Flurry continued.
“Tell me anyway.” Light shrugged a wing.
“I need your help. I need the Tzinacatl’s help to move the supply lines through the jungle.”
Light Narrative winced. “Please, avoid attempting to pronounce our words.” He stepped down another stairwell lined by electric torches.
“Sorry.”
“A valiant attempt.” He turned his head to look at her as he limped. “You speak of the Griffonian Reich, not your own lines. We have heard of your Miracle of the North, though we are too far south to see the shield.”
“Bat ponies pass through it fine.”
“We don’t like the cold, Princess,” Light Narrative chuckled.
“It’s warmer inside the shield. We’re growing crops.”
Light Narrative hummed and shook his tail. “Before the war, there was a campaign to have us recognized as the Fourth Tribe. Every Princess of Ponies participated. The Sun, the Moon, Love, and Friendship. You were too young.”
“Do you hold that against me?” Flurry asked. “I am sorry. My opinion on bat ponies at six was that they were very fluffy and I liked their fangs.”
“I do not hold it against you,” Light replied. “Some of the Moonspeakers will. I am not the supreme leader of the Thestrals, just their spiritual guide and advisor. You will need to make your case before the Moonspeaker Conclave in Tenochtitlan, and they will vote.”
They passed by another mural. Flurry stopped and stared at it. She crinkled her muzzle. “Repeat carvings?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” Light asked back.
Flurry brushed a wing against the carving of bowing tribals. “We passed this one before. Do Thestrals worship Luna, or the Moon, or both?”
“Depends on which Moonspeaker you ask,” Light chuckled nervously. “Some view her as a herald, or a guardian, or a steward. The tribes rarely agree on an interpretation. These carvings were done centuries ago. Art has evolved since then.”
“How many Moonspeakers are there?” Flurry asked. “One for each tribe?”
“Yes,” Light nodded. “Sixty-four, currently.”
“That’s…” Flurry hesitated. “Am I expected to know all of them?”
“The hardliners expect you to,” Light replied, “but they are looking for an excuse to reject you.” Light Narrative turned another corner and stopped before a dead end. Flurry stumbled to a halt.
“Why are you here?” Light Narrative asked. He faced the dead end, looking at a carving of a snarling mare descending from the moon. The Thestrals below raised spears and blades, not to fight the mare, but to join her.
Nightmare Moon, Flurry realized. “I need your help.”
“The Moon called to us once, and we answered,” Light Narrative stated. “We paid the price: a thousand years of hatred and torment for past sins.”
“Equestria is falling apart. We need to stand together to defeat Chrysalis. All of us.”
“We’ve driven the soldiers into the Badlands and away from the jungle,” Light replied. “Baltimare troubles us like a thorn in our frog, but they will never take the southeast. We are free.”
“Millions of ponies aren’t free. They still suffer in camps and mines.”
Light Narrative lashed his tail. “Why should we care? They did not care about our suffering for a thousand years.”
“All you are doing is proving them right,” Flurry said softly. “I had the same conversation in Baltimare. I hoped you were different.”
Light Narrative sighed and rapped his prosthetic hoof against the stone wall. The wall rumbled and descended into the floor, revealing a doorway into a cave. “I know,” he admitted. “We are not in this war alone, but be blunt about what you ask.”
Flurry followed him out into a large cave. Stalactites dripped water from the ceiling. A large mosaic of the moon was in the center of the cave, lit by a hole in the cave ceiling. The moonlight shone down on a silver bowl in the center of the mosaic moon. This moon was unblemished with the Mare in the Moon.
“When did we go underground?” Flurry asked. “Is this under the pyramid?”
“Most pyramids are temples,” Light Narrative answered, “and connected to deep cave systems. This is in Tenochtitlan.”
“We didn’t walk that far,” Flurry stated.
“There is another in Tenochtitlan,” Light Narrative rephrased. He stepped around the low silver bowl and waved a wing for Flurry to approach.
Flurry walked forward slowly, stepping over the mosaic and into the moonlight. She looked up and squinted, but the light was too bright. “What is this place?”
Light Narrative removed his hat and tugged his eyepatch off. A ruined eye socket stared at her. “Be blunt. Why are you here?”
Flurry chewed on her cheek. “I need the Thestrals to fight. For everypony. For me.”
“The Nightmare said the same, once,” Light Narrative started. “It came and promised us an end to our isolation. We bled for it, and found ourselves more isolated than ever before. It took a thousand years for Friendship and Love to make things right, and then the Sun and Moon asked us to bleed once again.” He rubbed his wooden leg with his other hoof. “And we were abandoned in the jungle. Now you have come, Hope, and still ask the same.”
“I know what I’m asking. I know Thestrals will die.”
“You ask us to bleed.” Light Narrative bared his fangs. “Will you do the same?”
Flurry looked down into the bowl and saw a knife with a silver hilt. The blade was sharp and curved. She blinked at it. Was that always there? “What?” she asked. “You want my blood like a vampony?” Flurry immediately recoiled and wilted back with pinned ears. “I’m sorry, that just slipped out. That was offensive.”
“Legends start somewhere,” Light Narrative shrugged. “You may refuse, and I will tell the Conclave otherwise.”
“You’ll lie for me?” Flurry asked.
Light Narrative looked to the side. “We cannot stand alone. You are correct. We must work together.” He tapped the bowl with his wooden leg. "It will be difficult."
Flurry picked up the knife in her golden magic. She pulled her boot off and rolled up her sleeve, stopping at the thin gash in her fur from the bullet in Manehattan. She lightly brushed the knife over her injury, then looked to Light Narrative’s wooden leg.
“What happened to your leg?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Same as my eye,” Light Narrative answered readily. “I liked to report from the front lines. I interviewed Luna from the command center, but the real stories were in the trenches.”
Flurry stared down at the shallow silver bowl. “Do I need to fill the bowl?”
“You don’t need to do it at all,” Light answered. His bare socket stared at her. “I will lie. Offer what you will.”
Flurry glanced at his eye socket, then the leg. “Okay,” she nodded and the blade drifted above her head. The metal edge gleamed in the moonlight.
“I will lie to the Conclave,” Light nodded. “They will not doubt my words.”
“Words are wind,” Flurry retorted. “Bring them proof.”
She brought the knife down through her right ear. It flopped into the silver bowl below her head. Flurry screamed in pain loud enough to rattle the stalactites in the cave, and felt the blood pour down the side of her head and spill down into her right eye.
Light Narrative stepped back, aghast. Flurry squinted at his blurry, shimmering form. “Not enough?” she growled and brought the blade around to the left side. “You want more blood?” Her ear tried to pin back against her head from the pain, but Flurry forced it up.
“Fine.” The knife came down again and her left ear splattered into the bowl. The cave shimmered and wobbled through her tears, and Light Narrative flickered. Flurry snarled through the haze of pain and glared at her lopsided ears in the bowl, feeling the blood spill down her muzzle.
The silver bowl collapsed into a puddle of blood and liquid silver. It swirled into a whirlpool around Flurry’s hooves as the mosaic shattered. She fell into the crumbling moon, tumbling towards an ocean of stars that ebbed and flowed like a tide. Her ears spiraled below her, burning into white orbs and joining the stars.