Mercury’s Journal, Trip to Celena’s Junction, Day 1
Well, journal, I’m off. The first day of my trip with the batponies.
My comrades in the Knighthood came to see me off. Well, one of them did. Sir Triumph Gate apparently argued against me being allowed to come on this trip, but Lady Frosting Flare overruled his objections. He was too disciplined to gainsay her orders, but I could tell it was hard on him. I think he’s worried about my safety ‘among the heathens’ as he puts it.
He spent the last two days before my departure drilling me on my spear forms, as well as all the defensive rune spells I could possibly cast. It was sweet, honestly. Even though I really want this opportunity, it’s nice to know somepony cares about my wellbeing.
He lingered a bit as the caravan of colorful covered wagons pulled out of Jubilation, heading south. I could see him in the sky, standing vigil on a cloud as he watched us leave. But I would be fine. I was a Knight myself, even if a fairly fresh one.
I can defend myself.
The caravan was a sort of exercise in controlled chaos. The batponies were merchants by trade, as I knew already. But they also moved with their families. So it was more than just merchants; there were foals and teenagers, as well. And not just batponies! Though the strange equines made up most of the caravan, there were also at least four or five earth ponies like myself, and even one single pegasus, the captain of the armed guards that protected the caravan from dangers.
Each caravan is named after the leader, so ours is called Caravan Pepper, for Ghost Pepper. It was an odd sight for me, seeing him transform from a small restaurant chef into a skilled and strong leader. He went from simple to complicated, though he didn’t seem to change much in the process. He was the same confident, cheerful, charismatic pony I’d gotten to know at his table, except now I saw how the others of his caravan saw him.
Since the primary purpose of my trip is cultural exchange, it seems fitting to include a bit about that here. I asked Honor Blade, the caravan’s pegasus guard captain, to explain how leadership worked with the batpony clans.
“We elect our leaders,” she explained. “And the number of journeys they stay in office for depends on what percentage of the vote they won. A leader who is extremely controversial, winning by a slim margin, will only be leader for one or two trips before a new election happens.”
I asked her how many trips Ghost Pepper was Caravan Boss for.
“Well, when he was first elected it was only for one. His second election? It was with a much higher percentage of the vote. Much higher.”
So even though he was young, probably only five or so years older than me, he was very competent and popular.
The caravan moved slowly, and I expect that’s in part due to the familial nature of the group as well as the general attitude among the batponies. I managed to ask several of them about it the first day.
(I tried to stay out of Ghost Pepper’s way as much as possible. Even though he was my contact here, and had invited me to come along to learn and observe, I didn’t want to disturb him when he was busy. Plus, if I’m being honest, I’m still reeling a bit from certain realizations I had about
Several words are blotted out.
But the ponies I asked about the caravan’s speed all smiled at me with a sort-of patience that felt a touch condescending. Each one gave a similar answer. It wasn’t about reaching Celena’s Junction as quickly as possible, but about the act of movement; transitioning from one place to the next, and enjoying every hoofstep along the way. Each journey is a celebration, an act of joy and of worship.
They sang a lot, too. Sometimes hymns, which made me a little uncomfortable. But I am here for a cultural exchange, so I put my discomfort aside to ask them about their heathen faith.
They follow the Many-Faced One, they told me. The Moon Himself. A god with a thousand names and a thousand forms. They seemed surprised I had never heard of him (or sometimes her, or sometimes them; pronouns for the Many-Faced One change depending on who’s talking about the deity). They seemed to think that we also had followers of the Many-Faced One in Equestria. I quickly disabused them of that notion.
We follow the six Saints, who brought peace to the Holy Equestrian Diarchy with the Elements of Harmony and the gifts given Them by the unnamable Diarchs themselves.
I tried to share our own faith back to them, and while every single member of Caravan Pepper seemed interested in learning, they didn’t seem to see any contradiction in what they practiced and the faith I tried to share with them. Finally I was brave enough to ask Honor Blade about it.
“The Many-Faced One comes in a thousand forms,” she said. “We see Her touch in every faith practiced by every people. We see bits of Her in the Spirits worshiped by the zebra, in the kirins’ Great Mother Tree, even in the faith your people teach. The Lunar Diarch, the one you call ______, is one of Her forms.”
It is blasphemy, I told her, to say the Diarchs’ names out loud. She laughed.
“Why should it be taboo to praise Her, with Her own glorious name? She gave us names, so we could use them, not keep them hidden! Names are a part of us, something to be proud of.”
Even as I’m writing this down after a long day of journeying, it’s still hard to think about. I was told that the heathens of the world were savage, ignorant, and in desperate need of the peace and direction brought by the Saints and their teachings. But these ponies don’t seem at war with themselves. They don’t seem directionless, or without joy and purpose. Indeed, they just seem like normal ponies. And ponies with a faith that is so much more joyful than I am used to.
I don’t know what to think.
Day 2
We traveled south, along the coastline of the ocean. Once the city in the distance was but a memory, our pace did increase a little.
One of the strangest things to get used to while traveling with these ponies is the food. While they’re on the road, batponies travel as light as possible, to make room in their wagons for personal belongings and cargo for sale. We’re hauling silk spun by one of the tribes in the northern Free Zebra Republic; and Ghost Pepper assures me that every bit of profit will be important for future purchases. So instead of packing lots of food, we forage.
Grazing. It’s an extremely strange experience. So when there is food to share, it becomes an event. Breakfast and lunch consist of the wild grasses and grains that we can forage. Dinner every night is a party. And even the caravan boss himself helps cook. It’s probably where Ghost Pepper became such an incredible cook.
He’s teaching me camp cooking skills. I had determined, when the journey began, to keep a sort of distance between me and the object of my sinful infatuation, in order to not even get close to the strictures of my Oath of Chastity. Ghost Pepper’s natural charm and easy kindness make that difficult. Especially when he insists on making sure all of my comfort is seen to, as well as seeing that I fit in with the rest of them.
It was on his recommendation that I not wear my armor for this trip, for both practical and political reasons. I still wear the holy robes that denote my position in Saint Rarity’s Order of the Knights Radiant, but even these are starting to feel out of place as we continue south. I wish I could put on something colorful. Not like the dresses of the other mares, but something like Ghost Pepper’s loose and comfortable-looking trousers and shirt, complete with the wide-brimmed sun-hat he likes to wear, of woven straw.
He caught me admiring his clothing today. It was just his clothing. I insisted, and he said he believed me. His eyes said he knew more than he was letting on, though. At least he let the matter drop.
I thought when I started out I’d have the strength of will to not give room for temptation in my mind. I may have overestimated my own capabilities.
Day 5
The last few days of travel have been the same. Not to say they were boring or monotonous! But there was precious little detail to write. I am, of course, mentally cataloging all I can about the batpony culture and faith, but this is a personal journal, and there’s no way I’m turning it over when I return for my official report.
But today something exciting happened. We made contact with another batpony caravan. They were stalled out by the side of the road, suffering.
I’ll spare you the full extent of the details, journal. But it was bad. At least two-thirds of the caravan were ‘incapacitated’. I sprung into action, using my rune gauntlet to try and determine the nature of the ailment. It was tainted water.
We found the culprit. The boss of Caravan Lime had been sold several faulty water purifiers; they were malfunctioning, and my spells were able to determine the presence of giardia and other bacterias in the water.
Ghost Pepper quickly ordered that his own ponies bring out every pot they had, and we began boiling every drop of water that Caravan Lime had collected, as well as our own. Meanwhile, I began treating the miserable, dehydrated ponies.
It’s odd. When they saw my robes, their first reaction was fear. Even though I was here to heal, they knew what my robes represented, and it frightened them. I hated it a little at that moment.
It took all day, though I didn’t mind the delay in the slightest. My calling is to heal, after all, and I take joy in the act. Even though the disease is rather messy, it doesn’t bother me.
Between healing, recovery, and boiling water supplies, the whole process will delay us about two days, after which we’ll be sharing the road with Caravan Lime.
Day 8
Journal, It took us three days, not two.
It has been a very busy three days, but I’m more than happy to be on the road again. And as a bonus, traveling alongside Caravan Lime means there’s even more opportunities to learn.
At first, Lime Salt opposed my presence. Many batponies are wary of me, as I am from the Diarchy. It’s not that batponies are xenophobic; as I mentioned earlier, they have no problem adopting outsiders into their families. It’s the robes. And what they symbolize.
Ghost Pepper offered an elegant solution, one I did eventually accept. Even though exchanging my robes for other clothing will mean I’m out of uniform, I know in my heart who I am and what I represent. So I don’t mind.
But when he suggested I see some of the mares to borrow a traveling dress I balked. I thought it would be an issue, but he shrugged, smiled, and offered me some trousers and a loose shirt just like his.
That was better. I even get a hat.
One of the most interesting things about traveling alongside Caravan Lime is I got to meet [crossed out].
There is a note in the margin:
I have been informed by Ghost Pepper that it is improper to refer to ponies by their past name after they transition; throughout these early entries I frequently use Lily Bloom’s deadname unknowingly. As per Pepper’s request, I have blotted them all out. I also misgender Lily several times, but I went back and added the letters I need in order to change that.
She’s about to undergo some ritual that I don’t quite understand. Everypony seems so proud of her, but nopony in Caravan Lime seems ready to explain to me what this ritual is, or what it means. They keep calling it ‘The Moon’s Phase’ ritual.
I gather that it’s a sort of rite-of-passage for [crossed out], something that has to do with the batponies’ god/goddess, but I can’t determine much more than that. And Ghost Pepper is too busy to ask. I’ll wait for tomorrow. Whatever it is will probably be a fascinating entry for my eventual report back home.
Only now that I write that sentence, my heart aches.
There’s a part of me that never wants to go back. Ever.
By the Saints Above, that’s heresy. But these people, these wonderful ponies, are more open, more loving, more accepting than anything I’ve experienced before. Certainly more than the noble courts of New Canterlot City, or the Ivy Seminary, where I trained for Knighthood. Certainly more than the company of some of my Knight comrades.
I feel more at home here then
Several words are blotted out.
I can’t think about it too much. Don’t think too hard. Just enjoy what I have right now.
Day 9
Ghost Pepper finally had a moment to tell me about ‘The Moon’s Phase’ ritual, and I couldn’t be more shocked.
I didn’t know it was possible. I never imagined.
Ponies born to the wrong biological sex? Ponies born with no gender? Or multiple genders? Or shifting genders?
My mind is spinning.
The ritual itself is hard to describe. It was religious, as I thought before.
I feel lucky I was even allowed to watch. Several members of Caravan Lime protested my presence due to what I represent. But it was a weak thing, and when Ghost Pepper reminded them that it was my knowledge and my magic that helped them when they were sick, they relented. Each one with a stern warning that if I disrupted [crossed out]’s ritual I would be forever banished from batpony caravans.
To my surprise, even the members of Caravan Pepper agreed with them, though they seemed to trust me that I wouldn’t disrupt anything. I had no intention to.
Which was odd. I know that back home, they teach that these things are forbidden. Sinful.
But over the last few weeks I was starting to reassess what I thought was sinful. And whatever was happening to [crossed out] tonight was not sinful. It was beautiful.
I felt jealousy, and I couldn’t understand why.
The ritual began with a song. Everything batponies do is by song. They sing before they eat. They sing before they set off for the day. I was uncomfortable about the hymns first. I think I even call them heathen, just a few entries ago. Not even a week later, and I’ve grown to love the sound of their voices and their Harmony. I’ll join in as soon as I know the words.
But this song was different. [Crossed out] stood in the middle of her family, smiling, as they sung to her a hymn about the Many-Faced One. How She loves her children. How She honors change, even as she changes with each phase. How each change is a blessing from Her.
[Crossed out] cried as they sing, happy tears. She’s only a teenager, probably thirteen or fourteen. She has such a life ahead of her, I think.
I don’t know why I wrote that.
She was standing on a wooden platform, slightly elevated, while they sang to her. When the song was over, caravan leader Lime Salt stepped up and spoke.
It was a story about [crossed out]’s life. How she first came to the caravan, when her parents had to separate from their old group for some reason. He spoke of how she was an eager worker, a help for the clan, a willing hoof and an essential piece of their success.
He stepped back into the circle and another pony stepped out. An ancient crone, barely able to stay on her hooves. The crone spoke of [crossed out]’s first sale, working the clan’s booth at the open-air market in Jubilation. With a twinkle in her eye, the crone spoke of [crossed out]’s business acumen, and her brilliant future as a merchant.
Another pony stepped out. A middle-aged earth pony. He spoke of his pride for his daughter. He shared memories of when she was first born, and how pleased he was when she took her first flight on leathery wings.
Over and over, each member of the caravan took their turn, sharing memories of [crossed out]. Funny stories, happy stories. Each time using the new pronouns she would assume at the conclusion of the ritual. When every member of the clan stepped forward, Lime Salt presented her with a small journal. On the cover was written [crossed out]’s name.
“Here we have written all the stories of you we have shared tonight, and more. All of our memories of the pony you have been. And the pony we think you will be.”
He took the cover of the book, with the name written on it, and tore it off. [Crossed out] took the book, and held it while Lime Salt affixed a new cover, this one bearing the name Lily Blush.
“[Crossed out] is not dead, is not gone. Everything she has done remains a piece of all of us. Even if the name changes, the good and beauty she has brought to our hearts remains forever. But we say goodbye to a piece of her tonight. [Crossed out] is no more. Lily Blush remains.”
Lime Salt then guided her off the small wooden platform. Lily then placed the torn cover on top of it. Another member of the clan brought her a torch, and she leaned down, setting fire to the platform.
It wasn’t just a platform, I realized. It was the beginnings of a bonfire.
I couldn’t take my eyes from the flames as I watched them consume the wood, the cover.
The name.
There were tears in my eyes.
It wasn’t possible. It was against the will of the Saints, wasn’t it?
Could a pony truly cast aside something that was a part of how they were born? Could they truly be reborn, just that easily?
I felt uncomfortable.
No.
That’s a lie.
I felt jealous.
It was a hideous thing, a simmering, green gremlin of bitter envy that wormed and crawled in my heart. It seemed so easy for Lily. Her entire family surrounded her, hugging her, embracing her, loving her. She was fresh. New. She had a whole world of potential in front of her.
Everything wrong about my life flashed before my eyes. I’d joined the Knighthood because I hated what life seemed to have in store for me. I hated that my mother wanted me to marry, have foals. I hated the things she wanted me to learn. I hated the dresses I wore. I hated being made to say things I didn’t want to say. To be something I didn’t want to be.
I hated it so much.
I walked back to my wagon, feeling emptier that night than I’d ever felt before.