“… and since the only way to remove the amulet appears to be for the wearer to desire to take it off, then it stands to reason that we must convince Trixie to remove it,” explained Friar Jacques. “As waking her up for a moral debate would be… ill advised, Princess Luna’s stewardship of the Land of Dreams would seem to be the most likely avenue of intervention.”
As he explained his thinking, he deliberately put the tearful reunion of Spike and Twilight – a reunion happening just on the other side of the room – from his mind. It was difficult in that confined space to give them much privacy, but he could at least grant them the privacy of attending to a different task.
“Reasonable,” said Morning Song. The other ponies nodded their heads in agreement. “Still, I’m concerned about whether Princess Luna will be able to maintain the dream without Trixie waking up.”
“Really?” asked Ironhide, incredulous. Then, clearing his throat, he said, “That is to say, I’m surprised to hear you say that, Lieutenant. Her Royal Highness is an alicorn princess, after all, and the Princess of Dreams, specifically.”
“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d agree with you,” replied Song, who then gestured to the amulet. “But that is the Alicorn Amulet.”
“Note the name,” interjected Fritters quietly, earning a snort of laughter from Marble Slab.
“We cannot take anything for granted with an item like this,” Song continued. “We’ve already seen that it has some… pretty powerful defensive measures on it.”
Jacques nodded. “Your concerns parallel my own. It has taken such a Dark hold of her that she will no doubt be resistant to its removal. If it grants her power over dreams even in some limited fashion – and we cannot assume it does not, without knowing more of its origins – then that could be a severe setback.”
“It did seem to be messing with Trixie’s perception of reality,” interjected Fluttershy quietly. Ignoring a snort from Rainbow, she added, “I’m certainly not an expert on dream magic, and I don’t want to pretend I am, but that could be a kind of dream or illusion magic.”
“My thoughts exactly,” agreed Jacques. “While I very much doubt that it could come anywhere close to besting Princess Luna, it is a known fact that some practitioners of those foul arts have used a tainted form of dream and shadow magic.” He shuddered at the memory of the Terrorsite which had attacked him in his dreams while he slumbered at the Acreage. “Without talking to Princess Luna, we can’t be certain, but it may be that Her Royal Highness would be so caught up in dealing with the amulet’s defenses that she cannot convince Trixie to remove it. If that is the case…” and this is the part that Redheart will hate, he thought with a sigh, “then I shall ask Princess Luna to create a shared dream and bring me along so as to address Trixie directly.”
“WHAT?!” cried Pinkie shrilly.
Rarity emitted a series of garbled, confused, and somewhat rhythmic sputters before demanding, “Have you lost your mind, darling?”
Most of the others clamored with similar expressions of dismay, though Jacques noted Marble huffing a sigh of annoyance and slipping a few coins to Fritters. Big MacIntosh, somewhat disconcertingly, winced. Ironhide and Oaken exchanged worried looks, while Medevac just sighed, shook his head, and muttered something he couldn’t hear over the concerns of the others.
Redheart, to Friar Jacques’ surprise, did not lend her voice to the dismayed cries. Instead, she just stared quietly at the old priest, her expression bringing to mind that of Sister Sarah, the little nun from so long ago who so often had been simply going about her day, minding her own business, only to come across young Jacques and his brother Henri engaging in one madcap scheme or another. It was an expression that mingled disappointment, annoyance, tiredness, resignation, and questions to the effect of ‘why are you like this?’
Somehow, that made him feel more guilty than if she’d simply yelled at him like the others.
Morning Song whistled sharply to get their attention. “Settle down, folks. This is a unique situation, so we have to consider all the angles. Friar, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I have natural resistance to magic, including Dark Magic, even in the realm of dreams,” he replied. “The Princess herself noted that even she would have difficulty breaking through my mental defenses.” He elected not to mention that – if something did break through – it could do incredible harm to his mind. “Further, I have experienced multiple visions and the… peculiarities that sometimes accompany them. Perhaps most importantly,” his hand unconsciously brushed against the cross that hung around his neck, “I am a priest and confessor. It is my calling and my mission to find and shepherd lost souls.”
“It’s still a big risk,” said Redheart, her voice quiet.
Friar Jacques met her gaze. “I do not believe the risk to be so great. And, even if it was, I am a priest. I could not turn from this any more than you could turn from an injured foal.” He saw from the look in her eyes that the comparison struck a chord with her. “Trust me, Bonne Sœur,” he said, smiling gently, “I will be fine.”
“If it even comes to that,” Morning Song pointed out. “No guarantee it will.”
Nodding, he answered, “Indeed. We will need Princess Luna’s guidance to know for certain.” But for that, of course, we need Spike. Jacques hated to interrupt Twilight and Spike’s tender reunion after each had come dangerously close to death, but time was pressing, and they had not the luxury to wait. Turning to address the pair, he called, “Lady Twilight? Young Spike?” Both turned to face him, and he tried not to dwell on Twilight’s tear-stained features. “I regret the intrusion, but I’m afraid we need you to take a letter, Master Spike.”
“Spike, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Spike! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” sobbed Twilight over and over again into Spike’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Spike, I’m so, so sorry!”
“Twilight,” Spike tried to interrupt. “Twilight, I’m fine it’s okay! Twilight!”
Spike’s attempts to interject fell on deaf ears, so he focused on hugging Twilight back as hard as he could in spite of her armor, hoping that the strength of his embrace would help bring her back down to earth.
Twilight had rushed over the moment he’d regained consciousness, and had not stopped weeping or apologizing since. He was grateful that the others were doing their best to give the two of them some privacy, likely helped by Friar Jacques holding their attention. It gave him more time to focus on what Twilight was saying.
Not that what she was saying made much sense. “I should have— a-and I don’t know why I didn’t… I wasn’t strong enough to… I had her Spike, I had her dead to rights, all I had to do was… and then you wouldn’t have been hurt if I’d only— but I wasn’t strong enough and I’m sorry, Spike, I’m such a coward and if your real mothe— I’m so sorry, Spike, I just—"
Again and again she repeated such things, apologizing and sobbing all the while.
Repeatedly, he tried to interrupt the flow of her bitter self-recrimination, but to no avail. She would not be moved by words. Growing frustrated, and knowing that it was only a matter of time before circumstances forced Friar Jacques and the others to interrupt them – Spike could see who was on the table in the midst of the others; he knew time was short – he decided to take a more direct approach.
Pulling his arms away from the embrace, he seized Twilight’s head and forced her to look him in the eye.
“Twilight!” he snapped, his voice low and intense. “I’m okay, you hear me? I’m fine, because you won and I’m safe and I don’t blame you for anything, got that?”
“But I—”
“No buts! You won, Twilight! You’re being silly! Trixie’s on a table over there and I know it’s because you beat her!”
To his dismay, Twilight looked horrified. “You can see her over there?” She shifted as though to block his line of sight, or perhaps shield him from the unconscious menace. “Oh, Spike, I’m sorry! I didn’t want you to be in the same room as her, but we needed Redheart and Medevac to be here with Friar Jacques to take care of you but also to take care of her and it’s all such a mess and I—”
“Twilight!” he practically snarled, pulling her gaze back to his. “It’s okay, don’t you get that? I’m not in danger!” He smiled broadly, comfortingly. “I’m not afraid, Twilight. I know I’m safe with you watching over me!”
Spike expected Twilight to look relieved, to look reassured.
Instead, fresh tears welled in her eyes, and she looked away in shame, and he could not force her to look at him again. It was as though when he said he was safe with her to watch over him, something inside her broke.
Why doesn’t she understand? How can I make her see how great she is?
Before he could consider how to help her, a voice interrupted.
“Lady Twilight? Young Spike?” Friar Jacques spoke softly, and it was plain in his voice that he hated to interject, but had to. Both turned to face him, and the only thing that made it better was that Twilight’s tear-stained features were, for the moment, turned away, a fact which briefly eased Spike’s sorrow. “I regret the intrusion,” said the friar quietly, “but I’m afraid we need you to take a letter, Master Spike.”
Twilight wrote the letter while Spike stared at Trixie. He had a strange look on his face that Jacques didn’t know how to interpret, but he seemed oddly sanguine about the presence of the mare who’d nearly killed him.
“I kinda…” he rubbed a lump on the back of his head, a souvenir – thankfully temporary – of his brush with an early grave. “I kinda expected her to be more scratched up, you know? I guess I didn’t do nearly as much of a number on her as I thought.”
Jacques thought he sounded embarrassed by the fact. A glance from Morning Song suggested she’d come to the same conclusion. “The amulet probably healed those injuries,” the alabaster earth pony observed. “Besides which, it’s thanks to you that Twilight escaped, which is far more important than ‘doing a number’ on Trixie.”
“Indeed,” agreed Jacques. “And it was Twilight that defeated her.”
More than one pony looked at him curiously. Including Twilight.
Pinkie tilted her head and briefly looked at the ceiling, tongue stuck out as though she was doing difficult mental calculations, “I mean… she sent her packing for sure, so in that sense she beat her, yeah, but the final blow—”
“Yeah, Friar,” Twilight cut in, looking away shamefacedly, “I… I wasn’t the one who… I couldn’t—"
“Twilight is the reason Trixie was defeated,” said Friar Jacques firmly. He did not address her directly – Jacques felt she might be more likely to internalize what he said if he didn’t put her on the spot – but he addressed his statement to the whole of them. “Twilight drove Trixie from the field of combat in disarray, leaving her vulnerable to be picked off by harriers or ambushers. We do not say that the harassers who harried the fleeing army won the battle. Rather, it was the soldiers who made the enemy flee who take the credit. By every conventional metric, Twilight defeated Trixie.”
“I knew she would take care of Trixie,” said Spike with a confident smile. Twilight, once again, looked away, distraught. Spike – thankfully, perhaps – did not seem to notice. “But… who ‘harried’ Trixie then?”
“A shovel,” remarked Marble Slab dryly.
Before the confused Spike could ask what the REF Guardspony meant by that, Twilight passed him a scroll. “All done,” she said, her voice clipped and controlled. “Send it to Princess Luna, please.”
“One alicorn intervention, coming right up,” smiled Spike. He glanced at Twilight as he said this, and his smile faded as his attempt at cheering Twilight up fell on deaf ears. His sigh of disappointment became a burst of fire that consumed the letter and sent it spiraling out and away towards Canterlot.
Every time I see that, I find it remarkable.
Silence fell upon the assembly after the letter’s departure. Jacques, always quite at home in silence, did not find it awkward. It was plain from the body language of those around him that many of them did.
Medevac cleared his throat. “So… as the grunt support staff, I typically don’t see this side of the adventure. Feels kinda weird to ask this but… how long does it usually take for your dragon magic pen pal letters to reach the immortal sovereign rulers of our great nation?”
There was another silence, this one broken by first a snort, then a snicker, then a release of tired, pent-up emotion in the form of laughter from most of the assembly. Even Twilight managed a weak smile.
“Ah, the clarity of the newcomer,” remarked Rarity.
“It’s difficult to give a scientifically conclusive answer,” said Twilight, taking refuge in numbers and ratios, “as I have seldom written to Princess Luna in this fashion. However, we may be able to use her sister as a baseline. The average response time for Princess Celestia, taking into account the current season, the ongoing complexity of the political climate, the time of day, the effect the strikes in Manehatten have had on tea imports from Chineigh, and the Coriolis Effect suggests a median range of one point two three hours and—”
The magical shockwave washed over Friar Jacques like the mighty breakers of a tropical storm, bearing down on him from above and nearly knocking him off his feet even as the rumbling FWOOM of the spell echoed in his ears.
Before he had even recovered his footing, the door of the basement was slammed open to reveal the Warden of Dreams and Diarch of the Night, Princess Luna the Vindicator.
Mercifully, she refrained from using her Royal Canterlot Voice in that confined space, yet her voice reverberated through the room all the same.
“Where is that blasted amulet?!”
Royal Palace, Canterlot, minutes earlier…
Luna found Mason Grey in the wine cellars. That was not terribly surprising. What was somewhat surprising was the fact that he sat in a high-backed chair at a small round table laid with a white tablecloth and a lit candelabra for ambiance, none of which had any business being in this part of the wine cellar.
Also out of place was the pretty unicorn maid who stood in attendance to Mason, serving him a platter of assorted and no doubt supremely expensive cheeses to go with his wine, and giggling like a school filly at whatever story the magnate was currently telling.
His gregarious voice boomed through the room as he presumably reached his punchline. “… and so I said to the griffon, ‘Basted? He’s been marinated!’”
Judging by the maid’s laughter, Luna guessed the full joke was hilarious.
Luna herself was somewhat less amused. She stood partially in the shadows some meters away, out of sight to the mare – who had her back to Luna – but within Mason’s field of view. Luna knew him to have sharp eyes, and guessed he would realize soon enough she was there. My mane might be subtler than Tia’s, yet it is still conspicuous when I do not bother to cloak my power.
Indeed, it was not long before Mason’s gaze rose to meet hers, an impish gleam in his eyes. “Lulu! Come to join us?”
The maid’s head snapped around to look, and her confusion quickly turned to horror at the sight of the princess. Instantly she prostrated herself, squeaking out, “Your Highness!”
Luna had not her sister’s close familiarity with the staff, lacking as she did the advantage of years Celestia possessed. Further, most of the staff prided themselves on being nondescript and unobtrusive. Many of them even had similar cutie marks. It would have been easy for them to blur together. This mare – cream coated with a brown mane and the mark resembling a gleaming domed cover for a serving tray – did not particularly stand out amongst the staff.
Yet Luna had an excellent memory, a necessity as Dream Warden. Thus, while the unicorn maid looked much like many of the palace staff and Luna had precious few interactions with her, the name came quickly to mind. “Rise, Silver Cloche,” she commanded. Shakily, the unicorn obeyed, keeping her gaze low and avoiding Luna’s eyes. The princess arched an eyebrow. “Your duties typically place you in the East Wing, do they not?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” replied the maid meekly.
Where Mason is staying, thought Luna with a mental huff of exasperation. “And you were… diverted from your duties by Mister Grey here?”
Mason scoffed. “Liberated from her duties more like it,” he corrected.
Luna fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Extenuating circumstances may arise in any profession, Silver Cloche,” she said, her voice gentling slightly. Cloche’s ears perked up. “While I’m certain Mister Grey appreciates your attention… perhaps you had best return to your other duties now.”
Cloche curtsied, relief evident as she replied, “Y-yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness.” Turning briefly back to Mason, she curtsied to him, saying, “It was a pleasure to speak with you again, Mister Grey.”
“Ta ta, Clo,” Mason said with a cheerful wave. “You’re my favorite staff member!”
Blushing, Silver Cloche smiled, opened her mouth to reply, caught sight of Luna, blushed harder, and then departed.
Luna waited until the sounds of Cloche’s retreating hoof steps faded. In the meantime, Mason continued helping himself to wine and cheese, periodically dabbing his lips with the kerchief he had tucked into the collar of his shirt. Luna also waited to see if Mason would be the one to break the silence.
He seemed quite content to sit and eat in front of her without uttering a word.
Rolling her eyes, Luna opened with saying, “This table and chair do not belong here, Mason.”
“Don’t they?” he asked innocently, taking a sip of wine.
“No,” she declared. “In fact,” she pointed down the hall with one wing, “they belong in a quiet little corner some way deeper into the cellar…” her words became as pointed as her gaze, “where my sister uses them when she needs a little quiet time to herself.”
Looking rather bemused, Mason wiggled slightly in his seat as though testing it. “Is that so? Well, that would explain the appropriately regal feeling.”
Luna sighed and massaged the side of her head with one hoof. “I had thought you would be unnecessarily risking your life with a flight to Manehatten by now, Mason. Not… distracting the castle staff and absconding with my sister’s table.”
“Eager to get rid of me?” he teased.
“I’m eager for you to take the threat to your life seriously, Mason.”
The grey stallion snorted. “What fun would that be?” Noting Luna’s emerging snarl, he held up a placating hoof and said, “Luna, this is hardly the first time somepony’s tried to kill me.” He tapped on the stolen table and chuckled, “Heck, after this, sun-britches might even try. Though I like to think I’m conniving enough to escape her wrath.”
Luna sighed and closed her eyes, “Mason…”
“Okay, okay, I promise to be careful. Happy?” She opened her eyes to find him taking another sip of wine. “Besides,” he said, chasing the wine with another wedge of cheese, “you’ve met my head of security, right?”
“I have,” she admitted.
He spread his forelegs and adopted an exaggerated, open mouth smile. “Aaaaaand?” he demanded, his voice dripping with drama.
Luna couldn’t help but give a dry smile. “He is… rather impressive. Even among the elite of the Guard, I have seen few who could match him. First Sergeant Brick perhaps, and a few others.”
Mason grinned and winked. “I bet my guy could take ’em.”
“For your sake, Mason, I certainly hope so,” replied Luna. “Have you had any fresh insight into who might have sent those assassins to your—”
A green gout of dragonfire appeared, startling the princess from her line of inquiry.
Mason took another languid sip of wine as Luna caught the scroll from midair, then remarked, “Ah, the Ponyville Problem Parchment. What is it this time, Lulu? Parasprites? Ponynappers? Plague?”
In truth, Luna only half heard him, as the words ‘Alicorn Amulet’ leapt out at her, overriding all other considerations and filling her with great and terrible resolve.
That amulet… that wretched and thrice accursed amulet, long storied in infamy and long lost to time. And now, the parchment smoldered in her magical grasp, now it threatens those mares who saved me from the tyranny of my own sins.
“We must take Our leave of you, Mason,” Luna declared, immolating the letter almost casually. “Our Royal Person is required elsewhere. Be safe upon your journey.” She began to charge a teleport that would take her to Ponyville.
Mason, his face taking on a serious countenance – for once – stood from the table. “Not so fast, Luna. What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
“We have not the time to discuss it with you, Mason,” she replied, not stopping the charge. To pass through the wards of the palace and travel the distance to Ponyville is, regrettably, a rather energy-intensive process. “Rest assured that all will be well.”
“Don’t give me that, your princessliness,” shot back Mason. “I know that was a Ponyville letter, and you just slipped into the Royal We.” He stood before her and looked her in the eye. “Come on, Lulu,” he said more gently. “I can see you’re worried. What’s going on? What can I do?”
Luna met his gaze, seeing the concern there, and hesitated. She did not wish to involve Mason in her affairs, or to put him in any more danger than he was already in. At the same time, he had advised her on sensitive matters in the past, and he was trusted enough to sit in on Cabinet meetings, where he had been an invaluable voice. And it is not as though I need tell him everything…
“An old artifact has returned,” she finally admitted, halting the charge of the spell and holding off from the final burst of power needed to activate it. “Old and Dark.”
Mason frowned. “Care to elaborate on that? I’ve read enough to know that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”
“The Alicorn Amulet,” Luna supplied. There was no recognition on Mason’s face, but she didn’t expect there to be. Its last known sighting was the better part of a millennia ancient, and the circumstances of its last use in Equestria were of a grim era most wanted to forget. "Apparently, some foolish soul put it on and attacked the Bearers.”
“Eesh, Ponyville can’t catch a break,” muttered Mason. “Are they all right?”
“For now, thank the Source,” Luna admitted. “That this artifact re-emerged at all is worrying in the extreme. It has been lost for some time. How it came to be found is a mystery that must be solved.”
Mason nodded understandingly, then said, “Well, I’ll add that to my to-do list when I get to Manehatten.” Luna’s eyebrows raised in shock. “That’s why you told me, right?” Mason asked. “You remembered I have contacts in the archeological field? My highly-paid team of high-risk treasure hunters? The enviably talented source of the innumerable treasures that decorate my various mansions? Lulu, why else would you tell me?”
“Mason, We— I do not wish you to put yourself in more danger looking into this.”
The earth pony grinned. “Oh, I’m far too much of a curious cat to let this one go.” He turned and began his walk to the exit. “Anything for you, Princess. Now go handle business before that amulet smokes one of the Bearers.”
Luna’s initial anger, sparked by the amulet’s return, had dissipated somewhat at Mason’s inquiries, but his off-hoof remark as he departed reawakened it. That the Alicorn Amulet should reemerge now of all times to threaten those she loved was too much for Luna to bear quietly. Her passions were enflamed as she resumed charging the teleportation spell.
It threatened Our beloved sister when we were imprisoned, she thought, her outrage mounting once more as the power built in her horn. Now it threatens those who freed me. And though this ‘Trixie’ seems but a dupe, it seems beyond belief that the Shades should have no hoof in this affair.
The charge of the grand teleportation spell built to a crescendo as power swirled around her like a vortex.
No more! No more shall I fail my ponies! I shall protect Equestria from this Dark menace!
With a thunderous KRAKOOM! she vanished from the cellar.
Whatever it takes.
Luna’s furious energy was tempered as she heard the full story, as well as Friar Jacques’ proposal. “It is clear you have been attending well to your studies,” she said at length. “Not many would consider the Dream Stride as a viable means of intervention in such a matter as this.”
Friar Jacques shrugged humbly. “I imagine most have not experienced a war within one’s own dreams, Your Royal Highness.”
“Mercifully not,” she said with a brief smile, though her face soon turned grave. “You are correct in thinking that the Amulet will resist Our Royal Person. Indeed, the fact that I shall be called upon to battle the Amulet directly will make it difficult for me to persuade her to remove it, like as not. Your presence in a shared dream would be of great value, I think.”
Rarity cleared her throat primly and bowed to the diarch. “With deepest respect, Princess Luna… will that not be dangerous for the good friar?”
“Fah!” scoffed Princess Luna. “In the old days the adjurists would often aid me – and I them – in the Dream Stride. Ancient history to you, but recent memory to me.” Her gaze was that of a battlefield commander as it fell on Jacques. “His heart is that of a warrior adjurist of those bloody days, and he is well-suited to the task.” Her gaze fell once again on Rarity. “So fret not, dear Rarity, Lady of Generosity.” She bared her teeth in a fashion more suited to a wolf than a pony. “Methinks it is the Amulet which ought fear Friar Jacques, and not the other way around.”
While the others digested that statement, Jacques asked what he felt was a pertinent question. “Can the Amulet fear? What is its nature?”
“It is not alive, nor is it possessed by any spirit. It is no being, but merely a rogue construct. That at least, is in our favor. Once it was simply a powerful item. Yet its design was… corrupted. It follows a plan given it by those who turned it to foul purpose. A script if you will, albeit a clever one which adapts to the mind it uses. So it may feel ‘fear’ in that the script recognizes the presence of one who might amend the narrative, and thus it may shy away as darkness flees the light. But it is no more alive than yon chair.”
Jacques nodded, relieved that the Amulet was at least not possessed by some demonic spirit. Though no doubt my Office as a healer of the soul will be required in the course of this, and certainly in the aftermath.
Redheart interrupted his thoughts, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Um… begging your pardon, Highness,” she said quietly, clearly still somewhat awed by the presence of the royal, “but an alternative just occurred to me.”
“Speak, my little pony,” Luna bade her.
Scuffing one hoof against the floor as if screwing up the courage to speak, she asked, “Forgive me if this has already occurred to you all and been discounted as not workable for some reason, but… why not use the Elements of Harmony?”
There was a painfully long silence following the question. A silence broken by Twilight teleporting a pillow to herself, pressing it to her face to muffle the sound, and shrieking, “GAAAAAAH! HOW DID I MISS THAT?!”
Before the other ponies could make similar exclamations, Luna spread her wings upward in a forestalling gesture and said, “Despair not, little ponies. The Elements would not have the effect you think.”
“Why not, Princess?” asked Friar Jacques, who was also rather annoyed with himself at not having considered the possibility. “Such powerful Curatrix magic would most assuredly be of greater strength than this… corrupted artifact.”
“More powerful than the Amulet indeed, Friar, but not more powerful than that precious gift of the Source, the gift of free will.” Luna cast her gaze over the assembled. “Hath none of you wondered why when Celestia used the Elements upon me, they cast me into the moon, but when the six of you Bearers used them, they purged me of the malice of the Nightmare?”
Pinkie Pie tapped her chin thoughtfully, then suggested, “Dramatic tension?”
Luna stared at the pink mare for a moment, her face inscrutable, then gave her own answer as though Pinkie had not spoken. “It was a matter of free will. Nightmare Moon was a sort of construct, not entirely unlike the Amulet’s corrupted script, one of my own making which I invited into my mind deliberately. Because I would not relinquish my hold upon it – or renounce its hold upon me – the Elements banished me to the moon, there to contemplate what I had done for a thousand years. By the time of my return, I had come to regret the evils I had committed but, as I had invited the Nightmare in, I could not be free of it by my own power. I needed the Elements to be free, but I also needed to desire to be set free.”
The princess indicated Trixie with a tilt of her head. “Young Lulamoon does not yet desire to be freed of the Amulet. Of that I am certain. I cannot predict what the Elements would do to her. Likely some form of imprisonment, as was inflicted upon myself and Discord, though I can only guess. The Elements are older even than I, and they are not fully understood even by the Wise. They are Holy artifacts, but still simply artifacts. We must exercise our own judgment in choosing when and how they ought be used. As things stand, they would not break this mare’s chains. To set Trixie free, she must be convinced to accept freedom.”
Silence returned to the room after the princess finished speaking. Most of the ponies looked disappointed, though Twilight looked frustrated. She gave strong indication of her frustration’s source when she muttered, “Still can’t believe I didn’t even consider it.”
“You would hardly be alone in forgetting important details in times of crisis, young Twilight,” Luna reassured her, gently draping one wing over the smaller mare’s back. “Be at peace. None have come to harm by it. Indeed, strange though it may seem, I think it a good sign that it did not occur to you, as it shows your bond to the Elements deepening.” Twilight appeared stunned by this, and Luna quickly elaborated. “The longer one is bonded to the Elements, the more one is granted a sense of them. Almost certainly it is because of your own attunement to the Elements that you knew they would not work as you desire. Thus, you did not even consider it. My sister and I experienced such when we were the Bearers. The longer we bore them, the more we understood intuitively how and when they were to be used. That the Elements did not occur to you should not concern you. Rather, you should rejoice that your closeness to them has grown such that you sensed this without being told.”
Twilight seemed slightly buoyed by this, but her brief consolation lasted but a moment before she returned to her morose state. Accustomed to seeing the young mare gleeful and eager at even the slightest prospect of some new insight into magic, Friar Jacques found Twilight’s present state rather saddening.
To Redheart, Luna said, “It was a wise insight of yours, young healer, even though impossible at this time. Studying as you are the ancient practices of Curatrix magic, it speaks well to your preparedness for the role that you considered it.”
“Th- thank you, Princess Luna,” stammered Redheart as she bowed, blushing.
Luna nodded once, then declared, “It is my judgment that Friar Jacques’ plan provides the best hope for our success in freeing this poor creature and ridding ourselves of this Amulet.” To the friar, Luna further promised, “More details of its nature I shall pass to you in the Dream Stride, Friar, that you may know the enemy you face. I shall teach you there, as days may pass in seconds in a dream. The rest of you shall learn when we awake, but for now there is not much time. There is no telling how long you can keep the mare Lulamoon in this slumbering state, and it would not do for her to wake before we have won the day.”
“Tempus fugit,” remarked Jacques quietly. “What would you have me do?”
“Rest comfortably on yonder bench, then open your mind to me,” the princess instructed. “I shall send you to sleep as I instruct the others in what they must do. Then, Friar…” she declared, her voice alight with the anticipation of battle, “we shall meet our foe.”
Redheart listened to Princess Luna’s instructions, trying not to pay attention to the now slumbering Friar Jacques, nor consider why the friar was slumbering. Despite all his and Princess Luna’s confidence, it still took effort for Redheart to stay calm.
Medevac’s presence helped.
Luna’s deeper instructions did not.
“The Dream Stride may take a considerable time to accomplish,” she was saying. “It is imperative that this wayward mare not awaken.”
Redheart swallowed. “Princess Luna, we are certainly at your disposal, but if I may, Princess… I am not certain what more we can do to keep her sedated without risking permanent harm to her.”
“A regrettable state of affairs,” Luna acknowledged. “Still, the imperative remains. She must not waken, lest even greater harm be done to her by leaving this wicked thing its hold upon her,” she glanced around the room, “to say nothing of harm which may come to all of you.” Affixing Redheart with her gaze once more, she ordered, “For her own sake, and yours, you must keep her sedated.”
The nurse felt sick at the thought of pumping yet more sedatives into poor Trixie’s body, a body they were already pushing to its limits. She was aware of Medevac pressing against her, barrel to barrel, and drew strength from his presence, but it did not change the grim reality of the situation. “Yes, Princess Luna,” she said, bowing her head, her voice quiet.
She was surprised when a gentle hoof nudged her head upward. Luna’s aquiline features, so severe and imperious, were softened with sorrowful compassion. “You have a healer’s heart, young Redheart,” Luna said, her voice warm and sad. “I know how it grieves you to take such measures. Yet much must be risked in war, and there is no war more vital than this. We fight to save this poor mare’s life, yes. But more importantly, we fight to save her eternal life.” Pain was evident in the princess’s features as she concluded, “There is no prison more terrible than the prison of one’s own sins. If she cannot be freed, then only death awaits her, of both body and of soul. I would save her from both, but it is the second that is of everlasting import.”
The intensity of the declaration overtook Redheart like a wild storm upon the open plains. The desire to bring Light to the Darkness, to set aright what had been made wrong – as had wakened in her at Trixie’s first attack – now stirred in her heart once again, a rallying cry against all things Broken and Corrupted in the world.
Even Medevac’s presence beside her seemed transformed, the comfort of a friend made like the presence of a fellow warrior on the battlefield.
New determination rang in Redheart’s voice as she declared, “We won’t let you down, Princess.” Nodding her head towards Trixie, she added, “And we won’t let her down.”
Luna smiled, and Redheart saw in that moment most clearly her resemblance with Celestia. “I know you won’t, my little pony.”
With that said, the princess turned, walked to an open part of the room whereby she could comfortably face both the slumbering friar and the unconscious Trixie, closed her eyes, and lit her horn. White tendrils of light reached out to both Trixie and Friar Jacques, and Redheart felt the radiant power in her hooves and in her chest.
Though she could not see what the princess and friar no doubt saw, she knew in her heart that the battle had begun.
Jacques stood upon a green hill beneath the stars. Nightingales sang in some distant forest grove, and the moon shone brightly.
Though he did not hear her hoof-falls, he sensed Luna’s presence and turned to face her.
“A more pleasant meeting place than the last time we met in the Realm of Dreams,” the princess said, a gentle smile on her lips.
The friar bowed slightly. “You have the advantage of me, Princess, as I do not remember our meeting on that occasion. Only the nightmare that drew you to me. But there will be time enough for such reminiscings later.”
“Indeed. Now we must attend to Miss Lulamoon. A task which, I fear, will fall heavily upon your shoulders.”
Jacques raised an eyebrow. “Shall I take that to mean that our worries have been vindicated, and you cannot engage with her in dreams whilst holding off the Amulet?”
“Regrettably true,” replied Luna, scowling. “That this construct has been so tainted is… an unsettling development. It is no match for me, but my focus must be on restraining its full power, lest it infest her – and her dreams – further. I would be sore-pressed to convince Trixie to remove the Amulet whilst doing so. You, then, must bear this burden. But be on guard. While I shall keep the greater part of its power at bay, it will still have strength in her dreams. As you strive to win her over, it will strive to keep hold, and I do not know what tricks by which it means to seduce her. My direct help to you will be… limited. I may assist you in providing a sense of direction and drawing you closer to where she lies, trapped beneath the weight of her nightmares, but you likely will not perceive my influence, except perhaps subtly. I will help guide you to her, but it is you who must find her and save her. You must convince her to take the wretched thing off.”
“Then there is no way to remove the Amulet by other means?”
Luna shook her head. “She chose to put it on, and so she must choose to take it off. Had its malice not been awakened so quickly, and its hold not grown so cancerously, she might have been tricked into removing it. The blasted thing is but a construct, after all. As it stands, she must accept liberation deliberately. But, as she has not the strength to do it on her own, she shall require your aid, not merely in convincing her, but in the removal of the Amulet itself once she gives you leave to do so.”
Jacques nodded. Just as God opens salvation to all, but not all choose to accept it, so too must one desire to be saved from the entrapments of sin.
“You said the Amulet was… corrupted. Was it not always evil? If so, could it be restored?”
“Not in its present state,” answered Luna. “Not while attached to any victim, and perhaps not at all. Still, no matter how powerful it is, it cannot remain if you are given permission to remove it.”
“Then with God’s help, I shall have to be persuasive.”
Luna smirked. “Quite.” More gravely, she added, “One final thing you should know before I send you into her mind, Friar. The Amulet hates and fears you. The corrupted script has taught it to despise you, as a dog is taught to attack certain prey. It knows you are a threat, yet it also knows that you cannot strike it down without Trixie’s assent. It will account for this. Be cautious.”
Jacques dipped his head. “I shall.”
“Then go with the Light of the Source, adjurist,” she bade him. “I do not know where you shall emerge, but wherever it is will be enemy territory.” With that final admonition, she lit her horn, and Jacques vanished in a beam of light.
Jacques awoke in a wasteland.
Bitter wind assailed him, buffeting him with ash-choked air. The sky was darkened with the roiling, sickly-colored clouds of a desert storm, shot with heat lightning and seeming lit with unnatural inner fires.
The earth beneath his feet was drought-cracked and dark, like the color had been leached out along with the water. Blown upon the fierce wind, pebbles and scree scoured the grim land, ravaging the remains of long-dead scrub, brush, and trees, and assailing the friar with their countless stinging impacts.
He warded his eyes with his magic against the pebbles and ash, but otherwise did not shield himself. The sharp little impacts were unpleasant, but not injurious, and he do not wish to expend his power for something as insignificant as personal comfort.
Better to offer the little suffering as a prayer to God for Trixie’s soul… and keep his power marshalled to face her should it come to that.
Not seeing any landmarks beyond the distant range of mountains, he examined them more closely. The centermost mountain drew his eye. In part, it was because the centermost mountain was the largest and most well defined.
Mostly, it was because of the great, shining light that flared at the top of it.
It gleamed like a beacon, summoning folk to come and bask in its warmth. Its light seemed to promise satisfaction, satiation, the fulfillment of ambitions.
And something about it felt very wrong.
All people are restless, seeking the satiation of their hearts’ infinite desire, thought Jacques, but there is only One who can satisfy our restless hearts… and many false gods who claim they can.
Sensing that he would find Trixie along the way to that beacon, Jacques set off in the direction of the unsettling mountain.
For time beyond reckoning, he walked.
For every step he took, the mountain grew no closer.
The crunch of his sandaled feet upon the coarse earth was the only sound apart from the storm.
The bones of the dead were his only companion.
He had not seen them at first. Grit and ash had concealed them from his sight. But the bones of ponies lay scattered upon the ground, a series of skeletal remains stretched out in an uneven line, as if one by one they had perished on a journey.
A journey, it seemed, towards the mountain.
Little remained of the unfortunates besides their bones. The farthest back were the most ravaged by the brutal elements, and were scarcely discernable from their surroundings. But as he advanced towards the mountain, more details emerged.
The skeletons were all of similar size, likely mares based on the build and the shape of the skull.
As he came across bones which were more intact, he saw that they were all unicorns.
By the time he saw one with scraps of blue cloth still clinging to the ragged bones, he had a strong sense of what he was seeing.
Bright flashes of heat lightning – red and full of hate – arced across the sky as thunder resounded, much closer now than the distant flashes he had seen before. The harsh dirge of the wind became a keening, unearthly wail that strove to reach to the very roots of his spine.
Through the wicked wail came a Dark voice.
“You are not welcome here, Slave of Harmony!”
Jacques put his hand to his sword. “And you are not the Darkest foe I have faced with the help of God, foul construct. You are but a corrupted enchantment, a blighted nightmare. In God’s Name I adjure you to show me what you have done with Trixie Lulamoon.”
A vicious hiss echoed all around him, and the air became tinted with red.
As the bones began to rattle, Jacques drew his sword.
Redheart cast an uneasy glance at Trixie’s heartrate monitor as the beeping intensified.
Probably not a good sign.
“How are her brainwaves?” she asked Medevac.
“Within acceptable ranges,” he answered. “But starting to edge more towards wakefulness by point-zero-one to point-zero-two. Holding steady at that point.”
For now, she thought, hearing the part he’d left unsaid.
“Should we up the dosage?” he asked.
Redheart thought a moment, then shook her head. “Not until we’re closer to that line. I’d rather start with more of Zecora’s potions first. Small dosage of the vermilion orchid mixture. Five milligrams, topically applied.”
Medevac complied, remarking as he did so, “This stuff isn’t that strong.”
“I know,” replied Redheart. “But it doesn’t have to be.”
Softly, Trixie moaned.
I hope.
Moans emanated from the rising skeletons as wind whistled through the holes in their skulls. Jacques quickly found himself ringed in by the walking dead.
“This is what I have done to Trixie, Slave of Harmony!” mocked the voice. “I have stripped away that which held her back! I have opened her to my power!”
“Stripped away her life,” corrected Jacques. “Stripped away the dreams that God has placed upon her heart. Or else, you have sought to, for you have not succeeded yet.” He pointed to the distant mountain. “You offer her the summit of all her aspirations, but can deliver no more than the grave! False savior! You are void of promise!”
“Only in me can she achieve the power she craves. I am her very life!”
With scornful wroth, the priest denied the claim. “You are not alive, Amulet, and even if you were, life and fulfillment is found through the grace of God alone! Your words are emptier than this wasteland, and your lies are laid barer than these bones. For Trixie still lives, as you never will, and the God who can raise up even dry bones to be His Sons and Daughters can surely restore life to a Daughter who is not yet dead! In God’s Name you shall release your hold on her and get thee gone! Your power shall not avail you here!”
The voice of the Amulet chuckled, a gurgle in its throaty laugh as though chortling through blood. “You cannot bid me leave if she does not wish me to leave, Slave of Harmony. And she does not hear you.”
Jacques’ eyes narrowed. “Only because you have stopped up her ears with lies.” His gaze fell upon the skeletons. “And if your lies must be burnt away that she may hear the truth, then so be it. I burn ye with eagerness and a light heart.” He raised his sword, and it blazed with pure white fire.
The Amulet seemed to sense what was coming, and the skeletons leapt forward, their horns charging to strike as keening wails ripped from their coldly grinning jaws.
But it was too late.
The friar swung his blade and cleansing fire swept out from him, engulfing the skeletons, piercing the skeletons, wrapping them within and without with purifying Light that immolated every trace of Darkness lurking within them.
An awful, roaring screech pierced the air like a lance, permeating every rock and tree and stone, but it did not, could not strike the priest.
The scream died, the Light withdrew its intensity, and Friar Jacques found himself alone on a low hill overlooking a dusty, winding cobblestone road which cut through a grassy countryside.
Of the skeletons and the wasteland, there was nothing to be seen.
But the storm, though quieter, remained.
In the relative silence, Jacques heard the clatter of cart wheels upon the cobblestone. Sheathing his sword, he turned in the direction of the sound and began to walk, a psalm on his lips and the Light in his heart.