//------------------------------// // Steadfast Ascent (Edit/Update, 3/31/2015) // Story: Diary Of The Banished // by DouglasTrotter //------------------------------// My father said that when I was born, two beautiful eyes stared back at him. He laid me on the bed next to my mother, and both of their elated smiles reflected off the two blue eyes that gazed at them. The eyes that gazed back at them gleamed with happiness and wonder. In the serene moment, my parents nodded towards each other. Inside the quaint house that stood near the eastern coast of Equestria, a curious and resolute unicorn colt was born in the village of Gallopia on a calm morning: Steadfast. Time passed, and I took my first steps when my hooves were strong enough to carry me. Each nook, cranny, crack, and crevice held some fascination. My parents stood behind me to help guide my inquisitive nature while I wandered the house. Each journey, to my fascination, ended at a particular door beyond my reach. Though my memories of that young age are clouded, I remember one fateful day when the door beyond my reach opened. It took a few moments for my eyes to focus as a lush world filled with magnificent objects came into view. I stood on my father's back. My eyes gravitated towards the sky before they scanned the area around me. Grass and tree leaves glistened in the brilliant light of the sun, due to the apparent rain the previous night. My gaze focused on one object then locked onto the next in rapid succession. Despite the words of caution my father gave me, I ignored them and fell off his back. My unicorn father told me how unusual it was I didn't cry. Instead, I continued to look around the area while still on my back. "What have I seen? What was yet to be seen?" and other questions must have raced through my restless, three-year-old mind. Both of my parents talked about how I stayed up late with my eyes glued to the window in my room. The clearest memory comes from the time I passed by the new mirror in the family room while on my father's back. Time appeared frozen. while I scrutinized myself. Unlike my father's hooves, mine were a semi-dark red color while the hairs on my mane and tail were a silvery color. Even my coat color appeared to have a different hue to it. The only similarity between my mother, my father, and myself were the horns on our heads. Time unfroze, and, though we went to the park that day, several other fillies and colts playing with one another, I kept to myself. It was later that night I overheard a conversation between my parents. A "special" day would be coming up for all the fillies in colts in the village. To my surprise, the special day happened after my fourth birthday. *** *** *** Several families gathered at the fence on the western side of the village. A grey stone structure cast a long shadow on the ground: in front of us stood a new building several of the villagers had worked on. I felt ecstatic when I looked at the place. A new chapter in my life had come. My parents told me about school, and, though the cobblestone pathway led to an unimpressive structure made of marble and limestone, images and thoughts resonated within me when I imagined what I could be learn. My hooves were the first ones to touch the cobblestone pathway. Three others came behind then passed by me. I turned my head, catching a glimpse of one small earth pony colt that relentlessly clutched onto his father's tail. He pleaded with his father then turned to his mother, begging to go home so he could play with his toys. Some of the other fillies and colts questioned their parents as to why they couldn't stay home. I returned home after the short day, journeyed up the steps to my room, and stared out the window near my desk. Despite the day being a simple introduction to our teacher Ms. Parabola, it stuck in my mind. It's hard to tell who was more annoyed at the dinner table, my mother or father, when I pestered them about when our lessons would begin. Soon, night turned to day with it being the real day for our first lesson. Just like the previous day, my mother woke me up, I gave her a quiet yawn, my father carried me on his back to the school, and they stood near me. I will always remember what happened next as my mother gave me a firm, gentle hug before I went inside. Almost on instinct my hooves raised to hug her in return. The other stallions and mares displayed the same sense of unease as my parents; it was obscured by a veil of cautious, optimistic happiness. I settled into a routine, day-by-day, as my insatiable appetite for curiosity grew. Ponies had learned so much in those two hundred years since Nightmare Moon's imprisonment. It astounded me, however, the sundial outside of the class room -- much like my happiness -- ticked away towards the end of our lessons. Things changed when my mother picked me up from school one day. We journeyed down a different street. I wandered off and came upon a place I had never seen before. The mundane door opened. Shelves lined the wall with a sturdy piece of furniture in the center of that large, circular room. Each space on the shelf cradled the books that sat on them. A noise caught me off guard. Mother spooked me, and then scolded me for running off. I asked her what I had found. "This is a library." My mother said. "Library" barely graced my ears as I darted to one bookcase. My hooves couldn't touch one tome before I was soon levitated onto my mother's back. She placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. Out of kindness or wanting to encourage me, she checked out a book for me to look over at home. That wondrous place was a second home for me. My first book talked about nature, science, and magic. All subjects fascinated me, but science and magic intrigued me the most. Both appeared limitless in their potential. My father showed me his workshop, reinforcing that believe of magic having limitless potential. There were various piece that appeared broken beyond repair. Though he took me into the shop from time-to-time, I wasn't allowed to venture into it until I turned seven. I watched how my father fixed the items the others ponies had brought him. He used a spell of his own design. Developed throughout his lifetime, the spell fixed things in an almost mystical manner. A broke vase was put in front of me. I received a wink before the various pieces swirled around the object. They moved in rhythm with one another until they merged into the original object, cracks and voids disappearing. I heard that familiar chuckle when I attempted to replicate the spell. I turned to the vase, my father, and then looked at the broken piece of a toy windmill. I illuminated my horn, and my father's laughter ceased. There was a slight gasp when I managed to fix the broken object. Another piece was nudged toward me. I focused my gaze, illuminated my horn, and cast the spell once more. Just like the first one, it was fixed. My father scrutinized each section before I received a firm pat on the head. After that day, I studied all the books on magic the library could offer me. Our teacher taught the village's unicorn fillies and colts how to harness their skills. Some days we trained while other days Ms. Parabola spoke of her days in Canterlot, studying among the other unicorn scholars in the arts of science and magic. Though I was ready to learn her skills, I wasn't ready to learn about the word "limitations" when we started our levitation training. The other unicorns could levitate their objects with ease under the teacher's guidance. I had no problem either. Instead, my troubles came from keeping more than three objects aloft at the same time. I discovered my flaws as all of the other unicorns could levitate six items, some levitating up to ten. Our lessons progressed beyond simple tricks to more advanced studies. It felt wrong that I could only levitate three objects, but I pressed on, despite those limitations. Before our lessons began, the teacher would ask us to recite the one rule she believed in among all things. We were to "never push a magic spell beyond its breaking point," lest dire consequences be brought upon the caster. It was a calm summer day when Ms. Parabola lifted part of her mane. Several gazed on while the color drained from one filly's face, her color almost similar to my coat. Ms. Parabola's right ear was shorter than the other, singed near the top with a heavy scar across her forehead. Her dark blue mane covered her disgrace as she lowered it back down. She spoke of being the "lucky one" in the course of what happened. In a stern voice she stated to all of us, "This is the consequence of misused magic." The scar didn't bother me. Just like it was wrong for me to levitate only three items, I believed it was wrong to not push magic to its limit. Every book I looked through in the library spoke of magic's limitless potential. My father's spell proved it couldn't have boundaries. I wanted to question Ms. Parabola and what she did wrong, but the words failed to come out. My rather foalish seven year old self decided that I would break free of my limitations by pushing a spell beyond its limits the next day. *** *** *** No pony saw me when I headed to one of the outside bathroom stalls in Gallopia. Light from the small, crescent-moon shaped recess embedded in the door barely illuminated my secluded work. I opened the small bag to the glow from the vial of liquid I prepared with great care. It pushed my magic to the limit when I imbued that alchemical mix to enhance whatever it was poured onto. With a small bit of allowance saved, I procured some fireworks four days prior to my experiment. I caved into my fears. My inner, foal like self took over after I poured the mixture onto the fireworks and watched them glow in a more vibrant green colored light than the liquid initially did. The bag was left in the bathroom when I darted out of the stall. I bolted to a nearby house. A shrub, sitting near the house, acted as a safe place to hide. From the safety of natural barrier, I watched the light in the stall glow even brighter. I ducked. Splinters flew past me. The roof of the outhouse flew into the sky. It disintegrated a cloud in its path. Ponies from all over the village gathered around. That childlike sense of panic rooted itself deeper into my core as the commotion continued to grow. I snuck from spot to spot and made my way home. Day turned to night, and the chaos subsided. My parents talked about the incident at the dinner table, and I felt compelled to tell them what happened. My father snickered at me. After a sigh from my mother, both said they were glad none were injured. From the window in my room, I watched my father leave the house. He fixed the bathroom stall without a problem. Before I went to class, I examined the stall. There were several scratches in the wood surface, a small piece near the back missing. Part of me remained intrigued at how powerful the blast could have been if I augmented the potion even further. I returned to my lessons, finding the same emotions of joy and disheartenment with the days that passed. *** *** *** Days turned to months with our lessons coming and going. Before I knew it, several of my classmates earned their cutie marks. One colt earned his by juggling a few balls in the air. A filly earned hers by solving a complex math equation while one of the odder ponies earned theirs by knocking down a tree with one swift buck of a back hoof. My day, or rather night, came when I was at home. In a brilliant flash of light my "mark" appeared just like the other students said. I managed to replicate a rather complex spell when the mark appeared on my side. The cutie mark appeared in the shape of a blue book with three white stars on the cover, the stars forming a triangle. It seemed to confirm my ability to replicate magic spells, regardless of the their complexity. As I returned to my studies -- my smile at the fact I earned my cutie mark fading rather quickly -- I heard the feint sound of a sob. I crept toward my bedroom door and peered through the small opening to see my father in the hallway next to my mother. Both of them went into their bedroom. My mother's cries went silent. To this day, I'm unsure if she was happy or saddened for me. The fillies and colts in my class took notice when I went to class the next day. None of them approached me, even the friendlier ones remained at a distance while I made my way to my desk. Hushed voices surrounded me. I overheard one pony, in a sardonic tone, say the mark fit me "perfectly," turning away as I looked at them. Ms. Parabola seemed to be the only kind one to speak to me. I stood in front of the class, after the teacher's kind nod of encouragement, and told the class what I had done. It took little effort to showcase the spell I learned. Silence remained in the classroom when I finished the spell and my story. The teacher's elated smile at the complex spell I managed to reproduce faded when I told her about returning to my studies. Her unusual look fueled my curiosity. Another student was called to the front to talk about their cutie mark, having earned theirs last night as well. I wondered if I had done something wrong when I was asked to sit back down. Ms. Parabola's disheartened gaze is one of several that mar my memories. Our final lessons came, and all of us graduated as the first class from the first school in Gallopia. My mother and father smiled at me when I graduated. A new set of fillies and colts entered into the school on graduation day. The mares and stallions that graduated looked toward the village while some looked toward the horizon. Several talked about the possibilities that lay beyond Gallopia. Those that left the village had an unusual look about them. Even if it was a simple task, they smiled at what they did. The happy smile from my colt-hood had turned into straight faced expression. I prepared to settle into my life of mediocrity, but fate played an unusual hoof on my eighteenth birthday. My parents entered into my room while I sat at my desk. Time had eluded me as both of them, in a joyous tone, said, "Happy Birthday, Steadfast." They levitated an unusual gift towards me, placing it on my back. For my last birthday, and all of my birthdays since I found the library, I received books. The meticulous work put into the gift peeked my curiosity: my parent's gift was a bag made for rugged travel. My mother leaned in, gave a gentle hug, and then removed the saddlebag. She placed it on the floor between us. In a hushed voice she said, "you need to find your own path, my little Steady." In my father's eyes was a distinct look of determination, holding the same sentiment as my mother. A strange sensation came over me. That same, lost feeling of discovery, when I found Gallopia's library as a colt, returned to me. There were so many words I wanted to say. I could only manage a "thank you" to my parents. Before I could examine the bag further, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. An envelope levitated in front of me; it was sealed, a strange emblem embedded into the gold wax seal on the back. Inside was a note that I wasn't to open until my destination had been reached. With the note secured in the right pocket, I was told a story that was not unlike something a small filly or colt would be read at bed time. My parents spoke about the magnificent city at the heart of Equestria, Canterlot. Inside the grand, royal walls of Canterlot existed a library that held a plethora of books for any eager pony to study. The story sounded like a true fairy tale, yet it had to be accepted since Canterlot existed. Though I heard the words of my mother and father, I heard something else. I believe, now that I think back on it, their hope was me finding true happiness in this world. The hug from my mother ceased my frantic thoughts. My hooves rose on instinct when I hugged her in return. With the bag placed with care on the circular carpet in the middle of my room, I ended my studies early and crawled into bed. A strange sense of peace washed over me as my mother and father left the bedroom. Time passed in an instant, my eyes closing to moonlight then opening to sunlight. That was the first time I had a true peaceful night's sleep. In the rays of the morning sun, my gift sparkled. It appeared my sleep was more serene than I thought when I saw my bag prepared with food, water, and amenities for a long journey. One pocket on the rugged saddlebag contained enough bits to rent a shop in Gallopai for an entire month. The right pocket caused me to stop. In my mind, the words of my father and mother resonated as I remembered them telling me, "Never open the note until you reach Canterlot's library." The bag could take just one more item, and, from my bookcase, I selected the blue book with my personal notes. My thoughts shifted to the room when I approached the door. This room, this house, this village served as a home. It was the last day to give a farewell. That notion was erased I saw the time: the journey couldn't wait. *** *** *** The saddlebag had a small bit of hefty to it when I levitated it onto my back. With the door closed to the bedroom -- my hoof steps quieter than usual -- I proceeded down the dimly lit hallway. A small fireplace existed in the family room. Nestled under a soft blanket on the couch near the fireplace were my parents. Their peaceful expressions stopped me. It was the first time I heard a small voice tell me what to do. Our house obliged my request when I traveled down the stairs, my hoof steps remaining silent. At the front door, I gave my parents one last look. The goodbye to them was given under a quiet, heavy breath when the front door closed behind me. Gallopia remained quiet in the early morning hours, the streets empty. Ms. Parabola taught us that time had no emotion, only representing change in the world. This instance seemed to contradict our lesson. My hooves were weighed down with each step I took. Though a new wonder existed outside of Gallopia, a sense of hesitation took hold at Gallopia's front gate. My eyes fixated on the sign. "Welcome every pony who enter our small quaint village of Gallopia. Be you welcome any and all." For what seemed like the first time since I was a colt, I smiled at what was in front of me. Today, today the world was my school when I mustered the strength to take that first step past the fence of the village that raised me. My hopes and dreams were higher than ever when I trotted down the path. Gallopia vanished behind me. I stretched my hooves as I stopped under the shade of a nearby tree after the sun reached its highest point in the sky. Several leaves fell onto the map. A noise followed. In the tree's canopy, tangled amongst the vines, I saw something rather spectacular. A beautiful, snow white eagle. She struggled to get free from the thick vines that wrapped around her large, majestic wings. The eagle squawked louder, almost pleading with any passerby to help remove the vines. My attempts to loosen the vines with my magic garnered a louder response. I found myself perplexed by the reaction. There was little recourse as I decided to climb into the tree. I tugged on the vines with my teeth while moving some around with my horn. The eagle soared into the air, freed from entrapment confinement. She gracefully landed on the ground in front of the tree after her brief flight. Our eyes met one another. She appeared to wait for me until I came back down. With my hooves back on solid ground, I saw how beautiful she was in the sunlight. Her feathers shined in the brilliant light. Though her impressive height intrigued me, being almost as tall as me, her eyes, those beautiful sky-blue eyes struck me; they held an unnatural spark of happiness and lust for life. She emanated a few gentle squawks. After I furled the map back up and placed it into my bag, I gave her a soft nod in return then resumed my journey toward Canterlot. The eagle happily perched herself on my back. Those wondrous eyes spoke for her. I said "suit yourself," smiled, and continued the journey. With all the memories given to me, that may be the one that engraves itself into my core as I had gained a traveling companion. On a gentle wind, I heard a voice say "Otra" and spoke that word. The eagle brushed her soft wing against my right ear. There was a slight nod from her. My trot turned into a steady, slow, soft pace. Three days passed as Otra and I continued our trek toward the distant horizon. Though both of us grew accustomed to each other, part of me worried about our food supply. Those worries diminished when Otra found her own food. Night came on the third day, and we prepared for bed. I found the fire to be rather comforting with Otra sitting near me. I grabbed an extra blanket from the bag then gave it to her. As we bedded down for the night, my eyes closed while I wondered what tomorrow would bring. Soon, wind rushed passed my face. I felt as though I were flying through the air. My eyes opened, the strange sensation growing stronger. The ground existed far below me. Objects came into view before they passed by at a rapid pace. I looked up. Otra latched onto me and had flown us some distance from the campsite. The more I looked at her eyes, the more she didn't seem like herself. It terrified me to look into her doll like eyes, the moonlight reflecting off of them. Though her soulful demeanor was gone, Otra took great care not to drop me. Her eyes focused on the tower that loomed in the distance. The dark tower came into view, and Otra flew us to the top. My body grew cold, almost going numb. I remained motionless on the ground where she had placed me. Otra hopped over to a nearby perch. Her talons scraped against the solid stone surface. I got up then laid back down. Hoof steps echoed in the eerie night air. The moonlight illuminated a small outside area on the stone structure. Through my half-closed eyes I watched a sturdy door open. I encountered that stallion for the first time in my life.