//------------------------------// // Amidst the Ashen // Story: The Ash // by Raging Mouse //------------------------------// Chapter 27: Amidst the Ashen In the darkness of the meditation halls, someone sobbed. The emotion had scant force behind it, merely producing a quiet squeak every now and then that didn’t carry more than a few paces. It was all the emotion that a soul worn to the core could produce without breaking. A door creaked open and flickering cyan light spilled into the room, emitted from the azure horn of a unicorn mare clad in a gray hooded robe. A steaming bowl hovered in front of her. She closed the door behind her with a shove from a hoof and walked forward until she stood in front of the source of the sobbing. A unicorn with an earthen coat was chained to four posts by the far wall. The posts were part of a pair of rows that stretched between opposite walls of the room; up to eight ponies could be similarly chained at the same time. Her shackles weren’t locked: only a simple bolt on each manacle held them and her in place, easy enough to manipulate even with teeth. But there was a fifth bolt. It locked in place an iron collar around the pony’s neck. From that collar two chains rose, one to secure in place a smaller ring that had been threaded onto the unicorn’s horn and another ascended to a ring in the ceiling. The visitor regarded the captive with deep pity for a moment. The shackles and collar had chafed, making most of the fur underneath fall out and leaving reddened and swelling sores. They also prevented her from lying down. She couldn’t lean on the collar around her neck either: it would choke her. Her eyes were half-closed and glassy. A trail of drool hung from her slack jaw. “Oh child. Why are you doing this to yourself?” The visitor drew back her hood. The face revealed was mangled by a wide scar travelling from the horn almost to the tip of the nose. Three more scars radiated from the base of the horn, but went up over the mare’s head, ruining her blue-white mane, making it sprout in uneven clumps. Her violet eyes were compassionate and tear-filled, and she raised a hoof to touch the cheek of the bedraggled mare in front of her. The gesture caused the captive to flinch and pull away with a whimper and the jangle of chains. “Why does facing your imperfection scare you so? Your fellows in stubbornness and uncertainty have long ago seen reason.” The robed mare gestured towards the empty shackles to either side. “It is painful for only a moment, after all. Then everything is better. There is serenity and hope, and purpose. It doesn’t matter who you were or what you did, you’ll be among friends who accept you. Does that sound so bad?” Only a weak sob answered her. The scarred mare chewed her lower lip for a while and then looked around the room. Her horn lit and a low bench floated over, sliding to a halt between the captive’s legs. “Look, you need to rest. Lie down for a while.” The captive’s barrel fell onto the bench and her head followed. Her eyes closed instantly. Her back rose and fell slowly in pace with her breathing. The ice-coloured mare lied down, prepared to let the captive sleep. They were in some ways very similar despite the age difference, she reflected, and were it not for a quirk of fate their roles could have been reversed. Even their coloration bore similarities. Her own bluish coat and two-toned hair was faithfully varied in reds and tans on the mare in front of her. Tan coat, rust-red hair and a streak of pearl. “Please... let me go.” The blue mare raised her head and gazed at the captive in surprise. She’d expected her to fall instantly asleep given the opportunity. “I’m sorry, child. I can’t do that. The priests have decreed that you shall be put through the conversion and it is not my place to object. I’ll gladly help you in any other way I can. You seem like a kind and gentle pony, and I’d love to welcome you as sister, but only you can unlock these chains. I’m not allowed to touch them.” The prisoner’s lips trembled and her breathing quickened. She opened her eyes fully and looked at the mare in front of her. “But – but if I do that...” “When you do that it will bring forward your imperfections. That which mars your spirit, twisting it into an ugly shape.” A blue hoof stroked a red mane slowly and the captive let her tired eyelids fall closed. “Surely you see that it’s better that way? Even if some ponies are crippled by the revelation, they are nevertheless grateful. To think – all that, festering on your spirit? The flesh is unimportant. Let it be scarred, while your spirit becomes whole. Doesn’t that appeal to you?” The next words to escape the captive’s lips were so faint that the blue mare had to lean forward to hear them, forced out between clenched teeth. “But I’m a monster. I’ve done... a horrible thing. If I... I will die. I know it. I deserve it.” The blue mare sat for a while, stunned by the self-loathing she sensed from the captive’s words. Then she sighed. “We... haven’t traded names, have we? It was impolite of me not to introduce myself. I am Ash-Sister Trixie. You can call me just Trixie, though. I don’t care much for titles nowadays.” Trixie ran a hoof shyly through her disarrayed mane and smiled gently at the red mare. “Will you tell me your name?” “S... Silk. Silk Spinner.” “That’s a pretty name. Silk, what could you have possibly done to deserve death? You are so young, after all. Only barely a full-grown mare.” This drew forth a sob from Silk. Then she started talking, haltingly and incoherently, about two younger brothers who were no more. By the end of the tale Trixie’s cheeks were also wet. She put the bowl of soup, by now suitably warm for eating, in front of Silk’s unmoving head. The mental strain of retelling had finally overcome the young mare’s distress and she’d fallen asleep. Trixie remained seated in front of the mare, letting the glow from her horn dissipate so she was surrounded by darkness and her thoughts had no distractions. Ash was the problem, of course. It remained poisonous even to the ashen, but their tolerance was vastly better. But to grip it telekinetically hurt just as much. She could understand the girl’s reluctance perfectly. The ashen were forcing her into contact with the very substance that had taken from her two loved ones in her care. Silk really only had one choice and that was to go forward, but she had to be given time. The priests’ commands could not be disobeyed – they only had everypony’s best intentions at heart (guaranteed by the purity of their spirits), after all – though they might just be delayed. Yes. The girl needed time to recover and heal. Surely the priests would see that. Trixie had better ask for permission in any case. Purity of spirit was not the same as perfection, and intentions could be misunderstood. She raised her hood and padded softly to the door. She opened it only enough so she could slip out through the crack, then she closed it as quietly as possible, lifting it with her magic to prevent any squeaks or groans from the hinges. Something plopped onto the fabric of her hood. She looked around and saw small, dark impact craters appear in the russet dust around her. Winter didn’t really come this close to the badlands. Instead a rainy season ensued, promising light rains multiple times per day. The parched earth swallowed it all without a trace. The ash also seemed to play havoc with the weather, and fierce thunderstorms raged about once per week, blanketing the ground with hail. The ashen pegasi had lost most of their weather manipulation skills so the weather went largely unchecked. What little control they could muster was saved for the crops. Trixie pulled her robe tight around her body and hurried towards the priests’ dormitories. The early hour wouldn’t be much of a problem; somepony was always awake and praying. Trixie avoided the main entrance, that led directly to the halls with adjoining private chambers, and headed instead to a side entrance that took her to the dormitory’s temple. She didn’t use magic on the door. It was inlaid with alien rock, laboriously hoof-cut into panels and framed with wood. It swung open easily enough by her hoof’s touch. Inside the temple the air was warm and dry. This was one of the first buildings to be refurbished when the ashen set up their base in the abandoned town, and it used to be a minor office building. Now the large wooden halls held holy items: alien rocks mostly and, encased in crystal, a tuft of charred alien grass. The scholars debated intensely whether the relic should be preserved as is or if an attempt should be made to revive the precious greenery of celestial origin. The grass had the main stage in the center of the room, while display counters containing the rocks lined the walls. There was somepony praying in the temple, as Trixie had predicted, but to her surprise there was a crowd already talking to the priest. By their armor they seemed to be a group of patrollers, but the last figure was... different. Trixie’s eyes widened as she saw the magic that flowed from the creature. Its armored shell seemed less designed to protect the wearer and more intended to keep all of that power contained. She moved cautiously closer, and the words of the group’s discussion became audible and clear. The priest was speaking to the creature. “...My rudeness, honoured windigo, but we didn’t anticipate a situation like this. I hope you can understand our curiosity.” The windigo (and Trixie had gasped when she heard that title) spoke in a sharp, echoing voice in which Trixie fancied she could hear arctic winds howling. “I am first and foremost here to satisfy my curiosity. I wish to learn about the ash and the ashen. In exchange for letting me study you – and with you – I will lend you whatever aid I can. If it is true that you are unable to heal the scars that the – ah, revealing – leave behind, then I can definitely offer a service that I think you’ll appreciate.” The windigo motioned a hoof towards a pony who beamed back at her and nodded encouragingly at the priest. Trixie was so shocked when she recognized Berryfield that she gasped loud enough to alert the priest to her presence. Mother Grindstone – a gentle earthen despite her name – glanced at Trixie and made a small nod in greeting before motioning at her to approach and join the group. The windigo continued speaking. “Perhaps foremost on my mind right now is the question of what is causing this injury in the first place?” “Injury is perhaps the wrong word for it, honored windigo...” “Please. Call me Fulcrum.” “My apologies, Fulcrum. These deformities are the signs we bear that our once tainted spirits are now pure, because the taint has been externalised thanks to the blessed celestial ash. They are a source of pride, and also a mark that we are all alike. Nopony is intrinsically pure. That you can cure them is... remarkable. Pure spirit and wholesome shell is a blessing indeed.” “How do you know that the spirit is ‘pure’ as you call it?” “Our exteriors were joyful. At the same time ponies harbored darkness within. We basked in the light magic and in harmony while our spirits were chaotic, discordant. With the revelation brought on by the ash, the situation is reversed – which certainly is better, don’t you think? We might now be physically bound to darkness and chaos, but that allows our spirits to soar in light and harmony. It is a small burden to bear an imperfect shell for a lifetime, when you will be reborn into a better one for eternity once the ash achieves its potential.” “I... see. And what if I told you I could probably bring about this... revelation... without any damage to the pony?” Mother Grindstone imitated a fish for a moment, opening and shutting her mouth while she stared bug-eyed at Fulcrum. “I’d... call it a miracle.” “Excuse me, Mother, if I may interrupt... Fulcrum? Can you really do that?” Fulcrum turned and Trixie took an involuntary step backwards as she was presented with two burning blue eyes below a monstrous insect’s maw that belched azure and onyx fire. “I believe so.” Mother Grindstone studied Trixie’s face and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask, Sister? Is something the matter?” Trixie nodded. “Forgive my forwardness, Fulcrum, but my name is Ash Sister Trixie, and – is something wrong?” Fulcrum had stumbled backwards right after Trixie had introduced herself. “No! No... The winds of magic blew strong, that’s all. Please continue.” “There is a pony in the halls of meditation. She’s been set on the path of revelation, but dares not take the final step – she fears it would consume her, leave her with a shell unable to sustain her. So she’s been too afraid to proceed. She’s wasting away, and I fear that she’s now too weak to survive the revelation even if her outer signs proved benign. I came here to ask the Ash Mother for permission to postpone her conversion, but... perhaps, Ash Mother, there is now another option?” Mother Grindstone beamed at Trixie and Fulcrum. “It seems you were sent by the ash to be here at this time! If you can aid this unfortunate pony through her ordeal then it is surely a sign. Will you do as Ash-Sister Trixie asks?” The windigo remained silent for a while. “May I see the mare?” A little while later Fulcrum stood in front of Silk Spinner. She looked at the chains and the shackles. She took in the bench and the bowl of soup. She turned and looked at the assembly of ponies behind her. Trixie, Grindstone and the ponies of the guard patrol all looked at her with mixtures of hope and awe. “Please explain this set-up.” Mother Grindstone spoke. “This is the typical revelation rite for the reluctant or stubborn unicorn. It is symbolic. Once they truly understand that only their own shortcomings prevent them from being free they will convert. This is represented by the shackles. As you can see, the latches are easily manipulated by teeth, not even to mention the telekinesis all unicorns possess. All they have to do is open the latches with their magic and they are free.” “I assume there is a ‘but’.” “Very perceptive, honoured Fulcrum. See the little ring around her horn? It is hollow. Inside are a few grains of ash.” “...Ah, I understand. The telekinesis passes by the ashen grains as the unicorn tries to grip the latches. The pain makes them grip the grains instead, which increases the pain further.” Fulcrum turns back to look at Silken. “This results in aura feedback. The unicorn pumps more and more magic into the grains... emptying their magical reserves... just in time for the grains to release their own burst of magic. This travels down the magic aura into the horn. You replace a unicorn’s magic with that of the ash.” “That’s a very technical way of describing it, but essentially accurate.” Fulcrum looked at Silk Spinner. Then she looked at Grindstone, who nodded supportingly and gestured for her to keep going. Trixie fancied that the windigo glanced at her as well while she turned back to look at Silk. “What is this pony’s name?” “She’s Silk Spinner, honoured windigo – Please, are you certain you are fine?” Fulcrum had staggered again. She straightened slowly and seemed to stare ahead, above Silk while answering. “I am just perfect. N – Never felt better.” Trixie felt doubt. Fulcrum was being evasive. She kept silent and simply watched as Fulcrum gently lowered herself so her head was level with Silk’s. “Silk Spinner? Wake up.” The young mare’s eyes twitched before fluttering open. Then they focused onto Fulcrum and she wailed weakly while backing away, straining against her bonds. Trixie rushed around the windigo and laid a soothing hoof on Silk. “Calm yourself. She’s here to help you.” In honesty Trixie could perfectly understand Silk’s reaction. Fulcrum was a fearsome sight. But exterior meant nothing at all. If Fulcrum could do what she claimed then under that armor was a being of pure light. Silk calmed gradually thanks to Trixie’s attention. Once she was still again Fulcrum talked. “Silk, my name is Fulcrum. I wish to help you. If you let me, I can bring about your revelation without the need of ash. I need nothing from you but your permission. I could even let you sleep through the procedure.” Silk stared at Fulcrum like a trapped rabbit at a wolf, but she nodded. Trixie hugged her and patted her reassuringly, whispering soothing words into her ear. “Very well. Would you like to be asleep?” Another nod. “Then look into my eyes, Silk.” Trixie saw the captive’s eyes unfocus and her eyelids close. Then she felt the body beneath her hooves relax. Silk’s head lolled to the side. Fulcrum lowered her head until their horns nearly touched. Black and blue fire started playing on the windigo's horn before leaping over to the sleeping mare. The fire intensified and produced a rushing sound, until the glow was so bright that it overloaded the retinas of those who looked at it. Trixie turned her head away and looked at her shadow, etched on the wall behind her in dark blue light. Silk twitched once in her grasp, and the ash sister's head whipped around to look down on the mare’s face just as the glare from the magic arc died down. There was a blue glow from behind Silk’s eyelids, but it too faded as Trixie watched. “It... it is done. She is one of you now. I am... tired.” Trixie looked up gratefully at Fulcrum, who sagged slightly. “Honored Fulcrum, I wish to stay with this girl and tend to her. If you wish you can retire to my quarters to rest.” “That would be great. Where are they?” Trixie gave the directions. Everypony watched as Fulcrum left. Then Mother Grindstone turned to Trixie and smiled brightly. “This is a sign, mark my words. The end and the rebirth draws near! I must haste to inform the Queen, she’ll be delighted I’m sure...” In an unfamiliar room, gratefully shedding armor that was quickly turning into a prison, Twilight slumped onto a bed and covered her eyes with her front hooves. “What am I doing?”