//------------------------------// // Appleloosa Blues // Story: The First Light of Dawn // by Cold in Gardez //------------------------------// The nearest rail station was just a few miles from Ponyville. There had been some discussion of adding a feeder line to connect the town to the rail network, but that would have required building dangerously near the Everfree Forest. Most ponies were content to simply walk. Twilight Sparkle and Applejack stopped in Ponyville long enough to drop off the comatose Luna and explain, to the best of their knowledge, what had happened in Canterlot. It was a lot for the stunned mayor to absorb. “The entire population of Canterlot is in the woods?!” she shrieked. She was still dressed in her formal saddle and bow for the local Summer Sun Celebration, which had been interrupted by the explosion in the capital. “Trust me, it’s better than stayin’ in Canterlot,” Applejack said. She and the mayor had retreated to the town hall with the sleeping princess, while Twilight frantically loaded her library into a borrowed wagon, to the earth pony’s frustration. When Applejack had told her to pack supplies for the trip, she hadn’t meant books. The older mare took a deep breath. “We don’t have enough food or shelter for even a tenth of those ponies here,” she said, pouring over a stack of papers on her desk. “Fillydelphia’s the closest major city. We can start moving ponies there. The pegasi should be fine; they can fly to Cloudsdale or other cities if they haven’t already.” “Can’t we just call fer help?” “Call who for help, Applejack?” the mayor said. “The entire government was in Canterlot. The only figure of authority we have left is Luna, and she won’t wake up.” They glanced at the sleeping alicorn, who was draped as comfortably as possible over a small couch in the mayor’s office. Aside from breathing, she hadn’t so much as budged in the past two hours. “I can send fliers to the nearest cities to explain the situation, but until she wakes up we’re going to have to deal with this piecemeal,” she continued. “If you want that train you’d better grab it fast – there’s going to be a lot of ponies looking for a ride soon. Just because Luna said you could take it won’t stop a frightened herd.” *** “Twilight, that’s enough,” Applejack said. The unicorn had somehow managed to load an entire apple wagon with at least a thousand books, and was going back into the library for more. “Just a few more, AJ!” she shouted from inside the library. “Do you think I’ll need my telescope?” “I think we need to go! Stop worrin’ about all this!” “But—" “Sugar, I’m leaving in five minutes. She’s already two hours ahead of us an’ we have no idea if the tracks will even take us to where she’s headed.” “Fine!” There was a loud crash inside the library, as though someone had just dropped a pile of books. Applejack thought she could hear Spike protesting within. Twilight stomped out, her telescope floating in the air behind her. She gave the library a final look, her eyes tight with worry, then turned to Applejack. “But what if there’s something in one of these books?” she asked. “We might catch her and not know what to do!” “Then we’ll improvise,” Applejack answered. “It’s an Apple family specialty.” Less than an hour later the train pulled away from the station. All but one passenger car had been detached, and the conductor ponies had all the incentive in the world to hurry. They set several local speed records for the line as they drove west, following the faint glow over the horizon. *** The gentle hues of the Pastel Desert, illuminated by the high morning sun, filled the train’s cabin when Trixie finally woke. For a panic-filled moment she forgot where she was. The rocking, rumbling car was so unlike her room in the keep – her small, comfortable room in the keep – that she shot to her hooves, ready to flee or fight. She sucked in a gasp of air, and then coughed as the heat and dust of the desert scratched her lungs. By the time her coughing fit subsided she remembered how she came to be in the train, and simply felt foalish (and relieved that nopony else had seen her frightened display). Her old acquaintance, regret, joined her in the empty cabin. The harsh light of morning was never Trixie’s friend – all her choices, so wise and meaningful the night before, now seemed distant in their rationale. She felt empty, as she always did after waking in the wrong bed or the wrong town with the consequences of her actions staring her (sometimes literally) in the face. Outside the desert landscape sped by. She wished it were faster. She frowned, annoyed by her own maudlin thoughts. It was already daylight, Celestia must be awake, and her illusionary torc had apparently worked. If it hadn’t, flights of pegasus guards would have undoubtedly intercepted the train by now and taken her into custody. She appeared to have gotten away with her theft. Her theft. The thought washed over her like a cold rain, banishing any lingering hints of sleep. She was not a virtuous pony by any account, even her own, but she had never stolen from another pony before last night. Much less a god. Already her brazen decision, not even 12 hours old, was beginning to seem like a mistake. And yet… the heavy weight in her saddlebags, worn throughout the night, pulled at her mind like iron filings to a magnet. After a quick, nervous check of the cabin to make sure she was still alone, she opened the flap and gazed at the golden treasure within. It was still there, waiting for her. The rest of the world – the scent and color of the desert, the rattling of the train – seemed to recede, leaving only the torc. It stared back at her from the depths of the saddlebag. A feeling like leaning over a high cliff, about to fall, briefly intruded in her mind. It called to her. It wanted to be worn. But for all the foalish things she had done, Trixie was not a fool. Across Equestria ponies would recognize the torc from the ubiquitous images of Princess Celestia that decorated her realm. While its theft might not be immediately known, there was no telling how long that would last, and at some point wearing the necklace around in broad daylight would be a dangerous invitation to pointed questions or worse. So she closed the saddlebag, and adjusted its cinches to make sure it fit tight and snug around her body. It would be the height of irony to gamble everything for the lens, and then lose it because her saddlebag wasn’t worn correctly. Appleloosa lay further ahead, waiting for her slow passenger train. The full light of noon baked the platform when the train finally pulled to a halt, and she and the other few passengers disembarked for the arid, desert town. *** Appleloosa was… quaint. Smaller than she expected, with only one real street, which itself was a generous term for the long, straight empty space between the two rows of buildings. Apparently they weren’t big on paving stones in the west. Still, the packed dirt was soft on her hooves as she hopped off the platform, and not too hot, either. Real stone would have singed the soles of her hooves after just a few seconds under this sun. “Pardon me, sir,” she called to a fit-looking earth pony stallion with a yellow coat and soft, tussled orange mane. He looked over in surprise, and then trotted up to her, tipping a wide-rimmed felt cowpony hat respectfully. “Well howdy ma’am,” he said, his wide green eyes filled with the humor and goodwill that seemed to be the trademark of earth ponies. “Welcome ta Appleloosa!” He paused, giving her horn and cutie mark a quick glance, and spoke again. “It’s mighty nice of ya ta visit us. We don’t get many unicorns out here.” She cursed inwardly. Of course they didn’t get many unicorns in a frontier town, and she hadn’t even bothered to hide her horn or cutie mark. She may as well have just worn a sign with her name on it. Other earth ponies were beginning to give her curious looks as they passed. “Yes, well, it is their loss I am sure,” she said. “I don’t suppose you could direct me to an inn or boarding house?” “Ah can do better’n that!” he said, and reared up in excitement. “Let’s go on the grand tour of our beautiful town! Ah can show you our dancin’ square, our horses drawin’ horse-drawn carriages, our beeeeautiful apple orchards, our—" Trixie interrupted before he could drag her off to the tour. Visions of being introduced to everypony in the town as the blue-unicorn-with-the-magic-wand-cutie-mark swam in her head; it would be faster to just take the next train back to Canterlot and turn herself in. “That’s quite alright, good sir,” she said. “But I am very tired from the train ride, and simply desire a place to rest for a few hours.” The earth pony slumped in rejection, and she tempered her next words. “Perhaps you can show me the town tomorrow?” He perked back up, a smile returning to his face. “Well, I reckon that’ll work too,” he said. “We got the finest hotel in all the West just down the street. It’s right above the saloon – if’n ya tell Big Mike that Braeburn sent ya, ya’ll get a newcomer discount!” “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you, kind gentlestallion,” she gave him a demure smile, one well-practiced from years of appealing to the better natures of male ponies. To judge by his enthusiastic smile and slightly besotted expression, she hadn’t lost her touch. The saloon cum hotel was the largest structure on its side of the street, just opposite the slightly larger town hall with its attached bell. A steady trickle of earth ponies, all wearing the mandatory cowpony hat, wandered through its swinging double doors. She made a mental note to get one of those hats as soon as possible. A wide wooden patio ran the length of the building, on which sat or stood a variety of mares and stallions, either chatting amiably or simply watching traffic pass by. Inside the saloon an apparently drunk stallion was violently abusing an old honky-tonk piano, torturing both it and the ears of the patrons around him. Strangely no one else seemed to mind the out-of-tune cacophony – a few ponies were even banging their glasses on the table in rough time with the ‘music.’ Hoof marks scratched into the veneer atop the piano hinted at the type of dancing the saloon featured after dark. The part of Trixie that had grown comfortable in Canterlot, surrounded by high culture and the finer things in life, wanted to turn around and leave. The part of Trixie that had survived months on the road, freezing temperatures and lack of food shoved the other part into a mental box and locked it away for the time being. She let experience take over, and slid through the crowd like a fish through water. Barely visible in the dim light was the bar itself, a long wooden affair with a polished countertop tended by a small, dapper-looking mare with a cheery yellow mane and a somber expression. She gave Trixie a sidelong glance as the unicorn approached, and continued wiping down the bar. “I’m looking for Big Mike,” Trixie said. “That’s me,” the mare answered without pause. Um. Trixie blinked and actually missed a beat, an unusual occurrence for the skilled showmare. Apparently the barkeep was used to the reaction; she kept wiping the bar, though to Trixie’s eye it was already clean enough to eat from. She recovered quickly. “Braeburn sent me,” she said. “He said you might have a room to rent for a day or two.” The yellow mare put the rag below the bar. “Mhm,” she started, “I bet he also said I’d give you a discount if you mentioned his name.” Trixie bit the inside of her cheek. “Let me guess,” she tried. “Ex-coltfriend?” Big Mike laughed out loud, a surprisingly musical sound that filled the saloon with transient joy. A few patrons looked up in surprise. “You’re a perceptive one,” she said, a smile now on her face. “Or just a lucky guesser. Did he also offer to show you the town?” Trixie nodded. “Figures,” she continued. “Always the first one to greet new fillies. So, what brings a unicorn to these parts?” “Just passing through,” she said truthfully. “I wanted to get away from Canterlot for a bit. You know how it is.” The mare chuckled. “I suppose I do. No one comes out here unless they’re getting away from something.” She paused and gave Trixie an appraising look. “Anyway, yeah, we have rooms. I suppose I can even give you a discount, being new to town and all. Just don’t tell Braeburn.” Trixie smiled. “I’m good at keeping secrets,” she said. *** The room was small but cheap. Given her dwindling finances, she didn’t care. It was clean and had a soft bed that was calling her name. Although it was only mid-afternoon she was still exhausted from the restless train ride and her preceding adventures in Canterlot. The door was equipped with an ominously large deadbolt lock, which she dutifully latched. Confident that no one short of Celestia herself could break down the door, she allowed herself to relax for the first time since Luna’s party. She stripped off the saddlebags and hung them, with their precious contents, on the corner bedpost. It felt like a thousand pound weight had been removed from her soul. The Great and Powerful Trixie howled in her mind, demanding that she seize the torc and don it now, the sooner to discover its secrets. She was already a powerful unicorn – with the lens to focus her magic, she could be the greatest. So powerful that Celestia herself might hesitate to challenge her. Everything she had ever desired – fame, power, acclaim – waited in the saddlebags, whispering to her of urgent needs and heady promises. But she resisted that voice. There would be time later for the torc – right now she needed rest, and the bed was simply too soft and inviting to ignore. As she drifted off to sleep images of grandeur floated through her mind, interspaced with quiet memories of an indigo friend. *** The sun was leaning toward the horizon when Trixie woke. A faint headache that was her brain’s way of complaining about irregular sleep patterns squeezed the back of her skull in its vice. Tempting as it was to stay slumped atop the soft mattress and pillow, she had wasted enough time already. Time to get up. She stood and stretched her neck in an unsuccessful attempt to banish the headache. Some food might help, though her finances were growing thin enough that she couldn’t afford to splurge on extra meals. Better to grab some hay and wait until morning for a real meal. But food could wait. There was something she had been putting off for too long. Her horn glowed with a soft silver light as she opened her saddlebag, levitating the torc into the air before her. It was such a simple ornament – a large mass of gold with a light filigree tracing, designed to hold a hoof-sized amethyst over the heart of its bearer. Inside the jewel she thought she could see the image of a four-pointed star refracting the dim light of the room. This was the moment of truth. She took a breath and gently lowered the torc over her head until she felt the metal band come to rest around her neck. The cold shock of its contact provoked a slight flinch, but otherwise nothing. No instant-death traps, at least – not that she thought Celestia would use such things. She felt… well, a little silly, actually. The torc was so large the tip dragged on the ground. It weighed so much that she nearly toppled forward when the levitation spell vanished, and she had to reset her hooves simply to stay upright. Wearing this thing for more than a few minutes at a time wasn’t going to be comfortable. Maybe she could wear it like a saddle? She channeled a tiny bit of magic into her horn, just enough to lighten the weight of the torc, when she felt the metal shift. For a moment she was too stunned to react as the cold metal suddenly warmed. It crawled over her neck like a writhing snake; the edges bit into her skin as they squeezed, and she felt the sharp rim pressing against her windpipe. The brief paralysis wore off and she let out a shrill scream before her throat closed in panic. She tried to dig her hooves under the torc before it could close too tightly around her neck, but already the metal was fully against her skin. It seemed to flex with her movements, forming no seam for her desperately prying hooves to exploit. Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest. The edges of her vision started to turn grey. Sometime tomorrow, after she failed to pay her bill, the somber yellow bar mare with the unusual name would find her lying in this room, strangled to death by a murderous magical artifact. She could only hope nopony else would try to wear the accursed thing. A loud buzzing noise filled her ears as her brain began to shut down from a lack of oxygen… And suddenly everything was still. The torc was unmoving against her breast, and the room was silent except for the gasping of her breath. For a long while she simply lay on the floor, panting, while the sun slowly sank into evening. Eventually she found the courage to move, reaching a shaking hoof up to gently touch the torc. A quiet *ting* filled the room, but otherwise there was no reaction. It may as well have been a normal, innocent piece of jewelry that didn’t attempt to strangle unsuspecting unicorns. She stood slowly, her legs trembling as the remaining adrenaline worked its way through her system. There was a mirror on the far wall, she remembered, and she cautiously walked toward it, terrified that every step would set the torc off again. Finally she drew close enough to turn toward the mirror, and beheld herself. The torc had shrunk to fit her delicate form perfectly. Nearly three-quarters of its mass had simply vanished in the space of a second, a feat that should have been impossible. The heavy golden weight still tugged at her neck, but it no longer threatened to send her toppling over her front hooves. “It resized itself…” she mused aloud. How considerate of it. She wondered if its makers were sadistic or just clueless as to the trauma their helpful little artifact could cause. Even in the scratched, tarnished mirror, the torc was a thing of beauty. Granted, anything worn by her was automatically elevated to the level of artwork, but the necklace was sublime on its own merits. For all that it was a simple gold band with a single crystal, it was somehow more elegant and appealing than anything else she had ever worn. She could have stared at her reflection for hours. She would have stared at her reflection for hours, had not the bell tower across the street chimed out the time; seven loud gongs that heralded the diminishing sun. Outside the streets began to fill as the heat of day began to dissipate, and ponies ventured forth for the evening. She shook her head to clear it. As much as she admired her own reflection, staring endlessly into a mirror was unusual even for her. Among its other magical abilities it could apparently enthrall observers. Such a delightful little nightmare it was turning out to be. There was only one ability she cared about, though, and that was making her more powerful. She took another breath, marshaled her thoughts, and focused on levitating her saddlebags. Best to start small, she figured. Nothing happened. Literally, nothing happened. Her horn didn’t glow. The saddlebags didn’t glow. They certainly didn’t lift into the air like they were supposed to. She blinked, stunned, and tried again. Nothing. A worm of worry began burrowing in the back of her mind. She gritted her teeth and tried again, this time focusing on the bed with enough magical power to send it flying through the roof. The whisper of the curtains in the wind was the only movement in the room; her rapid breathing the only sound. She spun in place and cast the first spell that came to mind – a light-dimming cantrip that should have filled the room with darkness. It remained lit. She tried to summon a flame with her horn, but couldn’t produce even a whiff of smoke. Frantic, she jabbed a hoof at the center of the room, attempting to summon a firework that, had it materialized, would have blown half the building’s façade off. It didn’t. Don’t panic, she thought, feeling a scream welling up her throat. We just don’t understand how the torc works yet. No need to panic. She reached up with a hoof to peel off the torc, and yelped in surprise and pain as it caught on the rim. The skin beneath the necklace was stuck to it – not her coat, her actual skin had fused to the solid metal. Pulling at the torc was like trying to pull off her own horn, and just as effective. Desperate, she tried to magic it off, remembering too late that her magic was gone. Now was actually looking like an excellent time to panic. The scream that had been hiding in her chest escaped, though her throat was so tight that only a shrill squeak e merged. Oh no no no no no, her mind stuck in a loop as the realization that her magic wasn’t coming back anytime soon crashed into her. She bucked and kicked frantically, her hooves smashing against the walls and floor as she tried to shake the thing off. She even tried to bite it, but her neck wasn’t quite flexible enough to reach the band with her mouth. Nooooo no no no no no no no… Desperate times called for desperate measures. She slammed herself against the wall, hoping the impact would jar the torc loose. It didn’t. Thoughtlessly, she banged her hoof against the amethyst until it cracked – her hoof, not the crystal. So great was her panic that she was going through her saddlebags for a knife or other sharp object when a sudden loud knock came from the door. “Hey! It’s Big Mike. Is everypony alright in there?” came a muffled voice from the other side of the thick door. That broke through the fog in her mind. If there was one thing Trixie could always do, it was maintain appearances. “Yes!” she cried. “Just fine! Nothing wrong in here!” There was a pause. “We heard some odd sounds,” said Big Mike. “Can you open the door?” Stall! “Not just yet,” she said, “I’m…” she trailed off. Sleeping? Eating? Trying to remove a malicious stolen god-artifact? “…getting dressed,” she finished lamely. There was another pause. “So? Open up.” Damn dirt ponies! They had no sense of propriety. She gave the room a quick once-over to make sure there was nothing obviously broken or displaced, and then trotted over to the door. Trying to unlatch the bolt with her mouth rather than her magic was a clumsy and distasteful adventure, but she finally managed to flip the cursed thing and pull the door open. “Sorry about that,” she said to the yellow mare waiting outside the door. Her voice sounded impressively calm in her mind. “Had a little accident with my saddlebags, but everything is alright now!” Big Mike gave her a dubious look, her teal eyes narrow as she glanced into the room behind the showmare. Finding nothing immediately amiss, she returned her attention to the unicorn. “I’m not going to regret letting you stay here, am I?” she asked. Once again her remarkable ability to antagonize ponies wherever she went reared its ugly head. She forced a smile, and spoke in her most reassuring voice. “No, no, you won’t hear another peep out of this room. In fact, I was just about to come down and pay you in advance…” her attempt at mollification stumbled to a clumsy halt as she noticed the mare was no longer paying attention. The earth pony was staring at the torc with wide, guileless eyes. Her mouth hung slightly open, as if she were about to speak, but no words were forthcoming. From downstairs, ignored by both mares, came the quiet hum of the slowly filling saloon. Trixie stood still, afraid to break the spell. Big Mike continued her impression of a statue; only the slow rise and fall of her chest gave any hint that she was alive. Trixie got the feeling they would be standing like this for a while, absent any interruptions. Because she had plans that didn’t involve standing forever in the hallway with this mare, Trixie finally moved. She turned slightly to the side, just enough to angle the amethyst away from the yellow mare’s gaze. Big Mike flinched slightly, then looked sheepishly into Trixie’s eyes. “Sorry, didn’t mean to stare,” she said. “That’s a beautiful necklace you have, though. Where did you get it?” “Family heirloom,” she lied easily, a story instantly assembling itself in her mind. “From my mother’s side. It’s the only piece left of an old fortune, before we fell on hard times.” The mare nodded slowly, her eyes drifting back to the torc. “Well, be careful wearing it around here. It would be a shame if someone tried to steal it.” She gave Trixie a final, more respectful nod, and returned downstairs to the saloon. Shameful indeed, she thought. *** If nothing else, the visit by the bar mare gave Trixie a chance to calm down. The panic she had felt earlier, after trying and failing to remove the torc, still lurked in her mind, but it no longer drove her to foolish lengths. Still, just because she wasn’t panicking didn’t mean that everything was suddenly fine. The accursed necklace was still bound to her skin and was still blocking her magic, as a quick attempt to levitate her saddlebags revealed. Flummoxed, she lay down on the bed with her hooves tucked under her, and thought. She still had some magic – simply being alive proved that. History was filled with stories of ponies who, by accident or disease or spell malfunction, had been entirely stripped of magic. It was invariably fatal; something intrinsic to the nature of all ponies required magic to survive. Without it they withered and died in just a few hours, even supposedly non-magical earth ponies. That didn’t appear to be the case with her, though she would find out for sure in a few hours. No, the torc seemed to block only active spell-casting. Perhaps it would allow the more subtle arts? She took a deep, calming breath, closed her eyes, and attempted to center herself. When she felt as steady as possible, given the circumstances, she opened her senses to the gentle flows of magic that ran through the world. Through her still-closed eyes the room gradually resolved as a silver echo of its real form. It lacked the details of reality – the walls were uneven, shifting planes that represented breaks in the free flow of magical energy, rather than actual, physical matter. Through the walls and floor she could see the faint glow of other ponies going about their business. For years the art had been called Truesight. Later, wiser mages termed it Dreamsight or Silversight, depending on their perspective. There was simply too much dispute over what exactly it revealed. Across the ages, magicians had agreed on only one thing – it was not to be trusted. Unless carefully restrained it showed the viewer what they wanted to see, not what they needed to see. Hence its common name: Sirensight. The first thing Trixie noticed was the glowing silver cord emerging from her chest, right where the torc should have been. The lens was absent for some reason in the Sirensight world, though she could still feel its weight around her neck. The cord pulsed in time with her heartbeat. It rose from her body, weightless, toward the center of the room, where it dipped and vanished into a large stone well. She knew without opening her eyes that the well did not really exist. Like the cord it was simply a metaphor for something she already knew. Sirensight had no ability to reveal new information to the user. It could not, for instance, look into a sealed box, unless the pony using it already knew what was inside. Or what they wanted to be inside. She stood from the bed with extreme care. Moving while using Sirensight was exceedingly dangerous – it often neglected to show important things like doors, cliffs or traffic. More than one unicorn artist had tried to live entirely through Sirensight; they usually abandoned the experiment after their first major injury. Still, she was confident she could cross the room safely. With slow, careful steps she walked toward the well. The cord moved with her; it swayed slightly in the air, as though waving in an unseen breeze, but its two ends never left her heart or the well. She drew close enough to touch the well, and peered over its edge. The cord descended down the hole for what seemed like hundreds of feet before its gentle glow became too dim to see by. Curious, she attempted a simple spell to summon sparks from her horn. No sparks appeared, but the cord pulsed with a brilliant silver light that flowed down its length into the depths of the well. She tried another, more powerful, spell that resulted in a similar but brighter glow from the cord. Hm. She opened her eyes and the cord vanished along with the well. The torc was back around her chest, its heavy weight pressing just above her heart. She returned to the bed, lost in thought. Outside her window the sun touched the horizon. The longest day of the year came to an end. *** Luna dreamed of the moon. She could feel it rising as she slumbered. The heavy weight of the sun diminished as the world rotated away from its star. Her namesake called to her; even below the horizon she heard its gentle song. It sang of the night and love and stars. It sang her name, and she woke. Dozens of ponies in various states of hysteria filled the mayor’s office. Piles of paper were haphazardly collected in any open space that would fit them. Loud voices vied for supremacy as officials, farmers, refugees and townsponies argued over a hundred different problems. At the center of the storm, behind her desk, sat the mayor of Ponyville. Despite the chaos around her she retained a remarkable poise, and calmly issued orders and verdicts on the issues before her. After spending a year witnessing the pomp and circumstance that surrounded every minor decision in Canterlot, it was refreshing to see such straightforward decision making. Luna only wished the circumstances could have been happier. The cacophony died as she stood, every pony in the room trailing into silence as they turned to their monarch. Just as suddenly the noise returned tenfold. Finally the mayor shouted the crowd into submission and herded them into the hallway, leaving her alone with the princess. “Thank Celestia you’re awake,” she said, finally shoving the door shut despite the ponies in its path. “It’s been chaos here ever since you showed up in the woods.” “How are the others?” Luna asked. “We had most of Canterlot with us.” “We’re building corrals as fast as we can. By tomorrow we should have enough space for everyone, but quite a few are heading back to Canterlot.” Luna winced. “Is there anything left to return to?” The mayor riffled through some papers on her desk, eventually pulling a weather patrol report from a large stack. “About half the city is gone, mostly the parts close to the mountain,” she said. “Fortunately the fires couldn’t spread very far, due to the stone construction. But it’s just not safe to return yet; the mountain is still on fire, and the weather teams say it will be days before they can get close to the keep.” Luna trotted to the north window. Through it she could see the Saddleback Mountains in the distance. A steady stream of smoke rose from the nearest peak, wider but more diffuse than the one she had seen in the morning. “And my sister?” “No word, your majesty. Twilight and Applejack left this morning for Appleloosa, but we haven’t heard anything from them.” She did some quick math in her head. “They should be almost there by now.” “Assuming they don’t stop,” the mayor said. “Your majesty, what should we do? I’ve been trying to manage this as best I can, but this is well outside my scope of authority.” The princess glanced around the room and the hastily organized plans. Outside she heard discussions continuing in the hallway, as ponies attempted to pick up the pieces of the disaster. “You’re doing very well, mayor,” she finally said. “And I need you to keep doing this. I have to go after her.” “But… your majesty, I don’t have the authority to do even half of what I’ve been doing! Everypony could ignore me if they wanted to!” That was an easy fix. Luna trotted over to the door and opened it. The hallway suddenly grew silent. “Excuse me a moment,” she said. “Until further notice the mayor is acting in my and my sister’s stead. Please serve her as you would serve me.” Before anypony could argue she closed the door, and turned back to the stunned mare. “There,” she said. “That should suffice for a few days at least, until the aristocrats get back on their hooves. I’d suggest letting them take over recovery efforts in the city once they do, if only to keep them busy.” “B-but…” “Just act like you know what you’re doing,” Luna advised. “That’s Celestia’s secret, and it seems to work for her. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m afraid I have some catching up to do.” Before the mayor could protest further the alicorn walked out onto the balcony and took to the air. She flew toward the setting sun with speed that would have made Rainbow Dash proud. *** More than 14 hours after leaving Ponyville to chase down their errant princess, Twilight Sparkle finally found a moment to rest. The dry desert air cooled rapidly following the sunset. Devoid of clouds, the ground radiated its heat into space at a surprising rate. Desert rats, snakes and hares emerged from their daytime burrows to forage. Nighthawks flew overhead, darting and weaving as they caught insects attracted to the light of the fires. Twilight noticed none of this. She sat near the edge of the molten pool of rock entombing the silent alicorn. For nearly two hours she slowly crept closer and closer to the fallen princess as the ground cooled and grew dark. By the time the moon reached its zenith she could nearly reach Celestia, though the furnace-like heat of the stone around her mentor eventually forced her to retreat. She attempted to lift the lava away from the princess with her magic, but it was like trying to carry water with a net. The molten rock splashed around briefly as she stirred it, then flowed back into the crater. She briefly considered attempting to teleport the lava away, before pondering all the possible ways that could backfire. Instead she elected to wait. And talk. “I don’t know if you can hear me, princess,” she said, “but if you can, I want you to know that we’re going to fix this.” The wind shifted, blowing smoke and cinders from a nearby fire into her face. Coughing, she circled around the glowing pool to a spot of clear air, and resumed her vigil. “Applejack’s gone for help, and soon we’ll have an entire town of earth ponies aiding us,” she continued. “We’ll get you out of there and back to Canter…”she trailed off. “Yes, back to Canterlot. We’ll fix the castle--” her voice caught, images of the searing fireball that consumed the palace flashing in her head. “A-and everything will go back to the way it was.” She smiled hopefully at the unmoving goddess. Tears left faint clean runnels in the dirt and ash coating her face. More time passed, and the circle of solid rock grew tighter around Celestia. Only a thin rim of molten stone still surrounded her when the moon began its descent from the heights of the sky. Twilight stood and carefully moved forward, testing each step before letting her weight rest on it. Even though it was firm, the stone was brittle and sharp beneath her hooves, closer to pumice than solid rock. She reached out a hoof, and hesitantly touched it to the tip of Celestia’s horn. It felt cool. Whatever residual heat it held had long since bled away into the night air. Buoyed, she pressed her hoof against the princess’s forehead. It was warmer, but nowhere near as hot as the rock she was stuck in. If they could get her out of the ground it would be— The stone beneath her other leg snapped and sank several inches. Bright yellow light shone on her lavender coat as fresh lava seeped up the cracks and washed over the tip of her hoof. Panic preceded pain. She jerked back reflexively, sending tiny droplets of lava into the air, and shrieked as her chest convulsed involuntarily. A bolt of horrible, numbing agony shot up her leg as the edge of her hoof flickered with flame. Memories of falling into a firepit, forgotten for nearly a decade, flooded her brain before the searing pain dragged her back into the present. Fortunately, the pain only lasted a moment. The exhaustion that had stalked her for hours pounced, and a brief feeling of light-headedness was the only warning she had before the world tilted around her, and she collapsed. She was still lying on the warm stone when Applejack returned, less than an hour later. *** Trixie was not a happy pony. After her brief experiment with Sirensight she made a mental list of every spell she knew. Most unicorns would have trouble drafting such a list in their heads, but it was an old exercise for Trixie. Just one more way for her to keep score. She went down the list, attempting every spell in turn. Not a single one worked. She may as well have been an earth pony. Whatever else the torc was, it was thorough. She tried sticking her hoof under the rim again, and winced as it stretched the skin painfully. Nothing she tried loosened its grip on her chest – if anything, it seemed to dig deeper. Every beat of her heart was echoed in the faint trembling of light reflecting from the amethyst crystal. She pulled an old serving cloak from her saddlebags – one of a few souvenirs of her time in the kitchens – and draped it over her shoulders. It didn’t completely hide the torc, but concealed enough to not draw too much attention. The last thing she needed was a crowd of enthralled ponies following her around. The saloon was moderately crowded when she made her way downstairs, filled with a mix of mares and stallions drinking away their earnings and their cares. A different pony was at the piano, though he apparently also confused it with a drum. Big Mike was nowhere to be seen. She ignored the music and grabbed a bag of oats from the bar, passing a few bits to a large copper stallion with a wheat sprig cutie mark. He thanked her with the annoying smile earth ponies seemed to be born with. More ponies trickled in as the night wore on. She finished the oats and was working on a mild ale when a loud commotion outside broke through the clamor of the piano. A large crowd appeared to be gathering in the street. Curious, she got to her hooves and pushed her way outside. Ahead she heard excited shouting, followed by a small stampede as dozens of ponies charged down the street toward the rail station. “What’s going on?” she asked a stallion leaning on the saloon railing. He seemed a little too old to be involved in the excitement around them. “Young filly just ran in,” he said, pointing his hoof toward the crowd. “Said Celestia’s just outside of town...” Whatever else he might have said was lost. Sounds fell away from the world as his words sank in, replaced by a loud ringing noise. A grey tunnel appeared around the edges of her vision. Celestia. Here. How did she know? It didn’t matter. Trixie was doomed. She briefly considered going back up to her room and flinging herself out the window, and then discarded the idea. Her room was only on the second floor. There was no way out of town, no trains scheduled to leave until morning. Half the ponies in Appleloosa knew of the blue unicorn staying at the inn. “When does she arrive?” she managed to ask. Her voice sounded distant, as though she were listening to someone else talk. The stallion shrugged. “No clue,” he said. “The filly spoke to the mayor for a bit, and they all ran off to the train station.” He took a sip from a bottle of sarsaparilla. “Ah wonder what she came for.” “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” Trixie said. For once she was being perfectly honest.