Velvet Sparkle and the Queen in Stone
By Tundara
Part Three
“You got your soul-mark by drinking a potion?” Tyr gave Velvet an incredulous look.
Laughing, Velvet said, “Well, in a manner of speaking—”
“Do you know how to make it?” Tyr leaned on the table, her large eyes shining with enhanced eagerness.
Velvet was momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift in Tyr’s demeanor. Taking a sip of her tea, she made a calming motion with her hooves. Velvet hated what she was about to say. Crushing a filly’s hopes always left a sour lump in her throat.
Carefully she set her tea back down as she said, “No, my dear, I’m afraid I don’t.” The hope draining from Tyr’s eyes had the predictable effect on Velvet. “And even if I did, would you want to take it? Would you want to be a Fox?”
“I think she’s more likely to be a Badger,” Glitterdust giggled, reaching over to tickle Tyr. “Yeah, you look like you’d like to live in a nice little hole in the ground.”
“Ha-ha, quit it.” Tyr tried her best to look angry as a fit of giggles burst from her throat, her hooves trying to fend off her foster grandaunt. “I said quit it! You don’t tickle a goddess!”
“Oh-ho, really?” Glitterdust redoubled her efforts. “I’ll have you know Twilight loved my tickle attacks!”
“Glitter, she probably isn’t used to being tickled.”
“Nonsense, all little fillies get tickles!”
“Glitter!” Velvet and Whisper snapped at the same time.
Retreating from Tyr, Glitterdust gave a sulking look. “Was just having fun with my grand-filly. It might be ages before we get another.”
“Oh, you never know.” Velvet’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “There is this pretty mare that I think Two-Step may like."
Velvet would have added more, but Whisper gave a disagreeing frown. It was a normal joke around Sparkle Manor that Velvet was always trying, and failing, to arrange marriages for the younger Sparkles. Usually it was used to tease first Twilight, then later her half-sisters, Limelight and Pennant. In recent years, Star, Elegant, and Melody, all Glitterdust's daughters, had become the subject of such teasing. It was a practice that had never sat well with Whisper, however. Instead of pressing the old joke, Velvet turned a smile on Cadence.
"Or, Shining might take a second or third wife.”
“Not sure I’m a sharing mare.” Cadence smiled wolfishly, adding after a moment, “Anymore. Too many bad experiences. I am thinking of trying out monogamy.”
The spirit around the table dampened, the three herd-wives all sharing sad glances. They’d all secretly hoped that Cadence and Shining would take on a second, and perhaps even third, wife. They held no illusions that Cadence would give them a grandfoal. The princess had been married many times over the centuries, and not once had she had a foal of her own. Tyr was the closest she had come, besides a few step-foals. The legacy of these past marriages still existed in ‘Prince’ Blueblood, the Duke of Vanchester..
“What happened next, grandmother?” Tyr asked. Her high pitched voice brought all the mares out of their grey thoughts.
“Well, there was a lot of arguing, hoof pointing, and name calling. In the end it was decided I would be apprenticed to all three Lodges, spending a year at one before moving to another.” Velvet slipped back into the story as if it was a comfortable dress, eager for the excuse not to have to deal with thoughts about her son and daughter-in-law’s potential foals. “With the Wolves I learned how to deal with squabbling younglings and adults. The Ravens taught me their magic, naturally. And the Bears, oh the Bears... It was with them I became re-acquainted with River Growler.”
“Oh, I sense romance in the wind,” Glitterdust gave a dramatic sigh. “Thrust into the unknown, alone and confused, surrounded by the strange and ruggedly handsome barbarians of the north. You see him, his mane taken by a slight breeze so it rustles as if a honey coloured cloak. You’re eyes meet, and you just—”
Falling onto her side, Tyr let out a peel of hiccuping laughter followed by several sneezes.
“Oh dear, you okay, love?” Cadence asked, helping Tyr back onto her cushion and offering a hoofkerchief to blow her nose.
“Y-yeah,” Tyr mumbled, trying to brush Cadence away with little success.
“Poor thing, is everything alright?” Whisper asked, looking between her wives, daughter-in-law, and foster grandfilly.
“A cold bug, is all,” Velvet said, watching with care as Cadence took a thin shawl and wrapped it around Tyr’s neck and withers.
“This time of year?” Whisper lifted a brow, but didn’t press further, though the slight pinch between her eyes told Velvet that Whisper was very concerned. “Maybe we should take her inside? The wind is out of the north today and has a bit of a bite to it.”
“No!” Tyr protested instantly, “I want to hear more of the story.”
“It is still rather pleasant out.” Glitterdust smiled, leaning down towards Tyr. “We’ll make a deal with you. Vel will tell more of her story for a bit while we have lunch, then to bed. How does that sound?”
“Sounds okay, I guess,” Tyr mumbled around a pout.
“‘Sounds okay... what?’”
“Grandmother Glitterdust.”
“That’s better.” Glitterdust gave a smile of supremely smug satisfaction.
“That sounds good to me. How about you two?” Velvet looked to Whisper, and especially Cadence. Tyr was her daughter, after all.
“I agree,” Cadence said, ending the discussion decisively with a quick addendum. “But if you start getting worse, I want you in bed toot-sweet.”
With things settled, Velvet decided where to pick her story back up. With a smile, she knew where.
Three falls passed in my apprenticeships. During that time I was like Twilight or Whisper, my nose forever stuck in a book or lesson. Never did I find the time to make friends beyond the few other apprentices I encountered, and they were always stand-offish. Like Twilight, I was an overachiever. I had to be twice as good as any other Halla, otherwise I was just that poor, little pony.
Winter was the worst. I bundled myself in layer upon layer of thick wool comforters and a cloak of wolf-hide. Meanwhile, the halla needed only a simple cloak to stave off the deep, winter chill. Whenever I left the Lodges to go to the market or read a book by the ice-covered creek I was watched by pitying eyes. None were hostile, not anymore. I may have been a unicorn, but I was also Halla, and for all but the Eagles, that was enough. But acceptance is not friendship.
I grew up over those years. I lost my lanky appearance of my foalhood and blossomed into who I am today; a strong, confident, and headstrong mare.
Unable to fight as the majority of Halla do, ramming steel tipped antlers into my foe, I had to learn the old art of the Dragoons. Few other Halla bothered to learn the proper way to wield sword, spear, and shield.
It was for these skills that I was approached during the Brou’alla with a query to join one of the nomadic herds. Over the past year they had lost seven members to Frost Wolves, Dire Bears, and, the worst of all, the Draugen. Me and a few other members of the Bear lodge were asked to join. My knowledge of magic and dealing with younglings also helped.
The day after the festival I stood at the enchanted menhir gate. Freestanding, stone blocks, the menhir are magically linked to a hundred others throughout and around Reinalla. Together, they keep the dangers of the forest away from the homestead.
When I agreed to join the nomads I was been told to pack only the absolute essentials. Everything I owned was on my back. My light, embossed armour —the most loyal companion of any Bear— sat beneath my wolf cloak, hugging my lithe frame. On my left side hung the sword I had been given during my apprenticeship, a simple steel blade devoid of pomp and flash, while on my right sat a kite shield over my saddle-bags. Inside the bags were two days of rations, a small medical kit, sleeping blanket, my woolen comforters, and a couple dozen bits worth of currency to trade with any other nomads we would encounter. The stone marks the Halla used as coins clicked whenever I shifted my stance.
My wait was not long before the members of the Waki’Nin made their way from the town.
A small herd, the Waki’Nin numbered barely a hundred, including the youngsters. As nomads, the herd was strong with the un-marked, those Halla who belonged to no lodge. There were a few Badgers and Wolves, their marks seeming all the more vivid beside those who were without. Among them I noticed three familiar faces watching me with wide grins. The Triplets trotted in unison behind their Eagle. Perched Fir hardly smiled as he saw me waiting by the menhir, only a slight twinkle in his old eyes belying his happiness.
“Baroness Sparkle, I had begun to think you’d turned white and ran away,” he chuckled as he passed, hardly slowing in his long stride.
Having to almost canter to keep up, I came up to his side. “I realised this morning that we hadn’t discussed where I was to meet you. I figured the road north was the most logical spot.” I paused to give a sly grin. “Seems I was right.”
Perched laughed, one of the few times I would hear the sound, letting the twinkle in his eye become a true smile. “I see I chose wisely in listening to my Ravens’ advice about you.” A long chuckle made his chest rumble. “You should get acquainted with the rest of our herd. And welcome to the family, Velvet Sparkle of the Waki’Nin.”
I didn’t have time to respond before Perched lifted a spiralling horn to his lips and gave a great, reverberating blow. The horn’s cry was echoed by a dozen others as the nomad herds began the long journey across the Taiga. It would take us almost a month to reach the wintering grounds in the south-reaches of the forest.
Paired with Growler, it was our duty, along with the other Bears, to patrol ahead and along the flanks of the herd. In the first week alone we drove off Frost Wolves and a great, big troll. At night we took turns standing guard. This was mostly peaceful, the herd gathered in a tight circle around the younglings. The stars and moon provided their silvery, protective light. Not once did we light a fire, having no need to cook as we foraged our food, and the light would attract only danger. When we would stay in a place for more than a night, tents would be erected, but this proved to be something of a rarity.
Along the way I did become acquainted with the rest of the herd. The first that approached me was the herd’s juniour Fox, Sylph Vixen. As her name suggests, she was a slight hind, barely bigger than me. Small of stature, but big of presence. At dusk she would sing for the younglings, playing an old lute while the rest of the herd joined in for the refrains filling the evergreen canopy with music.
Long ago,
when forests were new,
and fern had yet to grow.
My mamare sang to me,
legends great and true.
Of the first tree~,
that brought us all life.
And the Goddess,
that new only strife~.
Winter on her breath,
Ice grasped the disc.
Until she was felled,
By heroes six.
The Queen in Stone~!
Our duty to serve~,
To protect.
To be protected from.
It was not always so.
In times of old, when fir was young,
Upon her throne~,
She watched us all~,
And sang songs now unsung.
The foals filled her eye,
A sprig of Life~,
Health to the sick,
Strength to the weak.
One day she will return~,
Reclaim what is hers,
What was before,
Let us grasp once more.
The Queen in Stone~!
Our duty to serve~,
To protect.
To be protected from.
That was always my favourite, and it was hers too. There were a hundred others, but the legend of the Queen in Stone was the one she loved the most.
Winter passed, and we made our way to the northern foaling grounds. It was beneath the boughs of the oldest living things upon our world that the Halla brought forth their next generation. Sylph had a difficult time that spring, her foal was one of three stillborn among our herd. I found myself in the terrible position of comforting my dearest friend as she was forced to leave her baby behind as only a name etched into a plinth surrounded by poppy fields. There were far too many names upon it’s weathered face.
For a time I feared she wouldn’t recover. Sylph no longer sang to the younglings. She could hardly look upon them without crying. But as spring progressed, her spirits recovered.
And then the Season was upon us.
Never in my life have I experienced such an intense Season.
I was barely a mare, and the previous Season had felt like little more than a slight warmth. Maybe it was seeing the ritual combat of the bucks. Or perhaps it was because I was that year older. Maybe the brilliance of that spring after the long northern winter played some part. Regardless, I felt like an inferno was burning through every muscle and sinew.
I had to avoid most of the herd, and along with a few others, tried to find ways of cooling down. I spent most of my time near an icy, mountain stream. Eventually the Season’s end approached, the fire within began to die, and I decided to rejoin the herd.
The sun had just set as I approached where the herd had been sleeping. The tapestry of stars twinkled, while the moon sailed high, the dark blot of the mare-in-the-moon watching the sleeping world below.
“Where have you been?” snapped a voice to my left as I slunk through satin shadows, one I instantly recognised.
“Growler?” I hissed through my teeth, “Don’t sneak up on me. I almost gutted you.”
“With that little poker of yours? Unlikely.” Growler chuckled as he stepped out of the shadows cast by an elder pine. “Really though, where have you been? I was worried.”
“Aww, the wee baby was worried for little ol’ me?” I smirked, my smile flashing in the moonlight. Turning, I flicked my tail over his nose playfully. “You needn’t have been. I was just by the stream with Misty, Evergreen, and Thistle.”
“I looked for you at the Rutting.” He admitted, and I swear his cheeks lit up the night.
“Oh, you did, did you?” My smirk grew, and jumping up onto my back hooves I gestured at my sleek frame. “You thought you would be able to have this, hmm?”
“What? No!” Growler sputtered for several minutes, his cheeks glowing brighter still. “A few of us were worried for you, that’s all! We were concerned that... Um... Well... You see... You’re a pony and... Well... Halla are big, and you’re small.”
Laughing loud enough to receive a reproachful shout from the nearby herd, I fell back onto all four hooves.
“That’s sweet of you, Growley, but I can take care of myself.” Tapping a hoof to my chin, I added, “Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve been doing these last two weeks. Besides, seeing a bunch of bucks ramming their antlers together only does so much for me. As you point out, I am a pony, and I need more than just a strong, handsome buck, muscles rippling with a sheen of sweat...” I cleared my throat at that point, my own cheeks burning bright.
Sitting down, Growler gave me a surprised look.
“You’re still in heat.”
“No, I’m not,” I protested, though the fire that was starting to burn once more in my loins was telling me otherwise. I became very aware of Growler then. Moonlight shimmering in his fur. A gleam in his gentle brown eyes. The curve of his back, and the strong muscles underneath. My thoughts were filled with memories of the last winter, of the long nights spent talking, sharing our different foalhoods, the few battles fought side-by-side against beasts and monsters. A gentle smile touching my lips I leaned forward. My muzzle next to his ear, I took in his heady, musky scent. It reminded me of freshly broken evergreen leaves and peat. “Maybe just a little,” I admitted before nipping him on the ear.
“Velvet?”
My eyes trailed down his wide chest, coming to a rest between his hind legs. I wanted him so badly. My entire body sang for his caress. To feel his lips on mine before trailing down my neck to lower regions. A thrill ran up my spine at the ghostly sensation crawling across my coat at his imagined touch. Turning back to the stream I again flicked my tail across Growler’s muzzle. Watching him over my withers, I smiled as he took in my scent.
“Come, I won’t bite,” I purred. “Maybe.”
There are few times I can recall so clear a desire. Yes, the Season was twisting my thoughts, but it hardly needed to bother. My heart was already made. I trusted Growler with my life every day; as he entrusted his with me. He seemed to consider the situation before following me.
“Are you sure about this, Velvet?” he asked once we reached the stream.
There was no hesitation as I leaned forward and kissed him. Electricity sparked through my body at the contact, fanning the flames inside me. After a long moment I pulled back and saw he had a dopey grin on his face.
“Yes, I am. I can’t think of any pony or Halla I’d rather have my first time with, Growley.”
I brought my forehooves up to his face, holding it steady as I kissed him again.
“Do you have to use that name?” he asked breathlessly when we broke apart again.
“You want to quibble about your name, Growley, or make love?”
“Oh, the latter,” he laughed, grabbing me around the barrel as he lunged in for an even deeper kiss.
Illuminated by the moon and stars, we laid together that night, and for many nights after.
“Aww, it sounds perfect,” Glitterdust cooed, dreamily staring up at the cloud’s overhead as she rested her chin on her hooves.
“Too perfect,” Whisper grunted, though she also had a smile. “First times are short and—”
Clearing her throat Cadence drew everypony’s attention. “Ahem, there is a filly present.”
“Oh please,” Tyr tried to snort, only for it to turn into a sneeze. “I once spent a weekend with Dionysus.”
“Who?”
“Um, God of... uh... parties, and wine... and... stuff...” Tyr’s cheeks glowed red as she ducked her head a little lower.
“Parties?” Glitterdust arched a brow.
“Wine?” Cadence’s face carried a slight disbelieving frown.
“By ‘Stuff’, you don’t mean...” Whisper’s voice trailed off into a couple polite coughs.
“I don’t think you want to know. Really.”
It was the three mares turns to blush as their imaginations ran wild as to what ‘stuff’ could entail, spurred on by Velvet’s steamy developments in the story. Cadence laughed at the blushes her mothers-in-law sported. A bright light flashed in Whispers eyes, banishing the crimson tinting her cheeks.
“Vel, how old were you?”
Brought out of her own thoughts, Velvet gave a small ‘pardon me?’, to which Whisper repeated the question.
“Oh, I was sixteen at the time.”
“Sixteen!” Glitterdust and Whisper repeated, their voices making the servants bringing out lunch jump.
Velvet simply shrugged at their shocked expressions. “Different times and society,” was all the explanation they received. Velvet took a moment to thank the servants before turning her attention to the plate of sandwiches, carrots, and celery stalks.
“You love him still,” Cadence stated softly after placing a sandwich in front of Tyr.
“I... Yes, I do, and I always will,” Velvet admitted. “But he’s dead, so it’s immaterial.”
The table grew very sober at this revelation. Glitterdust reached over and gave her wife a gentle hug, but didn’t say anything.
Cadence took the opportunity to lean down, and whispering so only Tyr could hear, asked, “What is Dionysus really?”
“Hedonism,” Tyr replied in an equally hushed voice.
Raising a brow, Cadence gave her head a shake. “I wonder sometimes...” Cadence’s voice trailed off as she gave a slight ‘tsk’. She was about to add more when she noticed Tyr beginning to wobble before falling against her side. Reaching up, Tyr grabbed Cadence’s wing, wrapping it around herself like a blanket while shivering almost uncontrollably.
Forcing a smile, Velvet was about to continue her tale when a fit of coughs wracked Tyr’s body. The false smile vanished, replaced by concern.
“That’s not good,” Velvet stated, pushing back her lunch. She, and her wives, all moved around the filly, pressing hooves to her forehead, looking into her eyes and mouth, and coming quickly to the consensus, as only a group of new grandmares could manage, that Tyr needed to be put to bed straight away, a warm compress of sparkle flowers applied to the chest to ease her breathing and lemon tea for her congestion.
“No, I want to hear about the Halla and grandmother Velvet’s adventures!” Tyr protested, trying to ward off her grandmothers.
“You will, after we get you tucked into bed, dear,” Cadence said, lifting Tyr up with her magic and leading the herd towards the manor.
Getting Tyr into bed proved to be rather simple. The promise of the story’s continuation enough that the moment they entered her room, she clambered up onto the bed, slid beneath her comforters, and then smiled up at Velvet expectantly. She groaned a little as herbs were applied and special teas brewed.
The tea had a tart flavour that made Tyr squirm while the sparkle flower compress had a sickly sweet smell almost like burnt honey. The filly did her best to fend off her foster family, but such efforts were futile. When she’d at last sipped the final sip of tea, Tyr just grinned and waited.
Before Velvet could continue her story, however, the thick doors of the room opened again and Shining stepped inside followed by Comet Chaser.
“We thought we heard you ladies come inside,” Shining said, giving a bright smile.
Comet Chaser greeted his second and third wives with a stiff nod and grin. Velvet barely suppressed a laugh at the uncharacteristic display of emotion from her husband.
Waiting until everypony had found a seat, a few cushions and a couch being brought in from the adjacent Rose Room, Velvet continued the story.
“It was a few months later I began to show the signs that I was pregnant—.”
“What!?” Shining and Comet exclaimed together, their eyes growing large while their mouths fell open.
“Hey, don’t interrupt!” Tyr snapped. “It’s your fault you missed part of the story.”
“Hush, Tyr, no need to be like that,” Cadence admonished before nodding for Velvet to resume.
“As I was saying...”
My pregnancy was met with concern. There was happiness as well, but overwhelmingly it was concern that pervaded the herd. At first I assumed that they were upset about me carrying a half-breed, but I quickly learned that was not the case.
The night I told Eagle Perched Fir I was pregnant was one of the most frightening in my life. Over the months I had come to respect and love him as a father. He was the only Eagle that treated me not as a walking calamity, but as a Halla. I anticipated disappointment and anger from him as I approached. Fir looked up as I stopped in front of where he and the senior wolf of our herd rested.
“Is something the matter, Velvet” he asked in his slow, gentle way.
I could do little more than nod. My throat was clenched shut, while my gut was tied into an improbable knot. After several attempts I finally managed to say, “I’m pregnant.”
Fir simply nodded, turned to the senior wolf, Gnawed Bark, and said, “it is as you thought.”
“You knew?” I asked as relief began to wash through my veins.
“Please, you and Growler have been about as subtle as a rampaging dragon,” Gnawed snorted as she stood. With a wave of her head, she said, “Follow me.”
I didn’t ask where we were headed as she lead me a short distance from the herd. No words were shared at all, Gnawed keeping her own council until she abruptly stopped in the glade next to our camp.
“Hold still,” she ordered as magic alighted along her antlers. Humming one of Sylph’s songs, Gnawed passed her magic over my sides, making me realise she was using a scanning spell. She spent several minutes scanning the foal and I, rotating through as many different spells. As time progressed she ceased to hum, and her face took on a dreadful pallor. “Well,” she said after completing the final scan, “The good news is your foal is alive and growing. But she is very weak, Velvet. You need to prepare yourself to the reality that the odds of you carrying this foal to term are beyond slim.”
“But, the Halla are a joining of unicorn and elk blood!” I protested. “So says the Ballad of the First Herd.”
“The ballad also states that it was the queen that breathed life into the foals when they could take none for themselves.” Gnawed reminded me, placing a hoof upon my withers.
“Then I’ll... I’ll...”
“You’ll prepare yourself for the worst, and hope for the best.” Gnawed interjected forcefully, a dark scowl making her eyes turn into two black pools. “As we all must do. Many lose their first foal to the Gasping. It is the price we pay for our service to the queen, and our betrayal.”
“That’s a load of dragon crap, and you know it!” I snarled, my upper lip curling back as my anger rose. “The arse licking Eagles in the home-steads feed that line of maggot riddled meat to keep the nomads in line. I’ve seen a goddess, Celestia, and she would never do a tenth the things attributed to the queen.”
“The Sun Princess is not our Queen, Velvet. She may be the purity and light that bathes the disc, but the Queen is a spiteful whoredotter that would cleave us all from gullet to arse, as in the Tale of Immodel.”
“I can not believe that,” I fumed, the two of us beginning to circle the other as our tempers rose. “It is not just Celestia, but Cadence! It is thanks to them that ponies have known a thousand years of prosperity.”
“What of Nightmare Moon, hmm? Our very Queen’s niece? She too descended into madness. Or did you think those preposterous rituals on the Fall Solstice performed by the ignorant, blind foals you once called kin were nothing but old hinds’ tales?”
“No more than you plow your head into the earth about Iridia!”
“Do not speak that vile wretch’s name!” Gnawed thundered, drawing herself up to her full height, little sparks of electricity arcing between the prongs of her antlers.
At that point the argument grew heated and devolved mostly into name calling. After an hour of trading barbs, I stormed off into the woods. Fuming, I took little heed of where I was heading or my surroundings. Cursing Gnawed and the Halla in general, I found myself in a sheltered glade with a small pond.
Alone, my anger faltered and I was left with only the worry for my unborn foal.
I looked down into the pond and saw my own face framed by the bright half of the moon, almost as if I had taken the mare-in-the-moon’s place. The eyes that looked back at me were haggard and haunted, hollow sunken things filled with sadness and regret.
In that moment I felt so alone.
My friends among the herd were little comfort. My distant mentors back in Reinalla could not console my heart. Not even thoughts of Growler could break the sorrow that clung to me.
I was very much as a little filly, desperate for a hug from my mother and the reassuring smile of my father. All I wanted was to hear their voices again and be told that everything would be okay. That my filly would be strong and healthy, and the icy fear that had been sunk deep into me was silly.
Tears dripped from my chin, breaking the mirror surface of the pond, and in the ripples I thought I could see my mother looking back at me.
I could almost even hear her. Closing my eyes, I focused on the whisper of memory, but it drifted away, like fog on a morning breeze. Desperately, I closed my eyes harder, my face tense with the effort of bringing forth happy memories.
But it was futile.
The memories were gone, chased away by the great swirling beast of anger and fear that pervaded my thoughts. Furiously, I scrubbed the few tears from my face.
In defeat, I stood, and as I turned away from the pond I saw him.
He stood upon a short slope of stone protruding between the roots of an elder pine. A red cloak trimmed in white fur was bunched over his withers revealing old, battered barding. Jutting out of the left breast of his armour was the point of a deep purple crystal with swirling blues that churned like eddies and currents. Dark grey and unpolished, a helm rimmed in broken spikes rested on his brow, a crimson battle-spine protecting a long, sharpened horn. A grim smile parted thin lips to reveal a pair of curved fangs. But it is his eyes I remember the most; they were like a ring of blood inside a pool of green bile.
We just stood there, staring at each other, neither moving.
I could taste magic in the air. It was foul and acrid, burning my tongue and making my horn itch. A pulse went through the magic, slow and thready, like the beat of a hollow heart. As the pulse washed over me, I felt the magic tugged at me, sapping away a fragment of happiness. My own breath halted as I felt the pulse repeat itself, throwing corruption into the wind, while sucking out all the was good.
“Who are you?” I snapped, setting my hooves into an aggressive opening stance.
The figure didn’t respond, he hardly even seemed to notice me. Tilting his head, he whispered, “such a pretty thing. Young. Full of life. So much hardship lays before her. I wonder… I wonder…”
As unnerving as his appearance, his voice was worse. Slow, precise, with a hint of cruel humour dancing around the edges, as if at any moment control could vanish to be replaced by lunacy.
As slow as the drifting of a glacier I drew my sword, my eyes never wavering while my ears scanned for a potential ambush.
“I won’t ask again,” I snapped as I slid a hoof forward, readying myself for action. “I am Velvet Sparkle, of the Waki’Nin Nomads, and you are in our home. Who are you?”
“She asks me my name. Should I tell her, little moondream, tell her who I am?” The figure chuckled, shaking his tangled mane. “It wouldn’t matter, would it? Names and titles are meaningless things, after-all. In the end we are all just sacks of meat to the reapers, and then we are dust.”
The snap of a twig to my side made tense muscles burst into action. I spun, bringing my blade up in a guard.
Out of the brush staggered Sylph, a couple twigs sticking out of her mane. She skidded to a halt mere inches from my sword, eyes crossing as they focused on the steel in front of her nose.
“Ah! It’s me, Vel! Sylph!” she yelped, scooting back.
Ignoring Sylph I glanced back to the stone, but the other unicorn was gone.
“Did you see him?” I asked as I slid my weapon into its sheath.
“See who?”
“There was another unicorn, right there, on that rock,” I exclaimed as I went to inspect the indicated spot. There were no signs that the other unicorn had been present. The soft loamy dirt was undisturbed around the base, and the short grass was unbroken. He couldn’t have teleported away as I hadn’t seen the tell-tale flash of such a spell. It was as if he had turned to smoke and drifted away. “He was right here, I swear on the first daughter!”
Looking around, Sylph shrugged. “Well, he isn’t here now.”
“You believe me, right?” I asked as I paced in wider and wider circles looking for anything to indicate somepony else had been there with me.
“Never said I didn’t.” Sylph giggled as she glided up to my side. “Not my concern anyways. Ponies in the Taiga is for the Wolves and Eagles. You should tell the elders.”
I stiffened at the names, casting a wary glance over my withers towards Sylph.
“I... don’t think that is a good idea.”
“What, because you got into a little argument with Gnawed?” Sylph let out a derisive snort.
“You heard that?”
Rolling her eyes, Sylph jabbed me in the side. “Vel, I think half the Taiga heard you two going at each other.” She then let her good humour slide away. “The herd’s worried about you, Vel.”
“That seems to be pretty common,” I snorted starting to trot off again away from the herd.
“Well, you have to admit your smaller, more fragile, not as strong as—.”
Fast as a cobra, I spun, anger making my mane dance. Despite being shorter than Sylph, I loomed over her in presence.
Sparks danced off my tongue as I snarled, “I am not weak!”
“M-My mistake!” Sylph shrunk back, pressing her ears flat to her head in submission.
“I’m strong, and so too will be my foal,” I continued, not realising I’d reverted to Equestrian in my anger and fear. “We have to be... We have to be...”
Tears threatened to flow freely as I brushed past my dearest friend. She stopped me with a raised hoof. I turned to ask her what she was doing, but felt a lump lodge itself in my throat as she brought her forelegs around my neck.
“You are strong, Velvet, the strongest Halla I know.” She whispered, stroking my mane with one hoof. “No matter what happens, you have the herd, and we’ll always be here for you. Even when you’re being a stubborn goat.”
The ice in my heart was torn free by the gentle words, and like a foal I wrapped my hooves around Sylph and let myself cry.
We returned to the herd just before dawn’s first light began to creep over the disc. Swallowing my damaged pride, the first thing I did was apologise to Gnawed for my words and storming off. She in turn apologised for her own role in our argument. I told Perched about the unicorn I had seen near the pond, and he sent a cadre of our herd’s bears and wolves to investigate. They found nothing except a slight feeling of unease lingering about the stone on which the unicorn had stood.
Settling against Growler the next night, I kissed him gently upon his jaw.
“You shouldn’t antagonise the elders so much, Dwemëu,” Growler stated, using his magic to draw my blankets tight against my barrel.
“You worry too much,” I responded quickly, giving him a cock-sure grin. I refused to let him see me as weak and jittery.
He gave a low grunt and frowned. “You can try to shield your heart from me, but it will not work. Dwemëu, I know you too well. I can feel your fear.”
Nodding slowly, I repeated what Gnawed had told me the previous night.
Through it all, Growler remained silent. When I finished, he held me closer, looked up to the rising moon. I could feel the hidden strength that thrummed through his frame, and it gave me hope.
“Our daughter will live, of that I have no doubt,” Growler said, his words certain and absolute.
We spoke little more that night, slowly drifting off, unaware that the course of Halla history was about to be altered forever.
I was awoken to the sounds of screams and wails. Casting aside my blanket, I drew my sword while casting a simple enchantment that granted moonsight. Flank to flank with Growler, we searched for the danger to the herd. Little sparks of waiting electricity arced between his antlers, and I could sense him connecting to the earth, preparing his defensive and offensive magic.
From the position of the moon I discerned I had slept perhaps a half-hour, perhaps more, making it the start of the witching hour.
More and more screams filled the camp, hinds leaping to their hooves right out of sleep. A few of the flightier members of the herd made to stamped. Twisting and glancing about I searched for the source of their fear, but saw nothing. The bears that had been patrolling the perimeter appeared, ready for battle. They too looked for the threat, making me realise that whatever was happening had slipped past our guards.
Order was restored when a ball of magic burst above the herd, temporarily banishing the night. All eyes were drawn to the source. The Triplets stood, grim of face and dark in their anger.
“Bestill yourselves,” they snapped, their magically enhanced voices echoing like the tread of a giant through the trees.
“But the Queen, she came to me!” cried Silver Pine, one of the more anxious members of the herd.
“Me too. Same here. I as well,” voiced several other hinds.
“She threatened my foal,” Burnt Willow yelled from near the middle of the herd.
Only a slight frown on White’s muzzle betrayed the triplets emotions at the statement.
“Unlikely,” they replied, stamping their hooves. “The Queen in Stone does not deign to address the likes of us. There must be another explanation to what we experienced.”
I looked about the herd and saw many frowns and angry faces. Arguments began to break out amongst our number. From a nearby pair I heard repeated that foals had been threatened.
“Enough!” Fir roared, his deep, brassy voice crushing all discontent. “We are Halla, not panicky, timid, little ponies. Act like it.”
From throughout the herd voices began to question the Eagle, most demanding answers as to why the queen would threaten foals, and why now? She had been quiet since her imprisonment, what could make her stir now? More and more the questions came, piling atop each other until I could not keep track of them all.
“She didn’t threaten our foals.”
It was Sylph who had spoken. She had leapt atop her mate’s back, using him as a perch to glower down upon the rest of the herd.
“It was a warning!” She shouted, drawing agreement and nods from every corner of the camp. “She is warning us. We must find one of her hidden vales before the winter, or all our foals are in danger.”
“The Seven Vales are a legend,” snapped Crimson Winter, the senior badger.
“To the rest of the disc we are a legend,” I responded, drawing the herds attention. Hesitating for a moment, I looked from Sylph to Growler, both giving me firm nods to continue. “Ioka is filled with myths and legends, and almost all are grown from a grain of truth, even the Grain of Truth!” A smattering of chuckles rippled through the herd. “We are Halla, and to those beyond the Crystalspines, we are nothing more than myth and hearsay. I look around and see that it was all the expecting mothers that received this vision, yes?”
A smattering of nods and confirmation greeted my question, as well as Burnt Willow asking, “Did you see her, Velvet?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I wouldn’t have if she came in a dream.”
Some confusion spread, more than a few wondering what I meant.
“Vel is a unicorn, you rock brained farmers,” Sylph yelled as the confusion grew louder. “Cursed never to dream but once in the year.”
“So, what does this have to do with the threat we received?”
“Warning,” the triplets corrected.
“It means that we will winter in a vale,” Fir shouted, quieting his herd before another rumble of discontent could sweep through it.
“But we don’t know where they are,” protested Silver Pine. She began to wring her hooves, little tears trickling down her face as she muttered and blubbered to herself.
Perched Fir smashed a hoof into the stone beneath him, splintering the weathered granite. “We have the old songs. As Velvet says, we Halla are legends, and we will use legends as our guides. Now, get what rest you can. Tomorrow we break camp.”
Still muttering amongst themselves, most of the herd returned to their tents.
Unsatisfied with Fir’s command, I went to the triplets to demand more answers.
“She has shown us a vision of what will happen to those herds who refuse to winter in places strong with the magic of spring,” White said, her voice low and sad as she and her sisters began to pack their tent, placing their potions and things into their saddle-bags. “No foal will be born to those herds that did not make for one of the Seven Vales, Velvet. There is a darkness within the Taiga, one that saps the life from the unborn.”
“Do the other herds know?” I asked as the ghostly laments of the previous spring thrust forward from my memory. I shivered despite the warm, balmy night.
“The Queen has warned them as she has us. It is up to them to listen or not,” White hesitated, then added, “But, most will return to the homesteads and will not be able to reach one of the vales in time. It is going to be a bleak spring, next year.”
To reach one of the vales and set our eyes on the sacred blossoms we journeyed far to the south, to the base of Mount Greyhame’s treacherous slopes. The blades of our Bears tasted the blood of beasts mundane and fantastical on an almost daily basis as we made our way towards the glade. At the front of our herd, side-by-side, strode the triplets, ever our guides, reading the signs that pointed the way.
Beneath an arch of crimson ice, and through a valley of weeping, poisonous fog we travelled. To the petrified bones of an ancient wyrm slain in a time forgotten, his gaze pointing to the final path, we marched. Mount Greyhame herself seemed to reject our presence, the mountain sending loose boulders down upon our herd.
But as the Taiga began to turn gold we knew we had made it.
Hidden high upon Mount Greyhame there exists a bountiful garden sheltered beneath the arms of Kuëthmyrsil, the first cherry tree, said to have been planted by the queen when she was young and new to Ioka. A small pool encircled the tree, fed by the icy waters flowing from the glaciers that gave the Crystalspines their name. Butterflies, millions of them, fluttered between beds of flowers. Before the tree sat a monument of the blackest marble. A single word was barely visible on the stone, weathered away to almost obscurity by an untold number of years.
Namyra.
No Halla yet remains who knows what meaning lies hidden behind that word.
None save I and one other.
Within Cherry Blossom Vale we found the Kuppa’Jo and Flask’Ah. Shortly after our arrival, two more herds emerged out of the walls of fog that formed the final barrier protecting the vale. A final herd would join us before the first snows fell and access to and from the vale was severed for the winter.
Over a thousand Halla wintered together, and it was a wonderful season. Within the vale winter’s grasp never reached us. Each day was sunny and warm as if it were the height of spring forever. Though cramped, we never wanted for sustenance, a single blade of grass enough to fill our bellies, and but a sip from the crystal clear pool enough to quench the greatest thirst.
A town formed, and for the first time since I joined the herd, fires were lit. At night we sang, and during the day we watched the younglings play. A few of the badgers spun silk thread using the fibers on the butterflies wings. They only used those butterflies that passed away naturally, but there were so many that by spring there’d be tons of the thread. The thread proved to be lighter, stronger, and softer than any other. Cloths made from the thread seemed to repel water while also holding in heat like wool four times as thick.
That winter solstice was one of laughter and joy. I had grown large with my foal, as had most of the other hinds. Nibbling on bread made with berries picked from the holy tree, I leaned against Growler, as Sylph sang traditional pony chorals to us and the triplets. She had learned the songs from me, and though she stumbled on some of the words, Sylph enjoyed singing them to us.
Little did we know of the dangers the coming year held in store for us.
I had a sense of the coming calamities. There was a tenseness deep within my gut whenever I thought of the small life growing inside me. This was often. As often as I dreamed, which was every night, without fail. As the vale protected us from the evil seeping deeper into the Taiga, it also countered whatever curse was laid upon unicorns.
Winter made way for a glorious Spring, the brightest and warmest within the annuals of Halla history.
Anxiety flitted through the herds as the birthing season came upon us. Though no Halla mentioned it, we all carried the same fear; that our foals would not live.
The first day came and went with none of the hinds entering labour.
A second passed the same way, followed by a third.
Anxiety was threatening to boil over into full panic. Anger swept through the six herds, many claiming that the Queen had tricked us and we’d doomed our foals. These voices were few and quickly drowned out by calls for calmness. As things began to reach a fevered pitch, the first hinds began to labour.
The birth of my eldest happened early in the afternoon. A section of the vale had been set aside for the hinds to have some privacy. I don’t recall much, Gnawed having used a spell to induce a fugue state. What little I do recall is pain unlike anything else I have experienced, and then a grey nothingness between dreams and reality.
When I awoke I was so weak and tired. I could hardly feel anything behind my withers. Shifting my head I noticed Growler sitting beside me. He had one of my hooves in his own, and his other hoof wrapped around a bundle in gold cloth. For several moments I wondered why he treated the cloth with such reverence, then it struck me; he was holding our daughter.
“Growler?” I tried to say, but my voice was hoarse and raw, coming out as a garbled croak.
To his credit, Growler neither jumped in surprise nor exclaimed my name. He just leaned over, kissed me on the brow, and asked me to stay quiet while he fetched me a thimble of water. While the magical water refreshed my throat, sending cool tingling waves through my weary body, he explained what had happened.
“You’ve been asleep for a week, Dwemëu,” he began. “Our daughter is alive but… It is as we feared, she has the Gasping.”
In that instant my world began to crumble. Demanding to see her, Growler shifted the bundle to my side. Moving the cloth, I got the first look at my daughter.
Large brown eyes stared up at me from within a face whiter than snow. Above her brow were the nubs for antlers. Between them was a short tuft of two-toned hair, pink and cobalt blue in colour. She smiled up at my face, reaching with her little cloven hooves.
“She reminds me of my grandmother,” I said, trying to hold back the competing joy and sorrow. As I spoke she took a short, watery breath, her entire body rattling with the effort. “Hello, River Sparkle, I’m your mother.”
I didn’t have long to enjoy River’s presence before the tent-flap was tossed open to admit Perched Fir and five bulls I recognised as the Eagles for the other herds. Their long faces were covered in expressionless stone masks. Masks that cracked when they looked down on me and my daughter.
“It is true. She is white,” stated the head of the Kuppa’Jo.
Tensing, I held River closer, fearing for a moment that they were about to take her away from me. Instead, one by one, the eagles knelt, touching their antlers to the ground. The tent was filled with silence except for River’s troubled breathing. They remained that way for what felt minutes before they again stood. Ignoring my presence, they immediately began to talk amongst themselves.
“I never thought another white hind would be born,” Waking Spirit of the Rag’Ling herd muttered, shaking his large head.
“She has the Gasping, however,” noted Perched Fir. “She will not see the next spring, even living in this vale.”
“True.”
“It is a shame she cannot be saved,” Waking Spirit stamped a hoof and snorted. Turning to me and Growler, our presences were finally noted by the bulls. “Would you do anything to protect her?”
“That is the stupidest question I’ve ever heard,” Growler snorted, rising to his hooves and striding towards the much larger Halla. “We are her parents, of course we’ll do whatever we must to protect our daughter!”
“As it should be,” Perched gave a swift turn of his head, leading the Eagles out of the tent.
As the last left, the triplets and Sylph entered. All four of my friends carried wide grins. For what felt like hours, we spoke, talking about very little, all of us avoiding the greater issue. My mind was troubled by the encounter with the Eagles, and I could see Growler was having the same thoughts.
“She’s so cute,” Sylph cooed, playing with River and making the foal giggle and wheeze. “And so white. Just like in the myths.”
“Why is her coat colour so important?” I asked, though I dreaded the answer.
“White hinds are… gifted, Vel.” Sylph shifted a little, wincing at her own words.
Turning to the triplets for a better answer, I gave the trio a hard stare.
“Gifted is an understatement,” Violet chuckled. “It is said that a White Hind can peer between our world and that of the dead, guiding lost souls to the afterlife.”
Picking up where her sister left off, White added, “A White Hind is impossible to catch. With but a thought she can vanish, reappearing where she wills without effort or spell.”
“She knows every path in the Taiga. All the secret places. All the hidden trails. Everything is to her as a paved road,” Red finished for the trio.
I’ll admit, I felt a little overwhelmed by the weight and certainty in the triplets voices. They spoke of her as a saviour or saint, and their eyes carried a faith I had not seen among the Halla when they looked down on the small, gold-wrapped foal. It was the same way ponies look upon Celestia when watching her raise the sun.
I had known that my daughter would be different, but this was too much. A happy, normal, healthy life was all I had desired for her. Sadly, two of the three seemed to be impossible.
“So, when do we leave?”
It was Sylph that asked the question, looking expectantly between the rest of us.
“What do you mean?”
Rolling her eyes, Sylph jabbed a hoof at me. “Oh, please, I know you Vel. You’re trying to think of someway to help her.”
“Yes, but… How? How do I save her, Sylphy, how?”
“I told you the answer months ago, dum-dum.” Snorting, Sylph shook her head. “The Queen.”
“You can’t be serious!” Growler snarled, taking a threatening step towards Sylph. “She—.”
“Saved the life of my son!” Sylph snarled back, pressing her antlers against Growlers, returning his look with an intensity a hundred times greater. “She saved the lives of how many foals? We lost not one this year. Not. One.” Shoving Growler back, Sylph poured her righteousness down on him in a withering glare. “I can not think of a year when a single herd hasn’t lost at least one foal. But for all six of the herds here to have all their foals survive? This is Her doing, River Growler.”
Looking to the triplets for support, Growler instead found them nodding agreement with Sylph.
“She alone can heal the Gasping,” the trio said, reverting to their usual method of talking together.
“’A sprig of Life. Health to the sick. Strength to the weak.’” Sylph recited. When she received blank stares, Sylph swung her lute down from her back and played the song. Throughout, little River giggled and squealed, waving her tiny hooves towards the instrument. As the last note drifted from the tent and Sylph returned her lute to her back, she said, “If we bring a sprig from the first tree to Her, She’ll be able to grant one boon, and heal your daughter.”
“Alright,” I gave a firm nod, heart set. “Then that is what I will do.”
“What we’ll do, you mean,” Growler stated. “I may not agree with this plan. It is foalish and doomed to failure. But I will not let my mate undertake this alone.”
“I am coming too.” Sylph said with a thin smile, and before I could begin to protest she added. “You will need some-elk who knows the legends and myths. Who can guide you to the Lost Vale of the First Tree. And even if you found the tree on your own, which you wouldn’t, you’d first have to find the Golden Sickle in order to be able to take a sprig from the tree.”
Sighing, and running a hoof over my face, I asked, “I suppose you know where the sickle is, too?”
“Gamla Uppsala. The royal burial mounds of the Halla in antiquity. It is said that the royal herd held the sickle, both as the leaders of the Halla when the Queen would travel, and as her High Priests and Priestesses. When the last of the Youngling line perished, it is said that she was buried with the sickle. It was three hundred years later that the Queen returned to the Halla and declared the Eternal Herd march upon the pony refugees that had landed in what is now Equestria. But the Queen never returned to the old site of the Youngling’s lodge; Lion Lodge. I am positive that it is there, within the burial mounds, that we will find her sickle.”
Smiling, the triplets said, “It is settled then. We six will find the Lost Vale, and save River Sparkle.” They then paused, and from the way their ears flickered I could tell they were speaking amongst themselves. “But to do so we must first separate. If this endeavour is to succeed, River must be taken to Reinalla. We will bring her to Raven Lodge and intrust her safety to Grandmaster Winds.”
“We will need set a meeting place and time,” Growler pointed out.
“The headwaters of Skeena river, lake Babine. We will wait for you there, at Sunfall Stone. If you reach there first and we do not arrive by the summer moon, continue without us.” The triplets then turned grave. “The elders cannot know what we seek to do. They would be forced to stop us. We are conspiring to commit high treason. Once you are recovered enough, Velvet, we will leave. Until then, it is paramount we act as if all is normal. You should also enjoy your daughter, and you your son, Sylph. It may be the last time you see them, and they you.”
With that the triplets left the tent, Sylph following shortly after.
The next week was spent in tense preparation. As Halla, we already possessed most of what we would need. Still, there were a few things only Cherry Blossom Vale could provide. From the bakers we bought a loaf of vale-bread each, and filled our flasks with the pools waters. I replaced my heavy wool cloak and winter clothes with lighter versions made from butterfly silk. Sylph likewise acquired a cloak, and a brace of knives from her grand dame, the senior Bear of our herd.
It was in the middle of night that we slipped out of the vale, Sylph lingering a moment to kiss her foal upon his brow. Then we were gone, and our journey began.
“Before the summer was over, we had ridden on the back of a northern roc, delved deep into Ioka’s shell, battled dire and frost wolves, and traded songs with an ancient forest dragon,” Velvet said, letting the story drift off along with Tyr, the filly’s eyes fluttering shut as she fell asleep at last.
The large bedroom grew silent, Velvet simply stroking Tyr’s mane while humming a few bars from Sylph’s old song. All the ponies in the room had questions dancing on the tips of their tongues, but none wished to risk waking Tyr. After a few moments, they were saved from the dilemma by a timid knock upon the door followed by one of the manor’s servants stepping into the room.
Taking quick stock of the situation, the servant said just above a whisper, “Your highnesses, my ladies and lord; dinner has been prepared.”
“Thank you, Summer, we’ll be right down,” Velvet responded, slipping off the bed, and giving Tyr a quick kiss on the brow.
As they slipped one by one from the room, Velvet stopped and looked back. Cadence hadn’t moved from her spot next to Tyr, and had extended a wing over the filly. There was a pensive frown in the corners of the princess’ eyes, and a stiffness to the her back.
“Princess?”
The word contained a dozen questions in one: Why do you linger? Is something the matter? Are you going to join us? And many more variations along the same theme.
Looking up, Cadence gave her head a little shake, as if she were banishing a bad thought. She could have been, Velvet realised. Cadence was an ancient being, despite her youthful appearance and demeanor. There were very few ponies that could begin to grasp the life Cadence had lived. Though Velvet had some inkling, she also knew that is was just the barest conception.
“I’ll have Summer bring you up a plate, love,” Velvet said, pre-empting any response. As she reached the door and took the handle in her magic, she added, “and a bottle of the merlot.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cadence said, sliding off the bed. “I’m going to Canterlot to speak with Celestia. I’m worried that she’s only getting worse...” Her voice trailed off as she gave her head another shake.
“She’s young and strong, love. Fillies get these little bugs all the time.” Velvet tried to sound reassuring, but her own doubt tinted her voice.
Turning back to Tyr, Cadence said, “but she isn’t young, Velvet. Not by non-alicorn standards. She’s actually old. Very old.”
“Yes…” Velvet slowly agreed, “A hundred and thirty five, she keeps claiming. But that can’t be right… Can it?”
Cadence gave a slight shrug.
“I don’t know. Aunt Celestia seemed to take it at face value.”
“But it’s just a cold, right?” Velvet shifted on her hooves, the reversal from being comforter to comforted sending a chill up her spine.
She asked the question more out of social obligation. A hundred different spells, curses, hexes, and jinxes scrambled through her thoughts. Most had been forgotten until she’d started telling the story of her past. Velvet blanched as some of the darker spells danced across her mind, taunting and laughing at her as if they were gremlins. With a grim toss of her head, Velvet banished her fears. Almost all those spells were Lost Magic. Half of them were known only to her, and maybe the princesses.
“I’m not so sure, Velvet,” Cadence whispered around a click of her tongue. “Which is why I am going to seek Aunt Celestia’s council.”
“I’ll stay with Tyr, then.” Velvet said as she carefully stepped back onto the bed, curling her tail around the sleeping filly. Looking back towards the princess, Velvet added, “There is another in Canterlot who could help, you know…”
Cadence hesitated, then nodded before vanishing in a flash of baby-blue magic. Alone with Tyr, Velvet laid her chin down next to the filly. In a low, shaky voice, Velvet sung an old equish lullaby.