The Sea of Green stretched out before her once more, and under her, and behind her, and after some time she began to wonder if she’d miscalculated and should have rested upon Fiddler’s Green or one of the other islands when she had a chance. At last a dark silhouette of land appeared on the horizon, and Nightmare Moon felt a mixture of relief and foreboding, for she knew that she approached the shores of mysterious Ling. Of this land she’d heard only dark rumors as to its unpleasant nature, its stone monuments of weird and ancient provenance, and the travelers who’d ventured there and were not heard from again — or, if they did return, were never the same. Some even muttered darkly that Ling’s unwholesome inhabitants were not quite equine.
Indeed, she would have preferred to avoid Ling, but any path around it to the north or south would have been long and even more arduous, for neither the high peaks of Xamen or the blasted deserts of the Baklands were to be ventured lightly.
She espied a stone circle, the gray menhirs gnarled with age and stained with moss, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea as if placed there to serve as a sentinel, or perhaps as a warning. Rude dirt trails snaked between primeval stones, proving the site was still in use. Even Nightmare Moon, versed as she was in lore of Dark Magic, shuddered inwardly as she considered the horrid rituals that must have been carried out here. She flapped harder, speeding onward to put distance between herself and that ghastly structure.
As she went inland the terrain of Ling rose quickly, and soon she flew over hills of wild scrubland and dark cedar brakes. Below she glimpsed the occasional shabby hill villages, remarkable only for their drabness and the paucity of cultivated fields, gardens or orchards which one would normally expect to see around such habitation. What sustains these folk, she wondered? Her flight muscles burned, and her thoughts turned to rest and water. Peering downward she sought the glint of reflected moonlight.
There! She turned toward a creek, its winding course marked by the thick growth of trees along its banks, and she stilled her wings to glide. Deep within the canopy of trees a green light flickered, and Nightmare Moon turned aside, suddenly wary. She directed her glide path to a landing far enough from the water, she hoped, to remain unobserved. Throat burning, heart pounding, she stood and panted for a few minutes, and held her wings open to help her body cool until she’d caught her breath. Then she cautiously, slowly picked her way through the scrub brush and greenbriar vines, not casting any spell lest the spark of magic give away her approach — for she feared the vile inhabitants of Ling were as savvy in the ways of Dark Magic as herself, if not more so. She found an animal trail leading down toward the water, so she could move a little more freely. It led her to bank overlooking a pond and to some bushes where she could remain partially concealed.
Three lank, pony-like creatures jostled upon an overhanging ledge of the creek bank, their bodies deep charcoal gray with glints of moonlight flashing in their featureless blue eyes. Nightmare Moon vaguely recalled having seen something like them at the arena where she’d fought Dominus Tusk, though she’d paid them little mind at the time.
One creature’s curved horn glowed with a green aura as it magically lifted a small stone from the shore. The glow became brighter, and the sizzle of magic louder, until the glowing stone suddenly zipped and struck the pond. Water splashed, but the creature that had launched the stone merely grumbled indistinctly. Another lit its horn and repeated the same action, magically firing another stone at the water. This time a silvery fish was thrown out of the water. Instantly it was grabbed by the green glow of magic while the three creatures chirped with glee and rustled their tatty, insectile wings. The wriggling fish levitated over to the shore and dropped into a basket.
Having taken their measure, Nightmare Moon stepped out into the open and neighed to get their attention. Seeing her, the creatures all pointed and gabbled excitedly to one another. One of them shook its wings with a buzzing noise, then flew across the pond, hovering to get a closer look.
“Well met!” Nightmare Moon called.
The creature jumped a little in mid-hover as though startled to be addressed in such a way. Then it moved closer and smiled, its fangs prominently showing. “Merry meet, traveller!” it chattered. “Come and join us if you so desire!”
“Nay! We only wish to take on water and continue our flight.”
“We?” It squinted at her with those curiously featureless blue eyes. “Do you have a mouse in your purse?”
She glared back. “We are Nightmare Moon, Princess of the Night, thou oaf. Mock us at your peril!”
The others fluttered over. “Oooooh!” trilled one. “It’s so prissy! A pretty prissy princess!” It held a hoof to its chest. “I was once a ruler — about twelve inches long.” They tittered.
The third one chattered, “Join us! Join us! There is much sport to be had under the stars.”
She bit back her irritation. They might be silly creatures, but at least they seemed to appreciate the night. After a moment she said, “If ye would share some knowledge of these lands in which we travel, then we might deign to tarry a little while.”
“Woohoo!” A couple of the creatures high-hoofed.
Nightmare Moon started to move down toward the pool, but one of the creatures buzzed to a landing in front of her and exclaimed, “Whoah! Pond water is nowise fit for a pretty prissy princess! Is nastybad, with fishies and turtles, moss and mud! Yuck! Ptui! You must come to the village.”
“Yes! Yes!” chirruped the others hovering nearby. “The village!”
The one who’d blocked her path added, “The ponies in the village can tell you much of this land, and of those nearby. They can answer all your questions. We can lead you there.”
She looked at the creature. “Ponies, you say?” It nodded, grinning. “Very well,” she agreed The pony-like thing darted around her legs, and she turned to follow it up the trail away from the pond. Of its two companions, one collected the basket of fish, tucking it between its wings, and they followed close at her heels.
As they left the creek behind and moved out from the shadows, she had a chance to inspect her escorts more closely. Their bodies were painfully thin, their ears notched, their manes and tails were sparse and ragged, and their insectile wings tattered. Each had a carapace upon its back, likened to that of a beetle, but these were vestigial and appeared incapable of fully covering or protecting the wings. Their legs too, she saw, were shot through with dark welts or pustules, as if infested with parasites. They looked to be starved and sickly creatures, and yet their behavior belied their appearance as they scampered about, hopping and sometimes literally buzzing with nervous energy.
One of them lit its horn and cast globes of green light that danced about, switched on and off in flashing patterns, then popped leaving darkness. Before Nightmare Moon’s eyes could adjust, one of the creatures appeared in a green glow directly in her path, making her stumble. The creatures chittered gleefully, and another one nipped at her flank. She rounded on it and barked, “Stop that!”
It bowed and said, “Beg pardon, Your Majesty!” while the others sniggered and jostled. “Watch your step, Your Majesty! The way is treacherous in the dark. We wouldn’t want you to step in a hole.”
“I can see everything,” she retorted. Her own horn crackled to life, and she picked the creature up in her aura. It squealed and flailed its hooves. Its horn flickered green, but it couldn’t break Nightmare Moon’s spell. “I am tired and my patience is thin,” she warned, and she pawed at the ground with a hoof and gave a snort to signal her irritation. Then she released the creature, dropping it upon one of its companions and tumbling them both into the dead branches and briars that littered the ground alongside the trail. After an awkward scramble to untangle themselves, they got upright and buzzed their wings to lift off. All three of them hovered and glared at Nightmare, showing more wariness than they had before. Sensing she’d gotten their attention, she demanded, “Do ye even have names, strange ones?”
They glanced at one another, and then the one carrying the fish basket chirped, “I have a name! I’m, uh… Rumplestiltskin!” They all chirped with laughter.
Another one raised a hoof. “Me! Me! I’m Snorkeldink Cockletit!” More laughter.
The third bounced in mid-air and said, “I’m Rumblesack Crimpysnitch!”
The one with the basket waved a hoof. “Ooh! Ooh, I’ve got one… I’ll be Whippersnatch Snickersbar!”
Nightmare growled and turned to walk on down the trail. A creature called after her, “Wait! Where are you going, Princess? Won’t you play any more?”
Without turning her head or slowing she called back, “I’ll find the village without your nonsense.”
“Nono! We’ll help, we’ll lead you. We’ll behave.” They rushed forward to hover above her. “You fly ahead to the village and tell them we’re coming, Collywog!” The one with the basket nodded and cast a green globe of light that orbited around it in lazy circles as it zipped away.
The rest of the walk was more peaceful as the two remaining hyperkinetic pony-ish things restrained themselves from any further pranks. They emerged from the woods and saw that the sky had lightened in the east, heralding the coming of another hazy, sunless day, and dim colors began to emerge from the gloom. The dirt trail was wider and more hoof-beaten as they passed farm steads. The fields on either side were brown with caked mud, and the few penned animals were thin and wizened like thirsty vines. Round huts were daubed with reddish clay and their rooftops thinly thatched. As they passed, eyes appeared at dark doorways, tracking their every move.
By the trail stood a post with a board nailed up and painted to make a rude sign: BUGTOWN
A lone street, thin and narrow, ran through the center of town, and the buildings were set close together as if trying to withstand a storm. Litter surrounded the buildings, and a pungent reek hung in the air. A few ponies ventured into the street, their forms indistinct in the pre-dawn light. As they approached, Nightmare Moon could see their leanness, the dirtiness and dullness of their coats and manes, bags under their eyes, and the lethargy of their movements. Such clothing as they had was earthy in color, ragged and patched.
The handful of ponies grew to more than dozen while Nightmare shuffled her hooves and waited for any of them to speak or come closer. When her patience had run out, she announced, loudly, “Peasants of this humble village, harken! Your princess of the night hath arrived!” The ponies only stirred uncertainly. Unsatisfied with their response, Nightmare Moon reared upon her hind legs and then slammed her front hooves into the ground with a report like a thunderclap, and she shouted, “BOW DOWN!”
They did. As she walked past them, not bothering to meet the gaze of any one of them. “We require food and drink, and lodgings wherein we might rest during the day before continuing our journey. We also require any information ye can provide about Frivoli, and any tidings ye may have received from there as of late.” She came to a stop, glanced over the still-groveling villagers and commanded, “All rise! And attend to our needs!”
They rose and began shuffling about, though without any great demonstration of vim or vigor. A gray-coated stallion introduced himself to her, in leaden tones, as a village elder, and he invited her into his home. When she asked his name, he appeared to think about it for a few moments before answering, “Hubert Cumberdale”. She looked around then and asked him what had happened to the creatures who led her to the village, they having slipped away from her view early on. The question seemed to confuse the pony, as he merely echoed, “Creatures? I know not of such things.”
He led her into one of the largest hovels, to a dining hall with a roughly finished wooden table. Other ponies began to bring in water and simple fare: plain oatmeal, boiled turnips and a few limp carrots. So unappetizing was this provender that Nightmare wondered if she’d better go outside and graze. Given that this village appeared desperately poor, she sighed inwardly and accepted that there was, in all likelihood, nothing better to be had here, not even for visiting royalty. Her needs compelled her to eat and drink while the other ponies looked on, quiet and impassive.
As soon as she began to feel satisfied, she turned to her host and began to question him. “Hubert Cumberdale! What wottest thou of Frivoli?” she asked. “Hast thou heard tell of any other traveller likened to us?” His preferred answer to any question seemed to be a dazed and slack-jawed shake of his head. Her irritation grew. “Art thou a lackwit? Answer!” He stared at the ground where he sat, and shook his head again.
Nightmare Moon began to stand up, growling with the intent to thrash him a bit, but she stumbled. Her limbs felt numb, her head dizzy. She tried to cast a spell, but it fizzled, and she sprawled awkwardly on the floor. She tried again to gain control of her legs, but only managed to roll onto her side as the room darkened around her. Somewhere nearby was a green flash of magic, and she was barely aware of dark shapes closing around her before everything faded away.
When awareness returned, Nightmare Moon felt chilled and almost weightless. She knew she should try to move, but for some reason had great difficulty summoning the will. Despite the hazy muddle of her mind, she realized her difficulty was much like the hypnotic paralysis that usually prevents dreamers from sleepwalking. She tried again but managed only a weak twitch. She forced her eyes open, revealing little more than a dim green light. She bit back a feeling of nausea.
She forced a few more spasms of her limbs, probing the bounds of her cell — for trapped she was. After a minute her mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace as she concluded she was suspended upside-down in some sort of bag, or sac, or cocoon filled with a viscous green ichor that weakened her but curiously didn’t prevent her from breathing. She tried casting a spell, but it was impossible for the magic to coalesce while her horn was immersed in that vile green substance.
The light grew brighter, and a pair of dark shapes appeared close enough to vaguely recognize even through the weird distortions of the cocoon. One resembled the pony-like things that had led her to the village. The other was much larger, with a prominent and gnarled horn, and some sort of more developed mane instead of a mere ragged remnant, although fine details were impossible to make out through the ripples of the ichor. A voice spoke, muffled by the cocoon, but with the same harsh rasp she’d heard before. “We took her unawares, My Queen. She seems to have forgotten all about us from before.”
The voice that answered had a more feminine tone, though weirdly distorted. “A fine catch, Gribble. I am not sure this is the same one that slipped away from us. She does look the same, and yet this armor is new, and so is the sigil mark upon her hip.”
Nightmare Moon tried to speak, to call out to them, but even though the green fluid in her throat did not suffocate her, neither could she utter any sound through its choking mass. She convulsed, jiggling the cocoon.
The smaller creature buzzed. “This one is strong, Your Majesty! But her flavor is bitter, so bitter. What shall we do with her?”
“Let’s put her into storage for now, shall we? Let her season a bit while I mull this over.” The cocoon wriggled again, and the queen moved closer, peering into it. “Don’t struggle, Princess! Soon my changelings will take away your fears… your thoughts… your vital essence.” Her misshapen horn glowed green, and Nightmare Moon felt her consciousness slip away again.