//------------------------------// // 10: Return to the Everfree // Story: The Successors // by Portmeirion //------------------------------// For most of their foalhood, Blue Moon and Summer Sun were very well-behaved. Granted, there were moments of minor mischief here and there – sneaking out after bedtime to view a meteor shower on one occasion, “borrowing” a precious keepsake from their parents on another – but nothing truly serious ever so much as entered their heads, and one sister or the other usually ended up confessing even the smallest offenses. Their parents trusted implicitly; their parents’ friends stated, time and time again, that they wished they had such polite foals; and, despite Summer’s comparatively low grades, their teacher thought of them as model students, and certainly no troublemakers. Which is why it came as a small shock to everypony when the teacher, Miss Dewdrop, called their parents to the schoolhouse to talk. Summer had been caught fighting. The floor outside Miss Dewdrop’s office was cold and hard. Summer sat with her back hunched, her eyes boring into the floorboards while she listened to the older ponies talking quietly behind the closed door. At her side, fuming with barely-suppressed rage and indignity, sat Picture Perfect. From time to time she would glance up at Summer, scowling with all the scorn she could muster, and Summer would return her glare, stick out her tongue, and go back to staring at the floor. Then Picture would huff indignantly and turn away, sticking her nose in the air like a hoity-toity aristocrat trying to show her disdain. This went on for about ten minutes. At last the office door opened, and out stepped Picture Perfect’s mother, an improbably gorgeous mare with the same stylish blue mane. She ignored Summer completely, and with just a stern look she ordered her daughter to come along. Picture Perfect followed, turning back one last time at the end of the hall to shoot Summer a final death glare, and was gone. Now only Summer’s parents remained in the office, continuing their conversation with Miss Dewdrop. Soft hoofsteps echoed down the hallway. Summer looked up: Blue was treading towards her. She stopped at her sister’s side, fear and concern written all over her young face. “Summer, Summer, Summer,” she said. “Why’d you get yourself into this?” “For you!” said Summer. “Blue, I was just trying to help!” “I was doing just fine!” Blue protested. “I didn’t ask you to beat anypony up for me!” “That’s what I’m saying! You always seemed so depressed, but you wouldn’t do anything to change it! It wasn’t like you, Blue. You’re usually so – I dunno, you don’t keep your feelings all bottled up like that. You were really starting to scare me.” Blue sat down next to her. “I just didn’t wanna sink to her level, you know? Pix wanted to look better than everypony, but I wanted to really BE the better pony, and not fight back. How was I gonna teach her a lesson by being just like her?” A sad, dark look crept onto Summer’s face. “I dunno,” she intoned softly. “I guess I just didn’t care. I just wanted her to leave you alone. I… I wanted you to be happy again.” “Summer!” said Blue. “I’m supposed to take care of YOU, remember? You don’t have to do stuff like that for me.” “I know. But I wanted to. You’re my sister too. We gotta look out for each other.” The two of them sat together in silence for a minute. Behind the office door, the murmuring voices of Miss Dewdrop and their parents continued their discussion in disappointed tones. Then, at length, a humorous smirk crept onto Summer’s face. “You know, Picture called you Cookie-Butt. Again.” Blue’s face contorted with rage. “It’s not a cookie! It’s – ” “ – the moon!” Summer chimed in unison with her. Then she giggled. “I like it when you say that. You’re so funny when you’re all angry and serious.” Blue sighed, and then smiled a little as well. She looked her sister over: Summer’s mane was muddied and matted, with stray twigs and leaves poking out of it, and her coat was scuffed and scratched. Her legs were badly scraped, and already a bruise was welling up under her left eye, and would surely blacken in the next few days. But Blue had passed Picture Perfect in the hallway just minutes earlier, and she knew that the other filly was hardly in better shape. “Well,” she said, “I guess you DID teach her a lesson, kind of. That’s gotta count for something.” “Yeah,” Summer laughed. “Now she knows not to mess with us.” Blue nodded, and then leaned against Summer, wrapping a foreleg around her shoulder and pulling her in for a close side-hug. “Just – please,” she said, “please don’t do anything like that again. I don’t want you to get hurt. I love you too much.” “Love you too, sis. And I promise. You don’t ever have to worry about me.” Though Aurora had planned on nothing more than a light nap, it was not until the late hours of the evening, when soft red twilight glowed in the sky behind her curtains, filtering into the room and tinting her white bedspread red, that she finally awoke. Her blue eyes fluttered open, jarred from a deep and restful slumber, at the sound of somepony quietly knocking at her door. Stirring, she raised her head, yawned, and murmured, “Come in.” The door opened, and a helmeted head poked itself inside the room. “Pardon me, your highness,” said Lantern Jaw. “But it’s nearly nightfall. Glass Eye suspected that you might still be asleep, so – ” “Right, right, of course,” Aurora said with a yawn, rising from her bed as her sleepy mind came into sharper focus. “Time to raise the moon. Thank you, Lantern Jaw.” “Just following orders, your highness,” he said. “Is Princess Corona sleeping as well?” “Probably. She always seems so energetic, but she needs rest as much as anypony – especially after our little adventure in Ponyville last night.” Aurora strode through the door, passing Lantern Jaw and stepping into the hallway towards Corona’s bedroom. For once, relaxed and rested as she was, Aurora almost looked forward to her nightly duty; she hoped her sister would feel the same. Raising her hoof, she rapped thrice, softly, on the tall white door of the bedchamber. “Summer? Er- Princess Corona?” she called out, remembering to use titles in front of Lantern Jaw. “Are you in there? It’s almost time for the sunset….” No answer came. A crease of concern formed on Aurora’s brow as she pushed open the door. The room was empty. No Corona. Aurora frowned. Of the two of them, Corona was always the more likely to forget even the most essential of their new duties – even the sunrise and sunset, on more than one occasion, and it had always been Aurora’s job to remind her. She glanced at the tall grandfather clock that stood on the far wall of her the room: it was now more than half past seven. At this time of year, the sunset couldn’t be postponed for very much longer. Turning from the doorway, she made for the stairs, motioning with her head for Lantern Jaw to follow her. “You wouldn’t happen to have any idea where she is, would you?” she asked him as she walked. “Er,” he began nervously, “actually, your highness – we all thought she was up here.” “We?” Aurora stopped short and turned back to face the guard. “What do you mean?” “The guards. The palace staff. Glass Eye. Everypony, your highness. Princess Corona hasn’t been seen in several hours, at the least. We all thought she must be in her room.” Aurora’s gentle exasperation with her sister changed suddenly into an icy tingle of fear. Corona was missing? Where else could she be, if not in the palace? The princess bit her lip as her brow again creased with concern. She thought back – what was it that had been troubling her sister so much earlier that afternoon? There was Ghost, and that business with Somnambula…. “She couldn’t have – no – would she?” she murmured, wondering aloud. “I’m sorry, your highness?” said Lantern Jaw. “Did you say something?” “I need to get to the train station,” she said sharply, turning again towards her own room. The fear and frustration mingled in her mind and hardened into a cold resolve. “Summer, Summer, Summer,” she muttered under her breath. “Why’d you get yourself into this?” After hastily donning her regalia, Aurora left for the station, trotting briskly down the long cobblestone boulevard that led from the palace. Lantern Jaw accompanied her, as it was still official policy that neither princess should travel the streets without escort, and the two of them attracted a fair bit of attention: here and there, ponies stopped to bow, or stared wide-eyed as their ruler rushed past them. Aurora ignored them all. That old cloud of worry had begun to descend upon her again, though she made her sternest effort to conceal it. Upon her arrival, the stationmaster was startled to see the princess simply walk right up to his office, and was even more surprised when she began to inquire about her sister. “Ah, yes, yes, your highness” said Smokestack Lightning, the old stationmaster. He was a sturdy red earth pony with a wisp of white hair atop his head and a pair of old-timey spectacles perched on his snout. “Princess Corona did indeed board a train not three hours ago, in the company of – hmmm.” He examined the clipboard on the desk before him and flipped back a page or two. “In the company of one Professor Somnambula of the Arcane University. And, uh – and one owl.” He offered the princess a sheepish grin. “That’s, er, heh heh – that’s what’s written here, your highness.” Aurora groaned and applied a hoof to her forehead. “I told her she didn’t have anything to worry about! She should’ve – oh, never mind. When’s the next train?” Before the stationmaster could answer, the bell in the train station’s clock-tower chimed eight times. Aurora glanced up through the glass roof: the hour was late, and the red sky was darkening, and still the moon waited to be raised. “No, scratch that,” she said. “We haven’t got time for a train. It’s an hour trip, at least. The sunset can’t wait that long.” Aurora turned away from the stationmaster and began to pace. How could she reach Corona in time? She certainly couldn’t fly to Ponyville – she was nowhere near ready for that – but no other options presented themselves. The princess started to sweat as jeering voices echoed through her uneasy mind. What kind of princess are you? If you can’t even raise the moon on time, what makes you think you’re fit to rule this country? “Ahem,” Lantern Jaw cleared his throat, breaking Aurora out of her disquieted trance. “If I may make a suggestion, your highness – there is a faster way to get to Ponyville, if necessary.” Aurora turned to him, eager for any solution. “What’s that?” “The royal sky chariot, your highness. I, uh,” he coughed quietly, clearly uncomfortable making so brazen a suggestion. “I know it goes against current policy to travel that way, but if the situation is truly urgent….” Aurora nodded grimly. “Yes. Yes, you’re right, it’ll have to do. It’s not like we have many other options at this point.” She turned back towards the door, heading for the palace. Lantern Jaw coughed a second time. Aurora stopped in her tracks, turning her head back to look at him, eyeing him curiously, inviting him to speak. A peculiar look squirmed its way across his face, as though he were gathering up the nerve to say something difficult. “Perhaps – perhaps I might accompany you, your highness. Since Professor Somnambula is going to be treating the ill ponies this evening… since my father….” He faltered, trailing off and looking at the ground, uncomfortable and ashamed of his openness. There was a pause. Aurora looked at the guard more closely, examining him with gentle, curious eyes. His face under his helmet suddenly seemed very young, and very vulnerable, nothing like the proud nobles and stone-faced generals she had grown to resent in her months as a ruler. In fact, now that she was really paying attention, he didn’t look much older than she was: just a boy away from home, duty-bound, missing his brother, missing his father, just trying his best to look like he had it all together. Something Aurora could understand. The princess offered him a cautious, friendly smile. “Absolutely,” she said kindly. “I’d be happy for you come with me.” All signs of vulnerability vanished from Lantern Jaw’s face. “Much obliged, your highness,” he said, recovering his usual stern tone and standing again at attention. Aurora took this as an indication of gratitude. “No, thank you,” she said, just as gratefully. “Now, come on. We don’t have a second to lose.” Fifteen minutes later, Aurora found herself feeling much less grateful. She stood, trembling, in the rear of the official Sky Chariot of the Princess of the Night, painted blue and midnight-black, dotted with diamonds, pulled by a team of four grim-faced, dark-winged batponies. Their speed was astonishing: they shot forth from Canterlot like a cannonball from a cannon, and were now tearing through the air at a rate that made her eyes water. By some clever spell woven into the chariot’s design, she found that she was safely anchored where she stood, immune to the pull of inertia; still, she desperately wished there were something for her to hold on to. Heights had never much agreed with Aurora – not when she was a foal, and certainly not now. Even after accepting her transformation into a princess, she had always held on to the vague hope that, perhaps, she might never be called upon to use her newfound wings. Speeding through the sky in a flying chariot wasn’t much better than flying, and the same jittery nerves that tormented her in flight training were troubling her now. She glanced at Lantern Jaw, who stood stone-faced in the chariot at her side, and made a concerted effort to still her shivering legs. It wouldn’t do to look frightened, not even in front of him. The whole country of Equestria opened out before them, the same towns and fields and rivers that Aurora could see from her balcony. But now, viewing them from above, from a lonely vantage point in the middle of the sky, it all seemed more real, more there, as if there were no longer any veil between her and her kingdom. The red sun shone low in the distant western sky, still hanging stubbornly just above the horizon, but its light was failing fast. The sound of distant thunder rippled through the evening air from the direction of the Everfree region, and Aurora turned to look. By now the towering storm system had now grown to such great heights that its shadow lay across the whole land, darkening the country as though it were already night. She frowned again, remembering the unpleasant effect the growing storm had had on her dreams earlier in the afternoon. The chariot sped on. In a matter of minutes, they touched down in Ponyville, in a wide stone courtyard near the town center. The resident ponies reacted with understandable awe and surprise, staring, bowing, chattering amongst themselves as the ponies in Canterlot had done. And just like in Canterlot, Aurora hurriedly brushed past them all, making her way as quickly as she could to the one place she hoped Corona might be found: the hospital, which stood just down the street from their landing place. Lantern Jaw and two of the batponies followed at her heels, providing escort and keeping the more curious of the townsfolk at bay. To Aurora’s pleasant surprise, Tally Mark stood waiting in the hospital lobby. “Your highness!” said the unicorn, bowing reverentially to the unexpected visitor. “I hadn’t thought you would be coming. Princess Corona was just here, with a professor from the University. The cure worked! I can’t begin to thank you….” “Where are they now?” Aurora demanded, perhaps a little too harshly. The mild hurt on Tally Mark’s face made her immediately regret her tone. “They just left, your highness,” answered the mayor. “For the Everfree Forest. They were returning the – uh, well, I’m sure you know….” “Mayor Tally Mark!” cried a white, teal-garbed nursepony, stepping into the lobby. “Featherhelm’s finally awake. He wants to speak – oh!” She noticed the princess and stopped herself short, taking a moment to bow deeply. Lantern Jaw’s eyes widened at the mention of his father’s name. Aurora noticed, and nodded for the nurse to go on. “Featherhelm’s woken up,” she continued. “He wants to speak with the mayor at once. He says it’s urgent. It’s about the foalnappings.” Now it was Tally Mark’s turn to look surprised. “Yes, I’ll be there in a moment. Perhaps the Princess would like to see the recovering patients as well?” Aurora stood for a moment in tormented indecision. Urgent information about the foalnappings was invaluable, especially with Lantern Jaw’s younger brother counted among the missing, and the princess couldn’t very well deny him the visit with his father that had been his whole reason for coming to Ponyville. But the clock was ticking, time was running terribly short. What might happen if the sunset was late? What would the newspapers say? Which Canterlot nobles might cite this failure as a sign of her inadequacy as a ruler? She shared a glance with Lantern Jaw. There was a desperate, pleading look in his flinty orange eyes that made Aurora’s mind flash back, back to words that they had exchanged mere hours ago. He will be found. Something will be done. I promise you that. Aurora sighed. The fears and concerns of her subjects, she decided at last, were more important than the opinions of a few stuffy nobles. Hardening her resolve once more, she nodded to the mayor. Tally Mark led the princess and guard down the long white hallway to the gray double-doors of the critical care ward, just as she had done the night before. Inside were the same rows of beds filled with infirmed ponies, but now they were awake, sitting up, stretching their aching limbs, chatting with loved ones who stood at their bedsides. Amid the bustle of nurses and the quiet beeping of machinery, there was a soft, unanimous murmur of joy and hope filling the sterile air of the room. In the nearest bed sat a graying, puce-maned pegasus, now fully awake and propped up comfortably against his pillow. His grizzled old face brightened at the sight of his son’s approach, but out of deference to the mayor and princess he bowed his head and said nothing yet. “Featherhelm,” said Tally Mark. “Good to see you feeling better.” “Hm. It’s pretty good to be feelin’ better,” he said. Though his voice was still weak from days of disuse, it had lost none of its toughness. Aurora could hear years of experience and earthy wisdom in every word he spoke. “But I’m obliged, Mayor. And to you too, your highness. Quite an honor, visiting an old vet like me in the hospital.” “It’s – ahem – it’s my honor as well,” said Aurora. “Lantern Jaw tells me you were one of Princess Celestia’s best captains for years, and that you served in the Griffon Wars.” He waved a hoof dismissively. “Ah, I’m nopony. Just a tired old soldier, that’s all. But this soldier’s still got a working pair of eyes.” He turned to look at Tally Mark. “I saw the foalnapper, Mayor. Saw her with my own two eyes, just before I wound up here.” “It wasn’t Nightmare Moon,” said Aurora. “I can go ahead and tell you that right now.” “I know, I know. But Nightmare Moon wasn’t what I saw that last time. There was somepony else.” “Who?” asked Tally Mark. “What happened? What did you see?” “It was just a week ago, just after – just after Crimson Lance had gone missing.” Lantern Jaw’s eyes darkened at the mention of his missing brother. Featherhelm’s face turned grim as well, and a touch of sadness crept into his gruff voice as he related his tale. “I was out at the border of the woods, lookin’ for him as always – on the chance, you know, just on the chance that I’d see him – and a storm was blowing up, thunder and lightning and all that jazz. I caught a whiff of smoke in the air, and I followed it – just a little ways into the woods, close to where I’d seen that Nightmare Moon creature before. But there was something different this time. “There were foals. Two of ‘em, an earth pony and a pegasus. I didn’t recognize either one. They were walking into the woods like they were in a trance, blank eyes staring straight ahead, didn’t hear me when I called out to ‘em. That’s when I heard this music.” “Music?” Aurora echoed curiously. “Yes, your highness. Like birdsong, except sweeter. This wistful, lilting melody. Almost hypnotic. I think the foals were following it. I followed it too, through the trees, through the rain. The wind was loud, but I heard the music all the same – like I was hearin’ it with my mind, instead of my ears. I guess I was a little bit hypnotized myself.” He shrugged. “Then I saw what was making the sound. There was a bird, a yellow bird, and a unicorn. She was just standing there in a clearing with the bird on her back, drawing the foals right towards herself, with the same blank look on her face, but with her eyes glowing red. Hm. Looking back now, the whole thing feels kinda like a dream.” “Maybe it was a dream,” Tally Mark suggested. “You have been unconscious for a week.” Aurora frowned, deep in troubled thought. “Featherhelm,” she said. “This unicorn – what did she look like?” Featherhelm thought back. “She was tall,” he said at length. “Not quite your height, your highness, but still very tall. White coat, dark blue mane, almost black. Her Cutie Mark….” He closed his eyes, trying to recall every last detail. “It was pink or purple, shaped like a star, or a compass point, with a little black swirly thing in the center. Very mystical-looking. Anyway, that’s when the so-called Nightmare Moon showed up again, and I started feelin’ woozy….” There was more to Featherhelm’s story, but Aurora never heard it. Without a word, she turned and bolted from the room, dashing down the hallway, flying through the lobby, and tearing down the streets of Ponyville back to the square where the chariot was parked, cursing herself all the while. That symbol. That was Somnambula’s Cutie Mark. There was no mistaking it. Corona was right. Corona was right. The two batponies still stood hooked to the vehicle started at their princess’s approach. “Get going!” she snapped, turning her fierce gaze on them as she stepped into the back of the chariot. “To the Everfree Forest. Now!” They obeyed without question. Even with only two ponies pulling it, the chariot’s speed was still incredible, covering the distance between the town and forest in barely a minute. On Aurora’s instructions, they landed just at the edge of the wood, near the entrance to the forest path the princesses had followed the night before. The second the chariot touched down, Aurora leapt to the ground and took off into the trees, her hooves pounding over the trail, leaving the two stunned batponies far behind her. A crack of thunder split the sky over her head, and all at once the rain came howling down from the heights in gusty torrents. Any remaining daylight now fled before the gloomy onslaught of the breaking storm. As she ran, a sick new worry gripped Aurora’s heart, twisting her stomach, stinging her eyes. Corona had been right and she hadn’t listened. She had called her paranoid. What kind of a sister was she? Rain lashed at her face, pelting down on her even through the thick forest canopy; she couldn’t tell whether the wetness on her cheeks was rainwater or her own frantic tears. Running at full gallop, she reached the forest crossroads in a matter of minutes, then turned left down the long swampy path that led to the ruined forest village. This time, the strong storm winds had blown away all the mist and fog that had hampered her navigation of the woods the previous night, though the torrential rain made the ground even swampier. As Aurora dashed round a corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a wide-trunked willow, her hooves slipped out from under her and she fell with a terrible thud onto the muddy earth. Slowly, painfully, she began to pick herself up – and then noticed something on the ground before her eyes. There were hoofprints: two sets that clearly belonged to large ponies – probably her sister and Somnambula – and still others, all mixed up together, that looked like they came from at least three more. But these were smaller, almost certainly belonging to foals. Aurora’s fear deepened, and she quickly pulled herself to her hooves and ran even faster than before. Soon she reached the edge of the ghost town. A flash of lightning illuminated the crumbling, ivy-coated brick buildings that stood in the wide clearing. And somewhere, amid the pouring rain, Aurora thought she could make out a pony-shape moving in the darkness between two dilapidated houses on the other side of the ruined town square. “Summer!” she yelled over the howling wind. “Summer! Is that you?” No voice answered her – no pony voice, at least. But out of nowhere, another sound came to Aurora’s ears: a sweet, sad piping sound, like the music of a heavenly pan-flute. Clear and strong it rang in her ears, echoing in her mind, reverberating in her soul. The storm that raged around her suddenly seemed very faint and far-away; the wind and thunder were muffled, the lightning dimmed, the cold rain that pelted her coat softened into nothingness. Only the song seemed to exist in her world now, and it was calling out to her, beckoning, inviting. The shadowy figure still stood at the other end of the square, and slowly, steadily, inevitably, Aurora felt her legs marching towards it. As she drew closer it became clear it was a unicorn. Her horn glowed like a pink-tinted lamp, illuminating her face. It was indeed Somnambula, but she was… different, somehow. Gone were her scarf and glasses, and piercing red eyes shone underneath her grim, silent brow. Perched atop her back was a large bird of brilliant golden plumage, singing its sad, merry, hypnotic song over the din of the wind and rain. Its beady eyes glowed with the same red light as the unicorn’s. There were other shapes – other ponies, moving about in the murky gloom beyond where Somnambula stood. Three foals she could see: one brown unicorn colt, a blue pegasus filly, and teal-and-white earth pony colt, all standing eerily still, their faces blank, their eyes shining with the faintest hint of red light. They were clustered together at the edge of the clearing, barely visible in the darkness. Their shapes grew clearer as Aurora drew nearer and nearer to them, her heavy legs moving forward of their own accord, feeling as though she were dreaming. Then she saw her sister. Corona was standing by the foals, staring straight at Aurora. Her mane was muddied and matted, her coat was scuffed and scratched, and her face was utterly vacant, as lifeless as a corpse. Behind her red eyes, which glowed now with the same mesmerizing light as the other ponies’, Aurora could just barely sense some movement of will, as though Corona were struggling with all her might to communicate something, anything at all to her. For the briefest of moments, their gazes met: and although nothing was spoken between them, Aurora’s mind flashed back, back to the night before, when her sister had lain helpless at the mercy of “Nightmare Moon” – and a weak, desperate voice whispered into her mind. Blue… please… help…. And just like that, the spell was shattered. “Somnambula!” Aurora shouted, her eyes blazing with a white fire of their own. She shook herself, as though shedding the cloak of enchantment that had enveloped her, and reality came rushing back into her mind, filling her with a new vigor, and a new fury. “What have you done to her?!” “Sorry, your highness,” Somnambula spat. Her voice was harsh, full of bile and disgust, and patently not her own. “Caught me at an inopportune moment, I’m afraid. I sensed your approach, and hoped I might nab you as well.” A sick, sneering grin crawled onto her face. “But I suppose now I’ll have to – ” The professor never got a chance to finish her sentence. While she was speaking, Aurora seized a heavy log with her magic and hurled it right at Somnambula’s face. There was a crack and flash: the log flew into burning splinters, and purplish smoke drifted up from the unicorn’s horn. Somnambula’s sneer twisted into an angry scowl. The princess met her sneer with a stern, defiant glare, holding her head high and proud, her long midnight mane floating wildly in the fierce wind. “Let them go.” Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled threateningly after Aurora’s command. The bird atop Somnambula’s back ceased its singing. With a leap and a rustle of golden feathers, it sprang from its perch and flew, untroubled by the rain and wind, to a safe vantage point atop the remains of the crumbling wood-and-brick town hall. Somnambula glowered at Aurora – and then, without a word, darted suddenly forward into the square, her horn blazing with pink-purple light as she moved to attack. Aurora reacted on instinct. A bolt of bright purple seared through the air towards her, and she was barely able to lunge out of its path. The brick wall of the old building behind her burst apart as it was stuck by the magic bolt, and fragments of stone rained down upon her back. The princess responded in kind with a telekinetic blast of her own, but Somnambula resisted, turning the weight and force of her own magic against her. Aurora felt overwhelmed, like a twig caught in a tidal wave, and in moments she was lifted right off her hooves and thrown back against the damaged house. All that was left standing of the wall crumbled into pieces as she collided with it. Aurora pulled herself to her hooves, remembering Lord Stargazer’s words of admonishment. No wild bolts of lightning this time, no lack of control. She needed cold concentration, careful calculation. With great focus and force of will, she lifted the scattered bricks all around her into the air, giving careful attention to each one, and then hurled them at her opponent in a fierce flurry of masonry. Before any of the bricks could reach their target, Somnambula’s horn glowed again, weaving pink-purple bands of light all about herself. There was a great white flash, and in an instant she had vanished. The bricks sailed through empty air and pelted the ground many yards away. In another instant she appeared again, flashing back into view just to Aurora’s right. The princess turned to confront her, but was knocked to the ground by the devastating weight of another magical blast to her side. She skidded several yards across the muddy earth, the wind completely knocked from her lungs. Raising her head weakly, she saw Somnambula, illuminated by a momentary flash of lightning, her glaring red eyes glowing against the black outline of her head. She was grinning. “Why are you doing this?” Aurora demanded, gasping for air. “What do you want?!” “Just filling my monthly quota,” said the unicorn in a mocking tone, stepping causally towards her defeated foe. “Three foals in a single trip is quite the haul, and the Princess will make a fine bonus.” Summer.... The golden bird, still perched atop the ruined town hall, gave a triumphant cry – a harsh, croaking sound, utterly unlike its enchanting singing. Aurora made one last, feeble attempt to rise to her hooves again, and her eyes drifted across the square, to her sister and the three foals, still standing helpless, hypnotized, watching the fight with blank faces and empty stares, with no one to depend on but her. No one to protect them but her. And something inside Aurora snapped. “No… no… NO!” From out of the princess’s eyes a white light blazed: dazzling, blinding, bathing the storm-shadowed village in an impossible radiance. Aurora felt her magical energies rising and surging through every vein in her body, as though she had tapped into some bottomless well of power deep inside herself. It was just like her battle the previous night, but more so, infinitely more, or so it seemed to her; that fight had been but a taste of her real potential. Now her magic flowed with an ease that endless hours of practice and Stargazer’s tireless berating hadn’t brought her. Her mane and tale billowed in the wind, and piercing white stars shone in the rippling black locks. She felt like a new pony; she felt the way she imagined Princess Celestia must have felt at the height of her power. It was exhilarating. From her horn leapt a white lightning bolt. Somnambula recoiled, erecting a crackling barrier of pink-purple energy to shield herself from the attack, but she was straining terribly, gritting her teeth, her face contorted into a pained mixture of fury and blind fear. Her hooves began to slide backwards through the mud as Aurora rose to her feet and pushed against the shield with all her considerable might. A few more seconds of pressure, and surely the defense would fail. Then the yellow bird, still observing the fight from its high perch, raised its voice yet again. This time, it was neither the sweet, hypnotic song nor the guttural cry of triumph, but another sound altogether – a loud, piercing scream, like a trumpet wailing on its highest note – and the red glow of its eyes brightened intensely. Somnambula’s eyes glowed brighter as well, and the purplish light of her magical barrier began to redden into a fiery crimson hue. Now she pushed back against Aurora with renewed force, tremendous force, like the indomitable weight of a mountain, and suddenly Aurora began to feel herself slipping…. There was an enormous boom, like a thunderclap right in Aurora’s face, and for a moment she could see nothing but red light. She was thrown to the ground, her ears ringing and her head swimming. She felt drained, more fatigued than she had ever felt in her life, as though she had run a thousand miles bearing boulders on her back. At last the light began to fade, and Aurora tried to stand, her legs weak and wobbling, her eyes barely half-open. She thought she heard mocking laughter, and the vague shapes of ponies moving away from her, but her consciousness was quickly abandoning her. In a matter of seconds it was gone completely. With a defeated sigh, Aurora slumped to ground, utterly exhausted, and darkness claimed her weary eyes.