The Country of Roses

by Dutch Tilt

11: The Stars Will Aid in Her Return

By the time Peacemaker’s case was heard by the mayor and the county judge and discussions became less heated, Twilight Sparkle felt her anxiety returning. The Summer Sun Celebration was set for tomorrow, and all the while she had been trying to do her teacher’s bidding, or else make some sense of whatever bizarre feud had driven the sheriff and her bodyguard to bump heads so violently, but all these things did was distract her from what really mattered.

Really, what was a bookworm like her even doing here? She should have been trying to figure out a way to halt the return of Nightmare Moon, not supervising a tiny little frontier whistle-stop like this. She had no experience as a civil custodian, and thought it should have fallen to the mayor and her ponies to sort this out. It was their town, after all, not hers. When she looked across the office at Peacemaker, the protector she had not even wanted, she felt like a stranger, and when she glanced out of the window at the citizens, she felt like an outsider. Spike, the only truly familiar thing Twilight had brought with her, was downstairs helping Rarity, but even though he was close by she was horribly out of her comfort zone. It was only when Mayor Mare spoke up that she realised she had been unconsciously edging towards the door. She mumbled an apology and returned to the pertinent business.

The judge, an impeccably neat and well-to-do Manehattan native appropriately named Lady Justice, was listening with rapt attention to Bow Sansy’s testimony. She did not live in Ponyville herself, but had been called in from a neighbouring town with the intention of passing sentence on Peacemaker after the festivities, when they were safe in the belief that he would remain imprisoned beneath the town hall for the duration. Her expression was entirely unreadable as she took in everything she was told until finally she raised a forehoof, requesting silence.

“It seems to me,” she said with a sigh, “that this case isn’t a case at all. This sheriff of yours failed to present sufficient evidence of this boy’s supposed foul play. Nopony has corroborated his story, and both his eagerness to engage in martial justice and his subsequent running away lead me to question why he was entrusted with such duties as being an enforcer of the law entails in the first place.”

Her eyes drifted to Mayor Mare, who retreated sourly from her unspoken allegation, then returned to Peacemaker and Bow Sansy. “Your stories, however, can be supported. Further investigation will be necessary, particularly in regards to the two disappearing intruders and the third accomplice who may have been with them on the night of the incident, but for the time being, I see no reason for you to remain in custody, Mister Peacemaker.”

“You have my thanks, sai,” said Peacemaker, lowering his head to her.

That seemed to take Lady Justice aback for a moment. She cleared her throat and replied with a polite, “You’re quite welcome.” She shot another withering glance in the mayor’s direction. “Madame Mayor, I advise you to take precautions when the time comes to find a new sheriff, especially if you wish to guarantee your next term in office.”

“Yes, Your Honour,” Mayor Mare grumbled.

“Miss Sparkle,” said the judge, “I apologise that you have been kept from the duties Princess Celestia gave you. Please return to them.”

“At once, Your Honour,” said Twilight with a nod.

“Mister Peacemaker, Miss Sansy, I believe you both have duties of your own to be getting on with. If that is everything, then I’ll say good day to you all.”

Twilight only allowed herself to breathe again once they were back outside. She and Peacemaker thanked Bow Sansy profusely for her help – the gun-pony did his odd bow with one foreleg curled under him and the other stretched out almost flat – before picking up Spike, who was reluctant to leave Rarity’s side. Twilight had shaken her head and simply levitated him out of the door, although impressively his eyes remained fixed in the general direction of Carousel Boutique all the way back to the library. Twilight saw the cordon of safety tape around the ruins of the gaol and lamented the fact this had happened on her watch. A part of her worried that this just might reflect badly on her assessment. Another part countered that this had been beyond her control and that so long as the celebration went ahead as planned then there was no reason for her to fret. This provided her with little comfort.

“So what’s the plan now, Twilight?” asked Spike, having apparently gathered himself.

“I still have the rest of today and tonight to find a solution to the Nightmare Moon problem,” she replied, “so it’s best to use that time accordingly. Maybe there’s something in the library’s occult section.”

“What would you have me do?” asked Peacemaker.

“You just stand guard,” said Twilight. “If you see more trouble coming, make sure to let me know immediately.”

Peacemaker nodded and sat beside the door, lowering the brim of his hat over his eyes. Twilight and Spike went inside, and the unicorn immediately began poring over every relevant-looking old tome, scroll and document she could find on the shelves. Extracts of these she copied and pinned up to a noticeboard on the wall, eventually forming a strange sort of spider’s web of highlighted papers and string. During the afternoon, Spike brought up a plate piled high with sandwiches, when he noticed something missing from the whole mess.

“Gemstones,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Twilight asked from between two tall columns of books.

“Gemstones,” Spike repeated. “When you were looking through this stuff back at the academy in Canterlot, I remember seeing a page with these six gemstones on it. There was a green one, a violet one, an orange one, a really yummy looking blue one, a red one, and one that was kind of a pinky colour.” His forked tongue flicked out and ran over his lips at the thought. “Maybe they’re delicious – I mean, important?”

“That’s it! How could I forget?” exclaimed Twilight, emerging from her hiding space and picking up another scroll. “The story of how the princess imprisoned the witch a thousand years ago mentions a key. Even in magick, every lock requires one. That part seems to be rather obscure in most references for some reason…here we go! Is this the picture you saw?”

She turned the sheet of parchment she was levitating for Spike to see. Inscribed on it was that same golden eight-pointed star with five colourful stones at the top and sides, and one more in the centre.

“That’s the one,” the baby dragon said. “Not exactly as detailed, but definitely the same thing. The stones are even in the same places, with that pinky one in the middle. See it?”

“I see it,” said Twilight. She spread the scroll out on the table in the middle of the room and indicated a complex, cursive scrawl of ink going diagonally across one of the gems. There was a scrawl on each of them, all slightly different but so similar that to a cursory glance they would appear identical. “These names appear to be written in old Equestriform.”

“Can you read Equestriform?” asked Spike.

“In my sleep, underwater and with the lights off,” said Twilight smugly. “Of course I can read Equestriform.” She tapped a hoof-tip over the red gem, located at the topmost point of the star, then each of the others in clockwise turn. “This one reads ‘loyalty.’ This orange one is ‘honesty’ while I think this green one is either ‘charity’ or ‘generosity.’ The bright blue one there is ‘joy’ or ‘laughter’ and that violet one is ‘kindness.’”

“And the one in the middle?” asked Spike.

“That one’s a bit harder to translate,” said Twilight. “In Equestriform, the same characters can be used to refer to ‘soul,’ ‘heaven’ or ‘sorcery.’ Together, the six were mounted on the crown of the first alicorn princess, who called them the Hexadema. That’s what this star is. Without the crown, however, they’re called…” Her voice trailed off and her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Twilight, what’s the matter?” asked Spike.

“The characters above the illustration are ‘ka’ and ‘tet,’ but I don’t know what they mean. They’re from an entirely other language.”

“I don’t get it,” said Spike. “Why would they use two different languages?”

“You know how sometimes we say certain phrases in Cheval even though we’re speaking Equestrian?” asked Twilight.

“Sure I do,” said Spike, “I mean Rarity does it like all the time.”

“Well it’s because those phrases don’t exist in our language,” Twilight explained. “I think that must be the case here as well. Those exact same characters came up when I found the name of the ritual that locked Nightmare Moon away in the first place, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of them then either.”

Before they could speak further, there was a knock at the front door of the library. Twilight looked up in confusion, wondering why Peacemaker had not stopped anypony from coming close while she was working. Reluctant to leave what she was doing for fear of losing her place, she sent Spike downstairs to handle it for her. After a few moments, however, she lost her place anyway because of the sudden rush of noise from the library’s ground floor. After disentangling herself from a small mountain of collapsed books, sheets and scrolls, she hurtled downstairs, and when she saw what awaited her, her jaw fell open.

It had still been late morning when she left the town hall, but the grandfather clock against the wall indicated it was eight o’clock at night. She had delved deeply into her research before, in fact it contributed significantly to her reputation back home, but she even amazed herself with this one. Also, there were ponies. Ponies absolutely everywhere. It looked like at least half of Ponyville had been squeezed into the library, and they were all chattering away happily and, worst of all, loudly. She spotted Peacemaker among them, and made a beeline straight for him.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

“You said I should alert you in case of trouble,” the gun-pony replied. “I’ve yet to see any.”

“What!?” exclaimed Twilight. “But this—!? Well no, but it’s…and I—!” The sentence she had been trying to form turned into an irritated squawk. “Who in the hay’s responsible for this!?”

The throng parted on her left to reveal a chestnut earth pony with a ruddy mane and tail. He was accompanied by Sister Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash.

“Oh. Hey, Jackie,” said Twilight. “It’s good to see they let you out.”

“Let me? Please! They couldn’t keep me if they wanted to,” Jackie scoffed. “Broke me a few hearts on the way but y’know I just couldn’t be tied down. It ain’t in my nature.”

Rainbow Dash sniggered. “I saw the whole thing from above. This joker got himself escorted out by security ’cause he got fresh with the nurses.”

“There may’ve been some unpleasantness involved, it’s true,” said Jackie with a shrug, “but hey, who cares about the ancient past? It’s our last night before the celebration! I didn’t bring you all here to talk! Let’s get this party started!”

There was a scattering of agreeing cheers, including a noticeably deep and loud, “YEAH!” from somewhere in the midst.

“You did this?” Twilight asked, exasperated. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What can I say? I’m a mover an’ a shaker, doll,” said Jackie. He clapped his forehooves together once and did a little spin. “Me, I can put the bop in the bop-shoo-bop-shoo-bop! The dip in the dip-da-dip-da-dip! I know the score, heck I can feel the beat with my back to the wall! And besides all that, who in their right mind don’t love a real swingin’ party, I ask ya?”

Twilight had lost him about halfway through. If that was Jackie’s attempt at spell-casting, it was the dumbest one she had ever heard. “Where’s Spike?” she asked.

“He’s over there,” said Jackie, gesturing. Twilight looked and saw Spike balanced on the backs of two ponies with a lampshade covering his head. “Spikers really gets into the swing of things, don’tcha think? But, ah, between you an’ me, T.S., he’s kind of a lightweight.”

“Oh, my!” Fluttershy whispered in the closest approximation she could manage to a cry. “Be careful, little dragon!” She darted off to stop him doing anything stupid.

“Why’s the sister here?” asked Peacemaker.

“Yeah, I thought she wasn’t the social type,” Twilight put in.

“Most of the year, yeah,” said Jackie, “but the celebration’s a pretty big deal for those Oriza ponies too. Syncs up with one of their equinoxes or whatever, I think. Not to mention she’s in charge of the music, so she has to be in town anyway. And speaking of music!” He whipped away from her and stood up on both hind legs. “Yo, Vinyl! Get your cute boom-boxin’ little butt out here and lay us down some tunes! Do I sound stupid or am I just havin’ a good time?”

Twilight looked at Peacemaker helplessly. “Who throws a party in a library?” she asked. “Libraries are meant to be quiet.” The gun-pony could only shrug in response.

“Ease up, girl,” said Rainbow Dash, draping a foreleg over her shoulders and leading her through the crowd. Somepony had already set up bowls of punch, snacks and dip on a table. Rainbow poured out two glasses of the sparkling red-orange liquid and set one down in front of Twilight. “Drink up. Wash those worries down the drain.”

Twilight wished it were that simple, but what could be the harm in just one drink? She closed her lips around the end of the straw and took a big gulp. Lava filled her mouth and whooshed out of her ears and nostrils. Her eyes filled with tears and electricity turned her mane and tail to needles. She heard a pony with an accent ask her if she was feeling all right – Applejack? Half of Ponyville really was here! – but the mental image of the library being transformed into the aftermath of a volcanic eruption kept her jaws firmly closed.

Without a word, she flew upstairs like her head was on fire and her rump was catching. The wailing of alarm bells inside her skull was louder even than Rainbow Dash’s laughter.

It was out by Craggy Canyon that the harriers made camp. They were surrounded on all sides by the all-consuming darkness of the Everfree Forest, and warmed by the pulsating, sickly light from the belly of the canyon itself. Some called such rare and evil phenomena ‘deadlights,’ while others knew it as ‘hellfire,’ but neither term really did justice to the bubbling, eldritch horror that lurked below. The worst reminder of its presence by far was the incurable, sickly-sweet smell of rot and decay that clambered up and over the lip of the canyon like creeping vines. It surprised nopony that the arch-dastard Gone Far South would choose this for his haunting ground. The beast called for blood, and it was said that there never was a more obliging pony to answer it.

All around the cantonment, the assorted scoundrels, cutthroats and rogues sat and waited for the call to action. Some played hooves of watch-me, others dozed or ate stew by the fire at the centre of their ring of tents, and all did well to avert their eyes from the one tent which had been erected just beyond the circle, as much an outsider as the creature meditating within. The piebald unicorn witch, Bindle Punk, hunkered spiderlike in her tiny space, staring into a jagged piece of smoky quartz. The stone was the only illumination, casting its dim glow on jars of poisons, bones and more grotesque besides. Truly, she was all that was evil. The witch’s mouth moved as she watched the shapes in the stone’s flickering surface swim and transform and collapse, quietly chanting her prophetic mantra.

A sudden chorus of raucous laughter and jeers from outside broke her reflections. Bindle Punk brushed a hoof over the quartz, dispelling the light and the images, and emerged into the night. She trotted closer to the fire, where the band had gathered to watch two of their number dragging a struggling shape up the slope towards them. The shape was dropped onto the rocky ground, and Bindle Punk realised who it was. Her mouth jerked into an involuntary sneer.

“Hile to thee again, O Sheriff!” she said gleefully. “Or perhaps I should say ‘former sheriff?’ Thou art changed since our last meeting. Can’t say it’s an improvement, if I’m honest.”

Ramrod looked up at her with huge eyes. The skin of his fetlocks was exposed, scarred and ruddy. His face was freckled with burns and there were tiny black patches all through his mane. He was dirty and dishevelled, his clothes torn, probably after who knew many hours spent absconding through the forest. A particularly nasty wound had cut the mark on his flank down the middle. One look in those bloodless eyes told the witch all she needed to know.

This thing, barely recognisable as Ramrod anymore, had been subjected to the terrors that lived in the darkness. She had of course been watching with great mirth his duel against the boy from afar, and seen for herself how he had been disgraced. Beaten and humiliated that he had failed to extinguish the fire that had been at his back for so many years, he had simply picked a direction and went without a thought. It was much too late for him to do anything by the time understanding had dawned on his poor fool mind. Bindle Punk reached a hoof towards him and he flinched, which was immensely satisfying.

“I fear no pony, witch!” she taunted him in such a perfect rendition of his own voice that it made him start. “Thou wouldst slay the gun-pony and prove thyself better than his kind. I know much of prophecy, dear sheriff, and let me tell thee something for free. I wasn’t really betting on thy chances.”

“What you want we should do with him?” one of the outlaws asked her.

Bindle Punk’s eyes seemed to glow with emerald fire as a terrible thought occurred to her, so terrible in fact that it made her giggle aloud. She turned her gaze in the direction of the canyon, and then back down towards the quivering stallion.

“Dost thou believe death to be the worst of fates?” she asked. “Is that why thou fled thy town, the fear of death?”

Ramrod hesitantly nodded his head.

“Then I shall prove thee wrong,” she said. “Take him, let him drink deep of the deadlights.”

This finally prompted a verbal response from Ramrod. He screamed and begged as he was dragged away to the lip of the canyon, and thrown bodily into its depths. He bounced off the sloping wall four times on the way down, finally landing in a crumpled heap on the earthen floor. Bindle Punk and her harriers gathered to watch, and one even began passing a large bowl of popcorn around.

Ramrod rose to his hooves on trembling legs and had begun to shake the stars out of his brain when he noticed the whistling sound. It was low, like sensing an electrical current in the air, but it seemed to come from every direction at once. A quiet, persistent, uninterruptable noise that stitched itself through the fabric of reality over and over. It made his stomach turn and his tongue dry and his eyes and skin itch. Ramrod could see the light up close now, the way it throbbed to a rhythm, like a heartbeat. He could see it, and as the whistling threaded itself in and around his brain, he could see into it.

First he could only stare, his pupils contracting until they were almost invisible. His jaw hung open and the colour drained from his face, making him appear ancient and sickly. Eventually, he started to scream, and soon after he collapsed into a mound of black and silver jelly.

There followed several moments of silence as the harriers watched the show with baited breath, and then the light spat something out onto the canyon floor. Pale tendrils squirmed out like earthworms, wriggling along the ground towards his paralysed body. One passed over his eyes, and through its translucent surface Ramrod saw the bodies of the witch and the outlaws changed into something else, something that was incomplete and utterly un-pony. All the while, the whistling in his head was warping into a different sound. It was a voice, impossibly deep, and it was beckoning him.

“Come in, Ramrod of Gallowad-that-was…come in and visit. Be at rest. Be at peace. Be at one!”

“The stars will add in her return,” Bindle Punk murmured, eyeing the mark on Ramrod’s flank as the touch of the deadlights began to change it. She looked to the harrier directly to her right and said, “Arrange to have those other two morons, Hammer and Tongs, brought before me. We have only a few hours remaining, but it’ll be better to have all three of them together, methinks.”

“As you command, my queen,” said the harrier.

“Splendid,” said Bindle Punk with a hideous leer. She watched the remains of ex-Sheriff Ramrod convulse and spasm with undisguised enjoyment, and when he finally went still, she cast a spell that dragged him up out of the dirt. The mark on his flank was changed now. The star remained, though it was cut down the centre in two jagged halves, and no longer encircled by the lasso. Now it was backed against a pale blue hexagon, the lower half of which was longer and narrower than the top.

It was the shape of a coffin.

Bindle Punk brushed a hoof-tip across the image. There was an audible hiss, and tiny tails of silver steam rose up from the black surface. “Rise anew,” she cooed, “my Big Coffin Hunter.”