//------------------------------// // Conversation // Story: On a Pale Horse // by Dee Forty-Five //------------------------------// “Um, miss…? I must ask you not to hit your head against our table.” Twilight took a break from her self-flagellation to glare at the waiter hovering over her. Her table was a mess of half-eaten food, research notes, and study material. She stared at the stallion without speaking, and he shuffled from hoof to hoof, trying his best—failing, but still trying—to look professional. “Miss, it’s just… you’re disturbing the other patrons.” Indeed, the others seated in the café were taking a not-so-subtle interest in Twilight. “I’ll give you an extra to your tip if you leave me be.” “Miss, I—” “A very large extra.” A beat of silence passed between them before the waiter, composure returned, began levitating food off her table. “As you were, miss.” As he trotted off, Twilight again slammed her face down, and threw in a hearty “Uggggghhhhhh!” for the benefit of her lookers-on. After Spike discovered the enchanted box, Twilight had worked all through the night and the next morning, scouring encyclopedias and folktales and old notes for clues to Zecora’s mystery. Around mid-afternoon, Spike had recommended that Twilight visit her favorite café to unwind. She had, of course, brought her research materials with her. Twilight sighed, eyeing the sky out the café window. It was perhaps an hour until sunset. So much time spent, and she wasn’t any further than when she began! The Amulet be what you seek? Then find yourself, go take a peek. Twilight had no idea what Zecora meant. The only real clue seemed to be the find yourself bit—unless go take a peek was a particularly obtuse hint—but it was simply too vague for Twilight to zero in on anything. Find yourself… Among the notes before her was a list of possible meanings. It included, but was not limited to: existential philosophy, a ballet themed around doppelgangers, a mountain lake so famed for its stillness that it had been called a mirror, and a small hamlet on the Equestria-Griffon border literally called “Yourself.” Somehow, Twilight doubted that any of these were relevant. She had tried chasing the other bit of parchment—the one with the nonsense words—but hadn’t gone far. Vesu, Montroose, Thoraumoli… none of those held any particular meaning for Twilight. Wallowing in self-pity was not conducive to progress, she decided. Twilight sighed again, and then fished out her bit purse to pay her bill and the waiter’s tip. As she fiddled out the exact number she needed, she heard a steady hoofbeat approaching. “Yes, I’ve got your tip right—” she began, but stopped, glancing up. The newcomer was not the waiter, but an earth pony stallion. He was smiling and had a small wooden object tucked under one foreleg. He was neither handsome nor homely; his hide was a light, dirty-straw yellow, and his mane, slightly mussy, was a much deeper brown. His cutie mark showed a morning sunrise. “Mind if I sit here?” he asked. “Why yes, in fact, I happen to mind very much,” Twilight snapped. “This is a café, not some seedy watering hole. Go pick up mares elsewhere.” “Ah, I’m sorry!” he said, waving his free foreleg in apology. “That wasn’t my intent at all! You see, I’m actually new in town—” Twilight couldn’t argue there; he certainly didn’t look familiar. “—and I was looking for someone to play with.” He held up the wooden object, which Twilight recognized as a chess board. “…you’re not serious.” “But I am! Please?” “I—” Twilight faltered. She met his eyes, and was surprised by what she saw: cunning, calculation, and confidence that belied his eager manner. She could tell that this stallion would be a formidable opponent. “…all right,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “One game.” The stallion smiled heartily. Twilight shoved her notes and books aside to make space on the table. The stallion sat opposite her and set up the board. “I always play black,” Twilight said as he arranged the pieces. Within a moment, the board was ready. “White leads,” he said, and pushed a pawn forward. Twilight studied him just as much as his pieces. What was he thinking? She inched out one of her own pawns. He responded with another pawn, this one nowhere near the first. It moved forward brazenly. The next few turns passed similarly. Twilight played with reserve, as always, but there seemed to be no higher plan behind the stallion’s movements. He jumped around slapdash and even brought rooks and bishops out, though they were still boxed behind his pawns, unable to strike anything. Could she have misread this stallion? Twilight played safe for a few turns, warily advancing her pawns and a few back-row pieces, but remained unimpressed by her opponent. He needlessly exposed a few pieces, and she took them: a knight and even a rook. Twilight seized the momentum, pushing one of her center pawns forward to advance her front line. She had overestimated this stallion. He clearly— The white queen sprung onto her pawn and Twilight gasped. The queen now claimed the center of the board. Thanks to Twilight’s aggressive movements, it had bypassed many of her pawns and now threatened several important pieces—many of which were exposed only because she’d used them to take her opponent’s own. The queen was positioned in such a way that it menaced a number of key players without being endangered in return, threatening bishops horizontally and rooks diagonally. Though she’d lost only one piece to his two—and a pawn at that!—Twilight found herself at a massive disadvantage. Had she been led to this exact moment? Made to dance? She’d been deceived and played, of that she was certain. She recognized the stallion’s play. He’d taken some liberties, but he’d employed a strategy known as Violetta—a dangerous and extremely complex opening maneuver. Violetta was played only rarely, as it required a precise opening game and the sacrifice of important materiel, but when pulled off it instantly shifted momentum to its executor. Twilight glanced at her opponent and found his carefree grin replaced by one far more confident, though still curiously friendly. “Your move,” he said pleasantly. Twilight moved one rook out of danger and placed it in such a way as to protect the other, the traditional counter-play to Violetta. Her opponent took an exposed bishop, the customary counter-counter-play. She tried grouping her remaining pieces in a protective clump, but her opponent returned the queen to its dominating central position and, using it to threaten her, began advancing in earnest. Many times he claimed significant ground while snatching outlying pieces. Twilight recognized more rare plays that were uncommon not for their flaws, but for their complexity. She desperately flung her queen out in response, taking a few of his pieces before its inevitable capture, but she used the distraction to kickstart her true counter-attack, spearheaded by the black knight. The knight leapt through his strategically positioned lines, snatching rear pieces while carefully avoiding any danger. Twilight’s other pieces took advantage of the chaos and pounced, striking unexpectedly and scattering his formation. As the black knight continued darting around the board, she eyed a potential opening. If the stallion responded to her gambit, her rook could barrel through that opening and menace the white king. Then she could— The white queen, whom Twilight thought she had marginalized, seized its chance. It barreled diagonally across the board, darting between other pieces to smash into the black knight. Though Twilight took it her next turn, without the chaos sown by her knight her chance at victory was neutered. She retreated her pieces once more, but the stallion responded with a crushing offensive. Soon Twilight was down to four pieces and knew that she had lost. His rook pinned her in, and when he exchanged a pawn for another queen, he only had to move it twice to claim checkmate. Twilight moved her gaze from the board to the stallion, an inkling of suspicion growing in her mind. “Well played,” the earth pony said, and Twilight heard no trace of sarcasm or snideness in his voice. “‘Well played’? You dominated the entire match.” Twilight paused for a few moments. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen Violetta used successfully, even if you did modify it.” “Ah, you recognized it!” he said with appreciation. “Truth be told, I find the traditional version to be imperfect. Mine is even more risky to the player, but if pulled off victory is almost guaranteed.” “That says a lot about you… Morning.” His smile grew. “Marvelous, truly. I had hoped I would not have to introduce myself.” Twilight growled and began gathering energy in her horn, but Morning staved her off with a lazy wave. “Oh, please, Twilight. If I wanted to harm you, would I have bothered playing chess with you first? All I want is a talk.” Twilight thought of rushing away, or even teleporting home, but he was correct: if he wanted to hurt her, she’d be hurt by now. And this was a rare opportunity to probe him and see what he knew. “Fine,” she said. Her voice emerged as a nasty snarl. “Thank you,” he said, and actually bent his head in gratitude. “First, let me assure you that your anger against me is misplaced, though I hope to—” “Misplaced!” Twilight yelled, her voice so loud that it drew the attention of more than a few patrons. Twilight wilted under their collective gazes, but Morning seemed to bear them with grace. “My anger against you is misplaced?” she continued, though quieter. “You tried to have Bramble kill Trixie, and you sent that murderous mare to slaughter her way through Ponyville! You—” “I did nothing of the sort,” he interrupted. “So you deny that Bramble attacked us?” “No. I only deny that I ordered her to do so. Twilight, your reputation as a scholar is quite famous; you surely know of the stallion who claimed knowledge of the fell spirits a few centuries ago, yes? He claimed that he would be killed, but his tormentors never came and he lived until old age. However… let us suppose that I had killed that poor fool, as he anticipated. He would have been proven right, validated. Interest in the fell spirits would have peaked and we’d have been hunted. Instead…” “Instead,” Twilight finished, “you left him alone and he was dismissed as a loon. With his death the fell spirits became little more than a mythological footnote.” “Precisely. The act of silencing threats is often more damaging than the threats themselves, I find. I will admit that I was distraught when your friend Trixie abandoned Solstice, but I was willing to leave her alone.” He grimaced, and rubbed his face with his hoof. “But Bramble found out, and… overreacted, as she is wont to do. Thanks to her meddling, the Elements of Harmony became involved….” He trailed off, looking thoughtful, before turning to Twilight with a warm smile. “Still, your presence may prove to be a blessing after all.” “So you came to apologize?” Twilight scoffed. “I disapprove of Bramble’s actions, but I try not to micromanage. Her actions were hers, not mine, so I have nothing to apologize for. No, I came here for two purposes. The first was to offer Zecora’s safe return for the Amulet, if you had it. However,” he said, gesturing to her research materials, “I gather that this is not the case.” “Here’s a bargain of my own,” Twilight countered. “How about you give Zecora back and walk away with your life? I’m sure you know that Bramble was brought down by three of us.” Morning chuckled. It was not derisive or sinister; it was pleasant, infectious. He sounded like any young stallion sharing a funny anecdote with a friend or family member. “Bramble has bonded to Wormwood, weakest of the five, and has known his power for barely a month. I happen to be host to Grandraven… and I’ve had a millennium to practice. You are still welcome to try, of course.” Twilight wanted to say that with the Elements, she and her friends were invincible—but she bit it back, knowing, as Morning did, that they were locked away in Canterlot. “If you’ve hurt Zecora,” Twilight said, “I’ll make sure that you regret it. I don’t care how powerful you think you are.” “Whether I hurt the zebra or not is entirely up to her. We’ve been keeping her with us, and I am pleased to say that, barring a few scrapes picked up during our acquisition, she is unharmed. We’ve done nothing but politely ask her for her cooperation. Regrettably, if she continues to be stubborn, I will have to let Bramble indulge her… urges. Results are all that matter, after all.” Twilight’s heart hammered in her chest as Morning smiled at her. During their conversation, he’d picked up some of her books and was absently leafing through them. “So you see, if you find the Amulet before I—which wouldn’t surprise me, given your reputation—it would be in your friend’s best interest to give it to me. I guarantee her return.” “And what exactly are your plans for the Amulet?” “Ha! Oh, Twilight, do you honestly expect me to tell you?” His eyes twinkled with mirth. “I can probably guess the general intent,” said Twilight. “You once started a civil war, or so Trixie says.” He hummed slightly, still poking through old histories and atlases. “Mmhmmhmm… well, I may have.” Sweet Celestia… That war’s casualties had been catastrophic. If this stallion was telling the truth…. “Anything else I should know about?” Twilight forced herself to say. He smiled again. “Oh, lots. I won’t waste your time with the full list, but I think I can admit to the first Cutie Pox outbreak. Just a side project, but the results…!” “The first outbreak…?” Twilight whispered. “That disease ripped its way through southern Equestria… the death toll was so high that even four decades later, some major cities hadn’t fully repopulated! How… why would you do something like that!” Morning, who had been studying one of her atlases with some interest, set it down on the table and looked her in the eye. His gaze was intense, focused. “Because,” he said, gesturing to the chess board and the few remaining pieces, “the game goes on.” “The—the game!” said Twilight. She slammed her hooves on the table, toppling the white queen. “Killing ponies and griffons is not a game! Our lives aren’t chess pieces for you to move about at your leisure!” “But they are,” he said calmly. “Though the game is not between me and you. No, we’re not the players. We’re more… important pieces. Champions, you might say, and even then only for the moment. The struggle is between harmony and disharmony. It always has been. Throughout our history, we’ve been at odds: so prone to friendship and fraternity on one hoof, so willing to kill and connive on the other. We’re at war with ourselves, two forces constantly shifting in power. Our lives—and, to a greater extent, our very civilization itself—shift back and forth between pain and joy, love and sadness. Harmony and disharmony cycle like a great mandala wheel. And without that contest, our existence, our very way of life, would have no meaning.” “What are you saying?” Twilight responded. “Without disharmony, our civilization would be meaningless? I can’t accept that! We could do just fine without hate or fear in our lives!” “Could we?” he said eagerly. “Ah, Twilight, think! Without suffering to compare it to, does your happiness have any meaning? Would you be able to fathom the concept of heat if you were ignorant of cold? Without chaos and disharmony, the things you and your friends stand for—laughter, kindness, all of them!—would be nothing but empty words, concepts devoid of meaning. “Yes, you see?” he continued. “In a way, without me and my ilk—everyone from bullies to despots to mad spirits—without us, you could not truly experience joy or love! Harmony and its champions fight against us, but at the heart of things you need us to exist!” “In that case,” Twilight spat back, “shouldn’t you all be happy that we exist?” “But I am!” Morning said it with such earnestness, such sincerity, that Twilight believed him wholly. For some reason, that disturbed her. “Yes, without ponies like you, I don’t know what I would do! Take a look at, oh… that filly over there.” He gestured a hoof at a small, laughing filly running past the café window. “Look at her,” he said, speaking quietly. The other patrons couldn’t hear. “So happy, frolicking through the flowers. She has a good home, a loving family, I’d wager. Not a care in her world. Now… what if I were to come and take all that away? Use Grandraven’s might, rip her parents to pieces until they were little more than strips of bloody meat, do it right before her eyes. That little filly would be left quivering in shock, so traumatized that she would grow up to be nothing more than a cold husk of the happy girl she once was.” Morning turned back to her. Sweet Celestia, his smile seemed so non-aggressive, so genuine—it looked like Shining Armor’s smile! “It’s not just countries or cities I strike at, Twilight. The corruption of one life can be a strong blow for disharmony in its own way,” Morning said. “But if that filly was miserable from birth… what would be the point of inflicting tragedy on her? Suffering is sweetest when it steals away something precious. I can’t thank you enough, Twilight Sparkle, for doing your best to make the world a better place. You feed the contest, give our struggle meaning. I was very impressed when you and your friends sealed away Discord. What a masterstroke! And when you expelled the changelings from Canterlot? Great Tartarus, I wept, it was so beautiful. I’ll admit, I found myself more than a little overawed, because—because now I have to try and top that!” He finally finished, voice swelling with adoration, and looked at her expectantly. Almost two minutes of silence passed, and when Twilight spoke, her voice shivered with rage. “You’re mad,” she said. “Even if we appreciate happiness more because of the low points in our life, there’s enough pain in the world without actively trying to make it stronger!” Morning met her glare for a few moments, and then chuckled. “Ah, Twilight. You couldn’t be the warrior of righteousness and friendship that you are if you could see my point of view. I know that. Still… I had hoped that you could understand. Ah, well….” He shook his head, like a big brother who had tried and failed to explain something to his little sister. He began putting away the chess pieces, placing them carefully in a hollow compartment in the back of the board. “Well, it has been fun, but we both have an Amulet to track down, don’t we?” As the white queen, the last piece, found her way in, his eyes opened wide. “Oh! I almost forgot my second offer!” “Second offer?” Twilight rejoined. “Something else you’d be willing to trade for Zecora?” “Oh no, you misunderstand. This matter is quite separate from my search for the Alicorn Amulet. In fact, it’s not really an offer, per se, because I don’t need anything in return. Think of it as a present.” He pulled out a shard of ebon black and set it on the table. “I’d like to give you Solstice.” Twilight stared at the onyx shard for a few moments, shock and terror both battling in her soul. She once more had to fight the urge to run far away. “I thought… I thought Trixie got rid of her,” she finally managed to say. “As though a few feet of dirt could imprison a fell spirit,” Morning laughed. “It was trivial for me to track down Solstice, and even simpler to dig her out.” A few more minutes of silence passed. Thoughts roiled in Twilight’s head. She found herself wondering what Morning’s game was. She recollected every detail of Trixie’s story. And, with some amount of shame, she realized that she was actually considering Morning’s offer. That shard wasn’t just an ancient creature’s prison. It was a vast repository of power and knowledge. With it she could— “NO!” Twilight yelled, forcing herself to abandon that line of thought. “No. I won’t allow myself to be tempted or corrupted,” she said. “Corrupted?” said Morning. “Why, simply accepting the shard won’t corrupt you. It will allow Solstice access to your mind, but your free will will remain intact. She can’t force you to do anything.” “I heard how she manipulated Trixie.” “Trixie was desperate for greatness and depressed from her show’s failure. She was easy prey for Solstice and you know it. But you… you will be on guard from the beginning. Your will and intellect will force Solstice to do what you wish. A pony like you has nothing to fear. “Do you think this is some trick to make you my slave? Rest assured: while the hosts of Wormwood and Fallingstar both serve in my employ, the host of Dragonblack does not, and has never. I recognized her ambition and intelligence and offered her the shard. She took it, and has never raised a hoof against any other pony, though I’m sure Dragonblack has tried to make her do so several times. All she has done is use Dragonblack’s power to extend her life… well, that and use his knowledge to make informed investments. She’s amassed quite the fortune in six centuries, though I understand that every seventy years or so she has to fake her death and continue on under a new identity. “Solstice is not a mere monster, Twilight. The fell spirits know ancient, arcane mysteries, and also have access to the full memories and knowledge of every pony that has ever served as their host! I can assure you that more than a few notable mages have let her in. Lost secrets could be yours, as could first-hoof experience of important historical events. Think of what this shard could offer you as a scholar!” “…let’s pretend that you’re telling the truth,” Twilight said slowly. “Solstice is the second-most powerful of the fell spirits. What if you gave me her shard, and I used her power against you? What if, directly because of this offer, you fail to find the Alicorn Amulet? What if you lose?” Morning shrugged. “Then I lose. Really, Twilight, I’ve been at this for a thousand years. You think I’ve never tasted defeat? I’ve experienced my fair share of losses. Some of them have been outright humiliating. This business with the Amulet… well, it’s just a project. If I fail, I’ll have other chances to strike against harmony in the future. “You see, besides my self-appointed role as a soldier for one of two sides, I’m also the steward, as it were, of the fell spirits. I uncovered their shards long ago, and since then I’ve been trying to find each one a suitable host. They deserve as much, I think. This offer is made as the steward, nothing more.” “You’re lying,” Twilight said. “There’s some greater purpose here, I know it. I can’t trust you. Why should I accept this, knowing the source?” “Well, ignoring the power and knowledge, there’s immortality to think of. Oh yes,” he said, holding up a hoof to stave off Twilight’s retort, “I’m sure you’re going to say that you’re not selfish enough to want that. But really, what would be selfish about ensuring that dear Spike will never have to see you go?” Twilight blinked, and Morning pressed. “That dragon will outlive you by several centuries, you know. From what I understand you’re like an older sister to him, or even a mother. It will be very painful for him to see you age and die. Wouldn’t it be kinder to offer him support, always? And what of Celestia? That dear, immortal monarch, always lonely as her subjects pass her by. You could offer her companionship that she, quite honestly, deserves. “And if that doesn’t compel you, then try this: if Solstice is in your possession, then that means that she’s not in somepony else’s. What’s to stop me from offering it to another brute, like Bramble? Or…” and here, his warm, brotherly smile grew even wider, “or… what’s to stop me from giving it to a foal?” Twilight shivered. “You… you wouldn’t.” “‘Wouldn’t?’” He chuckled, as though she had told him a funny joke. “Oh, Twilight! I have done so several times in the past. Even the brightest, most loving foal is especially susceptible to the fell spirits. It’s a regrettable downside of innocence. Of course, once a foal fully gives into the spirit, they rarely last long… but their brief periods of activity tend to be, shall we say, memorable.” He leaned in, his voice soft. “However worried you may be that Solstice would overcome you, isn’t that a worthy risk to keep this shard out of the hooves of dear little Apple Bloom? Or Sweetie Belle?” Twilight found herself shivering, thinking of one of the Crusaders at the mercy of an ancient creature. It would be the responsible thing to safeguard them… But memories of last night’s adventure in the forest came back to her. She’d used Sombra’s dark magic… and it had begged to be used again. Almost a full day had passed, and the urge was still there, in the back of her brain. She’d almost given in several times. Twilight was corruptible. If she took Solstice’s shard, it would only be a matter of time. “I…” she faltered. She had to keep that shard out of the hooves of the innocent. But through her, that creature would have access to Equestria’s rulers, and even the Elements of Harmony. “I… I….” Morning sighed and took back the shard. “Think on it, would you? You don’t need to come to a decision right away. I’ll hold onto it for a while. I really do think you and Solstice would be a good match, but I’m warning you, I won’t wait forever.” And then he stood, tipped his head in acknowledgment once more, and casually strolled out of the café and down the way. Nearby, the sun finally set. Twilight sat in thought for several minutes before finally shaking herself out of her reverie. As she collected her notes and books, she noted with distaste that the atlas Morning had perused was still open to the page he’d been reading. Twilight was about to close it when… She levitated the atlas to her face. It was a detailed zoom-in of one of the more obscure corners of Equestria. Towns displayed as the usual small dots, but this atlas also named physical landmarks. Forests, lagoons, and— And mountains. There, right in the corner of the map. Thoraumoli, a tall mountain in rural Equestria. A small town sat at its base. Twilight had checked all of the so-called “nonsense words” to see if they were in fact town names, but she hadn’t thought of seeing if they were mountains. I found it. I found it! I— Twilight paused. She hadn’t found it. Morning had. It was too much to think that his discovery of the place she was looking for was a coincidence. What is so special about this mountain? Why did Zecora think it was important, and why did Morning turn my attention to it? She gathered her materials and raced home. Spike and Trixie would have to hear about this.