XIII. Mt. Kali'gryph, Kingdom of Gryphonia. December, 1251.
The single torch flickered, casting a faltering light on the hallway outside the mutton locker.
Rodric stepped back. "So the King's on board. But I'm not. The King gives the missions, but I say how we follow 'em. And I don't like bringing your insane pony god around with us."
Gilda shrugged. "I don't think Screwball's insane, and she certainly isn't a god. But she's related to one. She once claimed to be 'created of like essence' by Discord, which I guess is possible. She didn't remember saying it two minutes later, but she said it. And whether it's true or not, she's still a pony."
"You've lost me, Gil. She floats and talks in your head and sometimes she talks about the future like it's happened and the past like it hasn't. Is she a god or isn't she?"
"I think she's a pony with the spirit of a god in her. It's a power she can't control, or even imagine controlling. She's entirely limited by what her body can do. That includes cognition, memory, and of course most physical limitations. But she still has a god's divine link to the Flow, so she can--"
Rodric interrupted. Gilda reflexively stopped talking. "--lost me again, Gil. I didn't spend my life reading pony mythology."
"It's not pony mythology, Rodric. It's like a--no, no--here. It's the source of magic. It's the source of consciousness. It's an infinite well of sheer potential. Your mind is a bit of Flow that's been pinched off that sits in your brain. When you do magic, you're channeling a stream that you're siphoning the Flow. That's why individuals are well suited to some types of magic and not others; it's much easier to channel the Flow in ways that are attuned to your consciousness. It's most evident with the Cutie Mark manifestation of personality that ponies exhibit, but all sentient beings-- "
Rodric brushed his crest back as he interrupted again. "--Criminy, Gil, no wonder the King sent you down here. Probably just bored as hell with you and thought the idea of some book-stuffed scribe babbling at us would be funny. Gimme a straight answer: what is Screwball?"
"Her mind is a pony's. Small and limited, because that's what her brain can hold. But her link to the Flow is unlimited. Life for her is an endless array of input: the future, the past, other places, everything. And she can do plenty of magic. It's easier for her to use magic than to use her body to do things, really. All in all, she seems to consider the world around her, including her actual body, as a...as an amusing afterthought."
Rodric leaned back. "Okay. So she's a pony, and she's nuts, and she's really powerful. And we should all just trust her and work with her on a mission of world-shaking importance, because the insane pony we captured says she just wants to kill her queen." He paused. "Gilda, you're as nuts as she is if you're telling me that's a good idea."
Suddenly, there was a familiar tinkling of chimes in their minds. Hello again. This is where I come in to help you!
Rodric and Gilda turned abruptly towards the mutton locker. Screwball was floating in the doorway, right-side-up for a change. Her bindings were nowhere to be seen.Rodric immediately stood up and charged at her. Silly birdie, chimed Screwball. He leapt at her in a controlled fury, baring his talons to strike.
Suddenly, he crashed face-first into the wall on the opposite side of the room. We're working together now! Gilda told the King what she had to and you and Gilda had your conversation so now we're teammates. Teammates work together!
Gilda ran over to help Rodric up. He was already on his feet. "If you're going to attack a Talon, pony," he growled, "you better be ready to finish the fight." Gilda tried to hold back Rodric. He shrugged her off, and charged again. This time, he rolled before he struck, and leapt up in a compact, sudden strike.
And this time, he crashed into the ceiling, and fell back awkwardly to the ground in the middle of the room. Rodric. You're being a very silly bird. Gilda, please make him stop. Gilda looked worriedly at Screwball; the pony licked her lips and her mouth fell into her customary little smile.
Rodric picked himself up again. "I've killed unicorns before, pony. Unicorns more powerful than you. Unicorns that play the same tricks."
Okay!
He paced closer, slowly, menacingly. "You're not a god, are you? You're just a kook with a few tricks."
Maybe. I dunno.
"I didn't trust you from the beginning. The pony-loving King and his scribe might. They might love to read those damned pony books and fantasize about pony gods infighting. But I'm not going to hand the Talons over to some nutty hoofbeast."
Hm. This might be a problem! I don't remember what I did here. And I don't remember if I see you again.
"Here's a hint, nutty. You don't." With that, he suddenly leapt into the air, spun, and with a precise gust from his wings blew out the torch. Gilda followed his flight path instinctively through the darkness with her eyes. Yet where she expected the sound of an impact, she heard nothing.
After a few seconds, she heard that tinkling voice in her head. Uh-oh. I think this is a problem. I really don't remember what happens now. Gilda, please light the torch. And don't be angry. That won't help anything!
Gilda walked up to the torch by memory and lit a match. She did it quickly and confidently; it was one of her duties to light and extinguish all the torches in the compound. As the bundle of sticks caught flame, she checked around the room. Screwball floated on her side, eyes rolling around rapidly, her smile a little frown for the first time Gilda had yet seen.
Gilda looked around the room in a panic. It was empty. Of chairs. Of tables. Of Rodric. Of everything that had been anywhere near her. "Screwball," she said sharply. "Where is Rodric?"
I don't know.
Her heart quickened. "What did you do to him?"
I sent him away.
"What?! Where?! Is he okay?!"
Probably not. There's a lot more places where he isn't okay than where he is. Her dead little smile returned. If I ever see him again I'll let you know!
Gilda staggered back. "You--you killed him?"
Maybe. Probably I guess. I mean, odds are he's in space or buried a mile under the ground or something. The rock seems most likely. I usually see rock more than I see space for some reason. Ha ha I bet you never really think about how thin the world we live in is. Most of what I see is just empty.
"Why did you do that? Why didn't you just...put him to sleep or something? Or put him somewhere else in the room again?"
I couldn't see the room.
"So what? Jesus, Screwball, you can't just...just..."
I couldn't remember where the room was. I just remembered that something was about to hurt me. So I sent it all away to one of the places I could see.
"Oh my God, he was right. You are dangerous. You're dangerous as hell."
Don't be mean! He wanted to hurt me! And his mind was a complete block and I couldn't see him at all so there was nothing else I could do! The tinkles took on an ominous undertone. Gilda we are friends and teammates and I remember we're going to work together but sometimes what I remember is just something that might have been true and isn't.
"Are you threatening me? If I act up you're gonna kill me like you did Rodric?"
No, she chimed, the darkness in her voice evaporating, because we will work together and kill Celestia like we said we would! Ha ha ha, isn't that great?
Gilda ground her beak against itself. Screwball was clearly a threat to anything around her. But if she had been captured, it had been willingly. And if she wanted to hurt the gryphons, she could do a hell of a lot of damage on her own. Why else would Screwball be here talking to Gilda if not to get her help against the ponies? Well. Gilda couldn't very well turn the pony down. Not without threatening her own life. And if they succeeded, she'd be a hero--the type of hero who gets whatever she wants as a reward. And who gets forgiven, to boot.
After a few tense seconds, she spoke. "Yeah...yeah, okay, Screwy. We'll work together. So what do we need to do?"
We need some books. And we need someone who can fight well and who won't be mean like Rodric was. And now that Rodric is gone...we probably need to go now. You still have the king's letter on your desk; get that too. We should go before the others get angry at us.
"Okay, yeah, yeah, sure. Sure. Jesus, okay. So we're going on the run from the law or something? Badass antiheroes trying to save a world that hates them?"
No. You have the letter. I don't know your laws but you make the policegryphons happy by showing them the letter. But your friends will be angry and they do not read the letter.
"Okay, okay. Gotcha. Yeah. Should we bring Frankie? The little one? She won't be too hung up on the details, I don't think."
She is the little ugly bird?
"Well, I guess you could call her that, but...."
Hm. She might be the right one!
"Okay, yeah. I can talk to her. What about...what about the books? What books do I need?"
What kind of books do you like? Do you like romances? I've heard people read romances. What are they?
"What? Books, Screwy. The books you said I need. Just now."
Oh! I forgot. I don't know. Books. You read them. One's red.
Gilda grunted in exasperation. "Not helpful. I can't take every red book in the library."
We're looking for some old magic. Zebra magic. Magic that blocks my sight and my mind and everything else but our real bodies.
"Okay, that's helpful. We need...something that interrupts the Flow?"
Maybe! I don't know though. You're the one who thinks in words.
"Okay. Yeah. Sure. I'll see what I can get on that. I figure we've got at least a few hours, maybe even a day, since there's no body...unless you dropped him in the throne room or something dumb like that. I should be able to round up some books and get Frankie on board and get you Rodric's waybag. Jesus, Screwy, I can't believe we're--yeah. Keep it together. There anything else we need?"
I need my hat. Screwball began slowly rotating around the room, her eyes rolling around deliberately. It's not here.
"I told you I don't know where it is. Can't you just like zap it back to you?"
I don't know where it is either.
"Okay, I'll ask around again before I go. But we've gotta start preparing....and Screwball. You said you couldn't forget that you wanted to kill Celestia. And you know that we work together. Do...do we succeed?"
I don't know.
"You don't know much."
I know that right now there is a farmer who visited Manehattan to see his nephew, but his nephew wasn't there any more, and now he's trapped and has run out of money to buy food and cannot leave because the roads are dangerous. I know that there are 59 birds in one square mile of the Silvertail Forest. I know that the Walruses have ended a clan war with a marriage of feuding chiefs' children. I know your lungs are a little sick but gryphons don't show symptoms of illness until they're nearly dead. I know that there are over 2000 children of various species laughing right now. I know that about 10,000 ponies have experienced an orgasm within the past hour. But I don't know what happens after we get the magic from the Zebras, because the magic makes me not see.
Gilda raised an eyebrow. "The farmer. In Manehattan. What's his name?"
What's whose name? I don't know who you're talking about.
Gilda nodded. "...yeah. Okay. I got it. Keep it together, Screwy. I'm going to get Frankie and the stuff we'll need. I'll meet you back here in a couple hours."
Ha ha it won't take that long but thanks!
"...yeah. You're welcome, Screwball."
Gilda turned and walked back towards the maze of twisty little passages that led to the rest quarters. Suddenly, she saw another gryphon coming out. It was Marjorie, Rodric's second-in-command.
"Hey, Gild," she said in her husky voice. "Roddy asked to talk to me about that crazy pony you won't shut up about. He's outside the mutton locker, yeah?
In a flash, Gilda cracked Marjorie's unsuspecting head against the wall, then in the same motion slit her jugular as she fell. She stared at her own blood-coated talon, then at the unconscious gryphon hemorrhaging on the floor.
She climbed into the tunnel while looking over her shoulder, still watching Marjorie's bleeding neck. Then she snapped her attention straight ahead, and broke into a full sprint through the passageway. Yeah. Okay. Screwball was right. This would have to be way, way quicker than a couple of hours.