//------------------------------// // XXI. Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges // Story: The Night is Passing // by Cynewulf //------------------------------// SPIKE With a new world came new ways of thinking. It was a fairly clear idea, one whose truth he’d seen over and over again. Ponies who had never even dreamt in their wildest nightmares of hurting another pony, let alone anything else that breathed, would resort to wild savagery. He had seen ponies turn desperate in the face of gnawing hunger, seen their eyes and faces go strange from anger as they pushed each other and fought each other to get at the meanest morsels. Some ponies became beasts. But he had also seen heroes, average folks who had joined the guard and worked tirelessly, quietly, without love of glory and without pay in the infirmary wards. And then there’s me, he thought to himself. He hadn’t brought the sword. One, it wouldn’t be necessary. Two, to bring it would imply that without it he could do nothing. Three, he did honestly intend to persuade and not simply to intimidate. Of course, intimidation would be fine too. What a world. He sighed and shielded his eyes from the sun. Twilight had always told him that dragons grew protective coverings over their eyes that would make sunlight’s harshness less threatening, but he’d yet to grow them. Because he wasn’t grown yet. He wasn’t. And here he was, doing a grown pony’s dirty work. Dragon. Not pony. “Gonna go in?” Mac asked. Spike looked at him. “Eventually.” “Working on a speech?” “Yeah.” “Don’t.” Spike blinked. “What? I mean, shouldn’t I know what I’m going to say? This has to go the right way, and word can’t get back. This guy has to be petrified. Or something.” “Oh, he’ll be fine,” Mac drawled. He spat into the gutter and shrugged. “Not trying to be in your business,” he added. “Just wonderin’.” “Yeah. It’s fine.” Spike looked back out of the alley at the blacksmith’s shop. Even from here, he could smell smoke and hear the endless ringing of hammers. Most of the shop was open to the air. The great furnace which spewed acrid smoke, almost like a mockery of the great and now abandoned weather factories of Cloudsdale, glowed hot. Beside it, the ponies who busily worked seemed small, fragile creatures. They were, in their way. He was learning this. At last, Spike shook himself and walked out of the shadows. A few of the passing ponies in the street noticed him, but nopony looked for very long time. That a dragon walked among the sad and the waiting of Canterlot was no great news. He was an oddity, not a mystery—the novelty was wearing off, little by little. The workshop was impressive even from the outside. Spike had read the dossier before coming down to the Terrestrial Tier, but even then, it was hard to understand what numbers mean without visual context. Steel Heart was one of the best smiths—and the finest crafter of weapons—not currently working for the crown in any capacity. Even including the royal armorers, he was still in the top tenth of craftsponies left in the country. Twenty apprentices worked busily, with journeyponies and a few fully-fledged Guild workers alongside them. Light a fire under this place and they could produce enough arms and armor to outfit a company in three days and still keep the quality high. They could arm entire countries in a dozen shops like this, banging away in their shaded open-air workshops, given world enough and time. Spike and his companion were stopped before they could enter by a young stallion, barely old enough to marry. His voice wavered a bit between maturity and a childish cracking. “I’m sorry, but we’re booked… If you’re coming to place an order, there’s no way we’ll be in any shape to fill it any time soon.” Spike chuckled. “I need to talk to your master.” “He’s busy, sir.” “I figured as much. Still, I need to talk to him. Please, step aside.” There was no malice in his voice. He felt none. He simply needed the boy to move, and so he flashed a bit of teeth. It worked. Spike and Macintosh maneuvered carefully through the working ponies. Most ignored them, busy at work, shaping metal. He tried to see what it was that they worked on, but most of it was beyond him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought perhaps that he saw something familiar, something almost gun-shaped, but before he could turn to investigate, he found himself stopped by an outstretched hoof. Spike looked down to find a stern face glaring up at him. Steel Heart was a mare, tall and muscular in a way that was eerily similar to his companion. For that matter, she had the same coloring. Spike blinked, and made sure that Macintosh was still behind him. “What business do y’all have? Thought I told that fool ‘pprentice to warn folks that we’re too busy for new orders,” Steel Heart said. “It’s not exactly an order. Do you have an office we could talk in?” Spike asked. This was the point where his confidence ended. The mare looked at him with a kind of folksy suspicion. “What do I look like? I do my business like an honest mare. Now, I’m tellin’ ya, I’m flat booked—” “I understand that. But please, hear us out.” She pursed her lips. “It would be better if we went a bit further into your workshop,” Spike said. “Fine,” she barked and turned quickly. She led them to the center chamber, next to the main forge. It bellowed smoke and ash and fire. To Spike, the air seemed cozy. He wondered how it felt for the ponies. He noticed, now, that Steel Heart’s short, matted mane dripped with sweat. There were only two ponies working in this room, both of them with Guild insignia. He could see the shape of a gun barrel clearly now as they manipulated it with strange arm-like apparati attached to their shoulders. “Now, what do you need?” Steel Heart spat. Spike looked back at Macintosh, frowning. They locked eyes for a moment, and then Mac nodded. He looked back the way they had come quickly and then shrugged. Spike turned back to Steel Heart. “Actually, I’m here about that order you were talking about.” The smith looked at him strangely, and then her eyes widened. “Now, you look here, I don’t need no intimidation. You’ll get your damn guns.” She stepped back. “I told you last week that this was a tall order, and none of this shady doin’ would make it go any faster.” “Shady doings?” Spike cocked his head to the side. “What was that?” She went pale. “I don’t mean nothin’ by it, I… Hold on.” She put a hoof to her temple and closed her eyes, growling. “You ain’t with them—you’re the Queen’s pet. Damn. Now this is private business, son, and—” “It is private, I agree. I would like it to remain private. And safe,” Spike said. He was full of nervous energy. His legs wanted to stretch, to pace. “I know about your clientele, and you’re right; I am here… out of concern, I guess you could say.” “And you’ll be leavin’ out of concern. Now.” Spike chuckled, a genuine chuckle. The little smith—little only to him—shook with something between rage and nervous energy, the kind he quite understood. Like a foal caught magicking the cookie jar down from the counter. “House Rowan Oak wants guns,” Spike said flatly. “How many?” “Private business.” “Won’t be for long,” Macintosh spoke. His bassy voice was almost lost among the clanging of hammers. “Yeah,” Spike said, caught flat-footed. “Ma’am, I’m going to straight with you. I’m going to lay out the facts, and then I am going to ask you for a favor.” “I don’t even know you, and you want favors?” Spike shrugged. He walked over to where the now listening workers held the still hot gun barrel with tongs. With a hum, he picked up the molten metal and turned it over in his hands. He felt only warmth, cozy, gentle warmth. Idly, he brought it up to eye level. “This will be a fine weapon, eventually. I imagine your Guildsponies are accomplished gunsmiths.” “The… best.” “Hm.” They all stared at him, holding the orangey, burning rod. Idly, he switched hands. How strange it was. This thing would burn right through flesh, set fur ablaze. If he were to just touch it to the walls, they would go up in smoke, and he would be fine. Just standing there in the fire and in the ash, content and warm. When he looked past the brand and into Steel Heart’s eyes, her frustrated anger was gone. She did not cower, but she wanted to. He could see it; he could sense it the way a predator senses that his hunt may yet be successful. Her fear stank. “And these are all for Rowan Oak,” Spike said quietly. Steel Heart nodded. Spike thought of giving the would-be barrel back to the craftsponies. For a brief moment, he even considered bending it right in front of them. Hot as it was, it was certainly more pliable, and in this moment, he felt strong, invincible, higher and better. He sighed and held it like a torch instead. “They won’t make it there,” he said. “Listen,” Steel Heart said. No, not said. Begged. Bargained. “Listen, please. I have thirty odd mouths to feed, ponies who need this work, and without it… You can’t just waltz… You can’t just take this away from us. I have to eat too.” Spike hummed. “The crown will pay. More.” “The nobles will kill me,” she replied. So she had a backbone still. It brought him out of his self-centered daze. “No, they won’t,” he said firmly, sure. “We’re as good as them or better. They’ll not trouble you. And if they do, then they’ll certainly not touch somepony who is openly being patronized by the Princess herself.” He put the barrel back. The two ponies in Guild uniforms shied away from it and him. “Who the hell are you two?” Steel Heart demanded, her voice shaking a little. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” She groaned and looked around as if wanting to find something to kick. “You have no idea what you’re doing. You have no idea. Them shady ones, they’ll know I worked with you when they don’t get what they want.” “Shady who?” Macintosh asked. “You been talkin’ an awful lot like somepony else is involved.” “I don’t know who they are,” Steel Heart replied, defeated. “Look, you think I’d work for somepony who don’t let me see their face if I didn’t need the bits bad? I’m not stupid, lizard.” “They’re not nobles?” Spike asked. This was new. Unexpected. A third element thrown into the equation, and he was beginning to be worried. “How the nine hells am I gonna know? The one who placed the order was that quartermaster bitch from the House. Then, three weeks ago, I got a visit right before we stopped for the day from these two ponies in red cloaks. Wouldn’t take ‘em off for nothin’, and they weren’t exactly pleasant. Told me if we didn’t hurry, they’d know. Told me they wanted everything done and quickly. Didn’t matter if I had to cut a few corners, just be done. I told ‘em to go to hell, same as you. Thought you were with them at first.” “Red cloaks? No idea who they were?” “None. The Quarter-bitch was back the next week, and then nothin’ until now. I can’t give the princess or anybody else these guns. You can… you can threaten me all you want, see? But I can’t. My honor is at stake, but damn, so is my life. One of ‘em was a unicorn, those red fellows, and I’m pretty sure he could blow me to pieces and burn the whole shop down in a heartbeat. He was a mean son of a bitch.” Spike looked at Macintosh. Air hissed past his teeth as he breathed in, thinking fast. But it was Macintosh who spoke instead. “Ma’am, sorry for all of this, but we need your deal to go bad. But I understand. You gotta protect your own.” “Damn straight.” “And a few cut corners would be fine by these two red fellas?”   “That’s… yeah, it’s what they said. Kinda.” “Then how about both of us help each other out? Now, I don’t like the idea of doin’ anything but my best, myself, but a poorly made gun that looks fine would be a mighty fine surprise.” Steel Heart stared at him. “That’s cold, you bastard, but you two ain’t gonna leave me alone, are you?” Macintosh smiled. “Nope.” “Fine. I… I want some sort of compensation out of you, lizard bastard. You’re asking me to take a risk. And why the hell do you care? The Houses and ponies ‘round here got rights.” “Because…” Because laws are quiet in times of war, Luna whispered. Or perhaps it was his own thought. He wasn’t sure. “Because guns in the wrong hooves means innocent ponies getting hurt.” “Who said you two were any better?” Spike knelt down so that they were on eye level with each other. “Miss Heart, I didn’t threaten you. I don’t really know how to do this, and I’m not good at it. I need you to help me, but I really need you to help everypony. Those two who came by here, the cloaked ones and the quartermaster, er… ‘bitch’, are bad. You know that, I think. I only offered to buy them because I understand that you need to look out for those you employ.” She frowned at him. “Well, you seem about the same, comin’ in here tryin’ to intimidate folks.” He sighed. “Because that’s what I figured I was supposed to do, but I really suck at it, you know? That isn’t me. This is. I’m asking you, please, to do the right thing. The nobles are trying to make their own little grabs for power, and they’re going to hurt everypony caught in the middle. But you can stop that. You can keep them from using those guns. When they try to fire the shots that will hurt innocents or each other, the guns won’t fire. The bullets won’t kill. I’m doing what I can to keep us from tearing each other apart, but I need your help.” She looked at him, looked right into his eyes, and her gaze was hard. It lingered. “What’s your name?” “Spike,” he answered. “My name is Spike. I’m sorry I came in like I did. But you seem like a good pony, and I don’t think I’m wrong about that.” “Tryin’ to sugar me up,” she said. “Probably,” he agreed and chuckled. She actually joined him. “But I mean it. Please. Just help us. I’ll make sure you’re given compensation. I know that this isn’t the safest thing ever. But I promise you that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you don’t face any consequences for this. If you’ll just sabotage the shipment, I promise you I won’t waste this opportunity. This is the best choice.” Steel Heart shut her eyes and sighed. She rubbed her temples and turned away. Facing towards the furnace, she spoke. “Just… fine. What the hell. All of the hells. I’ll do it. I want three thousand bits, dragon. Three. On top of what I’ll get from them, we should ride out the winter. If they so much as look at me funny, that bitch especially, I’ll knock you into next week. Got it?” Spike grinned slightly but smoothed his face out. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be watching over you, I promise. You’re doing your city a service.” “You need better lines, kid. Now get the hell out of my shop.” RARITY She arrived breathless. Her head ached. Her body ached as well, but not quite as much, nor did it march to the eternal throbbing of her heart’s beating. Her mouth was dry, and her lips would not moisten no matter how much she attempted to rectify this. The world seemed bigger, the halls seemed longer, and the sun seemed far, far too bright. In short, Rarity had a hangover. Not a terrible one, mind you. It could have been far worse. She had experienced hangovers far, far more dreadful than the one she was currently soldiering through. Her brief stint at the Canterlot School of Fine Arts had been… well, not memorable. Much of it was a blur. But a lady does not become mired in the past, and so Rarity had moved on, lived and learned. And now, when she had a hangover, she did much less groaning. Coffee helped. Unfortunately, coffee was in short supply. Rarity had decided that rationing was the worst word to have ever existed. Though, to be fair, there was coffee available if she tried hard enough. It was simply that she had been intercepted by a messenger before the beautiful, precious liquid could be acquired. It was mildly tragic, honestly. Rarity sighed and rubbed her temple. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m a bit… slow this morning.” “It’s Shining. Let me guess. No coffee?” Shining asked and then chuckled. “You remind me of Cadance when she can’t get to coffee in the mornings.” Rarity smiled at him. She had always liked Shining Armor. If for nothing else, than that it was refreshing to see nobility who truly cared about each other. She decided to tell him so. “I’ve always found it wonderfully refreshing how familiar and close the two of you are. A lot of noble couples seem to be together in all but the best ways.” “Well, a long time ago, I was just a kid, and she was a babysitter.” He smiled back. “But thanks. Sorry to bother you so early. It’s important, but… well. It’s urgent, but it’s probably best not to be too panicked. In fact, I can have coffee brought up while we wait for the other two to arrive. I want all of you here before I explain.” Rarity’s heart burst for joy. On the outside, she maintained composure—as a Lady should. “That would be lovely, Shining, thank you. And you’re sure it’s alright that I call you that?” “Please. It’d be a favor.” He signalled for the attendant by the door and in a moment had the pony in question procuring coffee. “Now, Shining… what is this all about? I know you’d rather not tell us piecemeal, but I am simply dying of curiosity. Urgent? Important?” “Well, I guess I can say something. It’s about the changelings refugees, honestly.” Rarity stiffened. “You don’t say.” “I do. Though perhaps not what you think.” “I would hope not,” Rarity said and eased back against the couch. She’d expected to meet with the Princess, but Shining had instead led her into another room. These were the private royal reception rooms, from what she gathered, a place for the Imperial couple to receive and entertain their friends and those they considered confidants. Unlike the rest of the palace, it was not quite so ornate and byzantine. It was rather comfortable. It was decorated in a way more reflecting personal taste than official Imperial dignity. Looking about, she saw a few paintings, one of the two of them, and one of Cadance herself, sitting in what Rarity guessed was the statue garden in Canterlot. Rarity found herself drawn to it, enamored of its soft, gentle textures, the way that the almost fuzzy scenery blended into the figure. There were other pictures, of course. Ones of Canterlot, of home. Of Twilight, and even one of her friends, all of them smiling into a camera’s eye on the occasion of Shining and Cadance’s wedding. Rarity pointed to the picture, the urgency of Shining’s news like a dimming, far away candle in the daytime. “That seems like worlds ago. Ages.” “Well, it was years ago.” “I’m sorry. I’m a bit addled. The girls and I perhaps relaxed a bit too enthusiastically,” Rarity offered sheepishly. “We all need to escape from time to time. Even me,” Shining said. “I wish Cadance and I could just leave, sometimes. You know, we lived in a house in the royal compound before we moved in here. I miss it. To me, that little place will always be home.” “It won’t last forever,” Rarity said. “Yeah.” He shrugged. “The changelings here don’t have queens. Well. A few still do.” “What happened?” “The mitou happened. They’re brutal and intelligent, and they apparently are very familiar with changelings. Knew how to get in, kill the queens, and send the hives into panic. It was traumatic, as you can imagine.” “They… do not share minds, but live in connection?” “Kind of. It’s hard to explain. I barely understand it myself.” “So they felt her passing, all of them?” Shining nodded. Rarity blanched. “That’s horrible… like watching your mother die. It would be watching your mother die,” she added. “What do they do now?” “They wandered until they came to us. Droves of them, sad, defeated little things. They would just lay around, moping. Wake up at night and cry. I wish I was making this up. But they adjusted. They bond together now, drone to drone. If this war ends, if all of this ends and the world recovers… well, we might have a very different kind of changeling on our hooves. Changelings who are far more friendly.” “But how will they continue, without queens?” “They can give birth, apparently. Who knew?” Shining shrugged and sat back on his couch. “Emergency survival reflex. I have no idea. It keeps the hive alive, and usually queens would adopt the headless hive, or they would just dissipate and meld into other groups over time, but with so many queens gone…” “You know, I’ve never talked to one. You seem to have, though.” Rarity hummed. “I wonder what they are like, now. We’ve all changed quite a bit.” “They’re pretty different. Strange, too. Their language is clicks and things I hardly recognize as words. But they can be friendly enough. Helpful, too, when the locals aren’t too nervous. They helped build the wall around Amethyst and repair it after raids by the old gods.” “Old gods… you’ve called them that before. The mitou.” Shining nodded and shifted. “Yeah. That’s what the crystal ponies call them. From what I gather… they used to basically worship them. It’s crazy, especially after seeing them in action, but it kinda makes sense. Nasty set of deities, though.” Rarity nodded. She’d seen what those beasts could do. They were fast, faster than anything she’d ever seen. Able to tear ponies to shreds with ease. Without hesitation, they withstood lance and shot and hoof. It was about this time that somepony knocked on the door. Shining and Rarity looked up in unison, puzzled as nopony came in. “Ah… hello? You can come in,” Shining said. The door opened, and Rarity tried desperately not to giggle. Rainbow Dash was obviously faring far, far worse than she was. Her eyes were half-open, her mouth preemptively in a grimace of dismay. She leaned heavily on Fluttershy’s shoulder. “How are you this morning, Rainbow?” Rarity asked, smiling. Rainbow grumbled. Fluttershy smiled. “Good morning, Rarity.” Rainbow was deposited on the couch beside Rarity, who nuzzled her without thinking, as friends were wont to do on occasion. “Come, then, Rainbow! Coffee is ready. I promise you’ll feel better,” she sing-songed. Rainbow straightened up, her face flushed. Rarity supposed she was still in a tizzy. The messenger had probably woken her up from deep sleep. Humming, Rarity happily used her magic to prepare another cup. With her friends here now, the world seemed a much brighter place. “Here you go,” Rarity said and floated the cup in front of Rainbow. “Black with a little sugar, but not too much. Just the way you like it.” “Mmthanks,” Rainbow said in a gravely voice, keeping her eyes down. She drank quietly, and Shining cleared his throat. “Now that you’re all here, I suppose I can explain,” he began. He leaned back on the couch and then scooted over for Fluttershy. Sighing, he drank some coffee of his own and seemed to formulate his next words carefully. “The changeling Mothers here in Imperial Center are concerned about some of their own. They came in secret last night, late, half a dozen of them.” “Mothers?” Fluttershy asked. “You mean queens?” “No. Very different. As I was telling Rarity, the mitou struck hard and fast. They killed many of the queens in the initial wave of their invasion. They’re familiar with how changelings work, you see. Navigating their tunnels was simple, and the usual methods the changelings employ to ensure survival of their hives in the event of a queen’s death were hopelessly inadequate. There were just too many queens suddenly gone. They’ve restructured, adapted. They have Mothers now, changelings who are chosen for their charisma or kindness or wisdom by a group of changelings.” “Like… families,” Rarity said. “Kind of, I suppose,” Shining Armor answered. “What exactly is the nature of this… problem?” Rarity asked. Rainbow grumbled between sips. “How do we know we can trust ‘em?” Shining Armor pursed his lips. “For a few reasons. First, they came of their own volition to tell us. Secondly, if they had queens, I would be wondering as to their intentions, but the changelings in the Families have been cooperative and helpful, and it is honestly in their best interest to help us. They hate the mitou more than they could ever hate us. The trauma inflicted on them was unspeakable.” Rainbow grunted. “But to answer your question,” Shining continued, “they aren’t quite sure themselves. ‘Corruption’ is their word. As for myself…” He leaned in, and Rarity found herself leaning in response. His face had changed, possessed of some seriousness which she did not yet comprehend. “Have you ever wondered about all this? How it all happened?” “What do you mean?” Rainbow asked groggily from behind her. “Famine, chaos, war, and rumors of wars. Isn’t it a strange coincidence that Celestia vanishes, the mitou return, half of the world goes mad all at the same time? Within the space of a few months? Don’t you find it odd even a little?” “Well, yes, of course… but it’s hard to think about such things when you’re busy living them,” Rarity answered. Instantly she thought of Luna, patrolling the night’s furthest shores, seeing the hearts and the minds of millions. She wondered if changelings dreamt and if Luna saw them also. “More and more, I begin to wonder if there isn’t some kind of first cause. Something to get the ball rolling, get all of this crap going. Sorry. I know this is really sudden, but the Mothers seemed troubled, and if they’re concerned, I’m concerned.” “What do you intend to do?” Rarity asked. “Me? Nothing. But I do have a favor to ask. Consider a way of paying me back for all the wine,” Shining said casually. Rarity had, unfortunately, been in the middle of sipping at her tea and avoided spitting it out thanks only to a long-trained grace. She set the cup down. “Hm?” “I got a note from the cooks today, wondering if I had taken some myself. I actually had no idea who took it. But, if the look on Rainbow’s face is any indication…” He snickered. “It’s alright. I understand the need to unwind.” “We’re so sorry, Shining. We won’t do it again,” Fluttershy said. “No, it’s alright. Honestly,” he said, suppressing further laughter, “I think it’s hilarious. A good laugh is something I need more and more these days.” Rarity returned to her coffee, mortified. “Well, so far, we have a vague outline of a problem, but I’m not finding anything specific so far.” “That’s because there isn’t anything specific. In wartime, miss, there’s always less than half of the information you need. The enemy is in that direction—how far, how many, in what formation and of what disposition? No idea.” “I suppose,” Rarity allowed. “Still gotta do something,” Rainbow grumbled. “My thoughts exactly,” Shining Armor said. “That’s why I need you to visit the enclave today.” “The… what, exactly?” Rarity asked, raising an eyebrow. “The enclave. The changeling enclave. I can’t go. It’s too noticeable, and ponies will want to know why. But you three? You’re exploring, you see? On a stroll. Seeing how things are up here, looking for any news you can find to bring home.” “You want us to be spies,” Rainbow said flatly. “No, I want you to be diplomats,” Shining replied quickly. “You’re not there to snoop—though, I do encourage you to go in there with eyes wide open… No, I need you to talk to them, listen to them. Not just the Mothers, but all of them. Anypony who will talk. The Mothers are expecting me to send somepony, and sending you will show them I trust them… and I think, with fresh minds and perspectives, maybe you can figure out a way to deal with this.” Shining shrugged. “I’m a soldier. I march and act. I tell ponies to go, and they go. I tell ponies to stay, and they stay. Beyond that, I’m not much help. I can be nice, but Cadance is the one with brains.” “How is she?” Fluttershy asked softly. Shining slumped. Not terribly much, but enough for Rarity to notice. “About the same. A little worse each day, a little slower. She’s miserable. She was able to keep breakfast down this morning, so that’s a plus,” he said, trying to smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hard time on both of us. Months. It wasn’t like this at first. It seemed so doable, so possible, back then. We thought she could do this. We thought that this war or whatever the hell this chaos is would be over by now, and it obviously isn’t.” “But it will be,” Rarity said, as firmly as she could manage. “It will be.” “Oh, I know. One way or another,” Shining said, matching her steel for steel. RARITY Rarity had seen a city living under the idea of siege, but she was learning that unhappiness could be incredibly diverse, as could its opposite. The shadow of dread hung over the Imperial Center as much as it hung over the city of Canterlot against the mountains. There was no real rationing here, not as there was in Canterlot. Full rationing would have been wiser, but it would have required the approval of the Houses native to the city, all of which would love an opportunity to gain some political power cheaply and easily. Rarity knew that the empire no doubt had its own internal frictions, but she had not seen the kind of autonomous, noisy nobility here that she was used to. Despite all of her childhood dreams of House and title, she found the silence around a single voice of command to be beautiful in a way. It would never work in Equestria. History, mistress of all change and its final arbitratrix, had decreed for the united tribes a legacy of autonomy. It had served them well before. It was not serving them well now. So it went. “So where is this changeling place?” Rainbow asked. Rarity glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Shining said it would be down this particular avenue,” Rarity answered. She gave a decidedly unladylike snort. “Well, eventually. ‘You’ll know it when you see it,’ indeed.” “Well, I’m sure it will be easy to notice,” Fluttershy offered. Rarity shrugged. “One supposes. I haven’t exactly seen any signs, but from how he talks of the place, it seems rather informal.” “What are we even doing anyway?” Rainbow whined. “This is so lame.” “Lame or not, Shining is our host, and the least we can do is help him,” Fluttershy said. Up ahead, a small café bustled in the afternoon sun. It was out today when it was meant to be—Rarity could still appreciate small blessings—and so she could almost imagine that it was a normal day, free from the worries of a new world. A pony in the corner played an upright bass, accompanied by a drummer and a trumpeter, filling the street with soft jazz. She smiled. As they walked, Rarity took stock of her companions. Fluttershy seemed no worse for wear, unchanged from her usual demeanor in these dark days. Of all of their tight-knit company, Fluttershy had fared the best. All had wilted or fallen into their own private despairs, but Fluttershy was, on the outside, much the same. Quiet, demure, quick to aid and slow to both anger and action. Rainbow, however, had come up from her brooding, scowling low. She shone in use. Even now, for her whining, she still came along willingly. She listened. The fury barely kept in check had left, she thought, and had transmuted itself into something just as intense but far more controlled. Something productive. Something good. “Bit for your thoughts?” Rainbow asked in her left ear. Rarity jumped a little, turning to find her friend hovering upside down with a grin. Rarity gave a little huff of mock indignation. “Honestly!” “What? You were all smiling like a loser. I had to bother you.” Rarity’s smiled returned, and she chuckled. “Whatever you say, you great feathered vandal.” Before she could say much else, the air changed. Had it been a subtle change she only now recognized? Perhaps. It was hard to tell at first, but it seemed off. The houses and lanes seemed off, with only a few ponies scattered about scurrying to and fro on business. But the difference hit her at last: the streets were empty and not simply empty but abandoned. “Welcome to ghost town,” Rainbow said, not even bothering to lower her voice. Rarity rolled her eyes, but kept walking as if nothing had ever bothered her. It was at this time that a door up ahead opened, and a changeling stepped out into the sunlight, stretching as it did so, oblivious to their presence. Rarity’s response was immediate. Her heart leapt into her throat, and her pulse hammered in her ears. This was it. This was the monster. She saw the wedding again, the changelings hurtling down from the sky like living meteors, felt again the fear stabbing at her veins, tasted the panic over her friends and over herself. She stopped dead in the center of the street. It was a brief stop, abrupt but brief. She could not betray her dismay. She would not. That was the past. This was the present. Ponies changed, sometimes for the worse and sometimes for the better. This individual had done nothing to her. She would not judge it by the standards of others. She would not. It caught sight of them, but the changelings reaction was far more subdued. It simply cocked its head, curious. Rarity cleared her throat and waved. “Hello! Hello, there.” The changeling trotted towards them. Rarity saw it clearer now. Its body was porous, but not quite as starved-looking as the invaders at Canterlot. It’s eyes were bright cerulean blue, all color, no pupil. It came close, and Rarity knew that her companions’ reactions were not unlike her own. It stopped. “This one greets you. Am sorry, for Equestrian is bad.” It smiled. Rarity smiled back, trying not to be bothered by the fangs. “Yes, well, I’m Rarity. My companions are Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. We, ah, were looking for somepon… er, somechangeling?” “Somepony is good,” the changeling said and smiled. “Who are you looking for? This one can —help if it is acceptable.” “That would be wonderful,” Rarity said. “Ah… Mothers? I’m sorry. I have less to go on then I would like.” The changeling made a chittering noise Rarity found mildly unsettling. “Yes, we know who. I will take you to Mother. This one’s name is Carytid. Mother Ypres will be happy to see.” Turning, the changeling began to trot off at an easy pace without another word. Puzzled, the three from Canterlot followed. The changeling hummed quietly, a strange atonal song that seemed to meander as much as their path did. Off the main avenue, the lanes were more alive. Changelings, chittering lightly, humming their soft songs, mingled. None of them seemed particularly busy. They simply were, with none of the haste of their crystal pony neighbors. Most regarded the interlopers with curiosity, and others simply ignored them, absorbed in their own little worlds. “There were so few of you earlier, Carytid,” Fluttershy said. “Do not like main road. Too open,” the changeling answered. “Ah. I suppose you’re used to smaller spaces,” Rarity noted, looking around. “Yes, my sisters and I were workers in the center chambers. Not used to sky. Not sure about sky.” It was about this time that Rarity realized, to her horrible embarrassment, that she had no idea if Carytid was male or female. It was hard to tell without resorting to the obvious, and Tartarus would freeze, explode, and turn into a field of daisies before she would resort to such vulgarity. “What? Sky’s awesome,” Rainbow groused. “Is nice to fly in,” Carytid said. “But too easy to be seen. Am nervous sometimes.” Her… him? His voice sounds effeminate, but so do some stallions’... Bother. Rarity sighed. Rudeness was simply intolerable, and to be forced into it was not doing her mood any favors. Carytid led them down an alley onto another small neighborhood road. A few buildings down, a small, old café full of chittering, softly humming changelings caught Rarity’s eye. A little market occupied the street, with booths here and there. She saw very little money being exchanged, and mostly it seemed almost to be simple bartering, perhaps even exchanging favors. It was very curious. She caught only a few things that seemed analogous to words. Did they communicate telepathically? All at once, Rarity realized how little they really knew about these strange northern neighbors. “Mother Ypres is here,” Carytid said, pointing with a hoof towards an old but charming house of the kind one finds in old neighborhoods. Once, Rarity thought, it had been the abode of some well-to-do sort, a minor merchant perhaps. “Is there any sort of protocol?” Rarity asked. “I’m ignorant.” The changeling looked at her curiously, cocking its head to the side. It chittered a few times, and Rarity wanted to be irritated about her inability to properly gender the helpful soul but suppressed it in favor of a smile. “I’m assuming no,” she said. “Thank you for helping us, Carytid.” “It is pleasure.” Carytid smiled and then opened the door. The house inside was sparsely furnished, but in a more homely way than a spartan one. Tapestries hung from the walls, filled with strange shapes that seemed to match nothing Rarity had seen in mortal life, in blacks and green and reds and whites. They were not foreboding, but something else, something certainly not cheerful. Ambiguous? Perhaps, but she was not worried by them. If anything, they were promising. What they promised was still a mystery. Carytid bid them sit, and so they did, Rarity finding a nice spot next to Rainbow Dash on the long couch. The living room or reception room or whatever would be the proper name for such a place, was homely, and the more she sat and waited, the more Rarity felt at ease. Behind them, stairs led up to what she assumed were the Mother’s chambers or perhaps the rooms of many changelings. Or did they live underground? Once again, her ignorance betrayed her. Much was the same: couches, a table before fit for tea, a normal house. Much was different, even unknown, yet she did not fear. Not yet. Carytid stood on the other side of the table from the Canterlot mares, humming her strange little song and looking at the tapestries. “Does she know that we are here?” Rarity asked. “Did someone tell her of our arrival?” “Oh, this one did,” Carytid said, not bothering to look. “I… when did you…?” “We sang to her,” came the response. As if to show this, Carytid sang her wordless song a little louder and then quieted. Rarity simply blinked, somewhere between awe and bewilderment. After another moment or two of this, they heard somepony descending the stairs and turned to look. A changeling, perhaps taller than Carytid but not of the same stature of Chrysalis, smiled down on them as she approached. Rarity rose to greet her, putting on her own best court smile. Mother Ypres had blue eyes, deep and singular in the same way as any drone. Her ridge was minimal, her horn chipped, her wings fluttering slightly. She seemed older than Carytid, but not particularly ancient. But as soon as Rarity approached, the air felt different. It was as if somepony had put a rope around her neck and pulled her head down. This was more than a changeling drone. This was the Mother. This might as well be her mother. All at once, she was in the presence of wisdom herself. Ypres shimmered, her whole body altering, and went up in green flames. Replacing her was another mare, a middle-aged unicorn with benevolent ice blue eyes and a mane that was bound haphazardly as if it were a living thing struggling to escape. Rarity was amazed to see Ypres had even managed to include half-moon glasses in her illusion. “Hello. I am glad to finally see the three that fill our songs this morning. I have chosen to appear to you in this form to insure that you are comfortable.” “I… we are comfortable however you are comfortable,” Rarity managed, completely off her guard. The initial awe had faded into the background, but it had not gone away. Only now did she have the presence of mind to realize that Carytid had bowed. “I try to avoid that,” Ypres said evenly. “We are not queens, and we rule no Hives. We have our families, sisters all.” Well, that was one mystery solved. “I had wondered… Forgive me. It is hard for me to tell apart male and female,” Rarity said, hating how awkwardly the words tumbled out. She cleared her throat. “I’m sure it’s a difficulty shared between many species, though I must say that I am ignorant of the customs of your people. I ask your forgiveness in advance for any rudeness, Mother Ypres.” “And you shall have it. It is of no consequence. We are making our own ways even now. The winds of this world change. Carytid, would you like to join us for tea?” Carytid nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Mother. May I prepare it?” Ypres nodded, and the younger drone scurried off. Rarity cocked her head to one side. “Earlier, she referred to herself as ‘this one’.” “Converting our songs and workspeech into Equestrian is difficult at best,” Ypres said. “Some of us have tried to preserve the various honorific forms and methods of address. I have abandoned many of them, as they do not translate well. You have been accepted into the Family’s company, and so now you may be approached as an individual. Before, when your acceptance was not concluded, we faced you simply as a collective, nameless and uniform. When we find strangers, we become one faceless mass. When we find welcoming, we separate and once again become our own. It is hard for me to explain.” “I think I understand,” Fluttershy spoke up. “When ponies feel threatened, we tend to retreat back towards our group. If we have one.” “Yes, the great herds. We sing about them sometimes. On occasion.” Even in this new form, Ypres hummed softly. “Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Rarity of Canterlot. Such a strange afternoon. We had heard of your advent.” “You know of us?” Rarity asked. “C’mon, Rares, we are sorta, like, famous,” Rainbow piped up from the couch. Ypres chuckled as Rarity rolled her eyes. “It is true, Rarity of Canterlot. You and your companions are well known to my kind. Some of my daughters were of Chrysalis’s hive, and and know very well of your skill in combat, Rainbow Dash of Canterlot.” “Ponyville,” Rainbow said evenly. “Your pardon?” “Ponyville. Rainbow Dash of Ponyville.” Ypres cocked her head to one side and chittered. It had seemed far more normal from Carytid, with her changeling strangeness, but out of the mouth of a unicorn, it seemed suddenly bizarre. “We are all originally from Ponyville. Or, well, it was our home.” Rarity sighed. “It will be again, some day, I hope,” Fluttershy added. Ypres nodded. “I hear in the song that this place is known to us, but few know anything of importance. Perhaps you can tell me of your home when our business is concluded. I do have an inkling why you have come, after all. Oh, and Rarity,” Ypres paused, smiling. “To answer your anxiety, we do not have differentiation between the sexes. Changelings, we are, ah… forgive me, I’m not quite sure of the word. We are all the same sex; both are united.” Rarity processed this. “But yes,” Ypres continued, “through common usage, we prefer Equestrian feminine pronouns.” “I… might I ask why?” Rarity asked. “If you are unisex… or both? I’m sorry, I feel incredibly ignorant. I hate that feeling,” she confessed. “I assure you, I am usually more collected than this.” “Hermaphroditic, perhaps, though applying the term to sentients seems a bit inappropriate. We appreciate your honesty. Emotion is something that is free and open among us. We all know, even if you take care to hide it, and so appreciate when ponies do not attempt to fool the ones who cannot be fooled. And to answer this question… because they sound much nicer,” Ypres said, with a grin. Over tea, the story came out. Changelings live as children of two parents: The Here and the Never. We live and breathe, love and breed, work and play in the Here, what the unicorns once called Mundus or Ea, the World that Is. But we also live simultaneously in the world of the Never, what your thautmaturgists and mystics once called the Aether, the world of dreams and portents. Our experience is multiplicitous. Old changelings become lost as the decades slowly limp by, fading in this world and becoming bolder in the Never. In the Never, our songs are not wordless. The words we speak there, that we sing there, are like planets dancing. No mouth or mind could hold them in all of Mundus, on all of Earth. So to truly tell you of what we saw and felt, I would need another language. But I can try to tell you in this one. In the Aether, ponies come and go. To us, they are shadows or apparitions, things to ignore. In walking, sometimes, we see them in the street, sleeping but still going about the business of the day. They vanish after a moment. Sometimes, their dreams hang from the great trees, and we hover by and we listen to their stories. Such strange dreams you ponies have! So different, yet all are so similar. Our races have been estranged in the Here, but in the Never, we have never known struggle or antagonism. We are the ones who chronicle your dreams, for your dreaming lands were our origin, our birthplace. Those of us who have gone forever to the Aether have filled scrolls with your dreams, some of them miles long, and so in the long ago, before Luna came to our Never, we were the shepherds of the night. It seems to be a position cursed towards a fall. But the dreams are conflicted, darkened. There is something behind all of our dreaming, beyond our walking and our living, a darkness beneath the floorboards of the universe that is clawing at the Land of Sleep. We found many in this very city whose dreams are darkened. Many are simply torn by nightmares, fears, struggles. But a few are taken. There is no other word for it. They are gone. That which is left looks and acts like the pony that is gone. It may even think it is the same pony, but it is not. Oh, it is not. It is hard to say how many of these sleeping horrors there are in this city alone. At least a dozen, perhaps as many as two or three dozen. Maybe more. We are finding new ones occasionally. There are three in the palace. We have only sparse clues to work on, images, places, a few names which could be anypony. But we know that the Old Ones, who you call the Mitou, are also consumed by the darkness beneath. They are not presences. They are holes. That is how they killed the Queens. Because they do not exist in the Never except as absence, and we were foolish. And even now, the sleepers become harder and harder to sense and catalogue. They wait and wait, and they will strike soon. We know they will. We know because we’ve seen it in their darkest thoughts. We’ve seen it all and what they intend to do. They intend to murder the Empress.