//------------------------------// // An Eternal Golden Braid // Story: The Ninety-nine Nectars of Princess Luna; Or How Twilight Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Her Wings // by NoeCarrier //------------------------------// An Eternal Golden Braid, Or ‘What Marefriends Do’ Whom and Twilight walked for what seemed like hours, though in the Great Pit of Tartarus there was no easy way to keep track of time. With a magical flare tethered above them like a guardian bird, spreading kindly wings of light, they made in the rough direction of the immense wall that Twilight had glimpsed when they were first sheltering from the rocky hurricane. There had been an attempt at flying, for what better way to escape the stronghold of all ills and evils below the deepest bonds of material earth than to ascend, but this had ended almost as soon as it had begun. Whom could not maintain flight for more than a few minutes. Whilst Twilight doubted she would ever actually tire, the idea of leaving the benighted lunar pony on her own in the vault of damned things was unthinkable. She would not wish to leave any creature here, even her greatest enemies. In any case, there had been no sign of a roof. Certain questions ran through her mind. This place was, if the scant few sideways comments from the Princesses were to be believed, a final dungeon, a prison of ancient foes. Despite her occasional interest during the scholarly years of her foalhood, she really knew very little about the internal topology or characteristics of Tartarus. The occasional legend, story or other floating mytheme did not help matters, especially when they conflicted with one another, or with the accurate, verified and peer-reviewed historical accounts. Her brain dragged each memory up from the archival space of her mind, and each in turn she dismissed. They could not be trusted to guide them. She would need to interpret the situation as best she could with her own senses, and only refer back to the haze of misinformation and old dam's tails if absolutely everything failed. When the wind returned, and it did with a random, sudden and entirely unannounced nature, they weathered it in the same fashion as before. Curiously, it always came from the same direction. Ever scientific, Twilight realized that, with constant force and time, all of the bits of loose tephra that came at them would end up on the other side of whatever topology this place actually had. They were using this to navigate, by heading into the wind. This was where she had glimpsed the far wall and, for now, a destination. Presently, they came upon the river. As Twilight trotted up and over the top of a smooth, granite ridge, she caught sight of its silvery path in the middle of the wide valley the rolling nature of the landscape provided for. It glinted and shone in the light of the flare, which waited obediently like a faithful hound, some way ahead and up. In the dread silence of the pit, she could hear its flow, even from some considerable distance – though only, it seemed, from within the valley that it actually inhabited. “Oh, it's that river,” Whom said, between laboured breaths. “Can we stop for a bit? I'm tired, and thirsty.” “Sure, I'll conjure some hay,” Twilight said, then glanced at her. “You eat that kind of stuff, don't you?” “Yeah!” she said, nodding eagerly. “What else would I eat?” “Just checking.” It took them another few minutes to reach the banks of the river proper. Distance was as hard to estimate as the passage of hours – except for the odd unusual miniature peak to a ridge or valley top, or particularly noticeable rock, still for a moment between storms, there were few features or landmarks. The bank itself was high-walled and abrupt, giving it a distinctly artificial feel. Whom galloped the last stretch, collapsing into a panting heap of fuzzy pink legs that were too long. Twilight drew to a halt and peered at whatever it was that made up the river. It looked like molten chrome, broiling and irritated as it was poured into a mold. There was no way to see the bottom, nor gauge how deep it really was. That's certainly not water. Quicksilver, maybe. Maybe a kind of quicksand. Something with quick in the name, anyway. Was there something about rivers in any of those old legends? I think there might have been. The rivers are important, anyway. That much is clear. “Hey, Twilight, I've got a question for you,” said Whom, head between her forelegs as she splayed out, seeming to have recovered her breath. “Oh, really?” Twilight said, beaming excitedly at her, all other concerns temporarily forgotten. “What about?” “If all unicorns can just magic up food whenever they like, how come you still have farms and stuff like that?” “Ah, well, that's just the thing, isn't it?” Twilight said, mentally putting on her lecturing cap. “Not all unicorns can. In fact, even if their magic happens to relate in some way to culinary or agricultural arts, they can't materialize it out of thaumic energy.” She wiggled her ears and smiled proudly. “It's just not possible. Now, you know who Princess Celestia is, yes?” “Of course!” “Well, she found a way to do it. It's a ground-up approach to the whole thing, starting with the very smallest blocks of whatever it is you're trying to make and putting them together.” “Oh! Direct thaumomaterial synthesis?” she said, ears perking up. “That must drain the local Marekowski space of all potential for miles around!” “Uh... yes?” Twilight frowned in confusion. “Yes, yes it does, that's exactly right. That means it just isn't practical, except in emergency situations. Celestia showed me the spell; she thought that it would be useful to me, considering how often my situation becomes an emergency.” She laughed mirthlessly and looked around. “That all seems like such a long time ago.” “What does synthesis mean, anyway?” Whom said, cocking her head. “Right, so you knew what the Marekowski space was, but you don't know what synthesis means?” Twilight sat down on her haunches and shook her head. “You, Whom, are a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, hidden in deep shadow at the bottom of a lunar crater.” There was a long pause, in which Twilight studied the strange patterns on the surface of the river, which reminded her, at least in some respects, of the fractals that she had seen in the Imbrium's 'surf'. At least it didn't seem big or wide enough to hide anything like a squid. Twilight thought that she could probably jump it, at a gallop. “Can I have toasted oats instead of hay?” Whom said. “I don't want to taste real Equestrian hay until I'm really in Equestria.” “Of course,” Twilight said, then smiled and laid down beside her. “Tell you what. I know an amazing hayterie in Canterlot. It's called L'Tresse D'or Eternelle. When we get home, we can go there, just me and you.” “We can?” Whom said, as though she could barely believe it, head coming up from between her forelegs, ears swiveled forward attentively. “Like marefriends would?” “Like mares who are friends would, yes!” Twilight corrected, lips curling into a wry smile. “What's the difference?” Twilight laughed and closed her eyes, reaching for her magic. Not for the first time these last hours, she was grateful that the thaumic force seemed to be as all-penetrating as gravity, if far stronger. She had often wondered if it were the case that gravity and magic were simply two different ends of the same carrot, and not, as the received wisdom suggested, wholly distinct entities. For was it not true that, as far as could be currently told, they were both universal? Neither the time nor the place, Sparkle, for ruminations on unified forces. The air temporarily lost some of its cloying heat. Twilight felt local space contract and expand, dispensing energy into the astonishingly complex shapes she formed in her mind. The tip of her horn began to glow, a cherry red spreading down its length. After a long moment, what had first seemed to be little particles of free floating dust coalesced into a gradual stream of grey and umber. There was a sound of crackling then, and the warm, homely smell of toasted oats. They brought back memories of foalhood, of her dam at work in the kitchens of their home in the city; busy clattering and the dance of hooves on stone, humming tunes she could now only recall a few notes of, burnt sugar and the low outgassing of airborne flour, drifting from the culinary spaces into the rest of the house. Presently, she had a collection of carefully toasted oats. They weren't quite identical to the real thing, but served largely the same purpose. The little golden things contained no genetic information, but much in the way of simple sugars and carbohydrates. There were no patterns of growth in them, but lots of the important trace elements; potassium, iron, zinc and calcium, all drawn down from the void. Temporarily stymied for a dish, she rummaged around in her panniers for something that might do, eventually settling on one of the empty flasks, which she slit in half before dropping in the oats. The space around them was filling with waste heat, becoming nearly intolerable, by the time she started on the water. She had to drain the slowly condensing fluid that was produced away from her to prevent it boiling off. Whom, her pale pink magic wrapping itself around the makeshift dish of oats, retreated to a safe distance without prompting. “Nothing for you?” she said, between mouthfuls, once Twilight finished up with her magic and presented her with the other flask, which was replete with lukewarm water. “Maybe later on,” she said, glancing around. “This process has real limits. Did you feel those waves of heat?” “Like an open oven door.” “That's just one side of it. Magic can only provide so much in any given period of time.” She unmantled her wings, spreading them wide. “Hard physical laws apply to everyone, even if they're an alicorn Princess, and it takes a lot of energy to produce matter.” “These oats taste funny. A bit like lead.” “If the spell falls apart or runs out of energy, the matter collapses, half-formed,” Twilight lectured, wondering why Whom knew what lead tasted like, of all things. “Producing a shower of gamma rays and high-energy particles.” “What?” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “What in Tartarus is a gamma ray?” “I don't know,” Whom said, swallowing and licking her lips. “I think it might be a kind of invisible manta ray, with lots of little tentacles, so it can walk on land.” She raised a hoof and waggled it along in the air, as if she were miming the motion of a spider. “Nightmare Moon used to say that you couldn't see them and they were very dangerous, and that sounds very dangerous, doesn't it?” “Invisible land-dwelling manta rays?” said Twilight, nodding, as if she actually understood. “Yes, they do sound like they'd be a big threat. Lets hope there are none down here, eh?” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Say, Whom...” “Yes?” “What else did Nightmare Moon say about high-energy physics?” “Oh, is that where you shake up a fizzy drink really hard?” She beamed, like it was the best thing in the world, and something she knew everything there was to know about. “No, she never said anything about that...” There weren't many oats, but it still took Whom quite some time to work her way through them. She had the most dainty manner, which Twilight wasn't expecting. It reminded her of the sort of table etiquette Rarity insisted on, whenever she was feeling particularly formal. She had her napkin, spotted with dried blood, tucked into her regalia. With each pulse of her magic, individual grains hovered up, accreting into balls about the size of a marble, which she then popped into her mouth. Twilight hadn't wanted to explain to Whom that, since her apotheosis, food had held no interest for her whatsoever. She had not grown more or less hungry, even with considerable exertions. The fact that she could still eat, and take part in all the associated processes, did not mean that she did, except on the odd occasion that she had needed to maintain appearances. This had been another nail in the coffin, another push toward the warm friend of alcohol. The memory of booze triggered a familiar domino effect in her mind, leading into thoughts of her quest. The collimation of her mental processes became more intense, that half-unconscious focusing of all its computational abilities. It's certainly curious, isn't it, how we ended up here? It seems that, for all of these last hours, my objectives have, for want of a better word, fulfilled themselves. It is almost as if it has been set up this way, a pathway for me to follow, through which I have been nothing more than a mute observer, a passenger. She sat and thought a beat. No, not a passenger. A tool, a useful idiot. The realization hit her like an out of control freight dirigible, and a cold, awful fear prickled the back of her neck. Could someone, or something, be railroading me? Travel between dimensions, especially those as protected as Tartarus, is not something one does simply by accident. It's so unlikely... The engine of her brain reached into its archival space and tore up some long forgotten piece of arcane lore. Sweet foals! It's not just unlikely, it's downright impossible! The energy isn't there for it; I know, I cast the rutting spell. It would be like trying to drive a tunnel through Mount Avalon with a toothpick. Twilight shook her head and frowned ruefully. You're getting slow, Sparkle. Too rutting slow. “Wait, did you hear that?” Whom said, glancing away from the stream and toward the pall of darkness that stalked them at the limits of the magical flare's illumination. She found that she had begun to trot little, excitable circles while thinking, as if the energy her brain was expending in its compulsive tasks was just too much to cope with all in one place, and had begun to spill out through the rest of her nervous system. Who gains? Who profits? Luna seems an obvious answer. These are, after all, her drinks. As much as she wishes to remain lawful, she might give anything, do anything, to be reunited with them. Scheming could run in families. Her sister loves to pull at our Mareionette strings, doesn't she? Why not Luna, too? Bah, then why not simply tell me, and spare my course of its circuitousness? “Twilight? Hey, can you hear me? I think there's something out there...” Whom said, an octave higher than usual. Twilight began to trot up and down the bank of the river, brow furrowed. She did not initiate any of this. Where Celestia is concerned, it is easy to see her wishes and intents. She can always be found in the middle of the web. They are never secret. If she wants to lend her aid, it is openly and, when she cannot, it is plainly stated. Certain recent 'surprise' parties aside, she has never been anything less than benevolent. And, it is her stated aim that the Nectars not be made. “Oh, oh no, I don't like this!” Whom whinnied, staggering to her hooves, tipping over the dish and scattering the oats. “ She nearly fell in, train of thought breaking as she compensated, catching herself and staggering away from its silvery main. Twilight barely registered Whom's voice, let alone the ominous, strangely musical sounds that were drifting closer. Discord. Can it be you? If tales of the Nectar's potency can be believed, and I certainly believe them, they would most definitely create a great deal of chaos and mayhem, if abused. Could he make them himself? Berry Punch was... decidedly mystical on that topic. 'Hooves of a Goddess' can be interpreted in many ways, after all. Levels of power are hard to quantify, but he was always the elder be-- At this point, Twilight was very rudely interrupted by a near-infrasonic growl of gut-punching volume, and her mind immediately did two things in quick succession. The first was to conjure up an image of a massive, vicious wolf. The second was to flood her synapses with adrenaline and cortisol. The creature gazed down on them from the top of the ridge, right on the limit of the darkness. Much of its heaving bulk was still hidden, but the front part had enough teeth and and exposed bone to know that this thing meant business. The body plan was vaguely equine, though it was as if whatever had designed this particular pony had liked legs so much that it had included as many of them as it could possibly fit. It resembled what might be the product of a unison between a demonic swan and an outrageously large millipede. Though it had stopped moving, the twenty or so sets of legs were still wriggling and flexing disquietly, a nest of thickly muscled snakes terminating in glittering, obsidian hooves. It had a longer than average muzzle for a pony, though there the similarities in the head pretty much ended. The lower jaw distended hideously, accommodating row upon row of tiny, needle-sharp teeth, rammed into every available space. Razor-like ears were fixed, unmoving, and two, fiercely intelligent and surprisingly equine eyes joined them. “Whom, don't move an inch,” Twilight said, instincts of a thousand encounters versus similar, if not quite so grotesque, monsters, kicking in. “Don't make another sound.” There had been a lot of encounters, but she had never been without all of her friends beside her. She felt naked now, vulnerable as a still-wet foal. She wished, for the first time since embarking on this trip, that she had brought them into the endeavour. “Why do you disturb this place?” the thing intoned, to Twilight's considerable surprise. “We did not mean to!” she shouted, as the creature was quite far from them. “Explain,” it commanded, swampy, super baritone voice jarring in from all directions at once, as though passing through the intervening space by the mere vibration of the atmosphere was far too normal to stand on its own, and that more was needed to really drive home the idea that its owner was monstrous. “I am Princess Twilight Sparkle, and this is...” she said, glancing at the apparently petrified pink figure beside her, who looked all the part to be of the same stature as she; an alicorn. “Empress Cadenza, of the Crystal Empire, and my sister-in-law,” she finished, hoping that the bluff would pass, and that, whatever this monstrous being was, it did not know too much about the politics of other dimensions. There was an obscene grinding, gurgling noise, like that of a machine infested with mud, silt and burrowing parasites giving up a last gasp of intended activity and, with a sickening flash, she realized the thing was laughing. “Pony Princesses, in the Pit?” it said, after a moment, the plosive words like someone throwing rocks into a weed-choked pond as they emerged from a bulging, furless throat. “You are far from home, aren't you?” “We came here by mistake; a malfunction with our transport spell. We seek only the exit. Do you know where that is?” “Nothing leaves the Pit!” it screamed, voice adding and layering over extra, higher octaves, producing an ear-splitting, monstrous character that seemed to simultaneously assault her eardrums and her brain. “Nothing, nothing!” “Please, kindly creature, I did not mean to offend,” she said, mantling her wings to reduce her size and, hopefully, telegraph quiescence and submission. “If you would come closer, so that we may--” The darkness behind the monster lit up, dozens and dozens of bright orange flashes. Twilight realized that they were the striking of its many, many hooves on the hard granite floor of the pit. It unhinged its jaw, some wicked mechanism in the front unlatching as well, allowing it to drop wide and apart, separating into two slavering, saliva-drenched mandibles. From that maw a black tongue rolled, covered in a carpet of chitinous silver barbs, which quested, this way and that, like a sea anemone which had evolved to flense the meat of fish directly from them. The infrasonic growl came again, louder and more honeyed than before. It had strange notes, as if two or three of the creatures were responsible, instead of just the one. It was joined by the mellifluous sound again, many hooves gearing up to gallop. Twilight was allowed a brief moment to contemplate her incoming doom, and then the monster began its terminal charge. * The marrow glistened as it sailed around in the cool air, magic impelling it on weird trajectories, left and right, as if being toyed with. It was battered in places, covered in scuffs, scrapes, and craters, like it had been used to hammer in nails. Finely shod hooves patterned a beat on the cobbles of the Artisanal Quarter's major thoroughfare, slithering smoothly from quick to slow and back again. The true Empress of the Crystal Empire was abroad, something horrid on her mind. Even the poor, Nectars-addled fools that called this street their playground and felt that none were their masters now, were in abeyance, cowed into the shadows by the overwhelming aspect of the whole scene. Giant carrots, courgettes, a number of squashes in orange, yellow and purple, and half a dozen heads of cauliflower, all followed along behind her as if they were the members of a Wild Hunt, a Dionysiac parade. Shining Armour pulled back from around the corner and gulped audibly. Only two members of his praetorian guard remained uninjured by whatever cruel affliction had come over his wife. He had realised that it was the same thing which had impacted the city and plunged it into so much mad chaos. When they'd broken out of the station in panic, pursued by a pink spectre intent on a rearward mischief, they had come up against a lurking swarm of wicked others, hooting and laughing. Fighting their way through, by spell and blade, had been no small feat. Slight mares had the strength of full grown stallions, and paid no heed to disabling pain or fear. But they had passed through, losing several praetorians in the process, and then Shining had heard a squall of squeals and squeaks from the gathering crowd as they encountered the pink spectre. They had been fighting a retreat toward the Palace ever since, with varying degrees of success. Though they had gotten away each time, the Empress showed no signs of slowing down. “We've nowhere to go, sire,” L'Tempete said, joining them against the wall of the ransacked ice cream parlour that served as temporary cover. “Rib Street is full of very angry bison, and Contumely Court's buildings have collapsed in fire and blocked the way.” “Between a marrow and a hard place, then,” Afore muttered, fiddling with the straps that held and aligned the halberd at his withers. “Star-drenched foals,” Shining cursed, nestling his rump as close to the protection of the wall as he could, despite the pain and discomfort it caused. “Why is she doing this? What has come over her?” “It brings to mind the arts of necromancy, sire,” L'Tempete said, grimly. “This sort of mental control and manipulation is a hallmark of that thaumic trade. But they are never so... fanciful, sire, I think is the right word, whimsy is not a thing that necromancers have!” “To turn an alicorn Princess, though?” Shining said, unable to arrest the shivering and sense of violation. “We must be dealing with an evil mage of immense power and potency!” “I shall drive this blade into his foul heart and break the spell,” Afore said, rolling his shoulders and causing the halberd to whip left and right in the air. “On my honour, sire.” “There have been no living dead, though,” Shining said, frowning. “I must admit that I have little knowledge of necromantic pursuits, but is that not an equal sign as mind control is?” “Aye, sire, very true. We have seen no corpses, but that does not mean there are none,” L'Tempete said, glancing around, just in case a shambling abomination were sneaking up on them in that very moment. “Likely the necromancer has his strongest, deadest minions in close thrall.” “Would a necromancer not wish to kill the living and so swell his ranks?” Shining said, shaking his head. “Everyone here is distinctly alive.” There was a high-pitched squeak from around the corner, and much laughter, emerging from a throat that they all knew very well. Clattering and scuffling came next, as if of a lot of ponies getting out of the way of a rolling boulder. Shining Armour and his praetorians simultaneously shuddered, with a perceptible rattle of armour plate and iron-shod hooves. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” came a sing-song note, laden with honey, slurred as a drunkard would. “Oh, sweetlings, I won't hurt you, I promise that I won't, I'm an Empress, I mean no malice, how could I?” There were more squeals and squeaks, low whinnies and the sounds of shattering glass and wood splintering into thousands of matchsticks. “We have to keep going!” Shining Armour whispered. “Could we go through the buildings?” “Yes, sire, but--” “We've no alternative, L'Tempete!” “Yes, sire.” The praetorian broke cover and cantered over toward the other side of the street, shortly followed by the Emperor and the other praetorian. Cobbles flashed under their hooves as they picked their way through fallen masonry and strewn rubbish, much of it on fire or in embers. A pall of thin, silvery smoke hung over everything, the product of thousands of small fires and several that were not so small. On the other side, a cafe, roughly trodden by the wild thoroughfare of the last day, its windows completely blown out or melted away in places, took up most of the available commercial space. As it was located in the Artisanal Quarter, inevitably the cafe was not merely a place that served coffee and pastries, but also a communal studio and general artistic hub. Beyond the trashed and fire-black bar, and the ruined carpet of wooden fragments that had once been a collection of chairs and tables, a suite of wide, airy rooms held oil paint and spare canvas. Much of this was in various stages of on fire. Smoke stung Shining's eyes and attacked his sense of smell as they entered, and he was glad of the silver shoes he wore. Had he not been, some shard of wood or remnant of a structural nail would undoubtedly have lodged in his frog, and they could not afford to slow down, even for a moment. They'd cleared the cafe and were just beginning to bully their way through into the studios when the root vegetables started to throw themselves in through the spaces where the windows had been. Some fragment of the Empresses magic had given them a life of their own beyond the mere telekinetic. Shining could not help but turn to look as he heard them snort and snuffle, like pigs after truffles, and he saw that many of them had sprouted long, tumorous noses, and scampered across the ground on tiny legs or obscene tufts of writhing feelers. Mouths, cartoonish v-shapes replete with awkward and hurried looking flat teeth or misshapen tusks, completed their horrid mein. “Sire!” L'Tempete shouted. “There's no time! Quickly!” With the vegetable garden of many terrors snapping at their fetlocks, the trio blindly stumbled through the fiery pit of the studio, searching for a back entrance, or some window, anything to escape. For a single, awful moment, Shining thought that they would be trapped, unable to see anything in the smoke, locked in with the monstrous beasts. His thin, ceremonial armour breastplate clanged several times as he ran through piles of clutter, metal cans and other things he could not see. Then, a beam of light cut through the choking fog and they spilled out at once into a narrow alleyway, which was lined with iron planters dangling from copper stanchions. Pink and purple flowers danced in the tug of the conflagration's sucking current of air, as gaily as they would have done on any other day. The alleyway was thankfully deserted, and it seemed like it would take time for the animated vegetables to pick their way through the blaze. He dared not turn to look again, however, and broke into a violent gallop toward the end of the alley, the stampede instinct taking hold in all three of them and overcoming any need to organize or plan. The objective was clear, and the adrenaline did not release its fearful grip until they had passed out into the Street of Crafty Hooves, a long, wide avenue that curved away to the left and right like a mathematical parabola. Tall, narrow buildings leered over them, many of their windows blown out even at the highest levels. The heavily barred doors and apartments of jewellers and goldsmiths, paranoid sorts at the best of times, appeared to have fared far better than the rest of the city in weathering the storm of chaos. “I know this road,” Afore said, barely even winded. “We are nearer our goal. The rest of the way is up, however...” “Oh, good!” Shining gasped, far more exhausted than his praetorians, sucking down great lungfuls of air and squinting through sweat-drenched eyes. “That's great!” With a decidedly bow-legged gait, all three set off moving, once, of course, the Emperor had been allowed the scantest of moments to recover his composure.