//------------------------------// // Conversation Eleven, with Monologic Interlude // Story: A New Sun // by Ragnar //------------------------------// "Ahem," said Luna. "You have been assured of a restful sleep. We shall therefore avoid the more, shall we say, psychologically taxing exercises, focusing on gateway information, a thorough search for what precisely makes your magic work, and mental discipline. Please make yourself as comfortable as possible so we can begin." Mag imagined herself a cigarette and settled in. Luna held up a hoof. "No. Straighten your trunk, face me directly, and square your shoulders." "That sounds less comfortable," said Mag. "You'll get used to it. There are breathing exercises you must learn and posture is critical." Mag decided not to waste time arguing, and rearranged herself into Indian position. "That looks even more uncomfortable," said Luna. "Nope," said Mag. "Hm. We'll see how you feel after a while. Shift into a different position if you should need to. First, your breathing. We will start every lesson with breathing, which I'm sorry to say means no smoking." And Luna taught Mag how to breathe. It was exactly as dull as one would expect, but at least it wasn't difficult. Mag breathed according to the pattern Luna had prescribed. Luna corrected her. Mag tried again. They kept doing this until there was nothing else for Luna to correct, and she sat in silence while Mag breathed. "So this is basically meditation, right?" said Mag. "No, but you'll learn that tonight as well. Keep breathing as I've instructed you, and while you practice that, you will learn the basic mechanics of magic." "Like that documentary?" "Yes, but arranged for an adult. I wouldn't wish you to feel as if I were talking down to you." "Neat. You sure I can't have that cigarette?" "Can you perform the breathing exercise while smoking?" said Luna. "I plan to try sooner or later. Why not now, right?" "Then feel free." Luna turned to the whiteboard and drew a series of vaguely mathematical but utterly unrecognizable symbols. "Now..." After an interminable length of time full of jargon and apparent nonsense, Luna happened to look behind her to see Mag's face. "You're kidding," said Mag. "Why, not at all," said Luna. "None of that meant anything to me. I understood one word in ten and the word was always 'the' or 'and' or, my personal favorite, 'obviously.' I feel like a caveman that wandered into the third quarter a college calculus class." "Hm. I think I see the problem, and I should have thought of this much earlier. Does this help?" Whole new categories of sensation flooded Mag's awareness. Mag jerked upright and her head lolled like the conductor of a seance. The trees were pillars of rushing water and the sky was a wall of light. The stream was life and death. Around Luna's head was a grayscale rainbow aurora, from her hooves stretched a shadow deeper than the sea and darker than the spaces between the stars, Mag's hands were wooden claws her breath was love her blood was silt her head was pain her bones seared like whiskey her It all faded into halos and dusk, and Mag found herself spasming against a tree. Luna had her hoof on Mag's shoulder and watched her with concerned eyes. The aurora was still there around Luna's head, but Mag had to squint to see it, and her shadow was dim rather than dark. "That was rash, and I apologize," said Luna. "The hell was that?" said Mag, still shaking. "I let you see the aether. But, like a fool, I made you too sensitive." "Is this permanent? Will I wake up like this?" "No. The only thing you'll take from this dream is understanding." "Good," said Mag. She wanted to throw up. The aether was interesting now that Luna had turned the volume down, but it was obvious Mag wasn't made for this. "By the way, it kind of got lost in all the... all of that, but I think I saw Nightmare Moon again. She looked like drowning." "Yes, that sounds like her," said Luna. She looked behind her. "Yes. Disturbing that she doesn't go away. Is something on your mind?" "You were beautiful, you know," said Mag. "Really. Like those medieval Black Madonna statues. Or a Carlos Schwabe painting, or something. La Douleur. La Morte du Fossoyeur. Free us from all sin, Nephthys. Shield us from the judging day, Shalim. Though I walk through the shadow of the lady of night, I shall fear no evil. Why have the bluejays gone quiet?" "The walls are breaking down. I think you had better wake up," said Luna. The ground turned to clouds and Mag began to fall - *** - then jerked awake. It was still dark outside. "Take a break. I'm surprised this is necessary, but such is the price for my acting the fool. I apologize again, and you have my promise that I'll be more careful." Mag had a headache. She got up to search her purse for a Midol without turning the lights on, found it, and swallowed it without water. She leaned against the wall and took stock. It hadn't been so bad, really, once Luna had changed the settings. She'd have to look a few of those names up, though. She had no idea who Carlos Schwabe was. "Hope I don't go all mythological like that every time you let me see the aether," said Mag. "You still want to test it? There are certainly other ways to learn magic. I'm sure I can make my lectures more understandable if I slow down and clarify my terms." "My options are to take a horrible math class or to drop acid? And that sounds like a tough choice to you? My favorite Beatles song is 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.' Let's do this. Anyway, it's just a dream." "Just a... heavens preserve us. You're going to get us both killed." "Killed? You?" "Yes, me. Immortality is a relative term." Mag got back into bed. "Yeah, well, I'm coming back anyway." *** The halos were still there. Mag felt woozy, but tried to appear as sober as possible. Luna looked unimpressed. "I need to know how lucid you are before we begin. Tell me again about Nephthys." "Who?" "What is your auric signature?" "Some colors." "What is your name?" "Margaret Taylor Wilson." "Age?" "26." "Where are we right now?" "Mississippi. Wait, no, this is a dream. Or, no, this doesn't look like Mississippi anyway." It didn't. They sat in the alabaster temple under the strange stars. "What is the last song you listened to?" "Trick question, it was an instrumental. You know, the one played by that little girl with the mbira from the next village over? Just kidding; it was 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.'" "I don't believe you," said Luna. "Why would I lie?" "Because you believe the study of magic would be more interesting this way. Then again, if you are canny enough to lie then you should understand what I tell you." "Oh, then I'm slightly lying." Luna's expression suggested this was the wrong thing to say. She later refused to let Mag smoke when Mag asked. But magic was certainly more interesting now that Mag could see it properly. It turned out that "see" wasn't the right word. Luna started out with a demonstration, lifting a river rock and tossing it to Mag, and the only thing she could see with her eyes was the subtle field of light that surrouded the rock. Mag had another sense, now, however, one she had no words for, and that was where the show was. That throw of the rock had been every bit as complicated as Luna's lectures. This was going to be an uphill climb. Wait, where had the rock come from? Oh, they were by The Crick again. The world was so different now that it could be hard to recognize things. "I'm relieved," said Luna. "What?" "Since you seem to be handling this well, more or less, we can take a more hooves-on approach. Pick up that rock, please." Mag picked up the rock. "This time, we shall start by searching for your source of power and go from there. We won't stop until we've found it, and you needn't worry about running out of time, for time is fluid here." "Cool," said Mag, and dropped back into her earlier sitting position. "Tell me about your father," said Luna. "Aw, crap. Seriously?" "Let me be more specific. Can you tell me how you felt about what the eldest said to you?" "Is it too late to do the lecture?" "Yes, because I am tired of dithering over study methods," said Luna. "Dammit, I'd just managed to forget that. Fine, but if I spend hundreds of years breaking down every single thing that happened during that phone call and we don't find what we're looking for, I'm taking both of you out for dinner and a movie. Dinner is steak and the movie is Begotten." "If this takes hundreds of years, I would be delighted to endure both just to make my sister suffer the same thing for forcing us to do all of this in the span of a single night. But it won't come to that. Now, first, tell me what his words meant." Mag defined the words "negro" and "queer," and spent ample time on the connotations behind them when used by someone like her dad. Luna nodded along in a detached way like a police officer taking down a confession, prompting Mag to continue whenever she got too embarrassed to speak, and never once acted disgusted or surprised. Describing slavery and the KKK didn't faze her either, nor did Mag's halting explanation of LGBT issues. "Two slurs with ugly histories, one of which was erroneously aimed at my sister," Luna summed up. "And both my dad and the eldest are dicks," said Mag. "I take it this is something your father would be likely to say?" "Yes. Hanging out with people my parents hate is half the reason I went to the west coast," said Mag. "You certainly seem to disagree with his opinions." "I can't stand that shit. Even when I was little I thought dysaesthesia aethiopica sounded less like an actual illness and more like the sensible reaction to slave drivers being slave drivers, yet my dad pulled the word out every time he saw a tired-looking black man. And when I was a teen and I heard about men wanting to marry other men for the first time I said "Neat," and everyone all got pissed and read the bible at me like I was the crazy one. I am not crazy. Right? They're the crazy ones. It's obvious." "'True' and 'obvious' are two different things, unfortunately," said Luna. "Thank you." "It must have been difficult hearing the eldest imitate your father." "What? What's that mean? What are you getting at?" "Why, nothing." Mag shifted. Suddenly she couldn't get comfortable. "What do you mean, then?" "You seem agitated," observed Luna. "Yeah, because this turned into a therapy session all of a sudden and you're dropping coy hints about something. Aren't we getting distracted here? I thought we were looking for what triggered my magic." "We are," said Luna. "We are dissecting every aspect of the event that triggered your first burst of magic in the hopes of recreating it under more controlled conditions. As for 'coy hints,' I merely think it would be unpleasant to hear someone you so dislike imitate your father, with whom you had what I suspect was a tempestuous relationship." Mag scowled. "It's all right, you can say it. 'Daddy issues.'" Luna blinked. "Daddy... issues?" Disgust overwhelmed Mag. "Oh god. How much of my hate for the eldest is because...? Oh god, this is straight out of Freud." "I am so very lost," said Luna. "You know what, fine. I already knew I was messed up. Maybe this'll be fun. I'll bet my attitude towards you guys suggests some mommy issues as well, and wouldn't it be interesting if it turns out that I do magic by being a big ol' mess? How is this rock doing?" Mag looked at it closely. "Ooh, it has my thumbprint in it. That wasn't there before. Did you see me cast anything?" "Not exactly," Luna said reluctantly. "More yes than no, though, right?" "How is it that we already approach a solution and yet you are now scaling the very heights of - no, no, hold. One moment. You asked how much of your dislike for the eldest comes from, um, this thing you are upset about. My familiarity with him is limited, but I can at least say that everything I know of him shows him to be an odious, snarling, ruthless, gnarled old treeroot of a man. I have never met him in person and know not what he looks like, but I am picturing a crocodile." "Ooh, that felt great. Now do everyone else I hate." "No, because I'm busy and so are you. Give me your rock." Mag half flung, half tossed Luna the rock. Luna caught it with magic, clearly annoyed. "And now thou throwest rocks at me. No, do not apologize - I know. Listen; look you. This print is yours, made by your own thumb upon the surface of something you cannot mar by any means but magic - or machinery, so I suppose, but that is not to the point. This print is yours, and the force that caused it is yours, and the thoughts or feelings that brought it out of you are yours. Whatever you are so ashamed of, be it your history or the workings of your emotions or some human thing I cannot comprehend, it is yours. Yours to use, and your responsibility to use well. Is your magic fueled by something you consider unworthy? Then make it worthy, if that were possible, or if not, then be worthy yourself. Do you understand?” They stared at each other. Then Mag looked down and said, “No, but I will. And I really am sorry.” “I know,” repeated Luna. “Consider it forgotten. Only remember that, if your mindset is a part of your magic, then you must be very mindful indeed.” Now she smiled. “Then again, I think you've misunderstood. You didn't imprint the rock at the moment of any of our topic changes, not when the subject of your father came up, nor when the subject of your regent came up, nor when we discussed the both of them. You marked it halfway into the sentence about 'daddy issues,' right at the moment your face changed, presumably when the phrase 'daddy issues' first occurred to you. Be happy. We've almost found what we're looking for.” “I still don't like it, but fine.” “Understandable. Regardless, let us 'narrow things down,' as they now say.” *** Narrowing things down turned out to be tedious, very much so. They talked all about fine distinctions and Luna started doing that thing again, the one where she listed off images and ideas, only this time Mag held her rock instead of holding her hands apart. At one point the rock turned squishy and glowed a little, but Luna hardly seemed to care. Mag asked why. “We aren't just trying to replicate the effect anymore,” said Luna. “We are trying to do it consistently, on command. Parsley. Blue garage. The sensation of being stricken across the face. Cannibal cookbooks. Bowl of persimmons. Flower clock. Status quo. Webbing. A vile joke that makes you uncomfortable. A broken wall.” The most aggravating part was the sensation of being watched. Mag didn't know if it was part of the test or something else. Was the image of Nightmare Moon back? She tried not to think about the Nightmare, but it was like trying not to think of a pink elephant. “Yep, banana peels and bloody leaves, cool. Do you feel that?” said Mag. “No,” Luna said firmly. “So, yes,” said Mag. “Do not dwell on it. It is dangerous even to discuss it. Even its image has a certain power, and such things never really die, nor can they ever be said to be far away, for they are only ideas and have no physical location as such. Ah, but there is an object lesson for you, once you grasp the workings of your magic. I have been poor prey for the Nightmare for years now because my mind and heart are the wrong shape; I have seen the kindness of my world now, bathed in it, let it shape me, having much to live for and little reason to despise my fate. But... now that I come to think of it...” a look of terror eclipsed her face. “Oh no. Oh, hell. Not this. Please, not this.” Mag turned to see cat's eyes in the dark. Luna charged at the eyes with her horn, shouting, “Avaunt, thou tick!” Heat and delirium burned Mag's world away. *** “I hope you appreciate this. Do you have any idea how hard it is to wind her up that far?” Mag sat in a shabby, red velvet chair next to a small wooden end table with a metal chalice full of some dark liquid. All of this was inside a great stone hall with great wooden beams high above. If there were walls or a ceiling, they were too far away to see; beyond a certain distance there was only the dark. In front of her sat herself. The Mag in the other chair wasn't quite the same. She was taller. Her hands were steepled. She smiled gently. She wore a black steel tiara as thin as a wire, with a tiny white star of a gem set at its center just below her hairline. She had green cat's eyes. “Relax,” said the Nightmare. “I only want to talk, and to make an offer. If you refuse, I will simply leave and wander the dreams of your people, looking for a willing host, harming neither you nor my old friend.” Such a gentle smile. Mag couldn't move, couldn't speak, and couldn't struggle. There was a colossal crashing sound somewhere in the distance, followed by a world-ending shriek of rage and horror. Luna, thought Mag. The Nightmare ignored it. “I hope you'll forgive me for monologuing, but I have a feeling this discussion will get uncivilized if I let you speak at this point. Let me explain the situation." It raised a hand and pulled a steaming goblet out of the air. With a sip of its drink, the Nightmare began. "I've been watching you from the inside. No, I didn't change anything. You don't have to worry about that. I only thought I'd get to know you a bit before introducing myself.” The Nightmare never seemed to blink. “I'll tell you what I've seen so far, as an expression of respect. Respect is something of a watchword of mine, believe it or not, and I realize it goes both ways. For instance, I do not possess people, whatever you've been told and whatever you imagine." The Nightmare studied her fingernails. "But that's interesting, isn't it? That's the pattern I've been seeing all day. They've all been trying to simplify things for you. They give you simple answers to complicated questions, and you feel suspicious but you let it go. Or you make an assumption and they don't correct you until it becomes relevant. Then they pretend they understand everything you say, or at least Princess Celestia does. I know it annoys you, but don't blame them – the princesses have spent millennia leading a people that, shall we say, generally aren't very good at handling complex abstractions?" It crossed its legs. "I recommend taking this up with them, politely of course. Just remind them that you prefer difficult truths to misleading or simplified metaphors, and tell them you don't expect them to know everything, that you'll still respect them if they show their ignorance.” There was another massive boom. Dust fell from the rafters. The Nightmare laughed softly. “Oh, Luna, beautiful soul. You know, I love my hosts. I truly do. Especially the ones that survive. When you see her again, tell her I'm always there if she wants to talk.” Another shriek. An icy breeze ruffled Mag's clothing. “She has yet to understand the limits of courage, I see. Her fear isn't going to stop empowering me just because she's pushed past it. Tell her that as well, will you? But I'm getting distracted. Sooner or later she's going to collapse into despair, and then she'll be too numb to be afraid, at which point she'll only be fighting the strength I draw from your fear. And you're hardly afraid of me at all. Why is that? Oh, I see. You think you have nothing to lose.” The Nightmare sighed. “I sound like such a storybook villain. Let me clear up a few misconceptions you've fallen into. Firstly, I am not some kind of tempter. Or, if I am, 'temptation' is an unfair characterization. Think about it. Temptation is only offering a choice, or, more likely, pointing out a choice that my host hasn't noticed.” The crash was further away now. “Secondly, do you remember what Luna said about power and responsibility? That applies to everyone, even me. I am what I am, and what I am is something that runs on the fear and terror of others. I can't change that, so I use it responsibly – that is, in support of my goals. What are my goals? Self fulfillment. What fulfills me? The chance to offer choices to a host and see them grow as a result. You see? There's nothing sinister about that.” It wasn't a shriek this time, but an anguished wail. There was no ensuing boom. “Thirdly, a small correction. Celestia thinks I take away the volition of my hosts. Quite the opposite. Again, I point out options. Yes, sometimes my hosts develop new habits, and sometimes they discover that the things they really want are horrible by the reckoning of the society they belong to, but I would never stand in the way of my hosts. I didn't stop Luna when she decided to destroy all that she loved, and I certainly didn't force her to do it. I only taught her how. If she'd wanted something else, I would have helped her with that instead.” The Nightmare rested its head against the velvet of the chair. “Am I forgetting something? Never mind. I can simply come back if I have to. Let's bring this back to you and me. I should tell you I owe you a debt of gratitude for helping to let me into your world, and, if you'll let me, I would be interested in paying you back." It smiled again. "I'm looking for a new host. You aren't my first choice – I have my eye on a woman over in Eastern Europe, and I can hear her praying for divine intervention – but you have certain advantages I would be interested in nurturing, and you also have a hollowness inside of you that I would like to help fill.” Its brow furrowed. “You're starting to fear me more. Really? Well, I suppose that makes sense. I know how frightening it can be to face a choice. You're worried you'll make the wrong one. Does it help if I remind you that I won't hold a grudge against you if you refuse my offer? Nightmare Moon was the type to hold grudges, but I am not Nightmare Moon; that was Luna. Nightmare Moon was always Luna, and always will be. If it weren't then she wouldn't hate me so much. Yes, you understand.” Mag had been waiting for another boom. There wasn't one. Oh, Luna, please don't let me find you crying, Mag thought. The Nightmare waved a hand. “Don't worry. She'll be fine when you come back, and if she doesn't like seeing you with me, I know we can talk her around. She trusts you. And I can be very persuasive. The same goes for Celestia, who I've never had a chance to talk to. Now then, I put it to you. Would you like my help, or should I look for someone else who would appreciate my gifts, starting with that helpless woman in Eastern Europe? Accept me and I can show you how to help her, by the way. This isn't a hostage situation, regardless of what Luna thinks, the poor child.” The Nightmare let Mag's mouth open. “Fuck off,” said Mag. “Unimaginative and rude,” sighed the Nightmare. “Oh well. I leave you with a little tip; your magic is triggered by the memory of a memory of a rude awakening, but only if followed by a sense of black gratification. You know, like how one feels when her worst expectations have been vindicated. Now off you go. Promise made, promise kept. Have a lovely evening.” The stone hall and the chairs and chalices and promises all whirled away and Mag stood in the alabaster temple under the stars a few yards away from Luna, who was huddled on the floor and crying piteously. Dammit, thought Mag. She walked forward and hugged Luna's head. Luna shoved her back and glared searchingly at Mag's eyes through glassy tears, saw round pupils, and collapsed into Mag's lap. “I told it no,” said Mag. “G-g-g-” “I'm fine. It's gone for now.” And here was Luna, invincible Luna, crying in her lap, silent except for the occasional snuffle. She didn't look to be stopping any time soon. It wasn't hard to guess that this had been building up for some time. She'd almost convinced Mag that she really was on top of things, and possibly would have pulled it off if life weren't bullshit unfair. That made three of them who'd been faking it. Celestia with her smiles, Mag with bluster, and then Luna with, come to think of it, her own form of bluster. Mag combed Luna's starry hair with her fingers. "It's just as well that I signed on with Celestia for non-magic protege purposes. Of all these supernatural creatures whose first reaction to me is a job offer of some kind, she's the person who makes the least sense to me, so she must be who I can learn the most from, right? Not that I couldn't have told you all to back off and let me live my garbage life, or anything. But seriously, what is with you people? Do you all constantly feel the need to gather acolytes? Is it like when I see a wild animal and the first thing I want to do is take it home and turn it into a pet? Don't answer that." Luna had gone still and had stopped sniffling, though her eyes were still clenched shut. "I guess all I'm saying is that you're the opposite of Celestia. You're the one who makes the most sense to me. Not that we're not different, or anything. For instance, you don't make everything about yourself." "I used to," said Luna thickly. "Don't blame yourself. It's what happens when you are shut up inside your own head for too long." She opened her eyes. "What did she tell you?" "Who? Oh. It, and it's definitely an it, fed me this long and mostly pretty cliched Saturday morning cartoon villain line about wanting to help me. It had a couple of interesting things to say, and I'll run them by you, but I told it to fuck off. Then it put me back here and ran off to bedevil Eastern Europe." Luna sat up quickly, alarmed. "Interesting things to say?" "Yeah. Can the Nightmare lie?" "Yes," said Luna. "It told me that you guys keep oversimplifying your answers to my questions, and that I should tell you two that, believe it or not, I'd be happier with the truth. No, actually it said something a little meaner than that, but my version's better. So... Nightmare lie?" Doubtfully, Luna said, "You ask me to risk giving you enough rope to hang yourself and half the world as well, but as you wish. Some hours ago I told you I wouldn't protect you from yourself, and now I must prove it. I know not if it can lie, in the strictest sense, but she - it - will sometimes neglect to mention important details. For instance, it never told me it was teaching me to destroy myself. One gets the feeling it teaches this lesson often, no?" "Teaching people to destroy themselves?" "Even so." "I don't know if that fits," said Mag. "It talked about choices." "Oh, that. Yes, that was the bit that convinced me, long ago. It galls me to see it didn't affect you." "We've got thousands of years of fairy tales about how convincing the devil is, and the Nightmare pretty much talks like Hollywood Satan. It was a good sales pitch, but it always is in the stories, and humans see too many advertisements every day to not be a little cynical about offers to 'help.' Then there's the fact that I heard you screaming. It told me we could talk you into accepting Nightmare Mag, since you trust me and the Nightmare considers itself persuasive, but you didn't sound so easy to persuade. I couldn't see myself walking up to you with cat's eyes and telling you everything would turn out right." Luna shuddered. "I'm glad you are so familiar with the old stories of humans. Odd how your Hollywood Satan sounds so much like the Nightmare." "He does, doesn't he? Maybe the Nightmare has been here before and people started telling stories as a warning, and the story of the devil made it all the way to the 21st century. Lucky us." "That sounds a little unlikely." "Sometimes oral tradition comes in handy. But here's another thing. Check this out." Mag reached into her pocket and pulled out a rock. Memory of a memory of a rude awakening, black gratification, squeeze! Mag opened her hand. The rock hadn't changed. "Hm. Right. Either the Nightmare can lie after all, or I missed a step." "Oh! You found the trigger?" "The Nightmare told me what it was," said Mag. "That worries me. Greatly." "I hear you, but right now I'm sick of fretting about what other people are thinking all the time. Let's just go with it. Come on, tell me the next step." "If you insist," said Luna. Then it got technical, and stayed that way for the rest of the night.