It was remarkable how quickly one regime was kicked to the kerb and another sidled in its place. The government was headed by an old school friend of Salem’s. He was a rakish gelding with tape wrapped around his spectacles. He was a tall bald-faced fellow and his coat was a sickly pea green.
Beneath him was a system of chancellors, officiators, secretaries and pen-pushers. A majority of the work they did was totally fantastical. It didn’t exist. They didn’t appear to be doing much of anything. More nights of troubled sleep passed and still the spy was unharmed.
Salem gazed into the morbid creation that was him in the pond. He could tell something wasn’t quite right. He would never seek to injure or placate his people. Who was this, what was this thing he was becoming?
His daughters had been voted into office as well. They were somewhere amongst the officiators, basically umpires for the sports. They were tiny gears in the smog chugging machine of plutocracy. His wife had been offered a chair in the Chancellors circle but she had declined it.
A dragon was a senator. Ignatius was responsible solely for the safety of the southernmost regions of the Kingdom. His roar was law in the sparsely populated boondocks of the state. Another dragon, the sensible one from the first assembly, achieved a spot in the new parliament. Artemis and a select group of intellectuals, scholars, and parents, formed the group. Their sole role was to scrutinise the drafted bills of the government, and to approve them if applicable.
It was very confusing.
What was wrong with one pony’s word being law and everyone following that law lest they hang for it? Salem didn’t know either. It had been several weeks since the torch had changed hoofs and the kingdom, rather state, had fallen into a standstill.
Salem had been using this time constructively. While the simple farm folk ran around like headless chickens and the Dukes and Duchesses of nobility stuffed their faces, he had been pulling all-nighters in researching dusty old spell books. The state had a cosy library. The true treasures were stored in the dingiest corner of the cellar. Amid the spider webs and lint, there was a volume of Starswirl the bearded; the finer points of dream weaving.
He had been undisturbed by the moon Empress for nearly a fortnight now. His daughters were not so lucky. They were harassed by the witch every moment they slept. For this reason alone, Salem forwent his slumber and tried to translate the ancient dialect.
He however was stuck. He had managed to read up to a section containing incantation but something in the preparation had sent him off kilter. He wasn’t sure if it was a mistranslation but in order for the spell to work, a flesh sacrifice was required. The exact number of willing participants he would need was unclear. That part of the page was singed.
He still visited the secret garden despite the sheriffs insisting that he didn’t. The castle was no longer his home. That was all part and parcel of his peerage but now he was a jobless old fool. His eldest offered to be the chief breadwinner and to provide for the family but he had refused. He had too greater pride.
The castle grounds were to be bulldozed to make room for the buildings of congress, the executive, and the legislature. He and his girls had been staying in the attic of the inn. He had not a bit to his name. Usually everything he wanted was his. Things were ‘on the house’ or the ‘least they could do’. The gem reserves and bitcoins of the once king were now the property of the many.
He lurked a few moments longer. The wall had come down but nothing had happened. There wasn’t a sudden raid, ponies torn and pared in the wake of Empyrean’s armada. What really happened was not a whole lot. As a good will gesture grain and medicine were delivered by the consorts of Celestia. Was it all over? Was there to be no victor?
Salem shrieked as a sort of clamp fastened around his horn. He was dragged through the building site by the lawmen, and tipped away like yesterday’s mouldy pizza.
He landed on his face but he didn’t retaliate. There was no use. The state’s growth was due to a venerable donation from Empyrean’s pocket. His face was pasted across every bulletin board, every lamppost, every picket fence, and every shop window. He was a celebrity here.
Salem stood up straight and nodded to his oppressors. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. His inner demon tried to make him euthanize the lawmen. He didn’t let it. His eyes were refulgent in purple flame.
Lately he had been unable to fully return to his normal self. Whatever possessed him, had gained a greater foothold in his metaphorical aiguille.
He hid his face in shame, in shame of the monster he had become, and morosely walked back to his loving and ever supportive wife.
Wings beat loudly behind Salem. They nearly washed him from the path. It was a friendly face at least.
“Majesty, I have received word from our correspondent in Ponyville.”
“Pony-ville, are you not making this up?”
“Why would…?”
“And I’m not that anymore. I’m regular, dull, and boring.”
“First off, I am your subject, not their employee. Ponyville is a small township overlooked by Canterlot, you can’t miss it.”
“Evidently I have. Well? What does it say?”
Ignatius formed the scroll in his claw and delicately passed it to the little monochrome speck on the road.
“It says.”
Ignatius obnoxiously cleared his throat and licked his claw.
“Long live the king. I cannot express how deeply honoured I am being your choice of ally, your choice of friend. You are an example to us all. You stood against odds that would make others flee. You didn’t. You remained. Blah-blah-blah, you get the picture.”
“Is there any news then?”
“He wrote that Empyrean is set to visit in a week’s time. Is this the truce we dreamt of? Have we been granted our independence?”
“No, smoke for brains. Read between the lines. It may seem that we are unattached but we have been hustled. Empyrean sponsors our growth, he’s cultivating the advancement of technology; so no, Iggy, we are far from freedom.”
Ignatius closed his eyes in frustration. He rubbed his temples in angst.
“You’ve been spending a great deal of time in the wholesome spine, care to tell me why?”
“I’m reinventing myself. I’ve been reading the classics, brushing up on humanities and sciences. I didn’t know you were my shadow.”
“Okay, I was just curious.”
“What’s it like in the government then? I don’t see the point.”
“It was your royal proclamation that the running of the Kingdom change drastically, and that is what we have done. We are now part of the Equestrian Federation. War against us would serve no purpose to the Imperials.”
Salem’s horn flashed briefly and the grassy footpath awoke with vicious vines. They bullied the dragon and made him malleable before pinning him to the ground.
“There need be no war because it has already been won, by them! We aren’t a kingdom. So they win there. We aren’t separate anymore, so again, bully for them. We are parasitic, nursing off of the wizened teat of Celestia.”
Ignatius tried to cut the ropes that bound him but they reformed every time he tore at them with his claws. A thinner vine covered in thorns looped around the dragon’s neck and tightened until the reddest hue was looking awfully blue.
“You would benefit greatly from this state returning to a monarchy, having me at the helm. As my royal advisor you would be paid handsomely for your sagely advice. You would have more gems than you knew to do with. The Emperor has taken much of our dignities, but he has given us efficient means for digging deeper into the earth’s crust. We have a surplus of the stuff, more than enough to keep every dragon here happy and hoarding till the day they die.”
Ignatius choked and tried to speak but the vine only grew tighter with his movement. He looked drained. The garrotting vine receded and the drake was allowed to breathe.
“Better? Now, I am aware of my somewhat crude technique for piloting this coup-d’état. I needed to be utterly and unimpeachably sure that you wouldn’t run away. With that out of the way, what do you say old pal? Join me.”
“The people are happy. Is that ever adequate? They are contented by this shift of power and they haven’t been enslaved or imprisoned for their defiance, rather they have been accepted into the warm bosom of Equestria Massif.”
Salem let the demonic plants shrink away and let the ruddy drake stand. He summoned a page of propaganda from the nearby pottery shop and stabbed at the image of the frightening alicorn with his hoof.
“This is the maniac you want to please? He wants rid of your species as well as the griffons…”
“I don’t care at all for those embellished chickens. They’re a primitive and frolicsome wart on our collective back end…”
“This is the teaching of our former oppressors, Ignatius! Wake up and smell the fascism. We never got along with the griffons, but that isn’t the point. Elijah will exterminate anything that stifles his imperialistic bandwagon. There would be a pogrom.”
“Oh, spare me the lecture.”
“Why do you not listen? He will kill you all!”
As Salem’s fury cantered out of the bounds of logic and reason, great nebulae of starless night shone from his eyes. The immediate vicinage of the pair fell into the impugning hell of Salem’s spell. Things lost their lustre and mutated in the dark embers of his anger. Things became twisted, remodelled after the tumult of the once King’s mind.
Salem forced his eyes shut and inured the searing pain that followed. Beneath him small stalagmites of blackened crystal had broken the Earth. They bathed in the insidious atmosphere. They photosynthesised in the light of the darkness. They too diminished and returned to whence they came.
Salem’s horn was untreatably marked by his dabbling in the dark arts. It had only taken him six solid days of research to reach the roadblock. He had already begun bloodletting for the sake of declension. Volunteers they were not. His expeditions into this most decadent world had left a permanent scar.
“I will know if word leaks of this. I must be able to trust my fellow mutineer. If you can cajole your kinsmen, we will march against the executors and knock down their walls of propagation!”
Ignatius flinched as the maddened mustang deftly pranced across the street towards him. His poise was perfect, his conformation impeccable. The mighty dragon turned tail and made for the skies. He made sure not to look back.