//------------------------------// // XXXI. Walk On, Melchizedek // Story: The Night is Passing // by Cynewulf //------------------------------// SWEETIE BELLE It was amazing, the work that went into the maintenance of a noble house. The staff must be vetted, selected, compensated. Not just any pony would do. There are rules and boundaries not even the noble can cross, and the iron law of the servant is one of them. In fact, Sweetie Belle found herself being asked to inspect and approve of things which she was also expected to blindly accept. The Head Maid knew what she was about, and she’d not have anypony short of Celestia herself tell her any differently. Celestia had, in fact, been the mare’s former employer. A lesser pony would have been lost in such circumstances. But the Head Maid was not a lesser pony. She had kept her maids moving and busy. She had kept everything in decency and order in a world that slowly went mad around her in all directions. At the moment, she was explaining all of the things that Sweetie Belle would need to sign off on. “And, furthermore, we will need a dozen workers to spruce the place up. At least. I would prefer more, but at the moment our sources of income will require us to be very, ah, economical.” She sniffed, and adjusted her ornate reading glasses. She squinted at her notes on the paper she levitated before her. “Ah, yes. Decor. I have several interesting choices for you, my lady--” Sweetie tensed. “Please just call me by my name… I mean, it’s really Rarity whose the… uh,” she faltered under the maid’s eyes. Her eyebrow poised in a question, as if asking if Sweetie were quite finished, thank you. “Madame, you are the Lady of House Belle in your sister’s absence, and you must remember this. If I may be so bold--” “You’ve been pretty damned commanding,” Sweetie whispered. The maid continued unrepentantly. “You cannot afford to be simply passive. I can do what I know to do, but you simply must sit up straighter. Hold your head high. You are a Lady of a noble house now, madame.” “I’m Sweetie Belle. I was born in Ponyville and my mom and dad are as common as you can be,” Sweetie countered glumly. “Then perhaps you will actually deserve this,” the head maid said, smiling mercilessly. That was a frightening look. Sweetie sat up a little straighter. “I am here to aid you, madame. You are being tossed to the sharks, and I once had a little filly your age. When they come knocking on your door, we shall greet them in a style worthy of kings. My Lady, you must act a Lady.” “I know,” Sweetie said. “Good. Now, if you would, the decor…” The head maid spread a few sheaves of paper onto the desk in the study Sweetie Belle had chosen. Another maid nearby silently helped a stallion in light barding move another bookshelf in. One of the pony-at-arms. Her pony-at-arms. Wearing the Belle insignia on his barding. A bell, just like on her cutie mark. It was beyond her to contemplate. “This is… this is pretty fancy,” Sweetie said, looking them over. “As befits a house of your station, my Lady. Now, if I might suggest… this one seems to me a bit older fashioned, but your house is a very old house.” “You want us to look like we never left?” Sweetie asked. The Head Maid smiled. “Yes, madame. You catch on. See? But, in my humble opinion--” she ignored Sweetie rolling her eyes at humble, “we may do well to capitalize on House Belle’s past glory. The tapestries, for instance, are in place as you asked for them to be, and they are quite out of fashion. But an older style would accent them well, and pull the look together.” “I’m still trying to figure out why decor is important,” Sweetie interrupted. “I mean, we’re… like, at war, basically?” The Head Maid smiled. “But conflict is the exact moment. You see, appearance is always important. Soldiers are just ponies. Ponies get frightened. They can be inspired. A bright flag waving proudly can get them to do amazing thing. Cutting the right figure on the battlefield and off? Why, it can make ponies be greater than they ever could have been, turn farmers into heroes. Apperance matters.” “You sound like my sister,” Sweetie said with a sigh and a smile. “I do so look forward to working under her. She seems like a wonderful mare, my Lady.” “She is. I think I will go with your suggestion.” “Excellent. The materials have already been ordered and we will begin after lunch.” Sweetie blinked. “Wha… how?” “I knew you were a bright mare, of course,” said the Head Maid. Sweetie laughed, genuinely and openly. “I think this might even be a little fun, Ms…” Sweetie paused. “This is awful. You know, you never told me your name. You introduced yourself as…” “Head Maid, yes.” “So… um. What’s your name? Sorry.” “Head Maid, ma’am.” Sweetie stared. “No way.” Head Maid grinned back. “My mother was, ah, ambitious. In her own way.” She coughed. “Now, on to the list of visitors. We have received correspondence from several houses, which I have already taken the liberty to reply to…” AMARANTH Amaranth did not worship Luna. She did not kiss her hoof to the stars, nor did she know more than two or three of their names. She had never read a single scrap of religious prose or verse, and beyond other’s whispered benedictions, she had very little contact with such things. She wasn’t exactly hostile. Or, wasn’t intentionally hostile. Batponies had a troubled history with Equestria’s faith. More specifically, they had a troubled past with Supernalism. The Supernalists, in deifying Celestia had made her sister into the Mother of Lies. Understandable, and they had reverse that position after the war, but not before the Scouring. Celestia’s armies had been too exhausted, and her officers were themselves prejudiced against Luna’s treasured tribe. Many batponies had been killed in wholesale slaughter. A great pogrom which left them scarred and cautious. Celestia had saved as many as she could. But in the wake of such a war as the Schism, her influence had weakened and her desperate, fever measures had not saved them all. But time had moved on. Supernalism had changed. Batponies had repopulated. It was hundreds of years ago. But she felt a sort of old tribal anxiety about overt signs that were even vaguel associated with the worship of the sun or stars. The Moon… was a different story. It was complicated. None of this stopped her from struggling to rise and bow in the presence of the Princess of the Night. She felt again a fragment of the primal awe which had moved her ancestors to follow Luna across the great ocean to a new land. She was, without a sliver of doubt, in the presence of her Lady and Master. It is hard, however, to prostrate oneself when crippled. She was learning this. Luna coughed, and Amaranth looked up in horror. “I’m sorry, I should be standing. Or sitting. Saluting.” She did so, in the manner of the Nightshades, crossing her wings awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry, I cannot greet you as I should--” “Please, peace. Be still,” Luna said, and Amaranth obeyed instantly. “I am honored by your presence, my Lady,” Amaranth said. “And I by your service. If you feel strong enough for talk, I would have your company for a time.” “Absolutely, my Lady.” Luna smiled at her. Had Amaranth not been fully engrossed in the reality of this visit, she might have noticed how ponies shied away from them both instinctively, giving the diarch space. Partially, of course, out of respect. But also because any pony living in the capital of Equestria knows that sometimes it is better to not be in a position to listen. They develop a sense for such things. “I had your file pulled yesterday, and spent some time reading it. You have only been in my Nightshades for a brief period.” “I would have wished to serve a much longer time, your Grace.” Luna’s smile changed. Somehow, it deepened in a way that transmitted a mirth that was… both warm and not warm. Amaranth struggled to read her features. She struggled to anticipate what would come next. “Ah, ah, ah--I do not recall any discharge having been ordered. And I have not received your resignation.” Oh. Oh. Amaranth wilted. Were it possible for her to fade back into the bed, to disappear, she would have done it. She would have did rather than be stuck on that bed looking up and knowing what she would be asked to do. It was for the good of the many. She was deadweight. Dead. Weight. “Forgive me,” she said, and then took a deep breath. But whatever she would have said next was gone as soon as Luna interrupted. “Whatever for? “I… beg your pardon?” “I see no reason to forgive you, as you have not really wronged me. Unless you have been profaning the name of my Nightshades with any public indecency or larceny I have not heard of, of course.” Luna chuckled. Not that anything happened in this city without her receiving some sort of intelligence on it. At least, a far as Amaranth knew. Had it been a reference to the Captain? A little pinprick of righteous irritation punctured the brass skies of awe. Captain Ice Storm was more or less incapable of indecency. She was mostly sure of this. Almost positively. “Ma’am, I don’t understand. I had assumed you were here about my commission.” “I am,” Luna said, and her smiled faded. Yes, awe was nice, but Amaranth’s mind could be somewhat pedestran at times. Fuck. Of course. “I did not resign my commission, my Lady,” she said. Ma’am. Stars, Amaranth, you are an idiot. Ma’am. Ugh. “I’m aware. Might I ask why?” Amaranth had no idea how to answer. She knew why, of course. “I couldn’t.” “Physically? Have you been incapacitated?” Luna asked, incredulous. Her tone mocked. Or, to Amaranth, seemed to mock. Her heart beat loudly and ominously in her chest. “No, my Lady. I could not because…” She hesitated. “May I speak freely? I will ask your forgiveness, but it is a matter of the heart.” Luna recognized the phrasing. She nodded stiffly. “As you opened your heart to the Night, it listens,” she responded by rote. The Nightshades spoke their minds. It was part of what made them invaluable. To Luna, any Nightshade might request a sort of verbal asylum, trading their insight or frankness in return for clemency and forgiveness for otherwise grave insult. So she would go ahead. “I know I’m useless. I am completely worthless as a warrior. If I were in the regular guard, I could still be a quartermaster or maybe even work at a desk. But I’m a Nightshade and I’m very proud of that. We’re all prepared to de. I didn’t die. I failed at that, even. I”m just stuck here, useless.” She gritted her teeth. “But if I resign I’ll have signed my own death warrent. I can’t kill who I am. I’m a Nightshade until they come and tear it out of me. I will not kill myself. They will have to come and finish me of, so I can die as I was meant to.” “So, despair.” “Yes, my Lady.” “I am not that when you speak thus. Remember,” Luna said softly. “You know, it is an old rule. My first Nightshades often spoke frankly with me. The new ones do so seldomly, it seems.” “I have only been in your presence a few times, myself. You touched my head and blessed me when I was sworn in, and you walked by me in the Palace before I was reassigned.” “I know. I remember you then. You had a much shorter mane, as I remember. I quite like it now. It is much better, if we are being frank and honest.” Amaranth was startled into laughter. “Thank you.” “So despair has kept you from resigning. A sickness, my sister said once, unto death. Is that it?” Amaranth shook her head. “Not entirely. Being a soldier, a warrior, a Nightshade, is really who I am, but resigning is more than just losing that. I say its like killing my self… and that must seem really melodramatic, but it feels that way. It feels too easy, too clean. Like I get off free and my brothers and sisters have to struggle and suffer.” “You have already suffered greatly.” Amaranth shifted. Her wings had been cramping all day, but she would not be distracted. “Not productively. Only because I was careless. I failed.” “The reports I read last night seem to indicate that you are, and I use another’s word, a hero.” Amaranth sighed. “We call ponies heroes to make up for them getting old and fat and useless, I think. I don’t want to get medals. They tried to give me one yesterday.” “Did you take it?” “I felt bad, cause they were just doing their jobs. I stashed it under my pillow.” As if to prove this, she dug under the pillow and produced a golden medallion. Luna seemed to absorb this. “I did not come here to make you resign your commission, you know.” Amaranth started. “You… you didn’t?” “No, not at all. If anything, I wanted to know why you held so tightly. I have seen gravely wounded Nightshades retreat in complete shame. You have always been a very honor-bound sort, often to a grievous fault. My old Nightshades told me, every single one of them, that I was completely wrong and they were disappointed in what I had done. This was before the great schism between my sister and I. Rather, during it. They all died for me.” Luna looked over her, off into an uncertain distance. “It was the only time I have ever doubted what a Nightshade told me under words of the heart. But I do think that you are not in despair.” “You don’t?” “Not as you think you are. You do not wish to be the you that you are. That much is plain, and it is a kind of despair. But despair would have fled companionship. I know that you and your Captain have shared many days since the battle together.” Now Amaranth looked away. “Captain Ice Storm and I fought side by side. He’s charitable like that.” Luna arched her eyebrows but said nothing about it. “Regardless, I came here today because what I have read, heard, and now seen has brought me here to ask you a question.” Amaranth stared. A wild idea came into her mind. She gaped. “You can’t… Princess, I--” “I see that you have guessed.” Amaranth paled. “I am unworthy. I can’t do that. I can’t.” “Everypony has said that they could not. I do not ask your decision. I only inform you of your candidacy. Your answer can wait. Will you think on it?” Amaranth stared at her. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to think of much else, your Grace,” she said weakly. SPIKE Recorded nearly verbatim, the Account of Spike the Dragon, Companion of the Moon and Captain of the Night’s Watch for the duration, witnessed here by Princess Luna, her aide Page Turner, and the Court Scribe, Bestseller. The Dragon had to be sedated twice during the proceeding interview, and was highly agitated before he was bid to relate what he had seen and done. Against convention, the Princess ordered me, Bestseller, to prepare two separate documents in the aftermath of the report. One was to be completely unedited, tangents left intact. Even the more distressing and disturbing portions were untouched. A second document was to be prepared with light edits, specifically to passages deemed unnecessary, overly descriptive, or which sounded unhinged, for lack of a better word. The third version presented was not an official record but was a highly edited digest distributed to a few select ponies in the Princess’s service, the identities of which were not made known to me. After I finished speaking to you, I left quickly. It was easier than you’d think to get up on the wall and climb down. The guards are lax. I don’t remember whose guards they were. I don’t really care. I don’t think it matters anymore. Even in the dark I knew where I was going. Besides a dragon’s sight, I remembered the way from when I was young. Dragons always know how to get home, I guess. I didn’t make it the first day, which I figured I wouldn’t. There were a few scattered patrols and hunters, just like we expected. I avoided all of them. They seemed organized, but not professional. Most of the patrols were made up a hooful of ponies in ragged gear led by one in mail or old antique guard armor. They have leaders now, like officers. I didn’t hear about any ranks. But when you’re the only one around with a helmet that used to be shiny steel you make the rules, I guess. I remember lying flat on a hill watching them move down the road. Their weapons clattered in the dark. They made no attempt to be subtle or secret, and I remember being confused as to why. Weren’t they afraid that some other group of bandits would attack them? Maybe not. Maybe the little bands really were uniting, and the one at Morningvale wasn’t a unique situation. I had so many ideas about them then. I was taking notes in my head, ready to come give you a report. We had no idea. Every theory we had was wrong. I thought about how if you took the armor off of them, gave them a bath, they would fit in pretty well in Canterlot. They’re just ponies. Normal ponies, anatomically the same as every single pony I love. They’re unicorns, earth ponies, pegasi, a couple of batponies. I even saw some zebras a long way from home. But, generally, I didn’t see anything of note until I entered town. RARITY They took tea in a terraced garden on the central spire. Rainbow Dash shuffled her way through proceedings. Rarity found it mostly endearing. She was out of her element, yes, but she did try. To her credit, she had a natural charisma. It was hard not to at least like Rainbow Dash. How boorish a younger me would have thought her--how boorish I did think her when we were both younger. I was the fool then, I think. Of course, they had both changed. “The city has come back to life,” Rarity said quietly and sipped her tea. “It’s starting to,” Shining Armor replied. Unlike the rest of them, he did not look at the city but at Cadance. Of course, they were all looking at Cadance in reality. Sideways glances caught her for a moment and then hurriedly turned away. Anything longer than a momentary sight seemed a bit presumptuous at the moment. She was recovering, but her body seemed frail. Rarity had been raised to believe it was not polite to stare. Besides, she had problems of her own. Her prosthesis was working well enough, which was nice, but it clanked loudly on the tiles and cobblestones and Rarity loathed it fiercely. “It is strange, I know,” Cadance said. “Sitting her. With tea.” “After all that,” Rarity said quietly. “With a view of the city,” finished Shining. “Life continues even after it really ought to be done with,” Rarity grumbled. “It does continue, at least. I know that you have not had long to recover, but… what are your plans?” Cadance pressed. Gently, but she pressed. Rarity wondered why. She shrugged. “In the short term, I have none. I am not yet in a condition to brave any journeys. My magic has been unpredictable and my damnable leg takes getting used to, and those do not bode well for my survival on the roads. Not in these days.” “But in the long term?” Shining asked. “I aim to return.” Rarity looked at him with a flat, blank expression. She felt it on her face as she felt it in her heart. “I don’t need Luna to tell me that Canterlot is going to go through all of this…. this horror. With or without help, emptyhoofed or laden with supply, I will be going home. I would like,” she added, smirking, “to choose the place of my dying.” Shining looked away. Cadance spoke. Or tried to. “Rarity…” “No, it’s alright. I quite understand. I do, and I’m not simply saying I do. You have to feed your ponies, and even the surplus can be used. You would give it to me only for the wagons to be lost to raids on the way. I know this.” “No, you don’t understand--” “I will find another source. I will keep going until--” “Rarity, please, wait.” Cadance rose. The talking stopped. “Rarity, we wanted to say that we have discussed your mission. We want to help. You fought valiantly to defend us, and the least that we could do is give you our surplus.” “You’re right about the raiding, though. Which is why we have a second gift… and a request,” Shining said. He sighed. “We want you to take the Ninth Legion with you to Equestria.” Rarity blinked. “I…” Cadance smiled. She shook her head. “No, we have enough. The Mitou have been broken. The Ninth is far under strength, but it is fit at least for caravan duty. It’s leader… it’s legata Opal, is very injured. In fact, her injury is somewhat similar to your own, if far worse. Our request is that she be taken with you. She can no longer fight as she did, but she is a brilliant military mind. She knows how to lead ponies, and she will be the best gift we can give to the defense of Aunt Celestia’s favorite city.” She was speechless. “Your Grace… I had not expected any help at all, with all of this war and rumor of war. Can you…” She hesitated and bit her lip. She needed what they had to offer. But she could not take what they could not afford. Not after all this. Not anymore. “Can you afford to do this? I will not leave you unshielded.” Shining shook his head. “I’ll be honest. The Ninth would make me feel much more secure. But without them, we’re pretty safe. Our food stores are big enough, and even if they weren’t, two of our other emergency stores have enough to cover the deficit. We’ll be fine. Equestria, however, won’t be. You have to take them.” Rarity nodded numbly. She hadn’t dared hope. She hadn’t. When the maid had come and told her that the Empress and the Prince Consort had requested her presence, she had spent an hour steeling herself for failure. She had practiced her lines with care, with quiet and gentle care, gazing at her face in the mirror, with a scar over her right eye, her mane growing oddly, her eyes still bright. She had a whole speech planned. Now she was just staring. Her voice broke. “Really? You’ll… really? Soldiers, food, what’s next, medicine?” Cadance tilted her head and hummed. “Well, I think we can spare some. Not tons, mind you, but some--” Rarity covered her eyes, humiliated at the sudden moisture there. She was not going to cry. Dammit, she was not going to. It was the complete opposite of dignity and she was not going to do it! But she hadn’t expected this. She really, really hadn’t. How do you expect good to come when it never comes? How do you expect triumph when you’ve recieved nothing but defeat? Yet, she was alive. Rainbow and Fluttershy were alive. They were getting the food they had come for, and on top of that they were getting reinforcements. Ponies would not starve in the cold and the dark. Over a year of suffering, of hopes that were dashed and bonds that were severed. She had watched Equestria’s great cities swallowed up in rioting and then she had watched them slip away into the night, unwilling or unable to communicate. Luna won at Manehattan only to find her coming had made things worse. No victory, no triumph, only a stay of execution. But she could find no hook here, no poison sprinkled on the offering. She could find no defeat for Rarity of Equestria. She sniffled. When they asked if she were alright, she nodded. She was not alright, of course. But maybe she would be--after this, what could be possible? Anything, maybe. SPIKE In and out the Whitecloaks go, talking of… gods, how should I know? See, I’m rhyming because I really don’t want to talk about it and I’m trying to make myself laugh because I don’t know. I don’t know. Look, I’ll get to it. I’m sorry. I know I’m agitated. Hell. Agitated is not a good enough descriptor. Let me just tell the story, I guess. When I got in sight of Ponyville, the first thing I noticed was the light. The buildings were bathed in sickly green. The air smelled… I was going to say foul, but it wasn’t so bad, was it? I kind of liked it. At first. When I was ignorant. I thought it was oddly nice, like something you expect to find distasteful when a friend gets you to try it… you know? Does that make sense? There were a lot of ponies rambling around outside. But after watching for awhile, I began to see them gravitate towards the center of town. Eventually, there wasn’t a soul on the outskirts. That’s when I slipped in. The time? After midnight, easily. I was so sneaky. I was stealth given form, but hey, why even bother? There was no one to see. I tried anyway, though. Might as well. But I gave up about the time I came to the first buildings. Why? Because I saw things. The streets were clogged with blood. Dried, wet, I don’t know. There were bodies. I don’t know who or even why. Ponies kicked them as they passed and laughed as they made their way to townhall. When they passed, I peeked out from my alleyway. The walls they wrote on and bled on, the streets they littered with bodies. Do you ever dream about the lowest levels of Tartars? I will now. I think I’ll dream about it forever. They chained torsos to the walls. Somepony had made a little shrine in the street. A pony’s head sat on a pike byried in the ground, and below that was a table. On either side, they had… had parts. Parts of ponies. Some of them were sown together, I think. I don’t know why. I don’t know why for any of it. On the table was a mound of… something. I don’t know what. It was dark. There were torches burning, so I could have seen, but I didn’t want to. I kept moving. There were things all over which I cannot unsee. The sofa and quill shop was filled with raiders. I smelt the cooking flesh before I saw them. They were eating. These ponies were the most normal in Ponyville, I think. How messed up is that? The raiders were the normal ones. I was expecting them. I didn’t even panic or freak out when I realized they were probably eating a pony. Becauase why the hell not? The buildings were decorated with blood and torsos. Fuck. They used the blood to paint on everything. Spirals. Spirals that go on and on and on. I stared at them. Sometimes I think I got lost in them for more than a moment. Like, I felt that I was leaving myself and falling into some… something. Something big and moving and blacker than a new moon night, colder than ice. Like it wanted to swallow me up. Like it was sand. I kept expecting to feel the feeling of drowning. I expected my lungs to burn, and then I would start to fight free, I guess. The… whatever it was. I don’t know. Sand? Shadow? Would fill my mouth and stop up my lungs and keep filling me until I was just a container for it, a convenient thing to store itself in. But that didn’t happen. I would snap out of it. I would fall over. Usually, just startled. Once I screamed. I started to get paranoid after a while. Everywhere I looked there was another spiral, or another wall full of things that looked like… like letters? Inscriptions? I don’t know. The world felt like it was stretched. It shouldn’t have taken that long to walk across town, but for some reason it took ages. I kept… I kept walking and walking and walking. I got nowhere. Everything was wrong. Like, you would look at a house, right? And it was just a house. But you felt like there was something wrong about it, something small but big enough for your subconcious to notice and hate it. Like, the angles were off, or there was something asymmetrical about it, or maybe… I don’t know. The streets, the little street signs, everything. It felt wrong. Stretched. Warped. Like Ponyville was some sort of toy a foal could pull apart and put back together. I remember feeling that way, but I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t point to something and say--this! Reality is warping, look at this big fu--obvious sign. Sorry. Yes, I know… I… But the worst thing wasn’t the feeling, but the fact that I couldn’t prove it was right or wrong. I saw nothing. I felt so much. The bodies, the blood, the writing. I found a house with nopony inside and that’s when I scrawled my runes. Everywhere. On every part of me, whether it showed or not. I barely remember doing it. I think I was losing it the whole time and that was when I really lost it. The ponies there didn’t even look at me. When I ran in front of their eyes, they stared blankly. I was drawn to what they were drawn to. It took time, but it happened. Have you ever watched a fly be drawn in by a light? I have, if only for a moment. That was what happened. I found myself compelled. Something compelled me. I was drawn in. Drawn towards the towering spire of Town Hall. I tried to leave. I told myself I would come back in the morning and do a headcount, look for signs of armament. But I didn’t. I kept walking and walking. The streets went on forever. Everything was greenish, or it was red. There was no source for lights where I saw light and around torches I saw darkness. The closer I got to the… the center, the less the world made sense. I just… I tried to think and I couldn’t think. I cant think. I can’t-- Alright. I’m sorry. Just let me… The glow of green fire. The throng began to move as one great sea of flesh and blood. They were painted in letters and pictures that swirled and glowed green as if they were filled themselves with an arcane fire. The smell of meat cooking on an open fire. Screaming. Laughing. Something like singing if screaming could be singing, a wailing that was somehow as full of ecstasy as it was full of horror. Words that were bigger than castles, which tied the tongue, which could not be pronounced except at great cost. I saw them written on the air. Revelling. Dancing. A pony in seizures on the ground, his eyes gone, his face in a permanent grin, smiling and smiling. A wailing, singing pony pulls out a knife and another rushes to him and they fight, laughing, singing. One dies and the other kicks his body into the flames. This is what the crowd wanted. They cheer. There is a chanting which is wordless. The sounds are not the sounds of ponies. They do not come from the throats of ponies. A platform beyond the fire. I see it now. A stallion in a white cloak. His hood is pulled to hide his face. The fire burns so high and so bright and so green now. The dancing is all around me, pushing me along. It is not a circle but a mob. Ponies fall out of it. Some of them come back. Some of them spin around on the ground, in the dust. Some of them find one another and they… couple in the dirt. One of them stares at the crowd as if waking. I cannot see what happens to anyone. I am carried. I see a pony on the platform. He is dressed as a rich pony would be. I cannot see his face. The flames are high. Raiders are here. Ponies with no armor or clothes. A few in battle barding I do not recognize. An endless array. So many different kinds of ponies are here. So many different sorts. I see zebras. Donkeys. Every pony tribe. Griffons. A Yak whose fur is mangled and cut. They are streaming endlessly. The mob grows. This is their time. They fill the streets and no one cares that I am a dragon. They care about the green flame and the darkness and the blood. A few die horribly but quickly. Their blood splashes on the crowd. A cut throat, a gurgling, a sacrifice. The blood is on my face and on my neck. I feel sick. I feel hungry. Others feel these things. I hope they do. The pony in white raises up and opens his mouth. I hear words. I think they are words. But I do not understand them, but I love them. These are the only words that are. They consume everything else. If I think about them I can’t think I can’t think I can’t think There is a song. It is grand. It is full of discord. It is nothing but ruined half-chords and stale bars that goes on forever like a mockery of time. I hear it even now, faintly, in the back of my mind. I will never wash it out. It will stay forever. I… I can’t think. I can’t think. It takes away my thoughts if I think about it too much. It hurts. Everything hurts. Luna, I want to sleep but I’m afraid to sleep. I’m afraid to sleep. Is that enough? If I think about it I can’t think. I left, okay? The throng pushed me away. Eventually I was pushed outside and something broke and I started running. I was covered in… in everything. I don’t even know what. But my runes were there. I couldn’t hear the voice anymore and nothing stopped me. I ran and I ran. I just kept running. TWILIGHT She walked endless pristine corridors. The architecture was bizarre. It was empty. All in all, she found herself unfazed. Was it because she was dreaming? Probably. She was quite aware of when she dreamt these days. Luna’s meagre tutlege had helped, but it was the last week of nightmares that had done it. A barrage of strange and twisted dreams, revolving around the same elements, the same stories… and here and there the alicorn who would not say her name or her purpose. Twilight was no fool. She had been a brilliant mage, but she had been a better student. She learned. Hard to believe, but she did, even when she was shadow of the Twilight that had been. It was not Celestia. Celestia would have simply revealed herself. Her teacher was a chess player, a planner of moves far in advance. But she was not cruel. Her subtlety was not subterfuge. It was simple judicious choice. It wasn’t Luna. Luna could be subtle and sneaky, yes. Sneaky. She smiled in the Dreaming. What a delightful word for Luna. But no, Luna’s “sneakiness” always ended in violence or in some kind of brute force. Simply refusing to identify herself was not her style. Where Celestia plotted, Luna stalked--this felt like neither. It felt like somepony just… watching. Well, Twilight decided that she was fine with that. “Watch me,” she grumbled. “See how boring I am?” She said it through clenched teeth. She would not be toyed with. Past raider and rebel, over the long ocean and through the halls of memory she had come and she would not be somepony’s little dream experiment. She almost snarled that. But she didn’t. She just walked. Instead she talked. Calmly. She commented on the architecture. When she came to a room of artifacts, she inspected them and gave to each in turn a cheerful, humorous lecture. Ah, this bore signs of the Pre-Classical Western Batponies. Rare, rare find, wasn’t it? She was very impressed. And in pristine condition, wasn’t it? She was so grateful to see something such as this. In fact, she said a few tmes, it was so wonderful to be in such a clean place, wasn’t t? So empty of intrusions. Wouldn’t it be a shame if someone blundered into all of this? Passive aggression is the stupidest thing that ponies had ever invented. It was also satisfying on a deep level. Twilight bore her shackles a little farther. Predictably, she appeared. Twilight saw her as she turned a corner. The alicorn stood in a sunlit patio, amidst the columns. It was beyond picturesque. Breathtaking, even, seeing her there. Inside, for a moment, Twilight was torn back and forth between shock, anger, and joy. Celestia! It wasn’t Celestia. Different face, different colors. She settled for ignoring the newcomer. “What a lovely room,” she murmured, meaning it. It reminded her in a small way of the Palace. Except this was far more grand. “I wonder what it was used for…” “It was the antechamber to the market of--” Oh, it hurt not to get the actual answer but Twilight kept going. “It’s a shame somepony isn’t here to have an actual conversation with me. About it.” The interloper seemed perplexed. Twilight wandered around, humming to herself. Just had to keep it all up a little longer, and then she would show this stranger she would not be led around by the nose-- Twilight was shaken from sleep. Roughly. It was one of the former Blues. She saw his face in the light of her dying candle and she screamed. She tore the pillow from beneath her head and flung it in his face. She had to distract him-- But he dodged and caught her. “Miss Sparkle, please! I’m sorry I scared you but you have to listen!” She froze. “What?” “The ship… There are ponies down the river, and they aren’t friendly. The captain saw them. He said to wake you immediately, that he needed to prepare for an attack with your help.” Twilight did not wait to have a conversation. She was up and out of bed in a heartbeat, and in another she was gone. Twilight made quick time up to the deck. The early moments before dawn greeted her. Applejack, Tradewinds, and Main Sail were were whispering fiercely. Crossbeams approached as Twilight marched to them. He gave a little mock salute to the captain and then chuckled. Twilight was in earshot when he spoke. “Got what arms we have passed out, like you wanted. Crew is ready, more or less,” he grunted. Twilight noticed that he didn’t mention they were his crew. She filed this away for later. “Only got two carbines between us. Several hoofblades though…” Twilight joined their group. “I’m up. What are we looking at?” Main Sail grimaced. “Trouble, lass. You heard of train robbers, ye ken? Ye know the way the operate?” Twilight gave a thin smile. “I’ve read a few tales of them galloping beside trains and jumping on.” “They’ll try it. They can’t follow us far, but they ain’t following. They’ll start ahead of us, build up speed, and then probably try to get some grapples on.” “That sounds insane,” Twilight said. “Is very insane,” Tradewinds offered. She grinned, genuinely… amused? Twilight wasn’t sure what to call it. “Da, they come and I think they can get up. Will be all knife work, quick and quicker.” Applejack chimed in. “We don’t know how many will get aboard, but… Twilight, there’s at least two dozen of ‘em. Hell, there may be three or four dozen. Main Sail can see ‘em, and I can see ‘em, but none of us have Abdiel’s nightvision. He says…” “Still don’t trust him?” Twilight asked, softly. Her eyes looked in all directions. “Where is he, anyhow?” “The prow,” Crossbeams said, and pointed. Twilight saw him now. He was bent over, watching intensely. “Twi, he says there’s at least a hundred,” Applejack finished, breathless. “Now, you know I ain’t no coward, but this is too much.” “We can’t fight off that many, no,” Crossbeam said. “It’s not a matter of your skill or bravery, girl. It’s a matter of numbers. Even if half of them make it, we’ll be deader than a snail in a salt factory. But I think we have something they don’t.” “What is this being?” Tradewinds said. Twilight realized she had been struggling to slip on hoofblades this whole time, and now she stopped. “Magic.” Crossbeams turned to look at Twilight. “Now, I don’t know all that much ‘bout the West, but I know that magic is rarer out here. Could you do somethin’?” Twilight stared at him. Her mouth hung open a moment. Magic. Magic. Battle magic was not her specialty. She could do it, but true battle magic was an art. It required skill and focus. What did she know? Fire, she could do fire. Light. Blind them and then fire? No, they had nothing to fire with and she would be shocked from the strength of the spell. Arcane blasts were effective but not for this many targets. She was getting back into the stride of using her full magical power, but even then it took a moment to aim and fire. Ponies like this, surviving out on the plains-- “Twilight, hello?” Applejack waved a hoof in front of her face. Twilight jumped. “Oh. Oh! Sorry. I’m thinking. Yes…” All of her options were brutally lethal or useless. She saw the docks at Vanhoover again. The great fireball as the ammo supply went up. The out of control fires, the dying soldiers… It took a herculaen force of will to stay up right. No. She would not slaughter these… these idiots. She couldn’t think of a word. Thinking was for more important things than insults. She needed information. She needed a plan. She turned and galloped over to Abdiel. “I need to know what you know,” she said breathlessly. “Should I start with my first kiss or with being born? Maybe teach you to read some Ultharian.” Abdiel said, smirking. She saw his stupid smirk and rolled her eyes. “Neither. None of those. These ponies. Obviously migrating. Nomadic. Magic is rarer here. Are they afraid of it?” He had to hurry. Something formed in the back of her mind. “Every non-unicorn is a bit unsure about it,” Abdiel said carefully. “They are doubly so.” “If they saw something… big, something impressive but not actually lethal, would they run? If it was loud and bright and, uh, on fire?” she added the last bit in on impulse. Abdiel blinked. “They might, friend. I don’t know--” “Then I won’t… Okay, okay, okay, I can do this. Give me a moment.” She said the last for everypony on the deck. There were a dozen of them, she saw now. Waiting by the rails, waiting for the brief rush and what Tradewinds had called “knifework”. “Twi--” Applejack took a step forward. Twilight shushed her friend. “Hold on! I’m… I’m thinking!” She snapped her eyes shut. Ponies moved around her. She heard the boards creak. Think. Think, Twilight. you can’t let them stop you. You can’t kill them. It’s wrong. You can’t just… just slaughter them. You could. You can’t do that. Don’t do that. No arcane blasts, no fire. Think, think. “Hurry, girl,” hissed Crossbeams from beside her. “We’ll be on them soon. I think I see them starting to move. If you’re gonna do something…” Okay, maybe a little fire. She saw something suddenly, in her mind. She thought of her first encounter with the myterios interloper. The alicorn. She had come in light and brilliant… fire? Twilight struggled to remember. Awe inspiring. Huge. She turned around. Twilight had a crazy grin on her face--she felt how insane it was. Good, good! She was thinking, she was planning. She had the idea. It would work! It would completely, totally work. Just had to time it right. Had to be big and perfect. Twilight took a deep breath. She almost heard Celestia in her ear, telling her not to tense up. Luna telling her a story of some battle. Spike trying to get her to make him a stupid mustache. Magic. Potentiality. She had used it like a hammer. She could use it like a brush--a paintbrush, a chisel to free the form within the marble. So when she flared her magic, she pulled deep, deep within. She felt enveloped in her thaumic field. The magic she called forth hummed in the air audibly. Even ponies without horns would hear the hum, feel the static. She opened her mouth and let out a howl as her blood caught fire. It worked. The ship shone like the sun. It looked like it was afire like the sun, too. Magical fire--not hot but only cool, comfortable to the touch, washed over the ponies on board. Twilight felt their little life signatures now as well as she felt her own. Tradewinds was by her side, a hoof on her shoulder. She felt some of the strange warrior’s magic, the innate energy of her soul, seep through and merge with Twilight’s. Twilight shivered. Their ship was a horrible, awe-inspiring sight. Flame and light and sound like the roaring of a thousand oceans crashing in a thousand caves. She put as much effort into it as she could muster. Wheels within wheels, eyes in the flames, great hulking shapes that seemed almost ponylike before they changed. She felt the nomads on either bank. She felt their tiny forms around her. She felt them quaking. This was what it felt like to have power immeasurable. She realized how much she had underestimated her own strength. Twilight could turn these flames deadly still. She could wipe them out. No casualties on the boat. No risk. No ploys. Just clean victory. She could end it. It would be over. A moment. Only a moment of furious hell and then nothing, only peace. A desert called peace. She opened her mouth and her magically-enhanced voice boomed over the veldt. “I HAVE RETURNED. THE SUN IS COME BACK TO YOU NOW. BOW OR FLEE. KISS YOUR HOOF AND OFFER YOUR APOLOGIES TO THE GREAT LIGHT IN EXCHANGE FOR MERCY, LEST I BE ANGRY AND YOU PERISH.” Twilight shook. Her illusions, her thaumic fool’s fire, all of it hesitantly shook, and then exploded in a brilliance that frightened even her allies, who shrank away from it, falling on their faces around her. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? BOW BEFORE THE GODDESS WHO WALKS AMONG YOU, WEAK THINGS OF FLESH AND DUST. LEAVE THIS PLACE, OR I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN.” Twilight let out a little cry. The voice amplification hurt. The spell wasn’t meant for this level of output. Her throat burned. Tradewinds was squeezing her for dear life, whispering something that sounded like a strangled prayer in her mother tongue. She felt the nomads freeze. And then she felt them run. In every direction but towards her. They fled, screaming, screaming as if they were being killed all around her, but no pony fired a shot. For emerging from the flames came a pony--the illusion of a pony--that was Twilight Sparkle, but larger, an alicorn of immense age and power, her horn flaring, her brow knit together in holy fury. The kind of being ponies could and would worship given half the chance. They fled and fled. Crossbeams yelled behind her for Main Sail to get them down river and fast. The captain scrambled for the pilot box, relaying commands to the engine room. The ship picked up speed slowly,but then they were powering down the river. They left the raiding nomads behind. And Twilight held her illusion. The great alicorn looked about, scowling, intoning the same message back towards the fleeing ponies… and then it all vanished. Twilight opened her eyes and stumbled forward. But she was caught in two sets of strong hooves. Tradewinds and Applejack held her. Pinkie had finally made it. Her eyes were wide and she smiled in a strange way. “Twilight, that was…” “Terrifyin’,” Applejack said softly. “Chyort,” Tradewinds offered bluntly. Twilight felt lightheaded. She smiled. See, it was so late. She should go back to sleep. In fact, she would go back to sleep. Sleep sounded nice. “See, Spike? That’s way cooler than a mustache…” She went limp in her friend’s embrace, slipping back into a sleep uninterrupted by the tiny static sparks of thaumic energy that ran down her horn and coat. SPIKE I saw things, Luna. I saw a great snake. No. A… what did Twilight call it? When I was small I saw a picture of one, once, and she told me the name. Lamprey. Lamprey, that’s it. Like a massive one, bigger than Canterlot. Big as… as big as the world, coiling endlessly in on itself. It was dark, but it was a visible dark, a darkness you could see in, see everything. I wish I couldn’t see, but I did. The vision was so long, but I know I wasn’t there in town for very long. It seemed like days. To feel it crawling around you, over you, under you, it’s great teeth inches from your head. It whispered into your mind. There was howling. Gnashing of teeth. Screaming. Somepony crying for his mother. Words I did not understand, languages I did not. Chains. The eternal chains. I saw the letters from Ponyville, and the spirals. They were everywhere, always present, always right in front of your eyes. Even now, they are seared into my memory and I hate them. I hate them so much. But I think… oh… Oh Celestia. I think it knew I was there. I think it knew who I was. I think it let me go. Or maybe it couldn’t do the same as it did to the others, because… because I’m a dragon? I don’t know. I just don’t know. But it’s coming. No, it’s here. It has always been. So. Close. It is coming. It wants Canterlot. It wants Equestria. It wants the whole world. I think it wants to tear the sky open and let in the darkness above until everything is like what I saw and felt. There was a song there, but it was not music. It was… it was Noise. Endless noise. Forever and forever, just meaningless noise with no direction or purpose. It wiped out thought. It wiped out who you were and it tried to put something new in. You were just going to be an arm or a leg, the appendages of some greater thing. Something so big that when I try to think about how big it is… I just can’t. I can’t think. It's... agents? It's creatures. They are among us. It is every where. It is waiting around every corner and behind every dream. I think its winning. It is coming to devour.