//------------------------------// // Chapter 11: The Shadow Over Sunney Towne // Story: Fools and Drunks // by Jordan179 //------------------------------// For a long time we had little trouble in our village. At times, two of us might have some little brawl, and Grey Hoof calm them with his jolly good cheer, or Three Leaf speak wise words to them, or Dainty Hoof shame them into better behavior. It never got very bad -- until the end, we had no murthers, nor even maimings, among our own villagers. Bruises and a little blood and bandages, that was all, and two sheepish Ponies saying sorry to each other at its ending. Sometimes thieves or vagabonds from without would seek to spoil us. The worst such time that I know was when I was six, and mine own mother and I -- Starlet was then elsewhere, back in the village I think -- were out at the edge of our woods gathering herbs and berries. Suddenly, several rough Ponies appeared, it seemed to me out of nowhere, and they laid hooves upon us both. I am not to this day sure what exact harm they meant us. They bore long knives, and the rags of what might have once been some sort of light armor, so they may have been the remnants of some band of brigands, and certainly they might have slain us both. We had little for them to take; we had not been going to the Riverbridge Market, so we had no coins or aught else of value, save the gleanings in our baskets the like of which they might have got by a little labor. But of course we had one thing they might take, especially as they were all stallions. This shocks ye? Ye are indeed the children of a gentler age than that of mine own birth. Rape was not common among us -- I never heard it happen in Sunney Towne, while we still lived and breathed -- but in the wider world all manner of cruel knavery was practiced, most often by the evil brigands, who had cast off all morals, and at times seemed to have even abandoned their equinity. At the time of course, I could not yet fully grasp their aim. I was but six, ye ken, and until this time ne'er had seen stark cruelty, let alone suffered any upon mine own self. All I knew was that I was frightened: strange stallions were roughly grabbing my mother and making her cry; the one who was holding me was touching me in ways that felt wrong, and he would not let go in spite of my pleas. He only laughed at me -- I had ne'er before known any to delight in another's suffering like that -- I had ne'er ... Forgive me. I did not mean to change my Aspect so. It is but that, thinking upon this, I felt for an instant like that frightened six-year-old filly again. I do not like to dwell on that memory. I prithee pardon if I shocked ye. I am mine own self again. 'Twas bad. 'Twould have gone worse -- much worse -- had not a hero come charging to our aid. Why, 'twas the exact same hero for whose advent any frightened little filly and her dam would most devoutly wish. 'Twas my dear sire and her loving husband! 'Twas Grey Hoof, to make the tale plain, and the first we or they knew of his advent were three things which happened all together. A deep war-cry, a sudden rush of muscular gray stallion, and a hard-driven gray hoof that shattered the sneering smirk right off my captor's face, along with many of his teeth and a goodly spray of his life-blood, before 'ere that villain ever knew that he was beset! That unlucky wight fell away, dazed and mayhap worse, and my father flashed me a quick cheerful smile as he saw I was unharmed, and then plunged forward against the remaining foe, who released my mother and drew their knives that they might oppose him. One weedy little brigand, who no doubt noted that my father bore no arms, rushed at him alone, with a long-knife, but my sire smote him on the cannon with one forehoof -- I heard something snap -- sending the saex flying; then his other hoof pummeled him on the head with such force that the miscreant dropped away like a falling stone. Then, my dear father was amongst them, and they fell back slightly and then surged back together to surround him, and the real fight was on. I gasped in thrill and terror to behold this, for now I saw full well what a hero he was; a warrior out of some saga. For all that he was an amusing-Pony by nature, he was big and strong -- you, friend Snails, have seen his Life Aspect -- and his profession had honed his agility. And this was far from the first time he had to fight in earnest; it was only the first time I had seen him fight in earnest. We lived in a dangerous world. The reavers were all around him, and their knives stabbed at him, as their wielders strove to end his life. The weapons stabbed at him, but far faster flashed the hooves of my father, knocking them aside, and often knocking aside the bandits as well. And it seemed that my father really was invincible, and the worst the bandits could do could not really hurt him. Though of course, in this I was decieved by my own fond hopes, and my worship of my father. For, of course Grey Hoof was taking harm from those thieves and their saexes, though for his fierce and forthright fighting, less harm than he would have suffered in other wise, had he been a milksop coward. His frogs and the flesh about his cannon and forelegs were being cut up cruelly. He would bear those scars all the rest of his breathing days, and mine own mother and mine own self would kiss those scars most tenderly, for he got them for his great love of our selves. Truly, he was our hero. He was more than a match for any one of those thieving curs. But he faced not one of them, but several -- and they were armed. I, at six, did not really ken that he might be killed -- he was my Daddy, huge and invincible, and I had never yet seen anypony be killed. But I did fear he might take harm from them -- I had seen Ponies take harm -- and I felt great fear for this, for I felt great love for my father. Yet -- as I know now, though I did not then -- our hero would have fallen had the fight lasted much longer. For Grey Hoof was assailed on all sides, and all it would have taken would have been one strong stab going home into some vital part to have ended his life. Mortals are fragile, as my father well knew. He had no special powers beyond slightly-superior size and strength and speed and courage, and nay-the-less he flung himself into deadly danger for love of his wife and daughter. He was both a brave and good stallion. I cannot believe that all his good is now fallen. There must still be good, deep inside within his soul. This is my greatest hope: that one day the good in him will emerge again. Lucky it was for us all that Grey Hoof's friends followed hard on his hooves. For he had not been alone when he had spied us in danger. And now his friends joined the fight, and saved him. My uncle Greyfeather Pie -- he was really some sort of a double second cousin at remove, related to me on the side of both my paternal grandparents -- flashed overhead, shooting arrows from the bow that he had happily left strung from the archery competition at the market for the walk home. Then came big Bluff Crawford, a hardy riverpony and my maternal cousin; and mild-mannered Mouse Baker, not normally a fighter but not one to leave his friends in the lurch. Greyfeather's arrows worried at them and caused them to spring back the better to avoid them, which brought my father some welcome relief. Grey Hoof leaped forward and clouted one knave on the side of the neck, with enough force to make him stumble, then followed through with a one-two hind-bucking that took the scoundrel full in the head and sent him down, dazed and writhing. And then we had the numbers -- only two of the brigands still stood firm on their hooves. My father stood there, and I beheld with worry the blood streaming down his forelegs, but also with joy that he stood firm and did not waver. And Bluff and Mouse ran up to his side, and the two remaining brigands bolted, running into the tangled woods where Greyfeather could not easily pursue them from the sky, the branches and thornbushes lashing them and adding to their woes as they fled. And then my mother and mine own self ran up to him, and Bluff was supporting him while Mouse had speech with him. We sat him down and with some strips of cloth my mother bound her husband's wounds, aided by Mouse, while Bluff and Greyfeather went about attending to the three fallen brigands. Medical attention? No, ye must understand. The bandits had been trying to molest my mother and myself, who were the kith and kin of Grey Hoof's friends, and they were brigands, and ... we did not like brigands. And it was a harsh time. I do not know what we did to them, exactly, but I never did see them again, and nopony mentioned having to go to the assizes. I paid no attention to such details. I was but six -- and they did not wish to upset me. Later, when I woke crying in the night with bad memories of the attack, my parents comforted me by letting me know that I should never have to fear those particular bad Ponies, ever again. And they were right, for I never saw them again, neither living nor as ghosts. I can only imagine that their foul spirits were dragged down to Hell, where they belonged. I have never cared to look for their corpses. Nor would any of them remain, after over a millennium. Nothing remains of my kinsponies, either, any more, beyond our souls, and the memories from which we craft these Aspects we wear. The two who escaped? Doubtless they lived longer a bit, then died of one or another cause stemming from their badness. They would not have cared to return to Sunney Towne, where their faces were known. They probably tried to live by thievery and died at the hands of other would-be victims -- or the law, such as it was, then. Understand, friends. I am far from heartless, but many far better Ponies than those robbers have been born and lived and died over the intervening millennium. I have little care or concern for Ponies who were cruel enough that they wished to torment a six-year-old filly. I try to be good, but I am no saint, regardless of what my mother fondly imagines. So, that was mine own youthful encounter with brigands, and 'tis why I dislike them so much. They never again struck so near Sunney Towne -- possibly because Grey Hoof organized a village Watch with regular patrols on the main road -- and as I have said, most of my fillyhood was peaceful, even while the wider world whirled toward disaster outside our little village. My memories of those days were pleasant ones -- laughing and playing with the other children in the village; learning my letters from Dainty Hoof; climbing this hill under which we now hide with mine own parents and Starlet, bringing food that we might dine together sitting on a cloth -- good and happy times. Then when I was eleven, the Mark-Pox struck, and my life changed. Dear Snails has told me that you had it in Ponyville once, but it was cured ere it could slay even one Pony. We were not so lucky at Sunney Towne. It struck like a scythe, slaying whomsoever it touched, and the few who took it and survived were most often terribly scarred, their coats forever marred with the remnants of the false Marks, rendering them monstrous to behold unclad. Often their true Talents were blocked, sometimes never to return. Sometimes they were so weakened that even if they lingered on some years, they were but pale shadows of their former selves. It was the worst plague we had ever suffered, and if Sombros really brewed it from forgotten biomantic arts, this may have been the most terrible of his crimes. How can I make clear how bad it was? Sunney Towne had fifty and a hundred Ponies dwelling within at the start of the Year of Harmony 496, when I was but ten. By the end of the year, when I had turned eleven, we had lost some thirty dead, and another thirty touched by the Pox who were still alive. Of those survivors, many died in the next year. A curious thing about the Mark-Pox was that the Marked were the most vulnerable to it. They took it easier than did Blank-Flanks, and when they took it they were likelier to die of it, and likelier to keep the false Marks. And ... to carry it even after they had recovered, or sometimes with no visible touch of the disease. To carry it, and spread it to new victims. Three Leaf traveled to the City Foreverfree at one point that dark year, to consult with the wise healers at the Royal Medical Academy which had been set up in that great town. And she said that it was believed by them that the Mark-Pox somehow lived within and upon the lines of Destiny that form Talent, of which the Mark be but the visible expression. The Wise termed the Mark-Pox a "moirovoric parasite," which meant the same thing I just put in plainer terms. It seemed almost crafted to destroy Ponies. Three Leaf returned and told Grey Hoof these things, and the knowledge pained my father greatly. For the Mark-Pox had come to Sunney Towne with an itinerant peddler, who came to our village to sell us all manner of pots and baubles, and by accident brought with him that dire plague, concealing his barrel and flanks under travel-clothes. And Grey Hoof, unaware of the peril, had welcomed him to town, and feasted him, and in doing so helped the Pox spread to do its deadly work. Grey Hoof thus did blame himself for failing to protect his Ponies. And he was sorely punished for this failure. For while the Pox struck most severely at the Marked, it could strike down Blank-Flanks as well, especially if they were already enfeebled by age or of any other cause, such as another illness. It so slew my cousin Graunia, who was niece to Grey Hoof's own father Greyneo, whom I had never known for he died in the founding of Sunney Towne. She was past five and fifty, but it also took both her daughter Baynia, who was but in her thirties; and Baynia's husband, Hearthfire, who was in his late forties and caught sick from tending Baynia, leaving orphaned their teenaged son Roneo. Now, Baynia and Hearthfire were both Marked; but Baynia's mother Graunia had been Blank-Flanked, which brought home that we were none of us safe from this ill. And it struck even closer to home. For one who fell ill, but did not quickly perish, was Grey Hoof's own beloved mother, Dainty Hoof -- the same who had scorned Three Leaf as no fit match for her son, yet who had been so kind to Starlet and mine own self, teaching us our letters and much more besides. Dainty Hoof was the same age as Graunia -- in her fifties -- yet before this she had been hale and strong, both of body and spirit, and it was dreadful to see her laid low. Grey Hoof blamed himself most for his mother's fate. Once, late at night, I overheard him say to my mother, when he doubtless imagined me already sleeping: "What if she dies, Mitta? What if she dies? I let this plague into Sunney Towne. I as much as afflicted Mother with it myself. If she dies, then it is mine own fault! If she dies, then I am a matricide, damned forever!" and it was not the only time I heard him speak in such wise. At ten or eleven I did not know what to do when I heard him speak of himself like that. My mother scarce knew better. She consoled him, loved him, let him know that he had in her eyes done no murther. And in truth he had not. He had merely made a mistake -- one which it is hard to see how he might have avoided. He was not guilty for the Mark-Pox. Yet within him the feeling that he was rotted his spirit and weakened the very foundations of his noble mind. I had always liked to creep out at night and watch the Moon and the stars as they wheeled overhead. Yes, I knew that beyond the Warp the stars are really still, and 'tis the Earth that turns under their regard. I knew my letters, and though we knew less then than ye know now, still we were Equestrian Ponies -- no savages to tremble beneath a sky beyond their ken. Ye did not ... Oh. But they teach it in your schoolhouse. I have sometimes watched the lessons. 'Tis no shame, dear Snails. Not all are good at school. Now, with my grand-mother dying, and my dear father sinking into madness from his guilt and sorrow, I wanted to be alone at night even more than ever before. I slipped out more often and stayed out longer. Sometimes I would wander through the woods all the way to our hill, upon which now we had no more merry little family feasts, and look up at the heavens and feel how small were mine own self and my own troubles, compared to the infinite glory of the Universe -- and I found this knowledge strangely comforting. I was doing thus, one cool October night in the Year of Harmony 496, when I felt a Presence by my side, and I turned to see a beautiful and regal mare step over to me. Her coat was dark blue, and her long flowing light blue mane seemed to sparkle with stars. I knew by her horn and wings what she must be, but even had she worn a cloak to conceal those wings, I think I would have realized instantly that I was in the company of something utterly beyond anything I or my little village had ever known. "Well met, little sky-watcher," she said to me. "How dost thou like my night sky?" And I bowed low to her, and cast my gaze downward, for I knew exactly who this was. It was, as I am sure ye know, Princess Luna Selena Nyx, the High Lady of War and co-Ruling Princess of the Realm of Equestria. "Your Grace," I said, and then on some stray impulse looked back up, and met her gaze. Blue eyes gazed down into mine own; and there was in them no arrogance such as I might have expected, but only kindness, and curiosity, and an ineffable ancient wisdom. "I like your night sky right well!" And then, suddenly, I realized that I really did address one with powers beyond my ken, I cast mine eyes down again, abashed by mine own temerity. I suspected that I would be mocked or scolded for it. I heard a merry, clear giggle. In it was no mockery, no scolding, but only friendly good cheer. "Thou mayest rise," Princess Luna said, "and look at me and speak to me without fear in thy heart, for I love me well a brave filly -- and one who likes the night sky!" And I rose, and she asked me about myself, and I gave honest answer. And the wonder of it was that soon I was speaking as freely to her as if she had been but an older filly from some nearby town, such as Riverbridge. Something about Princess Luna -- she is sometimes shy, and oft times will cover her shyness with bluster -- but from time to time she will really like a Pony. And when she does so she is the warmest and kindest Pony thou hast ever known, and there is nothing for it but to love her. Armies have fought and triumphed against the odds under her command. And I know why. It was because they loved her, and could not bear to fail her trust. We spoke for an hour or two that night, and at its end we were as old friends, and she promised to come see me sometimes, when the duties of state would permit. And I crawled back into mine own bed after midnight, and slept the remaining time afore dawn more soundly than I had slept the months since my grandmother was stricken with plague, and though I was tired in the morn, I was again happy. And remained happy. For Princess Luna was as good as her word, and came back to see me upon other nights, and we conversed upon all manner of things many a time. What sorts of things? Why, everything from mine own little problems, as they must have seemed to her, though she comforted me and often gave me good counsel; to her own greater problems in the wide world. She might mention recent doings at Court, or tell me a tale from a century or a millennium or more ago. She and her Sister were then already over fifteen hundred years old, which sounds incredible to simply say like that, but 'twas true. It never occurred to me to doubt her on this, not when I looked into those ancient blue eyes, and saw in them the joys and sorrows of so many centuries. 'Tis now a thousand years later, and both she and her Sister do both still walk this Earth, and live; while I still walk the Earth, but do no longer truly live. She told me of her childhood on Paradise Estate, a magical place where Undying mares still remembered the Age of Wonders, and long ages before even that fabled time. She told me how Paradise fell to Discord the Twister, who had been friend to herself and her Sister, but had fallen into evil. How she and her Sister had spent a thousand years fighting the Twister, while one after another of the old Realms fell to his might. How in the end they had triumphed over him, and founded the Realm of Equestria so that Ponies might know safety and Harmony. Yes, I know well that Discord is now reconciled with the Sisters, and often visits Ponyville, having become a friend to Fluttershy. I have seen him more than once. And he has seen me, for no hiding in the Halfworld nor change of Aspect can fool his senses. Do I fear him? Aye, for I am as sane as any Wraith can hope to be, and he is a Power beyond my reckoning. But I do not think that he bears malice unto Ponies, not any more, so he does not move me to terror. Something which surprised me was Luna's sadness. Ye might think that a Princess, living in luxury in a palace, would have little sorrow, but such was not the case. For Luna had fought in many old wars to guard the Realm, and fought hard, and lost many friends in these wars. She loved her friends, and hated to lose them to death, though for the cause that she was immortal and they were not, she was doomed to lose them in any case within a century or so. She spoke of it like that, "a century or so," as if it were but a moderate stretch of time -- and so it was, to Luna. So she sought out new friends young, so that she might keep them as long as possible. And when she said this I knew one reason she had befriended me, but this troubled me not, for though my youth may have been one reason why Luna liked me, I knew 'twas far from the only cause. And by this point I knew that she was one of the truest friends I ever had. But when they died in war they died young, and she could know them no more, and she was bereaved and sad. And sometimes lonely -- there had been battles in which she had lost several friends, and after that for long years hidden herself away from most Ponies, for she could not bear to face the world for a time thereafter. Part of her grief came from how young her friends had died, how many decades she might have had with them that she had lost. Yet another part came from the fact that, after she and her friends fought and sufferered and many of them died to win these wars, in but a generation or two of Ponies their deeds would mostly be forgotten or misunderstood. And this was true even when they were acknowledged heroes, and songs made and books written about them. New generations would grow safe and free and prosperous on the ground she had won with blood and pain and lives, and they would take for granted all that she and her armies had bought them at such cost. The veterans would grow old, often maimed and crippled in the wars, and though Luna would take care of them, to the larger world they would become but strange old dotards, mumbling about things alien and unknown to their audiences. And they would be scorned. And Luna herself would be scorned. Not so easily, for she was a Ruling Princess of Equestria, but as customs and fashions changed around her, she would find that she fit but poorly with the new worlds that would arise, the new worlds that had been given the chance to arise only by the death and suffering of her dear-beloved friends. Ponies would mock and whisper against her when they thought she could not hear them, and her only choices would be to bear the calumnies, or behave as a vicious tyrant. Mostly, she just bore them. Recently -- in her terms "just before" she met me -- though in truth it had been seven and more years before she met me -- things had gotten worse for her. She had always loved the Crystal Empire -- she had seen it in her youth, in the last age of its full great glory, before Discord had assailed it -- and all during the long Age of Discord it had remained shining in the darkness, a beacon of beauty and sanity and civilization, a place she and her Sister could rest between campaigns against Discord's monstrous minions. And now the Crystal Empire was fallen; gone perhaps for ever. And to make matters even worse, Prince Crimson Quartz had once been her friend, one of those whose friendship she had hoped would help sustain her in the decades to come, except that when he became King Sombra he had become instead her worst enemy. Something had happened when she had made that last desperate peace mission, something she could not or would not describe in detail -- "especially not to a sweet child like thine own self," she told me more than once, and I was cross for I knew myself to be a big filly by then! -- but it had scarred her deep to her own soul. Once, later on, she gave me a hint: "He showed me true Evil," she said. "Not merely the Evil which had claimed him, but the Evil within me in mine own self, which yearned to be free and do harm to others, to joy in harm and do it unregretful. Oh yes, Ruby, I have a dark side too, all Ponies do. Only for the cause of mine own great Power, if mine own dark side were ever loosed, the things it might do would be very terrrible. "He ... I know for certain now that there is a part of me that would take pleasure in harming other Ponies. May mine own dear Mother -- may Light and Life -- forgive me for this, for I can not forgive mine own self for that. I did not know ... but surely I should have suspected, surely I would have suspected, had not I in mine inmost self desired ... I can say no more on this." I think I must have in truth been the brave filly she called me, for I went up to her unafraid, and bumped and nuzzled her, and declared "Thou art not evil, dear Luna. Thou'rt mine own true friend, and I will stand beside thee no matter what happens!" And she smiled down at me, and there were tears in her big blue eyes as she said "Thou hast mine own Undying gratitude that thou thinkest so, and I most devoutly hope that thou dost continue to think so, for 'tis by the good will and friendship of those such as thyself that I am kept from falling into Shadow, from falling as did my poor friend Crimson." Then she cast her eyes down, and then looked up, and her expression was fearful in its intensity. And she said: "I need friends like unto thee, for I ... I know how he did it! I know how to become more powerful, to become supreme, at the cost of mine own soul, and the knowledge burns within me, whispering to be put to use! I would be invincible, stronger than anything on this Earth, stronger than my Sister, stronger perhaps even than the Twister ... but no! It would be terrible! It would be a Nightmare! ..." She looked at me, and I looked back at her unflinching, for I was the brave daughter of a brave father, and I knew she loved this about me. "I will cleave unto thee," I told her direct. "I will help keep thee from the Nightmare." And she embraced me, enfolding me with her great soft wings, and I felt very warm and loved. I did not know what I had promised, not in detail. I did not know that the Nightmare of which she spoke was quite literal. But I knew that she was my dear friend, and that she needed me, and that I would never shirk such a call. It is my shame that in the end I could not save her. For our Doom was fast approaching -- in a sense, it was already there, all the parts of our destruction, simply waiting to be fitted into place. And in the end, the Nightmare took us all.