Today I Am A Monster

by Cloud Wander

Pathfinder 2

PATHFINDER

The Canterlot leg was easy. He had flown north-east across Saddle Lake to the thermals that roiled the Cloudy Peaks. Up, up, up and then down towards the city.

On approach, he saluted the guards that hovered about Canterlot. They nodded back. By now, they knew him. Or thought they did.

The Canterlot Pony Express office offered a broad landing area. He touched down and almost at once a messenger appeared to collect the red-banded letters and carry them on.

He had no reason to remain in Canterlot, but he lingered. He stamped the solid stone floor and walked a little way into the city, looking around.

It’s here. Alive. It’s real. She’s real, he told himself.

He had only seen Princess Celestia once, from a distance. He had been standing in the Pony Express service area, looking down. She had been deep in conversation with her ministers, trotting to her next appointment. And there had been this one instant when she seemed to glance up, looking directly into his eyes and soul, had smiled at him encouragingly, and moved on.

I am yours forever, he had thought then, watching her recede.

Perhaps this moment was all in his mind. Who am I, that you are mindful of me? Still, he hugged that one instant to him, as a miser hoards the tiniest coin.

Having delivered the Canterlot pouch, he checked himself. The blades and poisons in which he clothed himself were intact.

He withdrew from the city. I have no place here.

Pathfinder beat his wings. His hooves departed Canterlot and he turned himself towards the Wild Lands.

***

“Steven Magnet” was a small name for someone so vast. And yet the enormous serpent seemed to relish it. “Call me Steve,” he assured everypony that talked to him.

Pathfinder stood to one side while “Steve” settled a dispute between a manticore and a turtle.

“It is entirely understandable that you, Mrs. Poison Tail, would want to devour Mrs. Mudwallow. She is, I’m sure, quite delicious and delectable,” said Steve.

Mrs. Mudwallow blushed.

“Still,” continued Steve, reasonably, “there is her clutch to consider. One hundred fourteen eggs! Most commendable!”

Mrs. Mudwallow nodded. “Aye, t’was a lot of work. Faith! Ye canna know! But t’was worth it, every one.”

“I acknowledge your effort, Madam,” said Mrs. Poison Tail gravely. “I bow before your fecundity. And yet, now that your effort is complete, I desire your flesh. For myself and for my young.”

Mrs. Mudwallow cried. “Can I not see my wee bairns before I go? My last clutch! Please, good mother!”

“But it will be weeks before your children hatch!” exclaimed Mrs. Poison Tail. “And my children are hungry now!”

Pathfinder circled quietly around to the manticore’s rear. He set down his messenger bags, reached into his coat and drew out his blades, silently stamping them onto his fore hooves. He knew manticores. He knew their rages, their hungers. He knew the soft places above the shoulder, under the mane. In the belly, below the ribs. This is it, then, he thought sadly, after I do this, after I kill her, my life here is over. But I can’t stop myself.

Then the river dragon rose up. “Allow me to suggest this: Mrs. Mudwallow’s clutch, firmly implanted on my shore, shall be allowed to hatch and walk to the water. I think we can all agree that the preservation of life is our greatest concern.”

The dragon glanced briefly in Pathfinder’s direction.

“And after that blessed day,” Steve continued, “Mrs. Mudwallow will give herself, freely, to the manticores or other predators, without appeal to me. If, of course, they can catch her.”

“And in the meantime? Now?” growled Mrs. Poison Tail. “What of my hungry young?”

The river dragon pondered. “Have you ever considered a vegan diet? You know, lentils and beans? Not forever, but just until Mrs. Mudwallow is ready? A variety of wholesome foods would benefit you and your offspring, I think.”

“BEANS? YOU OFFER ME BEANS?” shouted the manticore. “Beans give me gas. Have you ever been in a lair fed with beans? Ah, the stench! Celestia, preserve me!”

Mrs. Poison Tail hunched and raked her claws across the turf. “Still,” she admitted reluctantly, “I can understand her point.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, hopefully. Pathfinder backed off.

“All right then,” sighed Mrs. Poison Tail. “In consideration for the future, we will avoid Mrs. Mudwallow and her brood. I would not deprive her of the sight of her last clutch achieving the water. I am a manticore, but I am not deliberately cruel.

“And there will be more of them to eat later, in any case.

“In the meantime, ‘lentils and beans’? Any help you could offer in this area would be appreciated.”

Steve and Mrs. Poison Tail huddled together, exchanging recipes. Mrs. Mudwallow waddled away, happy, with the assurance that her children would be safe for at least a little while.

Pathfinder silently put his blades away, his face burning with relief and shame.

At last, the disgruntled manticore departed, muttering about “wind.” Steve noticed Pathfinder and waved him forward.

“What now, my little pony?” Steve asked, reclining against the river shore.

“Letters, sir,” said Pathfinder. He drew the packet from his messenger bags and offered them to the great serpent.

“Ooooh! Winter fashions!” exclaimed the river dragon. “Ah! Miss Rarity! You are the best ever! Look at the colors! So-oo fabulous!”

Steve eagerly accepted his parcels, cooing over their contents.

After a moment, the river dragon looked up at Pathfinder. The serpent’s gaze narrowed and something ancient and terrible burned there.

I have eaten your kind, the dragon’s eyes said. I know the taste of you. I know what is inside you, for I have relished it.

A spike of fear struck Pathfinder: he knows me for what I am!

“Thank you for sympathizing with Mrs. Mudwallow’s situation,” the serpent said quietly, at last. “And for your restraint with Mrs. Poison Tail.

“Life in the Everfree is painful, sometimes. At times, one’s life is only purchased through another’s loss. We all have our hostages to fortune. Even the apple trees must sigh when their fruit is harvested. None of us escape survivor’s guilt.

“At the end of our lives, sometimes the best we can say is that we hurt no one more than was necessary. C’est la vie.

“So, whatever you may think, you are not a bad pony, Mister…?”

“Pathfinder, sir.”

“Mister Pathfinder,” said Steve. “I am the River. And, as they say, you can never step into the same river twice. Perhaps you should consider this: you will never be the pony today that you were yesterday. Always ask yourself: who am I today?”

Steve returned to his catalogs, excited.

Pathfinder nodded and flew on, to the zebra.

***

Pathfinder fought to choke down his hatred of zebras.

Before, in the last Equestria he had found, the zebras had poisoned the world. They had poisoned him, to the point where he knew he was beyond redemption.

If you all had but one throat, I’d hack it through, he thought miserably.

I know, in my head, that you are different. Derpy says you are wise and kind and I believe her.

But my heart remembers the cages your folk stood over. The whips. The ropes. The surgical instruments. The calculated degradation. The combat arena. The terrible things you made me do to others, just to exist another day.

He checked his hidden weapons and felt ashamed. You are Derpy’s friend and I value her judgement. But I will kill you if you give me the slightest reason.

He touched down and looked about. Here, the Forest seemed strangely soft and kind. Green water lapped nearby. Fish splashed. Great trumpets of blue flowers bloomed. The trees swayed with woven vines. Birds sang and frogs croaked accompaniment.

Pathfinder smiled.

He heard a sharp buzz of wings nearby and glanced up hopefully. But it was only a dragonfly, gunmetal blue, hovering over him before darting away.

If there are Breezies in this Equestria, he thought, they would enjoy it here, fluttering and laughing.

For a moment, Pathfinder felt himself relax. Little Wings! Oh, my dear little sisters, after all that I have seen and done, I still remember you.

He listened carefully, but did not hear their sweet voices. Ah, well.

I’d give the rest of my life to spend just another day with the Little Wings, he thought. The dearest friends of my childhood.

But that was years ago, in another world. And he was here, now, with business to do. Perhaps that’s what Steve meant: I must forget my family and friends and move on. Ah, well.

Pathfinder examined Zecora’s hut.

Her home is like Twilight Sparkle’s library, he thought. A Great Tree. Living, growing, adapting, roots sunk deep into the dark earth. She must be clever, like Twilight Sparkle, he told himself.

Best be on my guard. He checked his weapons again, then knocked on her door.

“Wimoweh?” came a deep voice from within. A clump of hooves. “A visitor, I hear. Someone new! What is it I can do for you?” asked Zecora, as she opened the door.

A zebra face emerged from the inner darkness. Pathfinder’s heart thundered in his chest and against his will he shrank away.

No! he told himself, gritting his teeth. This is Derpy’s friend. Derpy says she is good. So I will be good to Derpy’s friend.

Pathfinder stood stiffly in the doorway. “L- letters,” he stuttered. “There are letters for you, ma’am.” He fumbled the mail out of his bag, dropped it, picked it up. Held it out.

The zebra collected the letters. Pathfinder tried to avoid her touch. “Twilight Sparkle, I recognize. Rainbow Dash, a surprise! Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy and Spike! Oh, here is everything I like!”

The zebra smiled at him, piercing blue eyes and sharp white teeth bright and fierce.

I remember this face! he thought, rearing.

“Ha ha! Oh, but see,” the zebra said. “I forget common courtesy. Come, my newest friend, please let me invite you in.”

The zebra stepped forward and Pathfinder fell back.

There was a scent on her. Familiar. Then he recognized it: tea. A specific fragrant tea, the one the zebras would enjoy while they watched what was done to him.

She’s the same! he thought, panicked. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Out! Must get out of here! Now!

Pathfinder kicked her. The zebra was fast, but she was caught by surprise and fell and then he was on top of her, raging, terrified. There! Her throat! No time for blades! Kill her! Crush her throat! Stamp her to death!

WHO AM I TODAY?

Her blue eyes. Her brilliant blue eyes. Afraid. Like that moment when little Blue Belle had held up her poorly-wrapped gift for Honey Dew and begged him, “Help me, please, Big Brother.”

Then Pathfinder fell back from the zebra’s terrible blue eyes and the truth that shone within them, at last, clear and undeniable.

TODAY I AM A MONSTER.

Reason came back to him and shame followed. He fell back, stumbling at the doorway, ducking his head.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. You are Derpy’s friend and I’ve just, I’m just… sorry. Sorry.”

Pathfinder fled. And he knew the unblinking, brilliant blue eyes of truth were upon him. And, as fast as he could fly, he could not escape their judgement.

Monster.

Comments

[Cloud Wander]

3309592
No, I was never in the military. I think this is one reason I was hesitant to tell this story. Some of us just grow up in a war zone. Writing a ponyfic about PTSD was hard. It was not my intent to mock or belittle anyone that has struggled with this.

[devas]

I am interested, in many things.

[Cold in Gardez]

3309782

I remember compulsively checking for my weapon for nearly a year after my second deployment. Every time I would step outside I would reach across my body with my right hand, to where my rifle would have been slung were I still wearing a two-point harness. The feeling that something is missing where is it only lasted for a piece of a second, and half the time I already knew how silly it was before I even finished the motion. But still, for almost a year that vague sense stalked me every time I stepped outside a door.

Impressive beginning, here. I look forward to seeing where it all goes.

[Cloud Wander]

3311862
Thank you. That sense that something is missing, even if fleeting, haunts me to this day.

[Joural]

this is...

fascinating.

the more I read, the more interesting it is, but I have to wonder- is this the story about him jumping between worlds, or about him in THIS world? A creature tainted by cruelty and anger, and how he lives in a world of peace and light? It will be... interesting to read, regardless.

[Cloud Wander]

3314211
It's mostly about about Pathfinder struggling to adjust to a world in which he is no longer under constant threat. To survive in his previous world, he had to develop certain skills and instincts, none of which serve him in the Equestria of MLP:FIM. I don't want this to be a story about the things done to him. I want this to be a story about his understanding of the awful things he has done to others, and may still do now.

On a personal level, I spent the first half of my life under constant threat. I have spent the second half trying to understand that, yes, at last, I'm safe. It's a hell of a way to live, let me tell you.

[horizon]

At the risk of completely missing the point of this story: the "Steven Magnet: Manticore Mediator" scene was utterly charming. That sort of casual mythologizing is always a joy to read. (It also keeps adding more dimensions to the story the longer I think about it. Here's Pathfinder worried about not fitting in to this world because he's a monster, and here are actual monsters being all civil about the process of carnivorous murder — and on one hoof that shows just how out of place he is, but on the other hoof, no matter how thick the veneer of civilization current-Equestria puts over it, the world cannot discard the things that he beats himself up over. The difference is that Pathfinder's self-aware of his own monstrosity. Doesn't that put him higher on the ethical ladder than the ones whose politeness masks their acceptance of the blood on their claws? …)

After all that, we reach Zecora, and the point of this story really hits home.

I'm sorry that you had to survive the experiences that brought this story about; I wish I could offer more than words of sympathy. But one silver lining to that dark cloud is that from trauma does come powerful art.

[InMyMind]

Who am I, that you are mindful of me?

I'm not sure what to make of this reference.

[Emil]

Wow. So in your universe, does Steven pre-date Celestia and Luna?

[Cloud Wander]

3404004
King James Bible: What is man, that thou art mindful of him? Pathfinder has his near encounter with Princess Celestia, but rather than feel exalted, he's reminded of his own wretchedness. I know this feeling every day.

[Cloud Wander]

3431049
In my canon, "Steve" is Treebeard. He's been alive since forever and witnessed his domain, the Wild Lands, shrink as the magic of friendship has spread across Equestria. Steve was Celestia and Luna in the Old Lands and he still knows the Old Names. In my imagining, Steve may seem foolish and childlike, but there is still something fierce in his heart.

[PresentPerfect]

Shit, he's even been to the Wasteland? You are too good to me!