• Published 10th May 2015
  • 1,173 Views, 38 Comments

Under A Silver Moon - Danger Beans



Princess Luna, Discord, and Special Agent Word Smith travel into the dark side of Canterlot to find a killer.

  • ...
1
 38
 1,173

Black Cards And Empty Sky

Luna felt the outer wards of Canterlot Castle galvanizing as she passed through them. Deep in the bowels of the castle, alarms would be sounding; guards and common staff alike snapping to attention. Sentries would be dispatched to find the source of the disturbance. If the current guards on duty were young and eager to impress, she would have perhaps a minute before they flew out into the night sky. If they were veterans, jaded by countless false alarms, it could be between five and ten minutes before they took wing.

She banked right, passing the West Wing of the castle, and flew towards the highest balcony of the East Wing. Opening a passage through the much stronger wards protecting the castle proper, she turned herself to mist and passed through the window as silently as a shadow. She landed on the floor as silently as a shadow and took in her surroundings. She was in one of the guest suites. There were many dozens within Canterlot Castle—enough to house entire delegations of foreign leaders and their retinues. This looked to be one of the smaller ones. She approached the bed, therein were two prone forms.

The first, was a tall and handsome unicorn stallion. He possessed a mane of spun gold and a coat white as winter’s first snowfall. This was the pony who she had been searching for: her nephew, Prince Blueblood. “Hello, Nephew,” Luna whispered.

Prince Blueblood made no indication that he’d heard her.

Next to the sleeping prince, was a unicorn mare. She had a coat of beaten gold, and her mane shone like flowing honey in the first light of dawn. Luna could feel the warmth of her dreams, not quite a fire, but a warm and soft blanket. Luna touched the young mare’s horn to her own and knew her. Her name was Golden Wish. Her special talent was knowing what the ponies around her wanted. She tried to give those around her what they desire in the hopes that it would make them happy. She’d met Prince Blueblood and known exactly what it was that he had wanted, and, after he had taken her to the gardens and whispered sweet words of love to her underneath the weeping willow, had been more than willing. She was a generous and kind mare, with an open heart. Luna pulled herself away from Golden Wish’s mind. If only her nephew was as easily read, she could be come and gone swifter than a nightingale.

She cast a swift spell to make sure that the mare remained asleep, and spoke softly, “Blueblood.”

No reply.

Luna spoke again, louder this time, “Blueblood.”

The prince nickered, but remained asleep.

He sleeps like the dead, Luna thought. Tis nothing for it. Luna took a breath.

“BLUEBLOOD!” she called in the royal voice, walking to the front of the fireplace. Her horn flashed, and fire sprang to life amongst the cold logs.

A high keening wail broke cut through the air. Luna turned to find a bundle of sheets flailing wildly atop the bed. “Help! Guards! Assassin! I’m blind!”

Luna stared at the flailing mass of sheets for a moment, and then took them in horn and ripped them away. “Quiet, nephew, thou art making a mockery of yourself.”

Blueblood stopped thrashing. “Auntie Luna?” he asked incredulously. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“I wish to have intercourse with you, Nephew.”

Blueblood stared at her for a moment. “Beg pardon?”

“Conversation.”

“Ah,” Blueblood said in understanding. “Damn. I was hoping you were speaking to the carnal sense of the word.”

“I am your aunt!” Luna said, raising one eyebrow. “The blood that runs through your veins also runs through mine. As it does Celestia’s. Need I remind you of this fact?”

Blueblood shrugged. “Celestia also changed my diapers and taught me to use the potty. You just showed up one day, looking like the goddess of midnight trysts. If you expect my yearnings to be curbed because you say so, then you are grossly overestimating my loyalty.”

“You are disgusting.”

Blueblood smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”

Luna took a breath. “I have not come here to trade witted barbarisms with you, Nephew.”

“Of course, you haven’t,” Blueblood said easily. “The only reason that the great Princess Luna would ever deign to grace the lowly Prince Blueblood with her royal—and might I add, enchanting—presence would be if you were forced to.” The Prince paused to yawn. “And that begs the question: were you forced by my dear aunt Celestia to come here, or by an altogether different circumstance?”

Luna said nothing; she didn’t have to.

Blueblood rose from the bed and walked over to a wooden cabinet on the other side of the room, pulling out a crystal decanter and a glass.

“Your chambers are more sparsely furnished than I would have expected.” Granted, by the standard of common ponies, the room was very much steeped in luxury. But Luna found it curious that the chamber the prince had taken for himself would be so spartanly decorated.

Blueblood was gently rolling his glass back and forth. He stopped and sniffed his drink appreciatively. “Ponies that surround themselves with the trappings of wealth do so because they wish to feel important.”

“And you do not?”

“I am a prince, Aunt Luna. I know that I’m important.” In that moment, even with his mane strewn wildly about, and spittle crusted to the sides of his muzzle, he looked as much a prince as she had ever seen him.

And then the moment passed, and he was just a spoiled child once again.

“Care for a drink, Auntie? It’s a fine vintage.”

“It is customary to offer your guest a chair before you offer them a drink, Nephew.”

Blueblood smiled like a jackass. “It is also customary to use the door to enter your nephew’s bedroom, Auntie.”

Luna said nothing, restraining her growing ire. From the moment that she had first met Blueblood, he had irked her. Like a child testing the limits of his mother’s patience, and Discord had already whittled what patience she had.

Blueblood refilled his glass. “Well, Auntie, I know that you haven’t blessed me with your presence to share a glass of Saddle Arabian fire wine, so to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I require information.”

“Information?” Blueblood asked, looking at her skeptically. “You do know that I’m a prince, right? Not an intelligence-garnering spy in Your Majesties’ Secret Service?”

Luna smiled mirthlessly. “Yes, Nephew. I am aware of your trifling significance to the Equestrian government. The information I require is of a more . . . intimate nature.”

“Oh, swell. Intimate I can do.” Blueblood chuckled. “I could answer some very intimate questions about half the mares in Canterlot.”

As a child you conduct yourself, so as a child you must be treated.

He put the glass to his lips, and then drew back sharply Luna’s aura encompassed his neck. The prince’s eyes bulged and his glass shattered on the floor. There were a few brief flashes of yellow light as Prince Blueblood’s magic tried to supercede her own, as he flailed wildly, grasping at Luna’s aura with his hooves.

“I am willing to tolerate a great many things, Nephew,” Luna said slowly. “But I have had a very trying night. So, when next I speak, you are going to answer me quickly and concisely. Without flippancy. Is that clear?”

Blueblood nodded quickly.

“Good,” Luna said, and released him.

The prince fell to the floor with a gasp.

Suddenly, the door burst open; two Dawn Guard stallions stormed in. “Prince Blueblood, we heard shouting! Is everything all right?” They froze when they saw Luna, and dove into hasty bows.

The prince held out a hoof towards them. “It’s okay, my dears,” he wheezed. “Aunt Luna and I were just engaged in some good old family bonding. Now make yourselves useful and wake up the servants. I’m very sweaty, and would like a bath. Tell Proper Protocol that I want the sage and rosemary blend. Good stallions.” He waved his hoof at them in a shooing motion.” The guards glanced at Luna, bowed again briskly, and left. As soon as the door closed, Blueblood’s smile fell. “Honestly,” he huffed. “An assassin could have danced on my corpse and rummaged through my jewelry box in the time it took those buffoons to check on me.”

“Perhaps they did not wish to risk interrupting.”

Blueblood laughed. “Auntie Luna! Since when have you possessed a sense of humor?”

“I was not joking.”

Blueblood’s smile grew thin. “You know what I love about you, Auntie? Your honesty. Most of the ponies I deal with are so ready to stick their noses up Celestia’s rump that they come to court with snorkels. But you always speak your mind. It’s refreshing. An oasis of truth in a desert of lies.”

“Blueblood,” Luna warned.

Blueblood’s waning smile disappeared altogether. “You won’t get away with this,” he said crossly. “I can assure you, that when Celestia hears of this she will—”

“Oh yes, Nephew. Please tell me, what will my sister do?” Luna asked. “Will she lock me in chains? Throw me in the dungeons? Or perhaps she will banish me to the Moon for another millennium?” Luna grinned mirthlessly.

“I-I’m serious!” Blueblood sputtered.

Luna stopped laughing. “Celestia loves you. But it is as you said: she has known you since you were a babe small enough to take suck at her teats. I have only ever known you as you are now, Nephew,” she all but spat the last word. “As a spoiled colt that makes play he is a stallion. You have neither my adoration nor my respect, and hold no power over me. You can do nothing to me except waste my time.” Luna pulled the chair from the vanity to her and took a seat. “Now, shall we try this again?”

Blueblood said nothing, but Luna could see the rage seething behind his eyes, and underneath that, the shame. Luna had called his bluff, and in the space of a few words, she had not only insulted the prince, but humiliated him as well. But she had done so in private. To say anything to anypony—even Celestia—would be to admit this humiliation, and to a pony like Blueblood, admitting such a thing was on par with the act itself.

She watched as resignation smothered the fire behind his eyes. Finally, Blueblood took a breath. “What is it you would like to know, Princess Luna?”

“Baron von Oakenhoof. Do you know the name?”

Blueblood froze. “The . . . timber baron?” he asked, looking mystified. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“That is not your concern, Blueblood.”

“Is he in trouble?”

Luna paused. “. . . of a sort.”

This seemed to catch the prince’s attention. “Oh? Well, do tell, Auntie.”

“I am the one asking you the questions, Nephew.”

“Right, right. I don't know him personally. But I do know of him. Has a reputation as something of an odd duck.”

“How so?”

Blueblood snorted. “Well there’s that ridiculous name for starters,” Blueblood snorted. “I mean, ‘Baron von Oakenhoof?’ talk about pretentious.”

“I thought it was common practice to for the wealthy to take noble titles as names,” Luna said, keeping her voice neutral.

“It is, amongst ponies descended from nobility. Ponies from superior stock, with pedigrees. Not common rabble!” Blueblood sneered, revealing perfect white teeth. “The Oakenhoofs are a family of earth pony timber barons. About as far from nobility as it’s possible to be. Just because your great-grandparents had a lot of money, doesn’t make you a noble.” Blueblood took a breath. “Could I have a chair, please?” Luna nodded and lit her horn; a silver chair appeared in front of the prince. “Could I get another glass too?” he asked as he took a seat.

“No.”

Blueblood shrugged. “Well in that case, I mean exactly what I said. He’s an earth pony with money. Old money. And from what I’ve heard, he’s also social climber. Thinks that just because there isn’t a carriage in Manehatten that’s not made from Oakenhoof lumber, that he can just waltz into any party in Canterlot.”

“Do you know if he has a lover?”

This gave Blueblood pause. “A lover?” he asked. “Don’t tell me that the Princess’s head’s been turned by a lowly timber baron and this is all a pretense for romantic inquisition?”

“Do not be so presumptuous,” Luna replied. “I wish to know if he has somepony close to him that I may talk to. Oakenhoof is beyond my reach at present.”

Blue eyes sharpened. “He’s on the run? Now I’m intrigued. What ever did he do?”

“I cannot say.”

“Really, Auntie. It’s not nice to tease. But to answer your question, he’s had a great many lovers. Canterlot tramps are just as pragmatic as they are anywhere else in the world, money is money—be it from farmer’s hoof or noble’s horn.”

And is that mare in your bed just a ‘Canterlot tramp?’ Luna bit down the retort.

“Do you know if Oakenhoof had a lover whom he preferred?”

“What, like a ‘mane squeeze?” Blueblood asked. His eyes traveled to the golden mare on his bed, as if remembering that she was there for the first time. “Not to my knowledge. To hear it said, Oakenhoof liked to keep his options open. It’s probably one of the few things we had in common.”

“Does he have any confidants?”

Blueblood shrugged. “As I said before, we didn’t exactly travel in the same circles, Aunt Luna. You’d be better off asking Fancypants about that sort of thing.”

“Fancypants?” Luna asked.

“Yes, Fancypants,” Blueblood replied, stifling a yawn. “He knows everything about everypony.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Rumor has it that he gets off on rubbing his nose in everypony’s dirty laundry.”

Luna brought the decanter of fire wine forth to her muzzle and had several swallows. Blueblood watched in silence. “Wonderful vintage, isn’t it?” he said after she had finished.

“I have had better.” Luna put down the decanter. “Where might I find this Fancypants then?”

Blueblood took a glass in horn and filled it. “The same place you find all the rich ponies in Canterlot,” he said, downing his glass. “At a party.”


Nearly seven centuries before her fall from grace, a desire to explore the world had spread across Equestria like plague; explorers had swarmed like locusts off the edge of every map in an effort to at long last fill in those areas that had for so long been represented with by empty blank parchment. Most of these sojourns had born little fruit; many had returned empty mouthed; many more had not returned at all. But those that did return to Equestria always brought with them stories of their exploits in the lands off the edge of the maps.

The ponies that had traversed the terra incongnita—the unknown lands—had returned with tales of ponies made of diamond in the north and of massive winged lizards that spat fire in the south. Of ponies the size of mice floating through the air with gossamer wings in the east and hulking horned behemoths in the west.

The ponies that had gone to chart the mare incognitum—the unknown seas— had returned with tales of tall and slender ponies without cutie marks, and striped ponies without any color in their coats or manes. Horrific monsters that would make whirlpools whenever they opened their mouths, and hydras that could swim like snakes through the sea. Beautiful mares that lived under the water and could bespell even the most resolute of stallions with no more than a song, and beasts with the heads of bulls that walked on two legs.

The myriad explorers had then at last turned their sights upward, towards the caelum ignotus—the unknown sky—in golden chariots and luxurious airships they travelled above the world, and when they returned, fantastic accounts of castles in the sky, towers that turned sunlight to fire, and animate bronze colossi would spin from their tongues like golden thread.

Some of these accounts were honest, most were fictitious, but all had had made for interesting reading at the time, if nothing else.

But there was one place which had remained unexplored. Far, far above the world below, so far that the blood in your veins and air in your lungs would freeze solid, was an in-between place. A demimonde. In the years preceding her return, she had learned that a few brave souls both from within and without Equestria had tried to breach the place where the sky kissed the cosmos, but none had succeeded in breaching its depths; all who neared the empty sky—winged and shipped alike—fell back to the earth like hailstones. And though a part of her had been saddened to learn of these deaths, another part of her had been glad—glad that the empty sky was still hers and hers alone.

It was here where Luna came when she wished to think, and where she had now come to contemplate the events of the past hour. It possessed no name in the old tongue, but Luna had christened it the caelum vacuus—the empty sky. The empty sky was her secret place—her special place—the only place in all the world where she could feel truly . . .

alone.

Princess Luna sat on a cloud. A fine layer of frost had formed atop her coat. Far below her, no bigger than a snowflake, lay Canterlot. Somewhere down there were the two other pieces of herself. One would still be in Canterlot, with Agent Word Smith, the other would be headed to Horsmouth with Discord. And so too, was this mysterious ‘Fancypants’ of which her nephew had spoken. Her nephew’s description had not been helpful: blue mane, white coat, often wore a monocle. Just another breadcrumb on what was hopefully the killer’s trail. She would ask Celestia when the next large event would take place, and she would find this Fancypants then.

“I thought I’d find you here, Luna.”

Luna sighed, watching as her breath turning into a glittering cloud of stardust in the chill air. “Hello, Sister. You have gained silent wings in my absence, it would seem.”

The Moon and stars were still absent their places in the sky, but Celestia shone like a ghost in the lightless demimonde. “Oh, Luna. We both know that’s not true. I’m about as quiet as a minotaur in a glass house when I fly,” Celestia lighted on the cloud next to Luna and put a hoof squarely on her nose. “You just become so lost in thought when you’re brooding.”

Luna fought not to smile, and managed something like a scowl. “I am not brooding,” she said pushing away Celestia’s hoof. “I am searching.”

“Oh?” Celestia asked, eyebrows raised. “Searching for what, pray tell?”

Luna fell silent. “Dreams,” she said finally, looking down at Equestria. “I am searching for any dreams which involve the victim. Oftentimes a killer will be plagued by guilt and visions of their victims in their sleep. It would expedite matters greatly if I were to find such a dream.”

“Oh.” The levity was gone from Celestia’s tone. “Have you had any luck?”

Luna shook her head. “No. The killer may not be asleep, or they may feel no remorse for their crime. Though I find the former notion more appealing than the latter.”

“What are they dreaming about?”

“The usual,” Luna said dismissively. “Wealth, fame and fortune. Flying, falling, dying. There are a few nightmares prowling about, but they are barely more than cravens.”

“Can you see Ponyville from here?” Celestia asked.

Luna looked up and closed her eyes. “Ponyville is fine” she said after a moment. “Twilight Sparkle dreams of apples falling from a tree and turning into fish that swim through the sky. Hardly unusual.” From the corner of her eye, Luna watched her sister. Celestia’s eyes were distant, staring off back and forth over Ponyville far below.

“You should not be out this late, Sister. Why hast thou not retired for the night?”

Celestia looked up at her and smiled. “I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, Luna. Not with you on the hunt. Already, I have received a formal complaint from one Mr. Pot Luck for a ‘grievous insult against his person.’”

Luna stared at her sister.

“You called him fat.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry about it, Luna,” Celestia said quickly. “Pot Luck Sr. lodges grievances for all manner imagined slights. I’ve made arrangements for all of his complaints to go through Fine Print’s office. They have a longstanding distaste for one another. I expect it will be ‘misplaced’ by noontime.”

Luna spotted a Capricorn swimming through the sky above her. She shifted her weight slightly to get a better view.

“Luna,” Celestia said. “I don’t want pry, but the only reason that you ever come to this place is when you’re upset. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Sister,” Luna said. “I am fine as fine can be. I know you find it difficult to fathom, but I take solace in solitude.”

Celestia drew closer to her. “I can fathom wanting to be alone, Luna. But that hasn’t worked so well for us in the past.”

“I do not need you to remind me of my past sins, Sister,” Luna said, avoiding Celestia’s eyes. “I can recall them well enough on my own.”

“Luna.” Something in Celestia’s tone made her turn her head. Tears were falling down her sister’s face and freezing into glittering crystal droplets. “Please. We promised each other that we would no longer hide our feelings. The last occasion that I can recall being here was the night before the Long Night. You'll forgive my apprehension if I find your presence here alarming.”

Luna closed her eyes, letting her world become dark. The pain in her sister’s eyes was like a knife in her breast. So much pain. Begetting only more pain.

Luna opened her eyes. Celestia was still staring at her with those pitying eyes; lines of frozen tear tracks on her face.

“I do not to do this, Sister! I do not want to play these shadow games! Lying and manipulating and digging into the past of all those around me, smearing myself with their secrets until they slide down my legs and off my wings like black rain. I do not want to tell Oakenhoof’s beloveds of his passing before taking advantage of their grief to question them.”

She threw her head back to the stars. “I knew, Sister. When the sky grew black as I brought forth the night. I knew. Death had come to Canterlot on bloody wings. Yet to see that body—that pony—laying there on the floor, mutilated. I had thought myself as marble—cold and uncracking—but when I saw that corpse I was shaken. I do not wish to surround myself with death and misery anymore, Sister. I am not what I once was. I do not want to do this.”

Celestia draped one of her wings over Luna.

“I did not take the throne because I desire it, Luna,” Celestia said quietly. “I took the throne because there is nopony else whom I would entrust it with.”

“And is there anypony else to whom you would entrust this matter?” Luna asked.

Celestia was silent.

“I thought not,” Luna breathed out a sigh.

“I'm sorry, Luna. Had I known how upsetting this would be to you—”

“You would still have asked,” Luna cut her off. “It is who you are.”

An uncomfortable silence descended.

Celestia stood up suddenly. “Mayhaps we can continue this conversation elsewhere?”

Stiffly, Luna rose to her own hooves.

“My atelier in the old castle. Is it still intact?”

Celestia looked at her curiously. “Yes, I believe so.” Her horn lit, and the world disappeared in a flash of light.Celestia’s horn lit, and the world fell away in a flash of golden light. Luna felt the lurching sensation in her wings that came from a rapid change in altitude, and blinked away the blindness from her eyes. Gold gave way to black, and she found herself in darkness.

Luna spread out her wings to steady herself, and shook. “How many times have We told you to inform Us before you do that?”

Celestia landed next to her, and likewise shook, pelting Luna with melting frost. “You sounded in a hurry, Little Sister. And I was getting a chill besides.”

Luna grunted and lit her horn, taking in her surroundings.

Her atelier. Long ago, during the construction of the Royal Castle, she had commissioned a chamber to be built deep below the castle basement. A square chamber with no doors or windows. It was little more than a large stone box buried beneath the castle’s foundation. The only way in or out of the chamber was by way of magic.

Celestia lit her own horn. “Your ‘Cabinet of Curiosities’ seems to have aged remarkably well over the last millennium.” A golden candelabra appeared in the air and drifted along the length of the room. Rows of narrow shelves lined all four walls, and each shelf was filled with all manner assorted detritus: jars filled with eyes and horns; ancient tomes, cracked and frayed. Potion bottles small and large, dead animals preserved against decay; weapons from every civilization known, and other things so old that their names and purposes had been lost to time. In the center of the room was a flat rock the width of a chariot, sanded smooth by years at the bottom of a river, which served as a table.

Luna scanned the rows quickly, searching. “Tis not surprising. Most everything is enchanted.” Her eyes lighted on a cracked bronze vase. She pulled it forth and glanced inside. “Take this,” she said, and passed the bowl to Celestia. “We will have need of it soon.”

Celestia took the bowl, glanced inside, and looked up pensively. “Luna, what exactly are you planning to do with this?

“You will see.”

Celestia raised an eyebrow but said nothing else.

At last Luna found what she had been searching for: a faded blue jewelry box. She took the box in her aura and gently brought it over to the table in the center of the room.

“What is that?” Celestia asked.

Luna opened the box. Layed out inside the box on blue velvet, were three unassuming black cards.

“A relic,” Luna said simply. “Taken from the chambers of the sorcerer Blackstone Flag. Supposedly, he had these hewn from his very flesh, so that he might gain omnipotence.”

“Uh . . . huh,” Celestia said, staring at the cards. “Luna, what do you aim to accomplish here?”

Luna gathered the cards together and turned to Celestia. “It is as you said, Sister. What I wish does not change what I am. So I aim to catch this killer.” She took a breath. “What I am about to do may be . . . troubling to you. Do not worry. Tis only a ritual.”

Celestia nodded mutely.

She pressed the cards to her head—just below the base of her horn, and spoke the Words:

“I was born in the past. I live in the present. I will die in the future. So that I might know what is unknown, I give unto thee my blood and breath and bone. All that begins must end. All that ends must begin.”

The candlelight flickered, and a chill fell over the room.

Luna turned back to the table and pulled a card from the deck, laying it down face up on the table. Its surface was black as pitch.

Luna’s horn lit, and a silver knife appeared in air, held aloft by her aura. Luna slowly lifted her hoof to the knife. “I was born in the past. I was born in blood. By blood is the past revealed,” she spoke solemnly, and shoved the knife point into the soft heel of her hoof. The pain was tremendous, but Luna kept her features still. She heard a soft intake of breath, and out of the corner of her eye saw Celestia wincing at her wound.

Luna pulled the knife out of her hoof and held it over the card. The blood—her blood—gathered at the knife’s tip and fell onto the card’s face. The droplet did not splatter, but sank into the black card like rain into arid soil. And as it sank, a picture was revealed. Black gave way to red as lines and curves swam over the card’s surface, forming the picture of a bright red skeleton, grinning with merriment and holding a glass of some red concoction in horn. Both of its hooves were clasped together in irons. The portrait of the smiling skeleton, was bordered by lines of foals bound in chains; eyeless, their features contorted in masks of despair and fear. The bottom of the card was captioned with a single word:

Death.

“Well that’s . . . helpful,” Celestia said, taking Luna’s hoof in her own. “I’m guessing that it refers to the murder?”

“We should be so fortunate,” Luna said without looking away from the card. “Each card has many meanings, and of all the arcana, Death is the most obtuse.” Luna traced the border of the card with a wingtip. “Do you see this border, Sister? Blind foals in chains. Do you believe that the killer has an assemblage of blind foals bound together within his basement?”

“I certainly hope not,” she replied, pressing a cloth into Luna’s hoof.

“As do I, Sister. But that is my point. The foals are more likely symbolic.”

“Symbolic of what?”

“That is the question. Death is usually representative of change. I would venture that these foals—blind and bound as they are—represent a covenant.”

Celestia finished tying the cloth around Luna’s hoof. “A covenant of what?”

Luna’s wingtip touched the skeleton’s wineglass. “Lust.”

“Lust?”

“Yes. The oldest form of merrymaking that exist in the world.” She turned to Celestia and offered a brief summary of what she had found in Oakenhoof’s residence. It took a second to for her to grasp Luna’s implication.

“How awful!” she exclaimed. “Are you saying that there’s a … what? A murderous sex cult in Canterlot?”

Luna smiled grimly. “Not quite. Oakenhoof was murdered by one whom wished his suffering. Such desire is not born by chance. Oakenhoof was quite likely joined in covenant of libertines, blind to their own depravity, and chained together by the exotice excitment of taboo. The dungeon sequestered within was far larger than one lone stallion would need to accommodate himself. It would make sense if he was but one member of a larger group. Within this group, I would surmise that he took a lover, and that eventually, he attracted this lover’s ire.”

“It does make a certain amount of sense,” Celestia said, taking the card in horn to examine it closer. “There have been many secret societies in Canterlot before. But most of them have been harmless—distractions for bored stallions and mares looking for excitement. Nothing like this.”

“Tis only conjecture, Sister. There is a great divide between fantasy and reality. I doubt that the entire covenant conspired to murder Oakenhoof; more likely it was a single individual, acting independently.”

Celestia replaced the card. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Luna,” Celestia said, placing the card back on the table. “The only evidence we have that this ‘covenant’ exists is your interpretation of a tarot card.”

“The cards do not lie, Sister.”

“But they never tell the exact truth either. You yourself said that the cards have 'many meanings.'”

For one tense moment, they held each other’s eyes. “Yes. They do,” Luna admitted, and laid the second card on the table.

Luna pressed her nose against the second of the cards. “I live in the present by every breath I take. By breath is the present revealed.” She inhaled deeply, and then slowly exhaled onto the card.

Once the image appeared, neither sister spoke.

Luna narrowed her eyes. “This bodes ill.”

“In what way?” Celestia asked. “The picture or the name?”

“Both.”

Upon the second card, was a picture of a creature wearing a pony’s skin. Blood was dripping down its sides at where the skin had been torn open. The legs were still attached, obscuring the creature’s own limbs form view. Of the eyes, nothing could be seen; just black pits of darkness. But jutting out beyond the pony’s nose was a long grey muzzle filled with bloody teeth. The second card was titled: Skinwalker.

“What does it mean?” Celestia asked.

Luna shook her head. “Nothing good. The Skinwalker is an ill omen in any form. But the Wolf that wears a sheepskin most of all. He appears friendly, but underneath, hides a beast. It means that the murderer may be much more dangerous than I had originally thought. It means that a monster walks among us.”

Celestia covered herself with her wings. “Are you sure that there are no other interpretations?”

Reluctantly, Luna nodded. “Yes. The Skinwalker has only one meaning. Much as we might desire otherwise.”

Luna laid the last card on the table. “Sister, the bowl, if you will?”

Celestia slowly laid the bowl on the table. Within were the broken fragments of a unicorn horn. Bleached white with age. Once upon a time, it had been her horn—the horn which she had been born with, until a glory-seeking minotaur had cleaved it from her skull with a mace. Luna took the smallest fragment in her aura, and lifted it up above the final card. “I will die in the future, and leave naught but bones behind. By my bone is the future revealed.” She dropped the horn piece on the card. Immediately it crumbled to dust, revealing the future on the final card.

“Luna,” Celestia asked, staring at the slowly forming image, “what did you use for bone before your horn was shattered?”

Luna didn’t look up. “Teeth.”

“. . . Oh.”

The image formed into coherence and the future was revealed.

Luna felt a shudder come over her that had nothing to do with the chill air. On the card was a picture of the moon. Captioned along the bottom of the card was the word: Moon. But in the center of the moon, was an eye. A great blue eye, emanating with a dreadful persapacity.

“And what does this one mean, Luna?” Celestia asked.

She couldn’t speak at first; her mouth suddenly felt very dry. But even when she finally found the words, they came only begrudgingly. “I do not know, Sister,” Luna said. “I do not
know.”

Author's Note:

Golden Wish is a reference to a character by the same name in The Heart of an Author, one of the few other murder mysteries on this site. Check it out if such things interest you.