Chapter 3: The Pony's Got a Problem
“What --” I start, but before I can finish the question I’m rushing forward to stop the purple alicorn from keeling over. I get to her just in time and grunt as her full weight comes down on my side: she's not real big, but she’s probably around two hundred pounds of dead weight I wasn’t expecting to support, so for a second it’s all I can do to stay upright.
Getting my balance, I shift my own weight and ease her partway to the floor. “Purple, what’s wrong. Talk to me here,” I say, my concern growing.
There’s no answer from her, and as she slides the rest of the way to the floor, I realize that providing an answer isn’t the only thing she’s not doing.
She’s not breathing, either.
“Shit,” I say, extricating myself from her limp body. I stare at her small, limp form as it lies crumpled on the floor, and my mind races. In the Circle, she was fine. Out of the Circle, she’s dying. That’s all I’ve got.
Right. Back to the Circle.
“C’mon, alicorn girl,” I pick up her hind legs and drag her awkwardly towards the Circle. I heft her body up as I try to get her over the iron bar that holds the Circle open, but my hold on her is too ungainly for me to drag her all the way past without moving it. I have no idea what might happen if she were to nudge that iron bar out of position, but if the Circle became active with her in the middle of it, I don’t think it’d be great for her figure.
Dropping her hind legs, I turn and stand astride her, reaching down and getting my hands under her barrel, pinning her wings to her side. Gritting my teeth, I lift and drag her backwards until I think I can get her over the iron bar. “God damn, Purple,” I grunt, “maybe a little less grain with your hay, huh?
Getting both of us over that iron bar takes a bit of luck, but I finally get her fully contained within the Circle. I lower her carefully and drop to my knees in front of her. Gently, I lift her muzzle, and I watch her, anxiously, waiting for her to breathe, to flutter her eyelids, for any improvement at all.
There’d better be some goddamned improvement. I know CPR, but I have no idea how I can get my mouth over her entire muzzle, and I sure as hell can’t close up her entire nose with my thumb and forefinger --
And then she breathes. Thank whoever’s watching over us right now, she breathes, a sudden, gasping, wrenching breath, followed by another deep breath of air. Her eyes flutter, as though she’s just coming out of a deep sleep. I exhale in relief. It’s bad enough I’ve brought her here by mistake. If anything else had happened --
Unfortunately, something else is happening. As she begins breathing regularly again, the light in the attic dims considerably. I glance away from Purple, and it’s immediately clear to me that some of the Circle’s floating glyphs have inexplicably dimmed: some even wink out of existence as I watch, the faded starbursts of their disruption lingering dully for a moment before disappearing. Never seen that before.
“Getting awfully familiar, aren’t we?” Purple says weakly, an echo of mirth in her voice. I look back to her; her eyes are half-open, and I thank the higher powers that she’s okay. Then I realize we’re basically nose-to-nose and I’m still holding her muzzle. Abruptly, it feels intimate, and it’s pretty awkward.
“You weren’t really in any condition to argue,” I say, attempting a smirk and looking back at her. Very purple, very large, those eyes. Unexpectedly guileless.
“A gentlecolt always asks first,” she softly mocks, blinking rapidly as she tries to clear her head.
“And I’m neither gentle nor colt, so we’re good,” I reply, gently extricating myself from our impromptu embrace so she can stretch out on the floor, which she does immediately. "How are you feeling?”
“Like I just got run over by the Ponyville Express,” she says, and though I don’t know the exact reference I get the idea. “What happened? The last thing I remember is you saying I definitely wasn’t a demon.”
“That was about a second before you fainted,” I say, frowning. “And two before you stopped breathing.”
“I what?!” she gasps, concern and a hint of panic in her voice. “I stopped breathing?”
“For less than a minute, but... yeah. The second you left the circle, you collapsed. You recovered after I dragged you back inside, though, so I think it has something to do with the Circle. Results support the theory, you know?”
She nodded in agreement. “I do,” she said, looking at me askance. “And thank you. But why did I collapse? And why did bringing me back revive me? The results are clear --”
“-- but the root causes aren’t.”
She nods again, a wry smirk on her face. “Exactly. You’re my kind of pony… uh… mister? You are a mister, right?”
I consider her implied question for a moment. I’m not generally in the habit of giving demons my name. They do nasty things with names, once they have them. And I’m not really sure what alicorns are, or what they might do with a name, but at this point I’m pretty sure she’s not a demon. She may be here for a while yet. And she didn’t try anything funny on me when she first left the Circle.
It makes sense to be civil.
“Paul Harken,” I say. “But just call me Harken. And I’m a mister.”
"Harken," she replies, saying it with unusual care. “And I’m a miss, but call me Twilight.”
“Twilight,” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. She smiles, nods, and holds out a hoof to me, which I decide to bump with my fist.
Definitely not the kind of weird I’d planned for tonight.
* * *
The freak rainstorm has all but passed, leaving a gentle patter of rain on the roof and the spillage from my gutters as the only sounds aside from the two of us in the attic. I’ve cracked a window to let a light breeze through, and Twilight and I are sitting together inside the Circle, leaning against its golden field and facing each other.
“So what you’re telling me backs up what I learned the last time I was here. You humans don’t actually possess any of your own magic.” Twilight frowns, peering at my forehead in the dim glow of the Circle’s floating glyphs. “What I don’t understand is why I’m having such a hard time as a pony. I didn’t have any problems like this the last time.”
“You weren’t a pony last time?” I ask.
“Actually, I was a human. Long story,” she adds, deferring my obvious question until later. “So even you doing… whatever it is you do, you can’t just, I don’t know, wiggle your eyebrows and make something levitate?”
I stare at Twilight, wiggle my eyebrows, wait for her to roll her eyes, then shake my head. “No. No human is innately magical, and though our world has some natural magic sources of its own, they only exist in very specific places -- ‘ley lines,’ we call them. Outside of those lines and their junctions, a construct like this Circle has to be prepared by combining specific rituals, purpose-crafted tools and sacrificial components, all of which are required to --”
“-- to open a conduit to a secondary realm where you can access and control greater magics,” she finishes, nodding as she does. “I get it. It’s like lighting a fire. You can probably muster enough magic on your own to make a spark, but unless you’ve built up a firepit, laid down kindling and set up a woodpile, you’ll never get a flame.”
I chuckle at her. “Close enough for me.”
We’ve been doing this for about an hour now, lobbing questions back and forth about our worlds and the nature of magic as we try to figure out what it is that’s trying to kill her outside the Circle. There are so many questions I want to ask this amazing sentient being from another world -- and I suspect the feeling’s mutual -- but the longer we wait, the more of the Circle’s glyphs deactivate. I’m afraid it means that the Circle’s degrading over time, and if I’m right then we need to focus on her safety before we can indulge each others’ curiosity.
“So there’s really only one question left,” she says, peering at me oddly. “And I think I already know the answer.”
“What’s the question?”
“Bear with me for a minute. I want to test my theory, but the only way I can test it is by stepping outside your Circle again.”
I frown at her. “Purple, you stopped breathing last time we tried that.”
“I know,” she says. “But we’re forewarned this time, and I think I might be able to get enough of a result by only going halfway out. And that should give you enough time to observe any changes.”
“I assume by ‘changes’ you mean aside from not breathing,” I say, scowling.
She winces. “Look, I know it sounds bad, and I know it’s on you if I pass out again, but if I’m right then staying partly inside your Circle will keep me conscious,” she says, sounding fairly sure of herself. “So I need you to watch my cutie mark when I do it.”
“To watch your what now?”
“My cutie mark,” she repeats, swishing her tail and gesturing towards her hind quarters, where a multicolored tattoo appears to be stamped on her butt.
“You want me to watch that tattoo on your butt?” I ask, a bit confused.
“It’s not a tattoo,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Ponies all receive cutie marks as part of their coming of age. They indicate what our special talents are when we discover them.”
“So you’re good at... star clusters?” I ask, leaning in to squint at her rump in the dim light. “Supernovae? Bedazzling? Origami? I have no idea what that’s supposed to be,” I say to her, leaning back again.
“Magic,” she says, rolling her eyes again but clearly amused. “I like the supernovae idea though. I love astronomy. I’ve got this telescope at the top of a tower in my --”
“Twilight,” I say, interrupting her with some reluctance. “Tell me later, okay?”
Another one of the floating glyphs winks out in a half-hearted starburst.
“Right,” Twilight says, refocusing. “Astronomy later, plan now. One, I walk halfway out of the Circle. Two, you watch my cutie mark and note any changes. Three, if I start showing any physical symptoms, you help me get back inside the Circle. Got it?”
“And why again would that mark of yours change?”
“It’s magical,” she says, a little impatiently. “Trust me.”
“Good enough,” I say, standing up and stepping back out of the Circle. “Ready when you are.”
“Right,” she says hesitantly, getting to all fours and looking suspiciously at the gap in the Circle. “Don’t let me fall?”
“So long as you’re giving a non-gentle non-colt permission to get familiar,” I snark.
Rewarded by another raspberry, I smirk, back off and give her room to advance.
Tentatively, she does, and though our banter has been light-hearted I’m watching intently for changes to this mark of hers, and for any physical complications. I understand we have to take a few chances to figure out what’s going on, but I don’t like that she’s the one taking all of them on herself. Especially when I’m the guy responsible for bringing her here in the first place.
When she’s halfway over the curved iron bar, she stops, swallows, and glances at me. “Feeling fine so far,” she says.
“Right here if you need me,” I say, moving to her side.
“You know, I’m starting to wonder if it was a temporary shift in trans… uh --” Twilight starts, and then her eyes start to flutter as she loses her train of thought. I move to her side, but as I do I notice something strange about that mark of hers. “Results,” I say, supporting her at her right shoulder and moving her back slowly. “We have results. Get back in there.”
“Oh… okay… okay I’m just… yeah,” she says, a little deliriously, but she does what I ask with a minimum of stumbling, and I’m able to get her back into the Circle without further incident.
At least, without further incident to her. The Circle, on the other hand, isn’t looking so healthy. About half the Circle’s remaining glyphs wink out as I get her back inside, and though the Circle’s field has stabilized again, the amber glow of the protective field has dimmed to the point where it’s almost imperceptible. I don’t like this at all.
“You with me, Purple?” I ask, still supporting her, and she nods, blinking furiously.
“I’m here,” she says as she steadies herself, then sits back on her haunches, placing a hoof to her forehead and rubbing just under her horn. “You said you had results?”
“That mark of yours started to fade out,” I say. “Almost as if it were a shadow projected on your fur, and the light source started to dim.”
“I knew it,” she says, tired but triumphant.
“What did you know?”
“A fading cutie mark, a loss of physical coordination and an inability to focus mentally -- these symptoms together all point to arcanic disjunction.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“It means my magic is being drained,” Twilight says matter-of-factly. “So if I’m experiencing the effects of arcanic disjunction when I leave the Circle, and the symptoms resolve when I return, it means that your Circle is acting as a source of magic I can tap -- I can’t cast anything in here because of the protective wards, but I can still absorb its power. The real problem is your world, Harken,” she says, concern growing in her voice. “Earth isn’t just non-magical, it actively drains magic. That’s why I didn’t have this problem the last time; the portal from Equestria turned me into a human! Apparently it’s not just to blend in. Humans have adapted to this world, so it’s safe for you. Ponies haven’t, so it’s not. Safe, I mean.”
“This arcanic dis… thing,” I say, bobbling the phrase. “Can it hurt you?”
“Arcanic disjunction, and I… don’t know,” she says, her frown deepening. “Normally I’d say no, but that’s in Equestria. My world provides ponies with magic and actively supports all kinds of magical beings, so nopony’s arcanic reservoir ever drops below a certain point. But Earth appears to actively and rapidly drain magic...”
“...and you stopped breathing when you left the Circle,” I finish, grimacing as I realize the implications.
Another of the Circle’s floating glyphs brightens briefly before fading, and Twilight and I both turn to watch the sad little flash of light before the glyph is fully extinguished.
“We have to get you out of here,” I say, and Twilight nods in vehement agreement.
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6423054 I'm constantly torn on poor Twilight; she can absolutely be a massive wreck of nerves and anxieties, but she's also faced down some of the mightiest, most planet-shattering forces ever assembled in her own world, and she's gained no small confidence in her own abilities in the process. It's tempting to have her go nuclear at the first sign of adversity, but I think by now in her career she deserves a bit more credit than that.
So if I've erred on the side of 'too much calm and collected' from our dear, neurotic purple princess, at least you know why I've chosen that path for her this time around.
6391479 "The usual disclaimers" in this case being "I am a godless liar," apparently. Did your editor disappear too? If so then maybe someone is going around and stealing them.
6466422
I'm still here. Don't know where Gaudior's got to.
6467112 Offline for a week and a day. That's... weird.
6467986 I must confess, I'm becoming a tad concerned.
Is this still a thing? Or are you dead?
Stop it, stop being gone.