Snowbound

by Doctor Fluffy

Chapter Four: Figment Shifter

PHL THREAT DOSSIER
NAME: Shieldwall
AGE: 34
BACKGROUND: Born in Manehattan, 29 BH, (Before Harmony). PHL records show him as having been in contact with Lyra Heartstrings pre-war, before falling out of contact with her. He became infamous in Northern Africa for some of the most devastating mass potionings of the war.
AREAS OF EXPERTISE: Self-proclaimed “potions delivery expert”; Shieldwall shows a nigh-preternatural gift for ponification, using any available means with which to convert. As of this writing he has been documented as using Solar Empire magic to turn people into living potionbombs, and is also rumored to possess an ability to create anomalous Newfoals, though these are as of yet unconfirmed.
WHEREABOUTS: Unknown.

Salvation Army HMS Guiding Hoof, Equestrian Research Vessel
‘Camp Destrier’, Alaska

And now for something completely different.

How would you react if you saw a dirigible just hovering above frozen tundra, further north than any trees could grow?’ Like that? Really? Then imagine a camp. Small, wooden prefabricated buildings and tents. Lit by old oil-lamps.

A place where few people would willingly live. Far, far to the north.

The place did not exactly bustle. It was kept warm by crystalline pylons on sticks that seemed to glow when you looked at them from the right angle. These were sustaining a Crystal War-era spell which kept the ground warmed. This had the effect of making the area at least somewhat bearable.

Not too much, though.

As happy as the various ponies and scattered few humans of the camp were for the spells, the tents, or better yet, the skyliners, though the journey from sky to earth felt like a nuisance, were more comfortable.

In this place, Celestia’s Solar Empire underwent its work. An object, a high-value target, had appeared here.

And what was happening in the dirigible overhead? The skyliner?

- - - - -

Fairbairn

“You absolute FOOLS!” Captain Cactus thundered at them. “You heartless, short-sighted, potion-happy imbeciles! This was meant to be small, a quick smash-and-grab! But you couldn’t leave it at that, could you!”

He made a fearsome figure as he yelled at them. Captain Cactus - an earth pony whose real name was Merriweather - had fallen victim to a Composer Crystal during the war with Sombra's Crystal Empire. It'd been slowly converting him into a crystal to be used as a battery for Sombra's war effort, but Celestia had personally halted the infection. She hadn't completely cured him - as evidenced by the fact that he was still mostly crystalline and seemed to audibly crack, almost fracture, every time he walked. Spikes burst from all over his body, one even resembling a unicorn horn. Though it was thin and sat at an off-kilter angle.

One of his eyes was sightless.

Shieldwall and Joseph McCreary quivered under his tirade. Just off to the side, near a comfy little chair, sat a red earth pony mare with a curling blond mane. Her name was Dicey.

A maple-orange pegasus with an auburn mane and dark bags under her eyes stared, smirking at the three of them. This was Roast Garlic, one of the Guiding Hoof’s totem-prole programmers.

She didn’t sleep. She just took breaks. Standing next to her was a unicorn stallion with a rather effeminate appearance and PETN sash. In fact, Fairbairn wouldn’t have been able to guess he was a stallion if he hadn’t been told.

He wouldn’t have asked, though. Fairbairn was a rather egalitarian sort. He just didn’t want to pry.

“It’s what he gets for playing with Newfoals the way he does,” the PETN unicorn whispered to Fairbairn. “Shieldwall, I mean.”

“What a damn waste,” Patrick Fairbairn muttered under his breath.

“What do you mean?” the PETN unicorn asked, still whispering. Discreet. Fairbairn liked this stallion. Not like the other PETN he’d met.

“How many PER ops have you seen?” Fairbairn asked.

“This is one of very few,” the PETN unicorn admitted.

“Right,” Fairbairn said. “Here’s the thing. We live and breathe by discretion. Hit and run, but only on a small scale. That’s our advantage. We fade into the background. We save people, whether they like it or not.”

“Right,” the PETN unicorn said.

“Meanwhile, my friends just…” Fairbairn started, then abruptly buried his face in his hands. “Sweet Celestia.”

Usually, Shieldwall, the Potionmarked Himself, this decently well-muscled stallion, was the picture of PER dignity. Usually he carried his mark like he’d been born to it.

Which he very well might have been. His mark was a shield. The popular story was he’d earned it defending from HLF on the coast of Africa. That he’d gotten it after Viktor Kraber had killed his parents.

The rumor had gone that he’d gotten the purple discoloration on the shield, the mark that denoted his mark of protection as involving ponification, and thus protecting humans from their own worst nature, like Fairbairn and McCreary themselves, after ponifying Kraber himself.

Of course, Kraber had been... resilient... and he’d turned up later alive and kicking (others in the face), but that wasn’t a surprise. Nobody in the PER would believe it if he was reported missing someday, everyone would simply shrug and hope he wasn’t behind them and...

… bleh.

Not that any of all this applied now, as Shieldwall had gone and done something monumentally stupid.

“Come on!” Shieldwall said. “Help me out here, Pat-”

“Shieldwall,” Patrick Fairbairn said, holding a mirror, combing his hair. “I am your friend. We went into this together, we have been here for years. Whenever I doubted, you were there, and vice versa. I could potentially defend you, but I’ll have to back the Cap here. The fuck, bro?!”

Shieldwall winced at the profanity.

“It was Dicey’s idea!” Joseph protested.

“I thought it was pretty good,” Shieldwall said, nodding.

Fairbairn, Captain Cactus, and an androgynous PETN unicorn in the skyliner’s stateroom stared at the both of them.

“You are not… telling the truth,” said the PETN unicorn, whose name was Arcane Mind.

“I am!” Joe protested.

“Would we lie about this?” Shieldwall asked, an almost saccharine expression on his face.

“You really want us...” Arcane Mind said, “... to answer that.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Captain Cactus said. “But, seeing as you and Joe have been fools, I’ll have to decide not to give you benefit of the doubt. I have patience for many things, Shieldwall. McCreary. I approved of hiring Amadeus Cain because I knew he’d cause chaos for the Betrayers. I welcome the anomalous Newfoals. And I see at least one of the humans in this room as a friend.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fairbairn said.

“But,” Captain Cactus said, “I kept one rule ironclad on my vessels. Mistakes are tolerated, we’re only mortal. I understand mistakes. But. I do not. Condone. Willful. Idiocy.”

Shieldwall and McCreary looked at each other, cringing.

“I’m telling you, Captain,” Shieldwall said. “It wasn’t my-”

“How stupid would that be? Newfoals do not get new ideas,” Roast Garlic said. “It’s for their protection. If the genius capacity for harm of a human combined with a pony’s magic, then we’d have real trouble on our hooves.” She looked over to Patrick, pointedly looking over to him. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Patrick said.

Dicey tossed one foreleg up through her curling mane. That barb might have also been directed towards her. A Newfoal. Conversely, only a Newfoal could so easily not just miss that verbal barb but be utterly unfazed by it.

Fairbairn, McCreary, and the researcher nodded slowly.

“It was my idea, you know,” Dicey said, catching them all mid-nod.

“WHAT?!” Captain Cactus roared.

“Told you,” Joseph muttered.

“You said we needed ponypower, Shieldwall,” Dicey said. “You said we might need help. Our mission is to liberate the humans from their imperfect selves.” There was a smile on her face, a faint tinge of mocking humor on it. “I was only doing as I judged to be best for these aims.”

“You… You…” Captain Cactus gurgled.

Roast Garlic made a noise that could be assumed to be a sigh of irritation. “Bucking creepy halfbaked Newfoals…”

“I was told by the PETN ‘assist as best you can’,” Dicey said, that innocent smile on her face.
Fairbairn watched the androgynous unicorn place one hoof to the space between his eyes, sigh, and move them back to his saddlebag.

A sheaf of notepaper on a clipboard unfolded out, and he gingerly placed a pencil in his mouth.

Fairbairn took a quick look at the PETN pony’s clipboard.

“Did he make this one?

Dangerous…

Impossibly dangerous to healthy development of Newfoals…

Sociopath…

But he noticed also the look of hate radiating off of Shieldwall’s pale-furred head. Thought about all the Newfoals that had been saved. Fixed. Given a privilege which he was denied.

Could his friend really be that bad?

- - - - -

McCreary

Shieldwall buried his face in his hooves, desperately trying not to swear or say something horrible. As did McCreary.

It wasn’t that McCreary hated PETN. Was it good of them to crusade against ponies that were too intolerant, too human to welcome the new converts? To create housing projects for Newfoals, help to allocate jobs, make sure nopony took advantage of them? Absolutely. Inkwell, one of Shieldwall’s few remaining family members, worked for their newspaper, working to expose Newfoal rights violations wherever he could. He couldn’t hate that.

It was the PETN that were assigned as commissars, as morale officers, awkardly jammed into perfectly cohesive units, that really left him angry. Technically, they outranked everyone, and sometimes, they’d never let you forget it.

They’d mess up your orders regardless of practicality, be slavishly dedicated to protocol, and they’d push for even adding in anomalous Newfoals. Sometimes, it wasn’t that bad - there were tasks that could be done even by Newfoals that came out blind, deaf, or deformed and these problems could be fixed eventually.

But other Newfoals, like Imperial Creed, were just… wrong. They hadn’t filled the void of a human’s body with the souls they lacked. It wasn't that they retained human soullessness, it was more that they were full of something... other. Not quite pony. Not quite human.. They were good on the battlefield, sure, they had utility, but this wasn’t to say anyone wanted to be near them. They were wrong. They hadn't been filled with the joy of a Newfoal, they were half-finished. Hollow.

‘Shieldwall, did you…’ McCreary thought, anticipatory.

Under it all, under the shame, in spite of his bowed head, McCreary could see a smirk on Shieldwall’s face.

He did.

Dicey was one of his. Somehow, Shieldwall had learned to disrupt the serum’s transformative properties, shaping it to his liking. He could channel his earthpony magic up through his rear legs and into his forelegs, disrupting the ebb and flow of the serum’s healing.

And apparently that was how Dicey had been created. The song. Of course. The Siren song she’d used to convince the residents of Sagwon to shed their humanity like snakeskin and become perfect, happy little ponies.

And McCreary found himself smiling too. That magnificent bastard. Whoever she’d been, Shieldwall had made something wonderful out of her.

Couldn’t play soccer without kicking some balls, after all.

“And we don’t even have enough space on the ship to transport your little freakshow!” Captain Cactus yelled.

“That’s what we have the portal station for,” Shieldwall said, still smiling. “I just felt so sorry for the poor humans in a frozen wasteland like this.”

“That's… I don't…” Captain Cactus buried his face in his hooves.

“You'll thank me when they help us cart that thing out,” Shieldwall said.

“NO!” Captain Cactus yelled. “I’m no-”

The room suddenly felt as cold as it looked outside.

---

Shieldwall

What an idiot.

Their mission was to fix humans. Even Fairbairn and McCreary, nice as they were. For humans, anyway.

Even on a science mission like this, one that would reply as many personnel as possible to safeguard and transport their prize, that was still their mission.

Besides, without Newfoal personnel, how would they subdue the descendants of this prize?

Not too long ago, Sint Erklass and the reindeer people of Adlaborn had disappeared. The real story, of course, was that Celestia’s "Angel" had killed them all.

This was one the great joys of Shieldwall’s coveted position in the PER. What, exactly, did his position consist of? That was rather vague. But he was greatly respected as a potioner of the PER. Regardless, he felt joy. Celestia’s enemies - those who were even merely associated with those who killed his family. Those who would stand in the way of Celestia’s crusade to bring perfection to the human world.

Shieldwall felt himself smile. “You’re not what?” he asked. “Telling me you don’t want to ponify humans?”

“How dare you,” Captain Cactus said, a look of utmost contempt on his face. “I am as dedicated to this war as any of us, including your human companions over there.”

Shieldwall saw Joseph McCreary and Fairbairn share a Look.

“Sure,” Shieldwall said. “But for a second, it sounded like you were saying you wished I left them human.”

“You’re twisting my words and you know it,” Captain Cactus said.

“Me?” Shieldwall asked, a smile on his face. “No. That’s what the Palace’s legal department would do. I’m just reminding you of that. Besides, I’m eager to do all that I can for the Empire...“

- - - - -

Captain Cactus

‘I feel like that italicised emphasis should worry me, Captain Cactus thought.

Actually, most things about Shieldwall fell under Captain Cactus’ mental category of ‘I feel like this should worry me.’

You weren’t supposed to go native. The Empire already had the PHL or various defectors doing that. Sure, it was rather often that Imperial occupying forces would sample the joys of occupied towns if Forward Operations was done using the place as a garrison. Try some of the human alcohol left over, maybe enjoy the human habitation before it was gone. Nobody mourned it, though. They’d already put down roots somewhere else. Probably.

Shieldwall had not gone native. Captain Cactus would almost be relieved if he had. Instead, it was like he had gone… anti-native, if that made sense.

He hadn’t even wanted to take Shieldwall. But Queen Celestia insisted. He needed a security specialist in the event of a human attack. Someone that could work with PER liaisons such as Fairbairn or McCreary, who seemed perfectly good for humans. Ready to fight for the cause and all.

“... all that I can for the Empire,” Shieldwall droned on, and Captain Cactus had to resist the urge to drive a hoof through his skull.

During the Crystal War, a character like Shieldwall would have been allowed nowhere near a military installation. Celestia had been fighting an enemy worth their mercy. But whatever it was that drove her into such a frenzy knowing about humans, whatever it was that would legally keep the crazies like Shieldwall out of the army and in places where they couldn’t do any harm, it wasn’t here.

“How dare you,” Captain Cactus said. “How dare you imply I’m not doing all that I can for the Empire.”

“Then don’t tell me, in as many words, that you didn’t wish to see some humans ponified,” Shieldwall said, still smiling, but with an edge to his voice.

Captain Cactus glowered at him. “I want this to be discreet. You? Get out of this room. Now.”

- - - - -

Roast Garlic

They all filtered out of the room. The two PER humans, Shieldwall and his Newfoal, then Roast Garlic.

Finally, nobody was left in the Destrier’s cabin but Arcane Mind and Captain Cactus himself. For a second, there was silence. Blessed silence.

Up until Arcane Mind watched Captain Cactus bang one hoof to his head. It stuck to one of the pointy outcroppings of crystal for a second, but he brushed it off.

“Sir?” Arcane Mind asked.

“I didn’t want this,” Captain Cactus sighed. “I just didn’t. Visit the frozen wasteland, certainly. Maybe get some humans ponified. It’d be more incidental than anything.”

“Are you really…” Arcane Mind asked.

“Of course not! Celestia, no. But…” Captain Cactus sighed. “We joined this war to bring happiness, harmony, and… completeness to the humans.”

‘He can’t be lying on that,’ Arcane Mind thought.

“I’m fine working with humans,” Captain Cactus continued. “Without PER, we might just be dead in the water. But…”

“But what?” Arcane Mind asked.

“Shieldwall enjoys it too much,” Captain Cactus said simply.

“Shouldn’t we be happy to ponify them?” Arcane Mind asked.

“Yeah,” Captain Cactus said. "I suppose we should."

‘He’s pretty far from the usual skyliner captain,’ Arcane Mind thought. Captain Cactus was older than most of the officers in Celestia’s skyliner force. He’d never been to a class on how to be an officer, instead working his way up from the ground to the bridge.

He looked to Arcane Mind like a ship’s figurehead, pushing through storm after storm.

“But,” Captain Cactus said. “We’re fighting a war. I’ve been in skirmishes, anti-monster actions… and there’s always been ponies that enjoyed the hurting too much.”

“But we couldn’t possibly...” Arcane Mind breathed. This was… this couldn’t be right. This went against so much of the message of why they’d gone to war.

“Oh, it’s the potion - we’re not technically hurting them,” Captain Cactus said. “But somebody who enjoys the business of war that much unnerves me.”

- - - - -

Fairbairn

Fairbairn had seen plenty of humanity at its worst. The IRA making a mess of Ireland and his brother - who “couldnae stick civvie street!” - coming to blows with him. The way humans, himself included, always found themselves with someone bigger who could beat the crap out of them, and comfortably would.

The way they’d destroyed their planet. And during the evacuation of Glasgow, he’d suffered immensely on the ships. His clothes had been stolen. He’d been penniless. Starving.

He’d been on the fence before - why fight if things over there seemed so much better? Only two wars recently in the past few years of Equestria’s history - and they gathered up their converts gleefully. They seemed for all the world like they did a better job of protecting their own.

Unlike what’d happened to him on the Last Ships. Or what’d happened when the ship landed - he’d been destitute. Starving. Funneled into refugee housing in an unfamiliar country. He’d seen how the HLF had reacted, too. Under Mike Carter’s leadership, they’d taken a support group and turned it into a rabid militia.

So he’d poked around and found his way into the PER. Potioned his first man with a device Shieldwall made. Which made him wonder:

“Why didn’t you potion me?” he asked Shieldwall as they descended to the ground. They’d set up a drop-pad below the ship, a platform enchanted by levitation spells that served as an impromptu elevator and freight lift. It’d been constructed in Equestria, built of enchanted wood that retained an improbable amount of heat and kept them relatively warm before-

The wave of cold hit them like a freight train.

-that. Before that. Shieldwall and Fairbairn headed out into the snow.

“Why do you ask?” Shieldwall asked.

“You ponified all these people,” Fairbairn said, gesturing to some Newfoals in thick winter coats. “Why not me? Why isn’t it me?”

Shieldwall cocked his head, confused.

“I... “ Shieldwall said. “I know you like this.”

The words seemed to be coming from somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

“I know your quirks. I know your value as a human infiltrator,” Shieldwall said. “And I…” he sighed. “I’m still working out your body as a newfoal.”

“You’re still…” Fairbairn worked his hands experimentally. “What’ll it be like?”

“I’m still not sure,” Shieldwall said.

“I’m… honestly kind of scared,” Fairbairn admitted.

“Why would you be scared?” Shieldwall asked as the two of them headed out into the snow. “This is just simple transspeciesism. A way for all humans to fix themselves. And eventually ponies.”

Fairbairn stopped for a moment. The wind cut across his face, and he looked down at his friend. “Even…”

“We’re not flawless,” Shieldwall said. “No matter what the propaganda says, it’s just that. We’re merely perfect by comparison. But I believe that as we correct humans such as yourself, we can learn more about fixing ourselves.”

Fairbairn was jolted a little. It was funny. No matter what he went through, Shieldwall never failed to surprise him. He was a true renaissance pony. A self-described transspeciesist, a genius of potioning, and now going against Imperial orthodoxy.

“You sound like those ponies that talk about a Second Magical Renaissance,” Fairbairn commented. Some of Shieldwall’s Newfoals looked them over. The few that hadn’t been restrained by the potion looked to have hatred in their eyes as they stared at Fairbairn.

But it seemed to die down when they saw Shieldwall. Not that Fairbairn could blame them - their minds had been refocused. They had ascended beyond everything that held humanity back.

“I’m not totally sure I believe in that,” Shieldwall said. “I mean, it’s nice, but it’s probably not true.”

“Captain Cactus might have you hanged for saying things like that,” Fairbairn said.

“Captain Cactus always wants me hanged,” Shieldwall said. “Can’t imagine why. All I did was try to help…”

Fairbairn was going to point out that the things Shieldwall had engaged in with McCreary and Dicey actually weren’t good strategic decisions, but something stopped him. It felt like exactly the wrong thing to say to his friend.

“Where are we even heading, anyway?”

“My tent,” Shieldwall said. “There’s ideas I want to talk about. But first, we’re walking by the Prize...”

- - - - -

Roast Garlic

Roast Garlic stood by the PETN unicorn - whose name, as it happened, was Arcane Mind. Both of them were sitting comfotably in the Destrier’s library. A totem-prole sat in one corner, hooked up to a typewriter.

Arcane Mind sat on a couch, using his magic to turn the pages of a human atlas that had been… what was the word, “recomposed” to prevent the Barrier from atomizing it. It had been less work to do that than it had been to make an entirely new atlas, and so this thing - this human thing - disgraced the Destrier’s library.

“Alaska,” Arcane Mind said, to nobody in particular. “One of the last wildernesses the humans left mostly untouched. Why’d the Prize have to come here?”

Roast Garlic didn’t answer. She banged away on the typewriter attached to the totem-prole.

‘...my belief that if the rebel’s foals have not been found, they will pose an unacceptable level of risk,’ she typed. The Prize’s foals had been conspicuously absent. Only the skeleton of the Prize, gnawed by Earth’s predators and eroded by wind at an impossible rate remained. Already some of Shieldwall’s unicorn Newfoals had been contracted to help. They were a bit off, but apparently they’d done an excellent job of preserving the corpse for study and, hopefully, eventual transport.

Nopony could say where the foals were. Everything that the Destrier’s scientists had attempted had completely failed. They were on this planet - they absolutely had to be - but none of the instruments could actually say where.

‘We have to find them,’ Roast Garlic thought. The PHL were an unknown quantity. Unpredictable, crafty, and creating instruments of destruction from pony magic. Profaning it! Letting the foals of the Prize work with the PHL, pool their resources, could be catastrophic.

“Why do we even call it the Prize, anyway?” she sighed.

Arcane Mind looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Roast Garlic said, rolling her eyes.

“Because…” Arcane Mind said. “I don’t know. It was one of the most powerful beings of Equestria that could have fought against us. And now we won. Now we can use its magic for our own, make sure nobody stops us from saving humanity. Or anything else unwise enough to think they know better than the Queen...”

Roast Garlic sighed, and rolled her eyes.

‘... Paternalistic attitude has become incredibly grating.’

She stopped and hammered the backspace key with one hoof. Buck! She’d spaced out, and spilled her idle thoughts onto the page.

“Can you just… stop?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Arcane Mind asked.

“It’s like so many of us have to constantly explain to everyone, especially ourselves, how committed we are,” Roast Garlic sighed, and plopped her face against the table, just next to the typewriter. “It’s enough to make me think about going PHL out of spite.”

Arcane Mind paled. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Come on, Arky. We’re here cause we were given autonomy. Let’s not talk like an educational play for foals.”

“How did you even get on this mission?” Arcane Mind sighed.

“Hey,” Roast Garlic said, “I miss home much as anyone. But I figured I’d enjoy it to get out for a bit. And to answer your question, I’m here because I wanted to help. Tartarus, I know things about the Empire that’d curdle your blood.”

“And what was that about not talking like an educational play for foals?” Arcane Mind sighed.

“Look,” Roast Garlic said. “I’m just… stressed. I bet you are too.”

“A bit,” Arcane Mind said. “I… really didn’t want to be around someone like Shieldwall.”

“Why not?” Roast Garlic asked.

“Look, nobody in the PETN wants to work with Shieldwall,” Arcane Mind said. “Why are you even… I’ve seen how you look at him, his… Newfoals.”

“He’s a war hero,” Roast Garlic shrugged. “One of the most distinguished potioners of the Empire.”

“Not the most distinguished record for treatment of Newfoals, I can tell you that,” Arcane Mind said.

“I wish he wasn’t here, to be honest,” Roast Garlic said. “I served on this ship back during the Crystal War. With Captain Cactus, and even Heliotrope.”

“You served with that Betrayer?” Arcane Mind asked.

“She was an engineer,” Roast Garlic said. “We didn’t know. And… thanks. For not saying the Cap is a Betrayer.”

“I never would,” Arcane Mind said. “I… know his history. We need more like him.”

“Reminds me,” Roast Garlic said. “You hear that the Cap’s drawing up a plane to take down Montreal?”

“I did hear that,” Arcane Mind said. “I hope we get to do it. I’m… beginning to sympathize with him. Getting tired of the war.”

“A lot of us are,” Roast Garlic yawned, pausing to think of what to type. “It’s for a greater cause. Of course it is.”

- - - - -

McCreary

McCreary sat, wearing heavy winter gear. The Prize was staring at him.

Not that he could prove that to anyone. Firstly, it had no eyes. Not anymore. Secondly, he was in a tent, about three rows back from the collapse site. Or the construction site as it was supposed to be called, but things kept breaking near it. Poles would inexplicably fall in low wind when they’d been dug in deep, tools would vanish. It actively resisted attempts to effect it, but Shieldwall’s Newfoals would move it.

He’d been right. Dicey had been right when she sang to him. They really did need the extra horsepower!

Trying not to think of the Prize’s empty eye sockets consuming him (They were holes, it wasn’t as if holes could bore into him. That was ridiculous) he worked on writing out a letter to his sister Tia. If he remembered correctly, she was going to move towards Canada, maybe New England. Exactly where Viktor Kraber was rumored to be heading.

‘...Going to ponify the sociopathic imbecile,’ Tia had written. ‘I think that as long as I stay subtle, keep an eye on him, and he doesn’t disappear off the radar, we’ll have one hell of a Newfoal made from him!’

He was composing his reply. He didn’t know how, if, or when she’d get the letter, but it had to be done.

Dearest Tia,
It’s cold up here. And I’m working with Shieldwall! Imagine what the PER could possibly accomplish if he ended up in that area. We could save so many people! And that’s before even having the Prize on our side.

He paused. It was hard not to think of it as a Prize. Even down to the capital letters. The same way it was hard not to think of it staring at him.

I’m not sure I know what the Prize can do. I don’t know why it’s here. Things are on a strictly need-to-know basis, and some of the ponies here probably know things I couldn’t even dream of. But, what the hey, it’s an-

McCreary paused.

-an artifact, full of immense power. Belonging to enemies of Queen Celestia. It was her friend, once. A being that formed the basis of her mindset. But she grew wiser. I just wish it would stop staring at me

McCreary crossed that out, and stared. What in the Queen’s name had he just… Nevermind. He kept writing.

I think that just because it’s dead, that doesn’t mean it isn’t… continuing. It knows what’s happening here, or knew.’

He couldn’t stop. It was like his body was paralyzed but for his right hand, which just kept on writing

And it can’t help but send out messages to anyone willing to listen, even someone like me. Someone that condemns betrayal while being one himself...

McCreary crossed it out, pressing pen to paper so hard he dug a hole in his notebook.

Sorry, sis. The cold must be messing with my head. Brainfreeze. Stuff like that.

It sounded like falsehood, yet he couldn’t think of anything better to say. He needed to get out of there. But first, finish the letter.

‘I hope to see you soon.
Your brother, Joe.

He had to get out of there. The Prize was staring into him. Drawing him into itself. Why, though? What could he have done to deserve it? All he did was try to help!

He pushed open the flaps of the tent and headed outside. To nowhere in particular. Possibly the Destrier’s library. Maybe he could talk to Shieldwall. Anything to be out of the Prize’s stare - not penetrating. Consuming.

As soon as he came out he knew it was a mistake.

Staring between the tents, he could see the Prize. Massive lights, not unlike the kind you’d find on earth but just imperceptible different, stood around the Prize in a radius of several meters. He could see several Newfoals, smiling as they went about their work, trying to erect poles for something, anything to protect it from the elements.

Not that it would work.

McCreary watched the Newfoals attempting to build a scaffold from some of the wood they’d scavenged. One blue unicorn Newfoal held a hammer in its mouth.

He saw the generators that they’d placed near the Prize. Meldings of crystal and equestrian machinery that pulsed gently, keeping the Prize… McCreary didn’t know how to describe it. Stable? There was a ring of stunted, yellowed grass around the Prize.

Whatever the generators were doing, they weren’t doing it well. Even now, snow encroached the narrow ring.

One Newfoal drove a wooden post down into the ground, and stood on a ladder, a hammer in its mouth. There was another nearby post, and it looked like the Newfoals would finally make some progress. Two others held up a large wooden beam, sandwiching it in between the other two posts. The Newfoal on the ladder was about to hammer them together, when suddenly…

McCreary had grown up with a carpenter for a father. He’d helped with some of dad’s work when he’d needed an extra hand around the house, and what happened next seemed impossible. The angle the Newfoal held in the nail with one hoof, it all looked perfect. And then all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

The beginnings of the scaffolding simply collapsed, knocking the Newfoal off the ladder, the hammer spiralling out of his mouth and towards another Newfoal.

The wood fell in three separate pieces, the nails nowhere to be seen. The hammer, after it bounced off of the Newfoal, simply fell into the snow, and…

‘Okay. That… shouldn’t be possible.’

There was no impact when it hit. No splash of powder. No hole that it left.

“Again?” one Newfoal asked, something approaching unhappiness crossing her features. “That’s the third one…”

McCreary recognized that one.

Suddenly he was in the middle of Sagwon. That middle-of-nowhere town built because pipeline, railroad, airport and road just happened to connect. The way he’d heard it, it was like a knot. There’d been some houses built for workers to maintain the pipeline, for the drillers and airport staff, the wind turbine stations, and whatever else. Not a large town by any means, it was still in the middle of nowhere, but it was close enough for what he had to do with Shieldwall and Dicey.

That unicorn Newfoal, an indigo mare with a red mane, had been in the shower when Dicey made her sweet song. The human she’d been had walked out, halfway naked and frostbitten. She’d crawled on her belly on frostbite-blackened limbs to get away from Shieldwall.

“Really?” Shieldwall had said, sarcastically. He’d taken a drink from his hipflask, and guffawed. “Really? Crawling? You’re gonna die anyway.”

The woman had just spat and kept crawling.

“Come on. At this rate, anything’s an improvement,” Shieldwall said, lapsing into a bout of laughter. “Honestly, that was true even before the frostbite.”

McCreary should have felt happy. He did not.

And that was thing, wasn’t it?

‘Did those shadows deepen?’ McCreary thought. ‘No. Of course not.’

Something about the cast of the shadows, over the bone ridges of the eyes, made it feel…

It was as if its skull had subtly, inexplicably, imperceptibly changed its expression.

Was it staring at him? Mocking him? Pitying him?

Angry?

‘Of course not,,’ McCreary told himself. ‘It’s dead. It can’t just.. Dead means you’re gone. For good.’

Doubts coursed over him as the Prize’s gaze drew him into its sockets. He had to walk toward it, had to-

- - - - -

Shieldwall

Shieldwall was staring up at the prize, Fairbairn standing nearby. Wondering what he could do with this kind of power.

“Mighty interesting,” Shieldwall said, looking up at the great skeleton of the Prize. “Mighty. Interesting. Indeed.” He stroked the surface of its yellowing bones. “Shame you disagreed with the Queen, but this was the only option. I’m sure we could still find a use for you.”

Fairbairn just stood nearby, shivering slightly in the cold. “Can we go? The cold is doing bad things to my skin.”

“You wouldn’t have to deal with it if you had fur,” Shieldwall joked.

“And I wouldn’t be able to blend in as a newfoal,” Fairbairn said. “Really, I lose something either way.”

Blast. He’s… kind of right then, isn’t he? Shieldwall thought. Such a shame.

He looked up for a secoond and saw McCreary staggering through the snow. Towards the Prize.

“Hey! Joe!” Shieldwall yelled. “You okay?”

He looks just like the humans we lured out into the tundra. Damn! Shieldwall thought, and galloped up to the sullen-looking American. He placed both hooves on McCreary’s shoulders and shook.

“It’s not….” McCreary started.

“It’s not what?” Shieldwall asked.

“Joe!” Shieldwall said, trotting over to McCreary.

Fairbairn shook the other human. McCreary’s eyes darted from side to side.

“It’s getting to me,” he moaned.

“Joe?” Fairbairn asked. “Are you alright?”

McCreary shook his head, his curly black hair shaking. “No. That…” he pointed to the Prize. “It’s getting in my head. Something about you two is keeping it out.”

“It can’t just… keep doing this, right?” Fairbairn asked.

“Shieldwall, you said it was dead!” McCreary insisted.

Shieldwall did look somewhat troubled. “What… what were you told?”

“Only that it’s an enemy of Equestria. That Celestia needs its body for… something,” Fairbairn replied.

“Let me tell you, Patrick and Joe, why I have never believed that ponies are perfect,” Shieldwall said. “There are beings rivalling, perhaps even beating our glorious queen in power. This… Betrayer... stood against her.”

“If it was a Betrayer,” McCreary said, “Then why’s it worth our time?”

“And if it’s dead, then why…” Fairbairn added.

“This,” Shieldwall said, pointing to the Prize. He paused. Probably for dramatic effect. “Was once Celestia’s teacher. Her father figure. It was named… Sint Erklass.”

McCreary and Fairbairn followed his hoof, to the Prize itself. It had been a reindeer, perhaps as large as one from Earth, maybe slightly bigger, but with the proportions and humongous eyes of a lifeform of Equus.

The key word being ‘had’. It looked like it had been dead for months, even though it couldn’t have been much more than a week. Its fur was gradually decomposing, and moss grew from its antlers. There were marks on its bones, possibly from wolves.

It was like it was slowly breaking itself down, collapsing into the Alaskan tundra. Willing itself to fade.

“He was Lord of the reindeer. Bringer of gifts and joy. Long dead for his crimes and resistance to the Solar Empire, but that,” Shieldwall said, “Doesn’t mean it can’t continue.”

“If he was so powerful, then what killed him?” McCreary asked.

“Celestia sent her Angel after him,” Shieldwall said, enjoying the looks he was eliciting from these two humans. Fear? Awe? Glee? It was hard to tell on their unexpressive, dull-looking faces, but he was certain it was one of those three emotions. “And she killed Erklass as punishment.”

“But... what do we need its body for?” McCreary asked.

“Partly to ensure that it doesn’t continue,” Shieldwall said. “Partly to take the power that still remains so Celestia can make sure of that.”

“I just want it to stop getting in my head,” McCreary said.

“Me too,” Shieldwall said, looking up at McCreary. “Both of you… No matter how things get, just remember. It’s only another dead Betrayer. Anything it can do to us is all in our heads. Things will be fine.”

Wouldn’t they?

Author's Note:

This chapter takes its name from the song "Figment Shifter" from Squidlid. God, I love Squidlid. I love them so much that I actually legally downloaded their music.

Most of my chapter names in The Light Despondent and Snowbound are named after songs that inspired me in one way or another. Or, just as often, I couldn't think of a chapter name, and went with something tangentially related.

I really need to be more forward about the songs.

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[Doctor Fluffy]

7844524 IT COULD BE!