Part Thirteen
The Rariad
By Tundara
13: Gaea
A heavy bell tolled through the streets of Olympus in a deep tone that made bones tremble and windows rattle, resonating from deep within the mountain with force enough to wake the dead. It had been going on for some time, and Rarity was beginning to get rather irritated with its dreadful droning tone.
Sitting in Hera’s garden in the westernmost reaches of the mountain city, Rarity felt her godly senses recoil at the thrumming that reached into her teeth. Anger rising to the point of overcoming her customary poise, she let out a long groan, and shouted in the general direction of the bells, “Oh, would you be quiet!”
To her immense dissatisfaction, they continued to toll.
Attempting to push the bells out of her head, she focused on the small number of prayers coming from Athens. They warmed her heart, enshrouding the coiling cloud of anger that rose from the depths of her being, fed by the depravities of Amaymon. For a brief instant Rarity could feel Asmodeus’ trailing his along her cheek, pushing her backwards with his presence, her lips burning from his kiss. A door stood ajar behind Asmodeus. A door she could not go through. Beyond it stood a small figure in shadows who filled her with revulsion beyond that of even the King of Demons.
Quickly, she locked the memories back up, shoving them as deep as she could, and wrapping herself in the comforts of Ponyville, Athens, and the need to return home. Hypocemia’s prayers touched her ears, and they were just what was needed to banish the waking nightmare.
On the table next to her rested a piece of embroidery, gold thread glittering on white cotton, the intricate pattern seeming to be flowers entwined with blue jays and mockingbirds at first glance. Hidden within the design was a map of Olympus. On companion pieces were notations and diagrams of spell formula needed to make a gateway between worlds.
Much as she’d concluded in Athens, she would need help reaching Ioka. After what happened in Tartarus, She put little trust in her ability or the spells she’d learned in Amaymon to get herself and Trixie home.
Picking the embroidery up, she started on the next segment. The needle plunged with quick thrusts and sharp twists, Rarity’s brow creased and eyes narrowed as she imagined a certain alicorn’s face in place of soft cotton. Frustration bunched in her shoulders and the back of her neck as she worked.
As she worked, Hera entered the garden, attended by Maia and Electra, the two having been retrieved from Athens and sharply reprimanded. Hera made a show of inspecting her trees and flowers before joining Rarity in the gazebo, throwing herself onto a cushion with an exaggerated huff.
For the past few days Hera had been sulking, and Rarity could only think of one reason.
Quirking the corner of her mouth into a tiny smile, Rarity jabbed the needle and said, “Still upset she saw through your trick?”
“It was a perfect plan! Cupid shot her with his stupid arrow, and she fell head over hooves for that silly mortal king. Dido should have kept them in Alnyxandria!” Hera hurled up her hooves as she rolled onto her back.
“And yet she proved herself to be a selfless and generous mare,” Rarity noted, not moving her gaze from her work. “Just as I predicted, darling.”
Continuing to kick her hooves and thrash about, Hera let out a groan. “Cupid’s arrows never fail. She was in love with him! She had to be! Unless Cupid erred, but that has never happened before. Although, there is a first for everything, and even a god can make a mistake from time to time.”
“Her heart just proved to be more beautiful than you give it credit.” Rarity now looked up with a big smile, twisting it like a knife.
Face ashen with horror and fury, Hera bounded to her hooves. “You! How did you do it? How did you affect her heart and overcome Cupid? He is the god who entwines lovers together. You should not be able to out-do him when it comes to matters of the heart, for only his mother, Aphrodite, is his greater.”
Smiling sweetly, Rarity put her embroidery aside. “I did nothing. It was all Trixie who defeated Cupid's arrow. Even the strongest thread can snap if put under the right tension.”
“Trixie shouldn't be allowed out with the mortals,” Hera huffed, hooves crossed now and her face a deep red. "There is something off about that mare. I've never heard of a mortal coming back from the Underworld as anything other than a specter, pale and imitating their former life. It is suspect that she was able to escape the realm of the demons with you."
Rarity suppressed a reflexive shudder, wings tense at her sides, but her needle faltered, and she was certain Hera’s perceptive eye noticed the momentary lapse.
“I trust and believe in Trixie, and she has my blessing.” A poised eyebrow arched upwards as the falsehood slipped from her. She hated this game, but knew it had to be played. If she didn’t Hera would torment Trixie unopposed. “Besides, isn’t it cheating to have Cupid go down to the mortal cities?”
“No, since he isn’t ever seen it is fine, the mortals none the wiser for his brief interactions. If we gods were unable to perform our duties it would be worse still for the mortals than if we lived among them and warred.”
“Mm Hm.” Rarity put all her disapproval into the simple sound. “There is stretching the confines of a law, and then there is pulling it so far you can drive a train through it without ill effect.”
“Cupid is only an intermediate level god. Hardly as powerful as greater alicorns such as you or I, and as such is unable to work his power from Olympus alone. He and the others must go down to the disc in order to perform their wonders. So long as they are unseen, even Ares agrees that it is acceptable.”
At this time Taygete, another of the Pleiades, came dashing into the garden, looked around, and on seeing Hera and Rarity, made for them.
“Oh, mistress, my queen, Great and merciful Hera, it is terrible! They have come and wrung the bells! The Moirai! The Moirai have come to speak with Rarity!”
“The bells are for you, and you just sit here? You must go at once!” Hera exclaimed, and actively pushed Rarity towards the edge of the gazebo as she snatched away Rarity’s embroidery and tossed it to the table. Rarity made an exasperated noise in her throat. More forcefully, Hera said, “Even great Zeus, mightiest of gods, does not keep the Moirai waiting when they come calling. It is rare indeed for them to leave their cave, where they spin the strands of Fate for mortal and god alike on their golden loom, binding all of reality together so that by our shared destiny we keep the Quus asleep, that horrible beast that seeks to devour all we have wrought.”
With a heavy roll of her eyes Rarity stepped away from Hera and said, “Alright, darling, I get the point.”
She hurried on alone after Taygete pointed her towards where the Fates waited.
Three mares stood in the council chamber.
The first of them was Clotho, the Spinner, who spun the threads of life and destiny. Youngest of the Moirai, she was a spritely mare, long legged and pretty, with the spring of life dancing in her golden eyes. She wore a garment of soft green that complimented her creamy coat, and her mane of honeysuckle locks she let fall over her shoulders. Her mark was a spindle of golden thread held with a sunburst.
Second was Lachesis, the Alloter, for it was she who decided the length of a pony’s thread, and by extension, the span of their life. She was a plump mare, dressed in white that contrasted her ebony dark coat. Cold ruby eyes lifted from the floor to pierce Rarity as she entered the chamber, and a sneer worked its way to her mouth. Her white mane was pulled back into a harsh bun, giving her the appearance of a school master about to lecture unruly students.
Lastly there was Atropos, the Inflexible, whose task it was to cut the threads, and in so doing, end a pony’s life. Many prayed to her to stay her hoof, and as such, it was thought that she was the goddess of Luck, able to alter or change a pony’s fate and guide Chance's cruel whims. The eldest, she wore a funerary gown over her pale, lanky frame, with a veil draped over her face to keep it hidden.
“Well, it is about time!” Lachesis snapped. “You Iokans have no manners at all. The bells have been tolling this hour and there you sat, oblivious, in that silly garden. Didn’t you realise you were being summoned? No, of course not. You just sat and thought, ‘My, what an awful noise that bell makes. Why must it ring now? Why must it make my teeth hurt and bones shake? Why did it never ring before?’ Pah! Fool of a mare.”
“Now, now, now,” Clotho laid a wing over her sister’s shoulder. “We mustn’t be mad that she knew not what she could not know.”
“She could have asked. Could have enquired of Hera. Let pettiness guide her. Tried to ignore the queen.” Atropos muttered, her voice thin and wispy.
“Well, she is here now, so let us commence,” Lachesis brusquely said and marched towards Rarity, Clotho and Atropos in tow. They split up as they neared and encircled her, tsking and tutting as they looked her up and down.
“Too thin. Lacks backbone,” commented Atropos with a disdainful sigh. “Too prone to running away. Only fighting against those who seem so much weaker. Gone, gone is the Rarity of Ioka. Manipulative. Cold. Heartless. Perhaps even cruel. Allowed Hera to torment Athens. Teaching the queen to be a better pony. A foolish notion.”
“Hmm, she has more iron in her than you assume,” Clotho responded. “And Hera was changed. Never would she have blessed a mare of Athens before spending time among the city.” Her dancing eyes took in Rarity, every line and curve inspected, traced her cutie mark with a wane smile, and lingered on the necklace at the base of her throat. She raised a wing to touch the necklace, but stopped short. “That is very pretty.”
“Uh, thank you, darling, but—”
“Her amount of backbone and iron is immaterial,” Lachesis noted, shooting her sisters a look, talking over Rarity. “She is Beauty, as it was meant, shame as it is. Ioka will have to make do with her.”
“Pah! A pox on Ioka!” Clotho cried, throwing up her wings. “I hate that world! Leviathan, Abaddon, and now Astaroth. Algol did well unleashing them, and I would set them all upon it again were it within my power.”
“You simply hate it because Faust resides there,” Atropos muttered, stepping away from Rarity with a shrug. “Such feelings are misfounded.”
“Yes! I do! I admit as such,” Clotho stuck out her tongue to her eldest sister. “She tried to steal from us, from me, and I will never forgive her! Faust should tend to the Weave we make, not steal it from us!”
“Sisters! We mustn’t bicker,” Lachesis interjected, her voice snapping like a whip in the chamber. “A task we have, a task we must complete. We can debate Faust and her punishments later. First, Rarity must be set on her path.”
“Excuse me, but I would like to—”
“What you want to know is immaterial,” Atropos waved a dismissive hoof. “What you wish to ask and what you will learn are already known.”
“Be that as it may, darlings,” Rarity pressed, raising her voice and inflicting it with a sharp snap. “I hardly have any need for your advice.”
“Ha, listen to her, sisters!” Clotho cackled with ill-humour. “The broken trembling alicorn thinks she is perfect and fine! That there is nothing wrong with her, oh no! How can there be when she is ‘Beauty’ personified?”
“I never said—”
Atropos again cut Rarity off. “Sister, your teasing is pointless. Iokans know better than most that alicorns are brittle things. Strong, hardy, able to withstand so much pressure, but if struck in just the right way, they collapse into madness and drag worlds into despair.”
“If you know so much, then what makes me,” Rarity bristled, “so ‘brittle’?”
“The door.” The Moirai intoned as one, and something went taught in the back of Rarity’s mind.
She felt the familiar quickening of her blood, the sharp intake of breath, and the need to create and focus elsewhere, lest she look inward. Where it had stood firm against Hera, before the Moirai her composure cracked. Rarity stammered, and took a step back.
“Since you are done arguing, we may begin in earnest.” Lachesis smiled like a gravedigger over a freshly dug grave. “Hush now and listen, and then make your decision.”
The Moirai gathered in front of Rarity, and the council chamber grew dark and dim.
“Your time to ponder your course is at its end,” said Lachesis. Power thrummed through her voice and the room beyond. “A choice you must make, between Athens and your friends. Down both roads lay death and despair. For friends and Athens, and especially for Rarity the Fair.”
A chill as piercing as the wind atop a wintery mountain needled Rarity to the depths of her soul. That part of her that was Beauty knew beyond all doubt that what the Moirai said was true, and that it was inescapable. To fight against it was futile at best, and at the worst, could shatter the boundaries of reality and awaken dangers even she could hardly perceive.
She understood why the other alicorns held the Moirai with such respect and fear.
Atropos took over, saying, “Hurry now, put the Benevolencians—”
“Still hate that name,” muttered Clotho in an aside.
“—back on their path. Athens will burn, put to the torch by Sparta’s wrath. Westward you fly, not alone, but harried. To the Forge’s shadow, where Love and Creation are married. His hammer rings loud! All Gaea awakes! A battle ensues, and in slaughter Beauty partakes! In the ruins of friendship does Athens make a final stand. The gateway lies open. Quick now, flee fast, before it is broken.”
There was a pause, Rarity’s heart beating hard in her chest. So many questions rang in her head. Questions that crashed together before they could find a voice.
And Clotho intoned, “Should you stay, war will be averted. Athens survives, its position reasserted. Guardian of Beauty, guide of the arts. Resigned to a cage, and broken of heart. The Benevolencians lay dead in graves shallow and forgotten. Their story one of woe and caution.
“Escape you will still try, soul heavy with failure. Betrayed you will be by one thought to be saviour. Before Ares’ hooves you will wither and perish, and lost will be everything that you cherish. Reborn from the ashes, Beauty rises anew and strong. Olympus her home, a palace where she will belong. But Rarity the Fair will be long gone.”
The Moirai’s laughter filled the chamber as their bodies twisted in on themselves with a harsh snap and whiplike crack that echoed long after they were gone.
Rarity’s heart hammered with thunderous blows in her breast, and a nervous energy burned in her calves. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her head. She looked quickly left and right, and saw she was alone.
For a moment she weighed the two halves of prophecy.
Trixie, or Athens.
If one was to survive, the other would die.
Rarity didn’t know exactly why, but she was certain this was an absolute truth.
Her choice was made before she’d even begun to weigh the consequences, her hooves carrying from the palace. There was no time to go back for her embroidery, and tsked at losing the work she’d done on potential ways off Gaea. Still, it hardly mattered.
Going off memory alone, she made her way to the edge of Olympus. Several times patrols came close to spotting her, and it was only through happenstance that she went unseen. A cabbage cart rolling across the street at just the right time to block a group of Furries' view of her. Another time, as she stood with back pressed to a wall, Themis peering in her direction, a sudden cacophony broke out as a choir of onerios swept up the streets in a tittering cloud. She almost ran right into Ares and Cupid, the latter being dragged along by his ear and protesting loudly, and was forced to duck into a bathhouse. Slipping out the back, she at last reached the city’s edge, and jumped off the side.
She kept her wings tight to her side as she fell. Wind rushed across her face, and her heart beat like a steady drum as exhilaration took hold. Closer and closer the rugged lower hills of Olympus drew. At the last moment she stretched out her majestic wings, and rocketed over the treetops. Each beat carried her a league closer to her friend.
Still, Rarity was mindful that she was far from safe and channelled a tiny portion of her immense magic through her wings to speed her flight. If anything, the danger was at its greatest now. The other gods would shortly realise she was gone. She wished she knew more spells, especially those that the likes of Hestia used to hide among mortals, keeping their divine heritage obfuscated behind layers of transmutative, illusionary, and abjuration magics. All she could manage was raw speed, and into this she poured every ounce of magic she dared, always mindful of the necessary balance between what was expended, and avoiding detection.
From Olympus, Rarity sped first to Athens, flying faster than even Rainbow Dash, the fastest mortal to ever live across the thousand discs, and snuck into the city under cover of night. Senses alert to the first sign of another alicorn’s presence, Rarity slipped into Mystalicus’ palace. Hypocemia, sides thick with her foal, sat in vigil with Queen Hecuba with only a single candle between them to light the room. Rarity almost entered to tell the pair about what she knew of Trixie and Athens’ fates.
She bit her tongue, knowing she could not be distracted now.
No, they needed to know so they could save as many ponies as possible.
First, Rarity retrieved what she needed, a simple cloak she’d made for Hypocemia that could ward off the rain and cold alike. With a few changes simple to her, Rarity could make it so that the cloak would help to some degree at keeping herself hidden. The complexity of the enchantments were such that any mortal mage would have been baffled by the intricacies, but Rarity was of the gods, and had been a master-enchanter even before becoming an alicorn. In the space of a few moments it was done, and the emanations of her divine nature that other alicorns could previously sense up to several leagues away was reduced to a mere few hundred yards.
Rarity then went to Hypocemia and Queen Hecuba.
She stayed only a moment, the pair gasping at her sudden appearance, and warned them, “You must gather every pony in Athens and her surrounding territories. Gather them and leave. The Moirai have warned me that Sparta is going to attack and the city will be left in ruins.”
“Divine Rarity, most beautiful and benevolent of all gods, who shines so brightly even in the dark of these horrible nights, where are we to go? How are we to survive if we abandon Athens? We will do as you say, as the city grows strong again thanks to you. Surely, you have some idea where we are to go.”
Rarity considered a moment, and then the answer came to her. “Darlings, go to Delos. You have the ships to carry everypony that far.”
“Delos? But, nopony lives there anymore, and that is a cursed site for Athenians, as that is where Athena slew Hecate and the Golden Gates were destroyed. Nothing can survive there. I do not question you, great Rarity, as you must have some knowledge we may not understand. We will do as you say and make haste to Delos, but will need to prioritise foodstuffs and other such necessities.”
Satisfied, Rarity left Hypocemia and Queen Hecuba to rouse the Athenians. Within a few days the galleys were loaded, and all Athens departed in a great fleet, decks covered in ponies and supplies. Many were the riches and treasures Athens left behind, buried in caches throughout the farmlands and beneath homes in the hopes of one day returning. It was never to be, and Athens the city became the ruins of Athens that day.
Swifter than the golden eagle, Rarity flew throughout the night, out over the seas and the six thousand islands. But when early-born rosy-feathered Dawn appeared over the eastern rim, Rarity took a rest in the shade of an old oak. She closed her eyes and used a slightly modified version of her gem-finding spell to orientate herself towards Trixie, as Trixie was the most precious object to her on Gaea.
Setting off again, Rarity flew until just before the break of noon when a crescent shaped island several miles across emerged from the miasmic mists of the horizon. Towards it Rarity was directed by her spell. In the heart of the crescent sat the Benevolence of Beauty at anchor, but there was no sign of life on her apun decks. Abandoned on the beach were the ship’s boats. A little ways from the Benevolence of Beauty lay a half-submerged galley on its side, with further wrecks visibly beneath the crystal clear waters.
Rarity landed next to the boats after circling the Benevolence of Beauty until she was satisfied it too was empty. Hoofprints lead to a narrow path into the darkened interior of the island.
Magic was thick about the island. It floated in clouds of corrupted and terrible aether that lingered in the air in a silvery-green mist. Her teeth ached like she was chewing on wool and her wings itched. A sickly sweet scent, like overripe apples mixed with bananas and burnt molasses, drifted on the breeze, coiling in her nostrils and constricting her throat. Her ears flickered to a distant sound, almost like the final gasping echo of a song leaving a dying throat that ended in foalish laughter.
Steeling herself for whatever trickery lay ahead, Rarity pushed her way through thick brush of prickly bushes. Godly instincts warned her that this place was dangerous, especially to her. That even an alicorn was vulnerable on this island.
Not far from the beach Rarity found an old, overgrown field surrounded by a ramshackled fence.
The smell was stronger, almost overpowering, and Rarity had to hold herself back from gagging as she jumped over the fence, still following the trail of her friends.
Around a small hillock the trail went, and on the other side of the bed she saw a village. The homes were timeworn and unkempt, obviously abandoned for many years, with holes in their roofs and a few partially collapsed. In their pens were the sun bleached bones of sheep and goats.
In the middle of the village square was a statue of Apollo, flowering vines covering its surface and spreading out in a tangled mesh across the village. Lotuses the hue of midnight bloomed despite the late season and coming of winter, their petals twinkling as if they were covered in stardust. Thick, purple veins pulsated along the vines, and Rarity didn’t require divine senses or years of adventures to know that something was very wrong.
Taking more caution, she kept a respectable distance between herself and the lotus blooms. For a moment the village went off kilter, fuzziness jabbing her just behind the eyes. She shook it off, rubbed her brow, and cursed herself for not having rested. She’d been awake for well over a day, having taken no breaks since sneaking out of Olympus. Fatigue, she told herself, was finally catching up to her.
The vines grew through the doorways of the ramshackle houses, and knit together over their walls. Slowly she approached one of the homes and peered in through a window, expecting to find her missing friends inside. But there was nothing but silence, broken pottery, and rotten furniture.
And then, a distant voice called her name, thin and wispy, and hard to discern the exact nature of what was said.
“Trixie?” Rarity called, certain it was the voice of her friend. “Where are you?”
Her question was swallowed by the silence, and her heart sank.
This was a place of death. Nothing had lived for many years in the village. The Moirai’s warnings rattled in her chest. Wherever Trixie was, she was in grave danger.
The voice called again, stronger this time as it beckoned her to come further into the village.
Deeper into the forsaken village Rarity ventured, now keeping a bolt of pure aether ready to be unleashed from the tip of her horn. She followed the vines, suspecting that their source was also the cause of her friends’ disappearance and present danger. They lead her beyond the square and deeper into the hill until reaching a cleft that suddenly dropped away into a cave.
The village swam around her for a moment, intense panic gripping her, and a sudden desire to descend into the yawning black mouth that led into the earth. A mild headache began to thrum between her ears.
Again came the voice, and this time it was joined by hundreds of others all in the same, mournful tone that begged for release that beckoned to Rarity.
“Join us,” they said. “Join us and lay your head in rest.”
Compelled by a yearning desire deep in her chest, head thick with growing cobwebs, Rarity stumbled into the cave. It was a shallow cave that had in years past been used as a temple. Past a few bends it opened up into a long, natural chamber, with statues of Apollo lining the walls and an altar at the far end on which the oracles would make their offerings. Thicker here than anywhere else, the floors and walls were hidden by an impenetrable mesh of vines. From the ceiling hung dozens of large bulbs, each the size of a pony.
Something brushed up against Rarity’s leg, and with a cry she leapt up. Dozens of vines slithered and wormed across the ground towards her.
Realization crystalised in a cold rush up Rarity’s spine. She reached for the essence of Beauty in the core of her being, and saw it, the door, and hesitated. Fear held in a grip of crushing ice that froze her veins solid. . and through it swept away the fog that lay thick over her, mind returned for a few minutes to a pristine state.
Over her face she brought the edge of her cloak and she beat her wings to carry her aloft as from her horn she let fly a searing beam of energy that cut across the floor, up the wall, and cut one of the bulbs from the ceiling, and left a long line of ash where it passed.
A deep howl emitted from the vines, the chamber shaking in sudden fury. Clouds of pollen puffed from the lotuses, and the vines lashed at her, grabbing Rarity about the legs, waist, and throat. From behind the altar three large pods trembled upright, and opened gaping mouths that dripped with a thick, viscous fluid. Thorny vines lashed Rarity across her flank, and for the first time in a long time pain flared in a hot wave as golden blood trickled down her leg.
Body flush with the rush of danger, Rarity quickly cut herself free.
More, thicker vines launched themselves at her from the darkened shadowy depths. As desperation threatened to close in around her among the swarming vines with their ichor covered thorns, Rarity darted and dove about the chamber. For every vine she turned to ash with a precise blast of magic three would take its place. She was struck about the cheek and shoulders, and her flanks were laid bare from many blows. Rarity knew that her wings were most vulnerable and necessary, and she willingly accepted these other hits to keep them safe and herself aloft. If she were knocked from the air the vines would have her at their mercy.
She was rapidly losing strength. Her breaths started to grow laboured, the strength sapped from her legs and magic leaking from her dozen wounds. The fog began to cloud her head again. Harried by the vines, Rarity wasn’t given the time to concentrate on her domain to banish the fog.
The vines grew more and more frenzied.
Drawn to the rich aether in her blood they swarmed around her to form an impenetrable cocoon. She was grabbed about the legs, and her wings were bound, as was her throat. Rarity was trapped, held in the vines hungry net that encapsulated her in a slithering darkness. She tried to let out a futile gasp and throw off the loathsome vines, but they held against even her mighty strength. For a moment, she was once again within Asmodeus’ grasp, the vines his vile tongue as it played across her body, and it was his hooves that grasped her.
Every fibre of Rarity’s being recoiled in disgust.
Within her breast rose a righteous indignation.
After escaping the horrors of Amaymon, and the months of Hera’s constant provocations, Rarity refused to allow herself to fall to a mere plant.
Concentrating, she touched that core of her being that was pure Beauty, only this time she unleashed it in an uncontrolled wave.
Holy radiance burst from Rarity. It poured from her eyes in a cerulean flash, and from her wings in cutting blades that tore apart the vines holding her. She was like a sun, blue-white and pure. Where her light landed, fibrous flesh and rancid ichor were burnt away by a wondrous flame. The roof was torn open, and into the shadowy chamber fell true sunlight.
A howl that shook the earth rattled from the vines and they writhed likes a nest of frenzied vipers. As one they attempted to bind Rarity, but they could not reach her. They withered, began to crumble, and then fell to ash.
The trio of large pods behind the altar attempted to shrink away and escape into the ground, and onto them Rarity directed the full weight of her magic. Radiant flames consumed the pods hardened shells, and they writhed in agony, then went still.
Rarity refused to relent.
Her light extended out of the chamber to the village beyond, burning away the midnight lotuses and foul vines. The mists clinging to the island were banished.
She let out a final scream and then her magic abated.
Mentally exhausted, she dropped to the floor of the chamber. All around her the remaining tendrils of the foul plant gave their final, gasping twitches as they crumbled. The bulbs fell to the ground, cracked open, and from them emerged ponies. Rarity recognised the Athenians at once, as they sluggishly extracted themselves, thick globs of a sickly sweet mucus dripping from bedraggled bodies. Trixie was among them, as was Mystalicus, and a few ponies Rarity didn’t recognise. These ponies were thin and emaciated, their coats dull from having their life-force fed upon for months or perhaps years, kept in a perpetual near-death state. There were also bodies older still, long dead and mummified, and the skeletal remains of the village's ancient inhabitants.
“What…?” Trixie gasped as she attempted to stand, but slipped in the thick fluids in which she was drenched.
“Careful darling,” Rarity said, a flick of her wings carried her to Trixie and she grabbed her friend before she could fully collapse. “Whatever caused you to come to a place like this?”
Trixie swung her head as if she were drunk, eyes glazed and unfocused as she blinked up at Rarity. “Hit an uncharted reef and had to beach the boat to make repairs. Heard a song. Wandered into the jungle. Everything is a blur afterwards. Trixie’s head hurts.”
“Yes, well, a little headache will teach you I suppose,” Rarity snipped as she set Trixie on her hooves.
She started to say more in her relief mingled with the exhilaration of victory, but a sudden wave of confused, bubbly energy washed over her, heralding the presence of an alicorn.
Rarity quickly dropped into a fighting stance as she spun about towards where the central pods had been. From the slimy mulch emerged three fillies, manes sopping and bedraggled, with eyes wide as they took in the chamber, the ponies that stumbled about, and finally landed on Rarity.
Rarity herself stood frozen, mouth agape as surprise gripped her in a vice tight grip. The trio were so similar that at first glance she mistook them for that group of fillies that had filled her life in Ponyville with so much love and exasperation. Their names danced on her tongue, ready to be exclaimed in overwhelming joyous confusion, but were held back. These were not the self-described Cutie Mark Crusaders, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom, but ponies who shared almost identical looks. The variations were slight, and only a pony who knew them well could discern the differences at a glance.
“Impossible,” Rarity whispered as she approached.
The trio’s eyes widened further, and the one that shared Sweetie Belle’s features cried out, “Mneme, Melete; run! She wears our mother’s face, but is not her! A monster has come for us, sent by the Olympians! Find father! Find father! He was just outside a moment ago, run, run, run!”
Splitting up, the Muses, for that is who they were as they could be nopony else, darted across the chamber and around Rarity.
“Oh, for Celestia’s sake,” Rarity sighed as she reached out with her magic and picked up the fillies. “Aoide, Mneme, Melete; behave yourselves!”
The trio froze at once, bodies as stiff as statues, faces grey underneath their luminous coats, unsure how to respond.
Inside Rarity two sets of memories swelled, and among them lingered the door, paint peeling as it creaked open just a little further.
One set held those of pleasant days working on her dresses interrupted by her sister’s antics. Reading letters from their mother together in the evening. Of bitter arguments and sorrowful apologies. Of sitting in Sugarcube Corner sharing a plate of cupcakes, or walking down the winding path to Sweet Apple Acres.
And memories of appearing before masses of worshippers, a giant statue of herself at her back, and the Muses at her side. Of the psalms sung of her and her daughters. Of the pride that welled in her chest at just how perfect they were.
But, between them loomed the ugly door lit by Amaymon’s orange light. It swallowed the pleasant memories of the Crusaders and the Muses, and left Rarity cold and hollow. She closed her eyes, and pushed away everything else but the three fillies in front of her. If she allowed herself to be consumed by the door, by what lay beyond, by who she abandoned…
Rarity gasped as she was pierced by anguish as sharp as a rime encrusted knife stabbed between her ribs into her heart. A knife of her own devised by her own hooves.
The door in the back of her mind creaked open a little further, and the eyes within grew brighter, and somepony called her name.
Rough hooves grabbed Rarity about the shoulders and shook her from her trance, the door shut once again and pushed even further into the depths of her mind.
“Rarity, are you alright?” Trixie stood close to Rarity, her grip tight about the much larger mare as she used all her limited strength to give her the tiniest shake.
The world snapped back into focus, dread terror swept away and locked back in its cage. Rarity smiled pleasantly, “Yes, everything is fine,” she said in her normal tone.
Trixie gave her an incredulous look, but didn’t press the matter further. She was too tired from her own trials and went to find Mystalicus with a long yawn, and Rarity was left to deal with the Muses.
“Who are you?” Aoide demanded. Sweetie Belle’s doppelganger, she took the lead of the trio as the eldest, her sisters looking to her for guidance. “You wear our mother’s face, but you are not her. The mortal called you Rarity, and acted in a manner far too familiar for you to be of Gaea. Yet, you have rescued us from the Lotus Eater, Scyllabdis, a fiend formed from the tormented land. In its belly we could only dream and see the world in pale, grey snippets, like gazing through a clouded mirror, and through this we know that it was the death of Apollo that created the monster, his desire to protect us twisted dying moments as Ares spilled his golden blood in the village square.”
“Father is gone,” Melete spoke next. “This place still bears the wound left in the earth by what happened so long ago, when the mighty heroes who live on in legend warred for the gods' affection, and the gods turned on each other with blades and spells.”
Looking around, Mneme said, and her voice echoed that of Apple Bloom in tone and texture, “A new Age of Heroes is upon Gaea. Look now, sisters. Look and see there goes Mystalicus, who though unblessed is marked by destiny. Beside him is Argentes, who has wisdom aplenty, but rarely is his council sought. Further yonder stand Lertandes and Alfe, who will be named more than any other of the companions of Trixie and Mystalicus on their voyage. I see about them the strands of art and inspiration! That I could reach out and turn marble into their likeness, and all the disc would praise them till the end of time for their many deeds.”
Used to the way Gaean’s spoke, though she wondered how they knew so much when they’d been stuck in a plant for centuries, Rarity waited for them to finish their little speeches before she said, “Apollo is alive again, though he now used the name Phoebus. I do not believe he would know you, darlings. I’m sorry.”
The Muses ears flattened, and they shook their heads.
“If he died and has reformed since, then it would depend on the manner. If he never came here to save us himself, then he must have no memories of his time before, and he is no more our father than you are our mother,” spoke Aoide. “Please, tell us what has transpired beyond the walls of this cave. How did you come to possess the essence of Serene, but remain Rarity?”
Rarity nodded, and took the Muses aside and told them all that had happened. Of the arrival of the shades on Ioka. How Serene had possessed her, and in a wild state of madness attempted to take the Cutie Mark Crusaders, ending with her throwing herself from a cliff in order to prevent Serene from fully consuming her soul, killing them both in the process, for Serene was only vulnerable so long as she had yet to subsume Rarity. She only spoke briefly of her time in Tartarus, saying that she spent some time lost in the jumble of memories and emotions where she and Serene blended, and moving to her time in Athens and Olympus.
“Both our parents are truly gone then, and we are now orphans,” the Muses concluded, their ears falling and eyes downcast in sorrow as they wept bitter, crystalline tears that fall from their chins in a sparkling cascade.
Rarity’s heart broke at having told them that all they knew was destroyed and both their parents were gone, though she retained many of Serene’s memories.
But, she was not Serene, and the Muses were not her daughters.
The Muses, still deep in their grief, broke away from Rarity to hold their own little council. They huddled together and whispered amongst themselves for a long time, and Rarity was so strongly reminded of Sweetie, Apple Bloom, and Scootaloo that the longing to return to Ioka hit her again as if she were bucked in the chest.
While the Muses conversed, Rarity took the opportunity to tend to her friends and the other survivors.
Several were too weak, and would pass away shortly. Their emaciated limbs trembled as they reached for the sunlight pouring in through the open roof, and the Athenians carried them out into the village. Here too the vines were withered, dead with the loss of the central bulbs that had held the Muses.
Others, though weak from their time within the lotus’ grasp, remained full of life.
“What now?” Trixie and Mystalicus asked as they approached Rarity in the village square.
“We continue on. We can’t leave Chryseis with those vile Spartans, but if I tried to approach the city, Ares would find me instantly.” Rarity said as she made certain one of the weakest ponies, Kalametos of Tyre, who’d been second on a merchant vessel, was made comfortable in his final hours. He grinned widely and wept at the sun, and passed away with a comforted sigh, his hoof held by Rarity.
“You have saved us, oh shining goddess of Olympus,” spoke Deletos, who’d been aboard the same vessel as Kalametos, but was younger and of stronger materials.
She was a traveling minstrel and playwright, having taught herself letters and how to play even though she’d been born a pauper and among the lowest castes as an Earth Pony. She had been forced by Dion, who’d been the captain and lay among the dead in the lotus’ chamber, to work on the oars despite being a mare.
“Long have we been trapped by the cursed lotus. You have saved us, great one, and to you we dedicate our lives. If I had my pipes, I would play you a song, my lady, if it were your wish. Alas, they are gone.”
Deletos bowed deeply, as did the other survivors. There was Helene of Andros, a former carpenter’s daughter who had been a slave at the oars beside Deletos; Iphigenia and Aeson of Pyrrha, sister and brother on their way to dual arranged marriages in Corinth to business partners of their father, Kepheus the Lesser; Deimos, Koios, and Pyrrhos were all from the same vessel; while Pallas, Addamos, Erephtor, Mentor, and Krepedos were all from a galley that had been shipwrecked off the island in the same storm that had blown the Benevolence of Beauty all the way to Alnyxandria.
“Besides us, there are naught but a dozen survivors who were drawn to this foul island by the lotus,” said Mystalicus, “We will gladly take them among us. Your arrival was of great fortune, Lady Rarity.”
“Sadly, I can’t stay with you. I would just be a liability.” Rarity then pointed to the north. “I have already been to Athens and told Hecate and Hypocemia to abandon the city and take everypony they can to Delos. The Moirai told me that I would save you, but that Athens would be destroyed as a result, and this was the only thing I could think of that would save everypony while staying true to their silly prophecy.”
“Delos? Then we will all meet there,” Mystalicus declared, and Trixie nodded firmly, as did the other Athenians gathering around them. “But what of you, my lady? I gather you have some plan in motion.”
Rarity pressed her lips together and looked to the west. “I am going to visit Hephaestus. He is the only one who can help me and Trixie return home.”
“Then we’re coming with you!” declared Aoide as she and her sisters approached. Around them the Athenian’s parted and bowed. Melete and Mneme began to hum a harmony, and Rarity sensed the beginning traces of a song flit through the air. The Muses’ magic grew, flutes and a rhythmic drum adding to the atmosphere, conjured into being by the trio of goddesses. “You obviously have much to learn, previous tutors you did spurn. But worry not, as we are here to tea~ch.”
Before the song could progress any further, Rarity loudly cleared her throat and overwhelmed the Muses magic with her own. It was the furthest thing from subtle, but it had the desired effect of banishing the music, and the Muses clamped their mouths tight in irritation.
“I’m sorry, darlings, but we’ll have to sing later.” Rarity pressed her mouth into a tight line, “I think it is best you go to Olympus.” The words tasted like ash in Rarity’s mouth as she spoke them, little conviction in her voice.
Trixie tilted her head and frowned, while the Muses’ mouths fell open as they sputtered in confounded shock.
Mystalicus stroked his chin, and turned to Rarity, “My lady, is it not with you that the Muses belong? Are they not the shining joys of Beauty, who inspires the hearts of ponies to compose the greatest art and plays? The old ballads speak of how Ares hunted the Muses for years before they were cornered and lost. Would the God of Slaughter have forgotten his grudge of old?”
“Exactly so! Who knows what Ares will do to us if he finds out we still live and managed to escape his wrath. We are still young and have yet to find our domains and are unable to protect ourselves from him.” Aoide bound towards Rarity and made to grab at her hoof, but Rarity snatched it away.
“Yes, but—”
“And we can teach you about Beauty! We learned many things listening to mother as she directed the flow of the ethereal concept throughout the disc, making ponies pretty, mountains sparkle, galleys stout, or even soldiers fight with preternatural grace.” Added Melete as she joined her sister, eyes large voids that tugged at the heart.
“I’m certain I can—”
“And we know Hephaestus and Aphrodite! Many days have we spent under her supervision when we all lived atop Mount Alicornus in the verdant gardens. If you bring us, she will have to admit you into her home, rather than chase you away in a pique of anger for taking Serene’s place as Beauty.” Spoke Mneme in a rush, worry heavy on her face.
Under such an assault, even Rarity was unable to stand her ground, especially when she’d been so uncertain on what to do with the Muses. Still, she did her best to avoid relenting, looking to Trixie for help.
“Trixie the Wise and Cunning think it far better you take these fillies with you, Rarity. There is clearly no love lost between them and the Olympians.”
“Fine!” Rarity threw up her hooves in defeat. “You can come with me.”
The Muses sour expressions perked up, and they cried out together, “Yay! We’re going to see Hephaestus and Aphrodite!”
Rarity didn’t share the Muses happiness. There were many dangers ahead, and she didn’t know how Hephaestus would react, even with their presence.
They stayed only a short time, just long enough to give a few words of encouragement or comfort to the Athenians and other ponies, before Rarity gathered the Muses, and flew to the distant volcanic abode of the God of the Forge and Fire.
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Ah, prophecies. Always so tricky. The question is whether this will prove to be one of the ones where it is, indeed, just describing what she would do after hearing it, or whether it'll be one of the ones where her attempts to outwit it only lead to it being fulfilled...
10403030
What I attempted to imply is that at an instinctual level as an alicorn, Rarity knew that to attempt to overcome the prophecy and succeed would lead to very bad no good horrible things for everypony.
I have two levels of prophecy in the story. There are prophecies from Oracles which can be; 'You'll do X', or 'In trying to avoid X, you make it happen', and its never certain which it will be. Prophecies are also structured in the format of 'You have a choice between X and Y, here is what happens based on what you chose', but the catch is the choice is already made from the point of view of Fate, and the choices are binary in nature. For Mystalicus it was staying in Athens or Leaving with a group of refugees. For Rarity it was staying or escaping from Olympus /right then/. If she attempted to escape right then she would succeed, and though it was only a few paragraphs, there were several coincidences and good fortune that allowed her to escape that wouldn't happen at another time.
The prophecy is also vague or open to interpretations. Such as the part where Athens is a ruin. That can't be avoided. But it made no mention of the ponies of Athens, only the city itself, so Rarity had Hypocemia and Hecuba evacuate the city and take everypony to Delos.
The prophecy also took several rewrites to balance it out between having one side that was all good and the obvious path to take, and the other being all horrible nasty no-goodness and to be avoided. I need both sides to have positives and negatives.
I hadn't expected Hera to be behind Cupid's arrow being shot at Dido but it's good that Rarity managed to interfere. The Moirai seem to rater fond of making dark and morbid prophecies. I'm eager to see what happens when Rarity meets with Hephaestus.
Great update, loving the world (disc) you're fleshing out
10404440
Thanks! I'm enjoying the research portion of writing a chapter. Today it has been deep-diving into the nature of ancient Greek towns, as opposed to the polis' like Athens or Sparta, at a political level and how they were administered.
10403924
Hera is a little menace in the Rariad, and probably a bigger antagonist than Ares at this point.
Have I yet mentioned how truly epic this story is? And I mean that in the old sense of the word. Every chapter of these stories that I read fills my mind with flights of fancy and wonder. Keep doing the world a favor and writing masterpieces like this.
10406956
Thank you! That really puts a smile on my face. I hope I keep living up to these heights.
Why are the fates always so mean. Why can't they tell people they'll get a long and happy life, and things will work out for them!
Curious to see the muses. They took a quick turn from "nooo you're a momma-like monster" to "take us with you!". Hope they'll behave.. but who and m am I kidding
10409341
The Muses behaving themselves... Oh, yeah... That'll toooooootally happen!
I think it rather clever. Prophecies always seem to leave a lot of wiggle room if you are a creative thinker. And Rarity has to be very creative and talented to designer she was, delving into what clients really want. Good on her for figuring out how to stick to the letter of the prophecy.
This whole chapter reminds me of a quote from Princess Tutu: “May those who accept their fate be granted Happiness, may those who defy their fate be granted Glory.”
10415394
A very good quote.
This story is like... fancy chocolate. I save it till I can really savor it.