Part Three
The Rariad
By Tundara
3: Tartarus
It was with greater than normal difficulty Trixie pulled herself up the winding stairs towards Sombra’s primary spell-chamber.
She ached in places she’d forgotten existed. From nose to the tip of her tail, there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t protest every step. Her head hurt worst of all. A throbbing pain struck every few moments, like a blacksmith was trying to hammer her brain into a horseshoe. Pausing at one of the many landings, Trixie reached up to massage her temples.
The pain was her own fault, pushing herself to her limits and beyond again and again over the past… She wasn’t certain how long she’d been in Sombra’s tower. A week? Two? Trixie couldn’t imagine it being longer.
From overhead came Sombra’s rich, baritone voice. “Here I stand, expecting to train my worthless apprentice, and where is she? Where is Miss Lulumoon? Does she not understand that time is precious, even in the Underworld?”
Cringing, Trixie pushed herself up the final set of stairs. At the final landing waited Sylph, the hind holding a silver tray covered in bits of food, purified water, and a glowing blue potion. Unable to form even the thinnest threads of an aura, Trixie grabbed the potion with her hooves, yanked out the stopper with her teeth, and downed the contents in a single gulp.
At once a wave of cool, soothing energy washed through her, banishing the headache as her aether replenished. The small potion failed to restore all her magic, but it was more than enough so she’d be able to participate in the lessons. Some water and a few bites of some hard bread covered in cheese quickly followed.
“Where ever is that dawdling pony?” Sombra’s voice rumbled through the open door.
She gave Sylph an appreciative smile, who smiled back and said, “He really has taken a liking to you, you know. Be careful, he is in a good mood today.”
Mouth suddenly dry, Trixie nodded and hurried into the spell-chamber. Sombra waited on the far side of the intricate casting circle, a deep frown etched onto his features. If it weren’t for Sylph’s comment, and the associated understanding that the hind was privy to Sombra’s true moods, Trixie would have thought him furious. Or perhaps murderous. It was difficult to tell, sometimes.
“Cease your gaping, and get into position,” he grumbled as he fetched a massive, metal bound tome. “This will be your last lesson. If you can manage to grasp the concepts and formula, you will be able to guide your friend back to herself. It is lucky that you are actually adept at mental magic, otherwise this would have taken years, rather than a couple months.”
“Months?” Trixie blinked a few times, certain she’d misheard. “No, we’ve only been at this—”
“Focus!” Sombra slammed a hoof, the chamber ringing with the blow. “Focus on what is important. This spell, restoring Rarity, and bartering her restoration for your freedom. Lethe will have no need for you, once Rarity ascends.”
“You know, it comes to Trixie that you have never asked for payment, or indicated what you get out of this, Sombra.” She knew antagonizing the powerful wizard was a poor idea, but tired, sore, and a little humiliated, she couldn’t hold her tongue.
He arched a thick eyebrow, and let out a long chortle. “I get a nuisance out of my district, and chase off a potential rival. There is also the matter that you will both owe me debts. Debts that I will collect. Yours is insignificant, but to have an alicorn owe me a favour, one equal to assisting in her ascension and restoring her mind? That holds value beyond all measure in this, or any, world.
“And what I will demand of her is simple; Freedom for Sylph and myself. To return to Ioka with our memories intact. To live, taste the air, and feel the fresh breeze on our faces again, and for her to have the years stolen returned.”
“You believe Rarity capable of that?” Trixie was incredulous, and verged on laughing at Sombra.
“No. She will be the Goddess of Beauty, should you succeed. Her talents will be useless. But, she is connected to Celestia, Faust, and Iridia. It is that last alicorn who is capable of granting my wish.”
Wanting to get off the topic, before it spiralled into hours of monologuing and lectures, Trixie sighed, and said, “Well, you either have thought this through in its entirety, or are lying about your intentions. Trixie knows you are no fool, and is in no position to argue, regardless. Let us get this final lesson out of the way, and we can both get our rewards.”
Laughing through a wide grin, Sombra agreed, and then explained the nature of the final test.
“You are to enter my mind, Trixie Lulumoon, and find the pivotal memory on which my destiny hinged. I have constructed a suitable labyrinth for you to enter. If you manage to succeed, you’ll be ready to restore Rarity’s sanity. If you fail, you will likely lose your own mind. This is an unforgiving spell, most who use it regressing to the state of drooling foals.”
Ignoring the anxious knot in her stomach, Trixie puffed out her chest and proclaimed her readiness.
Evidently pleased, Sombra nodded to the center of the chamber, and growled, “Proceed when you are ready. After this you truly will be great and powerful, or a mindless thrall I’ll toss from this tower.”
Black-Blue runes rose in Trixie mind, swirling through her towards her horn and reality. A similar sheen coated her horn, and filled her eyes. A reflection showed the whites of her eyes turn the colour of ink, as the blue began to glow with the rising tides of magic. Her mane and tail began to dance in the waves of aether trying to escape her grasp.
The spell was tricky, far beyond anything she’d have before dreamed of attempting, comprised of a complex interlaced web of runes from every category. Harmonious runes pulsed in perfect perpetuity, serving as anchor points for everything else, stable and in-tune with Trixie’s own soul. Chaos runes fluctuated along the edges, brightening and dimming at inconsistent intervals, sometimes hungry for more aether, other moments expelling it in a rush. Hungry Dark runes prowled between, feeding on Trixie’s heart to sustain themselves. Shielding herself in powerful memories of the suffering endured before she left home, Trixie contained the Dark runes in rings of Bright runes. The two wanted to clash, bucked and fought her control, each despising the other for merely existing. There were even a few Elemental runes in the weave, used as dividers and gateways, and not for their elemental properties.
Never before had Trixie imagined a spell could be constructed in such a manner.
It was like gazing upon and trying to build in her mind a snowflake. Just as delicate, if mishandled, the expulsion of energy would be devastating. The casting circle helped, lending added support to the growing weave’s structure.
What Trixie did not yet know, though part of her suspected, was that it was a Marelantian spell she cast. The beautiful, graceful crystalline structure, perfect in its mathematical and aesthetic symmetry, was a hallmark of the ancient sorceresses. They alone were capable of creating such spells in perhaps all the myriad worlds, gifted the knowledge by beings of incomprehensible age and power. Gods to the Marelantians, kings and queens of demonkind, their gifts laid the groundwork for all the Great Sins to blossom in a pony’s heart.
Never before had Trixie felt such a surge of raw, primal Power except in the moments before her death, when she’d been nothing but a conduit for another.
Aether thrummed through her and reached a fever pitch, ready to tip and explode into a violent conflagration. Setting her teeth, Trixie fought to maintain the spell and set the capstone rune. With a ringing bang inside her head the spell was completed, and a moment of terrible silence followed in which Trixie wondered if she’d failed.
All at once the spell chamber vanished, leaving only Sombra standing just outside the circle, and she was propelled forward. There was a soft impact, and then she was inside Sombra, falling through golden flashes of thought, instinct, and memory. It was like being in the middle of a terrific storm, crackling bursts filled with images of what had been, or could be.
Trixie pushed deeper and deeper, the curtains of Sombra’s past opening. He was letting her in, throwing open barriers that otherwise would have violently ejected any intruder. Trixie was almost awed by the mental mastery Sombra possessed over himself. His mind was a citadel. The final defenses bypassed, Trixie found herself in the innermost sanctum. A warning prickled along the back of her neck that even here she was far from safe, that with a thought he could expel her. All this constructed simply as a test.
Remembering her goal, Trixie set about finding the memory. Hundreds of jewel-like orbs hung from the ceiling, glittering and sparkling in the brilliant light cast by towering windows. Trixie quickly dismissed them as distractions, and instead focused on seven pedestals at the far side of the room. On each sat a different coloured jewel on velvet cushions, and protected by a glass dome.
Inspecting each, Trixie discovered they exuded dark, corruptive energies. Her ethereal flesh crawled just being in the jewels’ presence. Little brass plaques on the pedestals identified the jewels within as Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, Avarice, Wrath, Pride, and Lust. Licking her lips, Trixie went from jewel to jewel, staring at each, trying to ascertain which was the one she was meant to take.
She stopped at Lust, greatest of the Seven Great Sins, raised her hoof, and was stopped by a pony tutting behind her. Spinning about, Trixie began to drop into a defensive posture, but stopped when she saw it was nothing but a dark coated filly.
“Who are you? Part of the test?” Trixie demanded.
Giggling, the filly bounced past Trixie, and up to the pedestals. “Nope, just a fragment Ol’ Somby still has rattling around in his noggin. He forgets I am here, from time to time. I used to be louder, kept him company when he’d mope about in one of his various towers. Which he did a lot. So much time alone. Hundreds and hundreds of years. Just the two of us. Chatting in his towers, on the road, when he would try to sleep, when he was naughty, and when he was nice. I became his conscience. It is nice to know he doesn’t really need me anymore. Still, he misses the noise. Silence irritates him. That is why he likes you, and lets you run around his tower. You are noisy. It makes him feel… like he is home.”
With a quick spin, and little dance, the filly abandoned the pedestals. “Or, maybe this is all a trick. Part of Ol’ Somby’s test. A distraction meant to lure you down false choices. You can never be sure.” Folding her hooves, the filly began to float as if she were a pegasus resting on a cloud.
She smiled sweetly, batted her eyes, and continued to talk about Sombra while Trixie went back to inspecting the jewels. After what felt like hours, but was only a few minutes, Trixie snapped, “If you are going to stay, at least be useful. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Only that none of those are important, really.” The filly shrugged and rolled onto her back, head draping comically down. “Oh, they are great, big, strong emotional points, but not important in forging Sombra the pony. You should look elsewhere.” The filly pointedly glanced up and wiggled an eyebrow.
Sighing, Trixie turned away from the pedestals. On reflection, they were too obvious. Moving to the center of the chamber, she peered upwards at the hundreds of smaller, dangling baubles. Selecting one seemed impossible. Dozens leapt out as potentially the one she sought.
A glance back at the pedestals reminded her to look past the obvious.
“Tick-tock, tick-tock goes the clock. You are running out of time.” The filly floated slowly around Trixie, mimicking the noise of a clock with her tongue. “Better make a choice soon.”
“You aren’t making this any easier,” Trixie growled through clenched teeth, eyes darting across the sea of hanging objects, looking for something, anything that would distinguish one as the primary memory.
Giggling, the filly floated nearer, and whispered in Trixie’s ear, “Isn’t that the point? You think this is difficult? This is soooo… boring. And easy. The fractured mind of anypony is a dangerous place. One filled with the shattered remnants of an alicorn so much more deadly. I’d almost think you have a death wish, but…”
Trixie could hear the filly shrug.
The filly was a distraction. Part of the test. She had to stop focusing on the annoying little munchkin, and instead put her efforts towards the task at hoof.
Closing her eyes, she calmed herself, centered her magical senses, and reached out gently with her aura. The currents of energy coming from the baubles tugged at her aura, pulling at it like a lodestone does iron. Resisting the weaker calls, she snaked and wove through the baubles, testing them, seeing where the pull was strongest, and then reaching out and grabbing. One bauble, utterly unremarkable, broke from the others.
Clapping her hooves, the filly let out a delighted squeal. “You did it! I was starting to get worried. Ol’ Somby will be happy-sad. This means you can go home and fix Rarity.”
Pulling the memory to her, Trixie cracked open an eye and found it was a little, painted wooden apple. Red coat chipped with age, it had a weather beaten appearance.
The moment it fell into her hooves, an image burst before Trixie of three ponies; a filly, a young maid, and an old mare.
Garbed in well-worn cloaks, the three tended to a simple fruit stall in a sprawling open market. In the distance Trixie spotted the well known spires of Notra-dame du Soliel. Instead of aged stone, weathered by many centuries, the spires were unfinished and surrounded by scaffolding. The din of chisels filled the damp morning air, and a warm, spicey fragrance tickled Trixie’s nose. Trixie gaped, and her gaze dipped from the partially completed cathedral back to the ponies. They were smiling up at her, the filly offering an apple with a big grin.
She tried to reach out and take the offered apple, but her hoof refused to move, and no aura came at her call. Panic raced through her heart, and only calmed a little when she spoke, asked if it was okay to take the apple, in the voice of a colt.
Realization took hold that she was reliving Sombra’s memory as it happened, a passive observer to events, along for the ride in his body. She wanted to squirm and get away. This was meant to be private, a memory for Sombra alone. How would he react to her having seen it? Was this part of the test? Unable to do anything else, Trixie settled in for the duration of the memory.
Young Sombra inched closer to the filly, and Trixie felt the flurry of his young heart. He found the filly cute, and nice. The first pony his own age ever to be nice to him. He was a monster. A weapon. One birthed and then forged to fight the griffons. Kirin had no other purpose, and were a danger to normal, good ponies.
“Take it, and we will tell you your future,” the filly promised, the young maid and old mare joining in the sentiment.
A warning flashed through Trixie that these ponies were trouble. There was something off about them, an all too great interest in the colt reflected in eyes that were far too old for a filly. Their stall, despite being well stocked with juicy produce and well placed in the center of the market, had no other customers, and the older mares gave no signs of attempting to draw any attention from shoppers. Young Sombra did not share her concerns, and reached out to take the apple.
“You will be a great stallion, name etched across the ages, dictator of history,” the old mare said, her voice like molten lead pouring into a hidden mold. “Or nopony of consequence. Because of you, Celestia will fall, and so will Luna. It could be within your power to prevent their suffering, to protect the one you love above all others, if you have but the will. You will know the time when Sol and Selene share the day. Make your choice, and shape the disc for the centuries to come.”
Sombra’s chest puffed out, and he said something forgotten. A different mare called his name, and the memory ended.
Trixie staggered backwards, and found herself in a dimly lit place. Blinking bleary eyes, she began to recognise the spell chamber, seeing it as if through a parting fog. Sombra remained just outside the casting circle, head slumped forward as if asleep. With a low grunt he rolled his shoulders, joints popping as he stretched.
“That was a near disaster,” he grumbled, then added, “but, you managed to accomplish your task. You were lucky. There is no guarantee there will be a guide hiding in the depths of Rarity’s psyche to give you guidance. Still, you have the grasp of the spell, and there is nothing more I can teach you.”
There was something like pleasure, and sadness, in Sombra’s face as he passed Trixie. At the door he paused, and over his shoulder said, “See Sylph before you leave. She has a gift for you.”
“Wait!” Trixie called, reaching out to stop Sombra. “That vision, those memories. Who were those ponies?”
Sombra kept his face turned away from her, but from the set of his shoulders, Trixie knew he was thinking.
“I believe they were the Goddesses of Fate; the Moirai. What I’ve learned of them since coming to Tartarus fits, but, it requires supreme arrogance to think the alicorns who dictate Fate had an interest in me. Yet, when I think over what happened as a result of their prophecy, and how it still rattles in my soul after so many, many years, beyond even my death, I can think of no other explanation. Because of that encounter… Because of what that old mare said… When Celestia almost died fighting Amon at Airegos, and Selene and Sol both hung in the heavens for days on end… I thought if I took power I could save the pony I adored, I loved and worshiped, and save all ponykind. Instead, I was their doom. It has only been with hindsight I understood the warning. I needed the strength of will to see the pony I loved most dying, and do nothing. Pride has ever been my greatest weakness, even now. Then it was so much stronger. You know the story of what followed. It has been taught in history books—greatly altered so as to avoid casting a poor light on Celestia—for as long as Equestria has had a public education system.”
Then he disappeared from Trixie’s after-life.
Sylph met Trixie in the main foyer. A wide grin grew as Trixie approached, and she bowed her head a little in greeting in the Halla way.
“There is something I wish you to have, and a request that goes along with it,” Sylph said, head still bowed. From a pocket in her cloak she produced a star amethyst. Within the heart of the violet gemstone hung a white star, twisting and dancing as it perpetually fell. “The gem is enchanted with one of my songs. All you need is place it to your ear, and the song will play. If you do manage to escape Tartarus, and by the goddess’ grace, find your way home to Ioka, could you seek an old friend of mine and pass along a message for me?”
“The Great…” Trixie paused, shook her head, and continued with, “I promise to try. Who is this friend?”
“If she is still alive, she would go by the title of The Sorceress, or simply Velvet Sparkle.”
Trixie’s nostrils flared with surprised indignation, but she took the gem with a stiff nod.
“Tell her that I forgive her for killing me.”
If she’d been slapped, Trixie could not have been more shocked. To learn Sylph was a victim of the Bloody Baroness was amazing alone, that Sylph forgave the pony who killed her almost unthinkable. Baroness Sparkle earned her title for the violent death of Trixie’s own mother, the late Countess Lulamoon. Trixie never ascertained her feelings on the subject. Part of her was glad her mother was dead. The mare was everything a mother should strive to avoid; domineering, manipulative, emotionally abusive, and cruel. Regrets at never fully confronting her mother swirled in her heart.
Though, if she wanted, Trixie without a doubt could locate her mother in Tartarus. There was no way she had crossed back to the Font yet. She was out there, somewhere, in the district.
Placing the star amethyst in a buttoned pocket on the inside of her cloak, Trixie said, “I will make certain to pass your message along.”
“Thank you, Trixie,” Sylph burst into happy tears, wrapping her hooves around Trixie in a crushing hug. After holding it a minute longer than Trixie was comfortable, Sylph let go and bid Trixie a fond farewell.
Smiling, steps light, Trixie left Sombra’s tower. Outside the fence she turned back, and saw him illuminated in one of the upper windows. The ancient wizard tipped her a salute, the bond of master and apprentice forevermore etched between them. Returning the salute, Trixie turned, and disappeared down the hill.
Before she’d gone more than a few blocks, she sensed a change in the district.
There was an air of uncertainty within the streets, a palpable sense of something being amiss. Ponies moved as if they’d woken from a daze, blinking, staring out at the dreary streets in horror, clutching each other and hiding beneath tattered awnings. Oppressive dread weighed every step, every look, and every moment.
It was not hard to discover the cause. At street corners, and moving about in threes, were the Furies. Inscrutable gazes fixed forward, they marched from house to house, their purpose utterly inscrutable. Trixie wondered if they were searching for something, or somepony.
Sucking a sharp breath between her teeth, Trixie took to the back alleys. Even these were not safe.
A former queen grovelled in the mud on her knees before a trio of Furies. Hooves clasped, she begged for mercy, but the alicorns had none. They stared at her with pitiless eyes, swords unsheathed.
“Mercy, mercy!” the former queen cried, spectral tears running through her fur. “I will tell you anything, do anything, just have mercy!”
“There is no pardon nor forgiveness we can offer thee for thine crimes,” spoke the leader of the Furies. “Only Justice long deserved and overdue. In Tartarus you have lingered far longer than any of your kin, long enough that all who knew your name have long since passed twice again through the Font. You have broken curfew, and shall be punished. Is there any claim you wish to make against this accusation?”
“I did not know!” wept the former queen. “How could I? I exist in a hovel not far from here, alone, isolated, keeping to myself. All I brought with me from life has long since been spent. There is nothing I possess to trade for even the most trivial of knowledge or gossip. I swear I was ignorant of there being a curfew.”
“Lies!” spat the second of the Furies. “We smell the lingering stench of your falsehoods, as we do the crimes you committed in life. Matricide, to claim a crown you wore but a year before poison found its way to your food. A long history of murder perpetuated through the ages has stained your descendants and forebears alike.”
Trixie did not stay to hear what the queen said next. Whatever it was, the unfortunate pony’s screams spoke of how little the Furies were pleased.
Through twists and turns in the alleys Trixie hurried. She didn’t see any more of the Furies until she came across a towering temple where the final warrens between her and the manor used to reside. Dozens of the alicorns came and went out of the gothic structure.
Gargoyles clung to a thousand different perches across the bleak stone facade or in nooks on the giant crenulated columns, each as thick as two ponies nose to nose. Up they soared, two hundred hooves in height to support a broad roof. Carved deep into every surface, images of the Furies glared down on the street. Within the marble they marched, warred, and punished the wicked. No matter their position, no matter the action within which they were poised, the figures gazed towards a single point at the very peak of the temple. There, bathed in the radiance of eight-armed sun, stood a severe, yet beautiful figure grabbed in a thin robe that billowed in a wind. Wings spread wide, and horn clad in lapis lazuli, the statue was flanked by a floating set of scales on her left, and a sword on her right. Her gaze pierced Trixie, though it was just stone, and left her with a sensation of being so small and insignificant.
Trixie forced her eyes away from that judging figure, and broke into a swift canter. The canter turned into a gallop, Trixie dashing through the alleys and streets, heedless of the stares she drew from the other dead, and the curiosity she piqued in the Furies. She came to a sharp halt, hooves slipping on the slimy cobblestones, as a Fury appeared right in her path.
The Fury’s pink eyes locked onto Trixie, a frown at play beneath her glittering helm. A wing shifted, revealing a sword tucked tight against her side. For a moment, Trixie had a vision of the silvery blade flashing from its scabbard and cut across her throat in a single motion. Overwhelming strength directed by an uncompromising will garbed the Fury as if it were a cloak.
“Whatever your purpose in this district, Elysian, you should hasten to complete. A great shift is on the horizon, and you do not wish to be caught in its path. Go with Tyr’s blessing, fallen hero.” This said, the Fury stepped around Trixie and headed towards the temple.
Shocked speechless, Trixie gaped at the Fury until she’d vanished into the temple’s inky interior.
For the remainder of her journey Trixie walked boldly through the streets and alleyways. Twice more she encountered a Fury, and each time they passed her with only the same, brief warning.
Trixie became aware of something strange, something missing. For several minutes she’d couldn’t place what was bothering her. She slowed and stared back the way she’d come, wondering if she was being followed, but there was nopony behind her. Pushing back the hood of her cloak, Trixie breathed in the damp, moldy air of the underworld, and that was when it struck her.
It had stopped raining.
Slowing, she gazed up at the dark clouds foaming so far overhead. They were still heavy, leaden with fresh rain just waiting to fall. But, they also seemed to be waiting, or perhaps just building.
All too slowly she reached Lethe’s manor. The air hummed with uncertainty, and Trixie was so relieved to be home that she didn’t notice the locks had been left undone, or that Rarity was missing from her window. Calling out as she entered, Trixie’s first hint that something was amiss was the lingering scent of burnt aether coiling through the manor. Scorched marks filled the entrance hall, and bits of spectral remnant lay splattered along the walls and banister. Busts and paintings lay scattered and askew, and discarded weapons were thick across the carpets.
Trixie dashed up the stairs, and found a similar scene on the second floor. Without slowing she threw open the door to Rarity’s room and burst through. Anchor and Rarity were both missing. Lifeless heart seizing in her chest, Trixie entered the room and glanced around.
There was no sign of a struggle or damage as with the rest of the manor. Everything appeared as if Rarity had merely stepped out for a minute.
Except, the room showed signs of wear and decay where the nature of Tartarus encroached and reclaimed what Rarity’s presence had made new. Patchy splotches of bare threads let in dreary light through the curtains. Scuffs marks marred the hinges of the wardrobe and there were scratches on the latches. Rarity’s bed was unmade.
Trixie estimated it had been a few hours, maybe less, since Rarity was taken.
Stepping further into the room, Trixie’s hooves squelched into a puddle of spectral ichor.
Heart sinking further, Trixie looked down at the remains of a dead spirit. Anchor’s earrings lay in the remnants,
Turning around, Trixie found herself confronted by the zebra brothers. Heads bowed, they moved their lips in silent chants as they swayed with passionate fervor.
At Trixie’s entrance they rose, and faced her with wild, rolling eyes. Roaring in Zebenese, the pair hurled themselves at Trixie. Caught off guard, Trixie was rammed in the chest and pressed up against the wall by the younger brother. The elder sibling sprang up, hoof connecting with the point of her horn in a savage blow. Head snapping to the side, stars exploding across her vision, Trixie fell limp in the younger brother’s grasp.
The speed of their assault, the fury of their blows, it left her senseless. Thoughts muddy as she fought through the pain of disrupted aether she made only a slight note as she was bound in thick leather thongs and dragged from the room. Carring little for her well being, the brothers hauled as they would a sack of grain, tossing her into a heavy sack that they lugged down the stairs. They took every opportunity to slam her into walls and door edges, anything to keep her from spellwork.
Cold air tingled through the scratchy burlap as they left the manor. Trixie did her best to keep track of where they were going, but was hopelessly lost before they’d even left the desolate gardens. Every slight corner turned her about. She thought they’d gone miles instead of only a block or two. Muffled noises all seemed to indicate they were in cramped alleys.
The pounding in her head and continued abuse only further disoriented her. Even then, she attempted to form some sort of spell. When she did, the sack tightened around her like the coils of a giant snake, crushing the magic from her mind. After three failed attempts Trixie gave up, and resigned herself to waiting until they reached their destination.
After what seemed hours she was brought into a cavernous building, judging be the faint echoes and clomp of hooves on wood. Voices, a lot of voices, whispered around the edges, making Trixie’s skin crawl.
With a sudden shift, Trixie was dumped out of the sack onto the hard floor, tumbling into a mess of entangled legs. Growls in her throat, Trixie untangled herself and stood with an arrogant flip of her mane.
“Good, now the Great and Powerful Trixie…” Her voice faded away at the number of faces surrounding her.
Hundreds of ponies, zebras, and even the large bulk of a minotaur were arrayed about her. Some hung from scaffolds meant for crates, while others stood around tables covered in glittering gold. Of greater concern was that every one of them wore belts or thick girdles through which weapons were thrust. Sabres and daggers glittered with keen edges in the ponie’s belts, and the head of a sledge rested on the minotaur’s shoulder.
A nervous, anxious air permeated the rogues. They twitched and played with their weapons. Some whispered and made rude gestures. All of the scowled.
The glittering, pristine quality of the weapons, coupled with the spotless nature of the warehouse told Trixie that Rarity was near. Her suspicions were confirmed as the crowd parted to reveal a throne atop a slightly raised platform on which Rarity had been placed.
Eyes glazed, Rarity stared out over the crowd not really seeing it, or anything else, still lost in the fractures of her soul.
But, it was the pony next to Rarity that gripped Trixie’s attention.
Face covered in the slick gore of spectral fluids, Anchor lorded over the rogues with a manic gleam to her eyes. Part of an ear was missing, and razor thin wounds criss-crossed one shoulder. At her hooves, in a pool of bubbling plasm, lay a bejeweled sabre. She stared through Trixie, and then trembled when noticing her, demeanor shifting in an unsettling ripple.
With a smile like a cat who just spotted a nicely fattened mouse, Anchor snatched up the sabre, and thrust it through a wide sash around her waist. The rogues leaned closer to her, narrowing their eyes, some licking their lips. A few dropped hooves or hands to the hilts of sword or dirks.
In a carrying voice, Anchor proclaimed, “I’m the boss now, got it? Any of you wastrels thinking otherwise can challenge me now, otherwise…” The threat hung like a dead pony from a yardarm over the assembled group. A few murmured, but none stepped forward in challenge.
“Good.” Anchor smirked wider still, and turned all her malicious attention towards Trixie.
Trixie let out a relieved sigh. Anchor was… well, not alive, given everypony in Tartarus was a spirit. Safe. Anchor was safe. And so was Rarity.
Except, why take Rarity from the manor? Why the crowd of unsavory souls?
Trixie darted worried glances around the crowd again, and spotted signs of old sailors wounds. Peg-legs, eye-patches, and brocade coats here and there, others with sennit hats or bandanas, and all together an unsavory lot.
This was Anchor’s old crew, and those she’d gathered over the years. Pirates and brigands in life, and a band of fanatical rogues in death.
“Anchor, what is going on?” Trixie demanded, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin at a commanding angle. “Lethe said to keep Rarity in the manor. Who are these ponies?”
Hopping off the platform, Anchor marched up towards Trixie. A warning flashed in Trixie the same moment Anchor drew a dagger from her bandoleer. In a swift blur, Anchor lunged, hilt of her gleaming blade clamped in her teeth.
Sharp pain lanced through Trixie’s side, just behind her right-foreleg. Spectral fluid gushed into her lungs, and up her throat in choking gasps. Her legs gave way, her head hitting oak floor with a loud crack. Stars popped across her vision, and the crowd spun around her as she tried to make sense of what was happening.
Anchor slid the dagger back into its holster beneath her braid. Leaning down, Anchor reached over and pressed a hoof to the deep wound. A twist of her hoof brought a scream gurgling from Trixie.
“I hit a lung, good,” the pirate sneered. She grabbed Trixie by the mane, and wrenched her head up so she was looking at Rarity.
“She is my daughter. Mine! My precious little Ritty. Not yours to barter for favours! I will keep her safe, and she will carry me from this place.” Madness swam in Anchor’s eyes, and gave her voice a chaotic crackle. “You plot to steal her from me. To give her to that whoreson half-dragon in payment for his magics. Do not deny it! Months I’ve had to understand your betrayal. And months I have had to prepare. I know all about you, Trixie Lulamoon. What you did to my Ritty in Ponyville. The way you tormented and belittled her in front of other ponies for your own amusement. I should have known you’d betray me from the start.”
Trixie tried to speak, to deny the allegations, but all that came was a foamy slur.
She wanted to say that she wasn’t the same pony she’d been when visiting Ponyville. She’d changed. Grown. That taking care of a filly had made her a better pony. And it had. She’d been bound for Elysium, after-all.
“You were never needed. A mistake of fate put you in her path, nothing more. Even without you, my Ritty would have found her way back to her mama.”
On her throne, Rarity stared blankly at Trixie and Anchor, seeing neither of them.
Shoving Trixie’s head back to the floor, Anchor stood and trotted in a wide circle, addressing her grinning crew. Anger flashed. Trixie beratted herself for trusting anypony in Tartarus. She should have known better. Betrayal burned through Trixie’s veins as Anchor flaunted her victory to her crew.
It was all the opening Trixie needed.
If she’d been alive, the wound would have been both mortal, and slow to kill her as her lungs filled with choking fluid. Already dead and an elysian her spiritual body quickly mended. Sombra’s lessons, far more brutal at times, gave her the strength to fight.
Though lacking a magic circle, desperation and hatred burned through Trixie. She could not believe she’d been so foolish as to trust Anchor. The betrayal cut deep, and Trixie clung onto that pain as fuel for her magic. Surrounded by so many rogues it was impossible to escape on her own. Her only hope was Rarity.
Anchor, confident of her supremacy over Trixie, failed to notice the building magic tingling through the air. Keeping her aura from her horn until the last moment, a victorious grin twisted Trixie’s lips as the spell reached completion.
Cries filled the warehouse as a beam of blue aether fired from Trixie’s horn to strike Rarity on the brow. There was a second of hard resistance, and then Trixie plunged into Rarity’s mind.
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Those who end up becoming better after going to Tartarus are the exception, with so many criminals most become only worse if they change at all. Pride is a sin present among many prisoners in Tartarus including Anchor.
Luna? That should be Trixie, right? Doesn't make sense to me.
9047576
Hahaha... Wow... I can't believe that slipped through.
9047624
What is more interesting how it got there. You really had to jump between stories a lot to make to this kind of typo.
9047633
I do a lot of jumping, both in what I am writing and what I am planing in my head. I think at the time I wrote that I was also working on the Tamashi side-story. Or, it could have been that I was describing the Furies, and my mind associated alicorns > blue pony > Luna. However it came to be, its still funny that it survived so many passes. Or, it could have been caused by one of the latter 'touch-ups' to the descriptions.
I... am honestly not surprised by Anchor's betrayal. It feels fitting, almost. A mother's love can be dangerous; unyielding and incredibly powerful. But if it's twisted, and let's admit it, Anchor was never a "good" mother, especially in a place that is literally hell, and which screws with the mind of about 95% of everyone there, I can imagine it would happen. Even without the "Tartarus!" explanation, it felt natural. The second she appeared I predicted it, and a few sentences later Trixie noticed it, too.
So no, I'm not surprised or angry that Anchor betrayed Trixie. It is, afterall, anchored in the setting, making it plausible
I wish I could give another like for every chapter, great pony words.
9047734
Take a Thumbs Up for that pun. XD
9047834
I couldn't help it.
Reading such succulent Sombra lore is an absolute treat! I trust that there will be more of him? Maybe? Hopefully?
Also, I would suggest adding some other character tags to help better advertise your story. Perhaps a Sombra tag and an OC tag? This would make it much easier to search for by people who are interested in what the potential extended cast holds.
That Sombra's token of his defining memory was a wooden apple, made me think the memory would involve somepony giving Sombra the wooden apple and then mocking him when he bit it thinking it was real, and that would convince little Sombra ponies would always be mean to him due to him being a freak so he would just become the monster they already considered him... Or maybe the memory of getting his stallion apples taken. Snip snip.
You know you're doing it right when you can explain a character motivation with "well she is a pirate after all."
9049080
It was actually a nod to Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and the holy grail being a wooden cup, iirc. It's been a very long time since I watched the movie. Could have just been a plain cup in the movie. Doesn't change the nature of the little reference. It was more about the concept of a plain, simple, or otherwise unobtrusive object having great importance, anyways. ^^... Rambling now... need morning coffee... >.>
9047853
I try to keep the tags at a bare minimum. Sadly, there wont be any more of Sombra in the story. Initial plans had him having more of a role in Tartarus, but it got paired down.
She's doomed. Wait, Trixie is already in Tartarus. Reverse doomed?
Speaking of doomed, a young Kirin meeting the Fates never stood a chance.
Whoops.
Well, maybe they've kidnapped Trixie to take her to the same place that the kidnapped Rarity was taken to.
In hindsight, trusting a dead pirate may have been a mistake.
9049977
Nah, pirates are totally trustworthy! It's not like their entire profession is based on stealing, murder, and getting drunk...
9049328
Aww, darn. I really love how you have him in these stories, and it felt like things were just starting to get rolling with him. I guess him and Sylph won't be getting what they wished for, then?
Oooo, the plot thickens.
9050145
To say nothing of their other contributions to American democracy.
Fuckin' Karens. I tell you!