Lost
”What can a centaur do when attacked by magic?”
Princess Luna had asked the question at the press conference, then answered it. Words which had granted Cerea some degree of chance, in a form of a path she could try to follow. A trail cutting across the fear-soaked surface of a new world, in the hopes that it somehow led to a destination called acceptance.
And now…
…what had it looked like, when the Bearers had found her? It was the first time the girl had truly tried to picture it.
Had it even been sight at all, at least for the first signs? The pony olfactory sense was far weaker than her own, but… there were situations which created exceptions. It could be argued that ponies were a prey species, and such seldom had any difficulty in picking up on a certain miasma. Not that which came from the skin and fur of the dying, because that was just part of the background in Tartarus. It would have been a deeper combination of odors, something more definitive and… terminal.
Would the deep place have brought those scents to the ponies from a distance, as a means of torment? So that they would only know that there was death ahead, but not how much or whose? Make them dread. Or it could have hidden everything, at least when it came to that sense. The distress signal had been sent: there was no helping that. But concealing every hint of what might be ahead, forcing the group to fill the space within their minds with self-generated horrors — that could be effective. Imagination had a way of conjuring that which was worse than reality, and it was usually followed by declaring that reality had somehow won anyway.
She didn’t know what they had suspected, as they’d followed what had been seen as her distress call. At the very least, they had probably believed there was some level of disaster ahead: an expectation which crossed worlds. Call in to Japan’s cultural exchange office, tell them it was that household again, and a disaster would be the least of what was expected. Cross to Menajeria and the girl had more than proven herself capable of creating a disaster on her own.
Perhaps they had scented death at a distance, as they followed the trail of scrapcloth. (A trail which Tartarus had somehow allowed to stand.) Or they could have been left to wonder, because dreams could so easily be the worst of it.
But eventually, they would have found the final approach. There might have been a moment to wonder about the change in the angle, followed by sighting the shadows from the new bars ahead. And then…
…what had it looked like, from the outside?
The corpse would have been small, and the girl didn’t know how small. Her memories of the final collapse were somewhat indistinct, and she suspected that unconsciousness had closed in prior to Tirek’s final forfeiture of mass. Perhaps it had appeared very much as if she’d impaled a child. An act which would have only been performed by a monster.
How small had Tirek been? If somepony had seen the sword before, would it have been reasonable to expect some portion of the length to have extruded past his spine?
Two collapsed forms. Broken platinum wires projecting from the final wound, and perhaps the shrinkage of their container had forced more metal into the light. A corpse on cold stone, and a barely-breathing body which was still pushing the blade forward through the overwhelming power of superior mass.
…cold stone.
Cold, smooth stone.
I dropped. All the way down. My legs, the underside of my lower belly and barrel… the armor doesn’t cover everything.
There aren’t any wounds in those areas.
Why aren’t there…?
Had they stared at the scene before them, of what might have been taken as murder? The slow cooling of a death which had finally finished, and the too-solid drip of half-congealed blood?
They would have know he was dead. That she had killed him. And after that… there would have been a need to get out.
Trying to reach the surface, while carrying a burden.
Princess Luna had been wrong. It had ended with two centaurs emerging from Tartarus. One of them just happened to be dead.
(Twilight had broken the stone bars, and that had been followed by carrying an armored centaur all the way out. When it came to the little alicorn’s field strength, Cerea wasn’t sure which had been the more impressive feat.)
They would have tried to separate the bodies. Each carried in its own field bubble, if only to prevent jostling. Plus they had to get the centaurs apart, because one was carrying a sword that negated magic and the other was impaled upon it. Separation, get the sword out of Cerea’s death grip, and then levitation would be possible. Somepony else would need to carry the blade, and Applejack had apparently volunteered for that portion of ongoing illness.
…how had they gotten the bodies apart, without using magic? Jaw grips on tails? (Multiple, for that of the mare.) With somepony having to bite down on Tirek’s short fall, after his sphincters had already —
— the girl didn’t want to know.
That was probably when they’d seen it, down there in the caves. There was a chance for Tirek’s corpse to have fallen away from the girl, or shrunk so much as to separate on its own. But she was picturing them as still having been close together. As close as family. And the hilt having become distorted, part of the crossguard missing — both were observations which could be made at the start.
Separate them, expecting to see the edgeless blade emerge. Another factor which had to be dealt with. And then…
The girl wondered what their feelings had been. Relief, because something which existed as anathema to their existence was gone?
Except that I was still there —
— they brought me out…
Fear? Confusion?
…concern?
She could picture all of it. But she didn’t know. In the end, the only piece of information she truly had was still half-inferred. Twilight had come out of the air carriage, carrying the last living centaur. And then Applejack had emerged.
The earth pony would have borne the ruined hilt. An act which was visible to Nightwatch, so… probably at the front of the jaw. Enough sticking out to identify. And the Bearer would have been carrying the plastic without discomfort, weakness, or any illness beyond that produced by having to taste half-melted plastic.
Nightwatch had witnessed it. And at the moment the little knight truly recognized every aspect —
”What can a centaur do when attacked by magic?”
— she would have known Cerea’s dubious career as a Guard had ended.
Earth ponies had raw strength, endurance, and resilience. Unicorns used their fields, while pegasi went with techniques and the gift of flight. An ibex had once offered those powers granted by the many definitions of ‘stability’ to the thrones. There had been griffon Guards in the deep past. At least one donkey had made it, and Cerea knew that yaks had applied for the post.
The Guards had been comprised solely of ponies for a very long time. But there had been those from the other species who had taken on the duty. It might happen again one day.
And every one of those species had their own magic.
It had never been the wielder. The only thing which had allowed Cerea any degree of chance at gaining a place was the sword. A sword which could at least try to battle against all of it, when the girl could do nothing. The only sapient on the planet with no magic of her own, no hope of matching power against power and coming out intact on the other end.
It was worse than the laws. The human laws said she couldn’t fight. Equestria had permitted the girl to defend herself. It just wouldn’t mean anything. And even if she crossed a border, went to a new nation — it just put her in a location where the dominant form of magic was something different. The result of any attempt to stand against it, however, would be identical.
Two centaurs had been brought out of the air carriages. One was already dead. The other, hated and feared by a world which longed to strike against her, was just… slightly delayed.
Without the sword, she was defenseless.
A trotting vulnerability.
Helpless.
What could a centaur do when attacked by magic?
Fall.
Maybe it’s not that bad.
It felt like a rather uncommon degree of optimism, especially given that it had emerged from Cerea’s own thoughts. But there were times when denial wore its own masks.
“…the blade?” she made herself softly ask, still staring at the ruined hilt as she lay on her side, with the little knight so close. Maybe — maybe the blade had just broken off…
Would its power return if all the pieces were put back together?
How do you reforge plastic?
She didn’t know if it was possible. Barding’s mark might not be able to work out the process: metal wasn’t any part of it, and she wasn’t about to wake him just to ask for what would probably be the wrong answer. Regardless, heating would certainly be involved, and the forge might wind up filled with toxic fumes.
She was hoping Applejack wasn’t feeling ill.
The girl felt ill. Sick and covered in blankets and — something else. There was fabric against her skin and fur, strangely flimsy…
“Gone,” Nightwatch quietly answered. “There’s…” and the girl watched her friend swallow back sickness. “…some residue visible. Um. Inside Tirek. But it isn’t enough to make up the rest of the sword. Not even close.”
Almost desperate, and it was ‘almost’ because she’d pushed so much of it down. “The hairpins?” Which hadn’t been used for a direct assault. Maybe her mind was still safe —
— it was a hope. There were ways in which that made it torment, and nearly all of them crested at the moment when she saw the pegasus slowly turn back towards the rolling cabinet.
It took more effort this time, and some strictly unintentional comedy got involved. Ponies had invented tweezers. They had also created them to work with rather wide jaw grip surfaces. It made the whole arrangement come across as if Nightwatch was trying to use mouth-operated spring bellows, which just happened to end in a pair of very fine points.
The last vestiges of hope held up until the pegasus began to turn, because Nightwatch was trying not to make contact with the plastic. But then Cerea saw the little object held between the tweezer’s tips, and understood.
The blackened hairpin was carefully deposited onto the makeshift bed, and the minimal impact against a soft surface made the edges threaten to crumble.
They wanted everypony to believe I was harmless.
Poorly-crafted illusion had just warped into truth.
Could she fake a sword? She could certainly forge a proper one — well, nearly so: her replacement lie wouldn’t have an edge. The weight would be off, but it wasn’t as if most ponies had ever touched the original. If she could find some way of matching the color, making light react identically with the new surface…
…a perpetual bluff. Eventually, someone would have enough confidence to test it, believing they could get their power past her reflexes. They would be half-right. Her reflexes might be up to the challenge. It just wouldn’t matter.
…why did the hairpins…?
The effect which had made the sword capable of standing against magic had touched the hairpins at the same time. Perhaps they had been linked, to the very last. Ultimately, it didn’t matter.
She had already resigned from the Guard. Cerea hadn’t given any real thought to changing her mind on that issue, because… she was a trotting disaster. She couldn’t leave the palace without triggering something, and that meant she had to leave the nation.
Nightwatch had been prepared to argue that decision. And at the moment the pegasus had seen the ruin of the sword, understood what it meant…. the past tense had fully closed in.
The girl wasn’t a knight.
She would never be a knight. Not without a weapon which meant something.
“I’m sorry,” the one true knight in the room whispered. “Cerea, I’m so sorry…” And nuzzled her again, jaw and chin arching over the ruined plastic.
Try to look strong.
For her.
The centaur made herself take a breath. (There was no attempt made to invoke any degree of access to the Second, not when she felt so sick.) Tried to reevaluate.
My life for all lives…
When looked at that way, a sword was a rather small price to pay. Any true knight would have made that trade in an instant. If she’d known, at the moment she’d entered the deep place, that killing Tirek meant the loss of the blade…
I would have done it anyway.
The thought gave her some comfort.
The results still left her helpless.
What am I supposed to do now?
What could I ever…?
She felt sick. Every part of her felt sick. Her tail hair had found some way of reporting illness. Trimming the fall would be a form of revenge. And there were sensations beyond that, familiar and pressing…
“I have to get up.”
Immediately, “Cerea, you’re not supposed to —“
“— I need a restroom.” They’d been feeding her. Centaur digestion was highly efficient at extracting calories: it had to be, because the other option was a sapient who more or less needed to eat continually. But it still took a lot to fuel her body, and there were consequences for that.
She briefly wondered how much benefit she’d taken from the meat: calories and recovery. The Doctors Bear had been told that she was supposed to have some when healing a wound…
I want another steak.
Part of that thought had been directed by a dream of full recovery. The rest was for the taste. Some degree of horror was still applied to the whole.
I don’t know how I like my steak.
Maybe Sizzler could figure that out.
…where did they say the carnivores and omnivores got their meat? Nothing sapient, ever. It’s mostly monsters. The griffons have ranches for monsters. I had a monster steak. And there’s no growth hormones, no drugs, all the food is pure and the meat winds up the same way.
What does neurocypher taste like?
Eating something which had been trying to kill you seemed like a rather human form of revenge.
“There’s a bedpan. And… um… something else. You’re sick. You shouldn’t be trying to get up!”
Which quickly begged the question of just how the doctors had rigged elimination collection for a centaur, and even more hastily discarded it because Cerea didn’t want to know. “It isn’t dignified! To just… do that, lying down! And I have to get up, just to find out if I can get up.” Without vomiting. She still wanted to vomit, and it wasn’t from the meat. Not when that horrible sensation took up the whole of her. “And I’m on my side! It’s not a good position for me, not for two days!”
And if she got up, she could temporarily trot away from the corpses of sword and hairpins.
From the grave of hope.
“You shouldn’t! I —“
There was a certain set to the little knight’s jaw, just for an instant. An aspect which reminded Cerea of the Sergeant, and that let her know what Nightwatch had almost considered. But she wasn’t in the Guard any more. Orders didn’t apply.
The centaur twisted. Heaved against her own weight, while silently praying that her digestive system wouldn’t do the same. Pushed…
…the outermost layer of blankets flew away. The lower ones fell…
Imagine a society of ponies. Give them art, culture, and for this exercise, we’ll need to make sure they have medicine. The healing arts, and so many of the little inconveniences which come with them. Climb to the proper level on the mountain of medical advancement, and a needle jab might be just as painful wherever you go.
But you’re also dealing with a species which, with the exception of those strange ‘clothists’, exists without a nudity taboo.
Given that, what’s the point of staying covered up in a medical facility? You bandage wounds. Protect recently-stitched areas. Blankets provide warmth. There really isn’t a need for much else. Physicians already have to observe through fur all the time: a close medical inspection often starts with a razor. But with the vast majority of the treated, that’s it. Maybe you keep a few things around for the body-sensitive — but otherwise, patients are nude.
Now let’s say that two medical representatives from that pony society are trying to treat someone from an unfamiliar species. A patient who not only has a taboo regarding public nudity, but also got a little sick of discovering just how many means the human world had of removing her blouse. And just for the fun of it, we’re not going to let any skill in stitching wounds translate to fabric. At all.
They are about to invent the centaur hospital gown.
So how is this going to work? Well, the patient doesn’t have a trick valve and wants to keep her genitals covered. We can certainly accommodate her there. But at the same time, the current bruising is along the left flank, and that has to be kept visible. So let’s take a long drape of cloth and run it along the lower back — but it’s only going to fall to one side. The healthier one, which means it mostly winds up bunching up under the patient. And naturally, this has to be anchored somewhere, so we’re going to cut out a hole for the tail, followed by pulling most of it through. And the fabric can cover the buttocks, because that’s what the patient seems to desire. It just has a tendency to slope. Towards the same side.
Of course, we’ve still got the upper torso to deal with. And we need more anchor points, so how about — sleeves? Sure: we can utterly ruin the cut on some short ones. Also, because some horrible concepts are more or less universal, this thing is going to fasten with fabric ties. Which are going to be made with wide, thin strips, because it’s possible that a unicorn won’t be in the area and tying a knot by mouth is one of those skills which benefits from having a lot to work with. And also means working very, very close to whatever you’re covering. Bumping is going to happen. Repeatedly.
So the ties hang long. And loose. Very, very loose. And they’re anchored around the sort of buttons which make it look like somepony found a donation supply of cartoon waistcoats. While the knots? Mostly aren’t. They come apart easily. ‘Spontaneously’ is also an option. And once the fastening is complete, there’s still a very large gap between the sides. After all, it’s very possible that you’ll need to look at whatever’s underneath in a hurry, not to mention applying instruments to check heartbeat and lung function (for the upper pair) and —
— wait. Did you really think they were going to close this at the back?
…the outermost layer of blankets flew away. The lower ones fell. The hospital gown went through its first test against Centaur, Moving, and followed that up by discovering that the girl’s braless bustline possessed a considerable amount of free-swinging weight.
The knots fell apart. Certain aspects of centaur more or less fell out. A random monitor spark floated by. Barding snored.
Nightwatch stared.
“Um,” the little knight said.
The girl, for whom mortification took place via instinct, began to bring her hands up —
“— you’re a little bruised there. And that was with all the padding.” With open concern, “What did you do? Was that from the ramming attack? Does it hurt? And did you have enough room in there? Do you need to make the next set bigger? Because we did just order the bras…”
Cerea blinked. Her arms dropped to her sides.
And then she began to laugh.
The only consistency for the rest of the day was Cerea’s sickness. She kept wanting to vomit. Every cell in her body wanted to throw up. To expel something which might be hurting her. But nothing happened. At one point, she went back into the restroom, slowly lowered her body until she could lean over the sink without jamming her lightly-bruised breasts too badly, tried, and… nothing happened.
Nightwatch was in and out. The pegasus was still excused from Guard duty until her wings fully healed, so there was no need to go on shift. (Cerea wasn’t even sure what time it was. There was no clock in the treatment room, and Nightwatch’s breath carried the residue for some sort of potion mix: a schedule might have been flipped.) But food had to be fetched, the little knight responded to the sounds of traffic in the approach hallways by seeing who it was and every so often, she just went out to find another argument.
They kept arguing. Because Cerea couldn’t be a Guard any more, and the pegasus sadly acknowledged that. Not when there were no defenses left. But…
“You can still be a smith. Barding wants that. The palace would expand the forge. Make sure you both had room. He’s been too busy for the last few days, but there’s still a long way to go before —”
“A smith who can’t leave the palace,” Cerea countered.
Helpless.
Even in another nation, all it takes is one frightened pony. Passing through or native.
A terrified local of any species.
The Sergeant talked about yaks. How their magic centers around the concept of destruction.
What would a yak do to me?
How could I stop it?
I couldn’t.
The pegasus hesitated.
“You could just stay inside until the refit is finished. That’s moons. Things could be calmer by then. The way it happened for Yapper. And once the Princesses talk to the press —“
Inertia.
Normalcy.
With me, ‘terror’ is normal.
“— it won’t help —“
“— you didn’t try —“
Shortly into their third go-round on that, Barding woke up. His primary role was to add a limited chorus. He wanted to keep the steel in Equestria. He insisted. He was incredibly angry about the prospect of seeing the steel leave, and said so. Over and over, until the rage reached a temperature which his forge could never achieve, and the furious blacksmith stomped his way out of the room.
He wanted to keep the steel in Equestria. He’d said so, over and over. It was just that on the list of things he’d wanted to stay, the steel had been named second.
Sizzler dropped by. The intent had been to see what the doctors had wanted for the next treatment — but he found the patient awake: something which made his eyes briefly shine from the internal glow of assigned credit.
It was Cerea’s first chance to speak with the cook. He had a blood-red coat, one for which the fur possessed an oddly-liquid quality. He struck her as being a little on the dim side, and his personal aroma kept trying to slap her across the face. The unicorn smelled like meat. He smelled like a lot of meat, none of which were varieties she knew because most of those held either nations or tenant rights. And he was offended that the centaur hadn’t seen fit to tell him about her proper diet. Deeply, vastly, almost mortally, and he held it for all of twenty seconds.
That was followed by the happy, anticipatory offering of a menu. (Nightwatch’s skin began to flush a faint green beneath the fur.) Cerea asked for explanations and expansions on most of the monster names, receiving an inadvertent bestiary in the process. After some extensive advising, Sizzler eventually agreed to start on some zirolak chops, along with telling her that neurocypher meat was treated as a delicacy — but given the hazards in acquiring any, the palace didn’t keep it in stock. Plus if he was so lucky as to acquire a fresh supply, he would appreciate some help with cracking the shell.
He left to begin preparing it all, and the argument resumed. After a while, it transmuted. You could only argue about the same things for so long, and there were other things to discuss.
“Did you see her?” Nightwatch asked. “Your friend?”
My sister.
She’d been trying not to bring it up, if only because of the implications. But since the little knight had raised the topic…
“Yes,” Cerea softly said. “We… talked. I remember a little of it.”
(She remembered being hugged.)
“She said… she can tell everyone she saw me. And that I miss them. She tried to tell them I was alive, but most people didn’t believe her…” Which felt insulting, but that was humans for you. They’d told themselves that they already knew everything, and it turned new facts into lies.
Black feathers rustled. The tail twitched a little, curled against itself.
“So you were in the shadowlands,” the pegasus forced out. “And you remember it.”
Which was the pony name for their afterlife. “I don’t know.” She was trying to bring back details, but — everything felt delicate, as if too much effort would see the entire lacework of memory shredded. She knew they had talked about —
— my mother.
My conception.
She wasn’t sure how to tell Nightwatch about that. What did ‘I may be partially human’ mean to somepony whose only acquaintance with humanity came from Cerea’s stories? The girl didn’t even know if the little knight would understand the concept of mixed blood, because there seemed to be something strange about pony genetics.
Cerea had seen a picture of a mixed family in one of her textbooks: unicorn dam, earth pony sire, and pegasus foal. She’d asked about adoption. And it had turned out that ponies could freely breed with each other: species wasn’t a factor. Not only that: if there was so much as a single ancestor from outside the pony’s race, even a dozen generations back, then those genes might potentially express themselves in any future birth. (For those who cared and hated in equal measure, bloodline purity was a major factor — and just about impossible to truly verify.) But when there was such a birth, the foal would always be fully of the surprise species…
How did you explain ‘half-human’ when ‘half-pegasus’ didn’t exist?
And she might not even be that.
Clone.
She remembered that much.
She… had too many thoughts about that. Feelings. It wasn’t the sort of thing she was going to reconcile in one day. But she needed to find some level of positive in the idea. Something she could hang onto, when the mere concept threatened to become its own level of illness.
…so at least I would be guaranteed to reach her size.
She reconsidered.
I might be able to do better with some changes in diet.
She didn’t think the disc could explain cloning, much less parthenogenesis. It hadn’t even been able to get genetics across: anything beyond Mendel’s most basic concepts had been rendered as ‘in the blood’. She was, however, completely sure that she would eventually be able to explain the ideas behind ‘teaser’. Cerea would know she’d succeeded when she saw the pegasus frantically dash towards a much more accessible sink.
They had agreed to talk about anything. But Cerea was leaving, and… it felt as if she shouldn’t be jumping an unasked question.
My mother stayed in contact.
She told him my name. That there was a daughter.
Why?
She might never know.
…the little knight was staring at her.
“Nopony brings anything back from the shadowlands,” the pegasus breathed. “Nopony…”
“There’s resuscitation techniques,” Cerea immediately argued. “The doctors have a poster of one on the wall over there.” She gestured towards the diagrams: a CPR technique, applied to equines. Based on the next-to-last image, applying pressure with hooves produced a lot of rib fractures.
“That’s just medicine,” Nightwatch countered. “And I said anything, not anypony. We get ponies to breathe again sometimes, when they’ve only been dead for a couple of minutes. And some ponies believe in reincarnation: that some souls get to try again. Maybe they’re right. But nopony remembers what they saw. Heard. Anything. Cerea, if you remember anything of what you saw…”
There had been something deep in those words. An aspect which, matched to the mare’s scent, had been very close to hunger. Craving. A desire for —
— belief?
They still hadn’t talked about religion. Minotaurs seemed to go for ancestor worship, and the majority of zebras had been casually named by a textbook as spiritualists. But ponies…
…do they have any religions?
Any at all?
She didn’t know.
And she really didn’t want to start one.
“Maybe it was the centaur afterlife,” Cerea tried. Which was based heavily in Greek myth, rendering it into a place best avoided. “I don’t remember any shadows. Or ponies.”
A perfect pasture.
An…
…ibex?
“…oh,” emerged with open disappointment. “You still look sick.”
“I feel sick.” It was a change of subject.
“I’m going to get the doctor.”
Which put Nightwatch out of the room, because some rules remained consistent between worlds.
She told Vanilla Bear what had happened. How she felt. He took notes, because his partner was still resting and would need to review later. And she tried not to think about the scent of his fear.
“We checked you for magic,” he finally said. “It was one of the first things anypony tried. Multiple devices were involved. And the readings were confused. You registered as someone who had recently been in the presence of multiple spells, but… there was more present than the signature scanner could deal with.”
The girl just barely forced a nod, and wrapped the blankets a little more tightly around her body. She’d had to get back onto the makeshift bed before the physician had arrived, and it had left her reeling.
A true centaur wouldn’t feel like this.
A true centaur would recover.
‘Diluted’…
…I’ve had this argument.
“Abjura examined you,” the doctor added. “She tried some basic dispelling. Countermagic. And after that, she was just the one who tried first. There were some — further attempts. But nothing shifted, and the readings were still confused. The…”
He hesitated, and she waited for his head to tilt up and left. Entering a daydream, as a means of sorting out whatever was going through his head. Chocolate Bear had warned the staff to move around him if it happened in the corridors.
But he kept looking at her, and the fear scent increased. Something which had slowly faded from the doctors as they’d studied her. Returned, redoubled, and saturated with so much else.
“…current theory,” he made himself continue, “is that we’re dealing with a mix of magic, where some of it comes from outside the pony range.” Sighed. “It’s not a bad theory, not when the source was Tirek. And we don’t have any means of countering those effects. Bringing in extra consultants may not do much, because everything is tangled together. Abjura couldn’t shift the unicorn portion. The Princesses —“ paused, winced, and the product-soaked mane almost moved “— well, we needed somepony who could try to negate multiple forms of magic at once. They tried. And that didn’t work.” Another breath. “So…”
You’re so scared.
Scared for me.
“…we’re hoping it fades normally,” Vanilla Bear said. “Giving it time, but watching for symptoms. We’ll check you with the devices every so often. See if the overall level has dropped.”
“Has it dropped at all?” Cerea softly asked. “Since I was brought in?”
She watched him gather strength. And then he shook his head.
“We may wind up calling in Twilight Sparkle,” he told her. “One more voice in the room. Maybe she’ll have an idea. Another researcher’s perspective, and a fresh eye on the data.” A little more softly, “We’re trying, Cerea. We’ll do everything we can for you.”
The girl nodded.
“You just feel ill,” he tried to confirm. “The full-body nausea, plus some disorientation.”
“Yes.”
He measured her blood pressure and body temperature: the latter was slightly elevated. Checked her breathing.
“But appetite is still normal.”
She echoed herself. A blood sample was collected. He checked the bedpan and… other arrangement, gained nothing more than a blushing explanation, then asked her to take them into the restroom.
“No reaction to the meat.”
There’s this thing called ‘honey barbecue’. I’ve been wondering where to get some.
“No.”
He took a few more notes.
“We’re trying, Cerea,” he repeated. “We’ll do whatever we can to find an answer. But I’m not ready to let the Princesses debrief you —“ he raised his left forehoof, and did so at the same moment when his corona flashed light blue: a dual interruption “— because I remember when I left to rest, and I think you talked to Nightwatch for most of that time. I know you’ve been out of bed. You look like talking wore you out. I have a few more questions, and I’m going to let Nightwatch come back in after that— but just for five minutes. After that, you eat. And rest. Because the Princesses would need to question you for a few hours, and you are not up to it. Do you understand?”
She wasn’t part of the palace staff any more. On that level, he couldn’t give her orders. But he was still a doctor. And when it came to galloping away from medical authority, Cerea gave herself seven hoofsteps before she reeled into a wall.
The girl nodded again. The unicorn was silent for a few seconds.
“We’re going to start the autopsy soon,” he told her. “Another day or two. The platinum is…” The hesitation eventually broke. “…dead. We risked cutting off a piece. It won’t take thaums. But that tells us the corpse is probably safe to work on.”
“But you’re still using protections,” Cerea guessed.
It got her a nod. “Everything we can think of, or find: the extra time lets us keep searching. And when it comes to the results… I know the palace is going to classify whatever we discover.”
“It’s best that way,” the girl softly said. (The nausea shoved, and her hands clenched.) “No one should ever duplicate what he did.”
“I’m not sure they can,” Vanilla Bear decided. “We have the aftermath. Not the procedure. We don’t know what they did to the platinum to prepare it, or to themselves. And…” He sighed. “They weren’t the first ones to play with platinum. A lot of sapients have looked at it as a way to boost their own power.” The blue head dipped. “And that’s why they also weren’t the first ones to die.”
When you want what you can’t have…
…when it’s the only thought left…
There were many reasons to feel sick.
“We can’t stop all of it, Cerea,” the doctor sadly told her. “But we can hide the entrance to this road.”
She nodded. He went silent for a time.
“I was thinking about the delay,” he finally told her. “I looked up the date for when the investigation team checked on the incarcerated, after Cerberus was brought back. Then I found the first day for a reported magic drain. There’s a lot of time in between. My guess is that he was moving around the wild zone. Experimenting. Draining whatever he found, to see if he could. Monsters. Animals. Plants. Learning about his true limits.”
Another nod. Making sure the evacuation trick wouldn’t work twice.
The stallion took a shallow breath.
“Or maybe,” he softly said, “he also had more time to deal with anyone he encountered, and I need to start looking at Missing Persons reports.” Turned, and started to trot away. “I’ll send Nightwatch back in. Five minutes. After that, you eat and rest.”
And then he glanced back, because the time spent looking away from her had let him find strength. Strength, and what scent told her was a lie.
“Because you’re not leaving here until you’re healthy, Cerea,” he smiled. “But we all know centaurs heal quickly. So get better.”
The words were hope, and carried their own torment.
But the smile was the lie.
The fear was reality.
Afraid for her…
There was only enough time for a little more arguing.
“I’ve been trying to arrange a surprise,” Nightwatch finally said. “Something which shows how much you’ve brought to Equestria. What you could mean to the whole world.”
Fear and destruction. “Since I was brought in —“
“No. Um.” Wing joints visibly tightened, and the pegasus winced from the pain. “For a while now. Something… special. But you won’t hear — um. See. You won’t see it unless you’re still here. Not as the first. So you have to stay.”
“I don’t understand,” was still the go-to. “What could I have brought —“
“No hints,” the little knight said. “Um. Or no more hints.” She glanced at the door. “He’s about to kick me out. Stay, Cerea. Please.”
“I can’t —“
“— then we’ll argue tomorrow.” She started for the exit — then paused, and glanced back. “But you’ll be here tomorrow.”
Unless I die. But she just felt sick. “Yes.” Something which might be permanent.
“There might be another surprise tomorrow,” the little knight declared. “Or a little later. But I can probably tell you about that one soon. It’s something you helped with.”
“I don’t —“
There was a fierce, almost vicious intensity in the silver eyes, and the flaring aura matched all of it. But the words…
“I’m waiting,” the too-even tone said, “to see when it gets delivered.”
She left.
The girl, ill and afraid, feeling more helpless than she’d ever been, could do nothing more than wait. Looked around at the charts and instruments and everything meant to keep her alive.
She would leave the room.
One way or another.
Lala.
She had spoken to her sister.
I just feel sick.
There had been a promise of a second meeting.
They don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Perhaps that was only a few days away.
The girl will dream of one circle, with the dead approaching to have a few words. There is another. And while she sleeps, with only exhaustion allowing an ill form to seek temporary refuge…
Reinforcements were called in. The tactic didn’t help all that much when the party shattered, but — it isn’t easy to surround an entire settled zone. Every possible exit had to be watched. Form the circle at the outskirts of civilization, and then begin moving in. Slowly, because they don’t want to miss anything. Or anypony.
There are clues to follow. A ground carriage would have come through at night. Well, there’s more ponies on the Lunar shift now. Did anyone see it? Ground carriages are becoming increasingly scarce: one taking passage under Moon might have stood out. Oh, and two of the stallions would possess cerulean fur. Probably a rather bright shade, because that’s the way the dye usually comes out for the first few days.
They have a sketch showing the impression produced by damaged wheels. This gives them another avenue to track. Those going through the settled zone quickly learn to long for dirt paths, cursing cobblestone when nopony’s looking. But on the Canterlot end, where the Solar Princess is relaying all discoveries… which carriage houses are still offering personal hires? If, for some unknown, lawyer-choked reason, they won’t allow the examination of their books without a warrant… well, it’s rather hard to keep the turned-away officers from casually glancing at the carriages on their way through, and white cedar is just so distinctive.
Another team goes deeper into the settled zone, moving ahead and then reporting back. They’re the ones who speak to the realtors as prospective new arrivals, and the recent habit of placing rental property pictures on the office walls is proving rather helpful.
But for the most part, the circle moves inwards. It’s a slow process, because there’s a lot of doors to knock on. The nation isn’t quite due for its next census — but the date is close, and it only takes a minor temporal distortion to provide an extra excuse. Hello! Who lives here? For how long? Can you verify that? Oh, thank you. Your neighbor didn’t answer: do you know if they’re at work — oh, it’s a vacation. For how long? Because we’ll need to drop by again, of course…
Others track down the Lunars. Any ground carriage. Any at all. Two stallions, cerulean. One stallion of a different hue. They know he would have been a unicorn. (Those in the circle have not been told that to a centaur, unicorns smell slightly different.) And one more.
House by house. If there’s a property known to be occupied, with no verifiable reason for it to be empty — then that residence is watched from afar. The circle moves inwards. And they knock. Over and over.
They are looking for the house with no answer, because that will be the solution.
It takes more than two days. All traffic going out of the settled zone is examined. The train station is watched. Those who comprise the circle have very little trouble seeing past fur dye, and a surprise decision from the Weather Bureau to grant that settled zone a warm spell gives the residents a taste of spring. Removing any excuse for layering is just a side bonus.
They find a witness, one who found the hour of travel unusual. It’s easy to remember where the vehicle turned.
That leads to the place where the ground carriage deposited its passenger, pulling onto the rental’s unkempt lawn to do so. The resulting wheel ruts are examined.
It doesn’t take long to get the warrant. And while they wait, the house is watched. The observers see heavy curtains shift a few times, but… there’s nowhere to go.
The circle of knocks closes in.
There are pegasi and earth ponies among the arresting officers, plus one griffon. They thought it would be more insulting that way.
The arsonist doesn’t put up a fight. There’s too many officers for that. But there is an audience of sorts, and she uses the opportunity to proclaim her innocence. Over and over. She has the right to remain silent and after the first four repetitions, everyone starts to wish she would use it.
They… have to stay near her. Watch her, even with the horn-covering metal restraint cone in place, as she’s taken to the settled zone’s gatehouse. But it’s strangely hard to do. There’s something about her eyes. The way she looks at them or, with anyone who isn’t a unicorn, looks through.
Sometimes she pauses in the declaration of innocence, just for a few seconds. Those periods are spent in what comes across as a merry singsong, and her voice drops too low to make out the words.
Most of the settled zone learns about what’s happened within minutes. Undercover officers are fine, but secret arrests are one step away from secret trials. This part has to be public, and that includes allowing the mare to ask for an attorney. The Princesses know it’s all going to reach the press. They’re expecting a reaction. Possibly several.
But there’s still supposed to be a secret in play, and that’s the destination. The mare is being teleported to the palace, where she will be kept within a cell on the lowest level. Any requested lawyer can be present for the interrogation, but that first round is going to be performed by two alicorns. They have a few questions.
The destination is supposed to be a secret.
It isn’t.
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I don't know if because the magic went into her and she wasn't supposed have it and that why or if there is another reason.
Oh.
Indeed...
----
And if this is an implanted Discord fragment... This feeling would explain why Spike wouldn't want to eat a Shiftstone...
I'll be sad to see this story end, but damn if it isn't satisfying to watch it all come together.
This is needlessly cruel and absolutely hilarious.
Ooh, intrigue! That's cool. Very enjoyable chapter. Thank you for the update Estee!
Happy Birthday to me! Thank you so much Estee, I love my gift!
See previous comments regarding imagination being worse than reality.
Lobster fished from a stream of consciousness.
It was at this point that Rarity felt the urge to kill rise. But it was for the third time that day, so it wasn't especially notable.
And the healing begins. Hopefully.
Optimism! And casual pettiness towards her mother! Progress on multiple levels there.
Hmm. We'll have to keep an eye on the magic and see how it develops. Could just be a case of a body containing energy from a different world, could be something more. Either way, I think we can rule out Cerea getting her cutie mark. Surely somepony would've said something by now.
And that last scene... Justice is being served, but the question is who may try to trip the waiter.
Well, it sounds like she's just getting old. I mean I feel like what's she's describing half the time I get up in the morning. But that would make a horrible story, so it's probably not that. Sigh...
Excellent chapter!
I hope Cerea will stay as a guard. I know she lost her only defense against magic but she is still dangerous against everything else, she is still a trained fighter.
And they finally caught the arsonist. The Unicorn racist group will have to react. Probably try to stir some more trouble with more protest and manifestation against the diarchy while the head of the movement will either try to flee or do a desesparate move to silence the the mare.
11162820
Well even triek didn't have one and he stole magic which half of what makes one. Probably centaurs aren't meant to have them. Considering all the species that don't have them in that world you think they could get over them being that important.
11162872
Maybe I've forgotten something, but what particular sort of magic is it that Cerea is worse off against than any other non-unicorn? How would she be worse off than a typical Earth pony if she fought a unicorn? She lacks the Earth pony's inherent toughness, but she's faster and probably has at least average Earth pony guard strength because of her sheer size.
Guards regularly work in teams. Perhaps Cerea wouldn't be able to handle the solo jobs that others might, but partner her with a unicorn specializing in defensive spells and put her in a team, and she'd be a fine force multiplier. With a year of practice, I bet her strength would let her fire arrows to a longer range and with more shots before exhaustion than a typical unicorn guard; Cerea with a pike would likely be as effective as a minotaur infantryman.
What can a Centaur do when attacked with magic? She does realize she is much stronger andheavier then just about anyone who would attack her. She is well outside the range of objects that an average unicorn can lift. And the posetion of magic does not make one invincible. A fist sized stone can kill or incapacitate easily. She is never without options just because you lack a Trump card
I really hope that Celestia and Luna truely go above and beyond to compensate Cerea for all that she has done. Since she had no magic Tirek was never a theat to her and his eminent escape wasn't her problem. Cerea had absolutely no obligation to fight on the Princesses' behalf and now not only has she sacrificed the only defense she had, but she has killed in their name.
Well ... crap
This is what we call, 'foreshadowing'.
I do believe this Pony shall meet a quick and untimely end if no one intervenes.
👍
I so enjoy this story. There are still a variety of ways I can see this going, inspired by hints and themes in the text and subtext…
Of course, while she may be without magic (and that remains to be seen, certainly), she is not without considerable assets…. And not just in the obvious joke that brings to mind. Her physical might is considerable compared to those around her, as is her compassion and sense of honor. Her sense of smell is unbelievably keen and nearly counts as not just a fifth but a sixth sense. But beyond that, there is an almost supernatural ability that has been haunting her since her arrival: the ability to terrify others.
I’m reminded of a bit from the Vorkosigan novels: If society is going to saddle her with a frightening reputation, she has every right to use it as she sees fit after being forced to pay for it so thoroughly.
If those who are too opposed to her very existence to ever see her true self are terrified of her, then use that fear strategically when necessary. I know it practically wounds her soul to be the subject of so much fear, but even with it she has forged close bonds with those who know the real Cerea and there is no reason to believe that she won’t continue to do so. Take solace in those bonds and the knowledge of her true self and see if that is enough for her. (She still could uses some work on recognizing her true self, admittedly.)
It’s a tough life, but one that she is strong enough to live and yet still find richly rewarding.
"and such seldom had any difficulty"
"and as such seldom had any difficulty"?
"possible. Boarding’s mark might"
"possible. Barding’s mark might"?
"of meat, none of which were varieties"
"of meats, none of which were varieties"?
"That’’s just medicine"
"That’s just medicine"?
"where some of comes from outside"
"where some of it comes from outside"?
"“No hints,” the little knight."
"“No hints,” the little knight said."?
This might be a risky experiment, but I wonder what would happen if they put Cerea in the room with the Discord remnants.
I wonder if Cerea, through any form of sympathetic magical resonance, can be linked to the Rainbow of Light on her human side, and so Harmony, but due to equine side blended, able to handle any form of chaos magics, due to technical reasons also?
Arresting the subject is one thing, but its totally another if the Operation to find them, contain them, and prosecute them, is codenamed Honey Pot?
i can't help but think of Estee's earlier story, "the elements of elements", specifically the chapter "Trixie's Platinum Cape".
it seemed to work well for a while, then it overheated, and...Imploded!
fortunately Trixie took it off just in time, so she only suffered minor burns.
11163259
This is basically my thought as well.
11162966
Emery Board does run through that with her in earlier chapters. She's as strong as an Earth Pony, but she lacks their magically-enhanced stamina and durability. She's bigger, but that allows ponies to circle around to her blind spots and attack vulnerable flanks. She's fast, but a Pegasus will always be faster, and the combo of flight and ranged attack is something she can't counter. And without the sword, she can't match a Unicorn.
Skill, tactics and intelligence make her formidable. She's better than she thinks she is. But... well, with no powers, the best she can be is Batman in a world of Supermen. And in a world of Supermen, Batman just lost her kryptonite.
11163093
While CUNET, Wordia, and company have reason to want the arsonist dead, I think they can get one last use out of her. Specifically, I'm thinking someone let's her loose with the info and tools needed to kill Cerea--a suicide mission. There is a hell of a story to spin if the centaur dies, the crazy unicorn dies, or both.
...She's gonna puke up the last bit of Discord, isn't she?
11163742
I'm not sure that Wordia is really on the side of the arsonist here. And has also realised that working with the crown has marked her now.
And on the "what can I do against magic front" - Emery said it himself:
Yeah, Twilight's role in most magical problems is "Well, it can't get any worse. Bring her in." And then it does.
Deep within his lair, Barding bent over the forge. Every problem he ever faced could be solved by steel, fire, and coke, and this one was no different. Powerful muscles drove the bellows beyond their normal range of motion until his forge glowed white with power, and steel bent and twisted under his hammer into a shape he had never tried before but was determined to get right the first time. The sound of the hammer was deafening, but an alert observer might have been able to hear words muttered out from where it was gripped between his teeth.
"The steel stays..."
11163742
Currently CUNET may want Wordia AND arsonist dead, asap. Preferably Wordia by arsonist, arsonist by guards.
Absolutely amazing to read. Ok, it is a little hard to follow in some parts but the depth of this epic story is on a level all its own. Took me 5 days straight to read it all. But wow is this impressive. The writing quality here is spectacular. I cannot praise this enough, nor the Author and their efforts. Looking forward to more!
11163728
Fortunately for Menajeria, the gap between an above-average Unicorn and an Earth Pony with slightly less stamina is vastly smaller than between Superman and Batman.
Hot staples, or ultrasonic welding. Barding could manage the former but it’s really only for decorative work, not good for heavy impact loads. Ultrasonic could presumably be done with magic, but not on a magic-negating workpiece. Might try a magical transducer sending pressure waves down a long anvil or something… I’m sure Estee has some far less cludgey solution, not involving plastic at all though!
I love the story, hope it’s got several more chapters in it, but also looking forward to the conclusion.
This is a definite time for protrusion, not extrusion.
To protrude is to extend or stand out from a surface, as a sword might from the recently run-through.
To extrude is to force a material through a die or opening for the purpose of shaping, such as forming aluminum into rails or bars, or squeezing icing through different nozzles for decoration.
11195465
Considering that the sword melted, extrude seems fine to me.
11168122
11163728
I may be a number of chapters behind, and it may have already been brought up or even done, but the answer to both of these is simple.
The plastic may be gone forever, but that was never really Cerea's ability in the first place. Her real power was the ability to wield that which stops magic without any ill effects to herself. She may have had the plastic when she first arrived, and it suited that purpose while it was there, but it could be replaced, even if not perfectly replicated, with platinum. She is a smith and is unaffected by platinum, so she could easily put platinum wire into her sword and armour, make sure it's not too dense so it doesn't explode, and maybe don't put any in her right gauntlet so she can still pick up and interact with things without draining them, but that should effectively replace her practice sword and hairpins with an upgrade in coverage even if it has a small downgrade in dispersal/absorption.
11195465
oh, this reminds me of a silly gag in the online comic "Schlock Mercenary":
https://www.schlockmercenary.com/2005-05-21
11163884
That's gotta be what's happening.