He Is What He Hides

by Acologic

II: A Gift You Give Yourself

‘I’m so sorry I lost you! I’m so sorry! Forgive me!’

Twilight is glowing – her slender torso, her long, shapely legs. Her eyes, possessing that soul-cutting stare of which only she is capable. Every inch as I remember. I beg forgiveness. I have to. How could I have betrayed her like this? How could I have been so selfish, to turn my back on her because I was, at last, comfortable? I lost her. I don’t deserve her. I did this. It’s my fault. She hates me now. She will not forgive me.

Twilight smiles as if I were still her dearest, closest friend, and I dissolve in front of her. Tears. So weak and unsightly of me. I feel her shape, her warm, soft coat. She presses her muzzle against my body. She closes her eyes to spare me the embarrassment of salt water seeping from mine.

‘I m-missed you!’ I cry, shuddering and struggling not to collapse. ‘I missed you so much!’

‘I know,’ says Twilight, and my heart implodes with gratitude. Then Twilight’s grace, beauty and bounty restore it. I lift my hooves to embrace her but hover them halfway, frightened to try. She embraces me, and I cry even harder.

‘It’s all right. I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. I understand why you couldn’t see me. But it’s all going to be OK. I’m here now, and I won’t leave you.’

‘Like – like I left y-you.’

‘You didn’t leave me,’ says Twilight, pulling out of the embrace to smile at me, a smile that cuts my mind in two. The side of selfish betrayal is cast aside like a dirty coin, and my thoughts within the other expand to reform one. Twilight forgives me. She forgives me. Everything will be as it was. We are together. We will always be together. She forgives me!

‘D-didn’t I?’

‘No. You’re here because you always meant to come back.’

‘I’m – I’m so sorry.’ Yet I can’t remember why. She has freed me from myself. She has freed me for us to be together again.

‘There’s no need. We’ll never be apart now. I’m here with you. I wouldn’t leave you either. That’s why I came to Ponyville.’

‘But I thought you came to study friendship.’

‘Then who better to be with than you?’

We embrace once more. My tears have stopped. They leave so rigid a determination, such fixity of purpose, unlike any I have experienced. We are together now, and I will never let that change. I will never fail Twilight again.

‘Thank you. Thank you for everything.’

• • •

Gem knew at once that it was Twilight’s. The great oak had imbibed her glow. What other pony could have such an effect on everything she touched? Gem knew at once she’d been there. And he couldn’t wait to see her again.

Twilight loved books. She loved reading, and so did he. That she had come to live in this library was fate, of that there could be no doubt. A place where he had good reason to go were she not among the ponies of Ponyville. A place he could frequent without arousing suspicion. Twilight was in there, he was sure of it. She was there right now, and he was but twenty paces from her door. Twenty-one paces from her.

‘Afternoon to you, Gem,’ said Thunderlane. A stratus regulator for the weather team, he flew low most days. Gem encountered him three or four times a week when he stepped outside for lunch. Each time they practised the same, short exchange. ‘Lunchtime?’

‘Afternoon,’ replied Gem, his eyes unwilling to move from the Golden Oak Library. ‘Yeah. Just off to Tw— to the library first.’

‘Don’t think anypony’s at home,’ said Thunderlane, raising his voice as the distance between them grew. ‘I saw Twilight Sparkle earlier with Applejack, but I guess it’s worth a shot.’

She was home, of that there could be no doubt. Twilight would never let him down. Never. Gem’s heart pounded harder with each stride. He reached the door, raised his hoof – and knocked. Four times. He waited, his head tingling.

There was no answer. He knocked again, the base of his mane beginning to dampen from sweat. He breathed, trying to restore rhythm to his erratic pulse.

‘Just a minute!’ A muffled shout, and the voice to whom it belonged was not Twilight’s. The door clicked and then opened. Gem wrestled with the idea of leaving before it was too late. But of course, it already was.

It was not Twilight, as he had feared. It was – a dragon? Not a proper one. A small, purple creature with no wings and a lingering frown, as if its owner was daring Gem to laugh. He did not know what to say.

‘Hello – what can I do for you?’ asked the dragon, looking him up and down.

Gem decided the best way to find out where she was was simply to ask, but would he appear suspicious? After all, what business could Twilight have with a pony her door dragon had never seen before?

‘I’m looking for Twilight – uh, Twilight Sparkle. Is she here?’

‘Sorry, she’s not,’ said the dragon. ‘She’s helping a friend.’

‘Will she be long?’

‘Yeah, sorry, it’s farm work at the orchard.’

‘Could I maybe wait here for her?’ Gem cursed his eagerness, but the dragon seemed not to sense anything amiss.

‘Well, I said I’d come and help her once I’d finished all my chores. I was actually about to head out.’

Gem gulped and nodded. ‘I see.’

‘But I can tell her you dropped along,’ the dragon added.

‘Would you?’ said Gem, blood surging to his head as he processed the suggestion. ‘I mean, could you?’

‘Sure thing. Who’s –?’

‘It’s Gem. Um, Gem – Effulgence. From Canterlot. I’d like to speak with her if possible. At some point. I’m – searching for a book.’

‘Alright, Gem Effulgence,’ said the dragon, drawing a cringe from Gem at the stupidity of his own name. ‘I’ll tell her you came by.’

‘Thanks, uh –?’

‘Spike.’

‘Thanks, Spike.’

All was not lost. He had found her home, and soon she would hear his name again. She would hear his name, and he would see her again. He felt compelled to produce something special with which to mark the reunion. He considered gifting her one of his books but dismissed the idea as impersonal. The gift had to come from inside him. There was always music. That was it! He would compose in honour of Twilight. A heart-stirring piece celebrating their friendship and their closeness.

Smiling once more, he walked back to Quills and Sofas on an empty stomach.

• • •

‘– and if you’re still unsure, there’s a warranty on all of these. We give you an extra year, so if there’s any trouble with the mechanism, you can come back and return or exchange it.’

‘Well, that’s very good, thank you. We’ll come in to buy it tomorrow, then. And thanks for all your help.’

‘That’s not a problem at all. Have a good day!’

‘I will, thank you, my dear, and you take care now!’

‘Bye! Bye –’

The door closed and Gem was alone by the promotion end, still smiling and unable to stop. Davenport emerged from the storage room, grinning too.

‘A standup salespony! No scams, just the bare facts. The Ponyville way! Well done!’

‘It’s been a good day is all,’ replied Gem. Another tremor trickled down his neck and through his body like hot water. ‘I had a nice break.’

‘Pop by Sugar Cube Corner again, did you? They stock fresh apple turnovers, straight from the farm.’ He licked his lips. ‘Tell you what really would be good. For the Cakes to start up those Sunday teas again. Ooh, they really were a bang for the buck. Best fancies I’ve eaten, and the coffee never stops –’

Soon enough Davenport nipped out to meet his wife for their lunch. This gave Gem the opportunity to start on his piece for Twilight. He folded a sheet of scrap paper in half and tore down the guideline. He was seldom concerned with notating music; he preferred to record. But if inspiration struck in the shop, it was indispensable. There he needed to represent ideas in a manner through which he could reconstruct them. To this end, he wrote down the scale degree of each note as he hummed it and added the values afterwards.

For Twilight, a choral passage seemed most appropriate. Four voices. Simple and pure. Tapping and humming, he established the cantus firmus. To it he would write counterpoint. How he loathed the blandness of the major scale! He scribbled across the paper – a reminder to flatten the seventh. He sang the resulting phrase. Well-meaning cheer ascended to deep reverence – but positive, unsorrowful. Purposeful and familiar. And all of it achieved via the manipulation of a single pitch class. This, he knew at once, was fate. This was the will of the world. This was for Twilight, after all.

He scrapped his first attempt. To draw solutions based on ancient rules was insulting. It was joyless, thoughtless. Mechanical! He slammed his hoof against the paper in frustration. The room, silent, offered no help.

But it was so straightforward, so obvious. Each voice needed a melody. Not a favour-currying melodic construction approved of by pedants and pedagogues. A melody of its own – a melody of Gem’s, not a by-product of what he had studied. And there would be no words, he determined, his mind racing as realisation dawned. Words were irreverence. Words were meaningless, a waste of space, a corruption of honesty. Twilight needed no words to understand. She knew Gem. She knew what was in his heart and in his head. What purpose would words serve? The notes were the morphemes, the harmony the lexemes. And the music was the utterance.

And two pitches to the bass. Only two. One for Gem. One for Twilight. Two for life.