The Trinity of Moons: Mending Shards

by Cloud Ring

Chapter 32: Weakness

⊛⊛⊛

Pink ran away. More precisely, Gentle Touch did, as her mirror half was scared for almost the first time in her long life. Sharp Cut faded into the background of consciousness, which was now mostly Gentle. As brave as Sharp was, she could not hide her fear neither behind vague threats directed at ‘this snooty’, nor behind sincere promises of cherry pie when everything would be over.

Two halves were closer than ever, and Gentle was no longer afraid of her ‘shadow’ now that she understood that Sharp did not wish anypony any harm. She just got too carried away sometimes. Just like then…

”I didn't throw mirrors to miss,” Sharp reminded her gruffly.

Gentle did not hesitate to sweep the question aside, like a branch wet by the rain, “But surely you knew that you could not hurt her?”

“I guessed it,” Sharp muttered after a short pause, “She’s not from here. She is gray but not silver,” and on that she was silent.

For the next few slices, running away, again in her own body and in reality, Gentle heard from the other side only counting rhymes and memories of recipes and travels.

It seems that in a past life Sharp managed to travel the entire main continent, and even stepped on the shores of the other two. She was on great waterfalls, went under the jungle’s moist cover, knew how mountains move in their dreams, and wherever she was, she always found friends; and these friends were not always ponies.

She saw mighty dragons, and kirins too, their unexpected and unloved children. She knew where and from which side one should not look to stay unnoticed and hear kelpies’ telltales. She followed frogs to where they chose their King. But these memories were not directed to Gentle. Gentle only touched the glittering marbles of her memory, letting Sharp to play with them in fearful peace while they were not yet lost.

Gentle was torn apart three-way by curiosity, Sharp’s rush to run as far as possible from the indifferent, oppressing, cruel figure in a suit, and her own desire to turn back, to speak out and explain everything. Yes, Storm never smiled, but Gentle could clearly see what her smile might have been. Sharp did not object, plunged into her past — but as with Storm, Gentle could easily imagine what the shadow's response would be: for Storm, they were a monster, an anomaly, an object to study, but definitely not a pony to talk to.

And yet, hope remained: slow, persistent and stubborn, like Blue Moon Herself, which was now near Her zenith. Where White invested in one effort and retreated if unable to get what She wanted, Blue Moon simply stood there and kept trying, and sooner or later the goal was achieved.

Gentle smiled, remembering that she herself had not immediately agreed to become Herald. There was an important reason, but which one? She thought about this, and for a long time tried to remember on the run through the bluish twilight, almost taking off over gentle slopes, but always returning to the safe ground.

Like many, in foalhood she secretly dreamed of becoming an alicorn — not knowing why, and not considering it especially important that there should be a ‘why’. She knew the most important thing — the world is obedient to the words of alicorns, which means that she will do so that there will never be any troubles, no diseases, no grief, and first and foremost, no Red.

Moons’ feebleness before the Red settled in her mind after the unbound age, quietly and gradually, without asking permission and without ever being directly stated until that meeting with Black Moon, like a spider in the corner of a home bedroom, creepy, but generally harmless.

Even later, she began considering herself flawless and worthy of power. She succumbed to this delusion for a short while towards the end of the first round of training, before becoming a full-fledged Herald and getting her blue uniform. On the exam, this delusion fell asleep as deep as Cyan Wire, her first and most memorable victim.

It left a searing glint in Gentle Touch’s soul, though. The longing for power, not even desire yet, just calling mixed from fear, envy and appeal. That same will-o'-the-wisp was, Blue Moon once said, known to a pegasus who looks — ahead and above — at their older friends a few cycles before their own first desperate and thriveless attempt to fly. Annoying, razzing, elusive.

To weaken it, along with her Moon, the Moon of Terrors, they looked into what would happen if Gentle Touch got the power according to her potential, with nopony around to watch over her and trusted enough to steer her path closer to common sense.

She was surpassing Violet Vision in that unrealìty. In the present, Violet was a scary but obscure name for those who were in the know. In the foreseeable, unrestrained future, Gentle Touch became an epithet, an expression for dream-Metropolis, a villain whose ways one should never repeat.

Gentle Touch was grateful for the lessons. These dreams, seamlessly flowing in sequence, and the conversation with Violet, and training drills in which Gentle was generally stronger and more useful than her teammates, temporarily protected her from this sadness, reminded her of the other side of power, and gave her confidence… and the shadow’s careless voice was silent for a while after them.

Only for a while.

They both were reaching, again and again, for this part of Gentle Touch’s identity, but still, over long subjective time spent in dreams' honeyed flows and on death's softly humming shores, Blue Moon retreated and admitted that Gentle is what she is, and she will be nopony else while the Moons’ eternal slow dance in the sky goes undisturbed. And, as Moons’ words are always true, by saying so Blue Moon hid the very memory of the shadow with all that had a chance to awaken it, be it by reason or by accident.

Gentle was almost calm now, in the hills. She continued to flee, never remembering why she did not want to be a Herald. Away from an irresistible force, under the bright light of the Moon, alone, with no partners to harm, with no friends to offend, with no hopes to shatter. Everything was simpler than it seemed, and even simpler, and, beat after beat, the friends were farther and farther away, Solid Line, in her beautiful stillness, Cursory, who would not approve of these thoughts. Both probably bound and packed, sent to no pony knows where; there should be a place to which the Red’s contacts are sent, right? Also weak and also defenseless against an alien from the skies.

Gentle Touch shook her head. Sharp Cut stirred in her soul and said, “When we get to the city, we’ll break the first pony-sized glass we come across. Silver and mercury will help us, brass will guide us.”

Gentle nodded to herself, turned smoothly, without stopping running, only changing the vector, and headed in the opposite direction, closing in to Storm.

Sharp coughed delicately; once again. She laughed, but there was no joy in this laugh. She did not take over control of their common body, “Do you think you’ll give me over and they’ll give you a medal?”

Gentle Touch did not answer immediately or aloud, but then she did, “You see… if we run away… if I don’t at least try… if I let you take every decision for us from now on, as you are stronger… it will be too easy for me to convince myself that I wouldn’t change anything anyway. That I'm too weak,” She grinned and continued for herself and for the dark mirror inside, “And if we continue to run away, then it would be so. In fact, it will be so. I will never be strong. Why would I be living then?“ Now she spoke quickly, almost without pauses between words and thoughts, “And so... maybe at least somepony, as I can’t myself, will tell me that I am worthy and doing well. Maybe I'll do something useful. Do you understand?”

Sharp did not answer; Gentle Touch no longer felt her nearby.

This was enough to panic. Gentle paused, breathing heavily for several nines of beats, trying to recover. She remembered that Cursory Streak once managed to get an assignment from her Moon — at a distance — and tried to turn to Blue Moon herself as if She hears; to ask for advice and help.

She even caught an echo of the answer and strength, "Of course, you are very..." But the thread of connection with the Moon thinned, fluttered like a cobweb, and there were no more words from the sky.

Instead, Gentle clearly felt an indent on it, an emptiness, a lack, an opportunity, here, a bit aside from Feather...

She blinked and the non-vision passed.

Sharp Cut was still gone, and nothing tried to take control of her body.

Gentle tried to call her; in their mind, then in a whisper, then in a full voice.

Sharp responded just as Gentle had given up hope. Quiet and sad, barely audible, “Do as you like. I can't stop you from helping your friends.”

Comments

[Numinos]

Huh. So, ok, a little theory crafting. Equestria is basically a Metropolis, with governing Moons acting as shepherds and councilors. On the other hoof, reality is bending to their wishes, destinies are monitored and guided and they're surprisingly missing a sun. Somewhere outside, in space, another similar powered pony is looking at all that and sees that current state in unsustainable and sending their agent to intervene. Also Elements and reincarnations : )