Off-season

by Cloud Ring

Chapter nine, in which Piercing Strike goes for a fresh air, and Scar does not eat anypony

A weaker pony could be frightened by the Commander of the Night Guard, and in a different environment his appearance would be much more impressive. But even now he was making an impression: a powerful, strong dark stallion, in heavy armor, which clearly did not interfere with the flight of the thestral at all. The outer window sill crunched dangerously as the commander landed outside the window and peered through it into Piercing Strike the unicorn’s room, in one of Baltimare’s ten-story buildings.

As is usually the case in vampony tales, the thestral did not enter the room uninvited. As is usually not the case in vampony tales, the thestral actually could enter it.

The other ancestral world of Piercing Strike — mixed blood unicorn — was much more dangerous than Equestria. She knew that well. In her home, by and large, she had nothing to be afraid of. That she knew too. But the thestral was too big, and the unicorn herself was not as strong in protective spells as she would like.

And yet, all monsters in Equestria are sapient...

“Hi, monster. I can see you,” she said.

Maybe I shouldn't have called him that…” but this thought came with a delay.

“There are a lot of monsters these days. Those who love the Night, those who love the Forest and those who change their appearance,” the thestral replied with a fanged grin.

She cast a spell to ward off bad luck just in case. Even now, twice or thrice per week from early foalhood, she sometimes dreamed of the Forest entering the bedroom window, reaching for her with its branches, whispering the words that she once preferred to forget, throwing out the threads of a sticky web and—

Not a Long Forest. The Forest. This was something else; and the thestral named it right, pronounced it with the right click at the very end. With a sound that has never been found in Equestrian languages, except for griffin one.

“May I come in, Strike?” The thestral asked.

He knows my name. Of course he does. He will likely not name himself then.

She was not afraid of the vamponies. As she knew from the books, otherwise she should, with a few sidenotes, be afraid of all her relatives on the other side of the portal.

If one would ask the thestral, he — as he knew from personal experience — would likely say that there is no actual need to be wary, as vamponies are rare among ponies of the Triangle.

By saying this, the thestral would not tell the whole truth though.

"Of course, come in," Piercing Strike said, and smiled.

After landing in the room and taking almost a quarter of it — the air wavered even from a short and slow wing beat — the thestral touched toys scattered around Piercing Strike’s bed with his wing, and they came alive. They paraded around the thestral, then froze again. Piercing looked at them with curiosity and attention, not afraid — not fully a pony of Triangle, she knew what qualities are most inherent in the species of her biological father, and shared them. After all, if the thestral wanted to kill her, she would already be dead.

“Thank you, lady,” said the thestral, “Do you want to hear a story? If so, short or long one?”

The figures changed by the second touch of his wing. Changelings, Equestrian ponies, and thestrals were now on the floor of Piercing Strike's bedroom.

Ponies of the Triangle — Cartographers — were there too, in muted colours, graceful, long-legged.

"It's almost like being at home in S-sectors... Short one, please" Piercing said.

“Short, you say,” the thestral chuckled, “Twily would have had a nervous breakdown, but you’re not going to tell anypony about it. Among offsprings of Queen Chrysalis is a half-changeling without an innate caste, carried and born by a pony. He would like to consider himself king, but the queen of the hive is not an elected office, and indeed not a position at all. Ocellus is the queen, Thorax is the queen, but Haze is not. Recently, he has been trying to go to the Cartographers, but the Queen wants to keep him with her for her own purposes. I'm sure Haze has contacted you in one of his six guises, if not all at once. What do you know about this?

“Four guises,” Piercing corrected without giving much thought.

“Yes, four of course, how could I forget,” the thestral said, smiling.

Strike blushed: she was outplayed so easily. She, who dreamed of serving Blue Moon!

She pulled herself together and answered as if nothing had happened, “He was... this is not a topic on which I can speak freely, without breaking an oath or betraying friendship. Why is that bad? What's bad about it? Why should I deceive his trust?”

“Am I saying he did a bad thing, Strike? The question is different. Is it okay for you that a good pony feels bad? Is this a big price to pay if another pony, maybe even you, is happy instead?” the thestral tilted his head, as a questioning teacher.

Yes, she thought about it. She was ready to answer, “I think everypony was better from our decision. He made a trade honestly. It was a fair and equal exchange.”

She was again suffocating — in recent weeks, dyspnea visited her all but every night. Too often for her taste. Having caught her breath, she continued, “Solar pony wants to cancel the deal? If so, then I think she has the right. She decides for herself.”

“Not so fast,” the thestral laughed quietly, “The son of the cheese-leg queen always had a sense for good deals, where good means profitable for him.”

“Do you need help? Then say so,” Piercing Strike said, annoyed.

There was no more strength to speak, she breathed deep and often, and the whole world was closing in on the breathing process.

“It depends,” the thestral answered. “The main problem, or luck, is that a mother is looking for a son, while the son, it seems, is looking for distant relatives beyond the portal.”

“Then they both should find what they seek for,” Piercing exhaled, “If somepony would be looking for me, I would not want to remain lost.”

So, chewing on the mandarins brought in by the thestral, slowly choosing her words, she told him her story — the story of a pony, which, unable to withstand bullying, split herself in two, first inside, and then went for an unique chance to separate in bodies too. She asked that the mystery not affect her parents — including the real, non-biological father; and such a promise was given.

The thestral listened to her and nodded, “I see. The question is... do you agree to be alone?”

“Yes. I would really like to spend the last few rounds under the Moons, and do something good with Them and for Them. Just a little… to go home. Not for the biological father. I'm talking about another matter. You will not understand.”

He chuckled, and it was not clear whether he was joking or not, “Probably. I'm not the smartest and most intelligent of my kind. A smart one does not let himself be killed and does not try to take care of what should be food. It's a pity I can't help you on the road. Not my specialty.”

"It's okay though," admitted Piercing Strike, the unicorn, “My power is with me. If anything, it grows. I can look through the surrounding ponies. I don't feel like a prisoner. I help my mother and father. ‘Solar’ pony was bothering me. She was too close.”

The thestral smiled at her, “It's good that you help others. You are a good pony. That means I'm just a bad dream that will disappear when you wake up.”

Piercing Strike was late with her reply, the thestral turned for the window and bent down for takeoff.

“I want to fly with you,” she whispered, “If I'm too heavy, just say your name.”

“Do you think I can put this on my curriculum vitae as foalnapping a princess?” the thestral returned to her and bowed his front legs down beside the bed, “Please, my lady.”

Piercing Strike did not waste her energy on words. She just stepped forward and lay down on his back.

”Then towards the wind and the stars we fly, pony. It's time to see the world with your own eyes.”

The thestral jumped out the window, dived to the ground, opened his wings at the very cobblestones and flew up again, “The night is beautiful.”

Piercing Strike wanted to politely agree, but instead squeaked — quietly, heartily, and completely unworthy of the adult Herald of the Blue Moon, which she dreamed herself to see. The night really was beautiful, and there was no weakness in her for the moment.

In this flight, anyway.