Rekindled Embers: Mercury's Journal

by applezombi

Bisected

Mercury’s Journal, Day Whatever

The days are starting to blend together. How long have I been here? I don’t even know.

I know I’m not happy here.

That’s such an odd thing to write. Even as the ink trails over the page, I’m scowling. I’m not happy? Really? Is that even true? I don’t know.

I know it was the will of Saint Rarity that I ended up in Jubilation. I know that this town is both a wondrous place of beauty and adventure, but also heresy and danger. I know that there are forces vying to corrupt me. But are they really?

Am I just discovering things I never knew before? Is it truly

There is a large scribbled-out section.

I don’t know why I bother with self-censorship. There’s enough in the entries here to damn me in the eyes of Saint Twilight’s inquisitors if they ever found these words. I should burn the whole thing.

But I can’t.

There’s too much of me here. Or of who I’m turning into, if that makes sense.

It doesn’t.

I suppose, rather than rambling thoughts, I should actually write out what happened to me today?

Lady Frosting Flare has decided to keep me on a shorter leash. She didn’t say so directly, but she keeps looking at me with these piercing eyes. There’s judgment there. I hate it. I’m starting to hate her. Maybe she knows about the concert I wasn’t supposed to go to.

She seems to find such glee in the misery of other ponies. Mother would have hated her; she always did try to teach me to avoid gossip.

Mother, I know you’ll never read this, but I always appreciated that about you. I know we never got along, that I was never good at all the ‘girly’ things you wanted to pass on to me. I did listen, I promise. Even when I’d come in covered with mud from wrestling or roughhousing with Triptych or Stout Oak. I always admired that you tried to hold yourself apart of that segment of high society. It gave you wisdom and dignity that I know I’ll always fall short of.

Especially now. What, with me consorting with the un-converted.

Getting off topic again.

Lady Frosting thinks the city is corrupting me. So she’s asked me to limit my journeys into the town to look for souls in need of Lady Rarity’s healing blessings. Instead, she informed me we’d be setting up a free clinic in the Diarchy embassy itself. She’s generous with the space, but that’s not the issue.

Now zebras and ponies and other people who are hurt or sick will have to come to me if I am to heal them. Which is fine. But she’s imposing conditions. Anybody who comes for healing will have to listen to her sermons. Otherwise, I can’t heal them.

“It’s a waste,” she told me. “Even counterproductive. It seems silly to waste the holy magic that Saint Rarity blessed you with on the unbelievers. Especially if there may come a time when they fight against you.”

Lady Frosting sees the world in two groups. Enemies and allies. There is no in-between. Traveling the city, though, I see something completely different.

Most people just don’t care about the Holy Equestrian Diarchy, the Holy Knight Orders, the Saints, or anything else going on in New Canterlot City. We’re across the ocean, in the Free Zebra Republic. Who cares, in their minds, what’s happening across the sea?

It’s a borderline heretical thought. But I understand why they’d think it. Saints above, I never cared what was happening over here when I lived in New Canterlot. Why should they?

I argued with Lady Frosting. Bitterly. I lost my temper. Honestly, she could have had me disciplined. A Knight Private should not be yelling at a Captain. Or screaming in her face. She could have thrown me in a holding cell for a few days. But no, she just kept her smile on and repeated in that sickeningly sweet voice that her orders were final, that I was no longer allowed to heal anypony unless they came to the new clinic, and that I should not disobey her.

So of course I did.

She can’t stop me from going out into the city to get food. And if on the way I happen to

Three pages of the journal are torn out, resuming mid-sentence.

at the same restaurant Bolero introduced me to, the batpony place. It’s becoming my favorite place to eat, though with my Oath of Poverty I probably shouldn’t spend so much money eating out.

Whatever. I’m helping the local economy. One of the good works I am (hopefully) still allowed to do.

The menu changes weekly because batponies rarely stay in one place for long. So whenever a new family troop of batpony nomads moves into Jubilation to sell whatever they’re transporting (they’re usually traders), a new chef or two will be hired on at the restaurant for a few weeks. It even changes names every few months or so, I hear. Right now it’s called ‘Moondust’.

The current chef is a genius. His specialty is yams, wrapped in foil and cooked on an outdoor grill before being cut open and stuffed will all sorts of optional toppings. Mushrooms, mild white cheese, and a chopped red pepper that’s so spicy it makes my lips tingle. The chef, a stallion named Ghost Pepper, says they’re called ‘bird’s eyes’ and that they’re mild.

Mild.

He’s insane. But I keep ordering them, and he tells me I’ll get used to it. The flavor is good, anyways.

I’m avoiding the issue here. Coming to ‘Moondust’ is an escape. Talking with the mostly batpony clientele, treating the few of Ghost’s people who

A few words here are scratched out with ink.

I really like talking to Ghost. He makes me feel comfortable. Like I belong somewhere. I was supposed to feel that when I took my Oaths and joined the Knighthood. But since coming to Jubilation and the FZR, I’ve felt more and more like I'm stuck between two worlds— Home, and this wonderful, new, expansive world I’ve discovered exists outside of my comfort and my faith. A world where there’s gorgeous purple zebra pirates and gay symphony composers and crazy batpony chefs with perfect bright red manes and gorgeous smiles who flirt with

Oh, by all the holy Saints, he’s flirting with me. That’s what he’s been doing.

I can’t go back.

Day Whatever Plus One

I just went over what I wrote last night. I was being a silly pony. Of course Ghost Pepper is not flirting with me. It was just my imagination.

Besides, yesterday I heard a flock of sympathetic old batpony ladies, dressed in colorfully dyed cotton robes to protect from the sun outside, talking about how much of a shame it was that Ghost broke up with his last stallionfriend, some caravan master named Midnight Passing. So he couldn’t have been flirting with me. He’s just like my friend Bolero.

A coltcuddler, as Lady Frosting puts it. I thought it might be a pejorative, but I’ve heard Bolero use the phrase enthusiastically to describe himself, so it’s okay, right?

I must be truly slipping into heresy if I’m starting to think of sinful behavior as ‘okay’. But then again, I’d like to think I’m honest enough at this point to admit I had a crush on the zebra pirate mare. And what was that hint of disappointment when I realized that Ghost wasn’t really flirting with me because he could not have been?

Saints, what is wrong with me?

I spent the day setting up the clinic. Even if I could no longer heal the general public, I could still do some limited good here. And it probably wasn’t good to spend too much time at the restaurant, no matter whether or not Ghost Pepper was flirting with me.

What free time I had, I spent praying at the small cathedral. The statues of the Saints seemed to look down on me in judgment. Saint Twilight, looking stern and judgemental that I’d been losing myself to other thoughts and perspectives. Saint Applejack, looking disappointed that I’d been lying to Lady Frosting about my healing. Saint Rarity, ashamed of her own sworn daughter wondering about crushes and flirting and all sorts of things that fly in the face of my Oath of Chastity. But the whole time, I just kept thinking of the embassy’s cafeteria.

And how bland the food was, compared to the food at ‘Moondust’.

I shouldn’t go back.

Day Whatever Plus Two

I went back.

It was a little easier, knowing that Ghost Pepper wasn’t really flirting with me: he liked stallions, after all.

It’s easy to lose track of time at Moondust. Especially when Ghost is cooking for me.

He didn’t charge me tonight. Free yam, on the house. With the ‘bird’s eyes’ that he’s so fond of cooking with. Only this time he’s mixed them with an orangey-yellow pepper. I think he called them hab in year oh? I don’t have any idea what that means, but I loved the flavor.

Even though my tongue was cursing me after the fact. And my lips. And throat. I was fanning my face. I felt hot.

Ghost was such a gentlestallion. He didn’t make fun of me for my lack of tolerance for his hot food. He was a little amused, but mostly just assured me that it takes time, and I’ll grow used to it. Honestly, I hope so. The flavors are great, but the burn can get a little intense.

Intense like talking to Ghost. Intense but pleasant.

Saints, why did I write that down?

I’m not going to cross it off, though. It’s true. And probably safe to say. With Ghost ‘off the menu’, so to speak, there’s no more danger of temptation with my Oath of Chastity in the balance.

We talked mostly about him. How he leads a caravan of batponies, roaming without real pattern across the southern prairies and savannahs of the Free Zebra Republic. The ins and outs of mercantile and transportation work. The dangers of the wilds, from bandits to large predators and even unpredictable weather. We even talked about his faith and the strange Many-Faced One, the ever-changing god of the moon. Or was it goddess? Sometimes both. I don’t understand. I was even more confused when he told me that the Many-Faced One was the same as the Lunar Diarch that we worship in Equestria.

It was one of the most pleasant evenings I’ve ever spent. Still, if I’m being truly candid, there’s a dark side to this. There’s a bit of me that’s jealous of his ex. There’s a pony out there, a stranger I’ve never met, that had a chance to

An entire half-page is ripped out.

I’ll never go back.

Day Whatever Plus Three

I stayed away again. I hate it. I feel normal at Moondust. I feel like a puppet here at the embassy.

Empty. Unless somepony’s hoof is directing my every move.

Smile. Nod. Stay silent when Lady Frosting talks. Salute the other Knights. Don’t make friends, they’re all different Orders, different ranks, different cliques. Follow orders.

Lady Frosting said healing our ‘enemies’ was a waste of my magic. But the whole reason I was brought here was to build goodwill with those who don’t believe in our faith! I can’t do that if the only people I’m allowed to heal are Diarchy personnel and those already faithful?

The only bright spot here is Sir Triumph of the Adamant, who makes an effort to check up on me every day. I don’t feel like the pegasus is judging me, not like Lady Frosting, but his visits still feel like duty not friendship.

Every hour my hooves are twitching to flee. To take a break, to walk down the streets of Jubilation, to see and hear and feel and smell the life there.

But I know the second I step outside the walls I’ll be headed right back for Moondust.

I want to go back.

Day Whatever Plus Seven

I almost made it a week.

The chefs at the embassy are good, don’t let me sound ungrateful. But it’s the same foods I’ve been eating my whole life. I’m in a foreign country, for Saint Rarity’s sake. I want to experience the entire breadth of that foreignness. As much as is allowed, of course. And maybe

three words are blacked out

But the same old same old is just bland to me now. I want more, even though it’s sinful. And Lady Frosting never forbade me from going out. I’ve just been avoiding it for my own sinful reasons.

When I walked under the bright orange cloth awning into the short stucco building, several of the batponies greeted me by name. I had no idea I’d been becoming such a regular. With a little bit of shock, I realized I knew a number of them by name as well. And even a little about them.

Happy Trails, the retired wagon puller, a massive bat pony with graying green mane and a ready smile.

Star Hallow and Cumulus Drift, the married pair of guards, who challenge me to a sparring match whenever they see me.

Zoom Cut, the teenaged filly who had a temp job waiting tables until her mother’s caravan started hauling barrels of salted fish to a far-off zebra village.

I feel accepted here. For everything I am. They don’t hate me because of my faith. They don’t sneer at my white robes, or at Saint Rarity’s cutie mark on the flank. Or even at the rune gauntlet I always wear or the pistol strapped at my side.

And of course, there’s Ghost Pepper.

“Glad you showed up, Mercury,” he told me. He came out of the kitchen to say hi. And he already had my order ready. “I was worried I’d scared you away somehow.”

I asked him why he thought that. The food smelled heavenly.

“Some of the silly older biddies mentioned they’d said something about my ex. I know sometimes ponies like me make Diarchy ponies uncomfortable.”

He didn’t apologize for it. And he didn’t seem confrontational. My friend Bolero sometimes came off that way.

I told him my feelings on the subject of gay ponies had been

Several words are scratched out here.

“I would not call myself gay,” Ghost Pepper said. “The term we use for what I am is ‘pan’.”

He explained it to me.

I thought about how I’d been looking at him. How I’d looked at the pirate mare. It was just like me.

It was just like me.

He really had been flirting with me the whole time.

I fled without eating.

I can’t ever go back there!

EVER.

Saints. I like him. He likes me. What should I do?

Day Whatever Plus Eight

Lady Frosting Flare woke me up five minutes before my alarm. She was practically bursting at the seams with excitement.

“You’ll never guess what happened!” Her high-pitched voice was usually ear-torture. And I hadn’t had my coffee yet. “A breakthrough a hundred years in the making! And it’s all thanks to your efforts!”

I might have said something in Equish. I’m not sure. Again, I hadn’t had any coffee yet.

“I’m sending you on a special assignment. A caravan of thestrals has asked for you to accompany them on their sojourn from Jubilation to Celena’s Junction. They don’t let outsiders in, so this is a rare opportunity.”

She frowned.

“I’ve asked before, and been turned down. They never let missionaries in. So a healer might be the next best thing.”

I might have somehow managed to ask something about why me.

“The caravan leader’s really taken a shine to you. Some thestral named Ghost Pepper? He told me he was impressed with your kindness and faithfulness. Your outreach is working,” Lady Frosting said. She sounded jealous. “They want a sort of cultural exchange. To learn about our ways and show us some of theirs. You’re going to be an ambassador.”

I wasn’t surprised Lady Frosting was jealous. The batponies, or “thestrals” as Lady Frosting was calling them, had a reputation for being standoffish for Diarchy ponies, especially Knights. This was an unprecedented opportunity. I was surprised that they’d invited me.

Ghost Pepper.

He has ulterior motives. I think. He was sweet. Charismatic. And Lady Frosting didn’t know that he was attracted to me. And that I’m

Three words are scratched out.

Of course I couldn’t say no. Lady Frosting made it my new orders. And she would have asked why if I’d said no. And then there would have been questions. The kind I have no answers for.

I’ll have to go. And pray that I’ll be able to do my duty, to learn everything I can about batpony culture while sharing everything about our own. Maybe even pave the way for future missionaries.

And somehow, some way, avoid temptation.

Or not.

Comments

[Jmunoz13]

Man what a chapter, I’m just happy she’s breaking the mental chains free from the Diarchy’s brainwashed religion little by little.

[Thought Prism]

In addition to being just generally terrible in all sorts of ways, apparently life in the diarchy is also very boring. That's almost a bigger reason to leave than the aforementioned terribleness. Almost.