The Kudzu & the Contradiction Creatures
Star Swirl cut the thread with his teeth and stepped back to examine the cape. He stroked his beard and nodded, pleased with his work. Gone were the meandering threads and mismatched colors, now threaded in shimmering silver lines that curled at the corners in elegant swirls. Five bells—brass, silver, iron, bronze, and copper—jingled at the collar. He’d only meant to sew the new copper bell, but then noticed the older ones needed tightening. Then he realized how frayed the edges were and in desperate need of hemming, so he wouldn’t trip over himself. Before Star Swirl knew it, he’d set to tailoring the whole thing.
It wasn’t as if he’d anything else to occupy his time. Heartstrings busied herself tending Sunshower’s injuries. In the evening, they’d talk while she made meals, but she mostly left the stargazer to himself. He’d barely seen Lightheart at all. At first, Star Swirl presumed she was tending Topsoil’s cold, yet three days ago he heard Topsoil’s voice through the walls and she didn’t sound ill at all anymore. Rarely did either of them go downstairs and they certainly never went out.
As far as Star Swirl could tell, neither did anypony else. The dull melancholy of the Caulkins was usurped by a new feeling, a mysterious unease that crept over rooftops like smoke. The mines and streets were lonely, the air quiet and empty. Nopony emerged to ask of news or spread rumors or stir themselves into panic. Sometimes when Star Swirl went out for fresh air he saw them: shy faces peeking from curtains or silhouettes leaning from a high window to stare at Sill’s broken, punctured body.
“Warren!”
Star Swirl’s ears pricked at the cry cutting through his window and went to look.
“War-ren! Come by, boy!” Next door, a lilac mare (Cotterpin, he thought her name was) stood in her doorway, hooves cupped to her mouth. A black colt watched her from the window. “Warren, come! Warr—Stoot Stain! Boy, what did I just get finished tellin’ you? Get your flank inside and don’t let me catch you at that window again! Warren! C’mon, fella!”
From here Star Swirl could see the hole dug under the fence and muddy paw prints trailing away from the house. It was an easy guess where they led. From the look on her face, so did Cotterpin. Star Swirl closed the window and made down the hall for breakfast.
As he approached the stairwell, he heard a familiar voice. “Star Swirl?”
Sunshower watched him through the open doorway. She curled in a nest of blankets, pillows, and eiderdown beside the window, tail flicking with interest. Gauze looped down her neck and withers to hug her barrel. Her bandaged foreleg spilled onto the floorboards, the splinted wing bobbing as she rolled her shoulders. “What time is it? The water clock has stopped and there is no sundial.”
“About half-past ten, I expect.” Star Swirl sniffed at the dull scent of iodine and old blood as he went in. The marigolds in the vase withered days ago and nopony bothered to replace them yet. “I didn’t think you’d be awake already.”
“I should have woken two hours ago. That is when my patrol starts.” Sunshower flinched as she stood and frowned at her broken wing. “I predict I will miss many patrols in the coming weeks.”
“How are you feeling?”
Sunshower leaned upon the windowsill and sighed. “Bored. Among other things.”
Star Swirl glanced suspiciously at the bandaged leg, unsure if the pegasus ought to be out of bed. “Heartstrings said you wouldn’t be up and about for another week, at least. That was how long it took the harts to recover.”
The pegasus scoffed, but there was humor in it. “Perhaps you have not noticed, but I am not a hart. And I doubt the deerfolk wear barding.” She gently prodded the grey bruise on her flank. “It was only a fall. From sky to Sill, yes?”
“Aye, but t’was a great height nonetheless.”
“Falling is not unknown to the pegasi, I have had worse. What do you think the barding is for? Decoration? Besides, what is a ‘great height’ to a unicorn? A tumble from this low window—” Sunshower’s hoof traced the round iron window, the blue curtain brushing her bandages. “…From this window to the ground.” She stared at the vase in the corner and the grooves worn into the floor. “Six rooms in the house and you had to put me in this one?”
Star Swirl shrugged apologetically. “Closest room to the stairs. We didn’t want to move you any more than we had to.”
“I would not have objected to recovering in the kitchen. But I cannot change it now.” Sunshower blinked at the sea-green braids streaming down her withers. “These are his work, are they not?”
“He thought you’d like them. He helped with the wing, too.”
Sunshower smiled at that. “Unsurprising. He told me he used to fix wings for pigeons. If he has the time for braids and splints, I expect that means he is alive and well?”
“The humans carried him into Sill after he fixed your wing and that was the last anypony’s seen of him. He was alive and well you are, save for the shredded feet.” Star Swirl joined the pegasus at the open window and tilted his head towards Sill. “Mayhap he’s in your old room, just as you’re in his.”
“I hope not. I saw my chambers fall to rubble when the Roc chased him down the mount.” She leaned into the breeze as it ruffled her braids. “The earth ponies are unsettled.”
“A broken mountain teeming with humans will do that to a pony,” Star Swirl pointed out. “You can’t be surprised.”
“That is not what I meant. Listen. What do you hear?”
The unicorn angled his ears. Jackdaws cawed in the trees. Dead leaves crackled along the rocks while Cotterpin called for her terrier. The dim rustle of voices far above him. Finally, he admitted, “I don’t hear much of anything.”
“Precisely.” Sunshower leaned out the window and gestured toward the sky, unbroken with cornflower blue of Star Swirl’s coat. “No rain. Not even a cloud. I think that is why the earth ponies are frightened. So am I, to be honest. We have never known a day without rain. I know it is good for the land, but…it unsettles me.” She shuddered. “To hear it stop raining is as if somepony stopped breathing. Is the sky like this where you are from?”
“Aye, sometimes, but—”
A thunderous bang cracked the silence in half.
Sunshower jumped from the window, legs splayed to attack. She exchanged a wide-eyed look with Star Swirl and stared at the ceiling. There was a smell in the air they’d never smelled before. Burning, acrid, and metallic.
Another bang. Then a strange, stuttering rattle, punctuated by pops and coughs.
“It comes from overhead,” Sunshower whispered. She crept to the window, still prepared to run or fight as she peeked out. “From Sill. But I cannot see from this angle…”
The coughing rattle smoothed into a growl, light and steady like a cat’s purr. Faraway voices raised up in celebration. Someone called out in a language the little ponies did not know and the other voices laughed.
Gravel crunched and voices called out again. The purring rumble grew louder, bolder and the acrid smell grew stronger. Star Swirl twitched his nose. The scent was so familiar, yet he could not place it.
“The humans are on the move.” Sunshower leaned until half her body dangled from the window, ears twitching in interest. “They ride upon a metal… something. I do not think it can be called a carriage without somepony to pull—ow!”
Star Swirl crammed beside her, shoving her shoulder in the iron frame and his mane flopping in her face. “A car!” He shouted in Sunshowers’ ear. “Oh, ‘tis a real and true car! With all the wheels and gears and engines and smoke and it is moving!”
It wasn’t a little candy-shell vehicle like the one he’d seen in the book, nor the iron behemoth they’d found lacerated and bleeding on fringes of the city ruins. This was something in-between, covered in front and wagon-like in the back, open to the air. Star Swirl could just make out a human leaning out the front window, one hand gripping the roof. A clutch of humans sat in the back, boxes and sacks of supplies strewn among them.
Sunshower spat pink mane from her mouth and smacked Star Swirl with her good wing until he drew away and let her breathe. When the ponies looked again, the rusted vehicle was gently easing down the mount, starting and stopping as the humans coaxed it to the ground. When the tires hit muddy earth, the carriage snarled and picked up speed. It hared northwest—toward North Hill, Star Swirl noted—and soon the only trace was the acrid scent of smoke and rust.
“Where d’ye suppose they’re heading?”
Star Swirl turned to find Heartstrings behind him. She stood on tiphoof, peeking over Sunshower’s shoulder.
“I do not know.” Star Swirl stared at the jagged horizon. “But they certainly seemed to.”
Sunshower drew from the window and fetched a currycomb from the dresser. “Then we will ask them.”
“Ask?” Star Swirl said. “Not now, surely?”
“Yes, ask.” The pegasus ran the comb through her coat, careful not to trouble the bandages. Her braided tail swished impatiently. “That is how unknown information becomes known, stargazer. Surely you know this. And yes, now. It must be now. I have wasted too much time already and there are things I must do.”
Star Swirl hummed doubtfully. “I can’t imagine the other humans are in a hurry to socialize…”
“An’ what of your broken bones and injuries?” Heartstrings flattened her ears. “Only just now are ye out of bed, ‘tis far too early t’be galloping up mountains.”
“A broken wing does not impede my ability to walk. If humans want naught to do with me, that is their business. They are not my priority. The only one that matters is safe and alive and that knowledge is enough. I must see to my father. I must send word to the nearest cloud shepherds. I have wasted so much time already, and I…” Sunshower’s face fell. “I should have done better.”
The unicorns exchanged glances.
Gently, Heartstrings ventured, “’Tisn’t much ye could have—”
Sunshower whipped back so fast, her braids smacked her ears. “Don’t. He was my general, he was my father and he was a pegasus. I am the only other pegasus here. My tribe is not meant to live in such paltry numbers, we are all each other’s to sustain and to lift. We share in our feasts and we share in our falls. His failures are my own. I did not lift, I did not sustain. I tried, but I… I should have done better.”
The pegasus turned away from them and slammed the comb on the dresser so hard the mirror rattled. “The least I can do now is take him home for a proper ceremony and I cannot even do that. I must call cloud shepherds from their duty to bear him instead.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Come along or do not. I am going.”
Heartstrings rubbed her temples. “Aye, that much ye’ve made clear.” She gestured to the steaming oatmeal at her hooves. “But at least do me the kindness of eating before leaving. Somehow, I doubt collapsing on the rocks helps anything get done faster.”
Sunshower’s shoulders relaxed. “That much, at least, I will do.”
Two humans stood guard. The first met them at Sill’s midpoint, pale in eyes and hair and skin, her gaze shrewd and calm. Her hair curled around her ears, barely brushing her shoulders. The second one, darker than the first but lighter than Rail, perched on a shelf of gabbro several yards above her and had no hair at all. Both had rifles strapped to their backs.
The pale guard’s eyes skimmed the ponies from tip to tail, at their big bright eyes, candy-colored coats, and worn saddlebags. She frowned.
Sunshower’s shoulders set firm and she frowned back, sizing up the guard in turn.
Star Swirl fidgeted, glancing from the rifle to the leather vest to a gap in the rocks leading into Sill. His ears twitched at faraway chattering and moving water.
Heartstrings beamed and held out her right hoof. “G’morrow, lass! My name is Heartstrings, who are you?”
The guard blinked in surprise. Whatever she’d expected of the little ponies, this clearly wasn’t it.
Heartstrings looked at her outstretched hoof and her smile faltered. “Oh, dear. I did I wrong, didn’t I? I thought I was t’shake hands, but that’s a wee bit difficult without hands to shake.”
“Uh. A little, yes.” The human’s gloved hand shook the hoof anyway. “Good morning, I am Anais. Rail told us to expect you, but we didn’t think all three would come at once.”
“How is he?” Star Swirl asked.
“Well enough, far as I could tell. From the beard and horn, I take it you’re Star Swirl?”
The unicorn’s ear twitched uncertainly. “Aye, that I am.”
“It’s one at a time in the infirmary. He wants you to go last.” To the others, she said, “I’m to escort you to the piazza, where you will wait and make no trouble.”
“I must attend to my father first.” When Anais frowned in confusion, Sunshower’s good wing gestured toward the mountaintop. “He is a pegasus, like I am. He is still up there, is he not?”
“Ah. You’ll find his remains under a blanket near the caldera. We thought of tending to him ourselves, but Hark and Pruitt told us your kind don’t bury your dead.” The guard offered a wry smile. “We got plenty to worry about already. Don’t need a stallion haunting us on top of it because we messed up the funeral rites. I’ll tell Idris to let you pass and do what you must.”
Sunshower nodded and limped her way up the mountain, biting back a wince as she went.
Anais glanced at Heartstrings, who still stared up at her. “What?”
“I like your hair. I didnae know humans cut it that way.”
The guard chuckled under her breath. “Weird little things, you are.”
Star Swirl shook the water from his beard and lifted his muzzle from the little waterfall. It was one of many, the middle stretch for Sill’s many waterfalls and runoffs. The falls fed a sparkling stream that wound through a pen of goats and pigs.
A nanny goat bleated at him through a fence of twisted wire, cables, and wood. She sniffed at Star Swirl with a crusty nose and the unicorn stepped back from her. There was something in that goat—in all the goats—that didn’t sit right in his stomach.
When he’d asked them of life with Sill’s humans, or commented on the fresh grass, or complimented their kids, there was no response. And it wasn’t a consequence of the language barrier, either. The goats hadn’t responded at all. They didn’t lift their ears or heads to him. No side glances. No smiles. No frowns. Nothing. Their bahs and bleats had no cadence or structure, no rhythm of language. The goats chewed their grass and stared into space with dead, glassy eyes.
It was not just the goats. The unicorn saw it in the pigs, the dogs, the mice, the rabbits in their wire cages and the swallows in the cliffs. The brightness found the in eyes of wildlife native to the Nation and Kingdom was completely absent. Only the fruit bats and a handful of dogs—Cotterpin’s grey terrier among them—were familiar to him (maybe the cats too, but it was always hard to tell with cats). Star Swirl recalled the human’s rule of never eating talking creatures. He wondered if there was another reason the deerfolk caught in his city never spoke.
The unicorn sniffed the grass at his hooves. Legends said food from human realms changed a pony, either made all other food taste like wax and ashes, or else become so enraptured you’d stay there forever, eating and eating until your belly burst. Just legends, of course. All the same, Star Swirl decided to wait until he was back at Topsoil’s to eat.
The piazza, as the humans called it, composed the bulk of Sill’s bottom layer; a yawning oval grassland marked by andesite plateaus. The moss and grasses were bright and lush, feathergrass soft, fed by constant Caulkin rain. Spotlights of sunshine dripped down from the caldera, the toothed caverns, and all the rips and scars torn by the Roc. The crisp air was damp with life and promise, the way the world was after rainfall.
On the far side of the piazza, he saw lines of talon-scarred buildings that ranged from squat cottages to proud mansions to chunks of concrete towers to the humble lean-tos built from scavenged wood and metals. Not content with the ground, structures climbed the walls, perched on cliffs and shelves, and humans skimmed the sturdy net bridges that connected them. And the mountain still had plenty of room to spare. He’d lived in the mountain’s shadow for months, traveled up and down its sides scores of times, but Star Swirl didn’t truly appreciate the mammoth scope of Sill until he was inside it.
Star Swirl stopped to examine the crisscross of footprints running along the streambed. The sizes surprised him, for he never imagined human feet could be so small. The patterns they took were fascinating. Here, someone dragged themselves slow, and over there, someone had sprinted. Just beyond that, two pairs of prints interwove, as if dancing. Rows of water-stained buckets and barrels ran along the bank, along with makeshift sieves and ropes and tightly woven nets.
A little sailboat bobbed at Star Swirl’s hooves, the capsized hull bright yellow. The toy floated in the shadow of the real thing: an off-white schooner with tattered sails and a cracked mast. The stargazer heard the tell-tale smack of feet on floorboards inside, the quiet pad of adults and the careless stomp of children. Eyes peeked through fishnet curtains, ducking in when they saw him looking back. The schooner was in good company. Several other ships crowded it: proud luxury liners, sleek motorboats, and a stoic iron behemoth lay split in half, thick furs thrown over Roc-torn gashes for privacy. A pair of dinghies sheltered a vegetable garden.
The boats were impressive, but the vehicles outnumbered them twenty to one. While buildings and boats huddled close, the automated carriages spread hither and thither, above and below and every place in-between, as if someone had thrown them out like festival garlands. Sun-bleached busses simmered on high ledges, limousines lounged in the shade, and little sedans flocked in multicolored clusters. All of their doors and windows spread wide open as humans sat on the seats, hoods, trunks, and rooftops. In one of them, a quartet of middle-aged men and women wove nets.
Star Swirl recognized these humans from the outpouring of Sill and lifted his hoof to them. A man with a yellow beard and yellow teeth waved back. It was the only real acknowledgment he’d received so far.
Certainly, the humans of Sill were not hiding—everywhere he looked they climbed and fished and laughed and timidly explored the bold new world outside the walls of moss and smooze—but they gave Star Swirl a wide berth and took no steps to approach him. Chatter whittled to whispers when the unicorn went by. He was pointedly ignored or watched from a safe distance by almost everyone. Everyone except one particular group.
Star Swirl was no expert in human ages, but they looked and acted half-grown, if not in adolescence, then at the cusp of it. People too young for fear and too old for reprimand. They had followed him since he arrived, always just out of reach as they flitted like horseflies, laughing and whispering in low voices. The bold ones snuck up behind when Star Swirl wasn’t looking and snatched pink hairs from his tail. When the unicorn didn’t retaliate, the whispering eased into regular chatter. He didn’t know the language, but it had the prickly, quick cadence of griffon linguistics.
The unicorn only recognized one word and he heard the word breach in conversation many times: ‘kudzu’. It was not restricted to the young humans, either. He heard it from doors and windows, in passing dialogues as they strolled overhead. Star Swirl thought he even saw it in their sign language, represented in a hand spidering along the arm like climbing vines. Yet he could see no kudzu vines in the foliage at all. It was all very curious.
When Anais returned, Sunshower limping at her side, Star Swirl asked about it.
The guard blinked quickly and rubbed the back of her neck. “Kudzu is a type of vine,” she said a little too quickly.
“Aye, I know that part. We passed one of your cities some months ago and saw them climb o’er your rusted towers and streetlamps. You see them in all the ruins.”
“Did you also know the kudzu vine didn’t always grow on this continent?”
The unicorn rubbed his beard inquisitively and looked behind him. A young man with dreadlocks narrowed his eyes at him from the shadows. “I didn’t.”
“Kudzu was brought from across the sea, and it took well to the foreign soil and favorable climate. So well that soon it choked the life out of what already lived there, all the native trees and things.”
Sunshower flicked her tail impatiently. “The biology of vines is interesting, but the stargazer is correct. The walls have only moss. There is no kudzu here at all.”
Anais looked at the dew on Sunshower’s feathers, the sun glinting off Star Swirl’s horn. “…Some would disagree with you.”
“Oh?” Star Swirl blinked once, then twice. He looked at the humans in their broken buildings and rusted cars, then at himself. Slowly, his ears drooped. “…Oh.”
The guard shrugged sympathetically. “Nothing personal.” She pointed westward, to an iron bird-like machine half-covered in sunshine. A green pony hopped down makeshift stairs trailing from a great gap where a wing used to be. “You can go in now, Sunshower. The other unicorn’s come out.”
The pegasus stared at the iron bird and didn’t respond. Something climbed on the roof, moving slow with a flap of green trailing behind. Sunshower’s good wing pulled in tight at her shoulder. She nickered low in her throat.
“We could wait a little bit, if you like,” Anais offered.
“No.” Sunshower ran her teeth along her feathers and stood. “No, I am ready now.”
Star Swirl trailed their approach. The guard looked over her shoulder at him, but didn’t argue against him coming along. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is the name of that great iron bird? Is that a…” He struggled to remember the word. “A plane? Why is it the infirmary? Why not use a building?”
“The plane’s easy to get in an’ out of, and easy to guard. Hark says its name is… Boeing, I think. We just call it the infirmary.” The guard looked over her shoulder.
The young humans from before shadowed them on all sides. Together they murmured and pointed at the green figure on the plane’s roof. They snickered as Star Swirl edged away from them.
Anais wheeled on the group and they fluttered back like crows. “Don’t you have work to do? If y'all ran out, I know Igoe can dig some up. Leave the ponies alone and go bother somebody else.” She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “What, you deaf? Scat!”
The band of humans scattered, but two lingered behind: the young man with dreadlocks, his hands jammed in his pockets, and a red-haired girl who sat cross-legged upon a plateau.
The boy frowned defiantly. “Drags said that the li'll ponies—”
“Do I look like I care what Drags says?” The guard crossed her arms and met his stare. “Drags is a pile of bones and ashes. Anais is alive and has a rifle on her back. Which one you want to listen to? I won’t tell you again: leave the ponies alone.”
The young man hesitated. Anais glowered. He broke her gaze and skulked away.
The girl pulled in her legs and rested her head on her knees. She was young, younger than the others had been, but somehow didn’t seem it. Her matted hair was not the dull, coppery red Star Swirl saw in the other humans. Bright as a pony’s coat, it was the red of fresh wounds and sunsets and razed houses.
The cut of her blue eyes pricked the fur along the unicorn’s spine. Sunshower kept her face and posture nonchalant, but her good wing splayed for battle. She breathed light and quick.
“That one is not like the others,” Sunshower whispered.
The girl smiled. Her teeth glinted like attercop silk.
Star Swirl stepped back and tried not to cringe. “No, she is not.” There was coldness there, twisting through her fingers and sliding across her palms in thin, clammy tendrils. The same chill of the verdigris door. Star Swirl flattened his ears.
The girl smiled wider.
Anais pointed a stubby finger. “Make no trouble, Ashling. You hear me?”
The red-haired girl rolled her eyes and put her head in her hands. When Anais wasn’t looking, she stuck her tongue out.
Heartstrings met the group as they neared the plane. She walked in slow, cautious steps and she, too, watched the one called Ashling. “I saw that one before,” she told Star Swirl. “Outside the windows. Ye felt it too, right?”
Star Swirl nodded. “Magic.”
“But humans cannae use magic.”
“No,” Anais said. “Not if they want to stay that way.” She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced at the plateau. Ashling was gone. “Not all humans are from the same Old World. There’s those that look human but aren’t and they live longer than we do. Long enough to pass down their arts.” She sighed, her smile bitter and small. “Witches are made, not born.”
Sunshower loudly cleared her throat. She balanced on the rickety stairwell, her bad leg pulled close to her chest. “Assistance would not be unwelcomed.”
The guard nodded and helped the pegasus up the stairs. They vanished into the plane and in a few minutes Sunshower reemerged on the roof.
The man in the green cloak sat up. They stood aloof from each other a moment before the pegasus approached him, not a little shyly. The human sat higher, one arm outstretched to run his fingers along the bandages. Sunshower’s good wing rose and gestured at his feet. They laughed. The human’s hand drew back, hesitant, then reached out to Sunshower’s shoulders and pulled her close. Their heads bumped together in a gentle headbutt.
Heartstrings blocked the stargazer’s line of sight. “Y’know, lad, that’s a bit rude.”
Star Swirl flicked his ears defensively. “How is it rude? I’m a fair distance away, I cannot be bothering them. I don’t think they can even see me.”
“Mayhap ye never heard of it, but ‘tis a thing called privacy. Afford them a little, if you please. Here, come away and look what he gave me.” The minstrel grinned and waved her tail, freshly brushed into soft, silky curls. At the base of her tail was a bow, a brilliant goldenrod that matched her eyes. The strands twirled and streamed as she cantered. “Isn’t it fine?”
The stargazer shrugged. “Yes, it’s nice. I suppose.” He never did know what to say about these sorts of things. There was only so much one could say about ribbons or lace or how many diamonds fit in a saddle.
“Oh, ‘tis the picture of how they wore ‘em in Dream Valley! And made of simple linen too. No lace or satin to get all mussed up from travel and easy to wash.”
Star Swirl began to point out that the Valley style of bows looked nothing like that. The tail was too long, the shape wasn’t round enough, and the whole thing was pointless unless the human tied his own hair in solidarity. But Heartstrings’ delighted smile kept him from saying so.
“Made it from the extra materials he had left over—t’was in the midst of making himself a new tunic all of greys an’ golds, turned out very nice if you’re wondering—so he decided to give me this bow. While he was busy making it, I taught him a unicorn traditional. The one Megan and everypony sang when the tyrant ram fell.”
“Bell of Freedom.” Star Swirl couldn’t help smiling at that. “Ring out the news, sing loud and clear/Come, for the day of liberation's here. Appropriate, I must admit.”
“And easy to learn. One of the other humans—several of ‘em are housed in there you see—they wanted to teach me a song of their own.” The mare waved her coiffed tail as she hummed a melody. “Something about a clan o’ entertainers advertising themselves to a talent agency. The others stopped him, though.”
“Why?” asked Star Swirl. “Was it a sacred hymn?”
Heartstrings clicked her tongue. “The way some clapped their hands o’er their babes’ ears, I very much doubt it.” She gasped and popped into the air like a firecracker. “Oh! Oh, and how sweet the wee darlings are!”
“…The bawdy singers?”
“The babes, dear. Try and keep up. Little humans start out like ours, round and chubbish, but the eyes are just the opposite. Big an’ wide, not small and beady. They all stuck close to their parents and beds o’course—‘tis a hospital, not a nursery—but a few let me get close. They were so curious, hands all o‘er me mane and back.” Heartstrings chuckled warmly. “Sweet things.”
The unicorns had wandered a good distance from the plane. Heartstrings meandered in the warm glow of her wonder, her neck stretching in all directions to see everything. She trod on Star Swirl’s hooves more than once. The tranquil hours in Sill proved the little ponies peaceful, or at least not an immediate threat. Around them, contradiction creatures roamed freely in the noonday sun, engrossed in daily duties and private conversation. They had realized the unicorns didn’t speak their common language, and they moved in the natural way of humans.
Star Swirl paused to observe a circle of humans looming over a crinkled map. The one in the middle had one eye and his bare arms were lined in scars. The thinner man he spoke to bore close resemblance, perhaps a relative, lifted his head when they passed. Heartstrings waved. The rest of the humans looked up at the ponies, then looked at each other, curious and amused. A dark woman with braids chuckled.
“Saluton,” said Heartstrings.
The one-eyed human jerked in surprise. So did Star Swirl. The woman laughed louder and called, “Bonan posttagmezo!” She patted her companion’s knee and went back to the map.
Star Swirl tilted his head. “What did all that mean? And since when do you speak that language?”
“Oh, I don’t. I just know how to say ‘hello’. Helpful word to know.” The mare looked back as they walked away. “The one-eyed fellow is Hark, I think. I heard someone call him that.” She watched a knot of limber humans rush past, a pack of dogs running at their heels. Star Swirl thought he saw Cotterpin’s terrier in the crowd. In the distance, something crashed and a voice yelled in exasperation.
“Oh, Star Swirl,” Heartstrings sighed. “There are so many.”
Star Swirl examined his surroundings again. He frowned. Indeed, the number was comparatively great, more than either unicorn could ever hope to see at once. But the stargazer had been counting, and judging by the numbers he saw, the humans couldn’t total over five hundred. He could fit the entire species into House Galaxy’s courtyard with plenty of room leftover.
“There are so few.” Star Swirl couldn’t help thinking Yarak’s brief intent for a nature preserve wasn’t misguided after all. Scattered all over the world in even smaller clusters… the breeding pairs did not bode well.
Heartstrings shrugged and flicked her tail. “Less than before, but still a fair amount. If ye recall, the little ponies of Dream Valley had a fraction of this number once upon a time. And just look how we turned out.” She patted her young friend’s shoulder. “I don’t think that trough-half-empty attitude’s good for ye, lad.”
“I’m not wrong, either.”
“If that’s what you prefer to...” Heartstrings squinted. “Is that Sunshower?”
Star Swirl followed the minstrel’s line of sight. Indeed, the pegasus approached in a steady trot. She held her head high and prim, sea-green tail flicking behind. A couple of nosy humans stalked along the high cliffs, following her path from a safe height. If she noticed them, she didn’t show it.
“Hello, Sunshower.” Heartstrings gently tilted her head. “Come back to get something?”
The bandaged mare blinked coolly. “I have not.” Her voice was smooth and even. Weathered. “I have returned.”
“Already? Ye cannae be serious.”
Sunshower’s placid face made it obvious that she was.
“But ye were there hardly half of an hour!”
“I was, yes. I do not see why that is important.” Sunshower grit her teeth as her injured leg caught a loose rock. She gently sat beside the unicorns. “It was the necessary time allotted. No more, no less.”
Background chatter trailed through the air. Strong-armed men sang a work song in the distance. A hound yapped after a gaggle of long-legged girls. The waterfalls hissed. The three ponies sat in silence.
Sunshower flicked an ear. “You are wondering why I did not stay longer.”
“Aye,” said both unicorns.
“I told you. I took the time that was necessary. There is no purpose in staying longer than I must. There are things ponies can change and there are things they cannot. An extra minute or an hour, it would change little. And I think…” Sunshower’s placid face twitched, a ripple blown across the water. “I think more harm than good would come of it. In those extra minutes there would be time for things to grow that should not grow. Time neither of us has. There are things to do, and we must do them.”
The pegasus curled in the moss, resting her head on her good knee. She watched a cricket bounce on a blade of grass. “Make no mistake; I do not like it. I do not like it at all. But the liking of it or lack thereof is no consequence. I only wanted to know for certain he was well.”
Heartstrings wrinkled her brow and looked to Star Swirl, who lifted his eyebrows at her. What in stars’ name did she expect him to do? He was a stargazer, not a matchmaker. The minstrel knew more of these matters than he did.
Sunshower flicked her tail irritably. “Stop looking at me that way. Rival tribe or not, I have done nothing to you at all. Do not insult me with your pity.” She fidgeted in the moss. The splinted wing couldn’t get comfortable. “Bloodfeathers are plucked all the time and bleed until the wound heals. That is what they do. It is the natural risk and result of bloodfeathers. I am not the first pegasus to lose one and I will not be the last. Rail is unbroken in body and spirit. This is more than most mares ever get. I am very lucky. I am.”
The pegasus closed her eyes and tried her best to relax, for she was still quite tired. Her sides heaved slowly and dirt caked on her bandages. Dust blew away in little clouds as she breathed. Her tail flicked one way, then the other.
Sunshower stood. She moved too fast and the injured leg buckled under her. “I hope you are happy; I am now unsettled again.” She huffed and ran her teeth along her feathers in a slapdash preen. “Just as well. I still must coax the fastest…”
Sunshower paused. Her ears drooped a few inches before she righted them again. The sunlight trembled in her eyes. “…the second fastest runner in the Caulkins from her home. I must send word to the cloud shepherds of Sweet Water City. I do not know how long that will take and I… I should not let time go to waste. If you will excuse me.”
Heartstrings opened her mouth to argue, to voice her concern, but the pegasus shouldered past her and shoved the words down the unicorn’s throat. Star Swirl brushed back as she swept through the grass. She did not run (she wouldn’t dare) but marched in brisk, disciplined steps down and out of what was once her mountain. The humans, preoccupied with themselves and their troubles, cleared from her path but did not watch her go.
When he did not see yellow in the green and grey, Star Swirl cracked his neck and looked at the aircraft. “Well. ‘Tis my turn, then.”
Anais peeked through the curtain as she went back down. “Still a bit wet out there from last night’s drizzle. Watch your step.”
“I’ll remember that,” said Star Swirl. He shifted his hooves on the warm metal and inched forward.
A human sat cross-legged on the far end of the plane. The sun spread across his shoulders and the shade of the mountain slid into his lap. He hunched over something. There was a squeak and a snap.
Star Swirl gently cleared his throat.
The man straightened and beckoned the unicorn with a jerk of his neck. The grey poncho, bordered in yellow and white, slid off one shoulder and he was wrapped from toe to calf in gauze and reddened cotton.
The others were right, he looked well. His gaunt frame had filled out, and he held himself with casual vigor, just the way he’d been in the first few days of their travels together. But the human was smaller in ways the unicorn couldn’t name; worn and dim, heavy with knowledge. He smiled when Star Swirl approached him.
The unicorn blinked at the human’s lunch. The strawberry fruit bat looked like a little heart in his bandaged hands. Blood or juice (if there was a difference) leaked through his fingers.
“I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.” The man shifted guiltily. “Figured you’d still be exploring the mountain and asking questions before lunch was over. I know you’re uncomfortable with this sort of thing.”
“Nay, ‘tis no trouble on my behalf. I fed more than my share of wolves and bears in the carnival, you know. Nothing new to me.”
The human shrugged and Star Swirl tried not to cringe as he bit into the flesh. It smelled of berry cordial and the little green ribs broke under his thumb.
“In any case,” Star Swirl said, “I don’t think there was much exploring to be done. The humans don’t seem to care for me.”
The rest of the bat popped into the man’s mouth. In a sticky voice, he said, “I don’t think it’s you. Not really.”
Star Swirl looked into the distance. Little humans scampered all about Heartstrings, their voices piping and shrill with excitement. “I don’t see what else it could be.”
The human rubbed his mouth with his sleeve and leaned forward on his knees. “You remember the earth ponies in Conemara? How some of them knew more than they knew? I think maybe it goes the other way. They feel your magic coming, they know from the shiver in their gut.” He peered at the mop of red hair bobbing near the plane’s broken wheels. “Humans and magic just don’t mix well.”
“Hmph.” The stargazer flipped his tail. “That doesn’t seem to stop Heartstrings.”
The human arched an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Heartstrings didn’t flatten Sill’s fog while she stood on a mountain full of humans. And she’s old. You’re still young—little younger than I am, I think—and if I remember my myths right, sorcerers get stronger with age. Like dragons.”
The brown spidery fingers tapped Star Swirl’s newest bell, then the one next to it. “You’ve gotten better. And it’s been what, a year?”
“Not quite,” said Star Swirl. “Spring comes next month, but I met you in early summer. Still a-ways to go.”
“Hm. That’s right, I left home in spring. The pigeon eggs hadn’t hatched yet.” The human was quiet then. He rubbed his shoulders and looked at his feet. “They’ll be grown up by now. If the frost hasn’t killed them. Or the cats. …Or the hawks. I don’t even know if the aviary’s still standing.” The man sighed, light and soft. “Guess I’ll find out, by and by. We’re leaving soon.”
“What?” The unicorn’s ears shot up. “Leaving? All of you? How? When?”
“All that’ll come. Some think we shouldn’t go. I don’t either. It doesn’t feel like it in the Caulkins, but it’s still winter right now and winter’s dangerous. I think we should wait, though I’m sure we won’t.” The human reached out to Star Swirl’s withers. The unicorn had begun to fidget. “Old Colin and Mori and a bunch of others rode out this morning, up towards North Hill. Anais says they’re looking for our ride, whatever that means. We’re going out to find what’s left of the homes the Roc took us from.”
Star Swirl pawed at the rusted steel. He settled beside the human, resting his chin on the bony knee. “Yours as well?”
“Yeah…” The man absently scratched the base of Star Swirl’s neck. Pink mane gnarled through his fingers. “I’m a little scared to go.”
“Why?” The unicorn glanced up, angling his shoulders toward the hand.
Taking the hint, the hand moved down and scratched Star Swirl’s shoulder blades. “I think you can only go so far from your home before it stops being home. I know I could always make a new one but…I dunno.” He ran the other hand through his hair. “So few speak my language. I’m learning theirs, but it’s slow going.”
“But surely they are glad to have you.”
“Naturally. It’s always good to have more genes in the pool. I make them nervous, though.”
Star Swirl bumped his nose against the man’s arm. “You’re still new. They’ll get used to you.”
“It’s not just that. I’ve had magic in me and I wouldn’t be surprised if some was still in there.” The human popped his back and swung his legs over the plane’s sides. “Nobody’s said anything, but I think Ashling knows. About Cinquefoil. If she knows, then everybody knows.”
The stargazer pulled his tail close to himself. “Are you still upset with me for that?”
“I am.”
Star Swirl’s shoulders sank as he looked away.
“There’s nothing worse you could do to a childless human, Star Swirl. Yes, I’m upset and I will be for a long time.” The human patted the unicorn’s side. “But I understand. That’s enough, maybe. It’s alright.”
This, Star Swirl knew, was untrue. The spell that wove the skin of Cinquefoil was strong magic, but it was still just magic and would fade with time. But the unicorn would bear the enchantment of error for as long as he lived, if not in the human’s heart, then in his own. “Truly, I am sorry.”
The human looked at him. His eyes were larger than they used to be, the color of the irises richer. Not unlike Ashling’s. “Would you do it differently, given the chance?”
Star Swirl slowly opened his mouth, then closed it. His silence spoke for him.
“Don’t be sorry, then,” the man said. “Besides, humans are in the world again and I get to be among them.” Shadows swept over them. He craned his neck to see a pair of humans, silhouetted by the sun as they walked Sill’s rough surface. His hand absently brushed the yellow feather tucked behind his ear. “It’s a fair trade. Nothing’s free, you know.”
“Does it make you happy, at least?”
“It might. Our kind doesn’t always know when they’re happy and have a bad habit of finding out only after the moment’s passed. By the way, I have something for you.”
Star Swirl cocked his head as the human offered his open palm, crisscrossed in gauze and scrapes. “Um. Where… is it?”
The man laughed. “Put your hoof there.”
The unicorn did and the human gripped him at the fetlocks and shook, once and firm.
“My name is Rail, son of Sconce and Castor, brother to none. I come from the city of high towers.”
A smile bloomed across Star Swirl’s face. “Star Swirl, of House Galaxy. First and only son of Crescent Curve and Stardazzle the Second, brother to Starburst and Starbeam. Well met, Rail.” Thank you.”
Rail smiled back. “You’re welcome, Star Swirl.”
“Still, I wish there was something I could do for you in return.”
For a moment or two, the human didn’t say anything. He fetched the feather from his ear and gently rolled it between his fingertips, watching the light play along the shaft. “Actually, there is.”
“Name it.”
“Go home.”
Star Swirl’s smile deflated into a flat, sullen line. “I rescind my offer.”
Rail crossed his arms and smirked. “Too late, you already said it.”
“Truly, you are the most cruel and vicious of contradiction creatures.”
Rail just laughed, breathy and short. He twirled the feather in his fingers and sighed as his face turned serious again. “Go home to your House and kin, Star Swirl. While you still have one to go to. Perfect your Talent and look to your own.”
Star Swirl searched Rail’s expression. He was quite serious. The unicorn flattened his ears. “Yes, but…”
“You only had to get married because you couldn’t cast spells, right?”
“More or less…”
“Seems you’ve gotten over that.” Rail jingled the bronze bell on Star Swirl’s collar. “What’s this one for?”
“Teleportation of foreign objects. I found the missing wing to a plane—this one, I think—and moved it to my room…” Star Swirl’s ears flattened further.
The human was right. Since the transformation spell, the path of magic widened, stretching long and out to him, a path that spiraled farther by the second. It overwhelmed him still, too strong to fully control and left him spent when it was over. Still, magic came when he called. He saw the elegant stitches of magic threading through the world, and he knew how to cut and sew, how to manipulate the seams and turn them in on themselves. Star Swirl knew magic and magic knew him. Perhaps more than any unicorn ever had. Neither Star Swirl nor his horn was hollow.
“But…but even so!”
Rail blinked at him, waiting.
“Even so, I…” Star Swirl stamped in frustration. “I do not wish to!”
“Why?”
“Because I do not like other ponies!” The answer burst from him like a parasite. “I don’t. Where humans are brave, ponies are cowardly. Where you are curious and foolish and steadfast, unicorns are stubborn and sensible and floundering and… and safe.”
The sour word twisted Star Swirl’s face. “They care not for discovery, they care not for knowledge for knowledge’s sake, they care not for magic at all! I have been to the universities and I have spoken to the masters and all of them, they treat magic—endless, beautiful, dauntless, glorious magic—as naught but a…a tool. As if it were any common garden hoe! Aye, they craft, but never do they discover or wonder. Never ‘why’ or ‘how’ or ‘when’. Only ‘practicality’, ‘convenience’, and ‘tradition’.
“I do not like other ponies. I never have. I…” Star Swirl took a breath and lowered his voice. The other humans were peering at them. “I want to go with you.”
Rail laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No, Star Swirl. You can’t. You know how the Megan stories end: I go back to my house, you go back to your house.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “And I think some singing and rainbows are involved, but we can skip that part.”
The unicorn flipped his tail and snorted. “You are not Megan and you do not have a house.”
“Details.” Rail pulled his legs up and leaned to face the unicorn, both hands resting on his knees. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a pony too, Star Swirl. Nothing’s kept you from thinking beyond the fence, who’s to say other ponies can’t do the same? Things change.”
“I don’t know.” The unicorn flicked his ears and smoothed the edge of his cape. “I know ponies better than you do. They’re stubborn to change. ‘Tis in our nature.”
“Nature?” Rail straightened his back and let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Nature?” The human spread his arms out to Sill and the airplane, to the sparkling streams below and the blue, uncut sky above. “For mercy’s sake, Star Swirl, look where we are! Do you know how many things this mountain has seen? How many owners it’s had? What it looked like a hundred years ago, or fifty, or just yesterday? Nature changes all the time and people change with it. Ponies too, probably.”
Rail relaxed his shoulders and patted Star Swirl’s neck. “Besides, Ashling is coming with us and I don’t like the idea of you two together.”
The human and the unicorn leaned to look over the edge of the plane. Ashling looked back at them, rocking back on her heels as she wiggled her fingers at them.
Star Swirl frowned. “In that, you may have a point. But…” He swished his pink tail and shuffled his shoulders. “But still, do you think it would be alright if we stayed here? Just a little while longer?”
“That,” Rail said, “would be more than alright.”
The scroll rolled from Star Swirl’s hooves over the human’s feet and to the tail of the airplane. “Good, because I brought a few questions to ask.”
“See, this is exactly why I told you to go last.”
Stats
Page generated in 0.022 seconds
Total duration
1,069 users online
1,883,924 hits today, 2,561,572 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
And there's his inner Twilight. I'm sad this is ending, but all things must. Ending well will have to be good enough.
Nitpicks:
at?
I don't understand this sentence. I would expect Starswirl to refer to the human, but to the best of my knowledge "'twas" exclusively abbreviates "it was", which doesn't seem appropriate to me. "You are" is almost a complete mystery to me, with the possible exception that he meant to say "well as you are", i.e. he was no worse off then than Sunshower is now. Can you please alleviate my confusion on these points?
I believe that only one apostrophe should be here, though I admit I'm not entirely sure which one should remain. (My instinct is to say the first one.)
This sentence is incorrect; two of many possible way to correct it are to change the comma to a semicolon or to delete "was".
"trod", I think.
"in the noonday sun", I think, because they are not actually on the sun.
It appears that a high enough concentration of humans breaks Equestria's , for lack of a better term, sapience field. Perhaps not unsurprising, but certainly interesting.
It is a bitter sweet ending. But that is the only one that would really work.
That was a lovely set of conversations. Your characterisations are so clear and you find yourself truly caring for the characters.
Sunshower was right, by the way. Better to make a final and clear ending rather than drag things out and ensure the break, when it comes, is all the worse and all the more destructive to their happiness. Better to move on as soon as possible, although I think that she and Rail will always carry with them a little part of each other in their hearts. That is a part of the one magic that we and ponies share and bind us and mark us as higher beings.
So, I was right. Somehow, magic came into the world and humanity and their way of life could not survive it. Somehow, like the Kudzu vine, it choked out and consumed their world, bit-by-bit. The few humans who could adapt to magic were left twisted and, if not evil, then somewhat inhuman (as Megan found on more than one occasion). This is no longer their world and their time has come to an end. Ailing seems to know that and this is why she and the other elders are looking for a way to journey to a distant land free of the oncoming plague that can only slowly destroy them even as it empowers all other living things.
It was fascinating that Rail should invoke Megan. Yes, she always went home in the end and the Ponies had to just to get on with their lives, no matter how much they missed her... like they will all miss Rail. But, Megan was right about something else - There is always another rainbow. No story ever truly comes to an end, it just waits until another time to resume.
Now, here's a thought. The Everfree Forest is a place where ponies' magic doesn't work properly and the old pre-magic order of things still partly endures. Could the Tree of Harmony be the last work of Ashling's sub-species of magic-infused humans? Was it their last attempt to create a secure homeland for their ever-fading folk?
I so wanted to see a ending for rail and us shower together. I know it's different than the original story, the movie anyway, but damn it I'm a sucker for romance and happy endings.
Absolutely loved it. Now to the final chapter.
I can't believe it's over.
But there's still an epilogue.
-Spirit
What song is Heartstrings being taught by the humans? I've been reading for hours and its now 9am, so I haven't thebrain power to ffigure it out.
5449026
Not really an actual song. It's an Aristocrats joke. (It's just that after several generations, it's known in song form)
Nooo. Booo. I dislike this ending! Why! You are throwing away everything! You have someone you love and care for to go with others that you don't even like. God, such a unfulfilling ending.
6576208 Welcome to the ending of the last unicorn, the story this story is heavily based off.
Not sure what you were going for there.
Rail.
4909045 *Alondro flips a pen around in the air... without touching it...* Now now, some of us are quite capable of handling magic just fine! *Alondro plans on taking over the entire universe with an armada of mutant clones* Hey! I was nuts BEFORE the magic stuff! All it did was make my delusions of grandeur realizable!
Oh my god, that last line. XD
And that fucking Aristocrats reference. I can't understand half the main plot points of this story, but I can identify that right as rain!