Mare Doloris

by TinCan

Rest

I doubted she'd remain unconscious for more than a few hours; already her breathing was stronger and the blue point at the tip of her spike glowed more brightly. I wished I could rest myself, but what would she do if she woke before I did, still believing I'd intentionally poisoned her and knowing I'd tried to shoot her dead? Such questions make sleep difficult to attain.

Instead, I watched the text scroll across the surface of my tablet through tired eyes.

My library was well-stocked with memoirs, sayings and biographies of the great hermits and ascetics. There were enough narratives and legends where the wise and holy recluse was troubled by vicious beasts or bandits to be a sub-genre. Of course, the heroes always won. The wild animals became tame and peaceable with kindly treatment, and the wild people were uplifted and reformed by their host's righteous example.

It didn't look promising. Try as I might, I couldn't find a single one where the hermit poisoned the well by blasting his tormentor with weaponized radiation. Those sorts probably died unknown and didn't get books written about them.

I decided to pursue a different tack.

The captain had remarked that the image on the moon was a legendary creature of the navigator's culture. He was probably a 'Terry;' they made up the vast majority of hominid spacefarers since the diaspora. What had Nightmare Moon said before her meal caught up with her? That she had the nature of the 'unicorn'? I searched for that, as well as "Terra" and "myth."

There wasn't a lot of fiction in my library. I dove into any sort of escapist trash during my youth, and anyone can see where that got me. Still, the search managed to dredge up an entry from Encyclopedia of the Wonders of All Worlds, a collection of myth and folklore that had somehow escaped my frivolity purges.

Under "Myths of Terra: Fantastic Creatures: U"

The unicorn owes its quasi-existence to a mixture of linguistic ambiguity, honest ignorance and outright fraud. A primitive Terran historian's written description of a now-extinct land mammal was fancifully interpreted by the inhabitants of an adjacent continent, their assumptions influenced by the smaller quadrupeds native to their region. This misinterpretation was cemented by enterprising seafaring hunters who passed off the spiraling drill-like teeth of their prey as unicorn horns.

Now I remembered why I'd kept this one: it was perhaps the most un-romantic treatment of the legendary one could ask for.

The text was broken by three images. The left one was a huge, stocky thick-skinned land animal with a horn on its snout. On the right side was a bullet-shaped sea creature with a long spiraling spear sprouting from its face. Between the two was, apparently, the unicorn.

I studied the image carefully. There were differences. The head was longer and narrower, there were no wings, the tail was more whip-like with only a tuft of longer hair at the tip and the creature had two toes per limb instead of just one. Still, the picture looked more like Nightmare Moon than it did either of the things upon which it was supposedly based. I read on.

This scheme greatly increased their profits, as it was believed that unicorn horn possessed the power to nullify poisons.

I blinked and re-read the sentence. She had implied that the poisons would not affect her because she had the "nature of the unicorn." But... how would she know about that, if they were just the ancient imagining of an obscure species from the far side of the galaxy? Did Terrans engineer Nightmare Moon's species in the image of their myths? I was fairly certain the Terrans didn't even have space travel a thousand years ago, much less the ability to manipulate genetics on this scale. Did the ponies come to them long ago, and this world was but a far-flung colony regressed to pre-spaceflight levels?

It felt as if I had discovered something important, but I had no idea what to do with it, or what it meant. The Increate's cosmos is far stranger than anyone can fathom.

Next I called up the extensive report the surveying team compiled on this star system. I'd seen it before when I was trying to decide where to set up my hermitage, but that time I'd only skimmed it and looked at the pictures. It had seemed like an obvious choice. It was only two leaps away from a trade lane, they assured me natives weren't going anywhere soon and no power had yet laid claim to the system.

Also, the planet and moon had a comforting familiarity. With the oceans of liquid water and the large, single satellite, they could have been my own homeworld and its companion during an earlier, idyllic age before the rest of the galaxy beat a path to our door.

I smiled for the first time in a while. This was how things should be. A hermit star, untroubled by the worlds beyond its reach.

Or, it had been. I'd come here and ruined everything. Thanks to me, the ponies and whatever else crawled about on the planet were five months away from the prophesied return of a powerful, undying enemy. It really would be better if everyone just stayed at home.

As I was the one who upset this delicate system, it was my responsibility to set it right. As simply killing her had failed, I had to use whatever negligible influence I commanded to convince Nightmare Moon to abandon her plan of genocide.

If that worked, maybe I could get her to spare me as well.

Maybe this report would give me some real insight on her species. Most of it I could barely even parse. Solar irradiance, mineral compositions of the major bodies, orbits of navigational hazards and so on meant nothing to me.

To my dismay, the life on the planet was given relatively short shrift. As it turned out, none of the surveyors had even entered the atmosphere, content instead to observe from afar. The report estimated at least five distinct civilized groups on the planet, and gave each a some sort of technological development rating using a scale I'd never heard of.

More usefully, there was a list of the ear-marks they'd used to arrive at the rating and the images by which they'd been identified.

I scrolled past pictures of crop rotation, a bulbous lighter-than-air craft, and local-scale weather manipulation (it seemed oddly advanced for a society traveling around on dirt roads with animal- or combustion-powered vehicles, but I am no xenoarchaeologist). Did she care about things like this? Would the thought of all the art, labor and genius that she would end with her revenge stay her metaphorical claw?

Under "communication," one of the entries stopped me short. "Radio broadcast" it read. Instead of a satellite image, there was an icon representing an audio recording. I instructed the tablet to replay through the translator and after a few seconds of static a cheerful masculine voice began chirping in my ear.

"—And that's all the local news for the hour. Now over to Sun Shower with the weather schedule for the week."

"Thank you, Soundbite," a feminine voice replied. "Well everypony, things are on schedule for another perfect Nightmare Night this year."

My ears pricked up. A day dedicated to her? Now this would surely have an impact!

"The weather patrol is planning for clear skies over Fillydelphia for the next four days, with southwesterly winds topping out at about two leagues per hour. Daytime highs in the mid-sixties, with our beloved princess supplying some extra heat on the evening of the 31st to keep the trick-or-treaters warm."

"Better be careful," Soundbite interrupted. "A full moon and clear skies means the Mare in the Moon will have no trouble spotting all the little fillies and colts out there!"

"That's right," Sun Shower said, just as upbeat as before, "so all you kids make sure your costumes are ready and you've got plenty of candy or she'll gobble you up!"

"Yes, let's see if we can keep Filly's zero-ponies-gobbled record intact for another year!"

The two announcers laughed. I stopped the playback.

This didn't bode well. The ponies had some sort of holiday or ritual related to Nightmare Moon, but they certainly didn't believe her return was imminent. In fact, it seemed as if they didn't think her real at all. To them she was only a bogey out of folklore!

I doubted this would please her.

A noise from the other side of the habitat caught my attention. Had she awoken already? I spun around and hid the tablet behind my back, mind racing for something to say.

Nightmare Moon slept on, though the light from her spike, or rather, her horn (though what an inefficient location for a horn!) had grown such that it was uncomfortable to look directly at it.

I cast about for the source of the noise. It was coming from the far side of one of the large supply boxes I'd used to make my pointless impromptu barricade. The lid was up, and whatever was behind it was carelessly rummaging through its contents, tossing tubes, cans and other containers out into a messy pile on the floor.

As quietly as I could, I skirted around the edge of the room to get a look at what was doing this.

The little statue again. It was darker than before, formed of the wet mud Nightmare Moon had washed from her coat. Remembering its actions last time, I boldly approached it and quietly requested the reason it was tearing my home apart.

It continued its search, ignoring me. Could it actually hear with ears made of compacted dust? It could apparently see through eyes of the same material, so it seemed reasonable. I reached out and tapped it on the shoulder. Without looking, it pushed my claw away, then reached down into the bottom of the box. Straining, it hauled out a large cloth sack of brewing beans I'd picked up on impulse at my homeworld's spaceport. A flick of its spike cut a hole in one end of the container and dumped the contents back into the box.

This was just too much. I grabbed the sack and tried to pull it away from the little statue. As if it expected this, it simply let go, leaving me reeling off-balance with the torn, empty bag in my claws. Diving into the box again, it emerged with its forelegs full of packaging material, which it held out to me with an expectant look. I stared blankly at the offering.

It rolled its gray eyes and stuffed the insulation into the bag. Confused, I stood there and held it open as she repeated the process three more times. When the container was full, the blue light moved across the rent and it stitched itself back together before my eyes. The statue smiled at me and indicated I should follow it before skipping on silent feet over to where Nightmare Moon lay. I followed with trepidation, trying futilely to keep my toes and scales from making noise.

The living statue pointed to the thing I was carrying and then to the incapacitated pony's head. It took me a second to understand what it meant. It had made the sack into one of those head-cushions creatures who have to sleep on the ground seem to enjoy so much. Of course! A peace offering; a sign of goodwill. The obvious thing to do, but...

I'd have to wake her up to give it to her.

The statue motioned impatiently to me as I hesitated. Why couldn't it be the one to disturb her? The two of them were clearly on better terms. I tried to hand the cushion to it, but it refused to take it and pointed insistently at Nightmare Moon. It didn't want Nightmare Moon to return to the planet either. I supposed I ought to trust it.

There was nothing for it then. This was a better idea than anything I'd come up with, after all. I just had to hope that she'd be in a good mood instead of destroying me on the spot as I had tried to do to her.

I whispered her name.

She didn't stir.

I tried again, louder.

Nightmare Moon grimaced and pulled the collapsed tent over her head. "Hgoway. Znot ev'nin yet."

I looked at the statue and shrugged. Maybe later?

It rolled its eyes again, walked up and gave the pony under the tent a little kick in the side.

Nightmare Moon waved a wing to try and ward her tormentor away but only succeeded in throwing most of the tent aside. Finally, she stretched and rubbed her eyes. For a moment, she seemed to forget where she was.

"Ugh, what a horrible dream," she groaned, "and it seemed to go on forever too. Upon my life, no more midday snacks, I mean it!"

The huge midnight-dark pony squinted blearily at me and suddenly recalled where she was. Her expression passed from shock to dismay and settled on the familiar cold anger in the space of a second.

"So, come to finish me off, have you?" she said.

I glanced back at the little statue for support, but there was only a small mound of mud where it had once stood. I should have seen that coming.

Nightmare Moon noticed the object in my claws. "Oh, I see. Smother her with a pillow while she's sleeping, is that it? You're as stupid as you are vicious. If I could suffocate, I'd have done it sometime in the last thousand years, hm?"

Her highness looked uncomfortable, I explained, so I had provided her with a blanket and made this "pill-oh" that she might rest easier.

The cold blue eyes were skeptical, but she pulled the sack from my grip anyway. "It'll probably explode," she grumbled, "or burst forth with spikes or come alive and try to eat me." Nonetheless, she fluffed it, lay her head upon it and pulled the tent back over herself, this time turning her back to me.

I just stood there, not knowing what to do. Had the gesture worked, or was it only a temporary stay of execution?

"I'm not going to kill you, Pangolin," she said, as if reading my thoughts.

Though I should have left it at that, I asked her why not.

"Because I gave my word," she replied. "I said I would spare you if you helped me get home, and you are. I probably should've made a nullifying clause for also trying to assassinate me, but it's too late for that."

I told her I was very grateful for her mercy.

She snorted derisively. "It's not mercy, it's honor. I keep my promises. Nopony else does that. They just say whatever's most useful at the time. None of them were ever grateful either. I finally get some thanks and it's from a monster that tries to kill me. Typical."

There was a pause.

"But, er, thank you for the pillow and blanket," she said with chagrin. "I'm not an ingrate like the rest of those ponies. I don't take things for granted, even gifts from a beast like you."

Was there anything else I could do for her?

"Just leave me alone until I can finish washing your poison out of my blood. I'll put you to work then, you'll see!" she paused to yawn. "We'll prepare for my glorious return. I'm... I'm gonna..." Her voice trailed off into a soft sigh, and then she began to snore.

The knowledge that I was safe for the moment caused my weariness to come crashing back down on me. How many hours ago had I left on that fateful final walk around the crater's rim? I felt as if I'd been awake for days. It was all I could do to climb up onto my perch and suspend myself by my tail before sleep overcame me too.

Comments

[Lunae Lumen]

Sea of Sorrow is Mare Doloris.

In fact there is already a Lacus Doloris (Lake of Sorrow) among the named lunar features.

[TinCan]

1841403

Ach, thanks. I never should have trusted a translation program.

[Georg]

There's a creepy underlayer to this fic that I like, very much. Excellent work, I'll be watching. (although I'm not making dust-creatures to peek in your window at night)

[Doctor Geagle]

I, however, do have dust ponies staring in your window. Get to work.