XXIV. Out on the Edge of Night
XXIV. Out on the Edge of Night
LUNA
She was a storm. Her path cut through the business and the heavy, weary air of the palace. Luna walked through crowds, all of whom parted before her. The wounded come to rest after Morningvale, the watchful House levies, the Night Guards who watched the watchers, the bustling of the maids--through and beyond these things, Luna raged silently.
Her hoofs were thunderclaps on the tile. Her brow was bent and dark like a thunderhead. And beside her through all of this walked Page Turner, her aide.
If he had tried to forestall her progress, Luna had not registered it. Her focus was beyond the ken of smaller ponies, for it had been honed in a thousand-year prison. It was hard to describe the kind of suffering that can come from an imprisonment that defies time and space. For she had become the moon in a way she could not put into words except to scream, for she had lost herself and words had limits.But she had learnt focus. She had at least heard of patience. She had little time for the latter, now.
But at last her storming brought her to the chambers of Celestia.
Two solar guards stood at the doors, and at her approach they looked to each other. This meant something, but Luna had no time for their conferences. Her intention to ignore them utterly was thwarted, for one stepped forward.
“Your Highness, your sister’s chambers are private--”
“Yes, and I have not entered them but twice out of respect or a lack of time. Now move aside.”
The guard cowered, but did not move. His comrade also stepped in front of Luna. “Please, your Highness, your… please calm down.”
For the briefest of moments, Luna was reminded of the plains of Mareathon. She could feel the ephemerality of the hammer in her magic’s hold, the resistance of bone. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“I need access to my sister’s rooms,” she said after a long pause. Her eyes were still closed. An overlong life had also taught endless patience. But it was still much harder for Luna to grasp than it had been for Celestia.
“We…” the second guard shook himself. She could hear his armor clinking. “We understand, Princess. Please, these are the rooms of our Lady.”
“It is our duty to know why you wish to enter,” the first guard said. “And in such state. We apologize, but we are bound by our word to our Lady.”
“I need to find Celestia’s books. Our books. The old ones,” Luna said, and then took another deep breath. “We may be in far greater danger than we thought. I need to find and read through Celestia’s logs, the ones she kept from our adventures. She has my logs as well, and the letters and things that we kept from those times.”
Luna opened her eyes. The two guards were looking at each other. The first guard looked back to her. “Highness, you have fulfilled the requirements of our honor. Please, enter. Shall we inform you of any visitors?”
“No. Turn them away. I am not to be disturbed by anything. Even if the walls fall,” she said grimly. The doors were opened, and Luna entered.
She paused in the doorway. “Page Turner,” she began, “I have needs of your skills.”
“Your Highness?” Page Turner bowed slightly.
“I will find the logs and sundries, but four eyes will be far better than one. Our books were never sacred, simply private. Celestia would not object to your presence.”
“I will serve,” Page Turner said softly.
Together, princess and aide invaded the stillness of the solar antechamber. It was filled with gold and copper, carpeted lavishly, adorned with art and gifts older than most of Equestria. This was the storeroom of a thousand gifts. Luna recognized several from before her exile.
She did not falter, even here. Page Turner’s rubbernecking did not concern her. Luna pressed on.
Past the antechamber they found a study and library. Page Turner lingered, but Luna gestured for him to follow her through the next door, a large double-set with windows inlaid. Celestia would not keep such books as she needed in such a place. Beyond the the study they came to Celestia’s reception room, a lavish conference chamber with a long table. It was ornate, almost baroque, practically byzantine. Luna did not stay. At the other end of this long room was another door, and beyond it a hallway, and beyond that Luna came at last into the true heart of her sister’s chambers.
The bedroom of the Princess of the Sun, Celestia Songborne, the Long-lived, the Everlasting, the Light of Manehattan, the Maid of Stalliongrad, the Mother of Cities, the Breaker of Tyrants, was incredibly plain.
Luna, though she should not have been, was surprised.
Celestia’s room was are more spartan than Luna’s own. The bed was situated in the center of the room, and beneath it was a rug depicting a stylized golden sun. Beyond this, there was only a gentle cream color for the walls, a single painting of flowers in a vase, several bookshelves. There was a walk-in closet, but it was not overly large, and seemed more functional than extravagant.
Luna soon laid her eyes on the prize she sought. A chest peeking out from beneath the bed called to her, and she approached it.
It was unlocked. In fact, somepony had opened it already and forgotten to close it fully again. The edge of a book was caught between the lid and the body of the chest, and Luna carefully moved the box out from under the bed. She opened the lid and pushed the errant book back into its place.
“Who…?” Page Turner began, than stopped.
Luna was quiet as she tested the latch, feeling for the tell-tale signs of magic. Celestia’s warmth was obvious.
“My sister,” Luna replied. “Which would suggest she came here before she left, and did what I am doing. I am more sure now than before.” Her voice was like steel. There was no rage now, no panic. Only surety. Carefully, Luna removed the top layers of books and papers and the two seekers began to read.
RARITY
The binoculars were enchanted, which Rarity appreciated. The ability to easily change the magnification was both a nice novelty and a necessary one. The crowds of Imperial Center were not that much different from those of Canterlot. Both were capitols under siege, in a state of war, one way or another. Whereas Canterlot did not have an army at its door, it still had rationing and watches on the walls. In fact, in this city under actual siege, the ponies seemed to feel their danger less. In Canterlot’s walls they had walked the streets with caution, even in relative safety, as if they knew that something was right at their backs, right out of the corner of their eyes.
But here, there was nothing quite like that. The crystal ponies did not seem overly burdened. They did not watch in the same way. At least, not that she saw.
Rarity heard shuffling behind her and sighed. She took the binoculars from her eyes.
“Rainbow, please, you need to be still.”
“I know.”
Rarity continued. “The main point of surveillance is to observe. Part of that is not being seen. This involves being still.” She laid flat against the roof.
“Gah, I get it. Seriously,” Rainbow grumbled.
Rarity sighed. Again. “Sorry. I’m a bit tense.”
“I am too. I’m not much use on the ground. I mean, I’m pretty great, but not like I am on the wing. I could be out there keeping tabs on whoever these creeps are.”
Rarity turned and rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on. It had been coming for awhile. But it wasn’t Rainbow’s fault. What Luna had said in the dream echoed in her mind.
“Our marks aren’t exactly going to step out from the crowd. It’s not like the old days, when we’re going after a hydra or trying to deal with a horde of parasprites. These are ponies like you and I, and they may not even know what it is they are doing.”
“What the hay does that mean?” Rainbow asked.
“It’s… I mean, it’s hard to explain. What I gather is that it’s similar to making a clock. You’ve seen clockworks before, right?”
“Well, duh. My cloudhouse had one that Twilight enchanted for me so it could hang on my walls. I’ve seen clocks before.”
“But the clockworks. Gears and such. The clock doesn’t know what it’s doing--”
“It’s not alive.”
“Yes, I know. It’s not perfect. Let me finish, darling. The clock doesn’t know what time is or why it does what it does. The gears don’t know. You’re right, they aren’t alive. But if the clock were alive, it would do as it was made, and never know why. The clockmaker knows, and sets everything working, and then just waits for the gears to do the rest.”
“So… they’re like clockwork ponies? That one day they’ll just do things and not know why?”
“Yes. Perhaps they’ll even justify it, but the program is in place.”
Rainbow shuddered. “That’s messed up. I guess I should’ve asked you about this sooner. I thought they just found a bunch of crazy assassins dreaming about… you know, assassin stuff. I didn’t really think about why.”
“I’d rather not think about it myself. But we’ll have to,” Rarity said grimly, and then turned back on her stomach to look out on the streets again.
The roof they’d chosen was of a small bakery. She could smell the fresh bread and her stomach growled, eliciting a smile. It was a heavenly smell, bring back memories of Ponyville and the smells that would roll out of Sugarcube Corner in the mornings. Rarity saw the town again in her mind’s eye, taking a morning stroll, considering a bit of coffee and her nice customary solitary seat.
It was hard to focus. Her headache was more this than anything Rainbow could do. Rainbow had in fact been a boon to her in all of this confusion and trouble. It was nice to have somepony she could rely on. True, Rainbow had trouble staying still, but Rarity felt safe.
Time continued to crawl along with the swiftly flowing sun. It would be a short day, today, the worst kind. Rarity tried to judge how long they would have the sun. Perhaps for hours. Perhaps five. It was not particularly pleasant to think about, especially because even in its briefest of appearances it would be shining directly down on her back and head. There would be enough sunlight for her work, at least. Just enough for that.
Across the street, she could see the huddled form of the Legionaries on another roof, waiting just as she waited. They would move at her command, spreading out to envelope the sleepers.
It was a perfect trap. There were other legionaries on the street level, arrayed in a vast net of vigilant soldiers ready to grab or detain or fight. The corrupted ponies would come and never know why they felt the need to. It was going to work, and yet she felt ill at ease.
Rarity knew why. Even if they struck down every one of the conspirators, would others not rise to fill their place? For every pony felled, another would be found weak enough to the outside influence. If Luna was right, what hope did they have? What hope had they ever had, to fight off something which cannot be seen, which could twist the very fabric of reality to suit its dark whim?
Below, in the street, a cloaked pony turned and walked down the alley that Rarity was watching.
There was no time for despair. Rarity looked back at Rainbow Dash, and gestured quickly, violently. Dash shuffled quietly and they both looked over the side of the building. The pony in question was on the short side, hood down, eyes kept focused ahead. Their pace was brisk, purposeful. Yet there was nowhere for them to go, and Rarity knew that would be clear to her quarry any moment now. She had hoped they would come in groups.
Rainbow cursed. “Only one?”
“Do be patient, dear,” Rarity said idly, not really putting much belief into it. She felt the same. “We’ll just have to see. Perhaps this one is early. Mare, you think?”
“If that’s a stallion he’s a runt,” Rainbow said.
“So rude,” Rarity grumbled, but she smiled. The conspirator stopped in the middle of the alley, one building down from the bakery where Rarity and Rainbow watched. “If he stays, we’ll leave him be, but if he tries to leave…”
“We deck him, pull him somewhere, and pretend it never happened so the next ones can come,” Rainbow whispered brightly.
“Aptly put, Rainbow. Yes. Decking. Delightful.” Rarity did not look through the binoculars anymore. She did not look for others. Right now, she was concerned mostly with the one conspirator they did have.
The hooded mare looked from side to side, as if searching for something in particular. She stumbled over to the wall, pressing at it with her hooves.
“What’s she--” Rainbow began, but Rarity shook her head quickly.
That was when the lone mare was joined by her companions. Three ponies in tight formation cleared the bend and hurried down the alley. Two had cloaks, one with the hood up, the other with a widebrimmed hat. The third wore nothing on his head, and Rarity saw his face clearly. His face seemed normal, completely normal. Terrifyingly normal. She saw no immediate signs of corruption, no clues as to his inclinations or his sins. Just a blank, mildly friendly looking face.
The would be assassins congregated in a circle. Rarity breathed quietly, trying to hear what was said.
“I was beginning to wonder if that dream was really from the Good Pony and the Manichean. But here you are,” said the first, chuckling. “I am glad to see you all.”
“The Manichean walks the plains and waits to drown the cities of the unrighteous with fire,” said the tallest of the four in a gravelly voice. “I have seen it. Their thrones and crowns as well.”
“As have we all,” said the first mare. “And the Good Pony shall reward us when the archaic monarchs are no more. But we must first do our parts. I’ve mapped the patrols perfectly, and I’m finally finished working out our route.”
“It seems the Manichean knew we were more ready than we had thought when he brought us here. I have our weapons prepared.”
“What could you find?” asked another of the conspirators.
“Hoofblades, enchanted to make wounds that will bleed profusely and resist magic-assisted healing. Light barding. A saddle-borne repeater cannon for myself, high caliber, high rate of fire. Another for you, Minfilii,” he added, nodding to the small mare. “A high level duel-quality shield spell. That one was hard to find! Had to buy it off a drunkard, a young unicorn with a big mouth, but I acquired it for the cause, no matter the cost. This will keep us safe from magic and hooves alike, and probably from small arms fire at a distance.”
Rarity grinded her teeth. To think that they had been so close! She could only imagine waking to the sounds of screaming and gunfire as these monsters carved a bloody path through the palace servants.
“And with these we can do what we were meant to do,” said the smallest of them. “Finally. I’ve felt so… so burdened, as if we had to.”
“Only the weight of their corruption,” insisted the one with the gravelly voice. “I feel it also, sister, but soon we shall have the thing done and we will be free. Not only us. All of the Empire, free from the corruption. The Manichean has said he will come to forge our new Republic then.”
Rarity felt a hoof touch her shoulder. She almost jumped, but was calm enough to turn. Rainbow was at her side, and on her face Rarity could see restraint reach its breaking point.
“The big one has to go first,” said Rainbow. “I think the little one is a unicorn.”
“I’ll have her either way,” Rarity said, nodding. “If you can surprise the large fellow, it would be for the best. The other two…”
“I’ll get the first one in the head, and they ain’t getting far,” Rainbow said, a bit forcefully, and then took a deep breath. “On your go, Rares.”
“Right.” Rarity looked back down. They were not discovered. The time was right.
And so when Rainbow came crashing out of the sky, an avenging thunderbolt, there was no defense. There was probably none possible. The great behemoth went down, without even the time to cry out as his head hit the dirt hard and he was still. Rainbow landed beside him, hooves rooted on the ground, her wings flared and ready to carry her into another headlong rush. Before the other three could react, Rarity had thrown a bolt of raw arcane energy down at the small mare, knocking her flat. She was a unicorn, Rarity could see it now as her hood was gone.
The survivors split. One charged Rainbow, yelling a battle cry that was cut short as Rainbow met his charge with equal and then greater force, dealing him a blow to the face. Rarity fire again and again, catching him as he fell back once, twice, and he lay still, magic arcing along his fur.
The last turned and ran. Rainbow pursued, sprinting along the ground with surprising speed, and then as Rarity took aim to catch the runner between the shoulder blades with another bolt, he was gone. Or, more accurately, he had disposed of his robe and opened purple wings which carried him up into the air. Rainbow leapt into the skies, right on his heels. Rarity let go of her magic. She was not needed. Whatever this assassin thought in flying, he would be sorely mistaken. Perhaps on hoof he could have lost her Rainbow. Perhaps on the ground he could have slipped between the guards or caused a ruckus. But in the sky? No one could outrun Rainbow Dash in the sky.
And he did not disappoint in this regard. Rainbow caught him with a swipe to his legs, knocking him off balance and thus off rhythm. His wings pulled at the air but Rainbow was on him, kicking, pulling him into a headlock until he couldn’t move without risk of falling.
Rainbow brought him back down, and as she did, Rarity hummed and cast a quick lightstep spell. When she felt the magic wrap about her hooves, she jumped from the roof and landed softly below. The conspirators were still alive. She made sure of it. Two were out cold, and one trembled and groaned. In short, they would answer questioning. But as Rarity waited for Rainbow, she had a sinking feeling that they would gain nothing from these four but more questions.
SHINING ARMOR
Shining Armor had one great talent. He had, truly, only one real gift. His good nature was an advantage of biology and nothing more, and at that it was a minor one. It did little good for others in his line of work. True, it helped him stay sane. To laugh was to survive. But it did not stop a lance. It could not put down an sniper. His strength was honed by practice, helped only slightly by the innate potential of his body. His courage was taught, forged in the fire of desperation. Was not his love fear of death? Was not his kindness prompted by a fear of being alone?
Perhaps. Sometimes when he was alone he thought about such things. Cadance was silent on all of these points. She would not send him sprawling, and she would not raise him up. But she would kiss him, sometimes, and tell him that he made her happy. This was often good enough. But the one thing that Shining had without any shred of doubt was a shield.
When was the first time he had known it? His sister and he had been walking down the street in Canterlot, and an apple cart shook and fell. His shield had snapped up into being, called forth not by mind but by body. It crackled with energy barely controlled. It’s form was unstable, swaying like a tent in the wind as the cart fell upon it and then bounced back, magic arcing over its surface. His eyes had been wide. His mouth had been dry, and every breath raked along his tongue and teeth like sandpaper.
He did not feel that way now, but he thought of that moment every time he called up a large amount of magic.
He had left the interrogation behind. There had honestly been no point. The would be murderers knew nothing. They spouted slogans and bits of drivel, but they had no real information. They were empty. They thought they knew. They were very sure they knew why they wished to kill his wife, but they did not. Questioned, they refused to respond. They went mad, nothing but blank stares and angry words he could see did not reach their eyes.
Shining Armor walked back towards the throne room.
His sister’s friends rested, but his work was not yet done. More and more, he felt as if it might never be finished. Even as they laid upon their soft beds, Shining strode past the great table. Upon it was sprawled a map of the Empire, marked with cities and roads and mountains, marred with troop movements and deployed armies. How small they were, how easily moved, how easily taken off the board, those tiny markers. Yet he was not fooled. He was not a leader of ponies because of genius. He was one because he understood what the markers stood for, and the connection between numbers and faces did not leave his mind. This was how he made his decisions. He bore them. He was a shield.
He stopped, arrested by the sight. He always stopped. Even when nothing had changed he stopped and stared down at the progress of war.
All in all, it was not ideal. The Empire’s forces were isolated and stretched. Armies holed up in cities, unable to charge down into the plain without hounded from every side. The roads were blockaded or at least watched. Raiders from Equestria were starting to wander north, though there were not very many yet. The Mitou were in all directions. Around the head of the Empire there was a noose. Shining felt the noose around his own neck.
He continued on.
He came to the throne, shrouded against the light and the eyes of his wife’s subjects. She hid from them out of shame, but also out of fear. Ponies were weak. Shining knew this. He had seen how weak ponies could be--physically, yes, but in all ways. Shining had seen their minds break under the strain of terror. He had seen their eyes fail them, blinded by the snow. Their hearts stopped from the cold. Their will broke, pushed and pushed and pushed by noises in the night. He himself had felt his own heart beating frantically against the frail wall of his chest, battering his bones, rattling his mind.
Shining Armor had one true gift. He had a variety of skills given to him. What was he able to do, really? What could he do? What was the limit? He could run, fight, yell, and destroy. But building was beyond him. What a disaster he was. A machine that fights and can produce nothing. Sometimes, when he is away from her side he sees the Empire burning, burning, and he fighting in the flames until he is buried in the piles of the dead, screaming until his voice is muffled by the Mitou and their limp forms, unable to save anything. The Empire seemed poised upon a knife’s point, waiting to fall.
He entered the inner sanctum and kneeled before his wife’s throne. He did not smile. But that was alright. She smiled down at him.
CADANCE OF HOUSE SONGBOURNE
My body is an electric fire that will not end.
I am not ignorant of the world. I understand what goes on around me. I know the fear and the hopes of my ponies, my little ponies. I know the feeling of the Mitou as they test my barrier, the barrier that I hold steady only by the Crystal Heart’s power. They bray more frequently now. Perhaps the time is coming when they are ready to break through.
Oh Shining, my Shining, prostrate before, sit beside me, for in your company I am not ashamed. No Empress is an island; I am a part of the main, I who would wish to be as you would wish me to be but you will not say--a seed in the hot, spring earth.
Imagine running. Imagine running and running and running and then growing tired, growing weary beyond all comprehension until everything is just exhaustion. Now imagine you cannot stop running.
I do not sleep for more than half an hour at a time, a dozen naps perhaps. Like a child. Like an old mare half-dead. I am an old mare half-dead. Shining, if you could love me after this you will be a stallion beyond all stallions. But you will, because you are a great one, you are brave above all the hosts, my king, my love.
You tell me of the world outside, but I already know. I listen to you because I love you. Oh do not look with such an eye that says that you are worthless, that you are an empty vessel of blood and suffering for you are a sword in the hold of the righteous, the warmth of candlelight in my room during the night, eyes that contain me but do not enshrine me, ears that listen to my sighs. You tell me of the world outside, but I already feel it.
Do you know that even now whilst I am considering you, my most beloved one, that I can feel the Mitou who test my shield? It is failing faster than ever before. I can feel their footsteps on my heart I can feel them, Shining I can feel them stomping the ground in rhythm. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them, massive, remorseless, giant, with claws and teeth and guns like cannons, spears like the spears of malignant gods.
O Shining, but I am here with you, not out on the outskirts. How shall I describe you? You walk in strength like the sun. Your steps are sure like the falling of water from the great falls. Your face is kind, your eyes are sunlight through the clouds on a spring day. What work of love would you leave undone? What burden of love would you refuse to bear upon your back? For your love is complete. In the smallness of gifts you are great and in the greatness of suffering you are small and gentle. I am ever in your thoughts.
They are going to break through soon. Very, very soon. You will go out into the night when they come. But you will come back. You must come back. I have thought so before, waiting when you patrolled our roads.
There are alicorns and then there are alicorns. There are those who may hear songs and those who heard the Song at the dawn of time.
Oh, but our bed is so cold and like animal magnetism at work I can feel the empty imprint you leave when you go. It’s like a hole dug by hooves and everything leans in towards, even me.
Shining is gone. He’s out there, wandering. Doing something. Being elsewhere and our bed is so cold. I’ve retired and court is long over and our rooms are empty. I ate lunch alone, and I stare out the window alone. Lonely the head that wears the crown.
But there are alicorns and there are alicorns and it is different. My aunts can stay alone for a long time, but I’m just a pony. Ponies were not made to live alone; mutual help and companionship.
But he’s out in the cold, and I wonder what he’s doing.
I used to love watching him on the parade ground. It’s my curse: I can’t resist a stallion in armor. And how heroic he looked, those bright and alert eyes. How straight and tall he stood, proud and how he smiled at me when he knew no one could see him.
So he was a fool too, but a good fool.
This is a routine now for us. We sit together on the dual throne for a few weeks of happiness. But then he will fidget. Court will seem overlong. I’ll catch him staring out the window. Sometimes he’ll accost some poor guardspony to spar with and I have to help bandage the innocent and I fuss and Shining feels foolish but nothing changes. He starts to walk more slowly.
And of course, in the end, I always let him go. He skips off to patrol or war or whatever it is like the colt who used to pull my tail when we were young.
(I know that there is more to it. There is more to everything than what I see.)
I ask him why this happens but he won’t tell me. Or at least I think he won’t, for his answers have words but they mean nothing and his shrugs tell more than they do. He tries to tell me that he’s restless, but I know he’s not without rest because he sleeps whenever I let him and he’d never leave bed if I didn’t prod him to. He tells me that he feels useless but I need him. This always makes him sigh when I say that he’s helping me. I hate that sigh. He makes me angry, but he knows that and we feel foolish and I let him go without being mad at him for leaving and he thanks me and in the morning…
In the morning he is gone to do whatever it is that tugs at him.
The mountain gods worry me. But Shining will come back.
I know he will. He must. The Dual Throne sits half empty and the bed has only his imprint and these things mean he must come back, because nature abhors a vacuum and it is very important. He’s brave. He’s strong.
It is sad that we call them that because they are not. The Mitou are just things that cannot decide how many legs to run on and how we should not fear. No, I suppose fear, but not live in fear of. They can die just as we can.
Shining isn’t afraid, not in a visible way. Mostly, he wears a stern face or a kind one; masks, but both are lovely. They comfort my ponies and give them hope. Hope is like love. I understand hope. I think.
Hope hope hope. I know there is more to it, but I cannot see everything. There is more to everything.
It’s rare to have so much time to myself. I’m lucky, really, that the Empire doesn’t work quite like Equestria. Ministers and offices work for me. A whole system in place to help.
Time passes and the sun sinks lower in the sky. It worries me.
Of course, he won’t be back for some time.
The Empire is warm, and the city itself is in Spring, but I know outside the border where he is it must be snowing. Snowing reminds me of—
—We were young and Twilight was so small. I wasn’t babysitting then, I just wanted somepony to play with. I still had my Henosian accent and I’d only been in Canterlot for a few months. But Twilight was asleep or had the cold, I don’t remember. But Shining wanted to play and we ran—
I haven’t thought about Henosis in a long time. Well, no, it hasn’t been something I have actively thought about. But I’ve seen it in dreams. I see it whenever Shining is gone too long out there in the snow. I see the Grand Hall of Dawn Castle and Mother smiling from the Throne of Gold down at me. I dream about tapestries that go on for miles and being a filly with wild hair and little wings that I cannot use yet.
My hooves always sound so loud in the quiet empty halls. Dawn Castle is so large and there are not as many ponies in it as are in Canterlot Palace. Canterlot will frighten me with it’s crowds. Here I spend much of the day in the company of only a few ponies or all alone.
The sun is slowly sinking into bed. Like a foal.
The word foal makes me sad.
I will tell Shining all about Henosis when he gets back. He likes my stories. I think.
There is more to it. But there is always more and I cannot see everything.
THE EDGE OF NIGHT
The Mitou roared in unison with each assault. Their great clawed hands rose and struck in unison, testing the shimmering field of light. Every giant on the line felt it in unison, and in unison they knew it weakened. It began to fail. Perhaps it would fall. No, it must.
Their minds were empty of all personal cunning, and edging out all true thought were dark, thorny vines. It had always been this way since time out of mind. Generations of great giants, crushed under the weight of some great, smothering Presence. They had been shaped like a potter might shape bowls on a spinning wheel. They had been forged like swords.
They were perfect in the ways of war. Massive, possessed of a strength beyond the ken of mortal ponykind, gifted with preternatural dexterity--they could run a mile in less than three minutes, could batter any wooden wall or door into splinters with their bare hands. In the days of old, long out of living memory for all but the Alicorns who sat on the dual throne, they had been called gods. In the time that came after the first blushing dawn of life the ponies who came to settle the valleys of the Empire told tales of the mountain gods, sliding down the rock face, hunting and beating the bounds, sometimes raiding on a whim.
But that was then. They were different now. Where before they roamed as they wished, now they moved as a machine with a thousand parts. They fall in to line like an orchestra. They spread out like a net. Each did his part and each was a part of the great constellation.
And so it was no challenge to attack the barrier in unison on a stretch a mile long. It was the absolute simplest thing.
They would overwhelm the cities of the plain. They would snuff them out, one by one, like the last fragile candles they were. They defied the snow and the wind. But the time for light and safety was over. It was an age of darkness, an epoch of blood. The Mitou began to sing, if it could be called that by any but the most fearsome of beasts. The sound of it was like the crying of the Earth, grating and frightening in equal measure, carrying across the snow. Their master bid them sing, and the hammer blows they brought to bear against the Empress’ hope were the drums that kept their war song in time.
The minds of the Mitou are not entirely emptied out. They had things wondering about in their misted-over minds which could perhaps be called desires, and these were their own. They were simple, focused. Break. Break.
In a strange way, they could perhaps understand that besides simply trying to break the barrier for the last stage of their campaign, they were also trying to do something far more immediate. When the barbarians beat at the doors, the King must answer. If they raided and raped the land, the King must stop them. Strategic questions were moot after a certain point. The King had sacred duties. He was the bridge between the Gods and the dwellers in the land. He was the unspoiled specimen, the archetype of manhood, the Ur-warrior, the example for all lovers and would-be heroes.
The minds of the Mitou, the parts of it at least that belonged to the Mitou themselves, was of a very different time. They still walked in the old times, in the age directly following the age of the dawn. Where they walked, the earth was young again, and like all young things, full of terror beyond comprehension. In their days the myths of a thousand years were born and dwarfed by far greater shadows.
And in this ancient certainty, they knew that the King would come.
SHINING ARMOR
Shining Armor secured the last strap of his barding. He shook each of his legs, making sure everything was in place.
Arming was a kind of ritual. No, Shining decided, it was exactly a ritual. As he stared down at his helmet, reflecting the candlelight, he wondered how many other warriors had done the same. Perhaps one--many, even, in the long reaches of history--had hesitated to put on their armor or strap on their hoofblades, or even simply to rise on the morning of battle.
He imagined for the briefest of moments that he could see a child, a young foal, staring down at his own face in the polished bronze of another helmet. The colt placed a curious hoof on the surface, but the helmet moved underneath his touch. His father placed it upon his own head, and the son cried. He was frightened, unable to recognize his father at all. The strange helmet made his usually kind face somehow horrible, somehow monstrous, like a great ruined statue buried halfway in the earth.
Shining shook his head. This was ridiculous. The whole mood was stupid. He was jittery on the edge of battle, and that was it. Arming wasn’t some kind of ritual. It was just something one did.
“Shining Armor?” Rarity called from behind him. He had completely forgotten about her.
“Anything I can do for you?” he responded, not turning around. He placed the helmet on his head, and sighed. The feeling of cold steel on his coat was shocking, but also calming. Yes, this was his uniform, his mask. This was normal. Familiar.
“I know I have no authority over you, so I will not say I protest,” Rarity began. This did cause Shining to turn. He regarded her with a neutral expression. “But, at the same time, this seems so…”
“Foolhardy.”
“Yes, if you’ll forgive me.”
Shining smiled. “I will. I agree, somewhat. As a strategist, I agree wholeheartedly. But as a warrior, I just can’t. They are out there.”
“Yes, and at a disadvantage,” Rarity said, and Shining could feel the heat in her voice. She seemed to be struggling to restrain herself. He did not react.
“In some ways. Our walls are illusory. Not entirely, but you’ve seen it yourself.”
“But they don’t know that!” Rarity said. “The barrier may not fall right away.”
“Might not. My wife seems to think it will be in a night or so.”
Rarity’s face twisted. Shining observed it with a strange mixture of patience and curiosity. He was not threatened. He was not swayed. He was not, strictly speaking, present.
“But you can’t know for sure! Why are you going out there?”
“If I may, why do you protest?” Shining countered mildly. “Don’t get me wrong, we have been friendly and I understand you fear for my safety. I’m grateful for it.” Rarity seemed about to speak, but Shining moved quickly. “But what is your concern? It is not your land or your people.”
“I’m not an island. I can’t just watch ponies do the same things I saw others do and fail just like they did. I just can’t. You’ll be slaughtered.”
“Perhaps.”
Rarity sighed. “I’m afraid that if you don’t come back, things will fall apart. I like this city. I like these ponies. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them. But I also came here on a mission.”
“You’ve said as much,” Shining replied. They had danced around this mission. He knew what she wanted, of course. It was simple. The Empire had food and soldiers. Equestria didn’t have the former and their soldiers were exhausted. His were as well.
“I need food,” she said. “If we don’t get it, the refugees in Canterlot will die. If you go out there and get yourself killed foolishly, then I cannot bring back food to the near-starving because in the chaos everything here will implode.” She sighed. “I know it isn’t my place.”
“It’s not. I don’t mind, myself,” Shining said. “I’ve never been all that big on royalty and formality. Ponies are ponies as far as I’m concerned. That’s what matters to me. I wish more ponies would talk to me normally.” He turned halfway, looking at the Legionnaires around them. “I wish ponies would talk to each other with a bit less ornamentation, a bit less of… something. I don’t know.” He looked back at Rarity. It seemed now that she was small, very small, though he knew that was not the truth. “I have to go. I will be back. I will swear to you, on my honor, that I will do my best to return.”
“But you won’t say you’ll come back. Not for sure.”
“Not much is,” he said, and laughed, and laughed honestly.
RARITY
She lay on the bed, silent as a grave. Rainbow paced near the door. Fluttershy was asleep already, curled into a little snoring ball. Their room was too large now, empty and echoing.
It was funny, truly, how futility had a way of reverberating in a place. Failure could be almost tangible. You failed you failed you failed you failed.
She could hear Rainbow’s hooves as she walked. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Rarity shut her eyes. What could she have done? As soon as Shining opened his mouth she knew all was lost. Even if he came back, she was not a fool--she knew that things were bleak. The rumors had gotten a lot of the facts right. The Empire had a surplus of food, though much of it was stored away in places Rarity had not seen. They had soldiers to spare. The roads were stable and the cities were intact. But there was more to the Empire’s situation than those things. The rumors had forgotten the important things, such as the encroaching monsters. Bit of a glaring omission there, she thought sourly.
“Will you stop that pacing?” Rarity asked softly.
Rainbow stopped. “Well, what else am I supposed to do? I can’ just… sit.”
“No, dear, you don’t want to sit. You’re quite capable of it,” Rarity said, glancing sidelong at her. She sighed. “I don’t particularly want to do so myself.”
“Then why do it?” Rainbow asked. She walked over towards the bed. To Rarity’s ear, she sounded genuinely puzzled.
“There really isn’t anything we can do, Rainbow.” Rarity sat up. Without thinking, she pat the bed beside her and watched Rainbow hover up and then down at her side. Rainbow kept a little space between them. Not much. An inch, perhaps.
“That’s stupid.”
“You’re right. It is,” Rarity said. Even now, at the nadir of her mission, she found herself fixated by Rainbow’s mane. She made to move closer, then hesitated, and then finally laid her head on Rainbow’s back above her wings. Rainbow did not start. “All we really can do is wait for the morning. It isn’t up to us.”
“Nothin’ personal babe, just ain’t your story,” Rainbow quipped.
“More or less,” Rarity agreed. “Rainbow?”
“Yeah, Rares?”
“Was coming all this way stupid? Were we just fooling ourselves?”
Rainbow stirred. “What do you mean?”
Rainbow sighed again. She scooted closer cautiously, but Rainbow did not seem to mind. She did not know why it bothered her so much that Rainbow might mind. But it did.
“We’re surrounded. We might as well have not left Canterlot.”
“This siege is going to be a lot shorter than Canterlot’s,” Rainbow said.
“What will happen to us?” Rainbow was quite warm, and Rarity loved it. Even here in the north, in the agonizing cold, Rainbow was warm. That was why she wanted to be so close, obviously.
“You cold?” Rainbow asked, not answering the question.
Rarity nodded. “It’s hard not to be. It is the frigid northern wasteland we’re in, after all.”
Rainbow chuckled. “We’re going to be okay, Rarity.”
“Promise?”
Rainbow hesitated. The candlelight cast shadows over her face and Rarity wondered at how they could hide and yet magnify a form.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do promise.”
SHINING ARMOR
These gods weren’t faking when they came down from the mountains. Screaming, stallions under my command dying and screaming in the snow. Mares under my command. Ponies dead in the snow. It only lasted ten minutes.
The shield is up, but it’s not big enough. My magic is drained, a week in the snow has left me weary. My legs shake and complain beneath me, even as I struggle to keep my shield up. The Mitou outside beat against it with their fits and rake their claws along it. The magic is solid, like glass, and I can hear those claws grate along the outside like as if against a blackboard and I groan but I cannot cover my ears. If I cover my ears and cover my eyes they will die. We will all die, crushed and gone and forgotten. Cold in the snow forever, buried in the white.
But I can hold. I have always held. It’s what I do.
The fists beat upon the shield. The roaring will not stop; it goes on forever. The red eyes of two dozen Mitou stare into my own but I cannot flinch. I cannot cower though my legs want to give. I cannot cower or I will die. The mountain gods on two feet will not make Shining Armor bow.
So few remain. I brought one hundred ponies with me, most of them from the Empire. Crystal ponies. Unused, they, to the rigors of march and war but filled with heart.
One of them is crying; he’s a stallion, somewhere behind me. I cannot look at him. I don’t reprimand him. It is a perfectly acceptable response.
My hooves are cold. My flanks are cold. The cold seeps in past the armor like a knife in the dark and stabs at my coat.
Oh Cadance, what will become of me?
Those fists are huge, covered in white fur. I watch them rise and fall against the barrier like that little toy Twilight has on her desk in Canterlot. Little balls, and you hit one and the one on the other end moves. Momentum.
Back and forth and back and forth.
They stand on two legs, but run on two. They speak, but we do not understand. They speak Equestrian and it is terrifying. Truly, they claimed to be gods and we all but believed them, for we cowered. Something in us in our hearts cowered and cowers still. I fear.
Statistics.
I started with one hundred ponies including myself.
I have lost eighty-six ponies.
My command has suffered exactly eighty-six percent casualty rates. Anypony unfit to fight is already dead, so it works out exactly.
The snow goes on forever. I look away from the eyes towards the tundra that stretches out in all directions. Of course I know it is not forever. Somewhere there are trees and cobblestone streets. Somewhere there is Canterlot and the valley, oh the valley, and somewhere there is the Empire. Somewhere there is Cadance.
Cadance, sweet Cadance, with her dark eyes. Purple, they remind me of quiet walks and long halls with the sun streaming in. Multi-hued mane that flows with grace, wings that end in purplish tips like they were dipped in the sun and burnt but I love them. Long legs, wonderful smile.
The Empire is that way, the border station five miles distant. It doesn’t take long outside the lines to find the Mitou, the stalking gods. Their guns are used up. More like cannons, ugly, huge things that get maybe two shots before they jam or break. Powerful, though. It’ll blow a pegasus away, already has today. Will again.
Oh Cadance, sweetest Cadance where will you go when the shield breaks? What will you say? Will you find me buried in the snow? I know you won't. We are doomed. I've known it for some time now. Since the snowing started and the Mitou began to make the roads impassable I knew it would come down to this, a shield and hammering and then a few short screams and then a long quiet.
Once when it snowed, Cadance, Twilight and played in the streets of Canterlot. The old city’s streets are wide and clean, and the snow was pure and white and we were young. I remember how we ran and threw snowballs and I loved it. Snow was my favorite. Twilight caught cold but I was happy, and our mother let me bring her hot chocolate. And then I went back out and saw Her.
I breathe in, I breathe out, I sigh. I watch them circle as best I can. The ponies behind me say things.
“Your Majesty?”
“General out here. What?”
My words are curt; I waste only what breath I must.
“General, what’s going to happen?”
“We’re going home.”
RAINBOW DASH
What bothered her was how easy it had been.
Rainbow watched Rarity sleep. She listened to her soft, inoffensive snores, fighting the urge to chuckle. Yet, even so, her mind was far away. She imagined the would-be assassins sitting in their little interrogation room, answering questions with blank stares or snarling. Too easy? They’d barely had to try. It hadn’t even felt like a challenge.
Rainbow was quite prepared to believe that this was because of her innate skill. To be fair, she was usually ready to believe achievement was won by her own skill, that luck had nothing to do with it. Rainbow Dash made her own luck. She beat misfortune into a pulp and knocked dismay out of the sky. It was what she did.
But even she could admit that her skill had limits.
The last time she had felt this way had been after Ponyville. Not that the encounter there or the revelation afterwards had been truly easy in any way, because they absolutely had not. She had nightmares about Ponyville sometimes. No, resting on her cloud that night, she thought to herself that it had been far, far too easy, how Equestria had fallen apart.
And it had been far too easy to catch four murderers. They were blank slates. Mindless, after a fashion. She paused. Rarity stirred in her sleep. turning to face Rainbow. Dash smiled idly.
This is dumb. We’re good, we’re fast, and those guys were pretty lame. End of story.
What was this feeling that warmed her? The question was fair, but it was not a question that Rainbow really felt prepared to answer. She guessed it was just… being comfortable. After so long on the road, and on her lonely little cloud before that, she was finally on a good bed, surrounded by friends. True, times were not good. Shining Armor had left. Rainbow knew why, or at least she felt like she did, but it was still not ideal. Winter was already here, more or less. It would crawl south and sleep around Canterlot, curled tight about the walls. Monsters walked the night and beat at the door.
And yet, for all of it, Rainbow could not feel afraid. She could feel anxious. She did, in fact, feel anxious. But that was not fear. Anxiety was as much the heights of the freedom as it was the pits of worry. Tomorrow she could do anything. Anything might happen.
Rainbow sighed. She worried more than her friends knew. She always had. When Ponyville had been vibrant, years ago, her friends had always assumed Rainbow Dash to be exactly what she wished to be: fearless, dauntless, without hesitation. But even then, her mind had worked and worked. She had seen the possibilities. It wasn’t ignorance. She had just ignored everything. Furious, joyful, she had vowed never to be slowed or stayed by any fear or anxiety.
She thought about this as she reached out and stroked Rarity’s mane. She did not know why she did it. Or, rather, she did, but it was not quite time to say.
Or maybe it was. Rainbow Dash was dauntless. She was not subtle. When it came down to scalpels and gentle touches she was worse than useless. But this one time, she would have to try as hard as she could. Rarity would be kind. Rarity would not throw her aside.
Rainbow laid down beside Rarity, watching her. Her anxieties were not quieted. Her tiny, worming worry over the captured murderers bothered her still, and the threats of the morning seemed just as towering. But she supposed that there was nothing to be done tonight. Nothing at all. It could wait until morning.
Sorry. For lots of things. All of them. I hope you like it.
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This story is so beautiful to read. It really made my day.
God, this story makes me feel things.
You remain unmatched as a storyteller, Big C.
fired
a (I'd never go on an snipe hunt)
without being hounded
can't (unless she's channeling Applejack)
four
Twilight and I
5667844 Thanks for that, BrunnenG. Somehow when I put in the Gdoc chapter it erased like 60% of it so I had to do it manually and it's a miracle there aren't all kinds of horrific mistakes.
This is starting to get REALLY depressing. Let some things go for them alright. i know this is dark bu geeze.
Ok, this chapter started out just as I expected... more of the excellence I have come to appreciate, respect and enjoy in this story.
Then...
We come to Cadance
HOLY SHIT!!! WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED!!! The prose, style, and pure artistic poetry flowed across my screen in straight into my soul. Not only did you capture Cadance perfectly, but in a flare and grace that would have made Tolstoy or Shakespeare stand in awe before your presence. I could literally feel every ounce of her love for her Shining Armor flow from every single word, like a fine wine will warm the soul.
And then you portray Shining Armor as he readies himself for battle. The ritualisticness of the scene captures the heart and soul of the warrior perfectly. And when Shining Armor is with his last surviving troops out in the cold, his thoughts and emotions capture the moment to perfection.
Even as I write this, my words fail to even come close to describing the power of the words you have graced us with. Not even Kkat or CvBrony could match what you have done here. You have literally surpassed them all here with your wondrous and splendid words.
5670075 The Shining and Cadance parts, the ones where it gets weird, are from an earlier story called "The Sweet Soft of Ground". There are a couple of stories that were either prototypes for Night or were grafted into its continuity as I was planning and writing. "Sweet Softer Ground" "Great Heart Will Not Be Denied" "Sisterhood" are the obvious ones. Sisterhood also has was transplanted in.
I'm glad you like my stupid experiments with intertextuality.
If you liked that, might I suggest some reading? Faulkner wrote a book called As I Lay Dying which I think you might would like a lot. It's pretty important to me. Softer Ground was in a lot of ways me doing a study on him, just sort of trying to write like he writes, just as a kind of practice thing. Cadance's point of view is really close, I think, to Dewey Dell's. In the same way that a child's attempts at pottery are like George Ohr's, but still.
Thanks. It means a lot, Biker.
5671571
Not weird... beautiful!
And I shall look for that Faulkner book this Friday. There are a couple used book stores here in Waterville, as well as one in Hallowell. Furthermore, I could check with Barnes & Nobel and see if it may still be in print.
Heck, if need be, there is always Amazon, and other such online sources.
It was a sublime experience, this chapter. The perspective of the Mitou was a pleasant surprise. My curiosity on how the other trio is doing chafing and itching. Would you mind scratching it?
5673376 We are near the end of the Act. Twilight and company will be prominent in Act 3, but will not probably show up until Act 2 is finished. Sorry! But we'll see.
You might want to add a space there.
While this works, I would think you meant to say 'four hours'
I am not entirely sure, but I think there should be a comma after 'then'.
Was this supposed to be in brackets? Or is it just a weird formatting error?
Either just 'in line' or 'into line'.
caught a cold
Other than that you did a really nice job with this one. I really want to read the next chapter now.
5674349 PArenthesis, not brackets. And yes.
I'll look at these after class.
5674535
I learned british english, brackets is actually valid there.
5674617 Really? Huh. I had not heard that, actually! They're two different things here, and not interchangeable.
5674640
Yeah, I read about that, because your comment made me really unsure about my usage of it.
The more you know~
That time when "Wolf's Rain" was more optimistic than this story.
Seriously, Prozac time.
5674869 Wolf's Rain was my favorite anime growing up.
Twixt midnight and hell there is morning, I guess.
5674331
No worries. I figured you had a reason and I won't mind waiting a bit longer. They way you go about characterization(and that takes time) makes me very interested in how the others are dealing with things. Especially Twilight. And my favoritest, bestest of ponies; Applejack. I'm even curious to see how you have Pinkie react now that they are on boat with only one set of wings. You're starting to prove that the task and other tasks in which are needed to perform the main task which they are facing have consequences. I await to see how far the Mane 6 can go in this arc and the next with what it seems as only each other with minimal help/maximum hindrance from others.
How little they know now that their main task will be solved by completing other tasks; great and small.
5674886 That ending, though. I always despised the 'world rebirth' thing, as it stinks of the ridiculousness of reincarnation, except magnified on a global scale.
Everyone dies, then they all get to live again in the next incarnation of the world! Which then sucks as badly as the previous one, and everything dies again!
Lather, rinse, repeat for eternity.
That, to me, is a cop-out for not knowing how to make sense of the weird ideas someone came up with for the anime. Either that or it was something the writer came up with while on LSD.
Sorry, what? How many eyes to these two have apiece?
Give 'em hell, Boss! Show everyone why you're the Best Princess!
Well... looks like I ought to brace for some of that MURDER, huh?