> Tales of Equus
>  by Snake Staff
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Love and Death
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Cadence!” squealed the small lavender unicorn filly as her foalsitter gently knocked on her room’s door before trotting in.

“Twilight!” said Princess Cadence with a wide smile on her face, embracing her miniature charge.

With grins on their faces, the two friends began their ritual greeting:


“Sunshine, sunshine
Ladybugs awake
Clap your hooves
And do a little shake”


Laughing after waving their posteriors at one another, the alicorn and unicorn hugged each other once more. Cadence lifted Twilight gently and twirled her in a circle before setting the giggling filly back on her hooves.

“How’s my favorite filly?” asked the foalsitter.

Twilight’s ears perked up even further. “Great!” she said enthusiastically. “Look at what BBBFF got me!” She raced enthusiastically back over to her bed and stuck her head underneath the pillow. Grunting with the effort, the tiny filly slowly dragged a thick hardcover tome almost half as large as she was out from underneath with her teeth.

“What’s that doing under your pillow?” Cadence asked, lending the struggling unicorn a discrete hoof with her magic.

“Oh, Shiny says that it was put there by the book fairy,” Twilight said, before pausing and glancing around conspiratorially. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered to Cadence in a low voice.

The alicorn princess of love nodded.

“Even from BBBFF?”

“Of course,” Cadence giggled.

Twilight motioned for her foalsitter to come closer with a hoof, leaning in close to mutter in the alicorn’s ear. “I know that the book fairy isn’t real. It’s just Shining putting books under my pillow when he thinks I’m asleep.” 

Cadence gave a mock gasp.

She giggled. “I know ‘cause I stayed up extra late one night and watched.”

“You naughty filly,” Cadence pretended to scold her.

Twilight stuck her tongue out cheekily. “The book fairy isn’t real, not like the tooth fairy or Santa Hooves. But that’s ok because it means Shining gets me lots of books!”

“Awww,” Cadence found it cute how Shining Armor liked to dote on his little sister, who completely adored him in turn. Much better than many relationships she had seen between siblings. “So, what book is it?” she asked, picking the massive tome up in an aura of blue magic and bringing it up to her face. “The Tales of Equus?” She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “But I thought you said that story I read from that the other night was boring?”

“Ummm…” Twilight’s ears lowered, her face went pink, and she put one forleg behind the other awkwardly. “Well… you see…”

“Now don’t you lie to me Twilight,” said Cadence, her tone having a slight edge of sternness about it for the first time.

“Alright…” she said, with clear reluctance. “I liked the story you read.”

“What was that?” Cadence cocked an ear.

“I liked the story you read,” Twilight admitted with a blush. She quickly reared up and put her forehooves onto the alicorn’s chest. “But you can’t tell nopony, you got that?” she demanded.

Cadence giggled. “Why not?”

“’Cause that had lovey-dovey stuff in it!” Twilight stuck her tongue out again. “That stuff’s for mommies and daddies, not me!”

“I think it’s for more than your mom and dad, Twilight,” Cadence answered, giggling again at a thought only known to her.

“Promise you won’t tell?” Twilight pleaded.

“Oh, alright,” Cadence gave a melodramatic sigh. “I promise,” the alicorn reassured her, patting the unicorn filly on the head.

“Yay!” Twilight bounced around the room, grinning all the way.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” Cadence asked.

Twilight stilled her jumping and nodded eagerly.

Cadence cracked the heavy book open with magic. “Any story in particular you want to hear?”

“Uh…” Twilight considered for a few seconds. “Yeah! I know gods are supposed to be around forever and normal ponies aren’t, so can you tell me what happened to that stallion from the last story?”

“Alright,” Cadence flipped through the pages, and began to read.



Now it had come to pass in those days, that the love between the goddess of love and the stallion blossomed, as she had promised it would. For many years they were happy together, and they would run wild and free throughout the world. Many are the tales of the dangers they braved, the villains they fought, and the adventures they had throughout the stallion’s life on Equus.

And yet, as the seasons passed, the goddess began to grow sad, for she knew that soon her mate’s time on the earth would be finished. Her brother, the god of death, would come to collect his spirit to be taken into the next life. There, the goddess could not follow nor be with him any longer, for she had no power over her brother’s domain. 

When these thoughts occupied her mind, the goddess was greatly saddened, and many nights she spent secretly weeping while her beloved slumbered.

“Dearest,” inquired the stallion one night, when he espied her shedding tears into a flowing stream. “Wherefore dost thou moan and sob? Is not our life marvelous enough for thee?”

“Aye,” said she. “But alas, we fearest ‘twill soon be over, for our brother comes soon for thee on fleet pale wings, and we shalt not be able to honor our accord with thee, for we cannot bar the conclusion of thine season.”

“Ah,” said the stallion to himself. “Thus is the cause of her bereavement revealed unto me, but alas, I can do naught to halt it.”

To the goddess, he smiled and declared. “’Tis better to have loved a divine beauty such as thee for a season than never to have loved at all.”

But this fair language brought no comfort to the melancholy goddess, for she knew that very soon she would be forever separated from he whom she had pledged eternal love to.

True to the goddess’s foresight, ‘twas not long afore her brother stole upon them like a thief in the night. The god of death was a towering, slender figure of ghastly white skin covering little more than bone, wrapped in a darkened cloak and hood.

“Come,” said he to the stallion. “For thy season on this earth is passed, and it is thy time to seek refuge in the next life.”

“Nay, brother,” said the goddess of love, interposing herself between the two. “This mortal is ours, to love and cherish for all eternity. Thou shall not claim him for thyself!”

“Thou knowest the law, sister,” answered the god of death, for he of all the gods has the hardest heart. “All things that are mortal are ours in the end, forevermore. Not even thou hast the power to change this.”

“We plead of thee,” said she, knowing the truth of his words. “Take not our beloved from us! We swore to him an eternal love, and we wouldst not have him burn with passion unfulfilled for all eternity. We wouldst not curse him so.”

“Thou and thy vanity are at fault,” retorted her brother. “For it is because of thee and thy sisters and thy foolishness that this mortal ‘twas joined to thee. Thou shouldst have regarded the accursed apple for the treachery that it was.”

“Aye, and if this be true, then punish him not for our deeds!”

“We maltreat him not to do thus, for thy mortal’s time hath come to its due end,” said the god, who could not be but hard-hearted, so many times had mortals begged in vain for a reprieve. “He is ours now, and thou shall no longer be with him, for thou hast no authority over our domain.”

“Please, brother!” pleaded the goddess. “Take us instead, for are we not a more excellent addition to thy bleak halls?!”

“Sister,” said the god with a sigh. “Thou knowest that we do aught but that which is our commission: to collect the souls of the departed and send them to rest. We come here solely to do our duty, as thou shouldst have done that multitude of years previous.”

With that, death drew the stallion’s spirit into himself, and was gone.

Great were the lamentations of the goddess left behind. For though her strength was great and her life unending, she was bound to the world, and could never leave it. Though she sought aid from all her divine family, none could give it, or would. Neither her father, nor her mother, nor her sisters, nor her brothers, nor any other she encountered were able to give her what she sought. All counseled that romance between the gods and mortals ‘twere not meant to be, and that she would do better to move on.

But as the goddess had promised, her passions for the stallion would not cool, nor would her heart heal the wound his passing had left. Inconsolable, she was left with naught but to wander the land in grief. And for many years she walked the earth in the guise of a forlorn maiden clad in white, giving voice to her anguish in doleful melody. And though none knew quite why, all those who heard the dirge succumbed to the goddess’s grief and gave mournful voice to their own woes. So it was that love faded from the land, and lamentations rose up to the heavens.

In his prison, the spirit of chaos smiled, for even in defeat his deception had played havoc with the land. It seemed to him that he had won at last, that forever strife would replace harmony, sorrow replace joy, and pain replace content. Ever after, he thought, the lands of the goddesses would be bereft of all that was good, and his work was done.

So it continued for many years, until one fateful morn. The goddess, cloaked in the image of the somber maiden, wandered slowly through a forest at dawn. The sound of her woeful refrain drifted through the trees, and all creatures paused to mourn their adversity. Save one.

An old mare of white fur and red mane, cloaked in the humble garb of a traveler, stood before the goddess.

“Hark!” said she to the cheerless maiden. “Wherefore dost thou weep, oh beauteous one? Thy countenance is healthful, the body is yet filled with the vigor of youth, ‘tis not for thee to spend thy days mirthless and alone.”

“Alas, we wish it were so,” said the goddess, “But we have lost he who was dearest to us, and our heart is filled with nothing but sorrow.”

“A sad fate indeed,” said the mare, “But canst thou not overcome thy passions for his loss? For thou art bringing ruin unto our land, and ponies grow weary under the strain of thy grief.”

And thus the goddess’s misery was made the greater still, for she was a gentle soul who desired not the pain of others. But so powerful was the fervor of her heartache that her tears would not halt, even for all the ponies under her care. She had promised that her passions should never burn out, and she could not break her oath.

“We are sorry,” said she. “But we cannot. For the goddess of love hath decreed our bond eternal, and from that there can be no escape.”

“Ah,” said the mare. “Perhaps then thou canst take comfort in the certitude that thou shalt once more be together, when thy time comes?”

“Nay,” answered the goddess, casting off her mortal guise. “For we are eternal, and to this world we are forever bound.”

“Truly is thine predicament great, then,” said the mare. “Hath thou considered appealing to thy brother, oh goddess?”

“He will not listen,” she sobbed. “For he hath a heart of stone. We plead with him once before, to no avail. And now he resideth beyond the mortal realm, where we cannot go.”

The mare considered the goddess for some time. None had yet been able to aid her, but this mare was a creature of great knowledge and wisdom. “Then mayhaps thou shouldst travel to the edge of the earth, where this world and the next meet,” said she at last. “And sing thy dirge for thine brother to hear. For thou hast touched the hearts of all who hath yet heard it.”

The goddess looked and beheld all the creatures of the woodlands raising their own mournful melodies to match hers. Behind her, she looked and beheld the ponies of the land, wracked with grief and misery, howling their suffering for all to here. And the tender-hearted goddess beheld the pain she had caused, and wept all the harder for it.

“Mayhaps,” said the mare, after a time. “He shall hear, and take pity on thee.”

“Alas, we fear not,” said the goddess. “For he hath heard the pleas of loves left behind for many a season, and his heart hath grown cold to them.”

“But thou must try,” the mare implored. “For thy ponies, if not thyself.”

The goddess considered the mare's words. “Aye,” she answered at last. “That, we must. Thank thee, kind mare, for thine wise council.”

“’Twas no difficulty at all,” said the mare in farewell, as the goddess turned to leave.

So it came to pass that the goddess of love journeyed across the earth, over the seas, and through the skies, until at last she came to the great gate of the underworld. Through that portal her love awaited, but through it neither she nor he could ever pass. At the gate she halted, and, pouring out all her passion, sang her doleful lyric into the depths.

The goddess’s grievous aria resounded throughout the chill halls of the underworld. And the spirits of the dead, roused from slumber by the sound of her voice, joined in the chorus. And her stallion, whom had done naught but mourn for her since his passing, heard the song, and bestirred himself from his resting place and ran to meet her.

Great was the goddess’s joy when she saw her beloved rushing to greet her once again, and she opened her forelegs wide and for a moment believed that all was well. But alas, the chasm between life and death is wide and deep, and none can pass, save by the consent of the goddess’s brother. He could not reach her, nor she him, and her hopes were lifted for an instant only to be cruelly dashed the next. Sobbing, the mortal and goddess joined their voices together for a great hymn of anguish.

Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. And yet still, day after day, the goddess and mortal, so close but so far apart, would not cease their melody. The underworld echoed with the sounds of mourning, as the land of the goddesses had.

Now the god of death too had heard his sister’s pleas, but he had long since expunged the last of compassion from his soul, lest he be unable to fulfill his duties, and the dead wander forever without rest. For a time, he could ignore the sounds of the two lovers’ voices as he had so many other cries for reprieve from his grim task. But even he eventually found that he could stand the sound of their torment no longer, for at length even his frozen heart was melted by the strength of his sister’s bond to the stallion.

“Now,” said he at last to himself. “Behold, our sister weepeth, and giveth voice to her woe, and will not cease. And behold, the mortal joins her, though he knoweth that he cannot hope to reacheth one such as she. This dirge must cease, lest we too be taken with grief, and forsake our duty to shepherd the dead to join in their melody.”

So concluding, the god of death appeared before the two lovers in a trice, his cloak billowing in the cold winds of the netherworld.

“Brother!” cried the goddess of love when she beheld her sibling. “Please, we beg of thee! Permit our stallion to leave thine halls! Or else permit us to join him in there, that we may no longer be apart!”

“We cannot permit thee entrance to our realm, sister,” said the god. “For the world of the living hath the greater need of thee, and without thy love harmony ‘twill surely perish under the dark grip of chaos. Thou must leave this place, and return to thy lands.”

“We shall not!” declared the goddess. “Not until thou givest us what we have come for!”

This answer vexed the god greatly, for though he could forbid his sister entrance, he had no power to halt her standing before the gates of the underworld for as long as she wished. Though he was loathe to concede even a single soul in violation of his sworn duty, in the grand scheme he resolved that to hold his sister’s mate any longer would bring naught but further suffering unto the world.

“Very well,” said he at length. “We shalt release thy beloved back to the world of mortals, to be born again.”

“Oh thank thee, brother! How may--”

But the god cut her off. “In return, sister, thou must sweareth to watch over his soul for all time. No longer wilt he be our responsibility, but thine, and thou must seeketh him out each time he passes to shepherd him safely back home.”

“We shalt seek him out long before then!” declared the joyous goddess.

“And thou must give thine oath as a goddess that thou shalt never again endanger the world so, by standing before our gates and begging.”

“We give it gladly,” she answered.

“So be it,” said he, before regarding the mortal. “Go then,” said the god of death. “Return to thy world, and our sister, and comest not to this place evermore.”

And the stallion’s spirit vanished from the netherworld. The goddess of love wept tears of joy, for she knew that her mate had been reborn and that, though it might take many years, she would find him again. And he would love her, and she him, until the end of his days. Though in time he would die as all mortals must, she would ever seek him out again. Never would the two be split in twain forever.

“Now depart,” said her brother. “Thou hast what thou camest for, leave this place and never return. Thy ponies have great need of thee, for they are sorrowful and their love bloometh not without thee.”

And so it was that the goddess of love returned the land of her and her sisters. Once more she sang, but this time a melody of hope and triumph against all the odds. And those who heard it knew happiness once again, and the land prospered. The goddess removed herself back to her mountain home, where her sisters welcomed her back with open hearts. She knew ‘twould be but the blink of an eye before she found her beloved again, and that he would remember her as well. 

“Hark!” said the goddess to herself one day. “For we are a fool! We should never have restored our stallion to life ‘twere it not for that mare and her sage advice. We must reward her!”

The goddess hurried back to the forest on swift wings, but found naught but the woodland creatures there to greet her. For many years she roamed the surrounding lands, seeking the name of she who had wisely counseled her in her time of lamentation, but her search was in vain. For the goddess never again found that old mare, though she hunted far and wide.



“The end,” said Cadence with a smile.

“That’s the end?” Twilight asked with a frown. “But what about that mare? Who was she?”

“Nopony knows,” answered her foalsitter.

Twilight considered for a moment. “And doesn’t that contradict the story you already read? Where they said that some ponies claimed that the two did lovey-dovey stuff in the sky or whatever?”

“This book is collection of tales from across the world,” said the pink alicorn. “Some ponies told the story differently than others.”

“And what about the god of death? I mean, if he has to pick up everypony that ever dies by himself, how did he have any time at all to spend in the netherworld? There are enough ponies that he should have to spend all day, every day hunting them down.”

“He’s a god,” said Cadence with a wink. “Maybe he can be in two places at once.”

Twilight scrunched up her face. “Nuh uh! Princess Celestia said that’s not possible even for her, and everypony knows that if she can’t do it, nopony can!”

“Whatever you say,” answered Cadence, giggling slightly.

“That’s right!” huffed the triumphant filly. She paused for a moment before continuing. “And what about the goddess? Did she ever find her stallion?”

“I’m sure she did,” Cadence replied, with a slight twinkle in her eye.

“Can you read me some more stories now? About somepony else?” asked Twilight with large, pleading eyes.

The pink alicorn smiled and rubbed the little filly on the head affectionately. “Of course I can!” she said, as she flipped the book back open.


> The Goddess and the Enchantress
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Now, it came to pass in those days, when the gods still walked openly in the world in their full glory, that the goddess of the night came into the habit of wandering the domains of the three sisters in the hours of darkness. Far and wide she would journey, bound only by her own whimsy, simply to see the lands from more humble point of view than was possible from her high mountain home. She found that she loved observing the nightly labors of the mortals she so dearly cared for, finding in their simple enterprises a novel and welcome diversion from her divine duties.

Notwithstanding her desire for purely aloof observation, the goddess found within a short span of years that mortal ponies, by chance or fickle fate, had espied her in turn. The tale spread like wildfire throughout her domain, and soon, each night, wherever she went the goddess was beset by mortals bearing offerings and prayers for her. The goddess was vexed by this, for she received more than enough of those, as she accounted it, when she dwelt upon the mountain. No matter how many times she attempted to drive them away, each night more came to her, until she felt as if she might drown in the supplications of mortal ponies.

“Alas,” said she to herself, “We know no rest, and we can no longer merely watch our subjects, for they will not cease their petitions.”

The goddess of the night could have cloaked her divine essence in mortal form, as she and her sisters sometimes had in times past. But when she considered this thought, she remembered her offended pride. For it had not been long, as the gods reckon such things, since she had been humiliated by the gifting of the golden apple to her sister, the goddess of love, over herself. As the goddess thought, she began to see an opportunity to regain her lost dignity by surpassing the feats of her siblings in the arts of disguise.

When the goddess looked upwards and beheld the night sky she had created, inspiration came upon her in a flash.

“Hark!” said she. “For now we know how we may both have our peace and humble our siblings in the eyes of all the world!”

It was with such thoughts in her mind that the goddess of the night did ascend into the heavens, and plucked for herself some of the very blackness of the night sky. For years she labored long and hard to fashion the blackness of the night into a cloak of finest navy, that when worn would wrap the wearer in the deepest of shadows, rendering them invisible to all. Such was her mastery of the craft that the goddess found she could wander before the divine eyes of her very sisters in broadest daylight without being perceived.

With her creation the goddess was most pleased, for at last she had her nightly respite from those who would beg her indulgence. Still the greater was her pleasure in throwing off the cloak before her sisters’ shocked faces, for they had suspected nothing of her design, nor could even their greatest efforts replicate her skill. So it was that the goddess of the night exalted herself above her siblings, and she grew very proud. Far and wide did she spread the tale of her miraculous creation, for so confident was she in her work that she believed she would at once have her time undisturbed and be held in awe for her cleverness by mortals. And for many years it was so.

As it happened, there lived in those times a mortal enchantress of great power and learning. However, she was leaving behind the last of her youth, and she began to fear that soon her season would pass, and the god of death would come to claim her for his own. For all her magical arts, she knew not a way to prevent this from happening, until by chance a traveler imparted unto her the tale of the goddess’s cloak.

“Ah,” thought the cunning sorceress to herself. “A cloak that is able to conceal she who doneth it from the eyes of the very gods themselves? This surely then is mine key to eluding he who would claim mine soul.”

So the enchantress hatched a scheme, whereby she would take the goddess’s garment for herself and thereby achieve endless life.

To achieve that end, the mare put out a story of her own. In this, she proclaimed for all to hear that she had outdone the goddess of the night, and made for herself a mantle that could not only conceal her from all, but allow her eyes to pierce even the magic of the goddess’s veil. Word spread far and wide of the mortal who had the audacity to exalt herself above the very gods, and as the enchantress had intended, it soon came before the ears of the divines.

When the night goddess heard the tale, she was much incensed. Long and hard had she worked to create her disguise, and now some mere mortal witch boasted that she could not only match, but surpass the divinity’s success? Swiftly she decided that such insolence could not be allowed to stand.

Thus, it came to pass that the goddess of the night appeared before the enchantress’s dwelling in a great fury, and demanded that she come forth to explain her proclamation. But when the enchantress went before the deity, it was with a welcoming smile and a bow. 

“Greetings, divine creator of the night,” said the mare. “I bid thee welcome to mine humble abode, and invite thee to make full use thereof.”

“Save thy words,” answered the wrathful goddess. “For we know that thou hast professed thyself more proficient in the arts of concealment than us, and we demand explanation, or else thy recantation of thy contention.”

Said the enchantress, “Oh goddess, I meant thee no offense. For I am but a lowly mortal dabbler in the mystic arts, while thou art a great and noble titan of the heavens.”

“Cease thy honeyed supplications. They will not avail thee with us. We command thee to show us thy craft, or admit to thy falsehood.”

The mare bowed low once more. “I would, my goddess, but…” 

After a pause, the goddess pressed her. “But what, mage?”

The enchantress gave the deity a look of fear. “But thy vanity and pride are well known amongst the ponies of this land, oh great one. I fear that, if by some chance mine craft proves to have some edge on thine, thou will destroyest it in thine anger.”

The goddess scoffed. “Trust thou not in our word of honor? For we swear that we shall not harm thy work. Such is beneath us.”

“If I could but have some small token,” replied the mare at length. “Something to reassure my poor self of thy honesty whilst thou examinest my creation…”

The goddess of the night, too indignant at the offenses against her pride to see the danger, answered thusly. “So be it, mortal. We shall condescend to humor thy petty fears. Thou may holdest our garment whilst we consider thine own. But be warned: it will go poorly for thee if thy work is naught but some insipid jest at our expense. For we are not idly mocked.”

The enchantress bowed. “I hear and obey, oh divine one.”

The goddess snorted with disdain. “Then lead on, oh mistress of the arcane.”

So it was that the sorceress lead the goddess into her home, and showed her to a room wherein she kept a beautiful velvet cape of midnight black and blue. The goddess, honoring her word, hoofed over her own elegant wrap before turning to consider that which the mortal had produced. It took her expert eye naught but an instant to unravel the nature of the thing.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she snarled in anger. “This cloak ‘tis but ordinary fabric! Thinkest thou to play us for a fool?!”

But when she turned her head to gaze upon the enchantress once more and berate her, the goddess beheld naught but empty space.

“A fool indeed thou art, oh great ruler of the night!” came the sound of the mare’s mocking laughter.

At once the goddess comprehended what had happened. “Treachery,” she hissed, before unleashing her godly might upon the witch’s dwelling. In but an instant, the old house of clay brick and firm mortar was mere dust on the wind.

But of the enchantress, and the goddess’s cloak, there was no sign.

Great indeed was the night goddess’s rage at the mare’s trickery. Even more severe was her chagrin at herself, for having been so easily led into forfeiting her most prized creation. For one hundred days and one hundred nights did the goddess scour all the lands, seeking after her betrayer and her stolen prize, but it availed her not, for the magic of cloak could not be overcome, even by divine vision.

When at last the goddess of the night returned home to the temple atop the mountain, it was in burning shame and deep humiliation. Greater still was her dismay in learning that the story of her loss had somehow spread amongst the ponies of the land, and that her sisters already knew of her humbling at the hoof of a mortal. Beaten and disgraced in the eyes of all, the goddess would bear a deep grudge against the enchantress for as long as her immortal life endured.

As to the enchantress? Her guess was proved correct in the end, for although the god of death sought her as he does all ponies, he found her not. His sister’s work was enough to elude even the hunter of souls, and he was forced in the last to concede to her escape and return to seeking other ponies, though it stung his pride badly to do so. Though she had earned the wrath of not one, but two of the gods, the sorceress was never caught. There are those that claim that she wanders the earth invisibly to this day, still laughing at her victory over the divine.
	

> God and King
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Now, it came to pass in those days that a certain noble stallion rose to prominence amongst the ponies of the land. Though few knew him well, and none could say from whence he had come, that he had power none could deny. He rose to leadership with unprecedented speed, with many who spoke against him simply vanishing, never to be seen again. Though dark and secretive, when he wished to be the stallion could sway thousands with his words alone. Eventually, it came to pass that the ponies of that land made him their king, and though he was a harsh and egotistical ruler, he was no fool. The land prospered for a time, and most thought that all was well.

But one day, after many years of his reign, the king found to his dismay that he was growing old. His muscles withered, his back began to stoop, and his proud black mane began to grey on his head.

“Now,” the king said to himself, “This will not do at all. Though I am the greatest of all the ponies in this land, my kingdom vast, my foals beyond count, still time seeks to steal away what is mine. But wherefore should death take me, as though I were no better than some peasant toiling in the mud? This cannot be so. I will not allow it.”

So saying, the king summoned his wisest advisors from across the land. Sages and scholars, mystics and seers, all answered their king’s call. For many days and nights he spoke with them, demanding an answer to the problem of death, but none could be found to give him what he sought. 

At length, the king grew greatly wroth with his advisors, and sent them away in a rage. Next, he sought the answers to death from the gods. Many a day and night did he spend amongst the temples of his land, learning all he could of the divinities. To each and every one he gave many bounteous offerings, in hopes that one might hear him, and give him what he wished for. But the gods did not wish for such a thing, and so remained silent. Eventually, the king grew wroth with them as well, and stormed from the temples in a towering fury.

If others could not or would not give him what he wished for, he would find for himself the secrets of eternal life. For years he searched, but he found naught but lies and fables amongst his sources. As the years passed and he felt himself aging even further, the king grew very desperate indeed to avoid his fate, for such was his pride that he could not stomach the idea that in the end he should be no better than any other mortal pony.

One day, whilst he was pouring frantically over his scrolls, the king came across something that gave him pause. Inside the scroll was a map, showing the secret place wherein the great spirit of chaos was imprisoned for all time by the three goddesses. How this map had come to be, none can say, nor how it found its way to the king, but there it was nonetheless. 

Now, the king had heard the tales of how the night goddess was tricked and stripped of her cloak, and knew well the story of the golden apple. He knew that the gods were not invincible, and that long ago one had fought against them. If mortals were no help, and gods would not harken to his words, perhaps the spirit of chaos might be more willing to aid him in his quest.

So it was that the king donned once more his old armor, and, leaving his kingdom in the hooves of his children, left to seek out the place where the spirit of chaos was held. The journey was long a perilous, but not for nothing had the king risen to his lofty station. He overcame jungles and deserts and blizzards alike. He laid low dragons and hydras, played at riddles sphinxes, and even faced the dreaded windigos. Through all this he persevered, until at last he came to the great pit wherein the spirit was chained.

“Hark!” said the king. “Oh spirit of disharmony, we are the king of ponies, and we come before thee.”

The spirit looked up from where he was bound. “For what purpose hast thou come here? I can see clearly that thou art no servant of the gods.”

“Nay!” said the indignant king. “For the gods have abandoned us in our hour of need, and therefore we harken to them no longer.”

“Aye, they are fickle creatures, not to be trusted,” said the spirit. “But again, wherefore hast thou come before me?”

“We come seeking after the secret to life eternal.”

“And why should I aid thee in such a quest?”

“If thou wilt help us, we vow that afterwards thou shalt know freedom once again,” answered the king, though in truth he meant to do no such thing. He was no fool, and knew well what the spirit would do to his kingdom if freed. He would take his help, and then leave him to rot in the goddesses’ prison.

In his confinement the spirit smiled, seeing through the deception at once, but discerning a way he could use it to exact some revenge on both the gods and the king who meant to cheat him. 

“Very well,” the spirit replied. “I shall aide thee in obtaining endless life, in in return thou shalt see me freed. Have we an accord?”

“We do,” said the king, sealing the pact between them.

“Dost thou know what happens when a soul leaves its mortal shell?”

“Aye,” answered the king. “The god of death comes for him, and drags him away to the underworld for all time.”

“So it be,” said the spirit. “But what dost thou think would happen, should he be trapped when he cometh for thee, and be unable to leave?”

The king thought. “The longer he was ensnared, the more souls would escape him and haunt the world as ghosts.”

“Aye,” said the spirit. “And thou knowest well that he is a miserly soul, and dislikes very much to lose even one. If he cannot perform his duties whilst thou keepest him there…”

“…Then we can force him to give up what we desire!” the king realized, his eyes aglow with greed and anticipation. “How can this be done?” he asked the spirit. “The gods are not to be trifled with.”

“Come,” answered the spirit. “And I shall teach thee.”



So it was that, many years later, when the god of death came at last for the old king in his bed, that he was ready for him. No sooner had he stepped into the chambers than the god found himself in the center of a great mystical circle, and to his great shock found that he was unable to leave it. 

“Ha!” said the king, now a very great age indeed. “Thou wilt not take us, oh god of the underworld!”

Enraged at the affront to his divinity, the god unleashed magicks enough to fell entire armies, or put cities to the flame. His great scythe, reaper of souls, he swung at the wards. But still, the magic holding the god would not be broken. The king looked on in triumph.

Hours passed before the god finally ceased his efforts to escape, perceiving it to be futile. He knew – for such things are his domain – that already thousands of souls had perished, and he had not been there to collect them. With every passing second, the number of wild souls he must see safely to the next world grew.

Though his humiliation was great, the god suppressed his pride to speak. “What dost thou think thou art doing, mortal fool?!” he demanded. “There are many of thy fellows already cast into the world between and life and death, and without us they shall wander forever! What dost thou suppose that thou shalt gain?”

“We seek what is rightfully ours,” said the king. “We wish for life eternal. For that price, and no less, shall we release thee.”

The god’s wrath against the king was great indeed, for he resented greatly any interference in his domain. But he knew also that to remain here was an even greater evil than allowing one soul its wish.

“Very well,” said he. “Thou shalt live forever, and never trouble our realm with thy presence.”

“Dost thou swear it should be so?”

“We so swear.”

“Then,” said the king, releasing the spell he had been taught. “Begone with thee, oh master of the underworld! For we no longer hath need of thee!”

Now, the god of death remembered well his sister’s humiliation at the hooves of the mortal enchantress, and how all had laughed at her fate. He was determined that it should not be so for him, for if ponies thought they might escape him this way many might attempt it, and the harmony of the world would be broken.

With these thoughts foremost in his mind, he raised his great scythe and advanced on the rejoicing king. Before the former mortal even saw his peril, the blade swung, and the king’s head was stricken clean from his neck in a single blow. Laughing, the god seized it, and hurled it over the horizon.

“Ha!” mocked the god of death. “There, oh immortal, is thy curse. Ever shalt thou sleekest after thy head, but never shalt thou find it! Forever thou shalt roam the earth, and know that it is the price for thine own foolishness!”

So saying, he swirled his cloak, and was gone.

As the god had prophesied, the once-king was driven forth from the land that was once his. Long and hard has he searched for his head, but the curse holds true, and he finds it not. Beware, little ponies, for he walks the earth to this very day, still seeking after a head.